Article,Summary
"Can you provide a summary of the storyline in Jinx Ship To The Rescue? [SEP] <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>  Jinx Ship To The Rescue     By ALFRED COPPEL, JR.     Stand by for      T.R.S. Aphrodite     , butt of the Space     Navy. She's got something terrific in her guts and only     her ice-cold lady engineer can coax it out of her!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Winter 1948.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Strykalski III of theTellurian Wing, Combined Solarian Navies, stood ankle deep in theviscous mud of Venusport Base and surveyed his new command with ajaundiced eye. The hot, slimy, greenish rain that drenched Venusportfor two-thirds of the 720-hour day had stopped at last, but now amiasmic fog was rising from the surrounding swampland, rolling acrossthe mushy landing ramp toward the grounded spaceship. Visibility wasdropping fast, and soon porto-sonar sets would have to be used to findthe way about the surface Base. It was an ordinary day on Venus.     Strike cursed Space Admiral Gorman and all his ancestors with a wealthof feeling. Then he motioned wearily to his companion, and togetherthey sloshed through the mud toward the ancient monitor.     The scaly bulk of the Tellurian Rocket Ship      Aphrodite     loomedunhappily into the thick air above the two men as they reached theventral valve. Strike raised reluctant eyes to the sloping flank of thefat spaceship.     It looks, he commented bitterly, like a pregnant carp.     Senior Lieutenant Coburn Whitley—Cob to his friends—nodded inagreement. That's our Lover-Girl ... old Aphrodisiac herself. The shipwith the poison personality. Cob was the      Aphrodite's     Executive,and he had been with her a full year ... which was a record for Execson the      Aphrodite     . She generally sent them Earthside with nervousbreakdowns in half that time.     Tell me, Captain, continued Cob curiously, how does it happenthat you of all people happened to draw this tub for a command? Ithought....     You know Gorman? queried Strykalski.     Cob nodded. Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. Old Brass-bottom Gorman?     The same.     Well, Cob ran a hand over his chin speculatively, I know Gorman'sa prize stinker ... but you were in command of the      Ganymede     . And,after all, you come from an old service family and all that. How comethis? He indicated the monitor expressively.     Strike sighed. Well, now, Cob, I'll tell you. You'll be spacing withme and I guess you've a right to know the worst ... not that youwouldn't find it out anyway. I come from a long line of very sharpoperators. Seven generations of officers and gentlemen. Lousy withtradition.     The first David Farragut Strykalski, son of a sea-loving Polishimmigrant, emerged from World War II a four-striper and CongressionalMedal winner. Then came David Farragut Strykalski, Jr., and, in theabortive Atomic War that terrified the world in 1961, he won a UnitedNations Peace Citation. And then came David Farragut Strykalski III ...me.     From such humble beginnings do great traditions grow. But somethinghappened when I came into the picture. I don't fit with the rest ofthem. Call it luck or temperament or what have you.     In the first place I seem to have an uncanny talent for saying thewrong thing to the wrong person. Gorman for example. And I take toomuch on my own initiative. Gorman doesn't like that. I lost the      Ganymede     because I left my station where I was supposed to be runningsection-lines to take on a bunch of colonists I thought were indanger....     The Procyon A people? asked Cob.     So you've heard about it. Strike shook his head sadly. My tacticalastrophysicist warned me that Procyon A might go nova. I left myroutine post and loaded up on colonists. He shrugged. Wrong guess. Nonova. I made an ass of myself and lost the      Ganymede     . Gorman gave itto his former aide. I got this.     Cob coughed slightly. I heard something about Ley City, too.     Me again. The      Ganymede's     whole crew ended up in the Luna Base brig.We celebrated a bit too freely.     Cob Whitley looked admiringly at his new Commander. That was the nightafter the      Ganymede     broke the record for the Centaurus B-Earth run,wasn't it? And then wasn't there something about....     Canalopolis?     Whitley nodded.     That time I called the Martian Ambassador a spy. It was at a TellurianEmbassy Ball.     I begin to see what you mean, Captain.     Strike's the name, Cob.     Whitley's smile was expansive. Strike, I think you're going to likeour old tin pot here. He patted the      Aphrodite's     nether bellyaffectionately. She's old ... but she's loose. And we're not likely tomeet any Ambassadors or Admirals with her, either.     Strykalski sighed, still thinking of his sleek      Ganymede     . She'llcarry the mail, I suppose. And that's about all that's expected of her.     Cob shrugged philosophically. Better than tanking that stinking rocketfuel, anyway. Deep space?     Strike shook his head. Venus-Mars.     Cob scratched his chin speculatively. Perihelion run. Hot work.     Strike was again looking at the spaceship's unprepossessing exterior.A surge-circuit monitor, so help me.     Cob nodded agreement. The last of her class.  <doc-sep>A week in space had convinced Strike that he commanded a jinx ship.Jetting sunward from Venus, the cantankerous      Aphrodite     had burned asteering tube through, and it had been necessary to go into free-fallwhile Jenkins, the Assistant E/O, and a damage control party effectedrepairs. When the power was again applied, Old Aphrodisiac was runningten hours behind schedule, and Strike and Evans, the AstrogationOfficer, were sweating out the unforeseen changes introduced into theorbital calculations by the time spent in free-fall.     The      Aphrodite     rumbled on toward the orbit of Mercury....     For all the tension between the occupants of the flying-bridge, Strikeand Ivy Hendricks worked well together. And after a second week inspace, a reluctant admiration was replacing the resentment betweenthem. Ivy spent whatever time she could spare tinkering with herfather's pet surge-circuit and Strike began to realize that there waslittle she did not know about spaceship engineering. Then, too, Ivyspent a lot of time at the controls, and Strike was forced to admitthat he had never seen a finer job of piloting done by man or woman.     And finally, Ivy hated old Brass-bottom Gorman even more than Strikedid. She felt that Gorman had ruined her father's career, and she wasdedicating her life to proving her father right and Brass-bottom wrong.There's nothing in the cosmos to nurture friendship like a common enemy.     At 30,000,000 miles from the sun, the      Aphrodite's     refrigerationunits could no longer keep the interior of the ship at a comfortabletemperature. The thermometer stood at 102°F, the very metal ofthe ship's fittings hot to the touch. Uniforms were discarded,insignia of rank vanished. The men dressed in fiberglass shorts andspaceboots, sweat making their naked bodies gleam like copper under thesodium-vapor lights. The women in the crew added only light blouses totheir shorts ... and suffered from extra clothing.     Strike was in the observation blister forward, when Ensign Grahamcalled to say that she had picked up a radar contact sunward. TheIFF showed the pips to be the      Lachesis     and the      Atropos     . The twodreadnaughts were engaged in coronary research patrol ... a purelyroutine business. But the thing that made Strike curse under his breathwas Celia Graham's notation that the      Atropos     carried none other thanSpace Admiral Horatio Gorman, Cominch Inplan.     Strike thought it a pity that old Brass-bottom couldn't fall intoHell's hottest pit ... and he told Ivy so.     And she agreed.  <doc-sep>Lethla half-crouched in the midst of the smell of death and thechugging of blood-pumps below. In the silence he reached up with quickfingers, tapped a tiny crystal stud upon the back of his head, and thehalves of a microscopically thin chrysalis parted transparently offof his face. He shucked it off, trailing air-tendrils that had beeninserted, hidden in the uniform, ending in thin globules of oxygen.     He spoke. Triumph warmed his crystal-thin voice. That's how I did it,Earthman.     Glassite! said Rice. A face-moulded mask of glassite!     Lethla nodded. His milk-blue eyes dilated. Very marvelously pared toan unbreakable thickness of one-thirtieth of an inch; worn only on thehead. You have to look quickly to notice it, and, unfortunately, viewedas you saw it, outside the ship, floating in the void, not discernibleat all.     Prickles of sweat appeared on Rice's face. He swore at the Venusian andthe Venusian laughed like some sort of stringed instrument, high andquick.     Burnett laughed, too. Ironically. First time in years a man ever cameaboard the Constellation alive. It's a welcome change.     Lethla showed his needle-like teeth. I thought it might be. Where'syour radio?     Go find it! snapped Rice, hotly.     I will. One hand, blue-veined, on the ladder-rungs, Lethla paused.I know you're weaponless; Purple Cross regulations. And this air-lockis safe. Don't move. Whispering, his naked feet padded white up theladder. Two long breaths later something crashed; metal and glass andcoils. The radio.     Burnett put his shoulder blades against the wall-metal, looking at hisfeet. When he glanced up, Rice's fresh, animated face was spoiled bythe new bitterness in it.     Lethla came down. Like a breath of air on the rungs.     He smiled. That's better. Now. We can talk—     Rice said it, slow:     Interplanetary law declares it straight, Lethla! Get out! Only deadmen belong here.     Lethla's gun grip tightened. More talk of that nature, and only deadmen there will be. He blinked. But first—we must rescue Kriere....     Kriere! Rice acted as if he had been hit in the jaw.     Burnett moved his tongue back and forth on his lips silently, his eyeslidded, listening to the two of them as if they were a radio drama.Lethla's voice came next:     Rather unfortunately, yes. He's still alive, heading toward Venusat an orbital velocity of two thousand m.p.h., wearing one of theseair-chrysali. Enough air for two more hours. Our flag ship was attackedunexpectedly yesterday near Mars. We were forced to take to thelife-boats, scattering, Kriere and I in one, the others sacrificingtheir lives to cover our escape. We were lucky. We got through theEarth cordon unseen. But luck can't last forever.     We saw your morgue ship an hour ago. It's a long, long way to Venus.We were running out of fuel, food, water. Radio was broken. Capturewas certain. You were coming our way; we took the chance. We set asmall time-bomb to destroy the life-rocket, and cast off, wearing ourchrysali-helmets. It was the first time we had ever tried using them totrick anyone. We knew you wouldn't know we were alive until it was toolate and we controlled your ship. We knew you picked up all bodies forbrief exams, returning alien corpses to space later.     Rice's voice was sullen. A set-up for you, huh? Traveling under theprotection of the Purple Cross you can get your damned All-Mighty safeto Venus.     Lethla bowed slightly. Who would suspect a Morgue Rocket of providingsafe hiding for precious Venusian cargo?     Precious is the word for you, brother! said Rice.     Enough! Lethla moved his gun several inches.     Accelerate toward Venus, mote-detectors wide open. Kriere must bepicked up—      now!       <doc-sep>  Transcriber's Note:     This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science Fiction June 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.         THE VALLEY       By Richard Stockham       Illustrated by Ed Emsh         If you can't find it countless millions of miles in space,come back to Earth. You might find it just on the other sideof the fence—where the grass is always greener.        The Ship dove into Earth's sea of atmosphere like a great, silverfish.     Inside the ship, a man and woman stood looking down at the expanse ofland that curved away to a growing horizon. They saw the yellow groundcracked like a dried skin; and the polished stone of the mountains andthe seas that were shrunken away in the dust. And they saw how thecity circled the sea, as a circle of men surround a water hole in adesert under a blazing sun.     The ship's radio cried out. You've made it! Thank God! You've madeit!     Another voice, shaking, said, President—Davis is—overwhelmed. Hecan't go on. On his behalf and on behalf of all the people—with ourhope that was almost dead, we greet you. A pause. Please come in!     The voice was silent. The air screamed against the hull of the ship.     I can't tell them, said the man.     Please come in! said the radio. Do you hear me?     The woman looked up at the man. You've got to Michael!     Two thousand years. From one end of the galaxy to the other. Not onegrain of dust we can live on. Just Earth. And it's burned to acinder.     A note of hysteria stabbed into the radio voice. Are you all right?Stand by! We're sending a rescue ship.     They've got a right to know what we've found, said the woman. Theysent us out. They've waited so long—.     He stared into space. It's hopeless. If we'd found another planetthey could live on, they'd do the same as they've done here.     He touched the tiny golden locket that hung around his neck. Rightnow, I could press this and scratch myself and the whole farce wouldbe over.     No. A thousand of us died. You've got to think of them.     We'll go back out into space, he said. It's clean out there. I'mtired. Two thousand years of reincarnation.     She spoke softly. We've been together for a long time. I've lovedyou. I've asked very little. But I need to stay on Earth. Please,Michael.     He looked at her for a moment. Then he flipped a switch. Milky Way toEarth. Never mind the rescue ship. We're all right. We're coming in.  <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>He woke many times in the following days, but the privations of thepassing years had drained his strength and his mind, had made him somuch of a hermit that the presence of other men frightened him to thepoint of gibbering insanity.     He knew that the food and drink were drugged, for after eating henever remembered seeing the men enter the room to care for him and toremove the dirty dishes. But there was enough sanity in his mind toalso realize that, without the gradual reawakening of his senses to thevalue of human companionship, he might not be able to stand the mentalshock of moving about among his people back on Earth.     During those passing days, he savored each new impression, comparingit with what he remembered from that age-long past when he and hisfriends had walked on Earth's great plains and ridden on the oceans'sleek ships or flown with the wings of birds over the mountain ranges.And each impression was doubly enjoyable, for his memory was hazy andconfused.     Gradually, though, his mind cleared; he remembered the past, and he nolonger was afraid of the men who visited him from time to time. Butthere was a strangeness about the men that he could not fathom; theyrefused to talk about anything, any subject, other than the actualrunning of the great ship. Always, when he asked his eager questions,they mumbled and drifted away.     And then in his third week on the rescue ship, he went to sleep onenight while peering from the port hole at the blue ball of Earthswimming in the blackness of space. He slept and he dreamed of theyears he had spent by himself in the drifting, lifeless hulk of the      Mary Lou     . His dreams were vivid, peopled with men and women he hadonce known, and were horrible with the fantasies of terror that yearsof solitary brooding had implanted deep in his mind.  <doc-sep>Noork paddled the long flat dugout strongly away from the twilightshore toward the shadowy loom of the central island. Though he couldnot remember ever having held a paddle before he handled the ungainlyblade well.     After a time the clumsy prow of the craft rammed into a yieldingcushion of mud, and Noork pulled the dugout out of the water into theroofing shelter of a clump of drooping trees growing at the water'sedge.     Sword in hand he pushed inward from the shore and ended with asmothered exclamation against an unseen wall. Trees grew close up tothe wall and a moment later he had climbed out along a horizontalbranch beyond the wall's top, and was lowering his body with the aid ofa braided leather rope to the ground beyond.     He was in a cultivated field his feet and hands told him. And perhapshalf a mile away, faintly illumined by torches and red clots ofbonfires, towered a huge weathered white skull!     Secure in the knowledge that he wore the invisible robes of a MistyOne he found a solitary tree growing within the wall and climbed to acomfortable crotch. In less than a minute he was asleep.     The new slave, a rough voice cut across his slumber abruptly, is thedaughter of Tholon Dist the merchant.     Noork was fully awake now. They were speaking of Sarna. Her father'sname was Tholon Dist. It was early morning in the fields of the MistyOnes and he could see the two golden-skinned slaves who talked togetherbeneath his tree.     That matters not to the priests of Uzdon, the slighter of thetwo slaves, his hair almost white, said. If she be chosen for thesacrifice to great Uzdon her blood will stain the altar no redder thananother's.     But it is always the youngest and most beautiful, complained theyounger slave, that the priests chose. I wish to mate with a beautifulwoman. Tholon Sarna is such a one.     The old man chuckled dryly. If your wife be plain, he said, neithermaster nor fellow slave will steal her love. A slave should choose agood woman—and ugly, my son.     Some night, snarled the slave, I'm going over the wall. Even theMisty Ones will not catch me once I have crossed the lake.     Silence, hissed the white-haired man. Such talk is madness. We aresafe here from wild animals. There are no spotted narls on the islandof Manak. The priests of most holy Uzdon, and their invisible minions,are not unkind.     Get at your weeding of the field, Rold, he finished, and I willcomplete my checking of the gardens.     Noork waited until the old man was gone before he descended from thetree. He walked along the row until he reached the slave's bent back,and he knew by the sudden tightening of the man's shoulder musclesthat his presence was known. He looked down and saw that his feet madeclear-cut depressions in the soft rich soil of the field.       Continue to work, he said to the young man. Do not be too surprisedat what I am about to tell you, Rold. He paused and watched the goldenman's rather stupid face intently.     I am not a Misty One, Noork said. I killed the owner of this strangegarment I wear yesterday on the mainland. I have come to rescue thegirl, Tholon Sarna, of whom you spoke.     Rold's mouth hung open but his hard blunt fingers continued to work.The Misty Ones, then, he said slowly, are not immortal demons! Henodded his long-haired head. They are but men. They too can die.     If you will help me, Rold, said Noork, to rescue the girl and escapefrom the island I will take you along.     Rold was slow in answering. He had been born on the island and yet hispeople were from the valley city of Konto. He knew that they wouldwelcome the news that the Misty Ones were not demons. And the girl fromthe enemy city of Grath was beautiful. Perhaps she would love him forhelping to rescue her and come willingly with him to Konto.     I will help you, stranger, he agreed.     Then tell me of the Skull, and of the priests, and of the prison whereTholon Sarna is held.     The slave's fingers flew. All the young female slaves are cagedtogether in the pit beneath the Skull. When the sun is directlyoverhead the High Priest will choose one of them for sacrifice tomighty Uzdon, most potent of all gods. And with the dawning of thenext day the chosen one will be bound across the altar before greatUzdon's image and her heart torn from her living breast. The slave'smismatched eyes, one blue and the other brown, lifted from his work.     Tholon Sarna is in the pit beneath the Temple with the other femaleslaves. And the Misty Ones stand guard over the entrance to the templepits.     It is enough, said Noork. I will go to rescue her now. Be preparedto join us as we return. I will have a robe for you if all goes well.     If you are captured, cried Rold nervously, you will not tell them Italked with you?     Noork laughed. You never saw me, he told the slave.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in Jinx Ship To The Rescue?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the role of Ivy Hendricks in the story Jinx Ship To The Rescue and how does her character develop? [SEP] <s>A week in space had convinced Strike that he commanded a jinx ship.Jetting sunward from Venus, the cantankerous      Aphrodite     had burned asteering tube through, and it had been necessary to go into free-fallwhile Jenkins, the Assistant E/O, and a damage control party effectedrepairs. When the power was again applied, Old Aphrodisiac was runningten hours behind schedule, and Strike and Evans, the AstrogationOfficer, were sweating out the unforeseen changes introduced into theorbital calculations by the time spent in free-fall.     The      Aphrodite     rumbled on toward the orbit of Mercury....     For all the tension between the occupants of the flying-bridge, Strikeand Ivy Hendricks worked well together. And after a second week inspace, a reluctant admiration was replacing the resentment betweenthem. Ivy spent whatever time she could spare tinkering with herfather's pet surge-circuit and Strike began to realize that there waslittle she did not know about spaceship engineering. Then, too, Ivyspent a lot of time at the controls, and Strike was forced to admitthat he had never seen a finer job of piloting done by man or woman.     And finally, Ivy hated old Brass-bottom Gorman even more than Strikedid. She felt that Gorman had ruined her father's career, and she wasdedicating her life to proving her father right and Brass-bottom wrong.There's nothing in the cosmos to nurture friendship like a common enemy.     At 30,000,000 miles from the sun, the      Aphrodite's     refrigerationunits could no longer keep the interior of the ship at a comfortabletemperature. The thermometer stood at 102°F, the very metal ofthe ship's fittings hot to the touch. Uniforms were discarded,insignia of rank vanished. The men dressed in fiberglass shorts andspaceboots, sweat making their naked bodies gleam like copper under thesodium-vapor lights. The women in the crew added only light blouses totheir shorts ... and suffered from extra clothing.     Strike was in the observation blister forward, when Ensign Grahamcalled to say that she had picked up a radar contact sunward. TheIFF showed the pips to be the      Lachesis     and the      Atropos     . The twodreadnaughts were engaged in coronary research patrol ... a purelyroutine business. But the thing that made Strike curse under his breathwas Celia Graham's notation that the      Atropos     carried none other thanSpace Admiral Horatio Gorman, Cominch Inplan.     Strike thought it a pity that old Brass-bottom couldn't fall intoHell's hottest pit ... and he told Ivy so.     And she agreed.  <doc-sep>Old Aphrodisiac had reached perihelion when it happened. Thethermometer stood at 135° and tempers were snapping. Cob and CeliaGraham had tangled about some minor point concerning Lover-Girl'sweight and balance. Ivy went about her work on the bridge withoutspeaking, and Strike made no attempt to brighten her sudden depression.Lieutenant Evans had punched Bayne, the Tactical Astrophysicist,in the eye for some disparaging remark about Southern Californiawomanhood. The ratings were grumbling about the food....     And then it happened.     Cob was in the radio room when Sparks pulled the flimsy from thescrambler. It was a distress signal from the      Lachesis     . The      Atropos     had burst a fission chamber and was falling into the sun.Radiation made a transfer of personnel impossible, and the      Atropos     skeeterboats didn't have the power to pull away from the looming star.The      Lachesis     had a line on the sister dreadnaught and was valiantlytrying to pull the heavy vessel to safety, but even the thunderingpower of the      Lachesis'     mighty drive wasn't enough to break Sol'sdeathgrip on the battleship.     A fleet of souped-up space-tugs was on its way from Luna and Venusport,but they could not possibly arrive on time. And it was doubtful thateven the tugs had the necessary power to drag the crippled      Atropos     away from a fiery end.     Cob snatched the flimsy from Sparks' hands and galloped for theflying-bridge. He burst in and waved the message excitedly in front ofStrykalski's face.     Have a look at this! Ye gods and little catfish! Read it!     Well, dammit, hold it still so I can! snapped Strike. He read themessage and passed it to Ivy Hendricks with a shake of his head.     She read it through and looked up exultantly. This is      it     ! This isthe chance I've been praying for, Strike!     He returned her gaze sourly. For Gorman to fall into the sun? I recallI said something of the sort myself, but there are other men on thoseships. And, if I know Captain Varni on the      Lachesis     , he won't let gothat line even if he fries himself.     Ivy's eyes snapped angrily. That's not what I meant, and you know it!I mean this! She touched the red-sealed surge-circuit rheostat.     That's very nice, Lieutenant, commented Cob drily. And I know thatyou've been very busy adjusting that gismo. But I seem to recall thatthe last time that circuit was uncorked everyone aboard became part ofthe woodwork ... very messily, too.     Let me understand you, Ivy, said Strike in a flat voice. What youare suggesting is that I risk my ship and the lives of all of us tryingto pull old Gorman's fat out of the fire with a drive that's blownskyhigh three times out of three. Very neat.     There were tears bright in Ivy Hendricks' eyes and she soundeddesperate. But we can save those ships! We can, I      know     we can! Myfather designed this ship! I know every rivet of her! Those idiots offCallisto didn't know what they were doing. These ships needed speciallytrained men. Father told them that! And I'm trained! I can take her inand save those ships! Her expression turned to one of disgust. Or areyou afraid?     Frankly, Ivy, I haven't enough sense to be afraid. But are you socertain that we can pull this off? If I make a mistake this time ...it'll be the last. For all of us.     We can do it, said Ivy Hendricks simply.     Strike turned to Cob. What do you say, Cob? Shall we make it hotter inhere?     Whitley shrugged. If you say so, Strike. It's good enough for me.     Celia Graham left the bridge shaking her head. We'll all be dead soon.And me so young and pretty.     Strike turned to the squawk-box. Evans!     Evans here, came the reply.     Have Sparks get a DF fix on the      Atropos     and hold it. We'll home ontheir carrier wave. They're in trouble and we're going after them. Plotthe course.     Yes, Captain.     Strike turned to Cob. Have the gun-crews stand by to relieve theblack-gang in the tube rooms. It's going to get hotter than the hingesof hell down there and we'll have to shorten shifts.     Yes, sir! Cob saluted and was gone.     Strike returned to the squawk-box. Radar!     Graham here, replied Celia from her station.     Get a radar fix on the      Lachesis     and hold it. Send your dope up toEvans and tell him to send us a range estimate.     Yes, Captain, the girl replied crisply.     Gun deck!     Gun deck here, sir, came a feminine voice.     Have number two starboard torpedo tube loaded with a fish and a spoolof cable. Be ready to let fly on short notice ... any range.     Yes, sir! The girl switched off.     And now you, Miss Hendricks.     Yes, Captain? Her voice was low.     Take over Control ... and Ivy....     Yes?     Don't kill us off. He smiled down at her.     She nodded silently and took her place at the control panel. Smoothlyshe turned old Aphrodisiac's nose sunward....  <doc-sep>The other officers of the      T.R.S. Aphrodite     were in conference withthe Captain when Cob and the girl at his side reached the flyingbridge. She was tall and dark-haired with regular features and paleblue eyes. She wore a service jumper with two silver stripes on theshoulder-straps, and even the shapeless garment could not hide theobvious trimness of her figure.     Strike's back was toward the bulkhead, and he was addressing the others.     ... and that's about the story. We are to jet within 28,000,000 milesof Sol. Orbit is trans-Mercurian hyperbolic. With Mars in opposition,we have to make a perihelion run and it won't be pleasant. But I'mcertain this old boiler can take it. I understand the old boy whodesigned her wasn't as incompetent as they say. But Space Regs arespecific about mail runs. This is important to you, Evans. Yourastrogation has to be accurate to within twenty-five miles plus orminus the shortest route. And there'll be no breaking orbit. Now becertain that the refrigeration units are checked, Mister Wilkins,especially in the hydroponic cells. Pure air is going to be important.     That's about all there is to tell you. As soon as our ratherleisurely E/O gets here, we can jet with Aunt Nelly's postcard. Henodded. That's the story. Lift ship in.... He glanced at his wristchronograph, ... in an hour and five.     The officers filed out and Cob Whitley stuck his head into the room.Captain?     Come in, Cob. Strike's dark brows knit at the sight of the uniformedgirl in the doorway.     Cob's face was sober, but hidden amusement was kindling behind hiseyes. Captain, may I present Lieutenant Hendricks? Lieutenant      I-vy     Hendricks?     Strike looked blankly at the girl.     Our new E/O, Captain, prompted Whitley.     Uh ... welcome aboard, Miss Hendricks, was all the Captain could findto say.     The girl's eyes were cold and unfriendly. Thank you, Captain. Hervoice was like cracked ice tinkling in a glass. If I may have yourpermission to inspect the drives, Captain, I      may     be able toconvince you that the designer of this vessel was not ... as you seemto think ... a senile incompetent.     Strike was perplexed, and he showed it. Why, certainly ... uh ...Miss ... but why should you be so....     The girl's voice was even colder than before as she said, HarlanHendricks, Captain, is my father.  <doc-sep>Lashed together with a length of unbreakable beryllium steel cable,the      Lachesis     and the      Atropos     fell helplessly toward the sun. Thefrantic flame that lashed out from the      Lachesis'     tube was fading, herfission chambers fusing under the terrific heat of splitting atoms.Still she tried. She could not desert her sister ship, nor could shesave her. Already the two ships had fallen to within 18,000,000 milesof the sun's terrifying atmosphere of glowing gases. The prominencesthat spouted spaceward seemed like great fiery tentacles reaching forthe trapped men on board the warships. The atmospheric guiding fins,the gun-turrets and other protuberances on both ships were beginningto melt under the fierce radiance. Only the huge refrigeration plantson the vessels made life within them possible. And, even so, men weredying.     Swiftly, the fat, ungainly shape of old Aphrodisiac drew near. In herflying-bridge, Strike and Ivy Hendricks watched the stricken ships inthe darkened viewport.     The temperature stood at 140° and the air was bitter with the smellof hot metal. Ivy's blouse clung to her body, soaked through withperspiration. Sweat ran from her hair into her eyes and she gaspedfor breath in the oven hot compartment. Strike watched her withapprehension.     Carefully, Ivy circled the two warships. From the starboard tube onthe gun-deck, a homing rocket leapt toward the      Atropos     . It plungedstraight and true, spilling cable as it flew. It slammed up againstthe hull, and stuck there, fast to the battleship's flank. Quickly,a robocrane drew it within the ship and the cable was made secure.Like cosmic replicas of the ancient South American bolas, the threespacecraft whirled in space ... and all three began that sunward plungetogether.        They were diving into the sun.        The heat in the      Aphrodite's     bridge was unbearable. The thermometershowed 145° and it seemed to Strike that Hell must be cool bycomparison.     Ivy fought her reeling senses and the bucking ship as the slack cameout of the cable. Blackness was flickering at the edges of her fieldof vision. She could scarcely lift her hand to the red-sealed circuitrheostat. Shudderingly, she made the effort ... and failed. Conscious,but too spent to move, she collapsed over the blistering hot instrumentpanel.           Ivy!      Strike was beside her, cradling her head in his arm.     I ... I ... can't make it ... Strike. You'll ... have to run ... theshow ... after ... all.     Strike laid her gently in an acceleration chair and turned toward thecontrol panel. His head was throbbing painfully as he broke the seal onthe surge-circuit.     Slowly he turned the rheostat. Relays chattered. From deep withinold Lover-Girl's vitals came a low whine. He fed more power into thecircuit. Cadmium rods slipped into lead sheaths decks below in thetube-rooms. The whining rose in pitch. The spinning of the ships inspace slowed. Stopped. With painful deliberation, they swung into line.     More power. The whine changed to a shriek. A banshee wail.     Cob's voice came through the squawk-box, soberly. Strike, Celia'sfainted down here. We can't take much more of this heat.     We're trying, Cob! shouted Strike over the whine of the circuit. Thegauges showed the accumulators full.       Now!      He spun the rheostat tothe stops, and black space burst over his brain....     The last thing he remembered was a voice. It sounded like Bayne's. Andit was shouting. We're moving 'em! We're pulling away! We're.... Andthat was all.     The space-tug      Scylla     found them.     The three ships ...      Atropos     ,      Lachesis     , and old Aphrodisiac ...lashed together and drifting in space. Every man and woman aboard outcold from the acceleration, and      Aphrodite's     tanks bone dry. But theywere a safe 80,000,000 miles from Sol....  <doc-sep>When he awoke, a rough voice was saying, Okay. Snap out of it.     He opened his eyes and recognized the police commissioner's office. Itwould be hard not to recognize: the room was large, devoid of furnitureexcept for a desk and chairs, but the walls were lined with thecontrols of television screens, electronic calculators and a hundredother machines that formed New York's mechanical police force.     Commissioner Hendricks was a remarkable character. There was somethingwrong with his glands, and he was a huge, greasy bulk of a man withbushy eyebrows and a double chin. His steel-gray eyes showed somethingof his intelligence and he would have gone far in politics if fatehadn't made him so ugly, for more than half the voters who elected mento high political positions were women.     Anyone who knew Hendricks well liked him, for he was a friendly,likable person. But the millions of women voters who saw his face onposters and on their TV screens saw only the ugly face and heard onlythe harsh voice. The President of the United States was a capableman, but also a very handsome one, and the fact that a man who lookedsomething like a bulldog had been elected as New York's policecommissioner was a credit to Hendricks and millions of women voters.     Where's the girl? Joe asked.     I processed her while you were out cold. She left. Joe, you—     Okay, Joe said. I'll save you the trouble. I admit it. Attemptedrape. I confess.     Hendricks smiled. Sorry, Joe. You missed the boat again. He reachedout and turned a dial on his desk top. We had a microphone hidden inthat alley. We have a lot of microphones hidden in a lot of alleys.You'd be surprised at the number of conspiracies that take place inalleys!     Joe listened numbly to his voice as it came from one of the hundreds ofmachines on the walls,       Scream. Scream as loud as you can, and whenthe cops get here, tell 'em I tried to rape you.      And then the girl'svoice,       Sorry, buddy. Can't help—          He waved his hand. Okay. Shut it off. I confess to conspiracy.  <doc-sep>The orchestra was subdued, the officer's club softly lighted. Cobleaned his elbow on the bar and bent to inspect the blue ribbon of theSpatial Cross on Strike's chest. Then he inspected his own and noddedwith tipsy satisfaction. He stared out at the Martian night beyond thebroad windows and back again at Strike. His frown was puzzled.     All right, said Strike, setting down his glass. What's on your mind,Cob? Something's eating you.     Whitley nodded very slowly. He took a long pull at his highball. Iunderstand that you goofballed your chances of getting the      Ganymede     back when Gorman spoke his piece to you....     All I said to him....     I know. I know what you said ... and it won't bear repeating. Butyou're not fooling me. You've fallen for old Lover-Girl and you don'twant to leave her. Ver-ry commendable. Loyal! Stout fellah! But whatabout Ivy?     Ivy?     Cob looked away. I thought that you and she ... well, I thought thatwhen we got back ... well....     Strike shook his head. She's gone to the Bureau of Ships with adesigning job.     Cob waved an expressive arm in the air. But dammit, man, I thought....     The answer is      no     . Ivy's a nice girl ... but.... He paused andsighed. Since she was promoted to her father's old rank ... well....He shrugged. Who wants a wife that ranks you?     Never thought of that, mused Cob. For a long while he was silent;then he pulled out an address book and leafed through until he came tothe pages marked Canalopolis, Mars.     And he was gratified to see that Lieutenant Commander David FarragutStrykalski III was doing the same.   <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>He was having a nightmare when he heard the voice, Hey. Wake up. Hey!     He opened his eyes, saw Hendricks' ugly face and thought for a minutehe was still having the nightmare.     I just saw your doctor, Hendricks said. He says your treatment isover. You can go home now. I thought I'd give you a lift.     As Joe dressed, he searched his mind and tried to find some difference.     During the treatment, he had been unconscious or drugged, unable tothink. Now he could think clearly, but he could find no difference inhimself.     He felt more relaxed than he'd ever felt before, but that could be anafter-effect of all the sedatives he'd been given. And, he noticed whenhe looked in the mirror, he was paler. The treatment had taken monthsand he had, between operations, been locked in his room.     Hendricks was standing by the window. Joe stared at the massive back.Deliberately goading his mind, he discovered the biggest change:Before, the mere sight of the man had aroused an intense hatred. Now,even when he tried, he succeeded in arousing only a mild hatred.They had toned down his capacity to hate, but not done away with italtogether.     Come here and take a look at your public, said Hendricks.     Joe went to the window. Three stories below, a large crowd had gatheredon the hospital steps: a band, photographers, television trucks,cameramen and autograph hunters. He'd waited a long time for this day.But now—another change in him—     He put the emotion into words: I don't feel like a hero. Funny, but Idon't.     Hero! Hendricks laughed and, with his powerful lungs, it soundedlike a bull snorting. You think a successful criminal is a hero? Youstupid—     He laughed again and waved a hand at the crowd below them. You thinkthose people are down there because they admire what you did? They'redown there waiting for you because they're curious, because they'reglad the CPA caught you, and because they're glad you're an Ex. You'rean      ex     -criminal now, and because of your treatment, you'll never beable to commit another crime as long as you live. And that's the kindof guy they admire, so they want to see you, shake your hand and getyour autograph.     Joe didn't understand Hendricks completely, but the part he didunderstand he didn't believe. A crowd was waiting for him. He could seethe people with his own eyes. When he left the hospital, they'd cheerand shout and ask for his autograph. If he wasn't a hero,      what washe     ?  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the role of Ivy Hendricks in the story Jinx Ship To The Rescue and how does her character develop?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the connection between Strike and Aphrodite in Jinx Ship To The Rescue? [SEP] <s>A week in space had convinced Strike that he commanded a jinx ship.Jetting sunward from Venus, the cantankerous      Aphrodite     had burned asteering tube through, and it had been necessary to go into free-fallwhile Jenkins, the Assistant E/O, and a damage control party effectedrepairs. When the power was again applied, Old Aphrodisiac was runningten hours behind schedule, and Strike and Evans, the AstrogationOfficer, were sweating out the unforeseen changes introduced into theorbital calculations by the time spent in free-fall.     The      Aphrodite     rumbled on toward the orbit of Mercury....     For all the tension between the occupants of the flying-bridge, Strikeand Ivy Hendricks worked well together. And after a second week inspace, a reluctant admiration was replacing the resentment betweenthem. Ivy spent whatever time she could spare tinkering with herfather's pet surge-circuit and Strike began to realize that there waslittle she did not know about spaceship engineering. Then, too, Ivyspent a lot of time at the controls, and Strike was forced to admitthat he had never seen a finer job of piloting done by man or woman.     And finally, Ivy hated old Brass-bottom Gorman even more than Strikedid. She felt that Gorman had ruined her father's career, and she wasdedicating her life to proving her father right and Brass-bottom wrong.There's nothing in the cosmos to nurture friendship like a common enemy.     At 30,000,000 miles from the sun, the      Aphrodite's     refrigerationunits could no longer keep the interior of the ship at a comfortabletemperature. The thermometer stood at 102°F, the very metal ofthe ship's fittings hot to the touch. Uniforms were discarded,insignia of rank vanished. The men dressed in fiberglass shorts andspaceboots, sweat making their naked bodies gleam like copper under thesodium-vapor lights. The women in the crew added only light blouses totheir shorts ... and suffered from extra clothing.     Strike was in the observation blister forward, when Ensign Grahamcalled to say that she had picked up a radar contact sunward. TheIFF showed the pips to be the      Lachesis     and the      Atropos     . The twodreadnaughts were engaged in coronary research patrol ... a purelyroutine business. But the thing that made Strike curse under his breathwas Celia Graham's notation that the      Atropos     carried none other thanSpace Admiral Horatio Gorman, Cominch Inplan.     Strike thought it a pity that old Brass-bottom couldn't fall intoHell's hottest pit ... and he told Ivy so.     And she agreed.  <doc-sep>  Jinx Ship To The Rescue     By ALFRED COPPEL, JR.     Stand by for      T.R.S. Aphrodite     , butt of the Space     Navy. She's got something terrific in her guts and only     her ice-cold lady engineer can coax it out of her!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Winter 1948.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Strykalski III of theTellurian Wing, Combined Solarian Navies, stood ankle deep in theviscous mud of Venusport Base and surveyed his new command with ajaundiced eye. The hot, slimy, greenish rain that drenched Venusportfor two-thirds of the 720-hour day had stopped at last, but now amiasmic fog was rising from the surrounding swampland, rolling acrossthe mushy landing ramp toward the grounded spaceship. Visibility wasdropping fast, and soon porto-sonar sets would have to be used to findthe way about the surface Base. It was an ordinary day on Venus.     Strike cursed Space Admiral Gorman and all his ancestors with a wealthof feeling. Then he motioned wearily to his companion, and togetherthey sloshed through the mud toward the ancient monitor.     The scaly bulk of the Tellurian Rocket Ship      Aphrodite     loomedunhappily into the thick air above the two men as they reached theventral valve. Strike raised reluctant eyes to the sloping flank of thefat spaceship.     It looks, he commented bitterly, like a pregnant carp.     Senior Lieutenant Coburn Whitley—Cob to his friends—nodded inagreement. That's our Lover-Girl ... old Aphrodisiac herself. The shipwith the poison personality. Cob was the      Aphrodite's     Executive,and he had been with her a full year ... which was a record for Execson the      Aphrodite     . She generally sent them Earthside with nervousbreakdowns in half that time.     Tell me, Captain, continued Cob curiously, how does it happenthat you of all people happened to draw this tub for a command? Ithought....     You know Gorman? queried Strykalski.     Cob nodded. Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. Old Brass-bottom Gorman?     The same.     Well, Cob ran a hand over his chin speculatively, I know Gorman'sa prize stinker ... but you were in command of the      Ganymede     . And,after all, you come from an old service family and all that. How comethis? He indicated the monitor expressively.     Strike sighed. Well, now, Cob, I'll tell you. You'll be spacing withme and I guess you've a right to know the worst ... not that youwouldn't find it out anyway. I come from a long line of very sharpoperators. Seven generations of officers and gentlemen. Lousy withtradition.     The first David Farragut Strykalski, son of a sea-loving Polishimmigrant, emerged from World War II a four-striper and CongressionalMedal winner. Then came David Farragut Strykalski, Jr., and, in theabortive Atomic War that terrified the world in 1961, he won a UnitedNations Peace Citation. And then came David Farragut Strykalski III ...me.     From such humble beginnings do great traditions grow. But somethinghappened when I came into the picture. I don't fit with the rest ofthem. Call it luck or temperament or what have you.     In the first place I seem to have an uncanny talent for saying thewrong thing to the wrong person. Gorman for example. And I take toomuch on my own initiative. Gorman doesn't like that. I lost the      Ganymede     because I left my station where I was supposed to be runningsection-lines to take on a bunch of colonists I thought were indanger....     The Procyon A people? asked Cob.     So you've heard about it. Strike shook his head sadly. My tacticalastrophysicist warned me that Procyon A might go nova. I left myroutine post and loaded up on colonists. He shrugged. Wrong guess. Nonova. I made an ass of myself and lost the      Ganymede     . Gorman gave itto his former aide. I got this.     Cob coughed slightly. I heard something about Ley City, too.     Me again. The      Ganymede's     whole crew ended up in the Luna Base brig.We celebrated a bit too freely.     Cob Whitley looked admiringly at his new Commander. That was the nightafter the      Ganymede     broke the record for the Centaurus B-Earth run,wasn't it? And then wasn't there something about....     Canalopolis?     Whitley nodded.     That time I called the Martian Ambassador a spy. It was at a TellurianEmbassy Ball.     I begin to see what you mean, Captain.     Strike's the name, Cob.     Whitley's smile was expansive. Strike, I think you're going to likeour old tin pot here. He patted the      Aphrodite's     nether bellyaffectionately. She's old ... but she's loose. And we're not likely tomeet any Ambassadors or Admirals with her, either.     Strykalski sighed, still thinking of his sleek      Ganymede     . She'llcarry the mail, I suppose. And that's about all that's expected of her.     Cob shrugged philosophically. Better than tanking that stinking rocketfuel, anyway. Deep space?     Strike shook his head. Venus-Mars.     Cob scratched his chin speculatively. Perihelion run. Hot work.     Strike was again looking at the spaceship's unprepossessing exterior.A surge-circuit monitor, so help me.     Cob nodded agreement. The last of her class.  <doc-sep>And she was not an inspiring sight. The fantastically misnamed      Aphrodite     was a surge-circuit monitor of twenty guns built some tenyears back in the period immediately preceding the Ionian SubjugationIncident. She had been designed primarily for atomics, with asurge-circuit set-up for interstellar flight. At least that was theplanner's view. In those days, interstellar astrogation was in itsformative stage, and at the time of the      Aphrodite's     launching thesurge-circuit was hailed as the very latest in space drives.     Her designer, Harlan Hendricks, had been awarded a Legion of Meritfor her, and every silver-braided admiral in the Fleet had dreamedof hoisting his flag on one of her class. There had been three. The      Artemis     , the      Andromeda     , and the prototype ... old Aphrodisiac. Thethree vessels had gone into action off Callisto after the Phobos Raidhad set off hostilities between the Ionians and the Solarian Combine.     All three were miserable failures.     The eager officers commanding the three monitors had found the circuittoo appealing to their hot little hands. They used it ... in some way,wrongly.     The      Artemis     exploded. The      Andromeda     vanished in the generaldirection of Coma Berenices glowing white hot from the heat of aruptured fission chamber and spewing gamma rays in all directions.And the      Aphrodite's     starboard tubes blew, causing her to spend herstore of vicious energy spinning like a Fourth of July pinwheel under20 gravities until all her interior fittings ... including crew were atangled, pulpy mess within her pressure hull.     The      Aphrodite     was refitted for space. And because it was an integralpart of her design, the circuit was rebuilt ... and sealed. She becamea workhorse, growing more cantankerous with each passing year. Shecarried personnel.... She trucked ores. She ferried skeeterboats andtanked rocket fuel. Now, she would carry the mail. She would lift fromVenusport and jet to Canalopolis, Mars, without delay or variation.Regulations, tradition and Admiral Gorman of the Inner Planet Fleetrequired it. And it was now up to David Farragut Strykalski III to seeto it that she did....     The Officer of the Deck, a trim blonde girl in spotless greys salutedsmartly as Strike and Cob stepped through the valve.     Strike felt vaguely uncomfortable. He knew, of course, that at least athird of the personnel on board non-combat vessels of the Inner PlanetFleet was female, but he had never actually had women on board a shipof his own, and he felt quite certain that he preferred them elsewhere.     Cob sensed his discomfort. That was Celia Graham, Strike. Ensign.Radar Officer. She's good, too.     Strike shook his head. Don't like women in space. They make meuncomfortable.     Cob shrugged. Celia's the only officer. But about a quarter of ourratings are women. He grinned maliciously. Equal rights, you know.     No doubt, commented the other sourly. Is that why they namedthis ... ship 'Aphrodite'?     Whitley saw fit to consider the question rhetorical and remained silent.     Strike lowered his head to clear the arch of the flying-bridgebulkhead. Cob followed. He trailed his Captain through a jungleof chrome piping to the main control panels. Strike sank into anacceleration chair in front of the red DANGER seal on the surge-circuitrheostat.     Looks like a drug-store fountain, doesn't it? commented Cob.     Strykalski nodded sadly, thinking of the padded smoothness of the      Ganymede's     flying-bridge. But she's home to us, anyway.     The thick Venusian fog had closed in around the top levels of the ship,hugging the ports and cutting off all view of the field outside. Strikereached for the squawk-box control.     Now hear this. All officer personnel will assemble in the flyingbridge at 600 hours for Captain's briefing. Officer of the Deck willrecall any enlisted personnel now on liberty....     Whitley was on his feet, all the slackness gone from his manner.Orders, Captain?     We can't do anything until the new Engineering Officer gets here.They're sending someone down from the      Antigone     , and I expect him by600 hours. In the meantime you'll take over his part of the work. Seeto it that we are fueled and ready to lift ship by 602. Base will startloading the mail at 599:30. That's about all.     Yes, sir. Whitley saluted and turned to go. At the bulkhead, hepaused. Captain, he asked, Who is the new E/O to be?     Strike stretched his long legs out on the steel deck. A LieutenantHendricks, I. V. Hendricks, is what the orders say.     Cob thought hard for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. I. V.Hendricks. He shook his head. Don't know him.  <doc-sep>Lashed together with a length of unbreakable beryllium steel cable,the      Lachesis     and the      Atropos     fell helplessly toward the sun. Thefrantic flame that lashed out from the      Lachesis'     tube was fading, herfission chambers fusing under the terrific heat of splitting atoms.Still she tried. She could not desert her sister ship, nor could shesave her. Already the two ships had fallen to within 18,000,000 milesof the sun's terrifying atmosphere of glowing gases. The prominencesthat spouted spaceward seemed like great fiery tentacles reaching forthe trapped men on board the warships. The atmospheric guiding fins,the gun-turrets and other protuberances on both ships were beginningto melt under the fierce radiance. Only the huge refrigeration plantson the vessels made life within them possible. And, even so, men weredying.     Swiftly, the fat, ungainly shape of old Aphrodisiac drew near. In herflying-bridge, Strike and Ivy Hendricks watched the stricken ships inthe darkened viewport.     The temperature stood at 140° and the air was bitter with the smellof hot metal. Ivy's blouse clung to her body, soaked through withperspiration. Sweat ran from her hair into her eyes and she gaspedfor breath in the oven hot compartment. Strike watched her withapprehension.     Carefully, Ivy circled the two warships. From the starboard tube onthe gun-deck, a homing rocket leapt toward the      Atropos     . It plungedstraight and true, spilling cable as it flew. It slammed up againstthe hull, and stuck there, fast to the battleship's flank. Quickly,a robocrane drew it within the ship and the cable was made secure.Like cosmic replicas of the ancient South American bolas, the threespacecraft whirled in space ... and all three began that sunward plungetogether.        They were diving into the sun.        The heat in the      Aphrodite's     bridge was unbearable. The thermometershowed 145° and it seemed to Strike that Hell must be cool bycomparison.     Ivy fought her reeling senses and the bucking ship as the slack cameout of the cable. Blackness was flickering at the edges of her fieldof vision. She could scarcely lift her hand to the red-sealed circuitrheostat. Shudderingly, she made the effort ... and failed. Conscious,but too spent to move, she collapsed over the blistering hot instrumentpanel.           Ivy!      Strike was beside her, cradling her head in his arm.     I ... I ... can't make it ... Strike. You'll ... have to run ... theshow ... after ... all.     Strike laid her gently in an acceleration chair and turned toward thecontrol panel. His head was throbbing painfully as he broke the seal onthe surge-circuit.     Slowly he turned the rheostat. Relays chattered. From deep withinold Lover-Girl's vitals came a low whine. He fed more power into thecircuit. Cadmium rods slipped into lead sheaths decks below in thetube-rooms. The whining rose in pitch. The spinning of the ships inspace slowed. Stopped. With painful deliberation, they swung into line.     More power. The whine changed to a shriek. A banshee wail.     Cob's voice came through the squawk-box, soberly. Strike, Celia'sfainted down here. We can't take much more of this heat.     We're trying, Cob! shouted Strike over the whine of the circuit. Thegauges showed the accumulators full.       Now!      He spun the rheostat tothe stops, and black space burst over his brain....     The last thing he remembered was a voice. It sounded like Bayne's. Andit was shouting. We're moving 'em! We're pulling away! We're.... Andthat was all.     The space-tug      Scylla     found them.     The three ships ...      Atropos     ,      Lachesis     , and old Aphrodisiac ...lashed together and drifting in space. Every man and woman aboard outcold from the acceleration, and      Aphrodite's     tanks bone dry. But theywere a safe 80,000,000 miles from Sol....  <doc-sep>The other officers of the      T.R.S. Aphrodite     were in conference withthe Captain when Cob and the girl at his side reached the flyingbridge. She was tall and dark-haired with regular features and paleblue eyes. She wore a service jumper with two silver stripes on theshoulder-straps, and even the shapeless garment could not hide theobvious trimness of her figure.     Strike's back was toward the bulkhead, and he was addressing the others.     ... and that's about the story. We are to jet within 28,000,000 milesof Sol. Orbit is trans-Mercurian hyperbolic. With Mars in opposition,we have to make a perihelion run and it won't be pleasant. But I'mcertain this old boiler can take it. I understand the old boy whodesigned her wasn't as incompetent as they say. But Space Regs arespecific about mail runs. This is important to you, Evans. Yourastrogation has to be accurate to within twenty-five miles plus orminus the shortest route. And there'll be no breaking orbit. Now becertain that the refrigeration units are checked, Mister Wilkins,especially in the hydroponic cells. Pure air is going to be important.     That's about all there is to tell you. As soon as our ratherleisurely E/O gets here, we can jet with Aunt Nelly's postcard. Henodded. That's the story. Lift ship in.... He glanced at his wristchronograph, ... in an hour and five.     The officers filed out and Cob Whitley stuck his head into the room.Captain?     Come in, Cob. Strike's dark brows knit at the sight of the uniformedgirl in the doorway.     Cob's face was sober, but hidden amusement was kindling behind hiseyes. Captain, may I present Lieutenant Hendricks? Lieutenant      I-vy     Hendricks?     Strike looked blankly at the girl.     Our new E/O, Captain, prompted Whitley.     Uh ... welcome aboard, Miss Hendricks, was all the Captain could findto say.     The girl's eyes were cold and unfriendly. Thank you, Captain. Hervoice was like cracked ice tinkling in a glass. If I may have yourpermission to inspect the drives, Captain, I      may     be able toconvince you that the designer of this vessel was not ... as you seemto think ... a senile incompetent.     Strike was perplexed, and he showed it. Why, certainly ... uh ...Miss ... but why should you be so....     The girl's voice was even colder than before as she said, HarlanHendricks, Captain, is my father.  <doc-sep>Old Aphrodisiac had reached perihelion when it happened. Thethermometer stood at 135° and tempers were snapping. Cob and CeliaGraham had tangled about some minor point concerning Lover-Girl'sweight and balance. Ivy went about her work on the bridge withoutspeaking, and Strike made no attempt to brighten her sudden depression.Lieutenant Evans had punched Bayne, the Tactical Astrophysicist,in the eye for some disparaging remark about Southern Californiawomanhood. The ratings were grumbling about the food....     And then it happened.     Cob was in the radio room when Sparks pulled the flimsy from thescrambler. It was a distress signal from the      Lachesis     . The      Atropos     had burst a fission chamber and was falling into the sun.Radiation made a transfer of personnel impossible, and the      Atropos     skeeterboats didn't have the power to pull away from the looming star.The      Lachesis     had a line on the sister dreadnaught and was valiantlytrying to pull the heavy vessel to safety, but even the thunderingpower of the      Lachesis'     mighty drive wasn't enough to break Sol'sdeathgrip on the battleship.     A fleet of souped-up space-tugs was on its way from Luna and Venusport,but they could not possibly arrive on time. And it was doubtful thateven the tugs had the necessary power to drag the crippled      Atropos     away from a fiery end.     Cob snatched the flimsy from Sparks' hands and galloped for theflying-bridge. He burst in and waved the message excitedly in front ofStrykalski's face.     Have a look at this! Ye gods and little catfish! Read it!     Well, dammit, hold it still so I can! snapped Strike. He read themessage and passed it to Ivy Hendricks with a shake of his head.     She read it through and looked up exultantly. This is      it     ! This isthe chance I've been praying for, Strike!     He returned her gaze sourly. For Gorman to fall into the sun? I recallI said something of the sort myself, but there are other men on thoseships. And, if I know Captain Varni on the      Lachesis     , he won't let gothat line even if he fries himself.     Ivy's eyes snapped angrily. That's not what I meant, and you know it!I mean this! She touched the red-sealed surge-circuit rheostat.     That's very nice, Lieutenant, commented Cob drily. And I know thatyou've been very busy adjusting that gismo. But I seem to recall thatthe last time that circuit was uncorked everyone aboard became part ofthe woodwork ... very messily, too.     Let me understand you, Ivy, said Strike in a flat voice. What youare suggesting is that I risk my ship and the lives of all of us tryingto pull old Gorman's fat out of the fire with a drive that's blownskyhigh three times out of three. Very neat.     There were tears bright in Ivy Hendricks' eyes and she soundeddesperate. But we can save those ships! We can, I      know     we can! Myfather designed this ship! I know every rivet of her! Those idiots offCallisto didn't know what they were doing. These ships needed speciallytrained men. Father told them that! And I'm trained! I can take her inand save those ships! Her expression turned to one of disgust. Or areyou afraid?     Frankly, Ivy, I haven't enough sense to be afraid. But are you socertain that we can pull this off? If I make a mistake this time ...it'll be the last. For all of us.     We can do it, said Ivy Hendricks simply.     Strike turned to Cob. What do you say, Cob? Shall we make it hotter inhere?     Whitley shrugged. If you say so, Strike. It's good enough for me.     Celia Graham left the bridge shaking her head. We'll all be dead soon.And me so young and pretty.     Strike turned to the squawk-box. Evans!     Evans here, came the reply.     Have Sparks get a DF fix on the      Atropos     and hold it. We'll home ontheir carrier wave. They're in trouble and we're going after them. Plotthe course.     Yes, Captain.     Strike turned to Cob. Have the gun-crews stand by to relieve theblack-gang in the tube rooms. It's going to get hotter than the hingesof hell down there and we'll have to shorten shifts.     Yes, sir! Cob saluted and was gone.     Strike returned to the squawk-box. Radar!     Graham here, replied Celia from her station.     Get a radar fix on the      Lachesis     and hold it. Send your dope up toEvans and tell him to send us a range estimate.     Yes, Captain, the girl replied crisply.     Gun deck!     Gun deck here, sir, came a feminine voice.     Have number two starboard torpedo tube loaded with a fish and a spoolof cable. Be ready to let fly on short notice ... any range.     Yes, sir! The girl switched off.     And now you, Miss Hendricks.     Yes, Captain? Her voice was low.     Take over Control ... and Ivy....     Yes?     Don't kill us off. He smiled down at her.     She nodded silently and took her place at the control panel. Smoothlyshe turned old Aphrodisiac's nose sunward....  <doc-sep>They sat, staring at the monsters for about a minute. Hathaway feltfunny about something; didn't know what. Something about these monstersand Gunther and—     Which one will you be having? asked Irish, casually. A red one or ablue one?     Hathaway laughed nervously. A pink one with yellow ruffles—Good God,now you've got      me     doing it. Joking in the face of death.     Me father taught me; keep laughing and you'll have Irish luck.     That didn't please the photographer. I'm an Anglo-Swede, he pointedout.     Marnagan shifted uneasily. Here, now. You're doing nothing butsitting, looking like a little boy locked in a bedroom closet, so takeme a profile shot of the beasties and myself.     Hathaway petted his camera reluctantly. What in hell's the use? Allthis swell film shot. Nobody'll ever see it.     Then, retorted Marnagan, we'll develop it for our own benefit; whilewaitin' for the U.S. Cavalry to come riding over the hill to ourrescue!     Hathaway snorted. U.S. Cavalry.     Marnagan raised his proton-gun dramatically. Snap me this pose, hesaid. I paid your salary to trot along, photographing, we hoped,my capture of Gunther, now the least you can do is record peacenegotiations betwixt me and these pixies.     Marnagan wasn't fooling anybody. Hathaway knew the superficial palaverfor nothing but a covering over the fast, furious thinking runningaround in that red-cropped skull. Hathaway played the palaver, too, buthis mind was whirring faster than his camera as he spun a picture ofMarnagan standing there with a useless gun pointed at the animals.     Montage. Marnagan sitting, chatting at the monsters. Marnagan smilingfor the camera. Marnagan in profile. Marnagan looking grim, withoutmuch effort, for the camera. And then, a closeup of the thrashing deathwall that holed them in. Click took them all, those shots, not sayinganything. Nobody fooled nobody with this act. Death was near and theyhad sweaty faces, dry mouths and frozen guts.     When Click finished filming, Irish sat down to save oxygen, and used itup arguing about Gunther. Click came back at him:     Gunther drew us down here, sure as Ceres! That gravity change we feltback on that ridge, Irish; that proves it. Gunther's short on men. So,what's he do; he builds an asteroid-base, and drags ships down. Spacewar isn't perfect yet, guns don't prime true in space, trajectoryis lousy over long distances. So what's the best weapon, whichdispenses with losing valuable, rare ships and a small bunch of men?Super-gravity and a couple of well-tossed meteors. Saves all around.It's a good front, this damned iron pebble. From it, Gunther strikesunseen; ships simply crash, that's all. A subtle hand, with all aces.     Marnagan rumbled. Where is the dirty son, then!     He didn't have to appear, Irish. He sent—them. Hathaway nodded atthe beasts. People crashing here die from air-lack, no food, or fromwounds caused at the crackup. If they survive all that—the animalstend to them. It all looks like Nature was responsible. See how subtlehis attack is? Looks like accidental death instead of murder, if thePatrol happens to land and finds us. No reason for undue investigation,then.     I don't see no Base around.  <doc-sep>   DELAY IN TRANSIT     By F. L. WALLACE     Illustrated by SIBLEY     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction September 1952.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        An unprovoked, meaningless night attack is       terrifying enough on your own home planet, worse       on a world across the Galaxy. But the horror       is the offer of help that cannot be accepted!        Muscles tense, said Dimanche. Neural index 1.76, unusually high.Adrenalin squirting through his system. In effect, he's stalking you.Intent: probably assault with a deadly weapon.     Not interested, said Cassal firmly, his subvocalization inaudibleto anyone but Dimanche. I'm not the victim type. He was standing onthe walkway near the brink of the thoroughfare. I'm going back to thehabitat hotel and sit tight.     First you have to get there, Dimanche pointed out. I mean, is itsafe for a stranger to walk through the city?     Now that you mention it, no, answered Cassal. He looked aroundapprehensively. Where is he?       Behind you. At the moment he's pretending interest in a merchandisedisplay.     A native stamped by, eyes brown and incurious. Apparently he wasaccustomed to the sight of an Earthman standing alone, Adam's applebobbing up and down silently. It was a Godolphian axiom that alltravelers were crazy.     Cassal looked up. Not an air taxi in sight; Godolph shut down at dusk.It would be pure luck if he found a taxi before morning. Of course he      could     walk back to the hotel, but was that such a good idea?     A Godolphian city was peculiar. And, though not intended, it waspeculiarly suited to certain kinds of violence. A human pedestrian wasat a definite disadvantage.     Correction, said Dimanche. Not simple assault. He has murder inmind.     It still doesn't appeal to me, said Cassal. Striving to lookunconcerned, he strolled toward the building side of the walkway andstared into the interior of a small cafe. Warm, bright and dry. Inside,he might find safety for a time.     Damn the man who was following him! It would be easy enough to eludehim in a normal city. On Godolph, nothing was normal. In an hour thestreets would be brightly lighted—for native eyes. A human wouldconsider it dim.     Why did he choose me? asked Cassal plaintively. There must besomething he hopes to gain.     I'm working on it, said Dimanche. But remember, I have limitations.At short distances I can scan nervous systems, collect and interpretphysiological data. I can't read minds. The best I can do is reportwhat a person says or subvocalizes. If you're really interested infinding out why he wants to kill you, I suggest you turn the problemover to the godawful police.     Godolph, not godawful, corrected Cassal absently.     That was advice he couldn't follow, good as it seemed. He could givethe police no evidence save through Dimanche. There were variousreasons, many of them involving the law, for leaving the device calledDimanche out of it. The police would act if they found a body. His own,say, floating face-down on some quiet street. That didn't seem theproper approach, either.     Weapons?     The first thing I searched him for. Nothing very dangerous. A longknife, a hard striking object. Both concealed on his person.     Cassal strangled slightly. Dimanche needed a good stiff course insemantics. A knife was still the most silent of weapons. A man coulddie from it. His hand strayed toward his pocket. He had a measure ofprotection himself.     Report, said Dimanche. Not necessarily final. Based, perhaps, ontenuous evidence.     Let's have it anyway.     His motivation is connected somehow with your being marooned here. Forsome reason you can't get off this planet.     That was startling information, though not strictly true. A thousandstar systems were waiting for him, and a ship to take him to each one.     Of course, the one ship he wanted hadn't come in. Godolph was atransfer point for stars nearer the center of the Galaxy. When hehad left Earth, he had known he would have to wait a few days here.He hadn't expected a delay of nearly three weeks. Still, it wasn'tunusual. Interstellar schedules over great distances were not asreliable as they might be.     Was this man, whoever and whatever he might be, connected withthat delay? According to Dimanche, the man thought he was. He wasself-deluded or did he have access to information that Cassal didn't?  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the connection between Strike and Aphrodite in Jinx Ship To The Rescue?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the backdrop of the story Jinx Ship To The Rescue? [SEP] <s>  Jinx Ship To The Rescue     By ALFRED COPPEL, JR.     Stand by for      T.R.S. Aphrodite     , butt of the Space     Navy. She's got something terrific in her guts and only     her ice-cold lady engineer can coax it out of her!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Winter 1948.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Strykalski III of theTellurian Wing, Combined Solarian Navies, stood ankle deep in theviscous mud of Venusport Base and surveyed his new command with ajaundiced eye. The hot, slimy, greenish rain that drenched Venusportfor two-thirds of the 720-hour day had stopped at last, but now amiasmic fog was rising from the surrounding swampland, rolling acrossthe mushy landing ramp toward the grounded spaceship. Visibility wasdropping fast, and soon porto-sonar sets would have to be used to findthe way about the surface Base. It was an ordinary day on Venus.     Strike cursed Space Admiral Gorman and all his ancestors with a wealthof feeling. Then he motioned wearily to his companion, and togetherthey sloshed through the mud toward the ancient monitor.     The scaly bulk of the Tellurian Rocket Ship      Aphrodite     loomedunhappily into the thick air above the two men as they reached theventral valve. Strike raised reluctant eyes to the sloping flank of thefat spaceship.     It looks, he commented bitterly, like a pregnant carp.     Senior Lieutenant Coburn Whitley—Cob to his friends—nodded inagreement. That's our Lover-Girl ... old Aphrodisiac herself. The shipwith the poison personality. Cob was the      Aphrodite's     Executive,and he had been with her a full year ... which was a record for Execson the      Aphrodite     . She generally sent them Earthside with nervousbreakdowns in half that time.     Tell me, Captain, continued Cob curiously, how does it happenthat you of all people happened to draw this tub for a command? Ithought....     You know Gorman? queried Strykalski.     Cob nodded. Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. Old Brass-bottom Gorman?     The same.     Well, Cob ran a hand over his chin speculatively, I know Gorman'sa prize stinker ... but you were in command of the      Ganymede     . And,after all, you come from an old service family and all that. How comethis? He indicated the monitor expressively.     Strike sighed. Well, now, Cob, I'll tell you. You'll be spacing withme and I guess you've a right to know the worst ... not that youwouldn't find it out anyway. I come from a long line of very sharpoperators. Seven generations of officers and gentlemen. Lousy withtradition.     The first David Farragut Strykalski, son of a sea-loving Polishimmigrant, emerged from World War II a four-striper and CongressionalMedal winner. Then came David Farragut Strykalski, Jr., and, in theabortive Atomic War that terrified the world in 1961, he won a UnitedNations Peace Citation. And then came David Farragut Strykalski III ...me.     From such humble beginnings do great traditions grow. But somethinghappened when I came into the picture. I don't fit with the rest ofthem. Call it luck or temperament or what have you.     In the first place I seem to have an uncanny talent for saying thewrong thing to the wrong person. Gorman for example. And I take toomuch on my own initiative. Gorman doesn't like that. I lost the      Ganymede     because I left my station where I was supposed to be runningsection-lines to take on a bunch of colonists I thought were indanger....     The Procyon A people? asked Cob.     So you've heard about it. Strike shook his head sadly. My tacticalastrophysicist warned me that Procyon A might go nova. I left myroutine post and loaded up on colonists. He shrugged. Wrong guess. Nonova. I made an ass of myself and lost the      Ganymede     . Gorman gave itto his former aide. I got this.     Cob coughed slightly. I heard something about Ley City, too.     Me again. The      Ganymede's     whole crew ended up in the Luna Base brig.We celebrated a bit too freely.     Cob Whitley looked admiringly at his new Commander. That was the nightafter the      Ganymede     broke the record for the Centaurus B-Earth run,wasn't it? And then wasn't there something about....     Canalopolis?     Whitley nodded.     That time I called the Martian Ambassador a spy. It was at a TellurianEmbassy Ball.     I begin to see what you mean, Captain.     Strike's the name, Cob.     Whitley's smile was expansive. Strike, I think you're going to likeour old tin pot here. He patted the      Aphrodite's     nether bellyaffectionately. She's old ... but she's loose. And we're not likely tomeet any Ambassadors or Admirals with her, either.     Strykalski sighed, still thinking of his sleek      Ganymede     . She'llcarry the mail, I suppose. And that's about all that's expected of her.     Cob shrugged philosophically. Better than tanking that stinking rocketfuel, anyway. Deep space?     Strike shook his head. Venus-Mars.     Cob scratched his chin speculatively. Perihelion run. Hot work.     Strike was again looking at the spaceship's unprepossessing exterior.A surge-circuit monitor, so help me.     Cob nodded agreement. The last of her class.  <doc-sep>A week in space had convinced Strike that he commanded a jinx ship.Jetting sunward from Venus, the cantankerous      Aphrodite     had burned asteering tube through, and it had been necessary to go into free-fallwhile Jenkins, the Assistant E/O, and a damage control party effectedrepairs. When the power was again applied, Old Aphrodisiac was runningten hours behind schedule, and Strike and Evans, the AstrogationOfficer, were sweating out the unforeseen changes introduced into theorbital calculations by the time spent in free-fall.     The      Aphrodite     rumbled on toward the orbit of Mercury....     For all the tension between the occupants of the flying-bridge, Strikeand Ivy Hendricks worked well together. And after a second week inspace, a reluctant admiration was replacing the resentment betweenthem. Ivy spent whatever time she could spare tinkering with herfather's pet surge-circuit and Strike began to realize that there waslittle she did not know about spaceship engineering. Then, too, Ivyspent a lot of time at the controls, and Strike was forced to admitthat he had never seen a finer job of piloting done by man or woman.     And finally, Ivy hated old Brass-bottom Gorman even more than Strikedid. She felt that Gorman had ruined her father's career, and she wasdedicating her life to proving her father right and Brass-bottom wrong.There's nothing in the cosmos to nurture friendship like a common enemy.     At 30,000,000 miles from the sun, the      Aphrodite's     refrigerationunits could no longer keep the interior of the ship at a comfortabletemperature. The thermometer stood at 102°F, the very metal ofthe ship's fittings hot to the touch. Uniforms were discarded,insignia of rank vanished. The men dressed in fiberglass shorts andspaceboots, sweat making their naked bodies gleam like copper under thesodium-vapor lights. The women in the crew added only light blouses totheir shorts ... and suffered from extra clothing.     Strike was in the observation blister forward, when Ensign Grahamcalled to say that she had picked up a radar contact sunward. TheIFF showed the pips to be the      Lachesis     and the      Atropos     . The twodreadnaughts were engaged in coronary research patrol ... a purelyroutine business. But the thing that made Strike curse under his breathwas Celia Graham's notation that the      Atropos     carried none other thanSpace Admiral Horatio Gorman, Cominch Inplan.     Strike thought it a pity that old Brass-bottom couldn't fall intoHell's hottest pit ... and he told Ivy so.     And she agreed.  <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>  Transcriber's Note:     This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science Fiction June 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.         THE VALLEY       By Richard Stockham       Illustrated by Ed Emsh         If you can't find it countless millions of miles in space,come back to Earth. You might find it just on the other sideof the fence—where the grass is always greener.        The Ship dove into Earth's sea of atmosphere like a great, silverfish.     Inside the ship, a man and woman stood looking down at the expanse ofland that curved away to a growing horizon. They saw the yellow groundcracked like a dried skin; and the polished stone of the mountains andthe seas that were shrunken away in the dust. And they saw how thecity circled the sea, as a circle of men surround a water hole in adesert under a blazing sun.     The ship's radio cried out. You've made it! Thank God! You've madeit!     Another voice, shaking, said, President—Davis is—overwhelmed. Hecan't go on. On his behalf and on behalf of all the people—with ourhope that was almost dead, we greet you. A pause. Please come in!     The voice was silent. The air screamed against the hull of the ship.     I can't tell them, said the man.     Please come in! said the radio. Do you hear me?     The woman looked up at the man. You've got to Michael!     Two thousand years. From one end of the galaxy to the other. Not onegrain of dust we can live on. Just Earth. And it's burned to acinder.     A note of hysteria stabbed into the radio voice. Are you all right?Stand by! We're sending a rescue ship.     They've got a right to know what we've found, said the woman. Theysent us out. They've waited so long—.     He stared into space. It's hopeless. If we'd found another planetthey could live on, they'd do the same as they've done here.     He touched the tiny golden locket that hung around his neck. Rightnow, I could press this and scratch myself and the whole farce wouldbe over.     No. A thousand of us died. You've got to think of them.     We'll go back out into space, he said. It's clean out there. I'mtired. Two thousand years of reincarnation.     She spoke softly. We've been together for a long time. I've lovedyou. I've asked very little. But I need to stay on Earth. Please,Michael.     He looked at her for a moment. Then he flipped a switch. Milky Way toEarth. Never mind the rescue ship. We're all right. We're coming in.  <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>He woke many times in the following days, but the privations of thepassing years had drained his strength and his mind, had made him somuch of a hermit that the presence of other men frightened him to thepoint of gibbering insanity.     He knew that the food and drink were drugged, for after eating henever remembered seeing the men enter the room to care for him and toremove the dirty dishes. But there was enough sanity in his mind toalso realize that, without the gradual reawakening of his senses to thevalue of human companionship, he might not be able to stand the mentalshock of moving about among his people back on Earth.     During those passing days, he savored each new impression, comparingit with what he remembered from that age-long past when he and hisfriends had walked on Earth's great plains and ridden on the oceans'sleek ships or flown with the wings of birds over the mountain ranges.And each impression was doubly enjoyable, for his memory was hazy andconfused.     Gradually, though, his mind cleared; he remembered the past, and he nolonger was afraid of the men who visited him from time to time. Butthere was a strangeness about the men that he could not fathom; theyrefused to talk about anything, any subject, other than the actualrunning of the great ship. Always, when he asked his eager questions,they mumbled and drifted away.     And then in his third week on the rescue ship, he went to sleep onenight while peering from the port hole at the blue ball of Earthswimming in the blackness of space. He slept and he dreamed of theyears he had spent by himself in the drifting, lifeless hulk of the      Mary Lou     . His dreams were vivid, peopled with men and women he hadonce known, and were horrible with the fantasies of terror that yearsof solitary brooding had implanted deep in his mind.  <doc-sep>Noork paddled the long flat dugout strongly away from the twilightshore toward the shadowy loom of the central island. Though he couldnot remember ever having held a paddle before he handled the ungainlyblade well.     After a time the clumsy prow of the craft rammed into a yieldingcushion of mud, and Noork pulled the dugout out of the water into theroofing shelter of a clump of drooping trees growing at the water'sedge.     Sword in hand he pushed inward from the shore and ended with asmothered exclamation against an unseen wall. Trees grew close up tothe wall and a moment later he had climbed out along a horizontalbranch beyond the wall's top, and was lowering his body with the aid ofa braided leather rope to the ground beyond.     He was in a cultivated field his feet and hands told him. And perhapshalf a mile away, faintly illumined by torches and red clots ofbonfires, towered a huge weathered white skull!     Secure in the knowledge that he wore the invisible robes of a MistyOne he found a solitary tree growing within the wall and climbed to acomfortable crotch. In less than a minute he was asleep.     The new slave, a rough voice cut across his slumber abruptly, is thedaughter of Tholon Dist the merchant.     Noork was fully awake now. They were speaking of Sarna. Her father'sname was Tholon Dist. It was early morning in the fields of the MistyOnes and he could see the two golden-skinned slaves who talked togetherbeneath his tree.     That matters not to the priests of Uzdon, the slighter of thetwo slaves, his hair almost white, said. If she be chosen for thesacrifice to great Uzdon her blood will stain the altar no redder thananother's.     But it is always the youngest and most beautiful, complained theyounger slave, that the priests chose. I wish to mate with a beautifulwoman. Tholon Sarna is such a one.     The old man chuckled dryly. If your wife be plain, he said, neithermaster nor fellow slave will steal her love. A slave should choose agood woman—and ugly, my son.     Some night, snarled the slave, I'm going over the wall. Even theMisty Ones will not catch me once I have crossed the lake.     Silence, hissed the white-haired man. Such talk is madness. We aresafe here from wild animals. There are no spotted narls on the islandof Manak. The priests of most holy Uzdon, and their invisible minions,are not unkind.     Get at your weeding of the field, Rold, he finished, and I willcomplete my checking of the gardens.     Noork waited until the old man was gone before he descended from thetree. He walked along the row until he reached the slave's bent back,and he knew by the sudden tightening of the man's shoulder musclesthat his presence was known. He looked down and saw that his feet madeclear-cut depressions in the soft rich soil of the field.       Continue to work, he said to the young man. Do not be too surprisedat what I am about to tell you, Rold. He paused and watched the goldenman's rather stupid face intently.     I am not a Misty One, Noork said. I killed the owner of this strangegarment I wear yesterday on the mainland. I have come to rescue thegirl, Tholon Sarna, of whom you spoke.     Rold's mouth hung open but his hard blunt fingers continued to work.The Misty Ones, then, he said slowly, are not immortal demons! Henodded his long-haired head. They are but men. They too can die.     If you will help me, Rold, said Noork, to rescue the girl and escapefrom the island I will take you along.     Rold was slow in answering. He had been born on the island and yet hispeople were from the valley city of Konto. He knew that they wouldwelcome the news that the Misty Ones were not demons. And the girl fromthe enemy city of Grath was beautiful. Perhaps she would love him forhelping to rescue her and come willingly with him to Konto.     I will help you, stranger, he agreed.     Then tell me of the Skull, and of the priests, and of the prison whereTholon Sarna is held.     The slave's fingers flew. All the young female slaves are cagedtogether in the pit beneath the Skull. When the sun is directlyoverhead the High Priest will choose one of them for sacrifice tomighty Uzdon, most potent of all gods. And with the dawning of thenext day the chosen one will be bound across the altar before greatUzdon's image and her heart torn from her living breast. The slave'smismatched eyes, one blue and the other brown, lifted from his work.     Tholon Sarna is in the pit beneath the Temple with the other femaleslaves. And the Misty Ones stand guard over the entrance to the templepits.     It is enough, said Noork. I will go to rescue her now. Be preparedto join us as we return. I will have a robe for you if all goes well.     If you are captured, cried Rold nervously, you will not tell them Italked with you?     Noork laughed. You never saw me, he told the slave.  <doc-sep>Jorj turned, smiling. And now, gentlemen, while we wait for Maizieto celebrate, there should be just enough time for us to watch thetakeoff of the Mars rocket. He switched on a giant television screen.The others made a quarter turn, and there before them glowed the richochres and blues of a New Mexico sunrise and, in the middle distance, asilvery mighty spindle.     Like the generals, the Secretary of Space suppressed a scowl. Herewas something that ought to be spang in the center of his officialterritory, and the Thinkers had locked him completely out of it. Thatrocket there—just an ordinary Earth satellite vehicle commandeeredfrom the Army, but equipped by the Thinkers with Maizie-designednuclear motors capable of the Mars journey and more. The firstspaceship—and the Secretary of Space was not in on it!     Still, he told himself, Maizie had decreed it that way. And whenhe remembered what the Thinkers had done for him in rescuing himfrom breakdown with their mental science, in rescuing the wholeAdministration from collapse he realized he had to be satisfied. Andthat was without taking into consideration the amazing additionalmental discoveries that the Thinkers were bringing down from Mars.     Lord, the President said to Jorj as if voicing the Secretary'sfeeling, I wish you people could bring a couple of those wise littledevils back with you this trip. Be a good thing for the country.     Jorj looked at him a bit coldly. It's quite unthinkable, he said.The telepathic abilities of the Martians make them extremelysensitive. The conflicts of ordinary Earth minds would impinge on thempsychotically, even fatally. As you know, the Thinkers were able tocontact them only because of our degree of learned mental poise anderrorless memory-chains. So for the present it must be our task aloneto glean from the Martians their astounding mental skills. Of course,some day in the future, when we have discovered how to armor the mindsof the Martians—     Sure, I know, the President said hastily. Shouldn't have mentionedit, Jorj.     Conversation ceased. They waited with growing tension for the greatviolet flames to bloom from the base of the silvery shaft.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the backdrop of the story Jinx Ship To The Rescue?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the story of Jinx Ship To The Rescue and how does it involve Strike? [SEP] <s>A week in space had convinced Strike that he commanded a jinx ship.Jetting sunward from Venus, the cantankerous      Aphrodite     had burned asteering tube through, and it had been necessary to go into free-fallwhile Jenkins, the Assistant E/O, and a damage control party effectedrepairs. When the power was again applied, Old Aphrodisiac was runningten hours behind schedule, and Strike and Evans, the AstrogationOfficer, were sweating out the unforeseen changes introduced into theorbital calculations by the time spent in free-fall.     The      Aphrodite     rumbled on toward the orbit of Mercury....     For all the tension between the occupants of the flying-bridge, Strikeand Ivy Hendricks worked well together. And after a second week inspace, a reluctant admiration was replacing the resentment betweenthem. Ivy spent whatever time she could spare tinkering with herfather's pet surge-circuit and Strike began to realize that there waslittle she did not know about spaceship engineering. Then, too, Ivyspent a lot of time at the controls, and Strike was forced to admitthat he had never seen a finer job of piloting done by man or woman.     And finally, Ivy hated old Brass-bottom Gorman even more than Strikedid. She felt that Gorman had ruined her father's career, and she wasdedicating her life to proving her father right and Brass-bottom wrong.There's nothing in the cosmos to nurture friendship like a common enemy.     At 30,000,000 miles from the sun, the      Aphrodite's     refrigerationunits could no longer keep the interior of the ship at a comfortabletemperature. The thermometer stood at 102°F, the very metal ofthe ship's fittings hot to the touch. Uniforms were discarded,insignia of rank vanished. The men dressed in fiberglass shorts andspaceboots, sweat making their naked bodies gleam like copper under thesodium-vapor lights. The women in the crew added only light blouses totheir shorts ... and suffered from extra clothing.     Strike was in the observation blister forward, when Ensign Grahamcalled to say that she had picked up a radar contact sunward. TheIFF showed the pips to be the      Lachesis     and the      Atropos     . The twodreadnaughts were engaged in coronary research patrol ... a purelyroutine business. But the thing that made Strike curse under his breathwas Celia Graham's notation that the      Atropos     carried none other thanSpace Admiral Horatio Gorman, Cominch Inplan.     Strike thought it a pity that old Brass-bottom couldn't fall intoHell's hottest pit ... and he told Ivy so.     And she agreed.  <doc-sep>  Jinx Ship To The Rescue     By ALFRED COPPEL, JR.     Stand by for      T.R.S. Aphrodite     , butt of the Space     Navy. She's got something terrific in her guts and only     her ice-cold lady engineer can coax it out of her!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Winter 1948.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Strykalski III of theTellurian Wing, Combined Solarian Navies, stood ankle deep in theviscous mud of Venusport Base and surveyed his new command with ajaundiced eye. The hot, slimy, greenish rain that drenched Venusportfor two-thirds of the 720-hour day had stopped at last, but now amiasmic fog was rising from the surrounding swampland, rolling acrossthe mushy landing ramp toward the grounded spaceship. Visibility wasdropping fast, and soon porto-sonar sets would have to be used to findthe way about the surface Base. It was an ordinary day on Venus.     Strike cursed Space Admiral Gorman and all his ancestors with a wealthof feeling. Then he motioned wearily to his companion, and togetherthey sloshed through the mud toward the ancient monitor.     The scaly bulk of the Tellurian Rocket Ship      Aphrodite     loomedunhappily into the thick air above the two men as they reached theventral valve. Strike raised reluctant eyes to the sloping flank of thefat spaceship.     It looks, he commented bitterly, like a pregnant carp.     Senior Lieutenant Coburn Whitley—Cob to his friends—nodded inagreement. That's our Lover-Girl ... old Aphrodisiac herself. The shipwith the poison personality. Cob was the      Aphrodite's     Executive,and he had been with her a full year ... which was a record for Execson the      Aphrodite     . She generally sent them Earthside with nervousbreakdowns in half that time.     Tell me, Captain, continued Cob curiously, how does it happenthat you of all people happened to draw this tub for a command? Ithought....     You know Gorman? queried Strykalski.     Cob nodded. Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. Old Brass-bottom Gorman?     The same.     Well, Cob ran a hand over his chin speculatively, I know Gorman'sa prize stinker ... but you were in command of the      Ganymede     . And,after all, you come from an old service family and all that. How comethis? He indicated the monitor expressively.     Strike sighed. Well, now, Cob, I'll tell you. You'll be spacing withme and I guess you've a right to know the worst ... not that youwouldn't find it out anyway. I come from a long line of very sharpoperators. Seven generations of officers and gentlemen. Lousy withtradition.     The first David Farragut Strykalski, son of a sea-loving Polishimmigrant, emerged from World War II a four-striper and CongressionalMedal winner. Then came David Farragut Strykalski, Jr., and, in theabortive Atomic War that terrified the world in 1961, he won a UnitedNations Peace Citation. And then came David Farragut Strykalski III ...me.     From such humble beginnings do great traditions grow. But somethinghappened when I came into the picture. I don't fit with the rest ofthem. Call it luck or temperament or what have you.     In the first place I seem to have an uncanny talent for saying thewrong thing to the wrong person. Gorman for example. And I take toomuch on my own initiative. Gorman doesn't like that. I lost the      Ganymede     because I left my station where I was supposed to be runningsection-lines to take on a bunch of colonists I thought were indanger....     The Procyon A people? asked Cob.     So you've heard about it. Strike shook his head sadly. My tacticalastrophysicist warned me that Procyon A might go nova. I left myroutine post and loaded up on colonists. He shrugged. Wrong guess. Nonova. I made an ass of myself and lost the      Ganymede     . Gorman gave itto his former aide. I got this.     Cob coughed slightly. I heard something about Ley City, too.     Me again. The      Ganymede's     whole crew ended up in the Luna Base brig.We celebrated a bit too freely.     Cob Whitley looked admiringly at his new Commander. That was the nightafter the      Ganymede     broke the record for the Centaurus B-Earth run,wasn't it? And then wasn't there something about....     Canalopolis?     Whitley nodded.     That time I called the Martian Ambassador a spy. It was at a TellurianEmbassy Ball.     I begin to see what you mean, Captain.     Strike's the name, Cob.     Whitley's smile was expansive. Strike, I think you're going to likeour old tin pot here. He patted the      Aphrodite's     nether bellyaffectionately. She's old ... but she's loose. And we're not likely tomeet any Ambassadors or Admirals with her, either.     Strykalski sighed, still thinking of his sleek      Ganymede     . She'llcarry the mail, I suppose. And that's about all that's expected of her.     Cob shrugged philosophically. Better than tanking that stinking rocketfuel, anyway. Deep space?     Strike shook his head. Venus-Mars.     Cob scratched his chin speculatively. Perihelion run. Hot work.     Strike was again looking at the spaceship's unprepossessing exterior.A surge-circuit monitor, so help me.     Cob nodded agreement. The last of her class.  <doc-sep>Lashed together with a length of unbreakable beryllium steel cable,the      Lachesis     and the      Atropos     fell helplessly toward the sun. Thefrantic flame that lashed out from the      Lachesis'     tube was fading, herfission chambers fusing under the terrific heat of splitting atoms.Still she tried. She could not desert her sister ship, nor could shesave her. Already the two ships had fallen to within 18,000,000 milesof the sun's terrifying atmosphere of glowing gases. The prominencesthat spouted spaceward seemed like great fiery tentacles reaching forthe trapped men on board the warships. The atmospheric guiding fins,the gun-turrets and other protuberances on both ships were beginningto melt under the fierce radiance. Only the huge refrigeration plantson the vessels made life within them possible. And, even so, men weredying.     Swiftly, the fat, ungainly shape of old Aphrodisiac drew near. In herflying-bridge, Strike and Ivy Hendricks watched the stricken ships inthe darkened viewport.     The temperature stood at 140° and the air was bitter with the smellof hot metal. Ivy's blouse clung to her body, soaked through withperspiration. Sweat ran from her hair into her eyes and she gaspedfor breath in the oven hot compartment. Strike watched her withapprehension.     Carefully, Ivy circled the two warships. From the starboard tube onthe gun-deck, a homing rocket leapt toward the      Atropos     . It plungedstraight and true, spilling cable as it flew. It slammed up againstthe hull, and stuck there, fast to the battleship's flank. Quickly,a robocrane drew it within the ship and the cable was made secure.Like cosmic replicas of the ancient South American bolas, the threespacecraft whirled in space ... and all three began that sunward plungetogether.        They were diving into the sun.        The heat in the      Aphrodite's     bridge was unbearable. The thermometershowed 145° and it seemed to Strike that Hell must be cool bycomparison.     Ivy fought her reeling senses and the bucking ship as the slack cameout of the cable. Blackness was flickering at the edges of her fieldof vision. She could scarcely lift her hand to the red-sealed circuitrheostat. Shudderingly, she made the effort ... and failed. Conscious,but too spent to move, she collapsed over the blistering hot instrumentpanel.           Ivy!      Strike was beside her, cradling her head in his arm.     I ... I ... can't make it ... Strike. You'll ... have to run ... theshow ... after ... all.     Strike laid her gently in an acceleration chair and turned toward thecontrol panel. His head was throbbing painfully as he broke the seal onthe surge-circuit.     Slowly he turned the rheostat. Relays chattered. From deep withinold Lover-Girl's vitals came a low whine. He fed more power into thecircuit. Cadmium rods slipped into lead sheaths decks below in thetube-rooms. The whining rose in pitch. The spinning of the ships inspace slowed. Stopped. With painful deliberation, they swung into line.     More power. The whine changed to a shriek. A banshee wail.     Cob's voice came through the squawk-box, soberly. Strike, Celia'sfainted down here. We can't take much more of this heat.     We're trying, Cob! shouted Strike over the whine of the circuit. Thegauges showed the accumulators full.       Now!      He spun the rheostat tothe stops, and black space burst over his brain....     The last thing he remembered was a voice. It sounded like Bayne's. Andit was shouting. We're moving 'em! We're pulling away! We're.... Andthat was all.     The space-tug      Scylla     found them.     The three ships ...      Atropos     ,      Lachesis     , and old Aphrodisiac ...lashed together and drifting in space. Every man and woman aboard outcold from the acceleration, and      Aphrodite's     tanks bone dry. But theywere a safe 80,000,000 miles from Sol....  <doc-sep>Old Aphrodisiac had reached perihelion when it happened. Thethermometer stood at 135° and tempers were snapping. Cob and CeliaGraham had tangled about some minor point concerning Lover-Girl'sweight and balance. Ivy went about her work on the bridge withoutspeaking, and Strike made no attempt to brighten her sudden depression.Lieutenant Evans had punched Bayne, the Tactical Astrophysicist,in the eye for some disparaging remark about Southern Californiawomanhood. The ratings were grumbling about the food....     And then it happened.     Cob was in the radio room when Sparks pulled the flimsy from thescrambler. It was a distress signal from the      Lachesis     . The      Atropos     had burst a fission chamber and was falling into the sun.Radiation made a transfer of personnel impossible, and the      Atropos     skeeterboats didn't have the power to pull away from the looming star.The      Lachesis     had a line on the sister dreadnaught and was valiantlytrying to pull the heavy vessel to safety, but even the thunderingpower of the      Lachesis'     mighty drive wasn't enough to break Sol'sdeathgrip on the battleship.     A fleet of souped-up space-tugs was on its way from Luna and Venusport,but they could not possibly arrive on time. And it was doubtful thateven the tugs had the necessary power to drag the crippled      Atropos     away from a fiery end.     Cob snatched the flimsy from Sparks' hands and galloped for theflying-bridge. He burst in and waved the message excitedly in front ofStrykalski's face.     Have a look at this! Ye gods and little catfish! Read it!     Well, dammit, hold it still so I can! snapped Strike. He read themessage and passed it to Ivy Hendricks with a shake of his head.     She read it through and looked up exultantly. This is      it     ! This isthe chance I've been praying for, Strike!     He returned her gaze sourly. For Gorman to fall into the sun? I recallI said something of the sort myself, but there are other men on thoseships. And, if I know Captain Varni on the      Lachesis     , he won't let gothat line even if he fries himself.     Ivy's eyes snapped angrily. That's not what I meant, and you know it!I mean this! She touched the red-sealed surge-circuit rheostat.     That's very nice, Lieutenant, commented Cob drily. And I know thatyou've been very busy adjusting that gismo. But I seem to recall thatthe last time that circuit was uncorked everyone aboard became part ofthe woodwork ... very messily, too.     Let me understand you, Ivy, said Strike in a flat voice. What youare suggesting is that I risk my ship and the lives of all of us tryingto pull old Gorman's fat out of the fire with a drive that's blownskyhigh three times out of three. Very neat.     There were tears bright in Ivy Hendricks' eyes and she soundeddesperate. But we can save those ships! We can, I      know     we can! Myfather designed this ship! I know every rivet of her! Those idiots offCallisto didn't know what they were doing. These ships needed speciallytrained men. Father told them that! And I'm trained! I can take her inand save those ships! Her expression turned to one of disgust. Or areyou afraid?     Frankly, Ivy, I haven't enough sense to be afraid. But are you socertain that we can pull this off? If I make a mistake this time ...it'll be the last. For all of us.     We can do it, said Ivy Hendricks simply.     Strike turned to Cob. What do you say, Cob? Shall we make it hotter inhere?     Whitley shrugged. If you say so, Strike. It's good enough for me.     Celia Graham left the bridge shaking her head. We'll all be dead soon.And me so young and pretty.     Strike turned to the squawk-box. Evans!     Evans here, came the reply.     Have Sparks get a DF fix on the      Atropos     and hold it. We'll home ontheir carrier wave. They're in trouble and we're going after them. Plotthe course.     Yes, Captain.     Strike turned to Cob. Have the gun-crews stand by to relieve theblack-gang in the tube rooms. It's going to get hotter than the hingesof hell down there and we'll have to shorten shifts.     Yes, sir! Cob saluted and was gone.     Strike returned to the squawk-box. Radar!     Graham here, replied Celia from her station.     Get a radar fix on the      Lachesis     and hold it. Send your dope up toEvans and tell him to send us a range estimate.     Yes, Captain, the girl replied crisply.     Gun deck!     Gun deck here, sir, came a feminine voice.     Have number two starboard torpedo tube loaded with a fish and a spoolof cable. Be ready to let fly on short notice ... any range.     Yes, sir! The girl switched off.     And now you, Miss Hendricks.     Yes, Captain? Her voice was low.     Take over Control ... and Ivy....     Yes?     Don't kill us off. He smiled down at her.     She nodded silently and took her place at the control panel. Smoothlyshe turned old Aphrodisiac's nose sunward....  <doc-sep>They sat, staring at the monsters for about a minute. Hathaway feltfunny about something; didn't know what. Something about these monstersand Gunther and—     Which one will you be having? asked Irish, casually. A red one or ablue one?     Hathaway laughed nervously. A pink one with yellow ruffles—Good God,now you've got      me     doing it. Joking in the face of death.     Me father taught me; keep laughing and you'll have Irish luck.     That didn't please the photographer. I'm an Anglo-Swede, he pointedout.     Marnagan shifted uneasily. Here, now. You're doing nothing butsitting, looking like a little boy locked in a bedroom closet, so takeme a profile shot of the beasties and myself.     Hathaway petted his camera reluctantly. What in hell's the use? Allthis swell film shot. Nobody'll ever see it.     Then, retorted Marnagan, we'll develop it for our own benefit; whilewaitin' for the U.S. Cavalry to come riding over the hill to ourrescue!     Hathaway snorted. U.S. Cavalry.     Marnagan raised his proton-gun dramatically. Snap me this pose, hesaid. I paid your salary to trot along, photographing, we hoped,my capture of Gunther, now the least you can do is record peacenegotiations betwixt me and these pixies.     Marnagan wasn't fooling anybody. Hathaway knew the superficial palaverfor nothing but a covering over the fast, furious thinking runningaround in that red-cropped skull. Hathaway played the palaver, too, buthis mind was whirring faster than his camera as he spun a picture ofMarnagan standing there with a useless gun pointed at the animals.     Montage. Marnagan sitting, chatting at the monsters. Marnagan smilingfor the camera. Marnagan in profile. Marnagan looking grim, withoutmuch effort, for the camera. And then, a closeup of the thrashing deathwall that holed them in. Click took them all, those shots, not sayinganything. Nobody fooled nobody with this act. Death was near and theyhad sweaty faces, dry mouths and frozen guts.     When Click finished filming, Irish sat down to save oxygen, and used itup arguing about Gunther. Click came back at him:     Gunther drew us down here, sure as Ceres! That gravity change we feltback on that ridge, Irish; that proves it. Gunther's short on men. So,what's he do; he builds an asteroid-base, and drags ships down. Spacewar isn't perfect yet, guns don't prime true in space, trajectoryis lousy over long distances. So what's the best weapon, whichdispenses with losing valuable, rare ships and a small bunch of men?Super-gravity and a couple of well-tossed meteors. Saves all around.It's a good front, this damned iron pebble. From it, Gunther strikesunseen; ships simply crash, that's all. A subtle hand, with all aces.     Marnagan rumbled. Where is the dirty son, then!     He didn't have to appear, Irish. He sent—them. Hathaway nodded atthe beasts. People crashing here die from air-lack, no food, or fromwounds caused at the crackup. If they survive all that—the animalstend to them. It all looks like Nature was responsible. See how subtlehis attack is? Looks like accidental death instead of murder, if thePatrol happens to land and finds us. No reason for undue investigation,then.     I don't see no Base around.  <doc-sep>And she was not an inspiring sight. The fantastically misnamed      Aphrodite     was a surge-circuit monitor of twenty guns built some tenyears back in the period immediately preceding the Ionian SubjugationIncident. She had been designed primarily for atomics, with asurge-circuit set-up for interstellar flight. At least that was theplanner's view. In those days, interstellar astrogation was in itsformative stage, and at the time of the      Aphrodite's     launching thesurge-circuit was hailed as the very latest in space drives.     Her designer, Harlan Hendricks, had been awarded a Legion of Meritfor her, and every silver-braided admiral in the Fleet had dreamedof hoisting his flag on one of her class. There had been three. The      Artemis     , the      Andromeda     , and the prototype ... old Aphrodisiac. Thethree vessels had gone into action off Callisto after the Phobos Raidhad set off hostilities between the Ionians and the Solarian Combine.     All three were miserable failures.     The eager officers commanding the three monitors had found the circuittoo appealing to their hot little hands. They used it ... in some way,wrongly.     The      Artemis     exploded. The      Andromeda     vanished in the generaldirection of Coma Berenices glowing white hot from the heat of aruptured fission chamber and spewing gamma rays in all directions.And the      Aphrodite's     starboard tubes blew, causing her to spend herstore of vicious energy spinning like a Fourth of July pinwheel under20 gravities until all her interior fittings ... including crew were atangled, pulpy mess within her pressure hull.     The      Aphrodite     was refitted for space. And because it was an integralpart of her design, the circuit was rebuilt ... and sealed. She becamea workhorse, growing more cantankerous with each passing year. Shecarried personnel.... She trucked ores. She ferried skeeterboats andtanked rocket fuel. Now, she would carry the mail. She would lift fromVenusport and jet to Canalopolis, Mars, without delay or variation.Regulations, tradition and Admiral Gorman of the Inner Planet Fleetrequired it. And it was now up to David Farragut Strykalski III to seeto it that she did....     The Officer of the Deck, a trim blonde girl in spotless greys salutedsmartly as Strike and Cob stepped through the valve.     Strike felt vaguely uncomfortable. He knew, of course, that at least athird of the personnel on board non-combat vessels of the Inner PlanetFleet was female, but he had never actually had women on board a shipof his own, and he felt quite certain that he preferred them elsewhere.     Cob sensed his discomfort. That was Celia Graham, Strike. Ensign.Radar Officer. She's good, too.     Strike shook his head. Don't like women in space. They make meuncomfortable.     Cob shrugged. Celia's the only officer. But about a quarter of ourratings are women. He grinned maliciously. Equal rights, you know.     No doubt, commented the other sourly. Is that why they namedthis ... ship 'Aphrodite'?     Whitley saw fit to consider the question rhetorical and remained silent.     Strike lowered his head to clear the arch of the flying-bridgebulkhead. Cob followed. He trailed his Captain through a jungleof chrome piping to the main control panels. Strike sank into anacceleration chair in front of the red DANGER seal on the surge-circuitrheostat.     Looks like a drug-store fountain, doesn't it? commented Cob.     Strykalski nodded sadly, thinking of the padded smoothness of the      Ganymede's     flying-bridge. But she's home to us, anyway.     The thick Venusian fog had closed in around the top levels of the ship,hugging the ports and cutting off all view of the field outside. Strikereached for the squawk-box control.     Now hear this. All officer personnel will assemble in the flyingbridge at 600 hours for Captain's briefing. Officer of the Deck willrecall any enlisted personnel now on liberty....     Whitley was on his feet, all the slackness gone from his manner.Orders, Captain?     We can't do anything until the new Engineering Officer gets here.They're sending someone down from the      Antigone     , and I expect him by600 hours. In the meantime you'll take over his part of the work. Seeto it that we are fueled and ready to lift ship by 602. Base will startloading the mail at 599:30. That's about all.     Yes, sir. Whitley saluted and turned to go. At the bulkhead, hepaused. Captain, he asked, Who is the new E/O to be?     Strike stretched his long legs out on the steel deck. A LieutenantHendricks, I. V. Hendricks, is what the orders say.     Cob thought hard for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. I. V.Hendricks. He shook his head. Don't know him.  <doc-sep>The orchestra was subdued, the officer's club softly lighted. Cobleaned his elbow on the bar and bent to inspect the blue ribbon of theSpatial Cross on Strike's chest. Then he inspected his own and noddedwith tipsy satisfaction. He stared out at the Martian night beyond thebroad windows and back again at Strike. His frown was puzzled.     All right, said Strike, setting down his glass. What's on your mind,Cob? Something's eating you.     Whitley nodded very slowly. He took a long pull at his highball. Iunderstand that you goofballed your chances of getting the      Ganymede     back when Gorman spoke his piece to you....     All I said to him....     I know. I know what you said ... and it won't bear repeating. Butyou're not fooling me. You've fallen for old Lover-Girl and you don'twant to leave her. Ver-ry commendable. Loyal! Stout fellah! But whatabout Ivy?     Ivy?     Cob looked away. I thought that you and she ... well, I thought thatwhen we got back ... well....     Strike shook his head. She's gone to the Bureau of Ships with adesigning job.     Cob waved an expressive arm in the air. But dammit, man, I thought....     The answer is      no     . Ivy's a nice girl ... but.... He paused andsighed. Since she was promoted to her father's old rank ... well....He shrugged. Who wants a wife that ranks you?     Never thought of that, mused Cob. For a long while he was silent;then he pulled out an address book and leafed through until he came tothe pages marked Canalopolis, Mars.     And he was gratified to see that Lieutenant Commander David FarragutStrykalski III was doing the same.   <doc-sep>The other officers of the      T.R.S. Aphrodite     were in conference withthe Captain when Cob and the girl at his side reached the flyingbridge. She was tall and dark-haired with regular features and paleblue eyes. She wore a service jumper with two silver stripes on theshoulder-straps, and even the shapeless garment could not hide theobvious trimness of her figure.     Strike's back was toward the bulkhead, and he was addressing the others.     ... and that's about the story. We are to jet within 28,000,000 milesof Sol. Orbit is trans-Mercurian hyperbolic. With Mars in opposition,we have to make a perihelion run and it won't be pleasant. But I'mcertain this old boiler can take it. I understand the old boy whodesigned her wasn't as incompetent as they say. But Space Regs arespecific about mail runs. This is important to you, Evans. Yourastrogation has to be accurate to within twenty-five miles plus orminus the shortest route. And there'll be no breaking orbit. Now becertain that the refrigeration units are checked, Mister Wilkins,especially in the hydroponic cells. Pure air is going to be important.     That's about all there is to tell you. As soon as our ratherleisurely E/O gets here, we can jet with Aunt Nelly's postcard. Henodded. That's the story. Lift ship in.... He glanced at his wristchronograph, ... in an hour and five.     The officers filed out and Cob Whitley stuck his head into the room.Captain?     Come in, Cob. Strike's dark brows knit at the sight of the uniformedgirl in the doorway.     Cob's face was sober, but hidden amusement was kindling behind hiseyes. Captain, may I present Lieutenant Hendricks? Lieutenant      I-vy     Hendricks?     Strike looked blankly at the girl.     Our new E/O, Captain, prompted Whitley.     Uh ... welcome aboard, Miss Hendricks, was all the Captain could findto say.     The girl's eyes were cold and unfriendly. Thank you, Captain. Hervoice was like cracked ice tinkling in a glass. If I may have yourpermission to inspect the drives, Captain, I      may     be able toconvince you that the designer of this vessel was not ... as you seemto think ... a senile incompetent.     Strike was perplexed, and he showed it. Why, certainly ... uh ...Miss ... but why should you be so....     The girl's voice was even colder than before as she said, HarlanHendricks, Captain, is my father.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the story of Jinx Ship To The Rescue and how does it involve Strike?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of the storyline in Doorway to Kal-Jmar? [SEP] <s>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>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>Kal-Jmar was the riddle of the Solar System. It was the only remainingcity of the ancient Martian race—the race that, legends said, hadrisen to greater heights than any other Solar culture. The machines,the artifacts, the records of the Martians were all there, perfectlypreserved inside the city's bubble-like dome, after God knew how manythousands of years. But they couldn't be reached.     For Kal-Jmar's dome was not the thing of steelite that protectedLillis: it was a tenuous, globular field of force that defied analysisas it defied explosives and diamond drills. The field extended bothabove and below the ground, and tunneling was of no avail. No one knewwhat had happened to the Martians, whether they were the ancestors ofthe present decadent Martian race, or a different species. No one knewanything about them or about Kal-Jmar.     In the early days, when the conquest of Mars was just beginning, Earthscientists had been wild to get into the city. They had observed itfrom every angle, taken photographs of its architecture and the robotsthat still patrolled its fantastically winding streets, and then theyhad tried everything they knew to pierce the wall.     Later, however, when every unsuccessful attempt had precipitated abloody uprising of the present-day Martians—resulting in a rapiddwindling of the number of Martians—the Mars Protectorate had steppedin and forbidden any further experiments; forbidden, in fact, anyEarthman to go near the place.     Thus matter had stood for over a hundred years, until Harold Tate.Tate, a physicist, had stumbled on a field that seemed to be identicalin properties to the Kal-Jmar dome; and what is more, he had found aforce that would break it down.     And so he had made his first trip to Mars, and within twenty-fourhours, by the blindest of chances, blurted out his secret to SymeRector, the scourge of the spaceways, the man with a thousand creditson his sleek, tigerish head.     Syme's smile was not tigerish now; it was carefully, studiedly mild.For Tate was no longer drunk, and it was important that it should notoccur to him that he had been indiscreet.     This is native territory we're coming to, Harold, he said. Betterstrap on your gun.     Why. Are they really dangerous?     They're unpredictable, Syme told him. They're built differently, andthey think differently. They breathe like us, down in their cavernswhere there's air, but they also eat sand, and get their oxygen thatway.     Yes, I've heard about that, Tate said. Iron oxide—very interestingmetabolism. He got his energy pistol out of the compartment andstrapped it on absently.     Syme turned the little sand car up a gentle rise towards the tortuoushill country in the distance. Not only that, he continued. Theyeat the damndest stuff. Lichens and fungi and tumble-grass off thedeserts—all full of deadly poisons, from arsenic up the line toxopite. They seem intelligent enough—in their own way—but they nevercome near our cities and they either can't or won't learn Terrestrial.When the first colonists came here, they had to learn      their     crazylanguage. Every word of it can mean any one of a dozen differentthings, depending on the inflection you give it. I can speak it some,but not much. Nobody can. We don't think the same.     So you think they might attack us? Tate asked again, nervously.     They      might     do anything, Syme said curtly. Don't worry about it.     The hills were much closer than they had seemed, because of Mars'deceptively low horizon. In half an hour they were in the midst of awilderness of fantastically eroded dunes and channels, laboring onsliding treads up the sides of steep hills only to slither down againon the other side.  <doc-sep>They started off down the canyon, Syme urging the slighter man toa fast clip, even though his leg was already stiffening. When theyfinally reached a climbable spot, Syme was limping badly and Tate wasobviously exhausted.     They clambered wearily out onto the level sands again just as thesmall, blazing sun was setting. Luck, grunted Syme. Our only chanceof getting near the city is at night. He peered around, shading hiseyes from the sun's glare with a gauntleted hand. See that?     Following his pointing finger, Tate saw a faint, ephemeral arc showingabove a line of low hills in the distance. Kal-Jmar, said Syme.     Tate brightened a little. His body was too filled with fatigue for hismind to do any work on the problem that was baffling him, and so itreceded into the back of his mind.     Kal-Jmar, whispered Syme again.     There was no twilight. The sun dropped abruptly behind the low horizon,and darkness fell, sudden and absolute. Syme picked up the extra oxygentank and the suitcase, checked his direction by a wrist compass, andstarted toward the hills. Tate rose wearily to his feet and followedagain.     Two hours later, Kal-Jmar stood before them. They had wormed theirway past the sentry posts, doing most of the last two hundred meterson all fours. With skill and luck, and with Syme's fierce, burningdetermination, they had managed to escape detection—and there theywere. Journey's end.     Tate stared up at the shining, starlight towers in speechlessadmiration. If the people who had built this city had been decadent,still their architecture was magnificent. The city was a rhapsody madesolid. There was a sense of decay about it, he thought, but it was thedecay of supreme beauty, caught at the very verge of dissolution andpreserved for all eternity.     Well? demanded Syme.     Tate started, shaken out of his dream. He looked down at the blacksuitcase, a little wonderingly, and then pulled it to him and opened it.     Inside, carefully wrapped in shock-absorbing tissue, was a fragilecontrivance of many tubes and wires, and a tiny parabolic mirror. Ithad a brand new Elecorp 210 volt battery, and it needed every volt ofthat tremendous power. Tate made the connections, his hands tremblingslightly, and set it up on a telescoping tripod. Syme watched himclosely, his big body tensed with expectation.     The field was before them, shimmering faintly in the starlight. Itlooked unsubstantial as the stuff of dreams, but both men knew that nopower man possessed, unless it was the thing Tate held, could penetratethat screen.     Tate set the mechanism up close to the field, aimed it very delicately,and closed a minute switch. After a long second, he opened it again.     Nothing happened.     The screen was still there, as unsubstantial and as solid as ever.There was no change.  <doc-sep>It was a weird situation, Syme thought. His mind was racing, but as yethe could see no way out. He began to wonder, if he did, could he keepthe Martians from knowing about it? Then he realized that the Martianmust have received that thought, too, and he was enraged. He stood,holding himself in check with an effort.     Will you tell us why? Tate asked.     You were brought here for that purpose. It is part of our conceptionof justice. I will tell you and your—friend—anything you wish toknow.     Syme noticed that the other Martians had retired to the farther side ofthe cavern. Some were munching the glowing fungus. That left only theleader, who was standing alertly on all fours a short distance awayfrom them, holding the Benson gun trained on them. Syme tried not tothink about the gun, especially about making a grab for it. It was liketrying not to think of the word hippopotamus.     Tate squatted down comfortably on the floor of the cavern, apparentlyunconcerned, but his hands were trembling slightly. First why— hebegan.     There are many secrets in Kal-Jmar, the Martian said, among them avery simple catalyzing agent which could within fifty years transformMars to a planet with Terrestrially-thick atmosphere.     I think I see, Tate said thoughtfully. That's been the ultimate aimall along, but so far the problem has us licked. If we solved it, thenwe'd have all of Mars, not just the cities. Your people would die out.You couldn't have that, of course.     He sighed deeply. He spread his gloved hands before him and lookedat them with a queer intentness. Well—how about the Martians—theKal-Jmar Martians, I mean? I'd dearly love to know the answer to thatone.     Neither of the alternatives in your mind is correct. They were not aseparate species, although they were unlike us. But they were not ourancestors, either. They were the contemporaries of our ancestors.     Several thousand years ago Mars' loss of atmosphere began to makeitself felt. There were two ways out. Some chose to seal themselvesinto cities like Kal-Jmar; our ancestors chose to adapt their bodies tothe new conditions. Thus the race split. Their answer to the problemwas an evasion; they remained static. Our answer was the true one, forwe progressed. We progressed beyond the need of science; they remainedits slaves. They died of a plague—and other causes.     You see, he finished gently, our deception has caused a naturalconfusion in your minds. They were the degenerates, not we.     And yet, Tate mused, you are being destroyed by contact withan—inferior—culture.     We hope to win yet, the Martian said.     Tate stood up, his face very white. Tell me one thing, he begged.Will our two races ever live together in amity?     The Martian lowered his head. That is for unborn generations. Helooked at Tate again and aimed the energy gun. You are a brave man,he said. I am sorry.     Syme saw all his hopes of treasure and glory go glimmering down thesights of the Martian's Benson gun, and suddenly the pent-up rage inhim exploded. Too swiftly for his intention to be telegraphed, beforehe knew himself what he meant to do, he hurled himself bodily into theMartian.  <doc-sep>  Mr. Dawes  came home anhour later, looking tired.Mom pecked him lightly onthe forehead. He glanced atthe evening paper, and thenspoke to Sol.     Hear you been askingquestions, Mr. Becker.     Sol nodded, embarrassed.Guess I have. I'm awfullycurious about this Armagonplace. Never heard of anythinglike it before.     Dawes grunted. You ain'ta reporter?     Oh, no. I'm an engineer. Iwas just satisfying my owncuriosity.     Uh-huh. Dawes lookedreflective. You wouldn't bethinkin' about writing us upor anything. I mean, this is apretty private affair.     Writing it up? Solblinked. I hadn't thought ofit. But you'll have to admit—it'ssure interesting.     Yeah, Dawes said narrowly.I guess it would be.     Supper! Mom called.     After the meal, they spenta quiet evening at home. Sallywent to bed, screaming herreluctance, at eight-thirty.Mom, dozing in the big chairnear the fireplace, padded upstairsat nine. Then Dawesyawned widely, stood up, andsaid goodnight at quarter-of-ten.     He paused in the doorwaybefore leaving.     I'd think about that, hesaid. Writing it up, I mean.A lot of folks would thinkyou were just plum crazy.     Sol laughed feebly. Iguess they would at that.     Goodnight, Dawes said.     Goodnight.     He read Sally's copy of      Treasure Island     for abouthalf an hour. Then he undressed,made himself comfortableon the sofa, snuggledunder the soft blanketthat Mom had provided, andshut his eyes.     He reviewed the events ofthe day before dropping offto sleep. The troublesomeSally. The strange dreamworld of Armagon. The visitto the barber shop. The removalof Brundage's body.The conversations with thetownspeople. Dawes' suspiciousattitude ...     Then sleep came. <doc-sep>The towers of dead Kal-Jmar loomed over him in the dusk as he strodelike a conqueror down the long-deserted avenue. The city was full ofthe whisperings of Kal-Jmar's ancient wraiths, but they touched onlya corner of his mind. He was filled to overflowing with the bright,glowing joy of conquest. The city was his!     His boots trod an avenue where no foot had fallen these untold eons,yet there was no dust. The city was bright and furbished waiting forhim. He was intoxicated.      The city was his!       There was a gentle ramp leading upward, and Syme followed it, breathingin the manufactured air of his pressure suit like wine. All around him,the city blazed with treasures beyond price.       It was his!       The ramp led to a portal set in the side of a shining needle of abuilding. Syme strode up to the threshold, and the door dilated forhim. He stepped inside; the door closed and a soft light glowed on.     There was air here: good, breathable air. A tiny zephyr of it wasblowing from some hidden source against his body. Greatly daring, heunfastened the helmet of his suit and flung it back. He breathed in alungful of it. God, but it was good after that canned stuff! It was alittle heady; it made his head swim—but it was good air, excellent air!     He looked around him, measuring, assessing for the first time. Thisroom alone was worth a fortune. There was platinum; in ornaments, setinto the walls, in furniture. That would be enough to buy the littlethings—a new ship, or perhaps even immunity back on Earth. But thatwas as nothing to the rest of it, the things three worlds would clamorfor—the artifacts, the record books, the machines!     He strode about the room, building plan on grandiose plan. He couldtake back only a little with him at first; but he could return againand again, with Tate's mechanism and new batteries. But he'd explorethe city thoroughly before he left. Somewhere there must be weapons. Aninvincible weapon, perhaps, that a man could carry in his hand. Perhapseven a perfect body screen. With that he wouldn't have to steal awayfrom Mars on a freighter, hiding his loot and his greatness in a dingyengine room. He could walk into a Triplanet ship and order its captainto take him wherever he chose to go!  <doc-sep>  Doorway to Kal-Jmar     By Stuart Fleming     Two men had died before Syme Rector's guns     to give him the key to the ancient city of     Kal-Jmar—a city of untold wealth, and of     robots that made desires instant commands.     [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 tall man loitered a moment before a garish window display, his eyesimpassive in his space-burned face, as the Lillis patrolman passed.Then he turned, burying his long chin in the folds of his sand cape,and took up the pursuit of the dark figure ahead once more.     Above, the city's multicolored lights were reflected from thetranslucent Dome—a distant, subtly distorted Lillis, through which thestars shone dimly.     Getting through that dome had been his first urgent problem, but now hehad another, and a more pressing one. It had been simple enough to passhimself off as an itinerant prospector and gain entrance to the city,after his ship had crashed in the Mare Cimmerium. But the rest wouldnot be so simple. He had to acquire a spaceman's identity card, and hehad to do it fast. It was only a matter of time until the TriplanetPatrol gave up the misleading trail he had made into the hill country,and concluded that he must have reached Lillis. After that, his onlysafety lay in shipping out on a freighter as soon as possible. He hadto get off Mars, because his trail was warm, and the Patrol thorough.     They knew, of course, that he was an outlaw—the very fact of thecrashed, illegally-armed ship would have told them that. But theydidn't know that he was Syme Rector, the most-wanted and most-fearedraider in the System. In that was his only advantage.     He walked a little faster, as his quarry turned up a side street andthen boarded a moving ramp to an upper level. He watched until theshort, wide-shouldered figure in spaceman's harness disappeared overthe top of the ramp, and then followed.     The man was waiting for him at the mouth of the ascending tunnel.     Syme looked at him casually, without a flicker of expression, andstarted to walk on, but the other stepped into his path. He was quiteyoung, Syme saw, with a fighter's shoulders under the white leather,and a hard, determined thrust to his firm jaw.     All right, the boy said quietly. What is it?     I don't understand, Syme said.     The game, the angle. You've been following me. Do you want trouble?     Why, no, Syme told him bewilderedly. I haven't been following you.I—     The boy knuckled his chin reflectively. You could be lying, he saidfinally. But maybe I've made a mistake. Then—Okay, citizen, you canclear—but don't let me catch you on my tail again.     Syme murmured something and turned away, feeling the spaceman's eyeson the small of his back until he turned the corner. At the nextstreet he took a ramp up, crossed over and came down on the other sidea block away. He waited until he saw the boy's broad figure pass theintersection, and then followed again more cautiously.     It was risky, but there was no other way. The signatures, the data,even the photograph on the card could be forged once Syme got his handson it, but the identity card itself—that oblong of dark diamondite,glowing with the tiny fires of radioactivity—that could not beimitated, and the only way to get it was to kill.     Up ahead was the Founders' Tower, the tallest building in Lillis. Theboy strode into the entrance lobby, bought a ticket for the observationplatform, and took the elevator. As soon as his car was out of sight inthe transparent tube, Syme followed. He put a half-credit slug into themachine, took the punctured slip of plastic that came out. The ticketwent into a scanning slot in the wall of the car, and the elevatorwhisked him up.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in Doorway to Kal-Jmar?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the backdrop of the story Doorway to Kal-Jmar? [SEP] <s>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>Kal-Jmar was the riddle of the Solar System. It was the only remainingcity of the ancient Martian race—the race that, legends said, hadrisen to greater heights than any other Solar culture. The machines,the artifacts, the records of the Martians were all there, perfectlypreserved inside the city's bubble-like dome, after God knew how manythousands of years. But they couldn't be reached.     For Kal-Jmar's dome was not the thing of steelite that protectedLillis: it was a tenuous, globular field of force that defied analysisas it defied explosives and diamond drills. The field extended bothabove and below the ground, and tunneling was of no avail. No one knewwhat had happened to the Martians, whether they were the ancestors ofthe present decadent Martian race, or a different species. No one knewanything about them or about Kal-Jmar.     In the early days, when the conquest of Mars was just beginning, Earthscientists had been wild to get into the city. They had observed itfrom every angle, taken photographs of its architecture and the robotsthat still patrolled its fantastically winding streets, and then theyhad tried everything they knew to pierce the wall.     Later, however, when every unsuccessful attempt had precipitated abloody uprising of the present-day Martians—resulting in a rapiddwindling of the number of Martians—the Mars Protectorate had steppedin and forbidden any further experiments; forbidden, in fact, anyEarthman to go near the place.     Thus matter had stood for over a hundred years, until Harold Tate.Tate, a physicist, had stumbled on a field that seemed to be identicalin properties to the Kal-Jmar dome; and what is more, he had found aforce that would break it down.     And so he had made his first trip to Mars, and within twenty-fourhours, by the blindest of chances, blurted out his secret to SymeRector, the scourge of the spaceways, the man with a thousand creditson his sleek, tigerish head.     Syme's smile was not tigerish now; it was carefully, studiedly mild.For Tate was no longer drunk, and it was important that it should notoccur to him that he had been indiscreet.     This is native territory we're coming to, Harold, he said. Betterstrap on your gun.     Why. Are they really dangerous?     They're unpredictable, Syme told him. They're built differently, andthey think differently. They breathe like us, down in their cavernswhere there's air, but they also eat sand, and get their oxygen thatway.     Yes, I've heard about that, Tate said. Iron oxide—very interestingmetabolism. He got his energy pistol out of the compartment andstrapped it on absently.     Syme turned the little sand car up a gentle rise towards the tortuoushill country in the distance. Not only that, he continued. Theyeat the damndest stuff. Lichens and fungi and tumble-grass off thedeserts—all full of deadly poisons, from arsenic up the line toxopite. They seem intelligent enough—in their own way—but they nevercome near our cities and they either can't or won't learn Terrestrial.When the first colonists came here, they had to learn      their     crazylanguage. Every word of it can mean any one of a dozen differentthings, depending on the inflection you give it. I can speak it some,but not much. Nobody can. We don't think the same.     So you think they might attack us? Tate asked again, nervously.     They      might     do anything, Syme said curtly. Don't worry about it.     The hills were much closer than they had seemed, because of Mars'deceptively low horizon. In half an hour they were in the midst of awilderness of fantastically eroded dunes and channels, laboring onsliding treads up the sides of steep hills only to slither down againon the other side.  <doc-sep>They started off down the canyon, Syme urging the slighter man toa fast clip, even though his leg was already stiffening. When theyfinally reached a climbable spot, Syme was limping badly and Tate wasobviously exhausted.     They clambered wearily out onto the level sands again just as thesmall, blazing sun was setting. Luck, grunted Syme. Our only chanceof getting near the city is at night. He peered around, shading hiseyes from the sun's glare with a gauntleted hand. See that?     Following his pointing finger, Tate saw a faint, ephemeral arc showingabove a line of low hills in the distance. Kal-Jmar, said Syme.     Tate brightened a little. His body was too filled with fatigue for hismind to do any work on the problem that was baffling him, and so itreceded into the back of his mind.     Kal-Jmar, whispered Syme again.     There was no twilight. The sun dropped abruptly behind the low horizon,and darkness fell, sudden and absolute. Syme picked up the extra oxygentank and the suitcase, checked his direction by a wrist compass, andstarted toward the hills. Tate rose wearily to his feet and followedagain.     Two hours later, Kal-Jmar stood before them. They had wormed theirway past the sentry posts, doing most of the last two hundred meterson all fours. With skill and luck, and with Syme's fierce, burningdetermination, they had managed to escape detection—and there theywere. Journey's end.     Tate stared up at the shining, starlight towers in speechlessadmiration. If the people who had built this city had been decadent,still their architecture was magnificent. The city was a rhapsody madesolid. There was a sense of decay about it, he thought, but it was thedecay of supreme beauty, caught at the very verge of dissolution andpreserved for all eternity.     Well? demanded Syme.     Tate started, shaken out of his dream. He looked down at the blacksuitcase, a little wonderingly, and then pulled it to him and opened it.     Inside, carefully wrapped in shock-absorbing tissue, was a fragilecontrivance of many tubes and wires, and a tiny parabolic mirror. Ithad a brand new Elecorp 210 volt battery, and it needed every volt ofthat tremendous power. Tate made the connections, his hands tremblingslightly, and set it up on a telescoping tripod. Syme watched himclosely, his big body tensed with expectation.     The field was before them, shimmering faintly in the starlight. Itlooked unsubstantial as the stuff of dreams, but both men knew that nopower man possessed, unless it was the thing Tate held, could penetratethat screen.     Tate set the mechanism up close to the field, aimed it very delicately,and closed a minute switch. After a long second, he opened it again.     Nothing happened.     The screen was still there, as unsubstantial and as solid as ever.There was no change.  <doc-sep>It was a weird situation, Syme thought. His mind was racing, but as yethe could see no way out. He began to wonder, if he did, could he keepthe Martians from knowing about it? Then he realized that the Martianmust have received that thought, too, and he was enraged. He stood,holding himself in check with an effort.     Will you tell us why? Tate asked.     You were brought here for that purpose. It is part of our conceptionof justice. I will tell you and your—friend—anything you wish toknow.     Syme noticed that the other Martians had retired to the farther side ofthe cavern. Some were munching the glowing fungus. That left only theleader, who was standing alertly on all fours a short distance awayfrom them, holding the Benson gun trained on them. Syme tried not tothink about the gun, especially about making a grab for it. It was liketrying not to think of the word hippopotamus.     Tate squatted down comfortably on the floor of the cavern, apparentlyunconcerned, but his hands were trembling slightly. First why— hebegan.     There are many secrets in Kal-Jmar, the Martian said, among them avery simple catalyzing agent which could within fifty years transformMars to a planet with Terrestrially-thick atmosphere.     I think I see, Tate said thoughtfully. That's been the ultimate aimall along, but so far the problem has us licked. If we solved it, thenwe'd have all of Mars, not just the cities. Your people would die out.You couldn't have that, of course.     He sighed deeply. He spread his gloved hands before him and lookedat them with a queer intentness. Well—how about the Martians—theKal-Jmar Martians, I mean? I'd dearly love to know the answer to thatone.     Neither of the alternatives in your mind is correct. They were not aseparate species, although they were unlike us. But they were not ourancestors, either. They were the contemporaries of our ancestors.     Several thousand years ago Mars' loss of atmosphere began to makeitself felt. There were two ways out. Some chose to seal themselvesinto cities like Kal-Jmar; our ancestors chose to adapt their bodies tothe new conditions. Thus the race split. Their answer to the problemwas an evasion; they remained static. Our answer was the true one, forwe progressed. We progressed beyond the need of science; they remainedits slaves. They died of a plague—and other causes.     You see, he finished gently, our deception has caused a naturalconfusion in your minds. They were the degenerates, not we.     And yet, Tate mused, you are being destroyed by contact withan—inferior—culture.     We hope to win yet, the Martian said.     Tate stood up, his face very white. Tell me one thing, he begged.Will our two races ever live together in amity?     The Martian lowered his head. That is for unborn generations. Helooked at Tate again and aimed the energy gun. You are a brave man,he said. I am sorry.     Syme saw all his hopes of treasure and glory go glimmering down thesights of the Martian's Benson gun, and suddenly the pent-up rage inhim exploded. Too swiftly for his intention to be telegraphed, beforehe knew himself what he meant to do, he hurled himself bodily into theMartian.  <doc-sep>The towers of dead Kal-Jmar loomed over him in the dusk as he strodelike a conqueror down the long-deserted avenue. The city was full ofthe whisperings of Kal-Jmar's ancient wraiths, but they touched onlya corner of his mind. He was filled to overflowing with the bright,glowing joy of conquest. The city was his!     His boots trod an avenue where no foot had fallen these untold eons,yet there was no dust. The city was bright and furbished waiting forhim. He was intoxicated.      The city was his!       There was a gentle ramp leading upward, and Syme followed it, breathingin the manufactured air of his pressure suit like wine. All around him,the city blazed with treasures beyond price.       It was his!       The ramp led to a portal set in the side of a shining needle of abuilding. Syme strode up to the threshold, and the door dilated forhim. He stepped inside; the door closed and a soft light glowed on.     There was air here: good, breathable air. A tiny zephyr of it wasblowing from some hidden source against his body. Greatly daring, heunfastened the helmet of his suit and flung it back. He breathed in alungful of it. God, but it was good after that canned stuff! It was alittle heady; it made his head swim—but it was good air, excellent air!     He looked around him, measuring, assessing for the first time. Thisroom alone was worth a fortune. There was platinum; in ornaments, setinto the walls, in furniture. That would be enough to buy the littlethings—a new ship, or perhaps even immunity back on Earth. But thatwas as nothing to the rest of it, the things three worlds would clamorfor—the artifacts, the record books, the machines!     He strode about the room, building plan on grandiose plan. He couldtake back only a little with him at first; but he could return againand again, with Tate's mechanism and new batteries. But he'd explorethe city thoroughly before he left. Somewhere there must be weapons. Aninvincible weapon, perhaps, that a man could carry in his hand. Perhapseven a perfect body screen. With that he wouldn't have to steal awayfrom Mars on a freighter, hiding his loot and his greatness in a dingyengine room. He could walk into a Triplanet ship and order its captainto take him wherever he chose to go!  <doc-sep>  Doorway to Kal-Jmar     By Stuart Fleming     Two men had died before Syme Rector's guns     to give him the key to the ancient city of     Kal-Jmar—a city of untold wealth, and of     robots that made desires instant commands.     [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 tall man loitered a moment before a garish window display, his eyesimpassive in his space-burned face, as the Lillis patrolman passed.Then he turned, burying his long chin in the folds of his sand cape,and took up the pursuit of the dark figure ahead once more.     Above, the city's multicolored lights were reflected from thetranslucent Dome—a distant, subtly distorted Lillis, through which thestars shone dimly.     Getting through that dome had been his first urgent problem, but now hehad another, and a more pressing one. It had been simple enough to passhimself off as an itinerant prospector and gain entrance to the city,after his ship had crashed in the Mare Cimmerium. But the rest wouldnot be so simple. He had to acquire a spaceman's identity card, and hehad to do it fast. It was only a matter of time until the TriplanetPatrol gave up the misleading trail he had made into the hill country,and concluded that he must have reached Lillis. After that, his onlysafety lay in shipping out on a freighter as soon as possible. He hadto get off Mars, because his trail was warm, and the Patrol thorough.     They knew, of course, that he was an outlaw—the very fact of thecrashed, illegally-armed ship would have told them that. But theydidn't know that he was Syme Rector, the most-wanted and most-fearedraider in the System. In that was his only advantage.     He walked a little faster, as his quarry turned up a side street andthen boarded a moving ramp to an upper level. He watched until theshort, wide-shouldered figure in spaceman's harness disappeared overthe top of the ramp, and then followed.     The man was waiting for him at the mouth of the ascending tunnel.     Syme looked at him casually, without a flicker of expression, andstarted to walk on, but the other stepped into his path. He was quiteyoung, Syme saw, with a fighter's shoulders under the white leather,and a hard, determined thrust to his firm jaw.     All right, the boy said quietly. What is it?     I don't understand, Syme said.     The game, the angle. You've been following me. Do you want trouble?     Why, no, Syme told him bewilderedly. I haven't been following you.I—     The boy knuckled his chin reflectively. You could be lying, he saidfinally. But maybe I've made a mistake. Then—Okay, citizen, you canclear—but don't let me catch you on my tail again.     Syme murmured something and turned away, feeling the spaceman's eyeson the small of his back until he turned the corner. At the nextstreet he took a ramp up, crossed over and came down on the other sidea block away. He waited until he saw the boy's broad figure pass theintersection, and then followed again more cautiously.     It was risky, but there was no other way. The signatures, the data,even the photograph on the card could be forged once Syme got his handson it, but the identity card itself—that oblong of dark diamondite,glowing with the tiny fires of radioactivity—that could not beimitated, and the only way to get it was to kill.     Up ahead was the Founders' Tower, the tallest building in Lillis. Theboy strode into the entrance lobby, bought a ticket for the observationplatform, and took the elevator. As soon as his car was out of sight inthe transparent tube, Syme followed. He put a half-credit slug into themachine, took the punctured slip of plastic that came out. The ticketwent into a scanning slot in the wall of the car, and the elevatorwhisked him up.  <doc-sep>Syme looked at the man, nursing the tortured muscles of his arms. Hisrescuer was tall and thin, of indeterminate age. He had light, sandyhair, a sharp nose, and—oddly conflicting—pale, serious eyes and ahumorous wide mouth. He was still panting.     I'm not hurt, Syme said. He grinned, his white teeth flashing in hisdark, lean face. Thanks for giving me a hand.     You scared hell out of me, said the man. I heard a thud. Ithought—you'd gone over. He looked at Syme questioningly.     That was my bag, the outlaw said quickly. It slipped out of my hand,and I overbalanced myself when I grabbed for it.     The man sighed. I need a drink.      You     need a drink. Come on. Hepicked up a small black suitcase from the floor and started for theelevator, then stopped. Oh—your bag. Shouldn't we do something aboutthat?     Never mind, said Syme, taking his arm. The shock must have busted itwide open. My laundry is probably all over Lillis by now.     They got off at the amusement level, three tiers down, and found acafe around the corner. Syme wasn't worried about the man he had justkilled. He had heard no second thud, so the body must have stayed onthe first outcropping of the tower it struck. It probably wouldn't befound until morning.     And he had the wallet. When he paid for the first round of      culcha     , hetook it out and stole a glance at the identification card inside. Thereit was—his ticket to freedom. He began feeling expansive, and evenfriendly toward the slender, mouse-like man across the table. It wasthe      culcha     , of course. He knew it, and didn't care. In the morninghe'd find a freighter berth—in as big a spaceport as Lillis, therewere always jobs open. Meanwhile, he might as well enjoy himself, andit was safer to be seen with a companion than to be alone.     He listened lazily to what the other was saying, leaning his tall,graceful body back into the softly-cushioned seat.     Lissen, said Harold Tate. He leaned forward on one elbow, slipped,caught himself, and looked at the elbow reproachfully. Lissen, hesaid again, I trust you, Jones. You're obvi-obviously an adventurer,but you have an honest face. I can't see it very well at the moment,but I hic!—pardon—seem to recall it as an honest face. I'm going totell you something, because I need your help!—help. He paused. Ineed a guide. D'you know this part of Mars well?     Sure, said Syme absently. Out in the center of the floor, an AGplate had been turned on. Five Venusian girls were diving and twistingin its influence, propelling themselves by the motion of theirdelicately-webbed feet and trailing long gauzy streamers of synthesilkafter them. Syme watched them through narrowed lids, feeling the glowof      culcha     inside him.     I wanta go to Kal-Jmar, said Tate.     Syme snapped to attention, every nerve tingling. An indefinable sense,a hunch that had served him well before, told him that something bigwas coming—something that promised adventure and loot for Syme Rector.Why? he asked softly. Why to Kal-Jmar?     Harold Tate told him, and later, when Syme had taken him to his rooms,he showed him what was in his little black suitcase. Syme had beenright; it was big.  <doc-sep>Tate looked worriedly at his wiring, a deep wrinkle appearing betweenhis pale, serious eyes. Syme stood stock-still but quivering withrepressed energy, scowling like a thundercloud.     It must be capable of working, Tate told himself querulously. TheMartians knew—they wouldn't have tried to stop us if—Wait a minute.He paced back and forth, biting his lip. Syme watched him with catlikeeyes, clenching and unclenching his great fists.     Tate paused. I think I have it, he said slowly. I haven't enoughpower to hetrodyne the whole screen, although that's theoreticallypossible. But there must be weaker portions of the field—doors—setto open on the impact of a beam like this one. But I've only got powerenough for two more tries. Jones, where would you put an entrance, ifyou'd built Kal-Jmar?     Syme's eyes widened, and he stared around slowly. A thousand yearsago? he muttered. Two thousand? These hills were raised in fivehundred. We can't go by topography.     In front of one of the main arteries, then. But there are dozens, noone larger than the other. Did they have dozens of doors?     Maybe, said Tate. He pointed to the right, where the fairy towers ofKal-Jmar swept aside to leave a broad avenue. It's the nearest—asgood as any other.     They walked over to it in silence, and in silence Tate set up hisequipment once more. He shifted it from side to side, squinting, untilhe had it lined up exactly on the center of the avenue. Then he took along breath, and closed the switch again.     The switch came up. Syme stared with fierce eagerness, eyes ablaze. Fora moment there was nothing, and then—     Tate clutched the big man's arm. Look! he breathed.     Where the ray from Tate's machine had impinged, a faintly-glowingspot of violet radiance! As they watched it widened, dilating into aperfect circle of violet, enclosing nothingness. The door was opening.     It worked, Tate said softly. It worked!     Syme shook off his grip impatiently, put his hand to the gun in theholster of his suit. Tate was still watching, fascinated. Look, hesaid again. The color is changing slightly, falling down the spectrum.I think that's a warning signal. When it reaches red, the door willclose. He moved toward the widening door, like a sleepwalker.     Wait, Syme said hoarsely. You forgot the machine.     Tate turned, said, Oh yes, and walked back. Then he saw the gun inSyme's hand. His jaw dropped slightly, but he didn't say anything. Hejust stood there, looking dumbly from the gun to Syme's dark face.     Syme shot him carefully in the chest.     He dropped like a rag doll, but Syme's aim had been bad. He wasn't deadyet. He rolled his eyes up, like a child. His lips moved. In spite ofhimself, Syme bent forward to listen.           You'll be     —      sorry     , Tate said, and died.     Air was sighing out through the widening hole in the screen. Symestraightened and smiled tolerantly. For a moment, he had beenunreasonably afraid of what Tate was about to say. Some detail he hadforgotten, perhaps, something that would trap him now that Tate, theman who knew the answers, was dead. But—he'd be sorry!     For what? Another dead fool?     He gathered up the delicate mechanism in one arm, and, filling his deeplungs, stepped forward through the opening.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the backdrop of the story Doorway to Kal-Jmar?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the fate of Harold Tate in the tale Doorway to Kal-Jmar? [SEP] <s>Kal-Jmar was the riddle of the Solar System. It was the only remainingcity of the ancient Martian race—the race that, legends said, hadrisen to greater heights than any other Solar culture. The machines,the artifacts, the records of the Martians were all there, perfectlypreserved inside the city's bubble-like dome, after God knew how manythousands of years. But they couldn't be reached.     For Kal-Jmar's dome was not the thing of steelite that protectedLillis: it was a tenuous, globular field of force that defied analysisas it defied explosives and diamond drills. The field extended bothabove and below the ground, and tunneling was of no avail. No one knewwhat had happened to the Martians, whether they were the ancestors ofthe present decadent Martian race, or a different species. No one knewanything about them or about Kal-Jmar.     In the early days, when the conquest of Mars was just beginning, Earthscientists had been wild to get into the city. They had observed itfrom every angle, taken photographs of its architecture and the robotsthat still patrolled its fantastically winding streets, and then theyhad tried everything they knew to pierce the wall.     Later, however, when every unsuccessful attempt had precipitated abloody uprising of the present-day Martians—resulting in a rapiddwindling of the number of Martians—the Mars Protectorate had steppedin and forbidden any further experiments; forbidden, in fact, anyEarthman to go near the place.     Thus matter had stood for over a hundred years, until Harold Tate.Tate, a physicist, had stumbled on a field that seemed to be identicalin properties to the Kal-Jmar dome; and what is more, he had found aforce that would break it down.     And so he had made his first trip to Mars, and within twenty-fourhours, by the blindest of chances, blurted out his secret to SymeRector, the scourge of the spaceways, the man with a thousand creditson his sleek, tigerish head.     Syme's smile was not tigerish now; it was carefully, studiedly mild.For Tate was no longer drunk, and it was important that it should notoccur to him that he had been indiscreet.     This is native territory we're coming to, Harold, he said. Betterstrap on your gun.     Why. Are they really dangerous?     They're unpredictable, Syme told him. They're built differently, andthey think differently. They breathe like us, down in their cavernswhere there's air, but they also eat sand, and get their oxygen thatway.     Yes, I've heard about that, Tate said. Iron oxide—very interestingmetabolism. He got his energy pistol out of the compartment andstrapped it on absently.     Syme turned the little sand car up a gentle rise towards the tortuoushill country in the distance. Not only that, he continued. Theyeat the damndest stuff. Lichens and fungi and tumble-grass off thedeserts—all full of deadly poisons, from arsenic up the line toxopite. They seem intelligent enough—in their own way—but they nevercome near our cities and they either can't or won't learn Terrestrial.When the first colonists came here, they had to learn      their     crazylanguage. Every word of it can mean any one of a dozen differentthings, depending on the inflection you give it. I can speak it some,but not much. Nobody can. We don't think the same.     So you think they might attack us? Tate asked again, nervously.     They      might     do anything, Syme said curtly. Don't worry about it.     The hills were much closer than they had seemed, because of Mars'deceptively low horizon. In half an hour they were in the midst of awilderness of fantastically eroded dunes and channels, laboring onsliding treads up the sides of steep hills only to slither down againon the other side.  <doc-sep>Syme looked at the man, nursing the tortured muscles of his arms. Hisrescuer was tall and thin, of indeterminate age. He had light, sandyhair, a sharp nose, and—oddly conflicting—pale, serious eyes and ahumorous wide mouth. He was still panting.     I'm not hurt, Syme said. He grinned, his white teeth flashing in hisdark, lean face. Thanks for giving me a hand.     You scared hell out of me, said the man. I heard a thud. Ithought—you'd gone over. He looked at Syme questioningly.     That was my bag, the outlaw said quickly. It slipped out of my hand,and I overbalanced myself when I grabbed for it.     The man sighed. I need a drink.      You     need a drink. Come on. Hepicked up a small black suitcase from the floor and started for theelevator, then stopped. Oh—your bag. Shouldn't we do something aboutthat?     Never mind, said Syme, taking his arm. The shock must have busted itwide open. My laundry is probably all over Lillis by now.     They got off at the amusement level, three tiers down, and found acafe around the corner. Syme wasn't worried about the man he had justkilled. He had heard no second thud, so the body must have stayed onthe first outcropping of the tower it struck. It probably wouldn't befound until morning.     And he had the wallet. When he paid for the first round of      culcha     , hetook it out and stole a glance at the identification card inside. Thereit was—his ticket to freedom. He began feeling expansive, and evenfriendly toward the slender, mouse-like man across the table. It wasthe      culcha     , of course. He knew it, and didn't care. In the morninghe'd find a freighter berth—in as big a spaceport as Lillis, therewere always jobs open. Meanwhile, he might as well enjoy himself, andit was safer to be seen with a companion than to be alone.     He listened lazily to what the other was saying, leaning his tall,graceful body back into the softly-cushioned seat.     Lissen, said Harold Tate. He leaned forward on one elbow, slipped,caught himself, and looked at the elbow reproachfully. Lissen, hesaid again, I trust you, Jones. You're obvi-obviously an adventurer,but you have an honest face. I can't see it very well at the moment,but I hic!—pardon—seem to recall it as an honest face. I'm going totell you something, because I need your help!—help. He paused. Ineed a guide. D'you know this part of Mars well?     Sure, said Syme absently. Out in the center of the floor, an AGplate had been turned on. Five Venusian girls were diving and twistingin its influence, propelling themselves by the motion of theirdelicately-webbed feet and trailing long gauzy streamers of synthesilkafter them. Syme watched them through narrowed lids, feeling the glowof      culcha     inside him.     I wanta go to Kal-Jmar, said Tate.     Syme snapped to attention, every nerve tingling. An indefinable sense,a hunch that had served him well before, told him that something bigwas coming—something that promised adventure and loot for Syme Rector.Why? he asked softly. Why to Kal-Jmar?     Harold Tate told him, and later, when Syme had taken him to his rooms,he showed him what was in his little black suitcase. Syme had beenright; it was big.  <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>They started off down the canyon, Syme urging the slighter man toa fast clip, even though his leg was already stiffening. When theyfinally reached a climbable spot, Syme was limping badly and Tate wasobviously exhausted.     They clambered wearily out onto the level sands again just as thesmall, blazing sun was setting. Luck, grunted Syme. Our only chanceof getting near the city is at night. He peered around, shading hiseyes from the sun's glare with a gauntleted hand. See that?     Following his pointing finger, Tate saw a faint, ephemeral arc showingabove a line of low hills in the distance. Kal-Jmar, said Syme.     Tate brightened a little. His body was too filled with fatigue for hismind to do any work on the problem that was baffling him, and so itreceded into the back of his mind.     Kal-Jmar, whispered Syme again.     There was no twilight. The sun dropped abruptly behind the low horizon,and darkness fell, sudden and absolute. Syme picked up the extra oxygentank and the suitcase, checked his direction by a wrist compass, andstarted toward the hills. Tate rose wearily to his feet and followedagain.     Two hours later, Kal-Jmar stood before them. They had wormed theirway past the sentry posts, doing most of the last two hundred meterson all fours. With skill and luck, and with Syme's fierce, burningdetermination, they had managed to escape detection—and there theywere. Journey's end.     Tate stared up at the shining, starlight towers in speechlessadmiration. If the people who had built this city had been decadent,still their architecture was magnificent. The city was a rhapsody madesolid. There was a sense of decay about it, he thought, but it was thedecay of supreme beauty, caught at the very verge of dissolution andpreserved for all eternity.     Well? demanded Syme.     Tate started, shaken out of his dream. He looked down at the blacksuitcase, a little wonderingly, and then pulled it to him and opened it.     Inside, carefully wrapped in shock-absorbing tissue, was a fragilecontrivance of many tubes and wires, and a tiny parabolic mirror. Ithad a brand new Elecorp 210 volt battery, and it needed every volt ofthat tremendous power. Tate made the connections, his hands tremblingslightly, and set it up on a telescoping tripod. Syme watched himclosely, his big body tensed with expectation.     The field was before them, shimmering faintly in the starlight. Itlooked unsubstantial as the stuff of dreams, but both men knew that nopower man possessed, unless it was the thing Tate held, could penetratethat screen.     Tate set the mechanism up close to the field, aimed it very delicately,and closed a minute switch. After a long second, he opened it again.     Nothing happened.     The screen was still there, as unsubstantial and as solid as ever.There was no change.  <doc-sep>It was a weird situation, Syme thought. His mind was racing, but as yethe could see no way out. He began to wonder, if he did, could he keepthe Martians from knowing about it? Then he realized that the Martianmust have received that thought, too, and he was enraged. He stood,holding himself in check with an effort.     Will you tell us why? Tate asked.     You were brought here for that purpose. It is part of our conceptionof justice. I will tell you and your—friend—anything you wish toknow.     Syme noticed that the other Martians had retired to the farther side ofthe cavern. Some were munching the glowing fungus. That left only theleader, who was standing alertly on all fours a short distance awayfrom them, holding the Benson gun trained on them. Syme tried not tothink about the gun, especially about making a grab for it. It was liketrying not to think of the word hippopotamus.     Tate squatted down comfortably on the floor of the cavern, apparentlyunconcerned, but his hands were trembling slightly. First why— hebegan.     There are many secrets in Kal-Jmar, the Martian said, among them avery simple catalyzing agent which could within fifty years transformMars to a planet with Terrestrially-thick atmosphere.     I think I see, Tate said thoughtfully. That's been the ultimate aimall along, but so far the problem has us licked. If we solved it, thenwe'd have all of Mars, not just the cities. Your people would die out.You couldn't have that, of course.     He sighed deeply. He spread his gloved hands before him and lookedat them with a queer intentness. Well—how about the Martians—theKal-Jmar Martians, I mean? I'd dearly love to know the answer to thatone.     Neither of the alternatives in your mind is correct. They were not aseparate species, although they were unlike us. But they were not ourancestors, either. They were the contemporaries of our ancestors.     Several thousand years ago Mars' loss of atmosphere began to makeitself felt. There were two ways out. Some chose to seal themselvesinto cities like Kal-Jmar; our ancestors chose to adapt their bodies tothe new conditions. Thus the race split. Their answer to the problemwas an evasion; they remained static. Our answer was the true one, forwe progressed. We progressed beyond the need of science; they remainedits slaves. They died of a plague—and other causes.     You see, he finished gently, our deception has caused a naturalconfusion in your minds. They were the degenerates, not we.     And yet, Tate mused, you are being destroyed by contact withan—inferior—culture.     We hope to win yet, the Martian said.     Tate stood up, his face very white. Tell me one thing, he begged.Will our two races ever live together in amity?     The Martian lowered his head. That is for unborn generations. Helooked at Tate again and aimed the energy gun. You are a brave man,he said. I am sorry.     Syme saw all his hopes of treasure and glory go glimmering down thesights of the Martian's Benson gun, and suddenly the pent-up rage inhim exploded. Too swiftly for his intention to be telegraphed, beforehe knew himself what he meant to do, he hurled himself bodily into theMartian.  <doc-sep>Tate looked worriedly at his wiring, a deep wrinkle appearing betweenhis pale, serious eyes. Syme stood stock-still but quivering withrepressed energy, scowling like a thundercloud.     It must be capable of working, Tate told himself querulously. TheMartians knew—they wouldn't have tried to stop us if—Wait a minute.He paced back and forth, biting his lip. Syme watched him with catlikeeyes, clenching and unclenching his great fists.     Tate paused. I think I have it, he said slowly. I haven't enoughpower to hetrodyne the whole screen, although that's theoreticallypossible. But there must be weaker portions of the field—doors—setto open on the impact of a beam like this one. But I've only got powerenough for two more tries. Jones, where would you put an entrance, ifyou'd built Kal-Jmar?     Syme's eyes widened, and he stared around slowly. A thousand yearsago? he muttered. Two thousand? These hills were raised in fivehundred. We can't go by topography.     In front of one of the main arteries, then. But there are dozens, noone larger than the other. Did they have dozens of doors?     Maybe, said Tate. He pointed to the right, where the fairy towers ofKal-Jmar swept aside to leave a broad avenue. It's the nearest—asgood as any other.     They walked over to it in silence, and in silence Tate set up hisequipment once more. He shifted it from side to side, squinting, untilhe had it lined up exactly on the center of the avenue. Then he took along breath, and closed the switch again.     The switch came up. Syme stared with fierce eagerness, eyes ablaze. Fora moment there was nothing, and then—     Tate clutched the big man's arm. Look! he breathed.     Where the ray from Tate's machine had impinged, a faintly-glowingspot of violet radiance! As they watched it widened, dilating into aperfect circle of violet, enclosing nothingness. The door was opening.     It worked, Tate said softly. It worked!     Syme shook off his grip impatiently, put his hand to the gun in theholster of his suit. Tate was still watching, fascinated. Look, hesaid again. The color is changing slightly, falling down the spectrum.I think that's a warning signal. When it reaches red, the door willclose. He moved toward the widening door, like a sleepwalker.     Wait, Syme said hoarsely. You forgot the machine.     Tate turned, said, Oh yes, and walked back. Then he saw the gun inSyme's hand. His jaw dropped slightly, but he didn't say anything. Hejust stood there, looking dumbly from the gun to Syme's dark face.     Syme shot him carefully in the chest.     He dropped like a rag doll, but Syme's aim had been bad. He wasn't deadyet. He rolled his eyes up, like a child. His lips moved. In spite ofhimself, Syme bent forward to listen.           You'll be     —      sorry     , Tate said, and died.     Air was sighing out through the widening hole in the screen. Symestraightened and smiled tolerantly. For a moment, he had beenunreasonably afraid of what Tate was about to say. Some detail he hadforgotten, perhaps, something that would trap him now that Tate, theman who knew the answers, was dead. But—he'd be sorry!     For what? Another dead fool?     He gathered up the delicate mechanism in one arm, and, filling his deeplungs, stepped forward through the opening.  <doc-sep>The towers of dead Kal-Jmar loomed over him in the dusk as he strodelike a conqueror down the long-deserted avenue. The city was full ofthe whisperings of Kal-Jmar's ancient wraiths, but they touched onlya corner of his mind. He was filled to overflowing with the bright,glowing joy of conquest. The city was his!     His boots trod an avenue where no foot had fallen these untold eons,yet there was no dust. The city was bright and furbished waiting forhim. He was intoxicated.      The city was his!       There was a gentle ramp leading upward, and Syme followed it, breathingin the manufactured air of his pressure suit like wine. All around him,the city blazed with treasures beyond price.       It was his!       The ramp led to a portal set in the side of a shining needle of abuilding. Syme strode up to the threshold, and the door dilated forhim. He stepped inside; the door closed and a soft light glowed on.     There was air here: good, breathable air. A tiny zephyr of it wasblowing from some hidden source against his body. Greatly daring, heunfastened the helmet of his suit and flung it back. He breathed in alungful of it. God, but it was good after that canned stuff! It was alittle heady; it made his head swim—but it was good air, excellent air!     He looked around him, measuring, assessing for the first time. Thisroom alone was worth a fortune. There was platinum; in ornaments, setinto the walls, in furniture. That would be enough to buy the littlethings—a new ship, or perhaps even immunity back on Earth. But thatwas as nothing to the rest of it, the things three worlds would clamorfor—the artifacts, the record books, the machines!     He strode about the room, building plan on grandiose plan. He couldtake back only a little with him at first; but he could return againand again, with Tate's mechanism and new batteries. But he'd explorethe city thoroughly before he left. Somewhere there must be weapons. Aninvincible weapon, perhaps, that a man could carry in his hand. Perhapseven a perfect body screen. With that he wouldn't have to steal awayfrom Mars on a freighter, hiding his loot and his greatness in a dingyengine room. He could walk into a Triplanet ship and order its captainto take him wherever he chose to go!  <doc-sep>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></s> [SEP] What is the fate of Harold Tate in the tale Doorway to Kal-Jmar?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What tools does Syme Rector rely on to stay alive in Doorway to Kal-Jmar? [SEP] <s>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>  Doorway to Kal-Jmar     By Stuart Fleming     Two men had died before Syme Rector's guns     to give him the key to the ancient city of     Kal-Jmar—a city of untold wealth, and of     robots that made desires instant commands.     [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 tall man loitered a moment before a garish window display, his eyesimpassive in his space-burned face, as the Lillis patrolman passed.Then he turned, burying his long chin in the folds of his sand cape,and took up the pursuit of the dark figure ahead once more.     Above, the city's multicolored lights were reflected from thetranslucent Dome—a distant, subtly distorted Lillis, through which thestars shone dimly.     Getting through that dome had been his first urgent problem, but now hehad another, and a more pressing one. It had been simple enough to passhimself off as an itinerant prospector and gain entrance to the city,after his ship had crashed in the Mare Cimmerium. But the rest wouldnot be so simple. He had to acquire a spaceman's identity card, and hehad to do it fast. It was only a matter of time until the TriplanetPatrol gave up the misleading trail he had made into the hill country,and concluded that he must have reached Lillis. After that, his onlysafety lay in shipping out on a freighter as soon as possible. He hadto get off Mars, because his trail was warm, and the Patrol thorough.     They knew, of course, that he was an outlaw—the very fact of thecrashed, illegally-armed ship would have told them that. But theydidn't know that he was Syme Rector, the most-wanted and most-fearedraider in the System. In that was his only advantage.     He walked a little faster, as his quarry turned up a side street andthen boarded a moving ramp to an upper level. He watched until theshort, wide-shouldered figure in spaceman's harness disappeared overthe top of the ramp, and then followed.     The man was waiting for him at the mouth of the ascending tunnel.     Syme looked at him casually, without a flicker of expression, andstarted to walk on, but the other stepped into his path. He was quiteyoung, Syme saw, with a fighter's shoulders under the white leather,and a hard, determined thrust to his firm jaw.     All right, the boy said quietly. What is it?     I don't understand, Syme said.     The game, the angle. You've been following me. Do you want trouble?     Why, no, Syme told him bewilderedly. I haven't been following you.I—     The boy knuckled his chin reflectively. You could be lying, he saidfinally. But maybe I've made a mistake. Then—Okay, citizen, you canclear—but don't let me catch you on my tail again.     Syme murmured something and turned away, feeling the spaceman's eyeson the small of his back until he turned the corner. At the nextstreet he took a ramp up, crossed over and came down on the other sidea block away. He waited until he saw the boy's broad figure pass theintersection, and then followed again more cautiously.     It was risky, but there was no other way. The signatures, the data,even the photograph on the card could be forged once Syme got his handson it, but the identity card itself—that oblong of dark diamondite,glowing with the tiny fires of radioactivity—that could not beimitated, and the only way to get it was to kill.     Up ahead was the Founders' Tower, the tallest building in Lillis. Theboy strode into the entrance lobby, bought a ticket for the observationplatform, and took the elevator. As soon as his car was out of sight inthe transparent tube, Syme followed. He put a half-credit slug into themachine, took the punctured slip of plastic that came out. The ticketwent into a scanning slot in the wall of the car, and the elevatorwhisked him up.  <doc-sep>Syme looked at the man, nursing the tortured muscles of his arms. Hisrescuer was tall and thin, of indeterminate age. He had light, sandyhair, a sharp nose, and—oddly conflicting—pale, serious eyes and ahumorous wide mouth. He was still panting.     I'm not hurt, Syme said. He grinned, his white teeth flashing in hisdark, lean face. Thanks for giving me a hand.     You scared hell out of me, said the man. I heard a thud. Ithought—you'd gone over. He looked at Syme questioningly.     That was my bag, the outlaw said quickly. It slipped out of my hand,and I overbalanced myself when I grabbed for it.     The man sighed. I need a drink.      You     need a drink. Come on. Hepicked up a small black suitcase from the floor and started for theelevator, then stopped. Oh—your bag. Shouldn't we do something aboutthat?     Never mind, said Syme, taking his arm. The shock must have busted itwide open. My laundry is probably all over Lillis by now.     They got off at the amusement level, three tiers down, and found acafe around the corner. Syme wasn't worried about the man he had justkilled. He had heard no second thud, so the body must have stayed onthe first outcropping of the tower it struck. It probably wouldn't befound until morning.     And he had the wallet. When he paid for the first round of      culcha     , hetook it out and stole a glance at the identification card inside. Thereit was—his ticket to freedom. He began feeling expansive, and evenfriendly toward the slender, mouse-like man across the table. It wasthe      culcha     , of course. He knew it, and didn't care. In the morninghe'd find a freighter berth—in as big a spaceport as Lillis, therewere always jobs open. Meanwhile, he might as well enjoy himself, andit was safer to be seen with a companion than to be alone.     He listened lazily to what the other was saying, leaning his tall,graceful body back into the softly-cushioned seat.     Lissen, said Harold Tate. He leaned forward on one elbow, slipped,caught himself, and looked at the elbow reproachfully. Lissen, hesaid again, I trust you, Jones. You're obvi-obviously an adventurer,but you have an honest face. I can't see it very well at the moment,but I hic!—pardon—seem to recall it as an honest face. I'm going totell you something, because I need your help!—help. He paused. Ineed a guide. D'you know this part of Mars well?     Sure, said Syme absently. Out in the center of the floor, an AGplate had been turned on. Five Venusian girls were diving and twistingin its influence, propelling themselves by the motion of theirdelicately-webbed feet and trailing long gauzy streamers of synthesilkafter them. Syme watched them through narrowed lids, feeling the glowof      culcha     inside him.     I wanta go to Kal-Jmar, said Tate.     Syme snapped to attention, every nerve tingling. An indefinable sense,a hunch that had served him well before, told him that something bigwas coming—something that promised adventure and loot for Syme Rector.Why? he asked softly. Why to Kal-Jmar?     Harold Tate told him, and later, when Syme had taken him to his rooms,he showed him what was in his little black suitcase. Syme had beenright; it was big.  <doc-sep>Kal-Jmar was the riddle of the Solar System. It was the only remainingcity of the ancient Martian race—the race that, legends said, hadrisen to greater heights than any other Solar culture. The machines,the artifacts, the records of the Martians were all there, perfectlypreserved inside the city's bubble-like dome, after God knew how manythousands of years. But they couldn't be reached.     For Kal-Jmar's dome was not the thing of steelite that protectedLillis: it was a tenuous, globular field of force that defied analysisas it defied explosives and diamond drills. The field extended bothabove and below the ground, and tunneling was of no avail. No one knewwhat had happened to the Martians, whether they were the ancestors ofthe present decadent Martian race, or a different species. No one knewanything about them or about Kal-Jmar.     In the early days, when the conquest of Mars was just beginning, Earthscientists had been wild to get into the city. They had observed itfrom every angle, taken photographs of its architecture and the robotsthat still patrolled its fantastically winding streets, and then theyhad tried everything they knew to pierce the wall.     Later, however, when every unsuccessful attempt had precipitated abloody uprising of the present-day Martians—resulting in a rapiddwindling of the number of Martians—the Mars Protectorate had steppedin and forbidden any further experiments; forbidden, in fact, anyEarthman to go near the place.     Thus matter had stood for over a hundred years, until Harold Tate.Tate, a physicist, had stumbled on a field that seemed to be identicalin properties to the Kal-Jmar dome; and what is more, he had found aforce that would break it down.     And so he had made his first trip to Mars, and within twenty-fourhours, by the blindest of chances, blurted out his secret to SymeRector, the scourge of the spaceways, the man with a thousand creditson his sleek, tigerish head.     Syme's smile was not tigerish now; it was carefully, studiedly mild.For Tate was no longer drunk, and it was important that it should notoccur to him that he had been indiscreet.     This is native territory we're coming to, Harold, he said. Betterstrap on your gun.     Why. Are they really dangerous?     They're unpredictable, Syme told him. They're built differently, andthey think differently. They breathe like us, down in their cavernswhere there's air, but they also eat sand, and get their oxygen thatway.     Yes, I've heard about that, Tate said. Iron oxide—very interestingmetabolism. He got his energy pistol out of the compartment andstrapped it on absently.     Syme turned the little sand car up a gentle rise towards the tortuoushill country in the distance. Not only that, he continued. Theyeat the damndest stuff. Lichens and fungi and tumble-grass off thedeserts—all full of deadly poisons, from arsenic up the line toxopite. They seem intelligent enough—in their own way—but they nevercome near our cities and they either can't or won't learn Terrestrial.When the first colonists came here, they had to learn      their     crazylanguage. Every word of it can mean any one of a dozen differentthings, depending on the inflection you give it. I can speak it some,but not much. Nobody can. We don't think the same.     So you think they might attack us? Tate asked again, nervously.     They      might     do anything, Syme said curtly. Don't worry about it.     The hills were much closer than they had seemed, because of Mars'deceptively low horizon. In half an hour they were in the midst of awilderness of fantastically eroded dunes and channels, laboring onsliding treads up the sides of steep hills only to slither down againon the other side.  <doc-sep>They started off down the canyon, Syme urging the slighter man toa fast clip, even though his leg was already stiffening. When theyfinally reached a climbable spot, Syme was limping badly and Tate wasobviously exhausted.     They clambered wearily out onto the level sands again just as thesmall, blazing sun was setting. Luck, grunted Syme. Our only chanceof getting near the city is at night. He peered around, shading hiseyes from the sun's glare with a gauntleted hand. See that?     Following his pointing finger, Tate saw a faint, ephemeral arc showingabove a line of low hills in the distance. Kal-Jmar, said Syme.     Tate brightened a little. His body was too filled with fatigue for hismind to do any work on the problem that was baffling him, and so itreceded into the back of his mind.     Kal-Jmar, whispered Syme again.     There was no twilight. The sun dropped abruptly behind the low horizon,and darkness fell, sudden and absolute. Syme picked up the extra oxygentank and the suitcase, checked his direction by a wrist compass, andstarted toward the hills. Tate rose wearily to his feet and followedagain.     Two hours later, Kal-Jmar stood before them. They had wormed theirway past the sentry posts, doing most of the last two hundred meterson all fours. With skill and luck, and with Syme's fierce, burningdetermination, they had managed to escape detection—and there theywere. Journey's end.     Tate stared up at the shining, starlight towers in speechlessadmiration. If the people who had built this city had been decadent,still their architecture was magnificent. The city was a rhapsody madesolid. There was a sense of decay about it, he thought, but it was thedecay of supreme beauty, caught at the very verge of dissolution andpreserved for all eternity.     Well? demanded Syme.     Tate started, shaken out of his dream. He looked down at the blacksuitcase, a little wonderingly, and then pulled it to him and opened it.     Inside, carefully wrapped in shock-absorbing tissue, was a fragilecontrivance of many tubes and wires, and a tiny parabolic mirror. Ithad a brand new Elecorp 210 volt battery, and it needed every volt ofthat tremendous power. Tate made the connections, his hands tremblingslightly, and set it up on a telescoping tripod. Syme watched himclosely, his big body tensed with expectation.     The field was before them, shimmering faintly in the starlight. Itlooked unsubstantial as the stuff of dreams, but both men knew that nopower man possessed, unless it was the thing Tate held, could penetratethat screen.     Tate set the mechanism up close to the field, aimed it very delicately,and closed a minute switch. After a long second, he opened it again.     Nothing happened.     The screen was still there, as unsubstantial and as solid as ever.There was no change.  <doc-sep>Tate looked worriedly at his wiring, a deep wrinkle appearing betweenhis pale, serious eyes. Syme stood stock-still but quivering withrepressed energy, scowling like a thundercloud.     It must be capable of working, Tate told himself querulously. TheMartians knew—they wouldn't have tried to stop us if—Wait a minute.He paced back and forth, biting his lip. Syme watched him with catlikeeyes, clenching and unclenching his great fists.     Tate paused. I think I have it, he said slowly. I haven't enoughpower to hetrodyne the whole screen, although that's theoreticallypossible. But there must be weaker portions of the field—doors—setto open on the impact of a beam like this one. But I've only got powerenough for two more tries. Jones, where would you put an entrance, ifyou'd built Kal-Jmar?     Syme's eyes widened, and he stared around slowly. A thousand yearsago? he muttered. Two thousand? These hills were raised in fivehundred. We can't go by topography.     In front of one of the main arteries, then. But there are dozens, noone larger than the other. Did they have dozens of doors?     Maybe, said Tate. He pointed to the right, where the fairy towers ofKal-Jmar swept aside to leave a broad avenue. It's the nearest—asgood as any other.     They walked over to it in silence, and in silence Tate set up hisequipment once more. He shifted it from side to side, squinting, untilhe had it lined up exactly on the center of the avenue. Then he took along breath, and closed the switch again.     The switch came up. Syme stared with fierce eagerness, eyes ablaze. Fora moment there was nothing, and then—     Tate clutched the big man's arm. Look! he breathed.     Where the ray from Tate's machine had impinged, a faintly-glowingspot of violet radiance! As they watched it widened, dilating into aperfect circle of violet, enclosing nothingness. The door was opening.     It worked, Tate said softly. It worked!     Syme shook off his grip impatiently, put his hand to the gun in theholster of his suit. Tate was still watching, fascinated. Look, hesaid again. The color is changing slightly, falling down the spectrum.I think that's a warning signal. When it reaches red, the door willclose. He moved toward the widening door, like a sleepwalker.     Wait, Syme said hoarsely. You forgot the machine.     Tate turned, said, Oh yes, and walked back. Then he saw the gun inSyme's hand. His jaw dropped slightly, but he didn't say anything. Hejust stood there, looking dumbly from the gun to Syme's dark face.     Syme shot him carefully in the chest.     He dropped like a rag doll, but Syme's aim had been bad. He wasn't deadyet. He rolled his eyes up, like a child. His lips moved. In spite ofhimself, Syme bent forward to listen.           You'll be     —      sorry     , Tate said, and died.     Air was sighing out through the widening hole in the screen. Symestraightened and smiled tolerantly. For a moment, he had beenunreasonably afraid of what Tate was about to say. Some detail he hadforgotten, perhaps, something that would trap him now that Tate, theman who knew the answers, was dead. But—he'd be sorry!     For what? Another dead fool?     He gathered up the delicate mechanism in one arm, and, filling his deeplungs, stepped forward through the opening.  <doc-sep>It was a weird situation, Syme thought. His mind was racing, but as yethe could see no way out. He began to wonder, if he did, could he keepthe Martians from knowing about it? Then he realized that the Martianmust have received that thought, too, and he was enraged. He stood,holding himself in check with an effort.     Will you tell us why? Tate asked.     You were brought here for that purpose. It is part of our conceptionof justice. I will tell you and your—friend—anything you wish toknow.     Syme noticed that the other Martians had retired to the farther side ofthe cavern. Some were munching the glowing fungus. That left only theleader, who was standing alertly on all fours a short distance awayfrom them, holding the Benson gun trained on them. Syme tried not tothink about the gun, especially about making a grab for it. It was liketrying not to think of the word hippopotamus.     Tate squatted down comfortably on the floor of the cavern, apparentlyunconcerned, but his hands were trembling slightly. First why— hebegan.     There are many secrets in Kal-Jmar, the Martian said, among them avery simple catalyzing agent which could within fifty years transformMars to a planet with Terrestrially-thick atmosphere.     I think I see, Tate said thoughtfully. That's been the ultimate aimall along, but so far the problem has us licked. If we solved it, thenwe'd have all of Mars, not just the cities. Your people would die out.You couldn't have that, of course.     He sighed deeply. He spread his gloved hands before him and lookedat them with a queer intentness. Well—how about the Martians—theKal-Jmar Martians, I mean? I'd dearly love to know the answer to thatone.     Neither of the alternatives in your mind is correct. They were not aseparate species, although they were unlike us. But they were not ourancestors, either. They were the contemporaries of our ancestors.     Several thousand years ago Mars' loss of atmosphere began to makeitself felt. There were two ways out. Some chose to seal themselvesinto cities like Kal-Jmar; our ancestors chose to adapt their bodies tothe new conditions. Thus the race split. Their answer to the problemwas an evasion; they remained static. Our answer was the true one, forwe progressed. We progressed beyond the need of science; they remainedits slaves. They died of a plague—and other causes.     You see, he finished gently, our deception has caused a naturalconfusion in your minds. They were the degenerates, not we.     And yet, Tate mused, you are being destroyed by contact withan—inferior—culture.     We hope to win yet, the Martian said.     Tate stood up, his face very white. Tell me one thing, he begged.Will our two races ever live together in amity?     The Martian lowered his head. That is for unborn generations. Helooked at Tate again and aimed the energy gun. You are a brave man,he said. I am sorry.     Syme saw all his hopes of treasure and glory go glimmering down thesights of the Martian's Benson gun, and suddenly the pent-up rage inhim exploded. Too swiftly for his intention to be telegraphed, beforehe knew himself what he meant to do, he hurled himself bodily into theMartian.  <doc-sep>The towers of dead Kal-Jmar loomed over him in the dusk as he strodelike a conqueror down the long-deserted avenue. The city was full ofthe whisperings of Kal-Jmar's ancient wraiths, but they touched onlya corner of his mind. He was filled to overflowing with the bright,glowing joy of conquest. The city was his!     His boots trod an avenue where no foot had fallen these untold eons,yet there was no dust. The city was bright and furbished waiting forhim. He was intoxicated.      The city was his!       There was a gentle ramp leading upward, and Syme followed it, breathingin the manufactured air of his pressure suit like wine. All around him,the city blazed with treasures beyond price.       It was his!       The ramp led to a portal set in the side of a shining needle of abuilding. Syme strode up to the threshold, and the door dilated forhim. He stepped inside; the door closed and a soft light glowed on.     There was air here: good, breathable air. A tiny zephyr of it wasblowing from some hidden source against his body. Greatly daring, heunfastened the helmet of his suit and flung it back. He breathed in alungful of it. God, but it was good after that canned stuff! It was alittle heady; it made his head swim—but it was good air, excellent air!     He looked around him, measuring, assessing for the first time. Thisroom alone was worth a fortune. There was platinum; in ornaments, setinto the walls, in furniture. That would be enough to buy the littlethings—a new ship, or perhaps even immunity back on Earth. But thatwas as nothing to the rest of it, the things three worlds would clamorfor—the artifacts, the record books, the machines!     He strode about the room, building plan on grandiose plan. He couldtake back only a little with him at first; but he could return againand again, with Tate's mechanism and new batteries. But he'd explorethe city thoroughly before he left. Somewhere there must be weapons. Aninvincible weapon, perhaps, that a man could carry in his hand. Perhapseven a perfect body screen. With that he wouldn't have to steal awayfrom Mars on a freighter, hiding his loot and his greatness in a dingyengine room. He could walk into a Triplanet ship and order its captainto take him wherever he chose to go!  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What tools does Syme Rector rely on to stay alive in Doorway to Kal-Jmar?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What can be said about the Martians featured in Doorway to Kal-Jmar? [SEP] <s>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 was a weird situation, Syme thought. His mind was racing, but as yethe could see no way out. He began to wonder, if he did, could he keepthe Martians from knowing about it? Then he realized that the Martianmust have received that thought, too, and he was enraged. He stood,holding himself in check with an effort.     Will you tell us why? Tate asked.     You were brought here for that purpose. It is part of our conceptionof justice. I will tell you and your—friend—anything you wish toknow.     Syme noticed that the other Martians had retired to the farther side ofthe cavern. Some were munching the glowing fungus. That left only theleader, who was standing alertly on all fours a short distance awayfrom them, holding the Benson gun trained on them. Syme tried not tothink about the gun, especially about making a grab for it. It was liketrying not to think of the word hippopotamus.     Tate squatted down comfortably on the floor of the cavern, apparentlyunconcerned, but his hands were trembling slightly. First why— hebegan.     There are many secrets in Kal-Jmar, the Martian said, among them avery simple catalyzing agent which could within fifty years transformMars to a planet with Terrestrially-thick atmosphere.     I think I see, Tate said thoughtfully. That's been the ultimate aimall along, but so far the problem has us licked. If we solved it, thenwe'd have all of Mars, not just the cities. Your people would die out.You couldn't have that, of course.     He sighed deeply. He spread his gloved hands before him and lookedat them with a queer intentness. Well—how about the Martians—theKal-Jmar Martians, I mean? I'd dearly love to know the answer to thatone.     Neither of the alternatives in your mind is correct. They were not aseparate species, although they were unlike us. But they were not ourancestors, either. They were the contemporaries of our ancestors.     Several thousand years ago Mars' loss of atmosphere began to makeitself felt. There were two ways out. Some chose to seal themselvesinto cities like Kal-Jmar; our ancestors chose to adapt their bodies tothe new conditions. Thus the race split. Their answer to the problemwas an evasion; they remained static. Our answer was the true one, forwe progressed. We progressed beyond the need of science; they remainedits slaves. They died of a plague—and other causes.     You see, he finished gently, our deception has caused a naturalconfusion in your minds. They were the degenerates, not we.     And yet, Tate mused, you are being destroyed by contact withan—inferior—culture.     We hope to win yet, the Martian said.     Tate stood up, his face very white. Tell me one thing, he begged.Will our two races ever live together in amity?     The Martian lowered his head. That is for unborn generations. Helooked at Tate again and aimed the energy gun. You are a brave man,he said. I am sorry.     Syme saw all his hopes of treasure and glory go glimmering down thesights of the Martian's Benson gun, and suddenly the pent-up rage inhim exploded. Too swiftly for his intention to be telegraphed, beforehe knew himself what he meant to do, he hurled himself bodily into theMartian.  <doc-sep>Kal-Jmar was the riddle of the Solar System. It was the only remainingcity of the ancient Martian race—the race that, legends said, hadrisen to greater heights than any other Solar culture. The machines,the artifacts, the records of the Martians were all there, perfectlypreserved inside the city's bubble-like dome, after God knew how manythousands of years. But they couldn't be reached.     For Kal-Jmar's dome was not the thing of steelite that protectedLillis: it was a tenuous, globular field of force that defied analysisas it defied explosives and diamond drills. The field extended bothabove and below the ground, and tunneling was of no avail. No one knewwhat had happened to the Martians, whether they were the ancestors ofthe present decadent Martian race, or a different species. No one knewanything about them or about Kal-Jmar.     In the early days, when the conquest of Mars was just beginning, Earthscientists had been wild to get into the city. They had observed itfrom every angle, taken photographs of its architecture and the robotsthat still patrolled its fantastically winding streets, and then theyhad tried everything they knew to pierce the wall.     Later, however, when every unsuccessful attempt had precipitated abloody uprising of the present-day Martians—resulting in a rapiddwindling of the number of Martians—the Mars Protectorate had steppedin and forbidden any further experiments; forbidden, in fact, anyEarthman to go near the place.     Thus matter had stood for over a hundred years, until Harold Tate.Tate, a physicist, had stumbled on a field that seemed to be identicalin properties to the Kal-Jmar dome; and what is more, he had found aforce that would break it down.     And so he had made his first trip to Mars, and within twenty-fourhours, by the blindest of chances, blurted out his secret to SymeRector, the scourge of the spaceways, the man with a thousand creditson his sleek, tigerish head.     Syme's smile was not tigerish now; it was carefully, studiedly mild.For Tate was no longer drunk, and it was important that it should notoccur to him that he had been indiscreet.     This is native territory we're coming to, Harold, he said. Betterstrap on your gun.     Why. Are they really dangerous?     They're unpredictable, Syme told him. They're built differently, andthey think differently. They breathe like us, down in their cavernswhere there's air, but they also eat sand, and get their oxygen thatway.     Yes, I've heard about that, Tate said. Iron oxide—very interestingmetabolism. He got his energy pistol out of the compartment andstrapped it on absently.     Syme turned the little sand car up a gentle rise towards the tortuoushill country in the distance. Not only that, he continued. Theyeat the damndest stuff. Lichens and fungi and tumble-grass off thedeserts—all full of deadly poisons, from arsenic up the line toxopite. They seem intelligent enough—in their own way—but they nevercome near our cities and they either can't or won't learn Terrestrial.When the first colonists came here, they had to learn      their     crazylanguage. Every word of it can mean any one of a dozen differentthings, depending on the inflection you give it. I can speak it some,but not much. Nobody can. We don't think the same.     So you think they might attack us? Tate asked again, nervously.     They      might     do anything, Syme said curtly. Don't worry about it.     The hills were much closer than they had seemed, because of Mars'deceptively low horizon. In half an hour they were in the midst of awilderness of fantastically eroded dunes and channels, laboring onsliding treads up the sides of steep hills only to slither down againon the other side.  <doc-sep>Tate looked worriedly at his wiring, a deep wrinkle appearing betweenhis pale, serious eyes. Syme stood stock-still but quivering withrepressed energy, scowling like a thundercloud.     It must be capable of working, Tate told himself querulously. TheMartians knew—they wouldn't have tried to stop us if—Wait a minute.He paced back and forth, biting his lip. Syme watched him with catlikeeyes, clenching and unclenching his great fists.     Tate paused. I think I have it, he said slowly. I haven't enoughpower to hetrodyne the whole screen, although that's theoreticallypossible. But there must be weaker portions of the field—doors—setto open on the impact of a beam like this one. But I've only got powerenough for two more tries. Jones, where would you put an entrance, ifyou'd built Kal-Jmar?     Syme's eyes widened, and he stared around slowly. A thousand yearsago? he muttered. Two thousand? These hills were raised in fivehundred. We can't go by topography.     In front of one of the main arteries, then. But there are dozens, noone larger than the other. Did they have dozens of doors?     Maybe, said Tate. He pointed to the right, where the fairy towers ofKal-Jmar swept aside to leave a broad avenue. It's the nearest—asgood as any other.     They walked over to it in silence, and in silence Tate set up hisequipment once more. He shifted it from side to side, squinting, untilhe had it lined up exactly on the center of the avenue. Then he took along breath, and closed the switch again.     The switch came up. Syme stared with fierce eagerness, eyes ablaze. Fora moment there was nothing, and then—     Tate clutched the big man's arm. Look! he breathed.     Where the ray from Tate's machine had impinged, a faintly-glowingspot of violet radiance! As they watched it widened, dilating into aperfect circle of violet, enclosing nothingness. The door was opening.     It worked, Tate said softly. It worked!     Syme shook off his grip impatiently, put his hand to the gun in theholster of his suit. Tate was still watching, fascinated. Look, hesaid again. The color is changing slightly, falling down the spectrum.I think that's a warning signal. When it reaches red, the door willclose. He moved toward the widening door, like a sleepwalker.     Wait, Syme said hoarsely. You forgot the machine.     Tate turned, said, Oh yes, and walked back. Then he saw the gun inSyme's hand. His jaw dropped slightly, but he didn't say anything. Hejust stood there, looking dumbly from the gun to Syme's dark face.     Syme shot him carefully in the chest.     He dropped like a rag doll, but Syme's aim had been bad. He wasn't deadyet. He rolled his eyes up, like a child. His lips moved. In spite ofhimself, Syme bent forward to listen.           You'll be     —      sorry     , Tate said, and died.     Air was sighing out through the widening hole in the screen. Symestraightened and smiled tolerantly. For a moment, he had beenunreasonably afraid of what Tate was about to say. Some detail he hadforgotten, perhaps, something that would trap him now that Tate, theman who knew the answers, was dead. But—he'd be sorry!     For what? Another dead fool?     He gathered up the delicate mechanism in one arm, and, filling his deeplungs, stepped forward through the opening.  <doc-sep>I didn't know what all that was supposed to mean. I got to the chair,snatched up the coffee container, tore it open and gulped down thesoothing liquid.     I turned toward her and threw the rest of the coffee into her face.     The coffee splashed out over her platinum hair and powder-blue dressthat looked white when the neon was azure, purple when it was amber.The coffee stained and soiled and ruined, and I was fiercely glad,unreasonably happy.     I tore the gun away from her by the short barrel, not letting my filthyhands touch her scrubbed pink ones.     I pointed the gun generally at her and backed around the      thing     on thefloor to the cot. Doc had a pulse, but it was irregular. I checked fora fever and there wasn't one. After that, I didn't know what to do.     I looked up finally and saw a Martian in or about the doorway.     Call me Andre, the Martian said. A common name but foreign. Itshould serve as a point of reference.     I had always wondered how a thing like a Martian could talk. SometimesI wondered if they really could.     You won't need the gun, Andre said conversationally.     I'll keep it, thanks. What do      you     want?     I'll begin as Miss Casey did—by telling you things. Hundreds ofpeople disappeared from North America a few months ago.     They always do, I told him.     They ceased to exist—as human beings—shortly after they received abook from Doc, the Martian said.     Something seemed to strike me in the back of the neck. I staggered, butmanaged to hold onto the gun and stand up.     Use one of those sneaky Martian weapons again, I warned him,and I'll kill the girl. Martians were supposed to be against thedestruction of any life-form, I had read someplace. I doubted it, butit was worth a try.     Kevin, Andre said, why don't you take a bath?     The Martian weapon staggered me again. I tried to say something. Itried to explain that I was so dirty that I could never get clean nomatter how often I bathed. No words formed.     But, Kevin, Andre said, you aren't      that     dirty.  <doc-sep>Syme looked at the man, nursing the tortured muscles of his arms. Hisrescuer was tall and thin, of indeterminate age. He had light, sandyhair, a sharp nose, and—oddly conflicting—pale, serious eyes and ahumorous wide mouth. He was still panting.     I'm not hurt, Syme said. He grinned, his white teeth flashing in hisdark, lean face. Thanks for giving me a hand.     You scared hell out of me, said the man. I heard a thud. Ithought—you'd gone over. He looked at Syme questioningly.     That was my bag, the outlaw said quickly. It slipped out of my hand,and I overbalanced myself when I grabbed for it.     The man sighed. I need a drink.      You     need a drink. Come on. Hepicked up a small black suitcase from the floor and started for theelevator, then stopped. Oh—your bag. Shouldn't we do something aboutthat?     Never mind, said Syme, taking his arm. The shock must have busted itwide open. My laundry is probably all over Lillis by now.     They got off at the amusement level, three tiers down, and found acafe around the corner. Syme wasn't worried about the man he had justkilled. He had heard no second thud, so the body must have stayed onthe first outcropping of the tower it struck. It probably wouldn't befound until morning.     And he had the wallet. When he paid for the first round of      culcha     , hetook it out and stole a glance at the identification card inside. Thereit was—his ticket to freedom. He began feeling expansive, and evenfriendly toward the slender, mouse-like man across the table. It wasthe      culcha     , of course. He knew it, and didn't care. In the morninghe'd find a freighter berth—in as big a spaceport as Lillis, therewere always jobs open. Meanwhile, he might as well enjoy himself, andit was safer to be seen with a companion than to be alone.     He listened lazily to what the other was saying, leaning his tall,graceful body back into the softly-cushioned seat.     Lissen, said Harold Tate. He leaned forward on one elbow, slipped,caught himself, and looked at the elbow reproachfully. Lissen, hesaid again, I trust you, Jones. You're obvi-obviously an adventurer,but you have an honest face. I can't see it very well at the moment,but I hic!—pardon—seem to recall it as an honest face. I'm going totell you something, because I need your help!—help. He paused. Ineed a guide. D'you know this part of Mars well?     Sure, said Syme absently. Out in the center of the floor, an AGplate had been turned on. Five Venusian girls were diving and twistingin its influence, propelling themselves by the motion of theirdelicately-webbed feet and trailing long gauzy streamers of synthesilkafter them. Syme watched them through narrowed lids, feeling the glowof      culcha     inside him.     I wanta go to Kal-Jmar, said Tate.     Syme snapped to attention, every nerve tingling. An indefinable sense,a hunch that had served him well before, told him that something bigwas coming—something that promised adventure and loot for Syme Rector.Why? he asked softly. Why to Kal-Jmar?     Harold Tate told him, and later, when Syme had taken him to his rooms,he showed him what was in his little black suitcase. Syme had beenright; it was big.  <doc-sep>They started off down the canyon, Syme urging the slighter man toa fast clip, even though his leg was already stiffening. When theyfinally reached a climbable spot, Syme was limping badly and Tate wasobviously exhausted.     They clambered wearily out onto the level sands again just as thesmall, blazing sun was setting. Luck, grunted Syme. Our only chanceof getting near the city is at night. He peered around, shading hiseyes from the sun's glare with a gauntleted hand. See that?     Following his pointing finger, Tate saw a faint, ephemeral arc showingabove a line of low hills in the distance. Kal-Jmar, said Syme.     Tate brightened a little. His body was too filled with fatigue for hismind to do any work on the problem that was baffling him, and so itreceded into the back of his mind.     Kal-Jmar, whispered Syme again.     There was no twilight. The sun dropped abruptly behind the low horizon,and darkness fell, sudden and absolute. Syme picked up the extra oxygentank and the suitcase, checked his direction by a wrist compass, andstarted toward the hills. Tate rose wearily to his feet and followedagain.     Two hours later, Kal-Jmar stood before them. They had wormed theirway past the sentry posts, doing most of the last two hundred meterson all fours. With skill and luck, and with Syme's fierce, burningdetermination, they had managed to escape detection—and there theywere. Journey's end.     Tate stared up at the shining, starlight towers in speechlessadmiration. If the people who had built this city had been decadent,still their architecture was magnificent. The city was a rhapsody madesolid. There was a sense of decay about it, he thought, but it was thedecay of supreme beauty, caught at the very verge of dissolution andpreserved for all eternity.     Well? demanded Syme.     Tate started, shaken out of his dream. He looked down at the blacksuitcase, a little wonderingly, and then pulled it to him and opened it.     Inside, carefully wrapped in shock-absorbing tissue, was a fragilecontrivance of many tubes and wires, and a tiny parabolic mirror. Ithad a brand new Elecorp 210 volt battery, and it needed every volt ofthat tremendous power. Tate made the connections, his hands tremblingslightly, and set it up on a telescoping tripod. Syme watched himclosely, his big body tensed with expectation.     The field was before them, shimmering faintly in the starlight. Itlooked unsubstantial as the stuff of dreams, but both men knew that nopower man possessed, unless it was the thing Tate held, could penetratethat screen.     Tate set the mechanism up close to the field, aimed it very delicately,and closed a minute switch. After a long second, he opened it again.     Nothing happened.     The screen was still there, as unsubstantial and as solid as ever.There was no change.  <doc-sep>  Doorway to Kal-Jmar     By Stuart Fleming     Two men had died before Syme Rector's guns     to give him the key to the ancient city of     Kal-Jmar—a city of untold wealth, and of     robots that made desires instant commands.     [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 tall man loitered a moment before a garish window display, his eyesimpassive in his space-burned face, as the Lillis patrolman passed.Then he turned, burying his long chin in the folds of his sand cape,and took up the pursuit of the dark figure ahead once more.     Above, the city's multicolored lights were reflected from thetranslucent Dome—a distant, subtly distorted Lillis, through which thestars shone dimly.     Getting through that dome had been his first urgent problem, but now hehad another, and a more pressing one. It had been simple enough to passhimself off as an itinerant prospector and gain entrance to the city,after his ship had crashed in the Mare Cimmerium. But the rest wouldnot be so simple. He had to acquire a spaceman's identity card, and hehad to do it fast. It was only a matter of time until the TriplanetPatrol gave up the misleading trail he had made into the hill country,and concluded that he must have reached Lillis. After that, his onlysafety lay in shipping out on a freighter as soon as possible. He hadto get off Mars, because his trail was warm, and the Patrol thorough.     They knew, of course, that he was an outlaw—the very fact of thecrashed, illegally-armed ship would have told them that. But theydidn't know that he was Syme Rector, the most-wanted and most-fearedraider in the System. In that was his only advantage.     He walked a little faster, as his quarry turned up a side street andthen boarded a moving ramp to an upper level. He watched until theshort, wide-shouldered figure in spaceman's harness disappeared overthe top of the ramp, and then followed.     The man was waiting for him at the mouth of the ascending tunnel.     Syme looked at him casually, without a flicker of expression, andstarted to walk on, but the other stepped into his path. He was quiteyoung, Syme saw, with a fighter's shoulders under the white leather,and a hard, determined thrust to his firm jaw.     All right, the boy said quietly. What is it?     I don't understand, Syme said.     The game, the angle. You've been following me. Do you want trouble?     Why, no, Syme told him bewilderedly. I haven't been following you.I—     The boy knuckled his chin reflectively. You could be lying, he saidfinally. But maybe I've made a mistake. Then—Okay, citizen, you canclear—but don't let me catch you on my tail again.     Syme murmured something and turned away, feeling the spaceman's eyeson the small of his back until he turned the corner. At the nextstreet he took a ramp up, crossed over and came down on the other sidea block away. He waited until he saw the boy's broad figure pass theintersection, and then followed again more cautiously.     It was risky, but there was no other way. The signatures, the data,even the photograph on the card could be forged once Syme got his handson it, but the identity card itself—that oblong of dark diamondite,glowing with the tiny fires of radioactivity—that could not beimitated, and the only way to get it was to kill.     Up ahead was the Founders' Tower, the tallest building in Lillis. Theboy strode into the entrance lobby, bought a ticket for the observationplatform, and took the elevator. As soon as his car was out of sight inthe transparent tube, Syme followed. He put a half-credit slug into themachine, took the punctured slip of plastic that came out. The ticketwent into a scanning slot in the wall of the car, and the elevatorwhisked him up.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What can be said about the Martians featured in Doorway to Kal-Jmar?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a brief summary of the storyline in RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN? [SEP] <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>   RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN     by KEITH LAUMER     Retief knew the importance of sealed     orders—and the need to keep them that way!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1962.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      It's true, Consul Passwyn said, I requested assignment as principalofficer at a small post. But I had in mind one of those charming resortworlds, with only an occasional visa problem, or perhaps a distressedspaceman or two a year. Instead, I'm zoo-keeper to these confoundedsettlers. And not for one world, mind you, but eight! He stared glumlyat Vice-Consul Retief.     Still, Retief said, it gives an opportunity to travel—     Travel! the consul barked. I hate travel. Here in this backwatersystem particularly— He paused, blinked at Retief and cleared histhroat. Not that a bit of travel isn't an excellent thing for ajunior officer. Marvelous experience.     He turned to the wall-screen and pressed a button. A system triagramappeared: eight luminous green dots arranged around a larger diskrepresenting the primary. He picked up a pointer, indicating theinnermost planet.     The situation on Adobe is nearing crisis. The confounded settlers—amere handful of them—have managed, as usual, to stir up trouble withan intelligent indigenous life form, the Jaq. I can't think why theybother, merely for a few oases among the endless deserts. However Ihave, at last, received authorization from Sector Headquarters totake certain action. He swung back to face Retief. I'm sending youin to handle the situation, Retief—under sealed orders. He pickedup a fat buff envelope. A pity they didn't see fit to order theTerrestrial settlers out weeks ago, as I suggested. Now it is too late.I'm expected to produce a miracle—a rapprochement between Terrestrialand Adoban and a division of territory. It's idiotic. However, failurewould look very bad in my record, so I shall expect results.     He passed the buff envelope across to Retief.     I understood that Adobe was uninhabited, Retief said, until theTerrestrial settlers arrived.     Apparently, that was an erroneous impression. Passwyn fixed Retiefwith a watery eye. You'll follow your instructions to the letter. In adelicate situation such as this, there must be no impulsive, impromptuelement introduced. This approach has been worked out in detail atSector. You need merely implement it. Is that entirely clear?     Has anyone at Headquarters ever visited Adobe?     Of course not. They all hate travel. If there are no other questions,you'd best be on your way. The mail run departs the dome in less thanan hour.     What's this native life form like? Retief asked, getting to his feet.     When you get back, said Passwyn, you tell me.  <doc-sep>Twenty minutes' walk into the desert brought Retief to a low rampartof thorn branches: the Flap-jacks' outer defensive line against Terryforays. It would be as good a place as any to wait for the move by theFlap-jacks. He sat down and eased the weight of his captive off hisback, but kept a firm thumb in place. If his analysis of the situationwas correct, a Flap-jack picket should be along before too long....     A penetrating beam of red light struck Retief in the face, blinked off.He got to his feet. The captive Flap-jack rippled its fringe in anagitated way. Retief tensed his thumb in the eye-socket.     Sit tight, he said. Don't try to do anything hasty.... His remarkswere falling on deaf ears—or no ears at all—but the thumb spoke asloudly as words.     There was a slither of sand. Another. He became aware of a ring ofpresences drawing closer.     Retief tightened his grip on the alien. He could see a dark shape now,looming up almost to his own six-three. It looked like the Flap-jackscame in all sizes.     A low rumble sounded, like a deep-throated growl. It strummed on, fadedout. Retief cocked his head, frowning.     Try it two octaves higher, he said.     Awwrrp! Sorry. Is that better? a clear voice came from the darkness.     That's fine, Retief said. I'm here to arrange a prisoner exchange.     Prisoners? But we have no prisoners.     Sure you have. Me. Is it a deal?     Ah, yes, of course. Quite equitable. What guarantees do you require?     The word of a gentleman is sufficient. Retief released the alien. Itflopped once, disappeared into the darkness.     If you'd care to accompany me to our headquarters, the voice said,we can discuss our mutual concerns in comfort.     Delighted.     Red lights blinked briefly. Retief glimpsed a gap in the thornybarrier, stepped through it. He followed dim shapes across warm sand toa low cave-like entry, faintly lit with a reddish glow.     I must apologize for the awkward design of our comfort-dome, said thevoice. Had we known we would be honored by a visit—     Think nothing of it, Retief said. We diplomats are trained to crawl.     Inside, with knees bent and head ducked under the five-foot ceiling,Retief looked around at the walls of pink-toned nacre, a floor likeburgundy-colored glass spread with silken rugs and a low table ofpolished red granite that stretched down the center of the spaciousroom, set out with silver dishes and rose-crystal drinking-tubes.      III     Let me congratulate you, the voice said.     Retief turned. An immense Flap-jack, hung with crimson trappings,rippled at his side. The voice issued from a disk strapped to its back.You fight well. I think we will find in each other worthy adversaries.     Thanks. I'm sure the test would be interesting, but I'm hoping we canavoid it.     Avoid it? Retief heard a low humming coming from the speaker in thesilence. Well, let us dine, the mighty Flap-jack said at last. Wecan resolve these matters later. I am called Hoshick of the Mosaic ofthe Two Dawns.     I'm Retief. Hoshick waited expectantly, ... of the Mountain of RedTape, Retief added.     Take place, Retief, said Hoshick. I hope you won't find our rudecouches uncomfortable. Two other large Flap-jacks came into the room,communed silently with Hoshick. Pray forgive our lack of translatingdevices, he said to Retief. Permit me to introduce my colleagues....     A small Flap-jack rippled the chamber bearing on its back a silver trayladen with aromatic food. The waiter served the four diners, filled thedrinking tubes with yellow wine. It smelled good.     I trust you'll find these dishes palatable, said Hoshick. Ourmetabolisms are much alike, I believe. Retief tried the food. It had adelicious nut-like flavor. The wine was indistinguishable from Chateaud'Yquem.     It was an unexpected pleasure to encounter your party here,said Hoshick. I confess at first we took you for an indigenousearth-grubbing form, but we were soon disabused of that notion. Heraised a tube, manipulating it deftly with his fringe tentacles. Retiefreturned the salute and drank.     Of course, Hoshick continued, as soon as we realized that you weresportsmen like ourselves, we attempted to make amends by providing abit of activity for you. We've ordered out our heavier equipment and afew trained skirmishers and soon we'll be able to give you an adequateshow. Or so I hope.     Additional skirmishers? said Retief. How many, if you don't mind myasking?     For the moment, perhaps only a few hundred. There-after ... well,I'm sure we can arrange that between us. Personally I would prefer acontest of limited scope. No nuclear or radiation-effect weapons. Sucha bore, screening the spawn for deviations. Though I confess we've comeupon some remarkably useful sports. The rangerform such as you madecaptive, for example. Simple-minded, of course, but a fantasticallykeen tracker.     Oh, by all means, Retief said. No atomics. As you pointed out,spawn-sorting is a nuisance, and then too, it's wasteful of troops.     Ah, well, they are after all expendable. But we agree: no atomics.Have you tried the ground-gwack eggs? Rather a specialty of myMosaic....     Delicious, said Retief. I wonder. Have you considered eliminatingweapons altogether?  <doc-sep>As I see it, Retief said, dribbling cigar ashes into an empty wineglass, you Qornt like to be warriors, but you don't particularly liketo fight.     We don't mind a little fighting—within reason. And, of course, asQornt, we're expected to die in battle. But what I say is, why rushthings?     I have a suggestion, Magnan said. Why not turn the reins ofgovernment over to the Verpp? They seem a level-headed group.     What good would that do? Qornt are Qornt. It seems there's always oneamong us who's a slave to instinct—and, naturally, we have to followhim.     Why?     Because that's the way it's done.     Why not do it another way? Magnan offered. Now, I'd like to suggestcommunity singing—     If we gave up fighting, we might live too long. Then what wouldhappen?     Live too long? Magnan looked puzzled.     When estivating time comes there'd be no burrows for us. Anyway, withthe new Qornt stepping on our heels—     I've lost the thread, Magnan said. Who are the new Qornt?     After estivating, the Verpp moult, and then they're Qornt, of course.The Gwil become Boog, the Boog become Rheuk, the Rheuk metamorphosizeinto Verpp—     You mean Slun and Zubb—the mild-natured naturalists—will becomewarmongers like Qorn?     Very likely. 'The milder the Verpp, the wilder the Qorn,' as the oldsaying goes.     What do Qornt turn into? Retief asked.     Hmmmm. That's a good question. So far, none have survived Qornthood.     Have you thought of forsaking your warlike ways? Magnan asked. Whatabout taking up sheepherding and regular church attendance?     Don't mistake me. We Qornt like a military life. It's great sport tosit around roaring fires and drink and tell lies and then go dashingoff to enjoy a brisk affray and some leisurely looting afterward. Butwe prefer a nice numerical advantage. Not this business of tackling youTerrestrials over on Guzzum—that was a mad notion. We had no idea whatyour strength was.     But now that's all off, of course, Magnan chirped. Now that we'vehad diplomatic relations and all—     Oh, by no means. The fleet lifts in thirty days. After all, we'reQornt; we have to satisfy our drive to action.     But Mr. Retief is your leader now. He won't let you!     Only a dead Qornt stays home when Attack day comes. And even ifhe orders us all to cut our own throats, there are still the otherCenters—all with their own leaders. No, gentlemen, the Invasion isdefinitely on.     Why don't you go invade somebody else? Magnan suggested. I couldname some very attractive prospects—outside my sector, of course.     Hold everything, Retief said. I think we've got the basis of a dealhere....      V     At the head of a double column of gaudily caparisoned Qornt, Retiefand Magnan strolled across the ramp toward the bright tower of the CDTSector HQ. Ahead, gates opened, and a black Corps limousine emerged,flying an Ambassadorial flag under a plain square of white.     Curious, Magnan commented. I wonder what the significance of thewhite ensign might be?     Retief raised a hand. The column halted with a clash of accoutrementsand a rasp of Qornt boots. Retief looked back along the line. The highwhite sun flashed on bright silks, polished buckles, deep-dyed plumes,butts of pistols, the soft gleam of leather.     A brave show indeed, Magnan commented approvingly. I confess theidea has merit.     The limousine pulled up with a squeal of brakes, stood on two fat-tiredwheels, gyros humming softly. The hatch popped up. A portly diplomatstepped out.     Why, Ambassador Nitworth, Magnan glowed. This is very kind of you.     Keep cool, Magnan, Nitworth said in a strained voice. We'll attemptto get you out of this.     He stepped past Magnan's out-stretched hand and looked hesitantly atthe ramrod-straight line of Qornt, eighty-five strong—and beyond, atthe eighty-five tall Qornt dreadnaughts.     Good afternoon, sir ... ah, Your Excellency, Nitworth said, blinkingup at the leading Qornt. You are Commander of the Strike Force, Iassume?     Nope, the Qornt said shortly.     I ... ah ... wish to request seventy-two hours in which to evacuateHeadquarters, Nitworth plowed on.     Mr. Ambassador. Retief said. This—     Don't panic, Retief. I'll attempt to secure your release, Nitworthhissed over his shoulder. Now—     You will address our leader with more respect! the tall Qornt hooted,eyeing Nitworth ominously from eleven feet up.     Oh, yes indeed, sir ... your Excellency ... Commander. Now, about theinvasion—     Mr. Secretary, Magnan tugged at Nitworth's sleeve.     In heaven's name, permit me to negotiate in peace! Nitworth snapped.He rearranged his features. Now your Excellency, we've arranged toevacuate Smorbrod, of course, just as you requested—     Requested? the Qornt honked.     Ah ... demanded, that is. Quite rightly of course. Ordered.Instructed. And, of course, we'll be only too pleased to follow anyother instructions you might have.     You don't quite get the big picture, Mr. Secretary, Retief said.This isn't—     Silence, confound you! Nitworth barked. The leading Qornt looked atRetief. He nodded. Two bony hands shot out, seized Nitworth and stuffeda length of bright pink silk into his mouth, then spun him around andheld him facing Retief.     If you don't mind my taking this opportunity to brief you, Mr.Ambassador, Retief said blandly. I think I should mention that thisisn't an invasion fleet. These are the new recruits for the PeaceEnforcement Corps.     Magnan stepped forward, glanced at the gag in Ambassador Nitworth'smouth, hesitated, then cleared his throat. We felt, he said, thatthe establishment of a Foreign Brigade within the P. E. Corps structurewould provide the element of novelty the Department has requestedin our recruiting, and at the same time would remove the stigma ofTerrestrial chauvinism from future punitive operations.     Nitworth stared, eyes bulging. He grunted, reaching for the gag, caughtthe Qornt's eye on him, dropped his hands to his sides.     I suggest we get the troops in out of the hot sun, Retief said.Magnan edged close. What about the gag? he whispered.     Let's leave it where it is for a while, Retief murmured. It may saveus a few concessions.  <doc-sep>The pale-featured Groacian vibrated his throat-bladder in a distressedbleat.     Not to enter the Archives, he said in his faint voice. The denial ofpermission. The deep regret of the Archivist.     The importance of my task here, Retief said, enunciating the glottaldialect with difficulty. My interest in local history.     The impossibility of access to outworlders. To depart quietly.     The necessity that I enter.     The specific instructions of the Archivist. The Groacian's voice roseto a whisper. To insist no longer. To give up this idea!     OK, Skinny, I know when I'm licked, Retief said in Terran. To keepyour nose clean.     Outside, Retief stood for a moment looking across at the deeply carvedwindowless stucco facades lining the street, then started off in thedirection of the Terrestrial Consulate General. The few Groacians onthe street eyed him furtively, veered to avoid him as he passed. Flimsyhigh-wheeled ground cars puffed silently along the resilient pavement.The air was clean and cool.     At the office, Miss Meuhl would be waiting with another list ofcomplaints.     Retief studied the carving over the open doorways along the street.An elaborate one picked out in pinkish paint seemed to indicate theGroacian equivalent of a bar. Retief went in.     A Groacian bartender was dispensing clay pots of alcoholic drink fromthe bar-pit at the center of the room. He looked at Retief and froze inmid-motion, a metal tube poised over a waiting pot.     To enjoy a cooling drink, Retief said in Groacian, squatting down atthe edge of the pit. To sample a true Groacian beverage.     To not enjoy my poor offerings, the Groacian mumbled. A pain in thedigestive sacs; to express regret.     To not worry, Retief said, irritated. To pour it out and let medecide whether I like it.     To be grappled in by peace-keepers for poisoning of—foreigners. Thebarkeep looked around for support, found none. The Groaci customers,eyes elsewhere, were drifting away.     To get the lead out, Retief said, placing a thick gold-piece in thedish provided. To shake a tentacle.     The procuring of a cage, a thin voice called from the sidelines. Thedisplaying of a freak.  <doc-sep>It was quite a bang, said Retief. But I guess you saw it, too.     No, confound it, Magnan said. When I remonstrated with Hulk, orWhelk—     Whonk.     —the ruffian thrust me into an alley bound in my own cloak. I'll mostcertainly complain to the Minister.     How about the surgical mission?     A most generous offer, said Magnan. Frankly, I was astonished. Ithink perhaps we've judged the Groaci too harshly.     I hear the Ministry of Youth has had a rough morning of it, saidRetief. And a lot of rumors are flying to the effect that Youth Groupsare on the way out.     Magnan cleared his throat, shuffled papers. I—ah—have explained tothe press that last night's—ah—     Fiasco.     —affair was necessary in order to place the culprits in an untenableposition. Of course, as to the destruction of the VIP vessel and thepresumed death of, uh, Slop.     The Fustians understand, said Retief. Whonk wasn't kidding aboutceremonial vengeance.     The Groaci had been guilty of gross misuse of diplomatic privilege,said Magnan. I think that a note—or perhaps an Aide Memoire: lessformal....     The      Moss Rock     was bound for Groaci, said Retief. She was alreadyin her transit orbit when she blew. The major fragments will arrive onschedule in a month or so. It should provide quite a meteorite display.I think that should be all the      aide     the Groaci's      memoires     will needto keep their tentacles off Fust.     But diplomatic usage—     Then, too, the less that's put in writing, the less they can blame youfor, if anything goes wrong.     That's true, said Magnan, lips pursed. Now you're thinkingconstructively, Retief. We may make a diplomat of you yet. He smiledexpansively.     Maybe. But I refuse to let it depress me. Retief stood up. I'mtaking a few weeks off ... if you have no objection, Mr. Ambassador. Mypal Whonk wants to show me an island down south where the fishing isgood.     But there are some extremely important matters coming up, saidMagnan. We're planning to sponsor Senior Citizen Groups—     Count me out. All groups give me an itch.     Why, what an astonishing remark, Retief! After all, we diplomats areourselves a group.     Uh-huh, Retief said.     Magnan sat quietly, mouth open, and watched as Retief stepped into thehall and closed the door gently behind him.   <doc-sep>A scratchy sound issued from the disk. Pardon my laughter, Hoshicksaid, but surely you jest?     As a matter of fact, said Retief, we ourselves seldom use weapons.     I seem to recall that our first contact of skirmishforms involved theuse of a weapon by one of your units.     My apologies, said Retief. The—ah—the skirmishform failed torecognize that he was dealing with a sportsman.     Still, now that we have commenced so merrily with weapons.... Hoshicksignaled and the servant refilled tubes.     There is an aspect I haven't yet mentioned, Retief went on. I hopeyou won't take this personally, but the fact is, our skirmishformsthink of weapons as something one employs only in dealing with certainspecific life-forms.     Oh? Curious. What forms are those?     Vermin. Or 'varmints' as some call them. Deadly antagonists, butlacking in caste. I don't want our skirmishforms thinking of suchworthy adversaries as yourself as varmints.     Dear me! I hadn't realized, of course. Most considerate of you topoint it out. Hoshick clucked in dismay. I see that skirmishforms aremuch the same among you as with us: lacking in perception. He laughedscratchily. Imagine considering us as—what was the word?—varmints.     Which brings us to the crux of the matter. You see, we're up againsta serious problem with regard to skirmishforms. A low birth rate.Therefore we've reluctantly taken to substitutes for the mass actionsso dear to the heart of the sportsman. We've attempted to put an end tothese contests altogether....     Hoshick coughed explosively, sending a spray of wine into the air.What are you saying? he gasped. Are you proposing that Hoshick ofthe Mosaic of the Two Dawns abandon honor....?     Sir! said Retief sternly. You forget yourself. I, Retief of the RedTape Mountain, make an alternate proposal more in keeping with thenewest sporting principles.     New? cried Hoshick. My dear Retief, what a pleasant surprise! I'menthralled with novel modes. One gets so out of touch. Do elaborate.     It's quite simple, really. Each side selects a representative and thetwo individuals settle the issue between them.     I ... um ... fear I don't understand. What possible significance couldone attach to the activities of a couple of random skirmishforms?     I haven't made myself clear, said Retief. He took a sip of wine. Wedon't involve the skirmishforms at all. That's quite passe.     You don't mean...?     That's right. You and me.  <doc-sep>The second dark of the third cycle was lightening when Retief left theEmbassy technical library and crossed the corridor to his office. Heflipped on a light. A note was tucked under a paperweight:     Retief—I shall expect your attendance at the IAS dinner at firstdark of the fourth cycle. There will be a brief but, I hope, impressiveSponsorship ceremony for the SCARS group, with full press coverage,arrangements for which I have managed to complete in spite of yourintransigence.     Retief snorted and glanced at his watch. Less than three hours. Justtime to creep home by flat-car, dress in ceremonial uniform and creepback.     Outside he flagged a lumbering bus. He stationed himself in a cornerand watched the yellow sun, Beta, rise rapidly above the low skyline.The nearby sea was at high tide now, under the pull of the major sunand the three moons, and the stiff breeze carried a mist of salt spray.     Retief turned up his collar against the dampness. In half an hour hewould be perspiring under the vertical rays of a third-noon sun, butthe thought failed to keep the chill off.     Two Youths clambered up on the platform, moving purposefully towardRetief. He moved off the rail, watching them, weight balanced.     That's close enough, kids, he said. Plenty of room on this scow. Noneed to crowd up.     There are certain films, the lead Fustian muttered. His voice wasunusually deep for a Youth. He was wrapped in a heavy cloak and movedawkwardly. His adolescence was nearly at an end, Retief guessed.     I told you once, said Retief. Don't crowd me.     The two stepped close, slit mouths snapping in anger. Retief put out afoot, hooked it behind the scaly leg of the overaged juvenile and threwhis weight against the cloaked chest. The clumsy Fustian tottered, fellheavily. Retief was past him and off the flat-car before the otherYouth had completed his vain lunge toward the spot Retief had occupied.The Terrestrial waved cheerfully at the pair, hopped aboard anothervehicle, watched his would-be assailants lumber down from their car,tiny heads twisted to follow his retreating figure.     So they wanted the film? Retief reflected, thumbing a cigar alight.They were a little late. He had already filed it in the Embassy vault,after running a copy for the reference files.     And a comparison of the drawings with those of the obsolete Mark XXXVbattle cruiser used two hundred years earlier by the Concordiat NavalArm showed them to be almost identical, gun emplacements and all. Theterm obsolete was a relative one. A ship which had been outmoded inthe armories of the Galactic Powers could still be king of the walk inthe Eastern Arm.     But how had these two known of the film? There had been no one presentbut himself and the old-timer—and he was willing to bet the elderlyFustian hadn't told them anything.     At least not willingly....     Retief frowned, dropped the cigar over the side, waited until theflat-car negotiated a mud-wallow, then swung down and headed for theshipyard.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a brief summary of the storyline in RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"How do the Jaqs and Terrestrials interact with each other in RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN? [SEP] <s>   RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN     by KEITH LAUMER     Retief knew the importance of sealed     orders—and the need to keep them that way!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1962.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      It's true, Consul Passwyn said, I requested assignment as principalofficer at a small post. But I had in mind one of those charming resortworlds, with only an occasional visa problem, or perhaps a distressedspaceman or two a year. Instead, I'm zoo-keeper to these confoundedsettlers. And not for one world, mind you, but eight! He stared glumlyat Vice-Consul Retief.     Still, Retief said, it gives an opportunity to travel—     Travel! the consul barked. I hate travel. Here in this backwatersystem particularly— He paused, blinked at Retief and cleared histhroat. Not that a bit of travel isn't an excellent thing for ajunior officer. Marvelous experience.     He turned to the wall-screen and pressed a button. A system triagramappeared: eight luminous green dots arranged around a larger diskrepresenting the primary. He picked up a pointer, indicating theinnermost planet.     The situation on Adobe is nearing crisis. The confounded settlers—amere handful of them—have managed, as usual, to stir up trouble withan intelligent indigenous life form, the Jaq. I can't think why theybother, merely for a few oases among the endless deserts. However Ihave, at last, received authorization from Sector Headquarters totake certain action. He swung back to face Retief. I'm sending youin to handle the situation, Retief—under sealed orders. He pickedup a fat buff envelope. A pity they didn't see fit to order theTerrestrial settlers out weeks ago, as I suggested. Now it is too late.I'm expected to produce a miracle—a rapprochement between Terrestrialand Adoban and a division of territory. It's idiotic. However, failurewould look very bad in my record, so I shall expect results.     He passed the buff envelope across to Retief.     I understood that Adobe was uninhabited, Retief said, until theTerrestrial settlers arrived.     Apparently, that was an erroneous impression. Passwyn fixed Retiefwith a watery eye. You'll follow your instructions to the letter. In adelicate situation such as this, there must be no impulsive, impromptuelement introduced. This approach has been worked out in detail atSector. You need merely implement it. Is that entirely clear?     Has anyone at Headquarters ever visited Adobe?     Of course not. They all hate travel. If there are no other questions,you'd best be on your way. The mail run departs the dome in less thanan hour.     What's this native life form like? Retief asked, getting to his feet.     When you get back, said Passwyn, you tell me.  <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>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>There were.     Retief dug in and the Flap-jack writhed, pulled away. Retief held on,scrambled to his feet, threw his weight against the alien and fell ontop of him, still gouging. Hoshick rippled his fringe wildly, floppedin terror, then went limp.     Retief relaxed, released his hold and got to his feet, breathing hard.Hoshick humped himself over onto his ventral side, lifted and movedgingerly over to the sidelines. His retainers came forward, assistedhim into his trappings, strapped on the translator. He sighed heavily,adjusted the volume.     There is much to be said for the old system, he said. What a burdenone's sportsmanship places on one at times.     Great sport, wasn't it? said Retief. Now, I know you'll be eager tocontinue. If you'll just wait while I run back and fetch some of ourgougerforms—     May hide-ticks devour the gougerforms! Hoshick bellowed. You'vegiven me such a sprong-ache as I'll remember each spawning-time for ayear.     Speaking of hide-ticks, said Retief, we've developed a biterform—     Enough! Hoshick roared, so loudly that the translator bounced on hishide. Suddenly I yearn for the crowded yellow sands of Jaq. I hadhoped.... He broke off, drew a rasping breath. I had hoped, Retief,he said, speaking sadly now, to find a new land here where I mightplan my own Mosaic, till these alien sands and bring forth such a cropof paradise-lichen as should glut the markets of a hundred worlds. Butmy spirit is not equal to the prospect of biterforms and gougerformswithout end. I am shamed before you....     To tell you the truth, I'm old-fashioned myself. I'd rather watch theaction from a distance too.     But surely your spawn-fellows would never condone such an attitude.     My spawn-fellows aren't here. And besides, didn't I mention it? Noone who's really in the know would think of engaging in competition bymere combat if there were any other way. Now, you mentioned tilling thesand, raising lichens—things like that—     That on which we dined but now, said Hoshick, and from which thewine is made.     The big news in fashionable diplomacy today is farming competition.Now, if you'd like to take these deserts and raise lichen, we'llpromise to stick to the oases and vegetables.     Hoshick curled his back in attention. Retief, you're quite serious?You would leave all the fair sand hills to us?     The whole works, Hoshick. I'll take the oases.     Hoshick rippled his fringes ecstatically. Once again you have outdoneme, Retief, he cried. This time, in generosity.     We'll talk over the details later. I'm sure we can establish a set ofrules that will satisfy all parties. Now I've got to get back. I thinksome of the gougerforms are waiting to see me.      IV     It was nearly dawn when Retief gave the whistled signal he had agreedon with Potter, then rose and walked into the camp circle. Swazey stoodup.     There you are, he said. We been wonderin' whether to go out afteryou.     Lemuel came forward, one eye black to the cheekbone. He held out araw-boned hand. Sorry I jumped you, stranger. Tell you the truth, Ithought you was some kind of stool-pigeon from the CDT.     Bert came up behind Lemuel. How do you know he ain't, Lemuel? hesaid. Maybe he—     Lemuel floored Bert with a backward sweep of his arm. Nextcotton-picker says some embassy Johnny can cool me gets worse'n that.     Tell me, said Retief. How are you boys fixed for wine?     Wine? Mister, we been livin' on stump water for a year now. 'Dobe'sfatal to the kind of bacteria it takes to ferment likker.     Try this. Retief handed over a sqat jug. Swazey drew the cork,sniffed, drank and passed it to Lemuel.     Mister, where'd you get that?     The Flap-jacks make it. Here's another question for you: Would youconcede a share in this planet to the Flap-jacks in return for a peaceguarantee?     At the end of a half hour of heated debate Lemuel turned to Retief.We'll make any reasonable deal, he said. I guess they got as muchright here as we have. I think we'd agree to a fifty-fifty split.That'd give about a hundred and fifty oases to each side.     What would you say to keeping all the oases and giving them thedesert?     Lemuel reached for the wine jug, eyes on Retief. Keep talkin',mister, he said. I think you got yourself a deal.  <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>A stolid crowd filled the low-ceilinged banquet hall. Retief scannedthe tables for the pale blobs of Terrestrial faces, dwarfed by thegiant armored bodies of the Fustians. Across the room Magnan fluttereda hand. Retief headed toward him. A low-pitched vibration filled theair: the rumble of subsonic Fustian music.     Retief slid into his place beside Magnan. Sorry to be late, Mr.Ambassador.     I'm honored that you chose to appear at all, said Magnan coldly. Heturned back to the Fustian on his left.     Ah, yes, Mr. Minister, he said. Charming, most charming. So joyous.     The Fustian looked at him, beady-eyed. It is the      Lament ofHatching     , he said; our National Dirge.     Oh, said Magnan. How interesting. Such a pleasing balance ofinstruments—     It is a droon solo, said the Fustian, eyeing the TerrestrialAmbassador suspiciously.     Why don't you just admit you can't hear it, Retief whispered loudly.And if I may interrupt a moment—     Magnan cleared his throat. Now that our Mr. Retief has arrived,perhaps we could rush right along to the Sponsorship ceremonies.     This group, said Retief, leaning across Magnan, the SCARS. How muchdo you know about them, Mr. Minister?     Nothing at all, the huge Fustian elder rumbled. For my taste, allYouths should be kept penned with the livestock until they grow acarapace to tame their irresponsibility.     We mustn't lose sight of the importance of channeling youthfulenergies, said Magnan.     Labor gangs, said the minister. In my youth we were indentured tothe dredge-masters. I myself drew a muck sledge.     But in these modern times, put in Magnan, surely it's incumbent onus to make happy these golden hours.     The minister snorted. Last week I had a golden hour. They set upon meand pelted me with overripe stench-fruit.     But this was merely a manifestation of normal youthful frustrations,cried Magnan. Their essential tenderness—     You'd not find a tender spot on that lout yonder, the ministersaid, pointing with a fork at a newly arrived Youth, if you drilledboreholes and blasted.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How do the Jaqs and Terrestrials interact with each other in RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"In what location does the story of RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN occur? [SEP] <s>   RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN     by KEITH LAUMER     Retief knew the importance of sealed     orders—and the need to keep them that way!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1962.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      It's true, Consul Passwyn said, I requested assignment as principalofficer at a small post. But I had in mind one of those charming resortworlds, with only an occasional visa problem, or perhaps a distressedspaceman or two a year. Instead, I'm zoo-keeper to these confoundedsettlers. And not for one world, mind you, but eight! He stared glumlyat Vice-Consul Retief.     Still, Retief said, it gives an opportunity to travel—     Travel! the consul barked. I hate travel. Here in this backwatersystem particularly— He paused, blinked at Retief and cleared histhroat. Not that a bit of travel isn't an excellent thing for ajunior officer. Marvelous experience.     He turned to the wall-screen and pressed a button. A system triagramappeared: eight luminous green dots arranged around a larger diskrepresenting the primary. He picked up a pointer, indicating theinnermost planet.     The situation on Adobe is nearing crisis. The confounded settlers—amere handful of them—have managed, as usual, to stir up trouble withan intelligent indigenous life form, the Jaq. I can't think why theybother, merely for a few oases among the endless deserts. However Ihave, at last, received authorization from Sector Headquarters totake certain action. He swung back to face Retief. I'm sending youin to handle the situation, Retief—under sealed orders. He pickedup a fat buff envelope. A pity they didn't see fit to order theTerrestrial settlers out weeks ago, as I suggested. Now it is too late.I'm expected to produce a miracle—a rapprochement between Terrestrialand Adoban and a division of territory. It's idiotic. However, failurewould look very bad in my record, so I shall expect results.     He passed the buff envelope across to Retief.     I understood that Adobe was uninhabited, Retief said, until theTerrestrial settlers arrived.     Apparently, that was an erroneous impression. Passwyn fixed Retiefwith a watery eye. You'll follow your instructions to the letter. In adelicate situation such as this, there must be no impulsive, impromptuelement introduced. This approach has been worked out in detail atSector. You need merely implement it. Is that entirely clear?     Has anyone at Headquarters ever visited Adobe?     Of course not. They all hate travel. If there are no other questions,you'd best be on your way. The mail run departs the dome in less thanan hour.     What's this native life form like? Retief asked, getting to his feet.     When you get back, said Passwyn, you tell me.  <doc-sep>A scratchy sound issued from the disk. Pardon my laughter, Hoshicksaid, but surely you jest?     As a matter of fact, said Retief, we ourselves seldom use weapons.     I seem to recall that our first contact of skirmishforms involved theuse of a weapon by one of your units.     My apologies, said Retief. The—ah—the skirmishform failed torecognize that he was dealing with a sportsman.     Still, now that we have commenced so merrily with weapons.... Hoshicksignaled and the servant refilled tubes.     There is an aspect I haven't yet mentioned, Retief went on. I hopeyou won't take this personally, but the fact is, our skirmishformsthink of weapons as something one employs only in dealing with certainspecific life-forms.     Oh? Curious. What forms are those?     Vermin. Or 'varmints' as some call them. Deadly antagonists, butlacking in caste. I don't want our skirmishforms thinking of suchworthy adversaries as yourself as varmints.     Dear me! I hadn't realized, of course. Most considerate of you topoint it out. Hoshick clucked in dismay. I see that skirmishforms aremuch the same among you as with us: lacking in perception. He laughedscratchily. Imagine considering us as—what was the word?—varmints.     Which brings us to the crux of the matter. You see, we're up againsta serious problem with regard to skirmishforms. A low birth rate.Therefore we've reluctantly taken to substitutes for the mass actionsso dear to the heart of the sportsman. We've attempted to put an end tothese contests altogether....     Hoshick coughed explosively, sending a spray of wine into the air.What are you saying? he gasped. Are you proposing that Hoshick ofthe Mosaic of the Two Dawns abandon honor....?     Sir! said Retief sternly. You forget yourself. I, Retief of the RedTape Mountain, make an alternate proposal more in keeping with thenewest sporting principles.     New? cried Hoshick. My dear Retief, what a pleasant surprise! I'menthralled with novel modes. One gets so out of touch. Do elaborate.     It's quite simple, really. Each side selects a representative and thetwo individuals settle the issue between them.     I ... um ... fear I don't understand. What possible significance couldone attach to the activities of a couple of random skirmishforms?     I haven't made myself clear, said Retief. He took a sip of wine. Wedon't involve the skirmishforms at all. That's quite passe.     You don't mean...?     That's right. You and me.  <doc-sep>The girls set up a shout and threw stones down at the centaurs, whoreared, pawed the air, and galloped to a safe distance, from which theyhurled back insults in a strange tongue. Their voices sounded faintlylike the neighing of horses.     Amazons and centaurs, he thought again. He couldn't get the problemof the girls' phenomenal strength out of his mind. Then it occurredto him that the asteroid, most likely, was smaller even than Earth'smoon. He must weigh about a thirtieth of what he usually did, due tothe lessened gravity. It also occurred to him that they would be thirtytimes as strong. He was staggered. He wished he had a smoke.     At length, the amazons and the centaurs tired of bandying insultsback and forth. The centaurs galloped off into the prairie, the girlsresumed their march. Jonathan scrambled up hills, skidded down slopes.The brunette was beside him helping him over the rough spots.     I'm Olga, she confided. Has anybody ever told you what a handsomefellow you are? She pinched his cheek. Jonathan blushed.     They climbed a ridge, paused at the crest. Below them, he saw a deepvalley. A stream tumbled through the center of it. There were treesalong its banks, the first he had seen on the asteroid. At the head ofthe valley, he made out the massive pile of a space liner.     They started down a winding path. The space liner disappeared behinda promontory of the mountain. Jonathan steeled himself for the comingordeal. He would have sat down and refused to budge except that he knewthe girls would hoist him on their shoulders and bear him into the camplike a bag of meal.     The trail debouched into the valley. Just ahead the space linerreappeared. He imagined that it had crashed into the mountain, skiddedand rolled down its side until it lodged beside the stream. It remindedhim of a wounded dinosaur. Three girls were bathing in the stream. Helooked away hastily.     Someone hailed them from the space ship.     We've caught a man, shrieked one of his captors.     A flock of girls streamed out of the wrecked space ship.     A man! screamed a husky blonde. She was wearing a grass skirt. Shehad green eyes. We're rescued!     No. No, Ann Clotilde hastened to explain. He was wrecked like us.     Oh, came a disappointed chorus.     He's a man, said the green-eyed blonde. That's the next best thing.     Oh, Olga, said a strapping brunette. Who'd ever thought a man couldlook so good?     I did, said Olga. She chucked Jonathan under the chin. He shiveredlike an unbroken colt when the bit first goes in its mouth. He feltlike a mouse hemmed in by a ring of cats.     A big rawboned brute of a girl strolled into the circle. She said,Dinner's ready. Her voice was loud, strident. It reminded him ofthe voices of girls in the honky tonks on Venus. She looked at himappraisingly as if he were a horse she was about to bid on. Bring himinto the ship, she said. The man must be starved.     He was propelled jubilantly into the palatial dining salon of thewrecked liner. A long polished meturilium table occupied the center ofthe floor. Automatic weight distributing chairs stood around it. Hisfeet sank into a green fiberon carpet. He had stepped back into theThirty-fourth Century from the fabulous barbarian past.     With a sigh of relief, he started to sit down. A lithe red-head sprangforward and held his chair. They all waited politely for him to beseated before they took their places. He felt silly. He felt likea captive princess. All the confidence engendered by the familiarsettings of the space ship went out of him like wind. He, JonathanFawkes, was a castaway on an asteroid inhabited by twenty-seven wildwomen.  <doc-sep>Twenty minutes' walk into the desert brought Retief to a low rampartof thorn branches: the Flap-jacks' outer defensive line against Terryforays. It would be as good a place as any to wait for the move by theFlap-jacks. He sat down and eased the weight of his captive off hisback, but kept a firm thumb in place. If his analysis of the situationwas correct, a Flap-jack picket should be along before too long....     A penetrating beam of red light struck Retief in the face, blinked off.He got to his feet. The captive Flap-jack rippled its fringe in anagitated way. Retief tensed his thumb in the eye-socket.     Sit tight, he said. Don't try to do anything hasty.... His remarkswere falling on deaf ears—or no ears at all—but the thumb spoke asloudly as words.     There was a slither of sand. Another. He became aware of a ring ofpresences drawing closer.     Retief tightened his grip on the alien. He could see a dark shape now,looming up almost to his own six-three. It looked like the Flap-jackscame in all sizes.     A low rumble sounded, like a deep-throated growl. It strummed on, fadedout. Retief cocked his head, frowning.     Try it two octaves higher, he said.     Awwrrp! Sorry. Is that better? a clear voice came from the darkness.     That's fine, Retief said. I'm here to arrange a prisoner exchange.     Prisoners? But we have no prisoners.     Sure you have. Me. Is it a deal?     Ah, yes, of course. Quite equitable. What guarantees do you require?     The word of a gentleman is sufficient. Retief released the alien. Itflopped once, disappeared into the darkness.     If you'd care to accompany me to our headquarters, the voice said,we can discuss our mutual concerns in comfort.     Delighted.     Red lights blinked briefly. Retief glimpsed a gap in the thornybarrier, stepped through it. He followed dim shapes across warm sand toa low cave-like entry, faintly lit with a reddish glow.     I must apologize for the awkward design of our comfort-dome, said thevoice. Had we known we would be honored by a visit—     Think nothing of it, Retief said. We diplomats are trained to crawl.     Inside, with knees bent and head ducked under the five-foot ceiling,Retief looked around at the walls of pink-toned nacre, a floor likeburgundy-colored glass spread with silken rugs and a low table ofpolished red granite that stretched down the center of the spaciousroom, set out with silver dishes and rose-crystal drinking-tubes.      III     Let me congratulate you, the voice said.     Retief turned. An immense Flap-jack, hung with crimson trappings,rippled at his side. The voice issued from a disk strapped to its back.You fight well. I think we will find in each other worthy adversaries.     Thanks. I'm sure the test would be interesting, but I'm hoping we canavoid it.     Avoid it? Retief heard a low humming coming from the speaker in thesilence. Well, let us dine, the mighty Flap-jack said at last. Wecan resolve these matters later. I am called Hoshick of the Mosaic ofthe Two Dawns.     I'm Retief. Hoshick waited expectantly, ... of the Mountain of RedTape, Retief added.     Take place, Retief, said Hoshick. I hope you won't find our rudecouches uncomfortable. Two other large Flap-jacks came into the room,communed silently with Hoshick. Pray forgive our lack of translatingdevices, he said to Retief. Permit me to introduce my colleagues....     A small Flap-jack rippled the chamber bearing on its back a silver trayladen with aromatic food. The waiter served the four diners, filled thedrinking tubes with yellow wine. It smelled good.     I trust you'll find these dishes palatable, said Hoshick. Ourmetabolisms are much alike, I believe. Retief tried the food. It had adelicious nut-like flavor. The wine was indistinguishable from Chateaud'Yquem.     It was an unexpected pleasure to encounter your party here,said Hoshick. I confess at first we took you for an indigenousearth-grubbing form, but we were soon disabused of that notion. Heraised a tube, manipulating it deftly with his fringe tentacles. Retiefreturned the salute and drank.     Of course, Hoshick continued, as soon as we realized that you weresportsmen like ourselves, we attempted to make amends by providing abit of activity for you. We've ordered out our heavier equipment and afew trained skirmishers and soon we'll be able to give you an adequateshow. Or so I hope.     Additional skirmishers? said Retief. How many, if you don't mind myasking?     For the moment, perhaps only a few hundred. There-after ... well,I'm sure we can arrange that between us. Personally I would prefer acontest of limited scope. No nuclear or radiation-effect weapons. Sucha bore, screening the spawn for deviations. Though I confess we've comeupon some remarkably useful sports. The rangerform such as you madecaptive, for example. Simple-minded, of course, but a fantasticallykeen tracker.     Oh, by all means, Retief said. No atomics. As you pointed out,spawn-sorting is a nuisance, and then too, it's wasteful of troops.     Ah, well, they are after all expendable. But we agree: no atomics.Have you tried the ground-gwack eggs? Rather a specialty of myMosaic....     Delicious, said Retief. I wonder. Have you considered eliminatingweapons altogether?  <doc-sep>Retief put aside his cigar, pulled the wires loose, nudged the cork,caught it as it popped up.     Bad luck if you miss the cork, Arapoulous said, nodding. Youprobably never heard about the trouble we had on Lovenbroy a few yearsback?     Can't say that I did, Hank. Retief poured the black wine into twofresh glasses. Here's to the harvest.     We've got plenty of minerals on Lovenbroy, Arapoulous said,swallowing wine. But we don't plan to wreck the landscape mining 'em.We like to farm. About ten years back some neighbors of ours landed aforce. They figured they knew better what to do with our minerals thanwe did. Wanted to strip-mine, smelt ore. We convinced 'em otherwise.But it took a year, and we lost a lot of men.     That's too bad, Retief said. I'd say this one tastes more like roastbeef and popcorn over a Riesling base.     It put us in a bad spot, Arapoulous went on. We had to borrowmoney from a world called Croanie. Mortgaged our crops. Had to startexporting art work too. Plenty of buyers, but it's not the same whenyou're doing it for strangers.     Say, this business of alternating drinks is the real McCoy, Retiefsaid. What's the problem? Croanie about to foreclose?     Well, the loan's due. The wine crop would put us in the clear. Butwe need harvest hands. Picking Bacchus grapes isn't a job you canturn over to machinery—and anyway we wouldn't if we could. Vintageseason is the high point of living on Lovenbroy. Everybody joins in.First, there's the picking in the fields. Miles and miles of vineyardscovering the mountain sides, and crowding the river banks, with gardenshere and there. Big vines, eight feet high, loaded with fruit, and deepgrass growing between. The wine-carriers keep on the run, bringing wineto the pickers. There's prizes for the biggest day's output, bets onwho can fill the most baskets in an hour.... The sun's high and bright,and it's just cool enough to give you plenty of energy. Come nightfall,the tables are set up in the garden plots, and the feast is laid on:roast turkeys, beef, hams, all kinds of fowl. Big salads. Plenty offruit. Fresh-baked bread ... and wine, plenty of wine. The cooking'sdone by a different crew each night in each garden, and there's prizesfor the best crews.     Then the wine-making. We still tramp out the vintage. That's mostlyfor the young folks but anybody's welcome. That's when things start toget loosened up. Matter of fact, pretty near half our young-uns areborn after a vintage. All bets are off then. It keeps a fellow on histoes though. Ever tried to hold onto a gal wearing nothing but a layerof grape juice?  <doc-sep>The Military Attache pulled at his lower lip. In that case, we can'ttry conclusions with these fellows until we have an indetectible driveof our own. I recommend a crash project. In the meantime—     I'll have my boys start in to crack this thing, the Chief of theConfidential Terrestrial Source Section spoke up. I'll fit out acouple of volunteers with plastic beaks—     No cloak and dagger work, gentlemen! Long range policy will beworked out by Deep-Think teams back at the Department. Our role willbe a holding action. Now I want suggestions for a comprehensive,well rounded and decisive course for meeting this threat. Anyrecommendation?     The Political Officer placed his fingertips together. What about astiff Note demanding an extra week's time?     No! No begging, the Economic Officer objected. I'd say a calm,dignified, aggressive withdrawal—as soon as possible.     We don't want to give them the idea we spook easily, the MilitaryAttache said. Let's delay the withdrawal—say, until tomorrow.     Early tomorrow, Magnan said. Or maybe later today.     Well, I see you're of a mind with me, Nitworth nodded. Our plan ofaction is clear, but it remains to be implemented. We have a populationof over fifteen million individuals to relocate. He eyed thePolitical Officer. I want five proposals for resettlement on my deskby oh-eight-hundred hours tomorrow. Nitworth rapped out instructions.Harried-looking staff members arose and hurried from the room. Magnaneased toward the door.     Where are you going, Magnan? Nitworth snapped.     Since you're so busy, I thought I'd just slip back down to Com Inq. Itwas a most interesting orientation lecture, Mr. Ambassador. Be sure tolet us know how it works out.     Kindly return to your chair, Nitworth said coldly. A number ofchores remain to be assigned. I think you, Magnan, need a little fieldexperience. I want you to get over to Roolit I and take a look at theseQornt personally.     Magnan's mouth opened and closed soundlessly.     Not afraid of a few Qornt, are you, Magnan?     Afraid? Good lord, no, ha ha. It's just that I'm afraid I may lose myhead and do something rash if I go.     Nonsense! A diplomat is immune to heroic impulses. Take Retief along.No dawdling, now! I want you on the way in two hours. Notify thetransport pool at once. Now get going!     Magnan nodded unhappily and went into the hall.     Oh, Retief, Nitworth said. Retief turned.     Try to restrain Mr. Magnan from any impulsive moves—in anydirection.      II     Retief and Magnan topped a ridge and looked down across a slopeof towering tree-shrubs and glossy violet-stemmed palms set amongflamboyant blossoms of yellow and red, reaching down to a strip ofwhite beach with the blue sea beyond.     A delightful vista, Magnan said, mopping at his face. A pity wecouldn't locate the Qornt. We'll go back now and report—     I'm pretty sure the settlement is off to the right, Retief said. Whydon't you head back for the boat, while I ease over and see what I canobserve.     Retief, we're engaged in a serious mission. This is not a time tothink of sightseeing.     I'd like to take a good look at what we're giving away.     See here, Retief! One might almost receive the impression that you'requestioning Corps policy!     One might, at that. The Qornt have made their play, but I think itmight be valuable to take a look at their cards before we fold. If I'mnot back at the boat in an hour, lift without me.     You expect me to make my way back alone?     It's directly down-slope— Retief broke off, listening. Magnanclutched at his arm.     There was a sound of crackling foliage. Twenty feet ahead, a leafybranch swung aside. An eight-foot biped stepped into view, long, thin,green-clad legs with back-bending knees moving in quick, bird-likesteps. A pair of immense black-lensed goggles covered staring eyes setamong bushy green hair above a great bone-white beak. The crest bobbedas the creature cocked its head, listening.     Magnan gulped audibly. The Qornt froze, head tilted, beak aimeddirectly at the spot where the Terrestrials stood in the deep shade ofa giant trunk.     I'll go for help, Magnan squeaked. He whirled and took three leapsinto the brush.     A second great green-clad figure rose up to block his way. He spun,darted to the left. The first Qornt pounced, grappled Magnan to itsnarrow chest. Magnan yelled, threshing and kicking, broke free,turned—and collided with the eight-foot alien, coming in fast from theright. All three went down in a tangle of limbs.     Retief jumped forward, hauled Magnan free, thrust him aside andstopped, right fist cocked. The two Qornt lay groaning feebly.     Nice piece of work, Mr. Magnan, Retief said. You nailed both ofthem.  <doc-sep>   THE HIGHEST MOUNTAIN     By BRYCE WALTON     Illustrated by BOB HAYES     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction June 1952.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        First one up this tallest summit in the Solar       System was a rotten egg ... a very rotten egg!        Bruce heard their feet on the gravel outside and got up reluctantly toopen the door for them. He'd been reading some of Byron's poems he'dsneaked aboard the ship; after that he had been on the point of dozingoff, and now one of those strangely realistic dreams would have to bepostponed for a while. Funny, those dreams. There were faces in them ofhuman beings, or of ghosts, and other forms that weren't human at all,but seemed real and alive—except that they were also just parts of alast unconscious desire to escape death. Maybe that was it.     'Oh that my young life were a lasting dream, my spirit not awakeningtill the beam of an eternity should bring the 'morrow, Bruce said. Hesmiled without feeling much of anything and added, Thanks, Mr. Poe.     Jacobs and Anhauser stood outside. The icy wind cut through and intoBruce, but he didn't seem to notice. Anhauser's bulk loomed even largerin the special cold-resisting suiting. Jacobs' thin face frowned slylyat Bruce.     Come on in, boys, and get warm, Bruce invited.     Hey, poet, you're still here! Anhauser said, looking astonished.     We thought you'd be running off somewhere, Jacobs said.     Bruce reached for the suit on its hook, started climbing into it.Where? he asked. Mars looks alike wherever you go. Where did youthink I'd be running to?     Any place just so it was away from here and us, Anhauser said.     I don't have to do that. You are going away from me. That takes careof that, doesn't it?     Ah, come on, get the hell out of there, Jacobs said. He pulled therevolver from its holster and pointed it at Bruce. We got to get somesleep. We're starting up that mountain at five in the morning.     I know, Bruce said. I'll be glad to see you climb the mountain.     Outside, in the weird light of the double moons, Bruce looked up at thegigantic overhang of the mountain. It was unbelievable. The mountaindidn't seem to belong here. He'd thought so when they'd first hit Marseight months back and discovered the other four rockets that had nevergot back to Earth—all lying side by side under the mountain's shadow,like little white chalk marks on a tallyboard.     They'd estimated its height at over 45,000 feet, which was a lot higherthan any mountain on Earth. Yet Mars was much older, geologically. Theentire face of the planet was smoothed into soft, undulating red hillsby erosion. And there in the middle of barren nothingness rose that oneincredible mountain. On certain nights when the stars were right, ithad seemed to Bruce as though it were pointing an accusing finger atEarth—or a warning one.  <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></s> [SEP] In what location does the story of RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN occur?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"""What role does wine play in the plot of RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN?"" [SEP] <s>   RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN     by KEITH LAUMER     Retief knew the importance of sealed     orders—and the need to keep them that way!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1962.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      It's true, Consul Passwyn said, I requested assignment as principalofficer at a small post. But I had in mind one of those charming resortworlds, with only an occasional visa problem, or perhaps a distressedspaceman or two a year. Instead, I'm zoo-keeper to these confoundedsettlers. And not for one world, mind you, but eight! He stared glumlyat Vice-Consul Retief.     Still, Retief said, it gives an opportunity to travel—     Travel! the consul barked. I hate travel. Here in this backwatersystem particularly— He paused, blinked at Retief and cleared histhroat. Not that a bit of travel isn't an excellent thing for ajunior officer. Marvelous experience.     He turned to the wall-screen and pressed a button. A system triagramappeared: eight luminous green dots arranged around a larger diskrepresenting the primary. He picked up a pointer, indicating theinnermost planet.     The situation on Adobe is nearing crisis. The confounded settlers—amere handful of them—have managed, as usual, to stir up trouble withan intelligent indigenous life form, the Jaq. I can't think why theybother, merely for a few oases among the endless deserts. However Ihave, at last, received authorization from Sector Headquarters totake certain action. He swung back to face Retief. I'm sending youin to handle the situation, Retief—under sealed orders. He pickedup a fat buff envelope. A pity they didn't see fit to order theTerrestrial settlers out weeks ago, as I suggested. Now it is too late.I'm expected to produce a miracle—a rapprochement between Terrestrialand Adoban and a division of territory. It's idiotic. However, failurewould look very bad in my record, so I shall expect results.     He passed the buff envelope across to Retief.     I understood that Adobe was uninhabited, Retief said, until theTerrestrial settlers arrived.     Apparently, that was an erroneous impression. Passwyn fixed Retiefwith a watery eye. You'll follow your instructions to the letter. In adelicate situation such as this, there must be no impulsive, impromptuelement introduced. This approach has been worked out in detail atSector. You need merely implement it. Is that entirely clear?     Has anyone at Headquarters ever visited Adobe?     Of course not. They all hate travel. If there are no other questions,you'd best be on your way. The mail run departs the dome in less thanan hour.     What's this native life form like? Retief asked, getting to his feet.     When you get back, said Passwyn, you tell me.  <doc-sep>Retief put aside his cigar, pulled the wires loose, nudged the cork,caught it as it popped up.     Bad luck if you miss the cork, Arapoulous said, nodding. Youprobably never heard about the trouble we had on Lovenbroy a few yearsback?     Can't say that I did, Hank. Retief poured the black wine into twofresh glasses. Here's to the harvest.     We've got plenty of minerals on Lovenbroy, Arapoulous said,swallowing wine. But we don't plan to wreck the landscape mining 'em.We like to farm. About ten years back some neighbors of ours landed aforce. They figured they knew better what to do with our minerals thanwe did. Wanted to strip-mine, smelt ore. We convinced 'em otherwise.But it took a year, and we lost a lot of men.     That's too bad, Retief said. I'd say this one tastes more like roastbeef and popcorn over a Riesling base.     It put us in a bad spot, Arapoulous went on. We had to borrowmoney from a world called Croanie. Mortgaged our crops. Had to startexporting art work too. Plenty of buyers, but it's not the same whenyou're doing it for strangers.     Say, this business of alternating drinks is the real McCoy, Retiefsaid. What's the problem? Croanie about to foreclose?     Well, the loan's due. The wine crop would put us in the clear. Butwe need harvest hands. Picking Bacchus grapes isn't a job you canturn over to machinery—and anyway we wouldn't if we could. Vintageseason is the high point of living on Lovenbroy. Everybody joins in.First, there's the picking in the fields. Miles and miles of vineyardscovering the mountain sides, and crowding the river banks, with gardenshere and there. Big vines, eight feet high, loaded with fruit, and deepgrass growing between. The wine-carriers keep on the run, bringing wineto the pickers. There's prizes for the biggest day's output, bets onwho can fill the most baskets in an hour.... The sun's high and bright,and it's just cool enough to give you plenty of energy. Come nightfall,the tables are set up in the garden plots, and the feast is laid on:roast turkeys, beef, hams, all kinds of fowl. Big salads. Plenty offruit. Fresh-baked bread ... and wine, plenty of wine. The cooking'sdone by a different crew each night in each garden, and there's prizesfor the best crews.     Then the wine-making. We still tramp out the vintage. That's mostlyfor the young folks but anybody's welcome. That's when things start toget loosened up. Matter of fact, pretty near half our young-uns areborn after a vintage. All bets are off then. It keeps a fellow on histoes though. Ever tried to hold onto a gal wearing nothing but a layerof grape juice?  <doc-sep>A scratchy sound issued from the disk. Pardon my laughter, Hoshicksaid, but surely you jest?     As a matter of fact, said Retief, we ourselves seldom use weapons.     I seem to recall that our first contact of skirmishforms involved theuse of a weapon by one of your units.     My apologies, said Retief. The—ah—the skirmishform failed torecognize that he was dealing with a sportsman.     Still, now that we have commenced so merrily with weapons.... Hoshicksignaled and the servant refilled tubes.     There is an aspect I haven't yet mentioned, Retief went on. I hopeyou won't take this personally, but the fact is, our skirmishformsthink of weapons as something one employs only in dealing with certainspecific life-forms.     Oh? Curious. What forms are those?     Vermin. Or 'varmints' as some call them. Deadly antagonists, butlacking in caste. I don't want our skirmishforms thinking of suchworthy adversaries as yourself as varmints.     Dear me! I hadn't realized, of course. Most considerate of you topoint it out. Hoshick clucked in dismay. I see that skirmishforms aremuch the same among you as with us: lacking in perception. He laughedscratchily. Imagine considering us as—what was the word?—varmints.     Which brings us to the crux of the matter. You see, we're up againsta serious problem with regard to skirmishforms. A low birth rate.Therefore we've reluctantly taken to substitutes for the mass actionsso dear to the heart of the sportsman. We've attempted to put an end tothese contests altogether....     Hoshick coughed explosively, sending a spray of wine into the air.What are you saying? he gasped. Are you proposing that Hoshick ofthe Mosaic of the Two Dawns abandon honor....?     Sir! said Retief sternly. You forget yourself. I, Retief of the RedTape Mountain, make an alternate proposal more in keeping with thenewest sporting principles.     New? cried Hoshick. My dear Retief, what a pleasant surprise! I'menthralled with novel modes. One gets so out of touch. Do elaborate.     It's quite simple, really. Each side selects a representative and thetwo individuals settle the issue between them.     I ... um ... fear I don't understand. What possible significance couldone attach to the activities of a couple of random skirmishforms?     I haven't made myself clear, said Retief. He took a sip of wine. Wedon't involve the skirmishforms at all. That's quite passe.     You don't mean...?     That's right. You and me.  <doc-sep>Arapoulous puffed on his cigar, looked worriedly at Retief. Our winecrop is our big money crop, he said. We make enough to keep us going.But this year....     The crop isn't panning out?     Oh, the crop's fine. One of the best I can remember. Course, I'm onlytwenty-eight; I can't remember but two other harvests. The problem'snot the crop.     Have you lost your markets? That sounds like a matter for theCommercial—     Lost our markets? Mister, nobody that ever tasted our wines eversettled for anything else!     It sounds like I've been missing something, said Retief. I'll haveto try them some time.     Arapoulous put his bundle on the desk, pulled off the wrappings. Notime like the present, he said.     Retief looked at the two squat bottles, one green, one amber, bothdusty, with faded labels, and blackened corks secured by wire.     Drinking on duty is frowned on in the Corps, Mr. Arapoulous, he said.     This isn't      drinking     . It's just wine. Arapoulous pulled the wireretainer loose, thumbed the cork. It rose slowly, then popped in theair. Arapoulous caught it. Aromatic fumes wafted from the bottle.Besides, my feelings would be hurt if you didn't join me. He winked.     Retief took two thin-walled glasses from a table beside the desk. Cometo think of it, we also have to be careful about violating quaintnative customs.     Arapoulous filled the glasses. Retief picked one up, sniffed the deeprust-colored fluid, tasted it, then took a healthy swallow. He lookedat Arapoulous thoughtfully.     Hmmm. It tastes like salted pecans, with an undercurrent of crustedport.     Don't try to describe it, Mr. Retief, Arapoulous said. He took amouthful of wine, swished it around his teeth, swallowed. It's Bacchuswine, that's all. Nothing like it in the Galaxy. He pushed the secondbottle toward Retief. The custom back home is to alternate red wineand black.  <doc-sep>Twenty minutes' walk into the desert brought Retief to a low rampartof thorn branches: the Flap-jacks' outer defensive line against Terryforays. It would be as good a place as any to wait for the move by theFlap-jacks. He sat down and eased the weight of his captive off hisback, but kept a firm thumb in place. If his analysis of the situationwas correct, a Flap-jack picket should be along before too long....     A penetrating beam of red light struck Retief in the face, blinked off.He got to his feet. The captive Flap-jack rippled its fringe in anagitated way. Retief tensed his thumb in the eye-socket.     Sit tight, he said. Don't try to do anything hasty.... His remarkswere falling on deaf ears—or no ears at all—but the thumb spoke asloudly as words.     There was a slither of sand. Another. He became aware of a ring ofpresences drawing closer.     Retief tightened his grip on the alien. He could see a dark shape now,looming up almost to his own six-three. It looked like the Flap-jackscame in all sizes.     A low rumble sounded, like a deep-throated growl. It strummed on, fadedout. Retief cocked his head, frowning.     Try it two octaves higher, he said.     Awwrrp! Sorry. Is that better? a clear voice came from the darkness.     That's fine, Retief said. I'm here to arrange a prisoner exchange.     Prisoners? But we have no prisoners.     Sure you have. Me. Is it a deal?     Ah, yes, of course. Quite equitable. What guarantees do you require?     The word of a gentleman is sufficient. Retief released the alien. Itflopped once, disappeared into the darkness.     If you'd care to accompany me to our headquarters, the voice said,we can discuss our mutual concerns in comfort.     Delighted.     Red lights blinked briefly. Retief glimpsed a gap in the thornybarrier, stepped through it. He followed dim shapes across warm sand toa low cave-like entry, faintly lit with a reddish glow.     I must apologize for the awkward design of our comfort-dome, said thevoice. Had we known we would be honored by a visit—     Think nothing of it, Retief said. We diplomats are trained to crawl.     Inside, with knees bent and head ducked under the five-foot ceiling,Retief looked around at the walls of pink-toned nacre, a floor likeburgundy-colored glass spread with silken rugs and a low table ofpolished red granite that stretched down the center of the spaciousroom, set out with silver dishes and rose-crystal drinking-tubes.      III     Let me congratulate you, the voice said.     Retief turned. An immense Flap-jack, hung with crimson trappings,rippled at his side. The voice issued from a disk strapped to its back.You fight well. I think we will find in each other worthy adversaries.     Thanks. I'm sure the test would be interesting, but I'm hoping we canavoid it.     Avoid it? Retief heard a low humming coming from the speaker in thesilence. Well, let us dine, the mighty Flap-jack said at last. Wecan resolve these matters later. I am called Hoshick of the Mosaic ofthe Two Dawns.     I'm Retief. Hoshick waited expectantly, ... of the Mountain of RedTape, Retief added.     Take place, Retief, said Hoshick. I hope you won't find our rudecouches uncomfortable. Two other large Flap-jacks came into the room,communed silently with Hoshick. Pray forgive our lack of translatingdevices, he said to Retief. Permit me to introduce my colleagues....     A small Flap-jack rippled the chamber bearing on its back a silver trayladen with aromatic food. The waiter served the four diners, filled thedrinking tubes with yellow wine. It smelled good.     I trust you'll find these dishes palatable, said Hoshick. Ourmetabolisms are much alike, I believe. Retief tried the food. It had adelicious nut-like flavor. The wine was indistinguishable from Chateaud'Yquem.     It was an unexpected pleasure to encounter your party here,said Hoshick. I confess at first we took you for an indigenousearth-grubbing form, but we were soon disabused of that notion. Heraised a tube, manipulating it deftly with his fringe tentacles. Retiefreturned the salute and drank.     Of course, Hoshick continued, as soon as we realized that you weresportsmen like ourselves, we attempted to make amends by providing abit of activity for you. We've ordered out our heavier equipment and afew trained skirmishers and soon we'll be able to give you an adequateshow. Or so I hope.     Additional skirmishers? said Retief. How many, if you don't mind myasking?     For the moment, perhaps only a few hundred. There-after ... well,I'm sure we can arrange that between us. Personally I would prefer acontest of limited scope. No nuclear or radiation-effect weapons. Sucha bore, screening the spawn for deviations. Though I confess we've comeupon some remarkably useful sports. The rangerform such as you madecaptive, for example. Simple-minded, of course, but a fantasticallykeen tracker.     Oh, by all means, Retief said. No atomics. As you pointed out,spawn-sorting is a nuisance, and then too, it's wasteful of troops.     Ah, well, they are after all expendable. But we agree: no atomics.Have you tried the ground-gwack eggs? Rather a specialty of myMosaic....     Delicious, said Retief. I wonder. Have you considered eliminatingweapons altogether?  <doc-sep>There were.     Retief dug in and the Flap-jack writhed, pulled away. Retief held on,scrambled to his feet, threw his weight against the alien and fell ontop of him, still gouging. Hoshick rippled his fringe wildly, floppedin terror, then went limp.     Retief relaxed, released his hold and got to his feet, breathing hard.Hoshick humped himself over onto his ventral side, lifted and movedgingerly over to the sidelines. His retainers came forward, assistedhim into his trappings, strapped on the translator. He sighed heavily,adjusted the volume.     There is much to be said for the old system, he said. What a burdenone's sportsmanship places on one at times.     Great sport, wasn't it? said Retief. Now, I know you'll be eager tocontinue. If you'll just wait while I run back and fetch some of ourgougerforms—     May hide-ticks devour the gougerforms! Hoshick bellowed. You'vegiven me such a sprong-ache as I'll remember each spawning-time for ayear.     Speaking of hide-ticks, said Retief, we've developed a biterform—     Enough! Hoshick roared, so loudly that the translator bounced on hishide. Suddenly I yearn for the crowded yellow sands of Jaq. I hadhoped.... He broke off, drew a rasping breath. I had hoped, Retief,he said, speaking sadly now, to find a new land here where I mightplan my own Mosaic, till these alien sands and bring forth such a cropof paradise-lichen as should glut the markets of a hundred worlds. Butmy spirit is not equal to the prospect of biterforms and gougerformswithout end. I am shamed before you....     To tell you the truth, I'm old-fashioned myself. I'd rather watch theaction from a distance too.     But surely your spawn-fellows would never condone such an attitude.     My spawn-fellows aren't here. And besides, didn't I mention it? Noone who's really in the know would think of engaging in competition bymere combat if there were any other way. Now, you mentioned tilling thesand, raising lichens—things like that—     That on which we dined but now, said Hoshick, and from which thewine is made.     The big news in fashionable diplomacy today is farming competition.Now, if you'd like to take these deserts and raise lichen, we'llpromise to stick to the oases and vegetables.     Hoshick curled his back in attention. Retief, you're quite serious?You would leave all the fair sand hills to us?     The whole works, Hoshick. I'll take the oases.     Hoshick rippled his fringes ecstatically. Once again you have outdoneme, Retief, he cried. This time, in generosity.     We'll talk over the details later. I'm sure we can establish a set ofrules that will satisfy all parties. Now I've got to get back. I thinksome of the gougerforms are waiting to see me.      IV     It was nearly dawn when Retief gave the whistled signal he had agreedon with Potter, then rose and walked into the camp circle. Swazey stoodup.     There you are, he said. We been wonderin' whether to go out afteryou.     Lemuel came forward, one eye black to the cheekbone. He held out araw-boned hand. Sorry I jumped you, stranger. Tell you the truth, Ithought you was some kind of stool-pigeon from the CDT.     Bert came up behind Lemuel. How do you know he ain't, Lemuel? hesaid. Maybe he—     Lemuel floored Bert with a backward sweep of his arm. Nextcotton-picker says some embassy Johnny can cool me gets worse'n that.     Tell me, said Retief. How are you boys fixed for wine?     Wine? Mister, we been livin' on stump water for a year now. 'Dobe'sfatal to the kind of bacteria it takes to ferment likker.     Try this. Retief handed over a sqat jug. Swazey drew the cork,sniffed, drank and passed it to Lemuel.     Mister, where'd you get that?     The Flap-jacks make it. Here's another question for you: Would youconcede a share in this planet to the Flap-jacks in return for a peaceguarantee?     At the end of a half hour of heated debate Lemuel turned to Retief.We'll make any reasonable deal, he said. I guess they got as muchright here as we have. I think we'd agree to a fifty-fifty split.That'd give about a hundred and fifty oases to each side.     What would you say to keeping all the oases and giving them thedesert?     Lemuel reached for the wine jug, eyes on Retief. Keep talkin',mister, he said. I think you got yourself a deal.  <doc-sep>Why, that's our guest of honor, said Magnan, a fine young fellow!Slop I believe his name is.     Slock, said Retief. Eight feet of armor-plated orneriness. And—     Magnan rose and tapped on his glass. The Fustians winced at the, tothem, supersonic vibrations. They looked at each other muttering.Magnan tapped louder. The Minister drew in his head, eyes closed. Someof the Fustians rose, tottered for the doors; the noise level rose.Magnan redoubled his efforts. The glass broke with a clatter and greenwine gushed on the tablecloth.     What in the name of the Great Egg! the Minister muttered. He blinked,breathing deeply.     Oh, forgive me, blurted Magnan, dabbing at the wine.     Too bad the glass gave out, said Retief. In another minute you'dhave cleared the hall. And then maybe I could have gotten a word insideways. There's a matter you should know about—     Your attention, please, Magnan said, rising. I see that our fineyoung guest has arrived, and I hope that the remainder of his committeewill be along in a moment. It is my pleasure to announce that our Mr.Retief has had the good fortune to win out in the keen bidding for thepleasure of sponsoring this lovely group.     Retief tugged at Magnan's sleeve. Don't introduce me yet, he said. Iwant to appear suddenly. More dramatic, you know.     Well, murmured Magnan, glancing down at Retief, I'm gratified tosee you entering into the spirit of the event at last. He turned hisattention back to the assembled guests. If our honored guest will joinme on the rostrum...? he said. The gentlemen of the press may want tocatch a few shots of the presentation.     Magnan stepped up on the low platform at the center of the wide room,took his place beside the robed Fustian youth and beamed at the cameras.     How gratifying it is to take this opportunity to express once more thegreat pleasure we have in sponsoring SCARS, he said, talking slowlyfor the benefit of the scribbling reporters. We'd like to think thatin our modest way we're to be a part of all that the SCARS achieveduring the years ahead.     Magnan paused as a huge Fustian elder heaved his bulk up the two lowsteps to the rostrum, approached the guest of honor. He watched as thenewcomer paused behind Slock, who did not see the new arrival.     Retief pushed through the crowd, stepped up to face the Fustian youth.Slock stared at him, drew back.     You know me, Slock, said Retief loudly. An old fellow named Whonktold you about me, just before you tried to saw his head off, remember?It was when I came out to take a look at that battle cruiser you'rebuilding.      IV     With a bellow Slock reached for Retief—and choked off in mid-cry asthe Fustian elder, Whonk, pinioned him from behind, lifting him clearof the floor.     Glad you reporters happened along, said Retief to the gaping newsmen.Slock here had a deal with a sharp operator from the Groaci Embassy.The Groaci were to supply the necessary hardware and Slock, as foremanat the shipyards, was to see that everything was properly installed.The next step, I assume, would have been a local take-over, followedby a little interplanetary war on Flamenco or one of the other nearbyworlds ... for which the Groaci would be glad to supply plenty of ammo.     Magnan found his tongue. Are you mad, Retief? he screeched. Thisgroup was vouched for by the Ministry of Youth!     The Ministry's overdue for a purge, snapped Retief. He turned backto Slock. I wonder if you were in on the little diversion that wasplanned for today. When the      Moss Rock     blew, a variety of clues wereto be planted where they'd be easy to find ... with SCARS written allover them. The Groaci would thus have neatly laid the whole affairsquarely at the door of the Terrestrial Embassy ... whose sponsorshipof the SCARS had received plenty of publicity.     The      Moss Rock     ? said Magnan. But that was—Retief! This is idiotic.Slock himself was scheduled to go on a cruise tomorrow!     Slock roared suddenly, twisting violently. Whonk teetered, his griploosened ... and Slock pulled free and was off the platform, buttinghis way through the milling oldsters on the dining room floor. Magnanwatched, open-mouthed.     The Groaci were playing a double game, as usual, Retief said. Theyintended to dispose of this fellow Slock, once he'd served theirpurpose.     Well, don't stand there, yelped Magnan over the uproar. If Slock isthe ring-leader of a delinquent gang...! He moved to give chase.     Retief grabbed his arm. Don't jump down there! You'd have as muchchance of getting through as a jack-rabbit through a threshing contest.     Ten minutes later the crowd had thinned slightly. We can get throughnow, Whonk called. This way. He lowered himself to the floor, bulledthrough to the exit. Flashbulbs popped. Retief and Magnan followed inWhonk's wake.     In the lounge Retief grabbed the phone, waited for the operator, gave acode letter. No reply. He tried another.     No good, he said after a full minute had passed. Wonder what'sloose? He slammed the phone back in its niche. Let's grab a cab.  <doc-sep>Miss Furkle sniffed and disappeared from the screen. Retief left theoffice, descended forty-one stories, followed a corridor to the CorpsLibrary. In the stacks he thumbed through catalogues, pored overindices.     Can I help you? someone chirped. A tiny librarian stood at his elbow.     Thank you, ma'am, Retief said. I'm looking for information on amining rig. A Bolo model WV tractor.     You won't find it in the industrial section, the librarian said.Come along. Retief followed her along the stacks to a well-litsection lettered ARMAMENTS. She took a tape from the shelf, pluggedit into the viewer, flipped through and stopped at a squat armoredvehicle.     That's the model WV, she said. It's what is known as a continentalsiege unit. It carries four men, with a half-megaton/second firepower.     There must be an error somewhere, Retief said. The Bolo model I wantis a tractor. Model WV M-1—       Oh, the modification was the addition of a bulldozer blade fordemolition work. That must be what confused you.     Probably—among other things. Thank you.     Miss Furkle was waiting at the office. I have the information youwanted, she said. I've had it for over ten minutes. I was under theimpression you needed it urgently, and I went to great lengths—     Sure, Retief said. Shoot. How many tractors?     Five hundred.     Are you sure?     Miss Furkle's chins quivered. Well! If you feel I'm incompetent—     Just questioning the possibility of a mistake, Miss Furkle. Fivehundred tractors is a lot of equipment.     Was there anything further? Miss Furkle inquired frigidly.     I sincerely hope not, Retief said.      III     Leaning back in Magnan's padded chair with power swivel andhip-u-matic concontour, Retief leafed through a folder labelled CERP7-602-Ba; CROANIE (general). He paused at a page headed Industry.     Still reading, he opened the desk drawer, took out the two bottles ofBacchus wine and two glasses. He poured an inch of wine into each andsipped the black wine meditatively.     It would be a pity, he reflected, if anything should interfere with theproduction of such vintages....     Half an hour later he laid the folder aside, keyed the phone and putthrough a call to the Croanie Legation. He asked for the CommercialAttache.     Retief here, Corps HQ, he said airily. About the MEDDLE shipment,the tractors. I'm wondering if there's been a slip up. My records showwe're shipping five hundred units....     That's correct. Five hundred.     Retief waited.     Ah ... are you there, Retief?     I'm still here. And I'm still wondering about the five hundredtractors.     It's perfectly in order. I thought it was all settled. Mr. Whaffle—     One unit would require a good-sized plant to handle its output,Retief said. Now Croanie subsists on her fisheries. She has perhapshalf a dozen pint-sized processing plants. Maybe, in a bind, theycould handle the ore ten WV's could scrape up ... if Croanie had anyore. It doesn't. By the way, isn't a WV a poor choice as a miningoutfit? I should think—     See here, Retief! Why all this interest in a few surplus tractors?And in any event, what business is it of yours how we plan to use theequipment? That's an internal affair of my government. Mr. Whaffle—     I'm not Mr. Whaffle. What are you going to do with the other fourhundred and ninety tractors?     I understood the grant was to be with no strings attached!     I know it's bad manners to ask questions. It's an old diplomatictradition that any time you can get anybody to accept anything as agift, you've scored points in the game. But if Croanie has some schemecooking—  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] ""What role does wine play in the plot of RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN?""","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What role does the fission weapon play in RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN? [SEP] <s>   RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN     by KEITH LAUMER     Retief knew the importance of sealed     orders—and the need to keep them that way!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1962.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      It's true, Consul Passwyn said, I requested assignment as principalofficer at a small post. But I had in mind one of those charming resortworlds, with only an occasional visa problem, or perhaps a distressedspaceman or two a year. Instead, I'm zoo-keeper to these confoundedsettlers. And not for one world, mind you, but eight! He stared glumlyat Vice-Consul Retief.     Still, Retief said, it gives an opportunity to travel—     Travel! the consul barked. I hate travel. Here in this backwatersystem particularly— He paused, blinked at Retief and cleared histhroat. Not that a bit of travel isn't an excellent thing for ajunior officer. Marvelous experience.     He turned to the wall-screen and pressed a button. A system triagramappeared: eight luminous green dots arranged around a larger diskrepresenting the primary. He picked up a pointer, indicating theinnermost planet.     The situation on Adobe is nearing crisis. The confounded settlers—amere handful of them—have managed, as usual, to stir up trouble withan intelligent indigenous life form, the Jaq. I can't think why theybother, merely for a few oases among the endless deserts. However Ihave, at last, received authorization from Sector Headquarters totake certain action. He swung back to face Retief. I'm sending youin to handle the situation, Retief—under sealed orders. He pickedup a fat buff envelope. A pity they didn't see fit to order theTerrestrial settlers out weeks ago, as I suggested. Now it is too late.I'm expected to produce a miracle—a rapprochement between Terrestrialand Adoban and a division of territory. It's idiotic. However, failurewould look very bad in my record, so I shall expect results.     He passed the buff envelope across to Retief.     I understood that Adobe was uninhabited, Retief said, until theTerrestrial settlers arrived.     Apparently, that was an erroneous impression. Passwyn fixed Retiefwith a watery eye. You'll follow your instructions to the letter. In adelicate situation such as this, there must be no impulsive, impromptuelement introduced. This approach has been worked out in detail atSector. You need merely implement it. Is that entirely clear?     Has anyone at Headquarters ever visited Adobe?     Of course not. They all hate travel. If there are no other questions,you'd best be on your way. The mail run departs the dome in less thanan hour.     What's this native life form like? Retief asked, getting to his feet.     When you get back, said Passwyn, you tell me.  <doc-sep>The mail pilot, a leathery veteran with quarter-inch whiskers, spattoward a stained corner of the compartment, leaned close to the screen.     They's shootin' goin' on down there, he said. See them white puffsover the edge of the desert?     I'm supposed to be preventing the war, said Retief. It looks likeI'm a little late.     The pilot's head snapped around. War? he yelped. Nobody told me theywas a war goin' on on 'Dobe. If that's what that is, I'm gettin' out ofhere.     Hold on, said Retief. I've got to get down. They won't shoot at you.     They shore won't, sonny. I ain't givin' 'em the chance. He startedpunching keys on the console. Retief reached out, caught his wrist.     Maybe you didn't hear me. I said I've got to get down.     The pilot plunged against the restraint, swung a punch that Retiefblocked casually. Are you nuts? the pilot screeched. They's plentyshootin' goin' on fer me to see it fifty miles out.     The mail must go through, you know.     Okay! You're so dead set on gettin' killed, you take the skiff. I'lltell 'em to pick up the remains next trip.     You're a pal. I'll take your offer.     The pilot jumped to the lifeboat hatch and cycled it open. Get in.We're closin' fast. Them birds might take it into their heads to lobone this way....     Retief crawled into the narrow cockpit of the skiff, glanced over thecontrols. The pilot ducked out of sight, came back, handed Retief aheavy old-fashioned power pistol. Long as you're goin' in, might aswell take this.     Thanks. Retief shoved the pistol in his belt. I hope you're wrong.     I'll see they pick you up when the shootin's over—one way or another.     The hatch clanked shut. A moment later there was a jar as the skiffdropped away, followed by heavy buffeting in the backwash from thedeparting mail boat. Retief watched the tiny screen, hands on themanual controls. He was dropping rapidly: forty miles, thirty-nine....     A crimson blip showed on the screen, moving out.     Retief felt sweat pop out on his forehead. The red blip meant heavyradiation from a warhead. Somebody was playing around with an outlawedbut by no means unheard of fission weapon. But maybe it was just on ahigh trajectory and had no connection with the skiff....     Retief altered course to the south. The blip followed.     He checked instrument readings, gripped the controls, watching. Thiswas going to be tricky. The missile bored closer. At five miles Retiefthrew the light skiff into maximum acceleration, straight toward theoncoming bomb. Crushed back in the padded seat, he watched the screen,correcting course minutely. The proximity fuse should be set for nomore than 1000 yards.     At a combined speed of two miles per second, the skiff flashed pastthe missile, and Retief was slammed violently against the restrainingharness in the concussion of the explosion ... a mile astern, andharmless.     Then the planetary surface was rushing up with frightening speed.Retief shook his head, kicked in the emergency retro-drive. Pointsof light arced up from the planet face below. If they were ordinarychemical warheads the skiff's meteor screens should handle them. Thescreen flashed brilliant white, then went dark. The skiff flipped onits back. Smoke filled the tiny compartment. There was a series ofshocks, a final bone-shaking concussion, then stillness, broken by theping of hot metal contracting.  <doc-sep>A scratchy sound issued from the disk. Pardon my laughter, Hoshicksaid, but surely you jest?     As a matter of fact, said Retief, we ourselves seldom use weapons.     I seem to recall that our first contact of skirmishforms involved theuse of a weapon by one of your units.     My apologies, said Retief. The—ah—the skirmishform failed torecognize that he was dealing with a sportsman.     Still, now that we have commenced so merrily with weapons.... Hoshicksignaled and the servant refilled tubes.     There is an aspect I haven't yet mentioned, Retief went on. I hopeyou won't take this personally, but the fact is, our skirmishformsthink of weapons as something one employs only in dealing with certainspecific life-forms.     Oh? Curious. What forms are those?     Vermin. Or 'varmints' as some call them. Deadly antagonists, butlacking in caste. I don't want our skirmishforms thinking of suchworthy adversaries as yourself as varmints.     Dear me! I hadn't realized, of course. Most considerate of you topoint it out. Hoshick clucked in dismay. I see that skirmishforms aremuch the same among you as with us: lacking in perception. He laughedscratchily. Imagine considering us as—what was the word?—varmints.     Which brings us to the crux of the matter. You see, we're up againsta serious problem with regard to skirmishforms. A low birth rate.Therefore we've reluctantly taken to substitutes for the mass actionsso dear to the heart of the sportsman. We've attempted to put an end tothese contests altogether....     Hoshick coughed explosively, sending a spray of wine into the air.What are you saying? he gasped. Are you proposing that Hoshick ofthe Mosaic of the Two Dawns abandon honor....?     Sir! said Retief sternly. You forget yourself. I, Retief of the RedTape Mountain, make an alternate proposal more in keeping with thenewest sporting principles.     New? cried Hoshick. My dear Retief, what a pleasant surprise! I'menthralled with novel modes. One gets so out of touch. Do elaborate.     It's quite simple, really. Each side selects a representative and thetwo individuals settle the issue between them.     I ... um ... fear I don't understand. What possible significance couldone attach to the activities of a couple of random skirmishforms?     I haven't made myself clear, said Retief. He took a sip of wine. Wedon't involve the skirmishforms at all. That's quite passe.     You don't mean...?     That's right. You and me.  <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>Twenty minutes' walk into the desert brought Retief to a low rampartof thorn branches: the Flap-jacks' outer defensive line against Terryforays. It would be as good a place as any to wait for the move by theFlap-jacks. He sat down and eased the weight of his captive off hisback, but kept a firm thumb in place. If his analysis of the situationwas correct, a Flap-jack picket should be along before too long....     A penetrating beam of red light struck Retief in the face, blinked off.He got to his feet. The captive Flap-jack rippled its fringe in anagitated way. Retief tensed his thumb in the eye-socket.     Sit tight, he said. Don't try to do anything hasty.... His remarkswere falling on deaf ears—or no ears at all—but the thumb spoke asloudly as words.     There was a slither of sand. Another. He became aware of a ring ofpresences drawing closer.     Retief tightened his grip on the alien. He could see a dark shape now,looming up almost to his own six-three. It looked like the Flap-jackscame in all sizes.     A low rumble sounded, like a deep-throated growl. It strummed on, fadedout. Retief cocked his head, frowning.     Try it two octaves higher, he said.     Awwrrp! Sorry. Is that better? a clear voice came from the darkness.     That's fine, Retief said. I'm here to arrange a prisoner exchange.     Prisoners? But we have no prisoners.     Sure you have. Me. Is it a deal?     Ah, yes, of course. Quite equitable. What guarantees do you require?     The word of a gentleman is sufficient. Retief released the alien. Itflopped once, disappeared into the darkness.     If you'd care to accompany me to our headquarters, the voice said,we can discuss our mutual concerns in comfort.     Delighted.     Red lights blinked briefly. Retief glimpsed a gap in the thornybarrier, stepped through it. He followed dim shapes across warm sand toa low cave-like entry, faintly lit with a reddish glow.     I must apologize for the awkward design of our comfort-dome, said thevoice. Had we known we would be honored by a visit—     Think nothing of it, Retief said. We diplomats are trained to crawl.     Inside, with knees bent and head ducked under the five-foot ceiling,Retief looked around at the walls of pink-toned nacre, a floor likeburgundy-colored glass spread with silken rugs and a low table ofpolished red granite that stretched down the center of the spaciousroom, set out with silver dishes and rose-crystal drinking-tubes.      III     Let me congratulate you, the voice said.     Retief turned. An immense Flap-jack, hung with crimson trappings,rippled at his side. The voice issued from a disk strapped to its back.You fight well. I think we will find in each other worthy adversaries.     Thanks. I'm sure the test would be interesting, but I'm hoping we canavoid it.     Avoid it? Retief heard a low humming coming from the speaker in thesilence. Well, let us dine, the mighty Flap-jack said at last. Wecan resolve these matters later. I am called Hoshick of the Mosaic ofthe Two Dawns.     I'm Retief. Hoshick waited expectantly, ... of the Mountain of RedTape, Retief added.     Take place, Retief, said Hoshick. I hope you won't find our rudecouches uncomfortable. Two other large Flap-jacks came into the room,communed silently with Hoshick. Pray forgive our lack of translatingdevices, he said to Retief. Permit me to introduce my colleagues....     A small Flap-jack rippled the chamber bearing on its back a silver trayladen with aromatic food. The waiter served the four diners, filled thedrinking tubes with yellow wine. It smelled good.     I trust you'll find these dishes palatable, said Hoshick. Ourmetabolisms are much alike, I believe. Retief tried the food. It had adelicious nut-like flavor. The wine was indistinguishable from Chateaud'Yquem.     It was an unexpected pleasure to encounter your party here,said Hoshick. I confess at first we took you for an indigenousearth-grubbing form, but we were soon disabused of that notion. Heraised a tube, manipulating it deftly with his fringe tentacles. Retiefreturned the salute and drank.     Of course, Hoshick continued, as soon as we realized that you weresportsmen like ourselves, we attempted to make amends by providing abit of activity for you. We've ordered out our heavier equipment and afew trained skirmishers and soon we'll be able to give you an adequateshow. Or so I hope.     Additional skirmishers? said Retief. How many, if you don't mind myasking?     For the moment, perhaps only a few hundred. There-after ... well,I'm sure we can arrange that between us. Personally I would prefer acontest of limited scope. No nuclear or radiation-effect weapons. Sucha bore, screening the spawn for deviations. Though I confess we've comeupon some remarkably useful sports. The rangerform such as you madecaptive, for example. Simple-minded, of course, but a fantasticallykeen tracker.     Oh, by all means, Retief said. No atomics. As you pointed out,spawn-sorting is a nuisance, and then too, it's wasteful of troops.     Ah, well, they are after all expendable. But we agree: no atomics.Have you tried the ground-gwack eggs? Rather a specialty of myMosaic....     Delicious, said Retief. I wonder. Have you considered eliminatingweapons altogether?  <doc-sep>The Military Attache pulled at his lower lip. In that case, we can'ttry conclusions with these fellows until we have an indetectible driveof our own. I recommend a crash project. In the meantime—     I'll have my boys start in to crack this thing, the Chief of theConfidential Terrestrial Source Section spoke up. I'll fit out acouple of volunteers with plastic beaks—     No cloak and dagger work, gentlemen! Long range policy will beworked out by Deep-Think teams back at the Department. Our role willbe a holding action. Now I want suggestions for a comprehensive,well rounded and decisive course for meeting this threat. Anyrecommendation?     The Political Officer placed his fingertips together. What about astiff Note demanding an extra week's time?     No! No begging, the Economic Officer objected. I'd say a calm,dignified, aggressive withdrawal—as soon as possible.     We don't want to give them the idea we spook easily, the MilitaryAttache said. Let's delay the withdrawal—say, until tomorrow.     Early tomorrow, Magnan said. Or maybe later today.     Well, I see you're of a mind with me, Nitworth nodded. Our plan ofaction is clear, but it remains to be implemented. We have a populationof over fifteen million individuals to relocate. He eyed thePolitical Officer. I want five proposals for resettlement on my deskby oh-eight-hundred hours tomorrow. Nitworth rapped out instructions.Harried-looking staff members arose and hurried from the room. Magnaneased toward the door.     Where are you going, Magnan? Nitworth snapped.     Since you're so busy, I thought I'd just slip back down to Com Inq. Itwas a most interesting orientation lecture, Mr. Ambassador. Be sure tolet us know how it works out.     Kindly return to your chair, Nitworth said coldly. A number ofchores remain to be assigned. I think you, Magnan, need a little fieldexperience. I want you to get over to Roolit I and take a look at theseQornt personally.     Magnan's mouth opened and closed soundlessly.     Not afraid of a few Qornt, are you, Magnan?     Afraid? Good lord, no, ha ha. It's just that I'm afraid I may lose myhead and do something rash if I go.     Nonsense! A diplomat is immune to heroic impulses. Take Retief along.No dawdling, now! I want you on the way in two hours. Notify thetransport pool at once. Now get going!     Magnan nodded unhappily and went into the hall.     Oh, Retief, Nitworth said. Retief turned.     Try to restrain Mr. Magnan from any impulsive moves—in anydirection.      II     Retief and Magnan topped a ridge and looked down across a slopeof towering tree-shrubs and glossy violet-stemmed palms set amongflamboyant blossoms of yellow and red, reaching down to a strip ofwhite beach with the blue sea beyond.     A delightful vista, Magnan said, mopping at his face. A pity wecouldn't locate the Qornt. We'll go back now and report—     I'm pretty sure the settlement is off to the right, Retief said. Whydon't you head back for the boat, while I ease over and see what I canobserve.     Retief, we're engaged in a serious mission. This is not a time tothink of sightseeing.     I'd like to take a good look at what we're giving away.     See here, Retief! One might almost receive the impression that you'requestioning Corps policy!     One might, at that. The Qornt have made their play, but I think itmight be valuable to take a look at their cards before we fold. If I'mnot back at the boat in an hour, lift without me.     You expect me to make my way back alone?     It's directly down-slope— Retief broke off, listening. Magnanclutched at his arm.     There was a sound of crackling foliage. Twenty feet ahead, a leafybranch swung aside. An eight-foot biped stepped into view, long, thin,green-clad legs with back-bending knees moving in quick, bird-likesteps. A pair of immense black-lensed goggles covered staring eyes setamong bushy green hair above a great bone-white beak. The crest bobbedas the creature cocked its head, listening.     Magnan gulped audibly. The Qornt froze, head tilted, beak aimeddirectly at the spot where the Terrestrials stood in the deep shade ofa giant trunk.     I'll go for help, Magnan squeaked. He whirled and took three leapsinto the brush.     A second great green-clad figure rose up to block his way. He spun,darted to the left. The first Qornt pounced, grappled Magnan to itsnarrow chest. Magnan yelled, threshing and kicking, broke free,turned—and collided with the eight-foot alien, coming in fast from theright. All three went down in a tangle of limbs.     Retief jumped forward, hauled Magnan free, thrust him aside andstopped, right fist cocked. The two Qornt lay groaning feebly.     Nice piece of work, Mr. Magnan, Retief said. You nailed both ofthem.  <doc-sep>Quite alone, the Aga said. He nodded sagely. Yes, one need but readthe lesson of history. The Corps Diplomatique will make expostulatorynoises, but it will accept the      fait accompli     . You, my dear sir, arebut a very small nibble. We won't make the mistake of excessive greed.We shall inch our way to empire—and those who stand in our way shallbe dubbed warmongers.     I see you're quite a student of history, Stanley, Retief said. Iwonder if you recall the eventual fate of most of the would-be empirenibblers of the past?     Ah, but they grew incautious. They went too far, too fast.     The confounded impudence, Georges rasped. Tells us to our face whathe has in mind!     An ancient and honorable custom, from the time of      Mein Kampf     andthe      Communist Manifesto     through the      Porcelain Wall     of Leung. Suchdeclarations have a legendary quality. It's traditional that they'renever taken at face value.     But always, Retief said, there was a critical point at which the manon horseback could have been pulled from the saddle.           Could     have been, the Aga Kaga chuckled. He finished the grapes andbegan peeling an orange. But they never were. Hitler could have beenstopped by the Czech Air Force in 1938; Stalin was at the mercy of theprimitive atomics of the west in 1946; Leung was grossly over-extendedat Rangoon. But the onus of that historic role could not be overcome.It has been the fate of your spiritual forebears to carve civilizationfrom the wilderness and then, amid tearing of garments and the heapingof ashes of self-accusation on your own confused heads, to withdraw,leaving the spoils for local political opportunists and mob leaders,clothed in the mystical virtue of native birth. Have a banana.     You're stretching your analogy a little too far, Retief said. You'rebanking on the inaction of the Corps. You could be wrong.     I shall know when to stop, the Aga Kaga said.     Tell me, Stanley, Retief said, rising. Are we quite private here?     Yes, perfectly so, the Aga Kaga said. None would dare to intrude inmy council. He cocked an eyebrow at Retief. You have a proposal tomake in confidence? But what of our dear friend Georges? One would notlike to see him disillusioned.     Don't worry about Georges. He's a realist, like you. He's prepared todeal in facts. Hard facts, in this case.     The Aga Kaga nodded thoughtfully. What are you getting at?     You're basing your plan of action on the certainty that the Corps willsit by, wringing its hands, while you embark on a career of planetarypiracy.     Isn't it the custom? the Aga Kaga smiled complacently.     I have news for you, Stanley. In this instance, neck-wringing seemsmore in order than hand-wringing.     The Aga Kaga frowned. Your manner—     Never mind our manners! Georges blurted, standing. We don't need anylessons from goat-herding land-thieves!     The Aga Kaga's face darkened. You dare to speak thus to me, pig of amuck-grubber!  <doc-sep>Magnan leaned back, lacing his fingers over his stomach. I don't thinkyou'll find a diplomat of my experience doing anything so naive, hesaid.     I like the adult Fustians, said Retief. Too bad they have to lughalf a ton of horn around on their backs. I wonder if surgery wouldhelp.     Great heavens, Retief, Magnan sputtered. I'm amazed that even youwould bring up a matter of such delicacy. A race's unfortunate physicalcharacteristics are hardly a fit matter for Terrestrial curiosity.     Well, of course your experience of the Fustian mentality is greaterthan mine. I've only been here a month. But it's been my experience,Mr. Ambassador, that few races are above improving on nature. Otherwiseyou, for example, would be tripping over your beard.     Magnan shuddered. Please—never mention the idea to a Fustian.     Retief stood. My own program for the day includes going over to thedockyards. There are some features of this new passenger liner theFustians are putting together that I want to look into. With yourpermission, Mr. Ambassador...?     Magnan snorted. Your pre-occupation with the trivial disturbs me,Retief. More interest in substantive matters—such as working withYouth groups—would create a far better impression.     Before getting too involved with these groups, it might be a good ideato find out a little more about them, said Retief. Who organizesthem? There are three strong political parties here on Fust. What's thealignment of this SCARS organization?     You forget, these are merely teenagers, so to speak, Magnan said.Politics mean nothing to them ... yet.     Then there are the Groaci. Why their passionate interest in atwo-horse world like Fust? Normally they're concerned with nothing butbusiness. But what has Fust got that they could use?     You may rule out the commercial aspect in this instance, said Magnan.Fust possesses a vigorous steel-age manufacturing economy. The Groaciare barely ahead of them.     Barely, said Retief. Just over the line into crude atomics ... likefission bombs.     Magnan shook his head, turned back to his papers. What market existsfor such devices on a world at peace? I suggest you address yourattention to the less spectacular but more rewarding work of studyingthe social patterns of the local youth.     I've studied them, said Retief. And before I meet any of the localyouth socially I want to get myself a good blackjack.      II     Retief left the sprawling bungalow-type building that housed thechancery of the Terrestrial Embassy, swung aboard a passing flat-carand leaned back against the wooden guard rail as the heavy vehicletrundled through the city toward the looming gantries of the shipyards.     It was a cool morning. A light breeze carried the fishy odor of Fustydwellings across the broad cobbled avenue. A few mature Fustianslumbered heavily along in the shade of the low buildings, audiblywheezing under the burden of their immense carapaces. Among them,shell-less youths trotted briskly on scaly stub legs. The driver of theflat-car, a labor-caste Fustian with his guild colors emblazoned on hisback, heaved at the tiller, swung the unwieldy conveyance through theshipyard gates, creaked to a halt.     Thus I come to the shipyard with frightful speed, he said in Fustian.Well I know the way of the naked-backs, who move always in haste.     Retief climbed down, handed him a coin. You should take upprofessional racing, he said. Daredevil.     He crossed the littered yard and tapped at the door of a rambling shed.Boards creaked inside. Then the door swung back.     A gnarled ancient with tarnished facial scales and a weathered carapacepeered out at Retief.     Long-may-you-sleep, said Retief. I'd like to take a look around, ifyou don't mind. I understand you're laying the bedplate for your newliner today.       May-you-dream-of-the-deeps, the old fellow mumbled. He waved a stumpyarm toward a group of shell-less Fustians standing by a massive hoist.The youths know more of bedplates than do I, who but tend the place ofpapers.     I know how you feel, old-timer, said Retief. That sounds like thestory of my life. Among your papers do you have a set of plans for thevessel? I understand it's to be a passenger liner.     The oldster nodded. He shuffled to a drawing file, rummaged, pulled outa sheaf of curled prints and spread them on the table. Retief stoodsilently, running a finger over the uppermost drawing, tracing lines....     What does the naked-back here? barked a deep voice behind Retief. Heturned. A heavy-faced Fustian youth, wrapped in a mantle, stood at theopen door. Beady yellow eyes set among fine scales bored into Retief.     I came to take a look at your new liner, said Retief.     We need no prying foreigners here, the youth snapped. His eye fell onthe drawings. He hissed in sudden anger.     Doddering hulk! he snapped at the ancient. May you toss innightmares! Put by the plans!     My mistake, Retief said. I didn't know this was a secret project.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What role does the fission weapon play in RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of the storyline in MIGHTIEST QORN? [SEP] <s>   MIGHTIEST QORN     BY KEITH LAUMER     Sly, brave and truculent, the Qornt     held all humans in contempt—except one!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1963.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I     Ambassador Nitworth glowered across his mirror-polished, nine-footplatinum desk at his assembled staff.     Gentlemen, are any of you familiar with a race known as the Qornt?     There was a moment of profound silence. Nitworth leaned forward,looking solemn.     They were a warlike race known in this sector back in Concordiattimes, perhaps two hundred years ago. They vanished as suddenly asthey had appeared. There was no record of where they went. He pausedfor effect.     They have now reappeared—occupying the inner planet of this system!     But, sir, Second Secretary Magnan offered. That's uninhabitedTerrestrial territory....     Indeed, Mr. Magnan? Nitworth smiled icily. It appears the Qornt donot share that opinion. He plucked a heavy parchment from a folderbefore him, harrumphed and read aloud:     His Supreme Excellency The Qorn, Regent of Qornt, Over-Lord of theGalactic Destiny, Greets the Terrestrials and, with reference to thepresence in mandated territory of Terrestrial squatters, has the honorto advise that he will require the use of his outer world on thethirtieth day. Then will the Qornt come with steel and fire. Receive,Terrestrials, renewed assurances of my awareness of your existence,and let Those who dare gird for the contest.     Frankly, I wouldn't call it conciliatory, Magnan said.     Nitworth tapped the paper with a finger.     We have been served, gentlemen, with nothing less than an Ultimatum!     Well, we'll soon straighten these fellows out— the Military Attachebegan.     There happens to be more to this piece of truculence than appears onthe surface, the Ambassador cut in. He paused, waiting for interestedfrowns to settle into place.     Note, gentlemen, that these invaders have appeared on terrestrialcontrolled soil—and without so much as a flicker from the instrumentsof the Navigational Monitor Service!     The Military Attache blinked. That's absurd, he said flatly. Nitworthslapped the table.     We're up against something new, gentlemen! I've considered everyhypothesis from cloaks of invisibility to time travel! The fact is—theQornt fleets are indetectible!  <doc-sep>Magnan hovered at Retief's side. Twelve feet tall, he moaned. Anddid you notice the size of those hands?     Retief watched as Qorn's aides helped him out of his formal trappings.I wouldn't worry too much, Mr. Magnan. This is a light-Gee world. Idoubt if old Qorn would weigh up at more than two-fifty standard poundshere.     But that phenomenal reach—     I'll peck away at him at knee level. When he bends over to swat me,I'll get a crack at him.     Across the cleared floor, Qorn shook off his helpers with a snort.     Enough! Let me at the upstart!     Retief moved out to meet him, watching the upraised backward-jointedarms. Qorn stalked forward, long lean legs bent, long horny feetclacking against the polished floor. The other aliens—both servitorsand bejeweled Qornt—formed a wide circle, all eyes unwaveringly on thecombatants.     Qorn struck suddenly, a long arm flashing down in a vicious cut atRetief, who leaned aside, caught one lean shank below the knee. Qornbent to haul Retief from his leg—and staggered back as a haymaker tookhim just below the beak. A screech went up from the crowd as Retiefleaped clear.     Qorn hissed and charged. Retief whirled aside, then struck the alien'soff-leg in a flying tackle. Qorn leaned, arms windmilling, crashed tothe floor. Retief whirled, dived for the left arm, whipped it behindthe narrow back, seized Qorn's neck in a stranglehold and threw hisweight backward. Qorn fell on his back, his legs squatted out at anawkward angle. He squawked and beat his free arm on the floor, reachingin vain for Retief.     Zubb stepped forward, pistols ready. Magnan stepped before him.     Need I remind you, sir, he said icily, that this is an officialdiplomatic function? I can brook no interference from disinterestedparties.     Zubb hesitated. Magnan held out a hand. I must ask you to hand me yourweapons, Zubb.     Look here, Zubb began.     I      may     lose my temper, Magnan hinted. Zubb lowered the guns, passedthem to Magnan. He thrust them into his belt with a sour smile, turnedback to watch the encounter.     Retief had thrown a turn of violet silk around Qorn's left wrist, boundit to the alien's neck. Another wisp of stuff floated from Qorn'sshoulder. Retief, still holding Qorn in an awkward sprawl, wrappedit around one outflung leg, trussed ankle and thigh together. Qornflopped, hooting. At each movement, the constricting loop around hisneck, jerked his head back, the green crest tossing wildly.     If I were you, I'd relax, Retief said, rising and releasing his grip.Qorn got a leg under him; Retief kicked it. Qorn's chin hit the floorwith a hollow clack. He wilted, an ungainly tangle of over-long limbsand gay silks.     Retief turned to the watching crowd. Next? he called.     The blue and flame Qornt stepped forward. Maybe this would be a goodtime to elect a new leader, he said. Now, my qualifications—     Sit down, Retief said loudly. He stepped to the head of the table,seated himself in Qorn's vacated chair. A couple of you finishtrussing Qorn up for me.     But we must select a leader!     That won't be necessary, boys. I'm your new leader.  <doc-sep>There was a momentary silence from all sides.     I guess so, grunted a giant Qornt in iridescent blue withflame-colored plumes.     Qorn's eyes bulged. He half rose. We've been all over this, hebassooned. He clamped bony fingers on the hilt of a light rapier. Ithought I'd made my point!     Oh, sure, Qorn.     You bet.     I'm convinced.     Qorn rumbled and resumed his seat. All for one and one for all, that'sus.     And you're the one, eh, Qorn? Retief commented.     Magnan cleared his throat. I sense that some of you gentlemen are notconvinced of the wisdom of this move, he piped, looking along thetable at the silks, jewels, beaks, feather-decked crests and staringeyes.     Silence! Qorn hooted. No use your talking to my loyal lieutenantsanyway, he added. They do whatever I convince them they ought to do.     But I'm sure that on more mature consideration—     I can lick any Qornt in the house. Qorn said. That's why I'm Qorn.He belched again.     A servant came up staggering under a weight of chain, dropped it with acrash at Magnan's feet. Zubb aimed the guns while the servant wrappedthree loops around Magnan's wrists, snapped a lock in place.     You next! The guns pointed at Retief's chest. He held out his arms.Four loops of silvery-gray chain in half-inch links dropped aroundthem. The servant cinched them up tight, squeezed a lock through theends and closed it.     Now, Qorn said, lolling back in his chair, glass in hand. There's abit of sport to be had here, lads. What shall we do with them?     Let them go, the blue and flame Qornt said glumly.     You can do better than that, Qorn hooted. Now here's a suggestion:we carve them up a little—lop off the external labiae and pinnae,say—and ship them back.     Good lord! Retief, he's talking about cutting off our ears and sendingus home mutilated! What a barbaric proposal!     It wouldn't be the first time a Terrestrial diplomat got a trimming,Retief commented.     It should have the effect of stimulating the Terries to put up areasonable scrap, Qorn said judiciously. I have a feeling thatthey're thinking of giving up without a struggle.     Oh, I doubt that, the blue-and-flame Qornt said. Why should they?     Qorn rolled an eye at Retief and another at Magnan. Take these two,he hooted. I'll wager they came here to negotiate a surrender!     Well, Magnan started.     Hold it, Mr. Magnan, Retief said. I'll tell him.     What's your proposal? Qorn whistled, taking a gulp from his goblet.A fifty-fifty split? Monetary reparations? Alternate territory? I canassure you, it's useless. We Qornt      like     to fight.     I'm afraid you've gotten the wrong impression, your Excellency,Retief said blandly. We didn't come to negotiate. We came to deliveran Ultimatum.     What? Qorn trumpeted. Behind Retief, Magnan spluttered.     We plan to use this planet for target practice, Retief said. A newtype hell bomb we've worked out. Have all your people off of it inseventy-two hours, or suffer the consequences.      IV     You have the gall, Qorn stormed, to stand here in the center ofQornt Hall—uninvited, at that—and in chains—     Oh, these, Retief said. He tensed his arms. The soft aluminum linksstretched and broke. He shook the light metal free. We diplomats liketo go along with colorful local customs, but I wouldn't want to misleadyou. Now, as to the evacuation of Roolit I—       Zubb screeched, waved the guns. The Qornt were jabbering.     I told you they were brutes, Zubb shrilled.     Qorn slammed his fist down on the table. I don't care what they are!he honked. Evacuate, hell! I can field eighty-five combat-ready ships!     And we can englobe every one of them with a thousand Peace Enforcerswith a hundred megatons/second firepower each.     Retief. Magnan tugged at his sleeve. Don't forget their superdrive.     That's all right. They don't have one.     But—     We'll take you on! Qorn French-horned. We're the Qorn! We glory inbattle! We live in fame or go down in—     Hogwash, the flame-and-blue Qorn cut in. If it wasn't for you, Qorn,we could sit around and feast and brag and enjoy life without having toprove anything.     Qorn, you seem to be the fire-brand here, Retief said. I think therest of the boys would listen to reason—     Over my dead body!     My idea exactly, Retief said. You claim you can lick any man inthe house. Unwind yourself from your ribbons and step out here on thefloor, and we'll see how good you are at backing up your conversation.  <doc-sep>Retief turned. Zubb stood gripping an ornately decorated power pistolin one bony hand, a slim needler in the other. Both were pointed atMagnan's chest.     I suspected you had hidden qualities, Zubb, Retief commented.     See here, Zubb! We're diplomats! Magnan started.     Careful, Mr. Magnan; you may goad him to a frenzy.     By no means, Zubb whistled. I much prefer to observe the frenzyof the Qornt when presented with the news that two peaceful Verpphave been assaulted and kidnapped by bullying interlopers. If there'sanything that annoys the Qornt, it's Qornt-like behavior in others. Nowstep along, please.     Rest assured, this will be reported!     I doubt it.     You'll face the wrath of Enlightened Galactic Opinion!     Oh? How big a navy does Enlightened Galactic Opinion have?     Stop scaring him, Mr. Magnan. He may get nervous and shoot. Retiefstepped into the banquet hall, headed for the resplendent figure atthe head of the table. A trio of flute-players broke off in mid-bleat,staring. An inverted pyramid of tumblers blinked as Retief swung past,followed by Magnan and the tall Verpp. The shrill chatter at the tablefaded.     Qorn turned as Retief came up, blinking three-inch eyes. Zubb steppedforward, gibbered, waving his arms excitedly. Qorn pushed back hischair—a low, heavily padded stool—and stared unwinking at Retief,moving his head to bring first one great round eye, then the other, tobear. There were small blue veins in the immense fleshy beak. The bushyhair, springing out in a giant halo around the grayish, porous-skinnedface, was wiry, stiff, moss-green, with tufts of chartreuse fuzzsurrounding what appeared to be tympanic membranes. The tall head-dressof scarlet silk and purple feathers was slightly askew, and a loop ofpink pearls had slipped down above one eye.     Zubb finished his speech and fell silent, breathing hard.     Qorn looked Retief over in silence, then belched.     Not bad, Retief said admiringly. Maybe we could get up a matchbetween you and Ambassador Sternwheeler. You've got the volume on him,but he's got timbre.     So, Qorn hooted in a resonant tenor. You come from Guzzum, eh? OrSmorbrod, as I think you call it. What is it you're after? More time?A compromise? Negotiations? Peace? He slammed a bony hand against thetable. The answer is      no     !     Zubb twittered. Qorn cocked an eye, motioned to a servant. Chain thatone. He indicated Magnan. His eyes went to Retief. This one's bigger;you'd best chain him, too.     Why, your Excellency— Magnan started, stepping forward.     Stay back! Qorn hooted. Stand over there where I can keep an eye onyou.     Your Excellency, I'm empowered—     Not here, you're not! Qorn trumpeted. Want peace, do you? Well, Idon't want peace! I've had a surfeit of peace these last two centuries!I want action! Loot! Adventure! Glory! He turned to look down thetable. How about it, fellows? It's war to the knife, eh?  <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 I see it, Retief said, dribbling cigar ashes into an empty wineglass, you Qornt like to be warriors, but you don't particularly liketo fight.     We don't mind a little fighting—within reason. And, of course, asQornt, we're expected to die in battle. But what I say is, why rushthings?     I have a suggestion, Magnan said. Why not turn the reins ofgovernment over to the Verpp? They seem a level-headed group.     What good would that do? Qornt are Qornt. It seems there's always oneamong us who's a slave to instinct—and, naturally, we have to followhim.     Why?     Because that's the way it's done.     Why not do it another way? Magnan offered. Now, I'd like to suggestcommunity singing—     If we gave up fighting, we might live too long. Then what wouldhappen?     Live too long? Magnan looked puzzled.     When estivating time comes there'd be no burrows for us. Anyway, withthe new Qornt stepping on our heels—     I've lost the thread, Magnan said. Who are the new Qornt?     After estivating, the Verpp moult, and then they're Qornt, of course.The Gwil become Boog, the Boog become Rheuk, the Rheuk metamorphosizeinto Verpp—     You mean Slun and Zubb—the mild-natured naturalists—will becomewarmongers like Qorn?     Very likely. 'The milder the Verpp, the wilder the Qorn,' as the oldsaying goes.     What do Qornt turn into? Retief asked.     Hmmmm. That's a good question. So far, none have survived Qornthood.     Have you thought of forsaking your warlike ways? Magnan asked. Whatabout taking up sheepherding and regular church attendance?     Don't mistake me. We Qornt like a military life. It's great sport tosit around roaring fires and drink and tell lies and then go dashingoff to enjoy a brisk affray and some leisurely looting afterward. Butwe prefer a nice numerical advantage. Not this business of tackling youTerrestrials over on Guzzum—that was a mad notion. We had no idea whatyour strength was.     But now that's all off, of course, Magnan chirped. Now that we'vehad diplomatic relations and all—     Oh, by no means. The fleet lifts in thirty days. After all, we'reQornt; we have to satisfy our drive to action.     But Mr. Retief is your leader now. He won't let you!     Only a dead Qornt stays home when Attack day comes. And even ifhe orders us all to cut our own throats, there are still the otherCenters—all with their own leaders. No, gentlemen, the Invasion isdefinitely on.     Why don't you go invade somebody else? Magnan suggested. I couldname some very attractive prospects—outside my sector, of course.     Hold everything, Retief said. I think we've got the basis of a dealhere....      V     At the head of a double column of gaudily caparisoned Qornt, Retiefand Magnan strolled across the ramp toward the bright tower of the CDTSector HQ. Ahead, gates opened, and a black Corps limousine emerged,flying an Ambassadorial flag under a plain square of white.     Curious, Magnan commented. I wonder what the significance of thewhite ensign might be?     Retief raised a hand. The column halted with a clash of accoutrementsand a rasp of Qornt boots. Retief looked back along the line. The highwhite sun flashed on bright silks, polished buckles, deep-dyed plumes,butts of pistols, the soft gleam of leather.     A brave show indeed, Magnan commented approvingly. I confess theidea has merit.     The limousine pulled up with a squeal of brakes, stood on two fat-tiredwheels, gyros humming softly. The hatch popped up. A portly diplomatstepped out.     Why, Ambassador Nitworth, Magnan glowed. This is very kind of you.     Keep cool, Magnan, Nitworth said in a strained voice. We'll attemptto get you out of this.     He stepped past Magnan's out-stretched hand and looked hesitantly atthe ramrod-straight line of Qornt, eighty-five strong—and beyond, atthe eighty-five tall Qornt dreadnaughts.     Good afternoon, sir ... ah, Your Excellency, Nitworth said, blinkingup at the leading Qornt. You are Commander of the Strike Force, Iassume?     Nope, the Qornt said shortly.     I ... ah ... wish to request seventy-two hours in which to evacuateHeadquarters, Nitworth plowed on.     Mr. Ambassador. Retief said. This—     Don't panic, Retief. I'll attempt to secure your release, Nitworthhissed over his shoulder. Now—     You will address our leader with more respect! the tall Qornt hooted,eyeing Nitworth ominously from eleven feet up.     Oh, yes indeed, sir ... your Excellency ... Commander. Now, about theinvasion—     Mr. Secretary, Magnan tugged at Nitworth's sleeve.     In heaven's name, permit me to negotiate in peace! Nitworth snapped.He rearranged his features. Now your Excellency, we've arranged toevacuate Smorbrod, of course, just as you requested—     Requested? the Qornt honked.     Ah ... demanded, that is. Quite rightly of course. Ordered.Instructed. And, of course, we'll be only too pleased to follow anyother instructions you might have.     You don't quite get the big picture, Mr. Secretary, Retief said.This isn't—     Silence, confound you! Nitworth barked. The leading Qornt looked atRetief. He nodded. Two bony hands shot out, seized Nitworth and stuffeda length of bright pink silk into his mouth, then spun him around andheld him facing Retief.     If you don't mind my taking this opportunity to brief you, Mr.Ambassador, Retief said blandly. I think I should mention that thisisn't an invasion fleet. These are the new recruits for the PeaceEnforcement Corps.     Magnan stepped forward, glanced at the gag in Ambassador Nitworth'smouth, hesitated, then cleared his throat. We felt, he said, thatthe establishment of a Foreign Brigade within the P. E. Corps structurewould provide the element of novelty the Department has requestedin our recruiting, and at the same time would remove the stigma ofTerrestrial chauvinism from future punitive operations.     Nitworth stared, eyes bulging. He grunted, reaching for the gag, caughtthe Qornt's eye on him, dropped his hands to his sides.     I suggest we get the troops in out of the hot sun, Retief said.Magnan edged close. What about the gag? he whispered.     Let's leave it where it is for a while, Retief murmured. It may saveus a few concessions.  <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> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in MIGHTIEST QORN?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"How does the dynamic between Magnan and Retief evolve in the story ""Mightiest Qorn""? [SEP] <s>Magnan hovered at Retief's side. Twelve feet tall, he moaned. Anddid you notice the size of those hands?     Retief watched as Qorn's aides helped him out of his formal trappings.I wouldn't worry too much, Mr. Magnan. This is a light-Gee world. Idoubt if old Qorn would weigh up at more than two-fifty standard poundshere.     But that phenomenal reach—     I'll peck away at him at knee level. When he bends over to swat me,I'll get a crack at him.     Across the cleared floor, Qorn shook off his helpers with a snort.     Enough! Let me at the upstart!     Retief moved out to meet him, watching the upraised backward-jointedarms. Qorn stalked forward, long lean legs bent, long horny feetclacking against the polished floor. The other aliens—both servitorsand bejeweled Qornt—formed a wide circle, all eyes unwaveringly on thecombatants.     Qorn struck suddenly, a long arm flashing down in a vicious cut atRetief, who leaned aside, caught one lean shank below the knee. Qornbent to haul Retief from his leg—and staggered back as a haymaker tookhim just below the beak. A screech went up from the crowd as Retiefleaped clear.     Qorn hissed and charged. Retief whirled aside, then struck the alien'soff-leg in a flying tackle. Qorn leaned, arms windmilling, crashed tothe floor. Retief whirled, dived for the left arm, whipped it behindthe narrow back, seized Qorn's neck in a stranglehold and threw hisweight backward. Qorn fell on his back, his legs squatted out at anawkward angle. He squawked and beat his free arm on the floor, reachingin vain for Retief.     Zubb stepped forward, pistols ready. Magnan stepped before him.     Need I remind you, sir, he said icily, that this is an officialdiplomatic function? I can brook no interference from disinterestedparties.     Zubb hesitated. Magnan held out a hand. I must ask you to hand me yourweapons, Zubb.     Look here, Zubb began.     I      may     lose my temper, Magnan hinted. Zubb lowered the guns, passedthem to Magnan. He thrust them into his belt with a sour smile, turnedback to watch the encounter.     Retief had thrown a turn of violet silk around Qorn's left wrist, boundit to the alien's neck. Another wisp of stuff floated from Qorn'sshoulder. Retief, still holding Qorn in an awkward sprawl, wrappedit around one outflung leg, trussed ankle and thigh together. Qornflopped, hooting. At each movement, the constricting loop around hisneck, jerked his head back, the green crest tossing wildly.     If I were you, I'd relax, Retief said, rising and releasing his grip.Qorn got a leg under him; Retief kicked it. Qorn's chin hit the floorwith a hollow clack. He wilted, an ungainly tangle of over-long limbsand gay silks.     Retief turned to the watching crowd. Next? he called.     The blue and flame Qornt stepped forward. Maybe this would be a goodtime to elect a new leader, he said. Now, my qualifications—     Sit down, Retief said loudly. He stepped to the head of the table,seated himself in Qorn's vacated chair. A couple of you finishtrussing Qorn up for me.     But we must select a leader!     That won't be necessary, boys. I'm your new leader.  <doc-sep>There was a momentary silence from all sides.     I guess so, grunted a giant Qornt in iridescent blue withflame-colored plumes.     Qorn's eyes bulged. He half rose. We've been all over this, hebassooned. He clamped bony fingers on the hilt of a light rapier. Ithought I'd made my point!     Oh, sure, Qorn.     You bet.     I'm convinced.     Qorn rumbled and resumed his seat. All for one and one for all, that'sus.     And you're the one, eh, Qorn? Retief commented.     Magnan cleared his throat. I sense that some of you gentlemen are notconvinced of the wisdom of this move, he piped, looking along thetable at the silks, jewels, beaks, feather-decked crests and staringeyes.     Silence! Qorn hooted. No use your talking to my loyal lieutenantsanyway, he added. They do whatever I convince them they ought to do.     But I'm sure that on more mature consideration—     I can lick any Qornt in the house. Qorn said. That's why I'm Qorn.He belched again.     A servant came up staggering under a weight of chain, dropped it with acrash at Magnan's feet. Zubb aimed the guns while the servant wrappedthree loops around Magnan's wrists, snapped a lock in place.     You next! The guns pointed at Retief's chest. He held out his arms.Four loops of silvery-gray chain in half-inch links dropped aroundthem. The servant cinched them up tight, squeezed a lock through theends and closed it.     Now, Qorn said, lolling back in his chair, glass in hand. There's abit of sport to be had here, lads. What shall we do with them?     Let them go, the blue and flame Qornt said glumly.     You can do better than that, Qorn hooted. Now here's a suggestion:we carve them up a little—lop off the external labiae and pinnae,say—and ship them back.     Good lord! Retief, he's talking about cutting off our ears and sendingus home mutilated! What a barbaric proposal!     It wouldn't be the first time a Terrestrial diplomat got a trimming,Retief commented.     It should have the effect of stimulating the Terries to put up areasonable scrap, Qorn said judiciously. I have a feeling thatthey're thinking of giving up without a struggle.     Oh, I doubt that, the blue-and-flame Qornt said. Why should they?     Qorn rolled an eye at Retief and another at Magnan. Take these two,he hooted. I'll wager they came here to negotiate a surrender!     Well, Magnan started.     Hold it, Mr. Magnan, Retief said. I'll tell him.     What's your proposal? Qorn whistled, taking a gulp from his goblet.A fifty-fifty split? Monetary reparations? Alternate territory? I canassure you, it's useless. We Qornt      like     to fight.     I'm afraid you've gotten the wrong impression, your Excellency,Retief said blandly. We didn't come to negotiate. We came to deliveran Ultimatum.     What? Qorn trumpeted. Behind Retief, Magnan spluttered.     We plan to use this planet for target practice, Retief said. A newtype hell bomb we've worked out. Have all your people off of it inseventy-two hours, or suffer the consequences.      IV     You have the gall, Qorn stormed, to stand here in the center ofQornt Hall—uninvited, at that—and in chains—     Oh, these, Retief said. He tensed his arms. The soft aluminum linksstretched and broke. He shook the light metal free. We diplomats liketo go along with colorful local customs, but I wouldn't want to misleadyou. Now, as to the evacuation of Roolit I—       Zubb screeched, waved the guns. The Qornt were jabbering.     I told you they were brutes, Zubb shrilled.     Qorn slammed his fist down on the table. I don't care what they are!he honked. Evacuate, hell! I can field eighty-five combat-ready ships!     And we can englobe every one of them with a thousand Peace Enforcerswith a hundred megatons/second firepower each.     Retief. Magnan tugged at his sleeve. Don't forget their superdrive.     That's all right. They don't have one.     But—     We'll take you on! Qorn French-horned. We're the Qorn! We glory inbattle! We live in fame or go down in—     Hogwash, the flame-and-blue Qorn cut in. If it wasn't for you, Qorn,we could sit around and feast and brag and enjoy life without having toprove anything.     Qorn, you seem to be the fire-brand here, Retief said. I think therest of the boys would listen to reason—     Over my dead body!     My idea exactly, Retief said. You claim you can lick any man inthe house. Unwind yourself from your ribbons and step out here on thefloor, and we'll see how good you are at backing up your conversation.  <doc-sep>Retief turned. Zubb stood gripping an ornately decorated power pistolin one bony hand, a slim needler in the other. Both were pointed atMagnan's chest.     I suspected you had hidden qualities, Zubb, Retief commented.     See here, Zubb! We're diplomats! Magnan started.     Careful, Mr. Magnan; you may goad him to a frenzy.     By no means, Zubb whistled. I much prefer to observe the frenzyof the Qornt when presented with the news that two peaceful Verpphave been assaulted and kidnapped by bullying interlopers. If there'sanything that annoys the Qornt, it's Qornt-like behavior in others. Nowstep along, please.     Rest assured, this will be reported!     I doubt it.     You'll face the wrath of Enlightened Galactic Opinion!     Oh? How big a navy does Enlightened Galactic Opinion have?     Stop scaring him, Mr. Magnan. He may get nervous and shoot. Retiefstepped into the banquet hall, headed for the resplendent figure atthe head of the table. A trio of flute-players broke off in mid-bleat,staring. An inverted pyramid of tumblers blinked as Retief swung past,followed by Magnan and the tall Verpp. The shrill chatter at the tablefaded.     Qorn turned as Retief came up, blinking three-inch eyes. Zubb steppedforward, gibbered, waving his arms excitedly. Qorn pushed back hischair—a low, heavily padded stool—and stared unwinking at Retief,moving his head to bring first one great round eye, then the other, tobear. There were small blue veins in the immense fleshy beak. The bushyhair, springing out in a giant halo around the grayish, porous-skinnedface, was wiry, stiff, moss-green, with tufts of chartreuse fuzzsurrounding what appeared to be tympanic membranes. The tall head-dressof scarlet silk and purple feathers was slightly askew, and a loop ofpink pearls had slipped down above one eye.     Zubb finished his speech and fell silent, breathing hard.     Qorn looked Retief over in silence, then belched.     Not bad, Retief said admiringly. Maybe we could get up a matchbetween you and Ambassador Sternwheeler. You've got the volume on him,but he's got timbre.     So, Qorn hooted in a resonant tenor. You come from Guzzum, eh? OrSmorbrod, as I think you call it. What is it you're after? More time?A compromise? Negotiations? Peace? He slammed a bony hand against thetable. The answer is      no     !     Zubb twittered. Qorn cocked an eye, motioned to a servant. Chain thatone. He indicated Magnan. His eyes went to Retief. This one's bigger;you'd best chain him, too.     Why, your Excellency— Magnan started, stepping forward.     Stay back! Qorn hooted. Stand over there where I can keep an eye onyou.     Your Excellency, I'm empowered—     Not here, you're not! Qorn trumpeted. Want peace, do you? Well, Idon't want peace! I've had a surfeit of peace these last two centuries!I want action! Loot! Adventure! Glory! He turned to look down thetable. How about it, fellows? It's war to the knife, eh?  <doc-sep>   MIGHTIEST QORN     BY KEITH LAUMER     Sly, brave and truculent, the Qornt     held all humans in contempt—except one!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1963.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I     Ambassador Nitworth glowered across his mirror-polished, nine-footplatinum desk at his assembled staff.     Gentlemen, are any of you familiar with a race known as the Qornt?     There was a moment of profound silence. Nitworth leaned forward,looking solemn.     They were a warlike race known in this sector back in Concordiattimes, perhaps two hundred years ago. They vanished as suddenly asthey had appeared. There was no record of where they went. He pausedfor effect.     They have now reappeared—occupying the inner planet of this system!     But, sir, Second Secretary Magnan offered. That's uninhabitedTerrestrial territory....     Indeed, Mr. Magnan? Nitworth smiled icily. It appears the Qornt donot share that opinion. He plucked a heavy parchment from a folderbefore him, harrumphed and read aloud:     His Supreme Excellency The Qorn, Regent of Qornt, Over-Lord of theGalactic Destiny, Greets the Terrestrials and, with reference to thepresence in mandated territory of Terrestrial squatters, has the honorto advise that he will require the use of his outer world on thethirtieth day. Then will the Qornt come with steel and fire. Receive,Terrestrials, renewed assurances of my awareness of your existence,and let Those who dare gird for the contest.     Frankly, I wouldn't call it conciliatory, Magnan said.     Nitworth tapped the paper with a finger.     We have been served, gentlemen, with nothing less than an Ultimatum!     Well, we'll soon straighten these fellows out— the Military Attachebegan.     There happens to be more to this piece of truculence than appears onthe surface, the Ambassador cut in. He paused, waiting for interestedfrowns to settle into place.     Note, gentlemen, that these invaders have appeared on terrestrialcontrolled soil—and without so much as a flicker from the instrumentsof the Navigational Monitor Service!     The Military Attache blinked. That's absurd, he said flatly. Nitworthslapped the table.     We're up against something new, gentlemen! I've considered everyhypothesis from cloaks of invisibility to time travel! The fact is—theQornt fleets are indetectible!  <doc-sep>As I see it, Retief said, dribbling cigar ashes into an empty wineglass, you Qornt like to be warriors, but you don't particularly liketo fight.     We don't mind a little fighting—within reason. And, of course, asQornt, we're expected to die in battle. But what I say is, why rushthings?     I have a suggestion, Magnan said. Why not turn the reins ofgovernment over to the Verpp? They seem a level-headed group.     What good would that do? Qornt are Qornt. It seems there's always oneamong us who's a slave to instinct—and, naturally, we have to followhim.     Why?     Because that's the way it's done.     Why not do it another way? Magnan offered. Now, I'd like to suggestcommunity singing—     If we gave up fighting, we might live too long. Then what wouldhappen?     Live too long? Magnan looked puzzled.     When estivating time comes there'd be no burrows for us. Anyway, withthe new Qornt stepping on our heels—     I've lost the thread, Magnan said. Who are the new Qornt?     After estivating, the Verpp moult, and then they're Qornt, of course.The Gwil become Boog, the Boog become Rheuk, the Rheuk metamorphosizeinto Verpp—     You mean Slun and Zubb—the mild-natured naturalists—will becomewarmongers like Qorn?     Very likely. 'The milder the Verpp, the wilder the Qorn,' as the oldsaying goes.     What do Qornt turn into? Retief asked.     Hmmmm. That's a good question. So far, none have survived Qornthood.     Have you thought of forsaking your warlike ways? Magnan asked. Whatabout taking up sheepherding and regular church attendance?     Don't mistake me. We Qornt like a military life. It's great sport tosit around roaring fires and drink and tell lies and then go dashingoff to enjoy a brisk affray and some leisurely looting afterward. Butwe prefer a nice numerical advantage. Not this business of tackling youTerrestrials over on Guzzum—that was a mad notion. We had no idea whatyour strength was.     But now that's all off, of course, Magnan chirped. Now that we'vehad diplomatic relations and all—     Oh, by no means. The fleet lifts in thirty days. After all, we'reQornt; we have to satisfy our drive to action.     But Mr. Retief is your leader now. He won't let you!     Only a dead Qornt stays home when Attack day comes. And even ifhe orders us all to cut our own throats, there are still the otherCenters—all with their own leaders. No, gentlemen, the Invasion isdefinitely on.     Why don't you go invade somebody else? Magnan suggested. I couldname some very attractive prospects—outside my sector, of course.     Hold everything, Retief said. I think we've got the basis of a dealhere....      V     At the head of a double column of gaudily caparisoned Qornt, Retiefand Magnan strolled across the ramp toward the bright tower of the CDTSector HQ. Ahead, gates opened, and a black Corps limousine emerged,flying an Ambassadorial flag under a plain square of white.     Curious, Magnan commented. I wonder what the significance of thewhite ensign might be?     Retief raised a hand. The column halted with a clash of accoutrementsand a rasp of Qornt boots. Retief looked back along the line. The highwhite sun flashed on bright silks, polished buckles, deep-dyed plumes,butts of pistols, the soft gleam of leather.     A brave show indeed, Magnan commented approvingly. I confess theidea has merit.     The limousine pulled up with a squeal of brakes, stood on two fat-tiredwheels, gyros humming softly. The hatch popped up. A portly diplomatstepped out.     Why, Ambassador Nitworth, Magnan glowed. This is very kind of you.     Keep cool, Magnan, Nitworth said in a strained voice. We'll attemptto get you out of this.     He stepped past Magnan's out-stretched hand and looked hesitantly atthe ramrod-straight line of Qornt, eighty-five strong—and beyond, atthe eighty-five tall Qornt dreadnaughts.     Good afternoon, sir ... ah, Your Excellency, Nitworth said, blinkingup at the leading Qornt. You are Commander of the Strike Force, Iassume?     Nope, the Qornt said shortly.     I ... ah ... wish to request seventy-two hours in which to evacuateHeadquarters, Nitworth plowed on.     Mr. Ambassador. Retief said. This—     Don't panic, Retief. I'll attempt to secure your release, Nitworthhissed over his shoulder. Now—     You will address our leader with more respect! the tall Qornt hooted,eyeing Nitworth ominously from eleven feet up.     Oh, yes indeed, sir ... your Excellency ... Commander. Now, about theinvasion—     Mr. Secretary, Magnan tugged at Nitworth's sleeve.     In heaven's name, permit me to negotiate in peace! Nitworth snapped.He rearranged his features. Now your Excellency, we've arranged toevacuate Smorbrod, of course, just as you requested—     Requested? the Qornt honked.     Ah ... demanded, that is. Quite rightly of course. Ordered.Instructed. And, of course, we'll be only too pleased to follow anyother instructions you might have.     You don't quite get the big picture, Mr. Secretary, Retief said.This isn't—     Silence, confound you! Nitworth barked. The leading Qornt looked atRetief. He nodded. Two bony hands shot out, seized Nitworth and stuffeda length of bright pink silk into his mouth, then spun him around andheld him facing Retief.     If you don't mind my taking this opportunity to brief you, Mr.Ambassador, Retief said blandly. I think I should mention that thisisn't an invasion fleet. These are the new recruits for the PeaceEnforcement Corps.     Magnan stepped forward, glanced at the gag in Ambassador Nitworth'smouth, hesitated, then cleared his throat. We felt, he said, thatthe establishment of a Foreign Brigade within the P. E. Corps structurewould provide the element of novelty the Department has requestedin our recruiting, and at the same time would remove the stigma ofTerrestrial chauvinism from future punitive operations.     Nitworth stared, eyes bulging. He grunted, reaching for the gag, caughtthe Qornt's eye on him, dropped his hands to his sides.     I suggest we get the troops in out of the hot sun, Retief said.Magnan edged close. What about the gag? he whispered.     Let's leave it where it is for a while, Retief murmured. It may saveus a few concessions.  <doc-sep>The corridor debouched through a high double door into a vast ovalchamber, high-domed, gloomy, paneled in dark wood and hung withtattered banners, scarred halberds, pikes, rusted longswords, crossedspears over patinaed hauberks, pitted radiation armor, corroded powerrifles, the immense mummified heads of horned and fanged animals. Greatguttering torches in wall brackets and in stands along the lengthof the long table shed a smoky light that reflected from the mirrorpolish of the red granite floor, gleamed on polished silver bowls andpaper-thin glass, shone jewel-red and gold through dark bottles—andcast long flickering shadows behind the fifteen trolls at the board.     Lesser trolls—beaked, bush-haired, great-eyed—trotted briskly,bird-kneed, bearing steaming platters, stood in groups ofthree strumming slender bottle-shaped lutes, or pranced anintricate-patterned dance, unnoticed in the shrill uproar as each ofthe magnificently draped, belted, feathered and jeweled Qornt carriedon a shouted conversation with an equally noisy fellow.     A most interesting display of barbaric splendor, Magnan breathed.Now we'd better be getting back.     Ah, a moment, Zubb said. Observe the Qornt—the tallest of thefeasters—he with the head-dress of crimson, purple, silver and pink.     Twelve feet if he's an inch, Magnan estimated. And now we reallymust hurry along—     That one is chief among these rowdies. I'm sure you'll want a wordwith him. He controls not only the Tarroonian vessels but those fromthe other Centers as well.     What kind of vessels? Warships?     Certainly. What other kind would the Qornt bother with?     I don't suppose, Magnan said casually, that you'd know the type,tonnage, armament and manning of these vessels? And how many unitscomprise the fleet? And where they're based at present?     They're fully automated twenty-thousand-ton all-purpose dreadnaughts.They mount a variety of weapons. The Qornt are fond of that sort ofthing. Each of the Qornt has his own, of course. They're virtuallyidentical, except for the personal touches each individual has givenhis ship.     Great heavens, Retief! Magnan exclaimed in a whisper. It sounds asthough these brutes employ a battle armada as simpler souls might a setof toy sailboats!     Retief stepped past Magnan and Zubb to study the feasting hall. I cansee that their votes would carry all the necessary weight.     And now an interview with the Qorn himself, Zubb shrilled. If you'llkindly step along, gentlemen....     That won't be necessary, Magnan said hastily, I've decided to referthe matter to committee.     After having come so far, Zubb said, it would be a pity to misshaving a cosy chat.     There was a pause.     Ah ... Retief, Magnan said. Zubb has just presented a mostcompelling argument....  <doc-sep>Outside in the corridor, Magnan came up to Retief, who stood talking toa tall man in a pilot's coverall.     I'll be tied up, sending through full details on my—our—yourrecruiting theme, Retief, Magnan said. Suppose you run into the cityto assist the new Verpp Consul in settling in.     I'll do that, Mr. Magnan. Anything else?     Magnan raised his eyebrows. You're remarkably compliant today, Retief.I'll arrange transportation.     Don't bother, Mr. Magnan. Cy here will run me over. He was the pilotwho ferried us over to Roolit I, you recall.     I'll be with you as soon as I pack a few phone numbers, Retief, thepilot said. He moved off. Magnan followed him with a disapproving eye.An uncouth sort, I fancied. I trust you're not consorting with hiskind socially.     I wouldn't say that, exactly, Retief said. We just want to go over afew figures together.   <doc-sep>It was quite a bang, said Retief. But I guess you saw it, too.     No, confound it, Magnan said. When I remonstrated with Hulk, orWhelk—     Whonk.     —the ruffian thrust me into an alley bound in my own cloak. I'll mostcertainly complain to the Minister.     How about the surgical mission?     A most generous offer, said Magnan. Frankly, I was astonished. Ithink perhaps we've judged the Groaci too harshly.     I hear the Ministry of Youth has had a rough morning of it, saidRetief. And a lot of rumors are flying to the effect that Youth Groupsare on the way out.     Magnan cleared his throat, shuffled papers. I—ah—have explained tothe press that last night's—ah—     Fiasco.     —affair was necessary in order to place the culprits in an untenableposition. Of course, as to the destruction of the VIP vessel and thepresumed death of, uh, Slop.     The Fustians understand, said Retief. Whonk wasn't kidding aboutceremonial vengeance.     The Groaci had been guilty of gross misuse of diplomatic privilege,said Magnan. I think that a note—or perhaps an Aide Memoire: lessformal....     The      Moss Rock     was bound for Groaci, said Retief. She was alreadyin her transit orbit when she blew. The major fragments will arrive onschedule in a month or so. It should provide quite a meteorite display.I think that should be all the      aide     the Groaci's      memoires     will needto keep their tentacles off Fust.     But diplomatic usage—     Then, too, the less that's put in writing, the less they can blame youfor, if anything goes wrong.     That's true, said Magnan, lips pursed. Now you're thinkingconstructively, Retief. We may make a diplomat of you yet. He smiledexpansively.     Maybe. But I refuse to let it depress me. Retief stood up. I'mtaking a few weeks off ... if you have no objection, Mr. Ambassador. Mypal Whonk wants to show me an island down south where the fishing isgood.     But there are some extremely important matters coming up, saidMagnan. We're planning to sponsor Senior Citizen Groups—     Count me out. All groups give me an itch.     Why, what an astonishing remark, Retief! After all, we diplomats areourselves a group.     Uh-huh, Retief said.     Magnan sat quietly, mouth open, and watched as Retief stepped into thehall and closed the door gently behind him.   <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does the dynamic between Magnan and Retief evolve in the story ""Mightiest Qorn""?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"How does Magnan's attitude change throughout the story of MIGHTIEST QORN? [SEP] <s>   MIGHTIEST QORN     BY KEITH LAUMER     Sly, brave and truculent, the Qornt     held all humans in contempt—except one!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1963.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I     Ambassador Nitworth glowered across his mirror-polished, nine-footplatinum desk at his assembled staff.     Gentlemen, are any of you familiar with a race known as the Qornt?     There was a moment of profound silence. Nitworth leaned forward,looking solemn.     They were a warlike race known in this sector back in Concordiattimes, perhaps two hundred years ago. They vanished as suddenly asthey had appeared. There was no record of where they went. He pausedfor effect.     They have now reappeared—occupying the inner planet of this system!     But, sir, Second Secretary Magnan offered. That's uninhabitedTerrestrial territory....     Indeed, Mr. Magnan? Nitworth smiled icily. It appears the Qornt donot share that opinion. He plucked a heavy parchment from a folderbefore him, harrumphed and read aloud:     His Supreme Excellency The Qorn, Regent of Qornt, Over-Lord of theGalactic Destiny, Greets the Terrestrials and, with reference to thepresence in mandated territory of Terrestrial squatters, has the honorto advise that he will require the use of his outer world on thethirtieth day. Then will the Qornt come with steel and fire. Receive,Terrestrials, renewed assurances of my awareness of your existence,and let Those who dare gird for the contest.     Frankly, I wouldn't call it conciliatory, Magnan said.     Nitworth tapped the paper with a finger.     We have been served, gentlemen, with nothing less than an Ultimatum!     Well, we'll soon straighten these fellows out— the Military Attachebegan.     There happens to be more to this piece of truculence than appears onthe surface, the Ambassador cut in. He paused, waiting for interestedfrowns to settle into place.     Note, gentlemen, that these invaders have appeared on terrestrialcontrolled soil—and without so much as a flicker from the instrumentsof the Navigational Monitor Service!     The Military Attache blinked. That's absurd, he said flatly. Nitworthslapped the table.     We're up against something new, gentlemen! I've considered everyhypothesis from cloaks of invisibility to time travel! The fact is—theQornt fleets are indetectible!  <doc-sep>There was a momentary silence from all sides.     I guess so, grunted a giant Qornt in iridescent blue withflame-colored plumes.     Qorn's eyes bulged. He half rose. We've been all over this, hebassooned. He clamped bony fingers on the hilt of a light rapier. Ithought I'd made my point!     Oh, sure, Qorn.     You bet.     I'm convinced.     Qorn rumbled and resumed his seat. All for one and one for all, that'sus.     And you're the one, eh, Qorn? Retief commented.     Magnan cleared his throat. I sense that some of you gentlemen are notconvinced of the wisdom of this move, he piped, looking along thetable at the silks, jewels, beaks, feather-decked crests and staringeyes.     Silence! Qorn hooted. No use your talking to my loyal lieutenantsanyway, he added. They do whatever I convince them they ought to do.     But I'm sure that on more mature consideration—     I can lick any Qornt in the house. Qorn said. That's why I'm Qorn.He belched again.     A servant came up staggering under a weight of chain, dropped it with acrash at Magnan's feet. Zubb aimed the guns while the servant wrappedthree loops around Magnan's wrists, snapped a lock in place.     You next! The guns pointed at Retief's chest. He held out his arms.Four loops of silvery-gray chain in half-inch links dropped aroundthem. The servant cinched them up tight, squeezed a lock through theends and closed it.     Now, Qorn said, lolling back in his chair, glass in hand. There's abit of sport to be had here, lads. What shall we do with them?     Let them go, the blue and flame Qornt said glumly.     You can do better than that, Qorn hooted. Now here's a suggestion:we carve them up a little—lop off the external labiae and pinnae,say—and ship them back.     Good lord! Retief, he's talking about cutting off our ears and sendingus home mutilated! What a barbaric proposal!     It wouldn't be the first time a Terrestrial diplomat got a trimming,Retief commented.     It should have the effect of stimulating the Terries to put up areasonable scrap, Qorn said judiciously. I have a feeling thatthey're thinking of giving up without a struggle.     Oh, I doubt that, the blue-and-flame Qornt said. Why should they?     Qorn rolled an eye at Retief and another at Magnan. Take these two,he hooted. I'll wager they came here to negotiate a surrender!     Well, Magnan started.     Hold it, Mr. Magnan, Retief said. I'll tell him.     What's your proposal? Qorn whistled, taking a gulp from his goblet.A fifty-fifty split? Monetary reparations? Alternate territory? I canassure you, it's useless. We Qornt      like     to fight.     I'm afraid you've gotten the wrong impression, your Excellency,Retief said blandly. We didn't come to negotiate. We came to deliveran Ultimatum.     What? Qorn trumpeted. Behind Retief, Magnan spluttered.     We plan to use this planet for target practice, Retief said. A newtype hell bomb we've worked out. Have all your people off of it inseventy-two hours, or suffer the consequences.      IV     You have the gall, Qorn stormed, to stand here in the center ofQornt Hall—uninvited, at that—and in chains—     Oh, these, Retief said. He tensed his arms. The soft aluminum linksstretched and broke. He shook the light metal free. We diplomats liketo go along with colorful local customs, but I wouldn't want to misleadyou. Now, as to the evacuation of Roolit I—       Zubb screeched, waved the guns. The Qornt were jabbering.     I told you they were brutes, Zubb shrilled.     Qorn slammed his fist down on the table. I don't care what they are!he honked. Evacuate, hell! I can field eighty-five combat-ready ships!     And we can englobe every one of them with a thousand Peace Enforcerswith a hundred megatons/second firepower each.     Retief. Magnan tugged at his sleeve. Don't forget their superdrive.     That's all right. They don't have one.     But—     We'll take you on! Qorn French-horned. We're the Qorn! We glory inbattle! We live in fame or go down in—     Hogwash, the flame-and-blue Qorn cut in. If it wasn't for you, Qorn,we could sit around and feast and brag and enjoy life without having toprove anything.     Qorn, you seem to be the fire-brand here, Retief said. I think therest of the boys would listen to reason—     Over my dead body!     My idea exactly, Retief said. You claim you can lick any man inthe house. Unwind yourself from your ribbons and step out here on thefloor, and we'll see how good you are at backing up your conversation.  <doc-sep>Magnan hovered at Retief's side. Twelve feet tall, he moaned. Anddid you notice the size of those hands?     Retief watched as Qorn's aides helped him out of his formal trappings.I wouldn't worry too much, Mr. Magnan. This is a light-Gee world. Idoubt if old Qorn would weigh up at more than two-fifty standard poundshere.     But that phenomenal reach—     I'll peck away at him at knee level. When he bends over to swat me,I'll get a crack at him.     Across the cleared floor, Qorn shook off his helpers with a snort.     Enough! Let me at the upstart!     Retief moved out to meet him, watching the upraised backward-jointedarms. Qorn stalked forward, long lean legs bent, long horny feetclacking against the polished floor. The other aliens—both servitorsand bejeweled Qornt—formed a wide circle, all eyes unwaveringly on thecombatants.     Qorn struck suddenly, a long arm flashing down in a vicious cut atRetief, who leaned aside, caught one lean shank below the knee. Qornbent to haul Retief from his leg—and staggered back as a haymaker tookhim just below the beak. A screech went up from the crowd as Retiefleaped clear.     Qorn hissed and charged. Retief whirled aside, then struck the alien'soff-leg in a flying tackle. Qorn leaned, arms windmilling, crashed tothe floor. Retief whirled, dived for the left arm, whipped it behindthe narrow back, seized Qorn's neck in a stranglehold and threw hisweight backward. Qorn fell on his back, his legs squatted out at anawkward angle. He squawked and beat his free arm on the floor, reachingin vain for Retief.     Zubb stepped forward, pistols ready. Magnan stepped before him.     Need I remind you, sir, he said icily, that this is an officialdiplomatic function? I can brook no interference from disinterestedparties.     Zubb hesitated. Magnan held out a hand. I must ask you to hand me yourweapons, Zubb.     Look here, Zubb began.     I      may     lose my temper, Magnan hinted. Zubb lowered the guns, passedthem to Magnan. He thrust them into his belt with a sour smile, turnedback to watch the encounter.     Retief had thrown a turn of violet silk around Qorn's left wrist, boundit to the alien's neck. Another wisp of stuff floated from Qorn'sshoulder. Retief, still holding Qorn in an awkward sprawl, wrappedit around one outflung leg, trussed ankle and thigh together. Qornflopped, hooting. At each movement, the constricting loop around hisneck, jerked his head back, the green crest tossing wildly.     If I were you, I'd relax, Retief said, rising and releasing his grip.Qorn got a leg under him; Retief kicked it. Qorn's chin hit the floorwith a hollow clack. He wilted, an ungainly tangle of over-long limbsand gay silks.     Retief turned to the watching crowd. Next? he called.     The blue and flame Qornt stepped forward. Maybe this would be a goodtime to elect a new leader, he said. Now, my qualifications—     Sit down, Retief said loudly. He stepped to the head of the table,seated himself in Qorn's vacated chair. A couple of you finishtrussing Qorn up for me.     But we must select a leader!     That won't be necessary, boys. I'm your new leader.  <doc-sep>Retief turned. Zubb stood gripping an ornately decorated power pistolin one bony hand, a slim needler in the other. Both were pointed atMagnan's chest.     I suspected you had hidden qualities, Zubb, Retief commented.     See here, Zubb! We're diplomats! Magnan started.     Careful, Mr. Magnan; you may goad him to a frenzy.     By no means, Zubb whistled. I much prefer to observe the frenzyof the Qornt when presented with the news that two peaceful Verpphave been assaulted and kidnapped by bullying interlopers. If there'sanything that annoys the Qornt, it's Qornt-like behavior in others. Nowstep along, please.     Rest assured, this will be reported!     I doubt it.     You'll face the wrath of Enlightened Galactic Opinion!     Oh? How big a navy does Enlightened Galactic Opinion have?     Stop scaring him, Mr. Magnan. He may get nervous and shoot. Retiefstepped into the banquet hall, headed for the resplendent figure atthe head of the table. A trio of flute-players broke off in mid-bleat,staring. An inverted pyramid of tumblers blinked as Retief swung past,followed by Magnan and the tall Verpp. The shrill chatter at the tablefaded.     Qorn turned as Retief came up, blinking three-inch eyes. Zubb steppedforward, gibbered, waving his arms excitedly. Qorn pushed back hischair—a low, heavily padded stool—and stared unwinking at Retief,moving his head to bring first one great round eye, then the other, tobear. There were small blue veins in the immense fleshy beak. The bushyhair, springing out in a giant halo around the grayish, porous-skinnedface, was wiry, stiff, moss-green, with tufts of chartreuse fuzzsurrounding what appeared to be tympanic membranes. The tall head-dressof scarlet silk and purple feathers was slightly askew, and a loop ofpink pearls had slipped down above one eye.     Zubb finished his speech and fell silent, breathing hard.     Qorn looked Retief over in silence, then belched.     Not bad, Retief said admiringly. Maybe we could get up a matchbetween you and Ambassador Sternwheeler. You've got the volume on him,but he's got timbre.     So, Qorn hooted in a resonant tenor. You come from Guzzum, eh? OrSmorbrod, as I think you call it. What is it you're after? More time?A compromise? Negotiations? Peace? He slammed a bony hand against thetable. The answer is      no     !     Zubb twittered. Qorn cocked an eye, motioned to a servant. Chain thatone. He indicated Magnan. His eyes went to Retief. This one's bigger;you'd best chain him, too.     Why, your Excellency— Magnan started, stepping forward.     Stay back! Qorn hooted. Stand over there where I can keep an eye onyou.     Your Excellency, I'm empowered—     Not here, you're not! Qorn trumpeted. Want peace, do you? Well, Idon't want peace! I've had a surfeit of peace these last two centuries!I want action! Loot! Adventure! Glory! He turned to look down thetable. How about it, fellows? It's war to the knife, eh?  <doc-sep>As I see it, Retief said, dribbling cigar ashes into an empty wineglass, you Qornt like to be warriors, but you don't particularly liketo fight.     We don't mind a little fighting—within reason. And, of course, asQornt, we're expected to die in battle. But what I say is, why rushthings?     I have a suggestion, Magnan said. Why not turn the reins ofgovernment over to the Verpp? They seem a level-headed group.     What good would that do? Qornt are Qornt. It seems there's always oneamong us who's a slave to instinct—and, naturally, we have to followhim.     Why?     Because that's the way it's done.     Why not do it another way? Magnan offered. Now, I'd like to suggestcommunity singing—     If we gave up fighting, we might live too long. Then what wouldhappen?     Live too long? Magnan looked puzzled.     When estivating time comes there'd be no burrows for us. Anyway, withthe new Qornt stepping on our heels—     I've lost the thread, Magnan said. Who are the new Qornt?     After estivating, the Verpp moult, and then they're Qornt, of course.The Gwil become Boog, the Boog become Rheuk, the Rheuk metamorphosizeinto Verpp—     You mean Slun and Zubb—the mild-natured naturalists—will becomewarmongers like Qorn?     Very likely. 'The milder the Verpp, the wilder the Qorn,' as the oldsaying goes.     What do Qornt turn into? Retief asked.     Hmmmm. That's a good question. So far, none have survived Qornthood.     Have you thought of forsaking your warlike ways? Magnan asked. Whatabout taking up sheepherding and regular church attendance?     Don't mistake me. We Qornt like a military life. It's great sport tosit around roaring fires and drink and tell lies and then go dashingoff to enjoy a brisk affray and some leisurely looting afterward. Butwe prefer a nice numerical advantage. Not this business of tackling youTerrestrials over on Guzzum—that was a mad notion. We had no idea whatyour strength was.     But now that's all off, of course, Magnan chirped. Now that we'vehad diplomatic relations and all—     Oh, by no means. The fleet lifts in thirty days. After all, we'reQornt; we have to satisfy our drive to action.     But Mr. Retief is your leader now. He won't let you!     Only a dead Qornt stays home when Attack day comes. And even ifhe orders us all to cut our own throats, there are still the otherCenters—all with their own leaders. No, gentlemen, the Invasion isdefinitely on.     Why don't you go invade somebody else? Magnan suggested. I couldname some very attractive prospects—outside my sector, of course.     Hold everything, Retief said. I think we've got the basis of a dealhere....      V     At the head of a double column of gaudily caparisoned Qornt, Retiefand Magnan strolled across the ramp toward the bright tower of the CDTSector HQ. Ahead, gates opened, and a black Corps limousine emerged,flying an Ambassadorial flag under a plain square of white.     Curious, Magnan commented. I wonder what the significance of thewhite ensign might be?     Retief raised a hand. The column halted with a clash of accoutrementsand a rasp of Qornt boots. Retief looked back along the line. The highwhite sun flashed on bright silks, polished buckles, deep-dyed plumes,butts of pistols, the soft gleam of leather.     A brave show indeed, Magnan commented approvingly. I confess theidea has merit.     The limousine pulled up with a squeal of brakes, stood on two fat-tiredwheels, gyros humming softly. The hatch popped up. A portly diplomatstepped out.     Why, Ambassador Nitworth, Magnan glowed. This is very kind of you.     Keep cool, Magnan, Nitworth said in a strained voice. We'll attemptto get you out of this.     He stepped past Magnan's out-stretched hand and looked hesitantly atthe ramrod-straight line of Qornt, eighty-five strong—and beyond, atthe eighty-five tall Qornt dreadnaughts.     Good afternoon, sir ... ah, Your Excellency, Nitworth said, blinkingup at the leading Qornt. You are Commander of the Strike Force, Iassume?     Nope, the Qornt said shortly.     I ... ah ... wish to request seventy-two hours in which to evacuateHeadquarters, Nitworth plowed on.     Mr. Ambassador. Retief said. This—     Don't panic, Retief. I'll attempt to secure your release, Nitworthhissed over his shoulder. Now—     You will address our leader with more respect! the tall Qornt hooted,eyeing Nitworth ominously from eleven feet up.     Oh, yes indeed, sir ... your Excellency ... Commander. Now, about theinvasion—     Mr. Secretary, Magnan tugged at Nitworth's sleeve.     In heaven's name, permit me to negotiate in peace! Nitworth snapped.He rearranged his features. Now your Excellency, we've arranged toevacuate Smorbrod, of course, just as you requested—     Requested? the Qornt honked.     Ah ... demanded, that is. Quite rightly of course. Ordered.Instructed. And, of course, we'll be only too pleased to follow anyother instructions you might have.     You don't quite get the big picture, Mr. Secretary, Retief said.This isn't—     Silence, confound you! Nitworth barked. The leading Qornt looked atRetief. He nodded. Two bony hands shot out, seized Nitworth and stuffeda length of bright pink silk into his mouth, then spun him around andheld him facing Retief.     If you don't mind my taking this opportunity to brief you, Mr.Ambassador, Retief said blandly. I think I should mention that thisisn't an invasion fleet. These are the new recruits for the PeaceEnforcement Corps.     Magnan stepped forward, glanced at the gag in Ambassador Nitworth'smouth, hesitated, then cleared his throat. We felt, he said, thatthe establishment of a Foreign Brigade within the P. E. Corps structurewould provide the element of novelty the Department has requestedin our recruiting, and at the same time would remove the stigma ofTerrestrial chauvinism from future punitive operations.     Nitworth stared, eyes bulging. He grunted, reaching for the gag, caughtthe Qornt's eye on him, dropped his hands to his sides.     I suggest we get the troops in out of the hot sun, Retief said.Magnan edged close. What about the gag? he whispered.     Let's leave it where it is for a while, Retief murmured. It may saveus a few concessions.  <doc-sep>The corridor debouched through a high double door into a vast ovalchamber, high-domed, gloomy, paneled in dark wood and hung withtattered banners, scarred halberds, pikes, rusted longswords, crossedspears over patinaed hauberks, pitted radiation armor, corroded powerrifles, the immense mummified heads of horned and fanged animals. Greatguttering torches in wall brackets and in stands along the lengthof the long table shed a smoky light that reflected from the mirrorpolish of the red granite floor, gleamed on polished silver bowls andpaper-thin glass, shone jewel-red and gold through dark bottles—andcast long flickering shadows behind the fifteen trolls at the board.     Lesser trolls—beaked, bush-haired, great-eyed—trotted briskly,bird-kneed, bearing steaming platters, stood in groups ofthree strumming slender bottle-shaped lutes, or pranced anintricate-patterned dance, unnoticed in the shrill uproar as each ofthe magnificently draped, belted, feathered and jeweled Qornt carriedon a shouted conversation with an equally noisy fellow.     A most interesting display of barbaric splendor, Magnan breathed.Now we'd better be getting back.     Ah, a moment, Zubb said. Observe the Qornt—the tallest of thefeasters—he with the head-dress of crimson, purple, silver and pink.     Twelve feet if he's an inch, Magnan estimated. And now we reallymust hurry along—     That one is chief among these rowdies. I'm sure you'll want a wordwith him. He controls not only the Tarroonian vessels but those fromthe other Centers as well.     What kind of vessels? Warships?     Certainly. What other kind would the Qornt bother with?     I don't suppose, Magnan said casually, that you'd know the type,tonnage, armament and manning of these vessels? And how many unitscomprise the fleet? And where they're based at present?     They're fully automated twenty-thousand-ton all-purpose dreadnaughts.They mount a variety of weapons. The Qornt are fond of that sort ofthing. Each of the Qornt has his own, of course. They're virtuallyidentical, except for the personal touches each individual has givenhis ship.     Great heavens, Retief! Magnan exclaimed in a whisper. It sounds asthough these brutes employ a battle armada as simpler souls might a setof toy sailboats!     Retief stepped past Magnan and Zubb to study the feasting hall. I cansee that their votes would carry all the necessary weight.     And now an interview with the Qorn himself, Zubb shrilled. If you'llkindly step along, gentlemen....     That won't be necessary, Magnan said hastily, I've decided to referthe matter to committee.     After having come so far, Zubb said, it would be a pity to misshaving a cosy chat.     There was a pause.     Ah ... Retief, Magnan said. Zubb has just presented a mostcompelling argument....  <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>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> [SEP] How does Magnan's attitude change throughout the story of MIGHTIEST QORN?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What makes the men so certain about the Qornt's superior tactical advantage? Can we gather information about the military strategies and equipment used by the group? [SEP] <s>The beak twitched. Smorbrod? I know of no place called Smorbrod.     The outer planet of this system.     Oh, yes. We call it Guzzum. I had heard that some sort of creatureshad established a settlement there, but I confess I pay little note tosuch matters.     We're wasting time, Retief, Magnan said. We must truss these chapsup, hurry back to the boat and make our escape. You heard what theysaid.     Are there any Qornt down there at the harbor, where the boats are?Retief asked.     At Tarroon, you mean? Oh, yes. Planning some adventure.     That would be the invasion of Smorbrod, Magnan said. And unless wehurry, Retief, we're likely to be caught there with the last of theevacuees!     How many Qornt would you say there are at Tarroon?     Oh, a very large number. Perhaps fifteen or twenty.     Fifteen or twenty what? Magnan looked perplexed.     Fifteen or twenty Qornt.     You mean that there are only fifteen or twenty individual Qornt inall?     Another whistle. Not at all. I was referring to the local Qornt only.There are more at the other Centers, of course.     And the Qornt are responsible for the ultimatum—unilaterally?     I suppose so; it sounds like them. A truculent group, you know. Andinterplanetary relations      are     rather a hobby of theirs.     Zubb moaned and stirred. He sat up slowly, rubbing his head. He spoketo his companion in a shrill alien clatter of consonants.     What did he say?     Poor Zubb. He blames me for his bruises, since it was my idea togather you as specimens.     You should have known better than to tackle that fierce-lookingcreature, Zubb said, pointing his beak at Magnan.     How does it happen that you speak Terrestrial? Retief asked.     Oh, one picks up all sorts of dialects.     It's quite charming, really, Magnan said. Such a quaint, archaicaccent.     Suppose we went down to Tarroon, Retief asked. What kind ofreception would we get?     That depends. I wouldn't recommend interfering with the Gwil or theRheuk; it's their nest-mending time, you know. The Boog will be busymating—such a tedious business—and of course the Qornt are tied upwith their ceremonial feasting. I'm afraid no one will take any noticeof you.     Do you mean to say, Magnan demanded, that these ferocious Qornt, whohave issued an ultimatum to the Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne—whoopenly avow their occupied world—would ignore Terrestrials in theirmidst?     If at all possible.     Retief got to his feet.     I think our course is clear, Mr. Magnan. It's up to us to go down andattract a little attention.      III     I'm not at all sure we're going about this in the right way, Magnanpuffed, trotting at Retief's side. These fellows Zubb and Slun—Oh,they seem affable enough, but how can we be sure we're not being ledinto a trap?     We can't.     Magnan stopped short. Let's go back.     All right, Retief said. Of course there may be an ambush—     Magnan moved off. Let's keep going.     The party emerged from the undergrowth at the edge of a greatbrush-grown mound. Slun took the lead, rounded the flank of thehillock, halted at a rectangular opening cut into the slope.     You can find your way easily enough from here, he said. You'llexcuse us, I hope—     Nonsense, Slun! Zubb pushed forward. I'll escort our guests to QorntHall. He twittered briefly to his fellow Verpp. Slun twittered back.     I don't like it, Retief, Magnan whispered. Those fellows areplotting mischief.     Threaten them with violence, Mr Magnan. They're scared of you.     That's true. And the drubbing they received was well-deserved. I'm apatient man, but there are occasions—     Come along, please, Zubb called. Another ten minutes' walk—     See here, we have no interest in investigating this barrow, Magnanannounced. We wish you to take us direct to Tarroon to interview yourmilitary leaders regarding the ultimatum!     Yes, yes, of course. Qornt Hall lies here inside the village.     This is Tarroon?     A modest civic center, sir, but there are those who love it.     No wonder we didn't observe their works from the air, Magnanmuttered. Camouflaged. He moved hesitantly through the opening.     The party moved along a wide, deserted tunnel which sloped downsteeply, then leveled off and branched. Zubb took the center branch,ducking slightly under the nine-foot ceiling lit at intervals with whatappeared to be primitive incandescent panels.     Few signs of an advanced technology here, Magnan whispered. Thesecreatures must devote all their talents to warlike enterprise.     Ahead, Zubb slowed. A distant susurration was audible, a sustainedhigh-pitched screeching. Softly, now. We approach Qornt Hall. Theycan be an irascible lot when disturbed at their feasting.     When will the feast be over? Magnan called hoarsely.     In another few weeks, I should imagine, if, as you say, they'vescheduled an invasion for next month.     Look here, Zubb. Magnan shook a finger at the tall alien. How is itthat these Qornt are allowed to embark on piratical ventures of thissort without reference to the wishes of the majority?     Oh, the majority of the Qornt favor the move, I imagine.     These few hotheads are permitted to embroil the planet in war?     Oh, they don't embroil the planet in war. They merely—     Retief, this is fantastic! I've heard of iron-fisted military cliquesbefore, but this is madness!     Come softly, now. Zubb beckoned, moving toward a bend in theyellow-lit corridor. Retief and Magnan moved forward.  <doc-sep>As I see it, Retief said, dribbling cigar ashes into an empty wineglass, you Qornt like to be warriors, but you don't particularly liketo fight.     We don't mind a little fighting—within reason. And, of course, asQornt, we're expected to die in battle. But what I say is, why rushthings?     I have a suggestion, Magnan said. Why not turn the reins ofgovernment over to the Verpp? They seem a level-headed group.     What good would that do? Qornt are Qornt. It seems there's always oneamong us who's a slave to instinct—and, naturally, we have to followhim.     Why?     Because that's the way it's done.     Why not do it another way? Magnan offered. Now, I'd like to suggestcommunity singing—     If we gave up fighting, we might live too long. Then what wouldhappen?     Live too long? Magnan looked puzzled.     When estivating time comes there'd be no burrows for us. Anyway, withthe new Qornt stepping on our heels—     I've lost the thread, Magnan said. Who are the new Qornt?     After estivating, the Verpp moult, and then they're Qornt, of course.The Gwil become Boog, the Boog become Rheuk, the Rheuk metamorphosizeinto Verpp—     You mean Slun and Zubb—the mild-natured naturalists—will becomewarmongers like Qorn?     Very likely. 'The milder the Verpp, the wilder the Qorn,' as the oldsaying goes.     What do Qornt turn into? Retief asked.     Hmmmm. That's a good question. So far, none have survived Qornthood.     Have you thought of forsaking your warlike ways? Magnan asked. Whatabout taking up sheepherding and regular church attendance?     Don't mistake me. We Qornt like a military life. It's great sport tosit around roaring fires and drink and tell lies and then go dashingoff to enjoy a brisk affray and some leisurely looting afterward. Butwe prefer a nice numerical advantage. Not this business of tackling youTerrestrials over on Guzzum—that was a mad notion. We had no idea whatyour strength was.     But now that's all off, of course, Magnan chirped. Now that we'vehad diplomatic relations and all—     Oh, by no means. The fleet lifts in thirty days. After all, we'reQornt; we have to satisfy our drive to action.     But Mr. Retief is your leader now. He won't let you!     Only a dead Qornt stays home when Attack day comes. And even ifhe orders us all to cut our own throats, there are still the otherCenters—all with their own leaders. No, gentlemen, the Invasion isdefinitely on.     Why don't you go invade somebody else? Magnan suggested. I couldname some very attractive prospects—outside my sector, of course.     Hold everything, Retief said. I think we've got the basis of a dealhere....      V     At the head of a double column of gaudily caparisoned Qornt, Retiefand Magnan strolled across the ramp toward the bright tower of the CDTSector HQ. Ahead, gates opened, and a black Corps limousine emerged,flying an Ambassadorial flag under a plain square of white.     Curious, Magnan commented. I wonder what the significance of thewhite ensign might be?     Retief raised a hand. The column halted with a clash of accoutrementsand a rasp of Qornt boots. Retief looked back along the line. The highwhite sun flashed on bright silks, polished buckles, deep-dyed plumes,butts of pistols, the soft gleam of leather.     A brave show indeed, Magnan commented approvingly. I confess theidea has merit.     The limousine pulled up with a squeal of brakes, stood on two fat-tiredwheels, gyros humming softly. The hatch popped up. A portly diplomatstepped out.     Why, Ambassador Nitworth, Magnan glowed. This is very kind of you.     Keep cool, Magnan, Nitworth said in a strained voice. We'll attemptto get you out of this.     He stepped past Magnan's out-stretched hand and looked hesitantly atthe ramrod-straight line of Qornt, eighty-five strong—and beyond, atthe eighty-five tall Qornt dreadnaughts.     Good afternoon, sir ... ah, Your Excellency, Nitworth said, blinkingup at the leading Qornt. You are Commander of the Strike Force, Iassume?     Nope, the Qornt said shortly.     I ... ah ... wish to request seventy-two hours in which to evacuateHeadquarters, Nitworth plowed on.     Mr. Ambassador. Retief said. This—     Don't panic, Retief. I'll attempt to secure your release, Nitworthhissed over his shoulder. Now—     You will address our leader with more respect! the tall Qornt hooted,eyeing Nitworth ominously from eleven feet up.     Oh, yes indeed, sir ... your Excellency ... Commander. Now, about theinvasion—     Mr. Secretary, Magnan tugged at Nitworth's sleeve.     In heaven's name, permit me to negotiate in peace! Nitworth snapped.He rearranged his features. Now your Excellency, we've arranged toevacuate Smorbrod, of course, just as you requested—     Requested? the Qornt honked.     Ah ... demanded, that is. Quite rightly of course. Ordered.Instructed. And, of course, we'll be only too pleased to follow anyother instructions you might have.     You don't quite get the big picture, Mr. Secretary, Retief said.This isn't—     Silence, confound you! Nitworth barked. The leading Qornt looked atRetief. He nodded. Two bony hands shot out, seized Nitworth and stuffeda length of bright pink silk into his mouth, then spun him around andheld him facing Retief.     If you don't mind my taking this opportunity to brief you, Mr.Ambassador, Retief said blandly. I think I should mention that thisisn't an invasion fleet. These are the new recruits for the PeaceEnforcement Corps.     Magnan stepped forward, glanced at the gag in Ambassador Nitworth'smouth, hesitated, then cleared his throat. We felt, he said, thatthe establishment of a Foreign Brigade within the P. E. Corps structurewould provide the element of novelty the Department has requestedin our recruiting, and at the same time would remove the stigma ofTerrestrial chauvinism from future punitive operations.     Nitworth stared, eyes bulging. He grunted, reaching for the gag, caughtthe Qornt's eye on him, dropped his hands to his sides.     I suggest we get the troops in out of the hot sun, Retief said.Magnan edged close. What about the gag? he whispered.     Let's leave it where it is for a while, Retief murmured. It may saveus a few concessions.  <doc-sep>   MIGHTIEST QORN     BY KEITH LAUMER     Sly, brave and truculent, the Qornt     held all humans in contempt—except one!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1963.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I     Ambassador Nitworth glowered across his mirror-polished, nine-footplatinum desk at his assembled staff.     Gentlemen, are any of you familiar with a race known as the Qornt?     There was a moment of profound silence. Nitworth leaned forward,looking solemn.     They were a warlike race known in this sector back in Concordiattimes, perhaps two hundred years ago. They vanished as suddenly asthey had appeared. There was no record of where they went. He pausedfor effect.     They have now reappeared—occupying the inner planet of this system!     But, sir, Second Secretary Magnan offered. That's uninhabitedTerrestrial territory....     Indeed, Mr. Magnan? Nitworth smiled icily. It appears the Qornt donot share that opinion. He plucked a heavy parchment from a folderbefore him, harrumphed and read aloud:     His Supreme Excellency The Qorn, Regent of Qornt, Over-Lord of theGalactic Destiny, Greets the Terrestrials and, with reference to thepresence in mandated territory of Terrestrial squatters, has the honorto advise that he will require the use of his outer world on thethirtieth day. Then will the Qornt come with steel and fire. Receive,Terrestrials, renewed assurances of my awareness of your existence,and let Those who dare gird for the contest.     Frankly, I wouldn't call it conciliatory, Magnan said.     Nitworth tapped the paper with a finger.     We have been served, gentlemen, with nothing less than an Ultimatum!     Well, we'll soon straighten these fellows out— the Military Attachebegan.     There happens to be more to this piece of truculence than appears onthe surface, the Ambassador cut in. He paused, waiting for interestedfrowns to settle into place.     Note, gentlemen, that these invaders have appeared on terrestrialcontrolled soil—and without so much as a flicker from the instrumentsof the Navigational Monitor Service!     The Military Attache blinked. That's absurd, he said flatly. Nitworthslapped the table.     We're up against something new, gentlemen! I've considered everyhypothesis from cloaks of invisibility to time travel! The fact is—theQornt fleets are indetectible!  <doc-sep>I decided that this man was doubly dangerous. Not only was he a spy,he was also a lunatic. So I had two reasons for humoring him. I noddedpolitely.     So what happened? he demanded, and immediately answered himself.I'll tell you what happened! Just as he was about to make that firstgiant step, Man got a hotfoot. That's all it was, just a littlehotfoot. So what did Man do? I'll tell you what he did. He turnedaround and he ran all the way back to the cave he started from, histail between his legs.      That's     what he did!     To say that all of this was incomprehensible would be an extremeunderstatement. I fulfilled my obligation to this insane dialogue bysaying, Here's your coffee.     Put it on the table, he said, switching instantly from raving maniacto watchful spy.     I put it on the table. He drank deep, then carried the cup across theroom and sat down in my favorite chair. He studied me narrowly, andsuddenly said, What did they tell you I was? A spy?     Of course, I said.     He grinned bitterly, with one side of his mouth. Of course. The damnfools! Spy! What do you suppose I'm going to spy on?     He asked the question so violently and urgently that I knew I had toanswer quickly and well, or the maniac would return. I—I wouldn'tknow, exactly, I stammered. Military equipment, I suppose.     Military equipment?      What     military equipment? Your Army is suppliedwith uniforms, whistles and hand guns, and that's about it.     The defenses— I started.     The defenses, he interrupted me, are non-existent. If you mean therocket launchers on the roof, they're rusted through with age. And whatother defenses are there? None.     If you say so, I replied stiffly. The Army claimed that we hadadequate defense equipment. I chose to believe the Army over an enemyspy.     Your people send out spies, too, don't they? he demanded.     Well, of course.     And what are      they     supposed to spy on?     Well— It was such a pointless question, it seemed silly to evenanswer it. They're supposed to look for indications of an attack byone of the other projects.     And do they find any indications, ever?     I'm sure I don't know, I told him frostily. That would be classifiedinformation.     You bet it would, he said, with malicious glee. All right, if that'swhat      your     spies are doing, and if      I'm     a spy, then it follows thatI'm doing the same thing, right?     I don't follow you, I admitted.     If I'm a spy, he said impatiently, then I'm supposed to look forindications of an attack by you people on my Project.     I shrugged. If that's your job, I said, then that's your job.     He got suddenly red-faced, and jumped to his feet. That's      not     myjob, you blatant idiot! he shouted. I'm not a spy! If I      were     a spy,      then     that would be my job!  <doc-sep>Theodor recognized the shrunken wrinkle-seamed face. It was ColonelFortescue, a military antique long retired from the Peace Patrol andreputed to have seen actual fighting in the Last Age of Madness. Now,for some reason, the face sported a knowing smile.     Theodor shrugged. Just then the TV big news light blinked blue andthe girl switched on audio. The Colonel winked at Theodor.     ... confirming the disappearance of Jupiter's moons. But two otherutterly fantastic reports have just been received. First, LunarObservatory One says that it is visually tracking fourteen small bodieswhich it believes may be the lost moons of Jupiter. They are movingoutward from the Solar System at an incredible velocity and are alreadybeyond the orbit of Saturn!     The Colonel said, Ah!     Second, Palomar reports a large number of dark bodies approaching theSolar System at an equally incredible velocity. They are at about twicethe distance of Pluto, but closing in fast! We will be on the air withfurther details as soon as possible.     The Colonel said, Ah-ha!     Theodor stared at him. The old man's self-satisfied poise was almostamusing.     Are you a Kometevskyite? Theodor asked him.     The Colonel laughed. Of course not, my boy. Those poor people arefumbling in the dark. Don't you see what's happened?     Frankly, no.     The Colonel leaned toward Theodor and whispered gruffly, The DivinePlan. God is a military strategist, naturally.     Then he lifted the scotch-and-soda in his clawlike hand and took asatisfying swallow.     I knew it all along, of course, he went on musingly, but this lastnews makes it as plain as a rocket blast, at least to anyone who knowsmilitary strategy. Look here, my boy, suppose you were commanding afleet and got wind of the enemy's approach—what would you do? Why,you'd send your scouts and destroyers fanning out toward them. Behindthat screen you'd mass your heavy ships. Then—     You don't mean to imply— Theodor interrupted.     The girl behind the bar looked at them both cryptically.     Of course I do! the Colonel cut in sharply. It's a war between theforces of good and evil. The bright suns and planets are on one side,the dark on the other. The moons are the destroyers, Jupiter andSaturn are the big battleships, while we're on a heavy cruiser, I'mproud to say. We'll probably go into action soon. Be a corking fight,what? And all by divine strategy!     He chuckled and took another big drink. Theodor looked at him sourly.The girl behind the bar polished a glass and said nothing.  <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>The Military Attache pulled at his lower lip. In that case, we can'ttry conclusions with these fellows until we have an indetectible driveof our own. I recommend a crash project. In the meantime—     I'll have my boys start in to crack this thing, the Chief of theConfidential Terrestrial Source Section spoke up. I'll fit out acouple of volunteers with plastic beaks—     No cloak and dagger work, gentlemen! Long range policy will beworked out by Deep-Think teams back at the Department. Our role willbe a holding action. Now I want suggestions for a comprehensive,well rounded and decisive course for meeting this threat. Anyrecommendation?     The Political Officer placed his fingertips together. What about astiff Note demanding an extra week's time?     No! No begging, the Economic Officer objected. I'd say a calm,dignified, aggressive withdrawal—as soon as possible.     We don't want to give them the idea we spook easily, the MilitaryAttache said. Let's delay the withdrawal—say, until tomorrow.     Early tomorrow, Magnan said. Or maybe later today.     Well, I see you're of a mind with me, Nitworth nodded. Our plan ofaction is clear, but it remains to be implemented. We have a populationof over fifteen million individuals to relocate. He eyed thePolitical Officer. I want five proposals for resettlement on my deskby oh-eight-hundred hours tomorrow. Nitworth rapped out instructions.Harried-looking staff members arose and hurried from the room. Magnaneased toward the door.     Where are you going, Magnan? Nitworth snapped.     Since you're so busy, I thought I'd just slip back down to Com Inq. Itwas a most interesting orientation lecture, Mr. Ambassador. Be sure tolet us know how it works out.     Kindly return to your chair, Nitworth said coldly. A number ofchores remain to be assigned. I think you, Magnan, need a little fieldexperience. I want you to get over to Roolit I and take a look at theseQornt personally.     Magnan's mouth opened and closed soundlessly.     Not afraid of a few Qornt, are you, Magnan?     Afraid? Good lord, no, ha ha. It's just that I'm afraid I may lose myhead and do something rash if I go.     Nonsense! A diplomat is immune to heroic impulses. Take Retief along.No dawdling, now! I want you on the way in two hours. Notify thetransport pool at once. Now get going!     Magnan nodded unhappily and went into the hall.     Oh, Retief, Nitworth said. Retief turned.     Try to restrain Mr. Magnan from any impulsive moves—in anydirection.      II     Retief and Magnan topped a ridge and looked down across a slopeof towering tree-shrubs and glossy violet-stemmed palms set amongflamboyant blossoms of yellow and red, reaching down to a strip ofwhite beach with the blue sea beyond.     A delightful vista, Magnan said, mopping at his face. A pity wecouldn't locate the Qornt. We'll go back now and report—     I'm pretty sure the settlement is off to the right, Retief said. Whydon't you head back for the boat, while I ease over and see what I canobserve.     Retief, we're engaged in a serious mission. This is not a time tothink of sightseeing.     I'd like to take a good look at what we're giving away.     See here, Retief! One might almost receive the impression that you'requestioning Corps policy!     One might, at that. The Qornt have made their play, but I think itmight be valuable to take a look at their cards before we fold. If I'mnot back at the boat in an hour, lift without me.     You expect me to make my way back alone?     It's directly down-slope— Retief broke off, listening. Magnanclutched at his arm.     There was a sound of crackling foliage. Twenty feet ahead, a leafybranch swung aside. An eight-foot biped stepped into view, long, thin,green-clad legs with back-bending knees moving in quick, bird-likesteps. A pair of immense black-lensed goggles covered staring eyes setamong bushy green hair above a great bone-white beak. The crest bobbedas the creature cocked its head, listening.     Magnan gulped audibly. The Qornt froze, head tilted, beak aimeddirectly at the spot where the Terrestrials stood in the deep shade ofa giant trunk.     I'll go for help, Magnan squeaked. He whirled and took three leapsinto the brush.     A second great green-clad figure rose up to block his way. He spun,darted to the left. The first Qornt pounced, grappled Magnan to itsnarrow chest. Magnan yelled, threshing and kicking, broke free,turned—and collided with the eight-foot alien, coming in fast from theright. All three went down in a tangle of limbs.     Retief jumped forward, hauled Magnan free, thrust him aside andstopped, right fist cocked. The two Qornt lay groaning feebly.     Nice piece of work, Mr. Magnan, Retief said. You nailed both ofthem.  <doc-sep>An hour later, Nitworth, breathing freely again, glowered across hisdesk at Retief and Magnan.     This entire affair, he rumbled, has made me appear to be a fool!     But we who are privileged to serve on your staff already know just howclever you are, Magnan burbled.     Nitworth purpled. You're skirting insolence, Magnan, he roared. Whywas I not informed of the arrangements? What was I to assume at thesight of eighty-five war vessels over my headquarters, unannounced?     We tried to get through, but our wavelengths—     Bah! Sterner souls than I would have quailed at the spectacle!     Oh, you were perfectly justified in panicking—     I did      not     panic! Nitworth bellowed. I merely adjusted to theapparent circumstances. Now, I'm of two minds as to the advisability ofthis foreign legion idea of yours. Still, it may have merit. I believethe wisest course would be to dispatch them on a long training cruisein an uninhabited sector of space—     The office windows rattled. What the devil! Nitworth turned, staredout at the ramp where a Qornt ship rose slowly on a column of pale bluelight. The vibration increased as a second ship lifted, then a third.     Nitworth whirled on Magnan. What's this! Who ordered these recruits toembark without my permission?     I took the liberty of giving them an errand to run, Mr. Secretary,Retief said. There was that little matter of the Groaci infiltratingthe Sirenian System. I sent the boys off to handle it.     Call them back at once!     I'm afraid that won't be possible. They're under orders to maintaintotal communications silence until completion of the mission.     Nitworth drummed his fingers on the desk top. Slowly, a thoughtfulexpression dawned. He nodded.     This may work out, he said. I      should     call them back, but sincethe fleet is out of contact, I'm unable to do so, correct? Thus I canhardly be held responsible for any over-enthusiasm in chastising theGroaci.     He closed one eye in a broad wink at Magnan. Very well, gentlemen,I'll overlook the irregularity this time. Magnan, see to it theSmorbrodian public are notified they can remain where they are. Andby the way, did you by any chance discover the technique of theindetectable drive the Qornt use?     No, sir. That is, yes, sir.     Well? Well?     There isn't any. The Qornt were there all the while. Underground.     Underground? Doing what?     Hibernating—for two hundred years at a stretch.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What makes the men so certain about the Qornt's superior tactical advantage? Can we gather information about the military strategies and equipment used by the group?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the relationship between the Qornt and the other groups mentioned in the story of the Mightiest Qorn? [SEP] <s>   MIGHTIEST QORN     BY KEITH LAUMER     Sly, brave and truculent, the Qornt     held all humans in contempt—except one!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1963.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I     Ambassador Nitworth glowered across his mirror-polished, nine-footplatinum desk at his assembled staff.     Gentlemen, are any of you familiar with a race known as the Qornt?     There was a moment of profound silence. Nitworth leaned forward,looking solemn.     They were a warlike race known in this sector back in Concordiattimes, perhaps two hundred years ago. They vanished as suddenly asthey had appeared. There was no record of where they went. He pausedfor effect.     They have now reappeared—occupying the inner planet of this system!     But, sir, Second Secretary Magnan offered. That's uninhabitedTerrestrial territory....     Indeed, Mr. Magnan? Nitworth smiled icily. It appears the Qornt donot share that opinion. He plucked a heavy parchment from a folderbefore him, harrumphed and read aloud:     His Supreme Excellency The Qorn, Regent of Qornt, Over-Lord of theGalactic Destiny, Greets the Terrestrials and, with reference to thepresence in mandated territory of Terrestrial squatters, has the honorto advise that he will require the use of his outer world on thethirtieth day. Then will the Qornt come with steel and fire. Receive,Terrestrials, renewed assurances of my awareness of your existence,and let Those who dare gird for the contest.     Frankly, I wouldn't call it conciliatory, Magnan said.     Nitworth tapped the paper with a finger.     We have been served, gentlemen, with nothing less than an Ultimatum!     Well, we'll soon straighten these fellows out— the Military Attachebegan.     There happens to be more to this piece of truculence than appears onthe surface, the Ambassador cut in. He paused, waiting for interestedfrowns to settle into place.     Note, gentlemen, that these invaders have appeared on terrestrialcontrolled soil—and without so much as a flicker from the instrumentsof the Navigational Monitor Service!     The Military Attache blinked. That's absurd, he said flatly. Nitworthslapped the table.     We're up against something new, gentlemen! I've considered everyhypothesis from cloaks of invisibility to time travel! The fact is—theQornt fleets are indetectible!  <doc-sep>There was a momentary silence from all sides.     I guess so, grunted a giant Qornt in iridescent blue withflame-colored plumes.     Qorn's eyes bulged. He half rose. We've been all over this, hebassooned. He clamped bony fingers on the hilt of a light rapier. Ithought I'd made my point!     Oh, sure, Qorn.     You bet.     I'm convinced.     Qorn rumbled and resumed his seat. All for one and one for all, that'sus.     And you're the one, eh, Qorn? Retief commented.     Magnan cleared his throat. I sense that some of you gentlemen are notconvinced of the wisdom of this move, he piped, looking along thetable at the silks, jewels, beaks, feather-decked crests and staringeyes.     Silence! Qorn hooted. No use your talking to my loyal lieutenantsanyway, he added. They do whatever I convince them they ought to do.     But I'm sure that on more mature consideration—     I can lick any Qornt in the house. Qorn said. That's why I'm Qorn.He belched again.     A servant came up staggering under a weight of chain, dropped it with acrash at Magnan's feet. Zubb aimed the guns while the servant wrappedthree loops around Magnan's wrists, snapped a lock in place.     You next! The guns pointed at Retief's chest. He held out his arms.Four loops of silvery-gray chain in half-inch links dropped aroundthem. The servant cinched them up tight, squeezed a lock through theends and closed it.     Now, Qorn said, lolling back in his chair, glass in hand. There's abit of sport to be had here, lads. What shall we do with them?     Let them go, the blue and flame Qornt said glumly.     You can do better than that, Qorn hooted. Now here's a suggestion:we carve them up a little—lop off the external labiae and pinnae,say—and ship them back.     Good lord! Retief, he's talking about cutting off our ears and sendingus home mutilated! What a barbaric proposal!     It wouldn't be the first time a Terrestrial diplomat got a trimming,Retief commented.     It should have the effect of stimulating the Terries to put up areasonable scrap, Qorn said judiciously. I have a feeling thatthey're thinking of giving up without a struggle.     Oh, I doubt that, the blue-and-flame Qornt said. Why should they?     Qorn rolled an eye at Retief and another at Magnan. Take these two,he hooted. I'll wager they came here to negotiate a surrender!     Well, Magnan started.     Hold it, Mr. Magnan, Retief said. I'll tell him.     What's your proposal? Qorn whistled, taking a gulp from his goblet.A fifty-fifty split? Monetary reparations? Alternate territory? I canassure you, it's useless. We Qornt      like     to fight.     I'm afraid you've gotten the wrong impression, your Excellency,Retief said blandly. We didn't come to negotiate. We came to deliveran Ultimatum.     What? Qorn trumpeted. Behind Retief, Magnan spluttered.     We plan to use this planet for target practice, Retief said. A newtype hell bomb we've worked out. Have all your people off of it inseventy-two hours, or suffer the consequences.      IV     You have the gall, Qorn stormed, to stand here in the center ofQornt Hall—uninvited, at that—and in chains—     Oh, these, Retief said. He tensed his arms. The soft aluminum linksstretched and broke. He shook the light metal free. We diplomats liketo go along with colorful local customs, but I wouldn't want to misleadyou. Now, as to the evacuation of Roolit I—       Zubb screeched, waved the guns. The Qornt were jabbering.     I told you they were brutes, Zubb shrilled.     Qorn slammed his fist down on the table. I don't care what they are!he honked. Evacuate, hell! I can field eighty-five combat-ready ships!     And we can englobe every one of them with a thousand Peace Enforcerswith a hundred megatons/second firepower each.     Retief. Magnan tugged at his sleeve. Don't forget their superdrive.     That's all right. They don't have one.     But—     We'll take you on! Qorn French-horned. We're the Qorn! We glory inbattle! We live in fame or go down in—     Hogwash, the flame-and-blue Qorn cut in. If it wasn't for you, Qorn,we could sit around and feast and brag and enjoy life without having toprove anything.     Qorn, you seem to be the fire-brand here, Retief said. I think therest of the boys would listen to reason—     Over my dead body!     My idea exactly, Retief said. You claim you can lick any man inthe house. Unwind yourself from your ribbons and step out here on thefloor, and we'll see how good you are at backing up your conversation.  <doc-sep>As I see it, Retief said, dribbling cigar ashes into an empty wineglass, you Qornt like to be warriors, but you don't particularly liketo fight.     We don't mind a little fighting—within reason. And, of course, asQornt, we're expected to die in battle. But what I say is, why rushthings?     I have a suggestion, Magnan said. Why not turn the reins ofgovernment over to the Verpp? They seem a level-headed group.     What good would that do? Qornt are Qornt. It seems there's always oneamong us who's a slave to instinct—and, naturally, we have to followhim.     Why?     Because that's the way it's done.     Why not do it another way? Magnan offered. Now, I'd like to suggestcommunity singing—     If we gave up fighting, we might live too long. Then what wouldhappen?     Live too long? Magnan looked puzzled.     When estivating time comes there'd be no burrows for us. Anyway, withthe new Qornt stepping on our heels—     I've lost the thread, Magnan said. Who are the new Qornt?     After estivating, the Verpp moult, and then they're Qornt, of course.The Gwil become Boog, the Boog become Rheuk, the Rheuk metamorphosizeinto Verpp—     You mean Slun and Zubb—the mild-natured naturalists—will becomewarmongers like Qorn?     Very likely. 'The milder the Verpp, the wilder the Qorn,' as the oldsaying goes.     What do Qornt turn into? Retief asked.     Hmmmm. That's a good question. So far, none have survived Qornthood.     Have you thought of forsaking your warlike ways? Magnan asked. Whatabout taking up sheepherding and regular church attendance?     Don't mistake me. We Qornt like a military life. It's great sport tosit around roaring fires and drink and tell lies and then go dashingoff to enjoy a brisk affray and some leisurely looting afterward. Butwe prefer a nice numerical advantage. Not this business of tackling youTerrestrials over on Guzzum—that was a mad notion. We had no idea whatyour strength was.     But now that's all off, of course, Magnan chirped. Now that we'vehad diplomatic relations and all—     Oh, by no means. The fleet lifts in thirty days. After all, we'reQornt; we have to satisfy our drive to action.     But Mr. Retief is your leader now. He won't let you!     Only a dead Qornt stays home when Attack day comes. And even ifhe orders us all to cut our own throats, there are still the otherCenters—all with their own leaders. No, gentlemen, the Invasion isdefinitely on.     Why don't you go invade somebody else? Magnan suggested. I couldname some very attractive prospects—outside my sector, of course.     Hold everything, Retief said. I think we've got the basis of a dealhere....      V     At the head of a double column of gaudily caparisoned Qornt, Retiefand Magnan strolled across the ramp toward the bright tower of the CDTSector HQ. Ahead, gates opened, and a black Corps limousine emerged,flying an Ambassadorial flag under a plain square of white.     Curious, Magnan commented. I wonder what the significance of thewhite ensign might be?     Retief raised a hand. The column halted with a clash of accoutrementsand a rasp of Qornt boots. Retief looked back along the line. The highwhite sun flashed on bright silks, polished buckles, deep-dyed plumes,butts of pistols, the soft gleam of leather.     A brave show indeed, Magnan commented approvingly. I confess theidea has merit.     The limousine pulled up with a squeal of brakes, stood on two fat-tiredwheels, gyros humming softly. The hatch popped up. A portly diplomatstepped out.     Why, Ambassador Nitworth, Magnan glowed. This is very kind of you.     Keep cool, Magnan, Nitworth said in a strained voice. We'll attemptto get you out of this.     He stepped past Magnan's out-stretched hand and looked hesitantly atthe ramrod-straight line of Qornt, eighty-five strong—and beyond, atthe eighty-five tall Qornt dreadnaughts.     Good afternoon, sir ... ah, Your Excellency, Nitworth said, blinkingup at the leading Qornt. You are Commander of the Strike Force, Iassume?     Nope, the Qornt said shortly.     I ... ah ... wish to request seventy-two hours in which to evacuateHeadquarters, Nitworth plowed on.     Mr. Ambassador. Retief said. This—     Don't panic, Retief. I'll attempt to secure your release, Nitworthhissed over his shoulder. Now—     You will address our leader with more respect! the tall Qornt hooted,eyeing Nitworth ominously from eleven feet up.     Oh, yes indeed, sir ... your Excellency ... Commander. Now, about theinvasion—     Mr. Secretary, Magnan tugged at Nitworth's sleeve.     In heaven's name, permit me to negotiate in peace! Nitworth snapped.He rearranged his features. Now your Excellency, we've arranged toevacuate Smorbrod, of course, just as you requested—     Requested? the Qornt honked.     Ah ... demanded, that is. Quite rightly of course. Ordered.Instructed. And, of course, we'll be only too pleased to follow anyother instructions you might have.     You don't quite get the big picture, Mr. Secretary, Retief said.This isn't—     Silence, confound you! Nitworth barked. The leading Qornt looked atRetief. He nodded. Two bony hands shot out, seized Nitworth and stuffeda length of bright pink silk into his mouth, then spun him around andheld him facing Retief.     If you don't mind my taking this opportunity to brief you, Mr.Ambassador, Retief said blandly. I think I should mention that thisisn't an invasion fleet. These are the new recruits for the PeaceEnforcement Corps.     Magnan stepped forward, glanced at the gag in Ambassador Nitworth'smouth, hesitated, then cleared his throat. We felt, he said, thatthe establishment of a Foreign Brigade within the P. E. Corps structurewould provide the element of novelty the Department has requestedin our recruiting, and at the same time would remove the stigma ofTerrestrial chauvinism from future punitive operations.     Nitworth stared, eyes bulging. He grunted, reaching for the gag, caughtthe Qornt's eye on him, dropped his hands to his sides.     I suggest we get the troops in out of the hot sun, Retief said.Magnan edged close. What about the gag? he whispered.     Let's leave it where it is for a while, Retief murmured. It may saveus a few concessions.  <doc-sep>Retief turned. Zubb stood gripping an ornately decorated power pistolin one bony hand, a slim needler in the other. Both were pointed atMagnan's chest.     I suspected you had hidden qualities, Zubb, Retief commented.     See here, Zubb! We're diplomats! Magnan started.     Careful, Mr. Magnan; you may goad him to a frenzy.     By no means, Zubb whistled. I much prefer to observe the frenzyof the Qornt when presented with the news that two peaceful Verpphave been assaulted and kidnapped by bullying interlopers. If there'sanything that annoys the Qornt, it's Qornt-like behavior in others. Nowstep along, please.     Rest assured, this will be reported!     I doubt it.     You'll face the wrath of Enlightened Galactic Opinion!     Oh? How big a navy does Enlightened Galactic Opinion have?     Stop scaring him, Mr. Magnan. He may get nervous and shoot. Retiefstepped into the banquet hall, headed for the resplendent figure atthe head of the table. A trio of flute-players broke off in mid-bleat,staring. An inverted pyramid of tumblers blinked as Retief swung past,followed by Magnan and the tall Verpp. The shrill chatter at the tablefaded.     Qorn turned as Retief came up, blinking three-inch eyes. Zubb steppedforward, gibbered, waving his arms excitedly. Qorn pushed back hischair—a low, heavily padded stool—and stared unwinking at Retief,moving his head to bring first one great round eye, then the other, tobear. There were small blue veins in the immense fleshy beak. The bushyhair, springing out in a giant halo around the grayish, porous-skinnedface, was wiry, stiff, moss-green, with tufts of chartreuse fuzzsurrounding what appeared to be tympanic membranes. The tall head-dressof scarlet silk and purple feathers was slightly askew, and a loop ofpink pearls had slipped down above one eye.     Zubb finished his speech and fell silent, breathing hard.     Qorn looked Retief over in silence, then belched.     Not bad, Retief said admiringly. Maybe we could get up a matchbetween you and Ambassador Sternwheeler. You've got the volume on him,but he's got timbre.     So, Qorn hooted in a resonant tenor. You come from Guzzum, eh? OrSmorbrod, as I think you call it. What is it you're after? More time?A compromise? Negotiations? Peace? He slammed a bony hand against thetable. The answer is      no     !     Zubb twittered. Qorn cocked an eye, motioned to a servant. Chain thatone. He indicated Magnan. His eyes went to Retief. This one's bigger;you'd best chain him, too.     Why, your Excellency— Magnan started, stepping forward.     Stay back! Qorn hooted. Stand over there where I can keep an eye onyou.     Your Excellency, I'm empowered—     Not here, you're not! Qorn trumpeted. Want peace, do you? Well, Idon't want peace! I've had a surfeit of peace these last two centuries!I want action! Loot! Adventure! Glory! He turned to look down thetable. How about it, fellows? It's war to the knife, eh?  <doc-sep>The corridor debouched through a high double door into a vast ovalchamber, high-domed, gloomy, paneled in dark wood and hung withtattered banners, scarred halberds, pikes, rusted longswords, crossedspears over patinaed hauberks, pitted radiation armor, corroded powerrifles, the immense mummified heads of horned and fanged animals. Greatguttering torches in wall brackets and in stands along the lengthof the long table shed a smoky light that reflected from the mirrorpolish of the red granite floor, gleamed on polished silver bowls andpaper-thin glass, shone jewel-red and gold through dark bottles—andcast long flickering shadows behind the fifteen trolls at the board.     Lesser trolls—beaked, bush-haired, great-eyed—trotted briskly,bird-kneed, bearing steaming platters, stood in groups ofthree strumming slender bottle-shaped lutes, or pranced anintricate-patterned dance, unnoticed in the shrill uproar as each ofthe magnificently draped, belted, feathered and jeweled Qornt carriedon a shouted conversation with an equally noisy fellow.     A most interesting display of barbaric splendor, Magnan breathed.Now we'd better be getting back.     Ah, a moment, Zubb said. Observe the Qornt—the tallest of thefeasters—he with the head-dress of crimson, purple, silver and pink.     Twelve feet if he's an inch, Magnan estimated. And now we reallymust hurry along—     That one is chief among these rowdies. I'm sure you'll want a wordwith him. He controls not only the Tarroonian vessels but those fromthe other Centers as well.     What kind of vessels? Warships?     Certainly. What other kind would the Qornt bother with?     I don't suppose, Magnan said casually, that you'd know the type,tonnage, armament and manning of these vessels? And how many unitscomprise the fleet? And where they're based at present?     They're fully automated twenty-thousand-ton all-purpose dreadnaughts.They mount a variety of weapons. The Qornt are fond of that sort ofthing. Each of the Qornt has his own, of course. They're virtuallyidentical, except for the personal touches each individual has givenhis ship.     Great heavens, Retief! Magnan exclaimed in a whisper. It sounds asthough these brutes employ a battle armada as simpler souls might a setof toy sailboats!     Retief stepped past Magnan and Zubb to study the feasting hall. I cansee that their votes would carry all the necessary weight.     And now an interview with the Qorn himself, Zubb shrilled. If you'llkindly step along, gentlemen....     That won't be necessary, Magnan said hastily, I've decided to referthe matter to committee.     After having come so far, Zubb said, it would be a pity to misshaving a cosy chat.     There was a pause.     Ah ... Retief, Magnan said. Zubb has just presented a mostcompelling argument....  <doc-sep>Magnan hovered at Retief's side. Twelve feet tall, he moaned. Anddid you notice the size of those hands?     Retief watched as Qorn's aides helped him out of his formal trappings.I wouldn't worry too much, Mr. Magnan. This is a light-Gee world. Idoubt if old Qorn would weigh up at more than two-fifty standard poundshere.     But that phenomenal reach—     I'll peck away at him at knee level. When he bends over to swat me,I'll get a crack at him.     Across the cleared floor, Qorn shook off his helpers with a snort.     Enough! Let me at the upstart!     Retief moved out to meet him, watching the upraised backward-jointedarms. Qorn stalked forward, long lean legs bent, long horny feetclacking against the polished floor. The other aliens—both servitorsand bejeweled Qornt—formed a wide circle, all eyes unwaveringly on thecombatants.     Qorn struck suddenly, a long arm flashing down in a vicious cut atRetief, who leaned aside, caught one lean shank below the knee. Qornbent to haul Retief from his leg—and staggered back as a haymaker tookhim just below the beak. A screech went up from the crowd as Retiefleaped clear.     Qorn hissed and charged. Retief whirled aside, then struck the alien'soff-leg in a flying tackle. Qorn leaned, arms windmilling, crashed tothe floor. Retief whirled, dived for the left arm, whipped it behindthe narrow back, seized Qorn's neck in a stranglehold and threw hisweight backward. Qorn fell on his back, his legs squatted out at anawkward angle. He squawked and beat his free arm on the floor, reachingin vain for Retief.     Zubb stepped forward, pistols ready. Magnan stepped before him.     Need I remind you, sir, he said icily, that this is an officialdiplomatic function? I can brook no interference from disinterestedparties.     Zubb hesitated. Magnan held out a hand. I must ask you to hand me yourweapons, Zubb.     Look here, Zubb began.     I      may     lose my temper, Magnan hinted. Zubb lowered the guns, passedthem to Magnan. He thrust them into his belt with a sour smile, turnedback to watch the encounter.     Retief had thrown a turn of violet silk around Qorn's left wrist, boundit to the alien's neck. Another wisp of stuff floated from Qorn'sshoulder. Retief, still holding Qorn in an awkward sprawl, wrappedit around one outflung leg, trussed ankle and thigh together. Qornflopped, hooting. At each movement, the constricting loop around hisneck, jerked his head back, the green crest tossing wildly.     If I were you, I'd relax, Retief said, rising and releasing his grip.Qorn got a leg under him; Retief kicked it. Qorn's chin hit the floorwith a hollow clack. He wilted, an ungainly tangle of over-long limbsand gay silks.     Retief turned to the watching crowd. Next? he called.     The blue and flame Qornt stepped forward. Maybe this would be a goodtime to elect a new leader, he said. Now, my qualifications—     Sit down, Retief said loudly. He stepped to the head of the table,seated himself in Qorn's vacated chair. A couple of you finishtrussing Qorn up for me.     But we must select a leader!     That won't be necessary, boys. I'm your new leader.  <doc-sep>The beak twitched. Smorbrod? I know of no place called Smorbrod.     The outer planet of this system.     Oh, yes. We call it Guzzum. I had heard that some sort of creatureshad established a settlement there, but I confess I pay little note tosuch matters.     We're wasting time, Retief, Magnan said. We must truss these chapsup, hurry back to the boat and make our escape. You heard what theysaid.     Are there any Qornt down there at the harbor, where the boats are?Retief asked.     At Tarroon, you mean? Oh, yes. Planning some adventure.     That would be the invasion of Smorbrod, Magnan said. And unless wehurry, Retief, we're likely to be caught there with the last of theevacuees!     How many Qornt would you say there are at Tarroon?     Oh, a very large number. Perhaps fifteen or twenty.     Fifteen or twenty what? Magnan looked perplexed.     Fifteen or twenty Qornt.     You mean that there are only fifteen or twenty individual Qornt inall?     Another whistle. Not at all. I was referring to the local Qornt only.There are more at the other Centers, of course.     And the Qornt are responsible for the ultimatum—unilaterally?     I suppose so; it sounds like them. A truculent group, you know. Andinterplanetary relations      are     rather a hobby of theirs.     Zubb moaned and stirred. He sat up slowly, rubbing his head. He spoketo his companion in a shrill alien clatter of consonants.     What did he say?     Poor Zubb. He blames me for his bruises, since it was my idea togather you as specimens.     You should have known better than to tackle that fierce-lookingcreature, Zubb said, pointing his beak at Magnan.     How does it happen that you speak Terrestrial? Retief asked.     Oh, one picks up all sorts of dialects.     It's quite charming, really, Magnan said. Such a quaint, archaicaccent.     Suppose we went down to Tarroon, Retief asked. What kind ofreception would we get?     That depends. I wouldn't recommend interfering with the Gwil or theRheuk; it's their nest-mending time, you know. The Boog will be busymating—such a tedious business—and of course the Qornt are tied upwith their ceremonial feasting. I'm afraid no one will take any noticeof you.     Do you mean to say, Magnan demanded, that these ferocious Qornt, whohave issued an ultimatum to the Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne—whoopenly avow their occupied world—would ignore Terrestrials in theirmidst?     If at all possible.     Retief got to his feet.     I think our course is clear, Mr. Magnan. It's up to us to go down andattract a little attention.      III     I'm not at all sure we're going about this in the right way, Magnanpuffed, trotting at Retief's side. These fellows Zubb and Slun—Oh,they seem affable enough, but how can we be sure we're not being ledinto a trap?     We can't.     Magnan stopped short. Let's go back.     All right, Retief said. Of course there may be an ambush—     Magnan moved off. Let's keep going.     The party emerged from the undergrowth at the edge of a greatbrush-grown mound. Slun took the lead, rounded the flank of thehillock, halted at a rectangular opening cut into the slope.     You can find your way easily enough from here, he said. You'llexcuse us, I hope—     Nonsense, Slun! Zubb pushed forward. I'll escort our guests to QorntHall. He twittered briefly to his fellow Verpp. Slun twittered back.     I don't like it, Retief, Magnan whispered. Those fellows areplotting mischief.     Threaten them with violence, Mr Magnan. They're scared of you.     That's true. And the drubbing they received was well-deserved. I'm apatient man, but there are occasions—     Come along, please, Zubb called. Another ten minutes' walk—     See here, we have no interest in investigating this barrow, Magnanannounced. We wish you to take us direct to Tarroon to interview yourmilitary leaders regarding the ultimatum!     Yes, yes, of course. Qornt Hall lies here inside the village.     This is Tarroon?     A modest civic center, sir, but there are those who love it.     No wonder we didn't observe their works from the air, Magnanmuttered. Camouflaged. He moved hesitantly through the opening.     The party moved along a wide, deserted tunnel which sloped downsteeply, then leveled off and branched. Zubb took the center branch,ducking slightly under the nine-foot ceiling lit at intervals with whatappeared to be primitive incandescent panels.     Few signs of an advanced technology here, Magnan whispered. Thesecreatures must devote all their talents to warlike enterprise.     Ahead, Zubb slowed. A distant susurration was audible, a sustainedhigh-pitched screeching. Softly, now. We approach Qornt Hall. Theycan be an irascible lot when disturbed at their feasting.     When will the feast be over? Magnan called hoarsely.     In another few weeks, I should imagine, if, as you say, they'vescheduled an invasion for next month.     Look here, Zubb. Magnan shook a finger at the tall alien. How is itthat these Qornt are allowed to embark on piratical ventures of thissort without reference to the wishes of the majority?     Oh, the majority of the Qornt favor the move, I imagine.     These few hotheads are permitted to embroil the planet in war?     Oh, they don't embroil the planet in war. They merely—     Retief, this is fantastic! I've heard of iron-fisted military cliquesbefore, but this is madness!     Come softly, now. Zubb beckoned, moving toward a bend in theyellow-lit corridor. Retief and Magnan moved forward.  <doc-sep>Those undoubtedly are the most bloodthirsty, aggressive, mercilesscountenances it has ever been my misfortune to encounter, Magnan said.It hardly seems fair. Eight feet tall      and     faces like that!     The smaller of the two captive Qornt ran long, slender fingers overa bony shin, from which he had turned back the tight-fitting greentrousers.     It's not broken, he whistled nasally in passable Terrestrial, eyeingMagnan through the heavy goggles, now badly cracked. Small thanks toyou.     Magnan smiled loftily. I daresay you'll think twice before interferingwith peaceable diplomats in future.     Diplomats? Surely you jest.     Never mind us, Retief said. It's you fellows we'd like to talkabout. How many of you are there?     Only Zubb and myself.     I mean altogether. How many Qornt?     The alien whistled shrilly.     Here, no signalling! Magnan snapped, looking around.     That was merely an expression of amusement.     You find the situation amusing? I assure you, sir, you are in perilousstraits at the moment. I      may     fly into another rage, you know.     Please, restrain yourself. I was merely somewhat astonished— a smallwhistle escaped—at being taken for a Qornt.     Aren't you a Qornt?     I? Great snail trails, no! More stifled whistles of amusement escapedthe beaked face. Both Zubb and I are Verpp. Naturalists, as ithappens.     You certainly      look     like Qornt.     Oh, not at all—except perhaps to a Terrestrial. The Qornt aresturdily built rascals, all over ten feet in height. And, of course,they do nothing but quarrel. A drone caste, actually.     A caste? You mean they're biologically the same as you?     Not at all! A Verpp wouldn't think of fertilizing a Qornt.     I mean to say, you are of the same basic stock—descended from acommon ancestor, perhaps.     We are all Pud's creatures.     What are the differences between you, then?     Why, the Qornt are argumentive, boastful, lacking in appreciationfor the finer things of life. One dreads to contemplate descending to      their     level.     Do you know anything about a Note passed to the Terrestrial Ambassadorat Smorbrod? Retief asked.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the relationship between the Qornt and the other groups mentioned in the story of the Mightiest Qorn?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of the storyline in DUST UNTO DUST? [SEP] <s>  DUST UNTO DUST     By LYMAN D. HINCKLEY     It was alien but was it dead, this towering, sinister     city of metal that glittered malignantly before the     cautious advance of three awed space-scouters.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Summer 1955.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      Martin set the lifeboat down carefully, with all the attention oneusually exercises in a situation where the totally unexpected hasoccurred, and he and his two companions sat and stared in awed silenceat the city a quarter-mile away.     He saw the dull, black walls of buildings shouldering grimly into thetwilight sky, saw the sheared edge where the metal city ended and thebarren earth began ... and he remembered observing, even before theylanded, the too-strict geometry imposed on the entire construction.     He frowned. The first impression was ... malignant.     Wass, blond and slight, with enough nose for three or four men,unbuckled his safety belt and stood up. Shall we, gentlemen? and witha graceful movement of hand and arm he indicated the waiting city.     Martin led Wass, and the gangling, scarecrow-like Rodney, through thestillness overlaying the barren ground. There was only the twilightsky, and harsh and black against it, the convoluted earth. And thecity. Malignant. He wondered, again, what beings would choose to builda city—even a city like this one—in such surroundings.     The men from the ship knew only the surface facts about this waitinggeometric discovery. Theirs was the eleventh inter-planetary flight,and the previous ten, in the time allowed them for exploration whilethis planet was still close enough to their own to permit a safe returnin their ships, had not spotted the city. But the eleventh expeditionhad, an hour ago, with just thirteen hours left during which a returnflight could be safely started. So far as was known, this was the onlycity on the planet—the planet without any life at all, save tinymosses, for a million years or more. And no matter which direction fromthe city a man moved, he would always be going north.     Hey, Martin! Rodney called through his helmet radio. Martin paused.Wind, Rodney said, coming abreast of him. He glanced toward the blackpile, as if sharing Martin's thoughts. That's all we need, isn't it?     Martin looked at the semi-transparent figures of wind and dustcavorting in the distance, moving toward them. He grinned a little,adjusting his radio. Worried?     Rodney's bony face was without expression. Gives me the creeps, kindof. I wonder what they were like?     Wass murmured, Let us hope they aren't immortal.     Three feet from the edge of the city Martin stopped and stubbed at thesand with the toe of his boot, clearing earth from part of a shiningmetal band.     Wass watched him, and then shoved aside more sand, several feet away.It's here, too.     Martin stood up. Let's try farther on. Rodney, radio the ship, tellthem we're going in.     Rodney nodded.     After a time, Wass said, Here, too. How far do you think it goes?     Martin shrugged. Clear around the city? I'd like to know what itis—was—for.     Defense, Rodney, several yards behind, suggested.     Could be, Martin said. Let's go in.     The three crossed the metal band and walked abreast down a street,their broad soft soled boots making no sound on the dull metal. Theypassed doors and arches and windows and separate buildings. They movedcautiously across five intersections. And they stood in a squaresurrounded by the tallest buildings in the city.     Rodney broke the silence, hesitantly. Not—not very big. Is it?     Wass looked at him shrewdly. Neither were the—well, shall we callthem, people? Have you noticed how low everything is?     Rodney's laughter rose, too. Then, sobering—Maybe they crawled.     A nebulous image, product of childhood's vivid imagination, movedslowly across Martin's mind. All right! he rapped out—and the imagefaded.     Sorry, Rodney murmured, his throat working beneath his lantern jaw.Then—I wonder what it's like here in the winter when there's no lightat all?     I imagine they had illumination of some sort, Martin answered, dryly.If we don't hurry up and get through this place and back to the ship,we're very likely to find out.     Rodney said quickly, I mean outside.     Out there, too, Rodney, they must have had illumination. Martinlooked back along the straight, metal street they'd walked on, and pastthat out over the bleak, furrowed slopes where the ship's lifeboatlay ... and he thought everything outside the city seemed, somehow,from here, a little dim, a little hazy.     He straightened his shoulders. The city was alien, of course, and thatexplained most of it ... most of it. But he felt the black city wassomething familiar, yet twisted and distorted.     Well, Wass said, his nose wrinkling a bit, now that we're here....     Pictures, Martin decided. We have twelve hours. We'll start here.What's the matter, Wass?     The blond man grinned ruefully. I left the camera in the lifeboat.There was a pause. Then Wass, defensively—It's almost as if the citydidn't want to be photographed.     Martin ignored the remark. Go get it. Rodney and I will be somewherealong this street.     Wass turned away. Martin and Rodney started slowly down the wide metalstreet, at right angles to their path of entrance.     Again Martin felt a tug of twisted, distorted familiarity. It wasalmost as if ... they were human up to a certain point, the pointbeing, perhaps, some part of their minds.... Alien things, dark andsubtle, things no man could ever comprehend.     Parallel evolution on two inner planets of the same system? Somewhere,sometime, a common ancestor? Martin noted the shoulder-high doors, theheavier gravity, remembered the inhabitants of the city vanished beforethe thing that was to become man ever emerged from the slime, and hedecided to grin at himself, at his own imagination.     Rodney jerked his scarecrow length about quickly, and a chill sped upMartin's spine. What's the matter?     The bony face was white, the gray eyes were wide. I saw—I thought Isaw—something—moving—     Anger rose in Martin. You didn't, he said flatly, gripping theother's shoulder cruelly. You couldn't have. Get hold of yourself,man!     Rodney stared. The wind. Remember? There isn't any, here.     ... How could there be? The buildings protect us now. It was blowingfrom the other direction.     Rodney wrenched free of Martin's grip. He gestured wildly. That—     Martin! Wass' voice came through the receivers in both their radios.Martin, I can't get out!  <doc-sep>Carpenter rubbed modestly gloved hands together. I have no immediatebusiness, so supposing I start showing you the sights. What would youlike to see first, Mr. Frey? Or would you prefer a nice, restful movid?     Frankly, Michael admitted, the first thing I'd like to do is getmyself something to eat. I didn't have any breakfast and I'm famished.Two small creatures standing close to him giggled nervously andscuttled off on six legs apiece.     Shh, not so loud! There are females present. Carpenter drew theyouth to a secluded corner. Don't you know that on Theemim it'sfrightfully vulgar to as much as speak of eating in public?     But why? Michael demanded in too loud a voice. What's wrong witheating in public here on Earth?     Carpenter clapped a hand over the young man's mouth. Hush, hecautioned. After all, on Earth there are things we don't do or evenmention in public, aren't there?     Well, yes. But those are different.     Not at all. Those rules might seem just as ridiculous to a Theemimian.But the Theemimians have accepted our customs just as we have acceptedthe Theemimians'. How would you like it if a Theemimian violatedone of our tabus in public? You must consider the feelings of theTheemimians as equal to your own. Observe the golden rule: 'Do untoextraterrestrials as you would be done by.'     But I'm still hungry, Michael persisted, modulating his voice,however, to a decent whisper. Do the proprieties demand that I starveto death, or can I get something to eat somewhere?     Naturally, the salesman whispered back. Portyork provides for allbodily needs. Numerous feeding stations are conveniently locatedthroughout the port, and there must be some on the field.     After gazing furtively over his shoulder to see that no females werewatching, Carpenter approached a large map of the landing field andpressed a button. A tiny red light winked demurely for an instant.     That's the nearest one, Carpenter explained.  <doc-sep>After a time he said, Rodney, Wass, it's dust, down there. Rememberthe wind? Air currents are moving it.     Rodney sat down on the metal flooring. For a long time he said nothing.Then—It wasn't.... Why did you close the hatch then?     Martin did not say he thought the other two would have shot him,otherwise. He said merely, At first I wasn't sure myself.     Rodney stood up, backing away from the closed hatch. He held his gunloosely, and his hand shook. Then prove it. Open it again.     Martin went to the wheel. He noticed Wass was standing behind Rodneyand he, too, had drawn his gun.     The hatch rose again at Martin's direction. He stood beside it,outlined in the light of two torches.     For a little while he was alone.     Then—causing a gasp from Wass, a harsh expletive from Rodney—atenuous, questing alien limb edged through the hatch, curling aboutMartin, sparkling in ten thousand separate particles in the torchlight,obscuring the dimly seen backdrop of geometrical processions of strangeobjects.       Martin raised an arm, and the particles swirled in stately, shimmeringspirals.     Rodney leaned forward and looked over the edge of the hatch. He saidnothing. He eyed the sparkling particles swirling about Martin, andnow, himself.     How deep, Wass said, from his safe distance.     We'll have to lower a flashlight, Martin answered.     Rodney, all eagerness to be of assistance now, lowered a rope with atorch swinging wildly on the end of it.     The torch came to rest about thirty feet down. It shone on gentlyrolling mounds of fine, white stuff.     Martin anchored the rope soundly, and paused, half across the lipof the hatch to stare coldly at Wass. You'd rather monkey with theswitches and blow yourself to smithereens?     Wass sighed and refused to meet Martin's gaze. Martin looked at himdisgustedly, and then began to descend the rope, slowly, peering intothe infinite, sparkling darkness pressing around him. At the bottomof the rope he sank to his knees in dust, and then was held even. Hestamped his feet, and then, as well as he was able, did a standingjump. He sank no farther than his knees.     He sighted a path parallel with the avenue above, toward the nearestedge of the city. I think we'll be all right, he called out, as longas we avoid the drifts.     Rodney began the descent. Looking up, Martin saw Wass above Rodney.     All right, Wass, Martin said quietly, as Rodney released the rope andsank into the dust.     Not me, the answer came back quickly. You two fools go your way,I'll go mine.     Wass!     There was no answer. The light faded swiftly away from the opening.     The going was hard. The dust clung like honey to their feet, and eddiedand swirled about them until the purifying systems in their suits werehard-pressed to remove the fine stuff working in at joints and valves.     Are we going straight? Rodney asked.     Of course, Martin growled.     There was silence again, the silence of almost-exhausted determination.The two men lifted their feet out of the dust, and then laboriouslyplunged forward, to sink again to the knees, repeated the act, timeswithout number.     Then Wass broke his silence, taunting. The ship leaves in two hours,Martin. Two hours. Hear me, Rodney?     Martin pulled his left foot from the sand and growled deep in histhroat. Ahead, through the confusing patterns of the sparkling dust,his flashlight gleamed against metal. He grabbed Rodney's arm, pointed.     A grate.     Rodney stared. Wass! he shouted. We've found a way out!     Their radios recorded Wass' laughter. I'm at the switchboard now,Martin. I—     There was a tinkle of breaking glass, breaking faceplate.     The grate groaned upward and stopped.     Wass babbled incoherently into the radio for a moment, and then hebegan to scream.     Martin switched off his radio, sick.     He turned it on again when they reached the opening in the metal wall.Well?     I've been trying to get you, Rodney said, frantically. Why didn'tyou answer?     We couldn't do anything for him.     Rodney's face was white and drawn. But he did this for us.     So he did, Martin said, very quietly.     Rodney said nothing.     Then Martin said, Did you listen until the end?     Rodney nodded, jerkily. He pulled three more switches. I couldn'tunderstand it all. But—Martin, dying alone like that in a place likethis—!     Martin crawled into the circular pipe behind the grate. It tilted uptoward the surface. Come on, Rodney. Last lap.     An hour later they surfaced about two hundred yards away from theedge of the city. Behind them the black pile rose, the dome of forceshimmering, almost invisible, about it.     Ahead of them were the other two scoutships from the mother ship.Martin called out faintly, pulling Rodney out of the pipe. Crew membersstanding by the scoutships, and at the edge of the city, began to runtoward them.     Radio picked you up as soon as you entered the pipe, someone said. Itwas the last thing Martin heard before he collapsed.   <doc-sep>  The Beast-Jewel of Mars     By V. E. THIESSEN     The city was strange, fantastic, beautiful.     He'd never been there before, yet already he     was a fabulous legend—a dire, hateful legend.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Spring 1955.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      He lay on his stomach, a lean man in faded one piece dungarees, and anodd metallic hat, peering over the side of the canal. Behind him thelittle winds sifted red dust into his collar, but he could not move; hecould only sit there with his gaze riveted on the spires and minaretsthat twinkled in the distance, far down the bottom of the canal.     One part of his mind said,      This is it, this is the fabled city ofMars. This is the beauty and the fantasy and the music of the legends,and I must go down there.     Yet somewhere deeper in his mind, deep inthe primal urges that kept him from death, the warning was taut andurgent.      Get away. They have a part of your mind now. Get away from thecity before you lose it all. Get away before your body becomes a husk,a soulless husk to walk the low canals with sightless eyes, like thosewho came before you.       He strained to push back from the edge, trying to get that fantasticbeauty out of his sight. He fought the lids of his eyes, fought toclose them while he pushed himself back, but they remained open,staring at the jeweled towers, and borne on the little winds the thinwail of music reached him, saying,      Come into the city, come down intothe fabled city     .     He slid over the edge, sliding down the sloping sides of the canal.The rough sandstone tore at his dungarees, tore at his elbow where ittouched but he did not feel the pain. His face was turned toward thetowers, and the sound of his breathing was less than human.     His feet caught a projecting bit of stone and were slowed for aninstant, so that he turned sideways and rolled on, down into the reddust bottom of the canal, to lie face down in the dust, with the chinstrap of the odd metallic hat cutting cruelly into his chin.     He lay there an instant, knowing that now he had a chance. With hisface down like this, and the dust smarting his eyes the image was gonefor an instant. He had to get away, he knew that. He had to mount thesides of the canal and never look back.     He told himself, I am Eric North, from Earth, the Third Planet of Sol,and this is not real.     He squirmed in the dust, feeling it bite his cheeks; he squirmed untilhe could get up and see nothing but the red sand stone walls of thecanal. He ran at the walls and clawed his way up like an animal in hishaste. He wouldn't look again.     The wind freshened and the tune of the music began to talk to him. Ittold of going barefoot over long streets of fur. It told of jewels, andwine, and women as fair as springtime. These and more were in the city,waiting for him to claim them.     He sobbed, and clawed forward. He stopped to rest, and slowly his headbegan to turn. He turned, and the spires and minarets twinkled at him,beautiful, soothing, stopping the tears that had welled down his cheeks.     When he reached the bottom of the canal he began to run toward the city.     When he came to the city there was a high wall around it, and a heavygate carved with lotus blossoms. He beat against the gate and cried,Oh! Let me in. Let me in to the city! The music was richer now, as ifit were everywhere, and the gate swung open without the faintest sound.     A sentinel stood before the opened gate at the end of a long bluestreet. He was dressed in red silk with his sleeves edged in blueleopard skin, and he wore a belt with a jeweled short sword. He drewthe sword from its scabbard, and bowed forward until the point of thesword touched the street of blue fur. He said, I give you the welcomeof my sword, and the welcome of the city. Speak your name so that itmay be set in the records of the dreamers.     The music sang, and the spires twinkled, and Eric said, I am EricNorth!     The sword point jerked, and the sentinel straightened. His face waswhite. He cried aloud, It is Eric the Bronze. It is Eric of theLegend. He whirled the sword aloft, and smashed it upon Eric's metalhat, and the hatred was a blue flame in his eyes.  <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>When Humphrey Fownes stepped out of the widow's house, there was alook of such intense abstraction on his features that Lanfierre felt awistful desire to get out of the car and walk along with the man. Itwould be such a      deliciously     insane experience. (April has thirtydays, Fownes mumbled, passing them, because thirty is the largestnumber such that all smaller numbers not having a common divisorwith it are      primes     . MacBride frowned and added it to the dossier.Lanfierre sighed.)     Pinning his hopes on the Movement, Fownes went straight to thelibrary several blocks away, a shattered depressing place given overto government publications and censored old books with holes inthem. It was used so infrequently that the Movement was able to meetthere undisturbed. The librarian was a yellowed, dog-eared woman ofeighty. She spent her days reading ancient library cards and, like thebooks around her, had been rendered by time's own censor into nearunintelligibility.     Here's one, she said to him as he entered.       Gulliver's Travels.     Loaned to John Wesley Davidson on March 14, 1979 for      five     days. Whatdo you make of it?     In the litter of books and cards and dried out ink pads that surroundedthe librarian, Fownes noticed a torn dust jacket with a curiousillustration. What's that? he said.     A twister, she replied quickly. Now listen to      this     . Seven yearslater on March 21, 1986, Ella Marshall Davidson took out the same book.What do you make of      that     ?     I'd say, Humphrey Fownes said, that he ... that he recommended itto her, that one day they met in the street and he told her aboutthis book and then they ... they went to the library together and sheborrowed it and eventually, why eventually they got married.     Hah! They were brother and sister! the librarian shouted in herparched voice, her old buckram eyes laughing with cunning.     Fownes smiled weakly and looked again at the dust jacket. The twisterwas unquestionably a meteorological phenomenon. It spun ominously, likea malevolent top, and coursed the countryside destructively, carryinga Dorothy to an Oz. He couldn't help wondering if twisters did anythingto feminine pulses, if they could possibly be a part of a moonlitnight, with cocktails and roses. He absently stuffed the dust jacketin his pocket and went on into the other rooms, the librarian mumblingafter him: Edna Murdoch Featherstone, April 21, 1991, as thoughreading inscriptions on a tombstone.  <doc-sep>It was night. The city had been lost beyond the dead mounds of Earththat rolled away behind them, like a thousand ancient tombs. Theground car sat still on a crumbling road.     Looking up through the car's driving blister, they saw the stars sunkinto the blue black ocean of space; saw the path of the Milky Wayalong which they had rushed, while they had been searching franticallyfor the place of salvation.     If any one of the other couples had made it back, said Mary, do youthink they'd be with us?     I think they'd either be with us, he said, or out in spaceagain—or in prison.     She stared ahead along the beam of headlight that stabbed out into thenight over the decaying road.     How sorry are you, she said quietly, coming with me?     All I know is, if I were out in space for long without you, I'd killmyself.     Are we going to die out here, Michael? she said, gesturing towardthe wall of night that stood at the end of the headlight, with theland?     He turned from her, frowning, and drove the ground car forward,watching the headlights push back the darkness.     They followed the crumbling highway all night until light crept acrossthe bald and cracked hills. The morning sun looked down upon thedesolation ten feet above the horizon when the car stopped. They satfor a long time then, looking out upon the Earth's parched andinflamed skin. In the distance a wall of mountains rose like a greatpile of bleached bones. Close ahead the rolling plains were motionlesswaves of dead Earth with a slight breeze stirring up little swirls ofdust.     I'm getting out, she said.     I haven't the slightest idea how much farther to go, or why, saidMichael shrugging. It's all the same. Dirt and hills and mountainsand sun and dust. It's really not much different from being out inspace. We live in the car just like in a space ship. We've enoughconcentrated supplies to last for a year. How far do we go? Why?When?     They stepped upon the Earth and felt the warmth of the sun andstrolled toward the top of the hill.     The air smells clean, he said.     The ground feels good. I think I'll take off my shoes. She did.Take off your boots, Michael. Try it.     Wearily he pulled off his boots, stood in his bare feet. It takes meback.     Yes, she said and began walking toward the hilltop.     He followed, his boots slung around his neck. There was a roadsomewhere, with the dust between my toes. Or was it a dream?     I guess when the past is old enough, she said, it becomes a dream.     He watched her footprints in the dust. God, listen to the quiet.     I can't seem to remember so much quiet around me. There's always beenthe sound of a space ship, or the pumps back in the cities.     He did not answer but continued to watch her footsteps and to feel thedust squishing up between his toes. Then suddenly:     Mary!     She stopped, whirling around.     He was staring down at her feet.     She followed his gaze.     It's grass! He bent down. Three blades.     She knelt beside him. They touched the green blades.     They're new, he said.     They stared, like religious devotees concentrating upon some sacredobject.     He rose, pulling her up with him. They hurried to the top of the hilland stood very still, looking down into a valley. There were tinypatches of green and little trees sprouting, and here and there, apale flower. The green was in a cluster, in the center of the valleyand there was a tiny glint of sunlight in its center.     Oh!     Her hand found his.     They ran down the gentle slope, feeling the patches of green touchtheir feet, smelling a new freshness in the air. And coming to thelittle spring, they stood beside it and watched the crystal water thattrickled along the valley floor and lost itself around a bend. Theysaw a furry, little animal scurry away and heard the twitter of a birdand saw it resting on a slim, bending branch. They heard the buzz of abee, saw it light on a pale flower at their feet and work at thesweetness inside.     Mary knelt down and drank from the spring.     It's so cool. It must come from deep down.     It does, he said. There were tears in his eyes and a tightness inhis throat. From deep down.     We can      live     here, Michael!     Slowly he looked all around until his sight stopped at the bottom of ahill. We'll build our house just beyond those rocks. We'll dig andplant and you'll have the child.     Yes! she said. Oh yes!     And the ones back in the city will know the Earth again. Sometimewe'll lead them back here and show them the Earth is coming alive. Hepaused. By following what we had to do for ourselves, we've found away to save them.     They remained kneeling in the silence beside the pool for a long time.They felt the sun on their backs and looked into the clean depth ofthe water deeply aware of the new life breathing all around them andof themselves absorbing it, and at the same time giving back to it thelife that was their own.     There was only this quiet and breathing and warmth until Michael stoodand picked up a rock and walked toward the base of the hill where hehad decided to build the house.     ... THE END   <doc-sep>They walked toward the ugly red mound that jutted above the green. Whenthey came close enough, he saw the bodies lying there ... the remains,actually, of what had once been bodies. He felt too sickened to go onwalking.     It may seem cruel now, she said, but the Martians realized thatthere is no cure for the will to conquer. There is no safety from it,either, as the people of Earth and Venus discovered, unless it isgiven an impossible obstacle to overcome. So the Martians provided theConquerors with a mountain. They themselves wanted to climb. They hadto.     He was hardly listening as he walked away from Helene toward the erodedhills. The crew members of the first four ships were skeletons tiedtogether with imperishably strong rope about their waists. Far beyondthem were those from      Mars V     , too freshly dead to have decayedmuch ... Anhauser with his rope cut, a bullet in his head; Jacobs andMarsha and the others ... Terrence much past them all. He had managedto climb higher than anyone else and he lay with his arms stretchedout, his fingers still clutching at rock outcroppings.     The trail they left wound over the ground, chipped in places for holds,red elsewhere with blood from torn hands. Terrence was more than twelvemiles from the ship—horizontally.     Bruce lifted Marsha and carried her back over the rocky dust, into thefresh fragrance of the high grass, and across it to the shade and peacebeside the canal.     He put her down. She looked peaceful enough, more peaceful than thatother time, years ago, when the two of them seemed to have shared somuch, when the future had not yet destroyed her. He saw the shadow ofHelene bend across Marsha's face against the background of the silentlyflowing water of the cool, green canal.     You loved her?     Once, Bruce said. She might have been sane. They got her when shewas young. Too young to fight. But she would have, I think, if she'dbeen older when they got her.     He sat looking down at Marsha's face, and then at the water with theleaves floating down it.     '... And the springs that flow on the floor of the valley will neverseem fresh or clear for thinking of the glitter of the mountain waterin the feathery green of the year....'     He stood up, walked back with Helene along the canal toward the calmcity. He didn't look back.     They've all been dead quite a while, Bruce said wonderingly. YetI seemed to be hearing from Terrence until only a short time ago.Are—are the climbers still climbing—somewhere, Helene?     Who knows? Helene answered softly. Maybe. I doubt if even theMartians have the answer to that.     They entered the city.   <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in DUST UNTO DUST?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"How does Wass's fate unfold in the story DUST UNTO DUST? [SEP] <s>After a time he said, Rodney, Wass, it's dust, down there. Rememberthe wind? Air currents are moving it.     Rodney sat down on the metal flooring. For a long time he said nothing.Then—It wasn't.... Why did you close the hatch then?     Martin did not say he thought the other two would have shot him,otherwise. He said merely, At first I wasn't sure myself.     Rodney stood up, backing away from the closed hatch. He held his gunloosely, and his hand shook. Then prove it. Open it again.     Martin went to the wheel. He noticed Wass was standing behind Rodneyand he, too, had drawn his gun.     The hatch rose again at Martin's direction. He stood beside it,outlined in the light of two torches.     For a little while he was alone.     Then—causing a gasp from Wass, a harsh expletive from Rodney—atenuous, questing alien limb edged through the hatch, curling aboutMartin, sparkling in ten thousand separate particles in the torchlight,obscuring the dimly seen backdrop of geometrical processions of strangeobjects.       Martin raised an arm, and the particles swirled in stately, shimmeringspirals.     Rodney leaned forward and looked over the edge of the hatch. He saidnothing. He eyed the sparkling particles swirling about Martin, andnow, himself.     How deep, Wass said, from his safe distance.     We'll have to lower a flashlight, Martin answered.     Rodney, all eagerness to be of assistance now, lowered a rope with atorch swinging wildly on the end of it.     The torch came to rest about thirty feet down. It shone on gentlyrolling mounds of fine, white stuff.     Martin anchored the rope soundly, and paused, half across the lipof the hatch to stare coldly at Wass. You'd rather monkey with theswitches and blow yourself to smithereens?     Wass sighed and refused to meet Martin's gaze. Martin looked at himdisgustedly, and then began to descend the rope, slowly, peering intothe infinite, sparkling darkness pressing around him. At the bottomof the rope he sank to his knees in dust, and then was held even. Hestamped his feet, and then, as well as he was able, did a standingjump. He sank no farther than his knees.     He sighted a path parallel with the avenue above, toward the nearestedge of the city. I think we'll be all right, he called out, as longas we avoid the drifts.     Rodney began the descent. Looking up, Martin saw Wass above Rodney.     All right, Wass, Martin said quietly, as Rodney released the rope andsank into the dust.     Not me, the answer came back quickly. You two fools go your way,I'll go mine.     Wass!     There was no answer. The light faded swiftly away from the opening.     The going was hard. The dust clung like honey to their feet, and eddiedand swirled about them until the purifying systems in their suits werehard-pressed to remove the fine stuff working in at joints and valves.     Are we going straight? Rodney asked.     Of course, Martin growled.     There was silence again, the silence of almost-exhausted determination.The two men lifted their feet out of the dust, and then laboriouslyplunged forward, to sink again to the knees, repeated the act, timeswithout number.     Then Wass broke his silence, taunting. The ship leaves in two hours,Martin. Two hours. Hear me, Rodney?     Martin pulled his left foot from the sand and growled deep in histhroat. Ahead, through the confusing patterns of the sparkling dust,his flashlight gleamed against metal. He grabbed Rodney's arm, pointed.     A grate.     Rodney stared. Wass! he shouted. We've found a way out!     Their radios recorded Wass' laughter. I'm at the switchboard now,Martin. I—     There was a tinkle of breaking glass, breaking faceplate.     The grate groaned upward and stopped.     Wass babbled incoherently into the radio for a moment, and then hebegan to scream.     Martin switched off his radio, sick.     He turned it on again when they reached the opening in the metal wall.Well?     I've been trying to get you, Rodney said, frantically. Why didn'tyou answer?     We couldn't do anything for him.     Rodney's face was white and drawn. But he did this for us.     So he did, Martin said, very quietly.     Rodney said nothing.     Then Martin said, Did you listen until the end?     Rodney nodded, jerkily. He pulled three more switches. I couldn'tunderstand it all. But—Martin, dying alone like that in a place likethis—!     Martin crawled into the circular pipe behind the grate. It tilted uptoward the surface. Come on, Rodney. Last lap.     An hour later they surfaced about two hundred yards away from theedge of the city. Behind them the black pile rose, the dome of forceshimmering, almost invisible, about it.     Ahead of them were the other two scoutships from the mother ship.Martin called out faintly, pulling Rodney out of the pipe. Crew membersstanding by the scoutships, and at the edge of the city, began to runtoward them.     Radio picked you up as soon as you entered the pipe, someone said. Itwas the last thing Martin heard before he collapsed.   <doc-sep>  DUST UNTO DUST     By LYMAN D. HINCKLEY     It was alien but was it dead, this towering, sinister     city of metal that glittered malignantly before the     cautious advance of three awed space-scouters.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Summer 1955.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      Martin set the lifeboat down carefully, with all the attention oneusually exercises in a situation where the totally unexpected hasoccurred, and he and his two companions sat and stared in awed silenceat the city a quarter-mile away.     He saw the dull, black walls of buildings shouldering grimly into thetwilight sky, saw the sheared edge where the metal city ended and thebarren earth began ... and he remembered observing, even before theylanded, the too-strict geometry imposed on the entire construction.     He frowned. The first impression was ... malignant.     Wass, blond and slight, with enough nose for three or four men,unbuckled his safety belt and stood up. Shall we, gentlemen? and witha graceful movement of hand and arm he indicated the waiting city.     Martin led Wass, and the gangling, scarecrow-like Rodney, through thestillness overlaying the barren ground. There was only the twilightsky, and harsh and black against it, the convoluted earth. And thecity. Malignant. He wondered, again, what beings would choose to builda city—even a city like this one—in such surroundings.     The men from the ship knew only the surface facts about this waitinggeometric discovery. Theirs was the eleventh inter-planetary flight,and the previous ten, in the time allowed them for exploration whilethis planet was still close enough to their own to permit a safe returnin their ships, had not spotted the city. But the eleventh expeditionhad, an hour ago, with just thirteen hours left during which a returnflight could be safely started. So far as was known, this was the onlycity on the planet—the planet without any life at all, save tinymosses, for a million years or more. And no matter which direction fromthe city a man moved, he would always be going north.     Hey, Martin! Rodney called through his helmet radio. Martin paused.Wind, Rodney said, coming abreast of him. He glanced toward the blackpile, as if sharing Martin's thoughts. That's all we need, isn't it?     Martin looked at the semi-transparent figures of wind and dustcavorting in the distance, moving toward them. He grinned a little,adjusting his radio. Worried?     Rodney's bony face was without expression. Gives me the creeps, kindof. I wonder what they were like?     Wass murmured, Let us hope they aren't immortal.     Three feet from the edge of the city Martin stopped and stubbed at thesand with the toe of his boot, clearing earth from part of a shiningmetal band.     Wass watched him, and then shoved aside more sand, several feet away.It's here, too.     Martin stood up. Let's try farther on. Rodney, radio the ship, tellthem we're going in.     Rodney nodded.     After a time, Wass said, Here, too. How far do you think it goes?     Martin shrugged. Clear around the city? I'd like to know what itis—was—for.     Defense, Rodney, several yards behind, suggested.     Could be, Martin said. Let's go in.     The three crossed the metal band and walked abreast down a street,their broad soft soled boots making no sound on the dull metal. Theypassed doors and arches and windows and separate buildings. They movedcautiously across five intersections. And they stood in a squaresurrounded by the tallest buildings in the city.     Rodney broke the silence, hesitantly. Not—not very big. Is it?     Wass looked at him shrewdly. Neither were the—well, shall we callthem, people? Have you noticed how low everything is?     Rodney's laughter rose, too. Then, sobering—Maybe they crawled.     A nebulous image, product of childhood's vivid imagination, movedslowly across Martin's mind. All right! he rapped out—and the imagefaded.     Sorry, Rodney murmured, his throat working beneath his lantern jaw.Then—I wonder what it's like here in the winter when there's no lightat all?     I imagine they had illumination of some sort, Martin answered, dryly.If we don't hurry up and get through this place and back to the ship,we're very likely to find out.     Rodney said quickly, I mean outside.     Out there, too, Rodney, they must have had illumination. Martinlooked back along the straight, metal street they'd walked on, and pastthat out over the bleak, furrowed slopes where the ship's lifeboatlay ... and he thought everything outside the city seemed, somehow,from here, a little dim, a little hazy.     He straightened his shoulders. The city was alien, of course, and thatexplained most of it ... most of it. But he felt the black city wassomething familiar, yet twisted and distorted.     Well, Wass said, his nose wrinkling a bit, now that we're here....     Pictures, Martin decided. We have twelve hours. We'll start here.What's the matter, Wass?     The blond man grinned ruefully. I left the camera in the lifeboat.There was a pause. Then Wass, defensively—It's almost as if the citydidn't want to be photographed.     Martin ignored the remark. Go get it. Rodney and I will be somewherealong this street.     Wass turned away. Martin and Rodney started slowly down the wide metalstreet, at right angles to their path of entrance.     Again Martin felt a tug of twisted, distorted familiarity. It wasalmost as if ... they were human up to a certain point, the pointbeing, perhaps, some part of their minds.... Alien things, dark andsubtle, things no man could ever comprehend.     Parallel evolution on two inner planets of the same system? Somewhere,sometime, a common ancestor? Martin noted the shoulder-high doors, theheavier gravity, remembered the inhabitants of the city vanished beforethe thing that was to become man ever emerged from the slime, and hedecided to grin at himself, at his own imagination.     Rodney jerked his scarecrow length about quickly, and a chill sped upMartin's spine. What's the matter?     The bony face was white, the gray eyes were wide. I saw—I thought Isaw—something—moving—     Anger rose in Martin. You didn't, he said flatly, gripping theother's shoulder cruelly. You couldn't have. Get hold of yourself,man!     Rodney stared. The wind. Remember? There isn't any, here.     ... How could there be? The buildings protect us now. It was blowingfrom the other direction.     Rodney wrenched free of Martin's grip. He gestured wildly. That—     Martin! Wass' voice came through the receivers in both their radios.Martin, I can't get out!  <doc-sep>Wass moved silently through the darkness beyond the torches. We allhave guns, Martin.     I'm holding mine. Martin waited.     After a moment, Wass switched his flashlight back on. He said quietly,He's right, Rodney. It would be sure death to monkey around in here.     Well.... Rodney turned quickly toward the black arch. Let's get outof here, then!     Martin hung back waiting for the others to go ahead of him down themetal hall. At the other arch, where the ramp led downward, he called ahalt. If the dome, or whatever it is, is a radiation screen there mustbe at least half-a-dozen emergency exits around the city.     Rodney said, To search every building next to the dome clean aroundthe city would take years.     Martin nodded. But there must be central roads beneath this main levelleading to them. Up here there are too many roads.     Wass laughed rudely.     Have you a better idea?     Wass ignored that, as Martin hoped he would. He said slowly, Thatleads to another idea. If the band around the city is responsible forthe dome, does it project down into the ground as well?     You mean      dig     out? Martin asked.     Sure. Why not?     We're wearing heavy suits and bulky breathing units. We have noequipment.     That shouldn't be hard to come by.     Martin smiled, banishing Wass' idea.     Rodney said, They may have had their digging equipment built right into themselves.     Anyway, Martin decided, we can take a look down below.     In the pitch dark, Wass added.     Martin adjusted his torch, began to lead the way down the metal ramp.The incline was gentle, apparently constructed for legs shorter, feetperhaps less broad than their own. The metal, without mark of any sort,gleamed under the combined light of the torches, unrolling out of thedarkness before the men.     At length the incline melted smoothly into the next level of the city.     Martin shined his light upward, and the others followed his example.Metal as smooth and featureless as that on which they stood shone downon them.     Wass turned his light parallel with the floor, and then moved slowly ina circle. No supports. No supports anywhere. What keeps all that upthere?     I don't know. I have no idea. Martin gestured toward the ramp withhis light. Does all this, this whole place, look at all familiar toyou?     Rodney's gulp was clearly audible through the radio receivers. Here?     No, no, Martin answered impatiently, not just here. I mean the wholecity.     Yes, Wass said dryly, it does. I'm sure this is where all mynightmares stay when they're not on shift.     Martin turned on his heel and started down a metal avenue which, hethought, paralleled the street above. And Rodney and Wass followed himsilently. They moved along the metal, past unfamiliar shapes made moreso by gloom and moving shadows, past doors dancing grotesquely in thethree lights, past openings in the occasional high metal partitions,past something which was perhaps a conveyor belt, past anothersomething which could have been anything at all.     The metal street ended eventually in a blank metal wall.     The edge of the city—the city which was a dome of force above and abowl of metal below.     After a long time, Wass sighed. Well, skipper...?     We go back, I guess, Martin said.     Rodney turned swiftly to face him. Martin thought the tall man washolding his gun. To the switchboard, Martin?     Unless someone has a better idea, Martin conceded. He waited. ButRodney was holding the gun ... and Wass was.... Then—I can't think ofanything else.     They began to retrace their steps along the metal street, back pastthe same dancing shapes of metal, the partitions, the odd windows, alllooking different now in the new angles of illumination.     Martin was in the lead. Wass followed him silently. Rodney, tall,matchstick thin, even in his cumbersome suit, swayed with jauntytriumph in the rear.     Martin looked at the metal street lined with its metal objects and hesighed. He remembered how the dark buildings of the city looked atsurface level, how the city itself looked when they were landing, andthen when they were walking toward it. The dream was gone again fornow. Idealism died in him, again and again, yet it was always reborn.But—The only city, so far as anyone knew, on the first planet they'dever explored. And it had to be like this. Nightmares, Wass said, andMartin thought perhaps the city was built by a race of beings who atsome point twisted away from their evolutionary spiral, plagued by asort of racial insanity.     No, Martin thought, shaking his head. No, that couldn't be.Viewpoint ... his viewpoint. It was the haunting sense of familiarity,a faint strain through all this broad jumble, the junkpile of alienmetal, which was making him theorize so wildly.     Then Wass touched his elbow. Look there, Martin. Left of the ramp.     Light from their torches was reflected, as from glass.     All right, Rodney said belligerently into his radio. What's holdingup the procession?     Martin was silent.     Wass undertook to explain. Why not, after all? Martin asked himself. Itwas in Wass' own interest. In a moment, all three were standing beforea bank of glass cases which stretched off into the distance as far asthe combined light of their torches would reach.     Seeds! Wass exclaimed, his faceplate pressed against the glass.     Martin blinked. He thought how little time they had. He wet his lips.     Wass' gloved hands fumbled awkwardly at a catch in the nearest sectionof the bank.     Martin thought of the dark, convoluted land outside the city. If theywouldn't grow there.... Or had they, once? Don't, Wass!     Torchlight reflected from Wass' faceplate as he turned his head. Whynot?     They were like children.... We don't know, released, what they'll do.     Skipper, Wass said carefully, if we don't get out of this place bythe deadline we may be eating these.     Martin raised his arm tensely. Opening a seed bank doesn't help usfind a way out of here. He started up the ramp. Besides, we've nowater.     Rodney came last up the ramp, less jaunty now, but still holding thegun. His mind, too, was taken up with childhood's imaginings. Fora plant to grow in this environment, it wouldn't need much water.Maybe— he had a vision of evil plants attacking them, growing withsuper-swiftness at the air valves and joints of their suits —only thelittle moisture in the atmosphere.  <doc-sep>Rodney mumbled something, and Martin told him to shut up.     Wass said, more quietly, Remember that metal band? It's all clear now,and glittering, as far as I can see. I can't get across it; it's like aglass wall.     We're trapped, we're trapped, they are—     Shut up, Rodney! Wass, I'm only two sections from the edge. I'll checkhere.     Martin clapped a hand on Rodney's shoulder again, starting him moving,toward the city's edge, past the black, silent buildings.     The glittering band was here, too, like a halo around a silhouette.     No go, Martin said to Wass. He bit at his lower lip. I think it mustbe all around us. He was silent for a time, exploring the consequencesof this. Then—We'll meet you in the middle of the city, where weseparated.     Walking with Rodney, Martin heard Wass' voice, flat and metallicthrough the radio receiver against his ear. What do you suppose causedthis?     He shook his head angrily, saying, Judging by reports of the rest ofthe planet, it must have been horribly radioactive at one time. All ofit.     Man-made radiation, you mean.     Martin grinned faintly. Wass, too, had an active imagination. Well,alien-made, anyhow. Perhaps they had a war.     Wass' voice sounded startled. Anti-radiation screen?     Rodney interrupted, There hasn't been enough radiation around here forhundreds of thousands of years to activate such a screen.     Wass said coldly, He's right, Martin.     Martin crossed an intersection, Rodney slightly behind him. You'reboth wrong, he said. We landed here today.     Rodney stopped in the middle of the metal street and stared down atMartin. The wind—?     Why not?     That would explain why it stopped so suddenly, then. Rodney stoodstraighter. When he walked again, his steps were firmer.     They reached the center of the city, ahead of the small, slight Wass,and stood watching him labor along the metal toward them.     Wass' face, Martin saw, was sober. I tried to call the ship. No luck.     The shield?     Wass nodded. What else?     I don't know—     If we went to the roof of the tallest building, Rodney offered, wemight—     Martin shook his head. No. To be effective, the shield would have tocover the city.     Wass stared down at the metal street, as if he could look through it.I wonder where it gets its power?     Down below, probably. If there is a down below. Martin hesitated. Wemay have to....     What? Rodney prompted.     Martin shrugged. Let's look.     He led the way through a shoulder-high arch in one of the tallbuildings surrounding the square. The corridor inside was dim andplain, and he switched on his flashlight, the other two immediatelyfollowing his example. The walls and the rounded ceiling of thecorridor were of the same dull metal as the buildings' facades, andthe streets. There were a multitude of doors and arches set intoeither side of the corridor.     It was rather like ... entering a gigantic metal beehive.     Martin chose an arch, with beyond it a metal ramp, which tilteddownward, gleaming in the pale circle of his torch.     A call from Rodney halted him. Back here, the tall man repeated. Itlooks like a switchboard.     The three advanced to the end of the central corridor, pausing before agreat arch, outlined in the too-careful geometrical figures Martin hadcome to associate with the city builders. The three torches, shiningthrough the arch, picked out a bank of buttons, handles ... and a thickrope of cables which ran upward to vanish unexpectedly in the metalroof.     Is this it, Wass murmured, or an auxiliary?     Martin shrugged. The whole city's no more than a machine, apparently.     Another assumption, Wass said. We have done nothing but makeassumptions ever since we got here.     What would you suggest, instead? Martin asked calmly.     Rodney furtively, extended one hand toward a switch.     No! Martin said, sharply. That was one assumption they dared not make.     Rodney turned. But—     No. Wass, how much time have we?     The ship leaves in eleven hours.     Eleven hours, Rodney repeated. Eleven hours! He reached out for theswitch again. Martin swore, stepped forward, pulled him back roughly.     He directed his flashlight at Rodney's thin, pale face. What do youthink you're doing?     We have to find out what all this stuff's for!     Going at it blindly, we'd probably execute ourselves.     We've got to—     No! Then, more quietly—We still have eleven hours to find a wayout.     Ten hours and forty-five minutes, Wass disagreed softly. Minus thetime it takes us to get to the lifeboat, fly to the ship, land, stowit, get ourselves aboard, and get the big ship away from the planet.And Captain Morgan can't wait for us, Martin.     You too, Wass?     Up to the point of accuracy, yes.     Martin said, Not necessarily. You go the way the wind does, alwaysthinking of your own tender hide, of course.     Rodney cursed. And every second we stand here doing nothing gives usthat much less time to find a way out. Martin—     Make one move toward that switchboard and I'll stop you where youstand!  <doc-sep>They stood before the switchboard again. Martin and Wass side by side,Rodney, still holding his gun, slightly to the rear.     Rodney moved forward a little toward the switches. His breathing wasloud and rather uneven in the radio receivers.     Martin made a final effort. Rodney, it's still almost nine hours totake off. Let's search awhile first. Let this be a last resort.     Rodney jerked his head negatively. No. Now, I know you, Martin.Postpone and postpone until it's too late, and the ship leaves withoutus and we're stranded here to eat seeds and gradually dehydrateourselves and God only knows what else and—     He reached out convulsively and yanked a switch.     Martin leaped, knocking him to the floor. Rodney's gun skittered awaysilently, like a live thing, out of the range of the torches.     The radio receivers impersonally recorded the grating sounds ofRodney's sobs.     Sorry, Martin said, without feeling. He turned quickly. Wass?     The slight, blond man stood unmoving. I'm with you, Martin, but, asa last resort it might be better to be blown sky high than to diegradually—     Martin was watching Rodney, struggling to get up. I agree. As a lastresort. We still have a little time.     Rodney's tall, spare figure looked bowed and tired in the torchlight,now that he was up again. Martin, I—     Martin turned his back. Skip it, Rodney, he said gently.     Water, Wass said thoughtfully. There must be reservoirs under thiscity somewhere.     Rodney said, How does water help us get out?     Martin glanced at Wass, then started out of the switchboard room, notlooking back. It got in and out of the city some way. Perhaps we canleave the same way.     Down the ramp again.     There's another ramp, Wass murmured.     Rodney looked down it. I wonder how many there are, all told.     Martin placed one foot on the metal incline. He angled his torch down,picking out shadowy, geometrical shapes, duplicates of the ones on thepresent level. We'll find out, he said, how many there are.     Eleven levels later Rodney asked, How much time have we now?     Seven hours, Wass said quietly, until take-off.     One more level, Martin said, ignoring the reference to time. I ...think it's the last.     They walked down the ramp and stood together, silent in a dim pool ofartificial light on the bottom level of the alien city.     Rodney played his torch about the metal figures carefully placed aboutthe floor. Martin, what if there are no reservoirs? What if there arecemeteries instead? Or cold storage units? Maybe the switch I pulled—     Rodney! Stop it!     Rodney swallowed audibly. This place scares me....     The first time I was ever in a rocket, it scared me. I was thirteen.     This is different, Wass said. Built-in traps—     They had a war, Martin said.     Wass agreed. And the survivors retired here. Why?     Martin said, They wanted to rebuild. Or maybe this was already builtbefore the war as a retreat. He turned impatiently. How should Iknow?     Wass turned, too, persistent. But the planet was through with them.     In a minute, Martin said, too irritably, we'll have a sentientplanet. From the corner of his eye he saw Rodney start at that. Knockit off, Wass. We're looking for reservoirs, you know.     They moved slowly down the metal avenue, between the twisted shadowshapes, looking carefully about them.     Rodney paused. We might not recognize one.     Martin urged him on. You know what a man-hole cover looks like. Headded dryly, Use your imagination.     They reached the metal wall at the end of the avenue and paused again,uncertain.     Martin swung his flashlight, illuminating the distorted metal shapes.     Wass said, All this had a purpose, once....     We'll disperse and search carefully, Martin said.     I wonder what the pattern was.     ... The reservoirs, Wass. The pattern will still be here for laterexpeditions to study. So will we if we don't find a way to get out.     Their radios recorded Rodney's gasp. Then—Martin! Martin! I thinkI've found something!     Martin began to run. After a moment's hesitation, Wass swung in behindhim.     Here, Rodney said, as they came up to him, out of breath. Here. See?Right here.     Three flashlights centered on a dark, metal disk raised a foot or morefrom the floor.     Well, they had hands. With his torch Wass indicated a small wheel ofthe same metal as everything else in the city, set beside the disk.     From its design Martin assumed that the disk was meant to be graspedand turned. He wondered what precisely they were standing over.     Well, Skipper, are you going to do the honors?     Martin kneeled, grasped the wheel. It turned easily—almost tooeasily—rotating the disk as it turned.     Suddenly, without a sound, the disk rose, like a hatch, on a concealedhinge.     The three men, clad in their suits and helmets, grouped around thesix-foot opening, shining their torches down into the thing thatdrifted and eddied directly beneath them.     Rodney's sudden grip on Martin's wrist nearly shattered the bone.Martin! It's all alive! It's moving!     Martin hesitated long enough for a coil to move sinuously up toward theopening. Then he spun the wheel and the hatch slammed down.     He was shaking.  <doc-sep>  The Beast-Jewel of Mars     By V. E. THIESSEN     The city was strange, fantastic, beautiful.     He'd never been there before, yet already he     was a fabulous legend—a dire, hateful legend.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Spring 1955.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      He lay on his stomach, a lean man in faded one piece dungarees, and anodd metallic hat, peering over the side of the canal. Behind him thelittle winds sifted red dust into his collar, but he could not move; hecould only sit there with his gaze riveted on the spires and minaretsthat twinkled in the distance, far down the bottom of the canal.     One part of his mind said,      This is it, this is the fabled city ofMars. This is the beauty and the fantasy and the music of the legends,and I must go down there.     Yet somewhere deeper in his mind, deep inthe primal urges that kept him from death, the warning was taut andurgent.      Get away. They have a part of your mind now. Get away from thecity before you lose it all. Get away before your body becomes a husk,a soulless husk to walk the low canals with sightless eyes, like thosewho came before you.       He strained to push back from the edge, trying to get that fantasticbeauty out of his sight. He fought the lids of his eyes, fought toclose them while he pushed himself back, but they remained open,staring at the jeweled towers, and borne on the little winds the thinwail of music reached him, saying,      Come into the city, come down intothe fabled city     .     He slid over the edge, sliding down the sloping sides of the canal.The rough sandstone tore at his dungarees, tore at his elbow where ittouched but he did not feel the pain. His face was turned toward thetowers, and the sound of his breathing was less than human.     His feet caught a projecting bit of stone and were slowed for aninstant, so that he turned sideways and rolled on, down into the reddust bottom of the canal, to lie face down in the dust, with the chinstrap of the odd metallic hat cutting cruelly into his chin.     He lay there an instant, knowing that now he had a chance. With hisface down like this, and the dust smarting his eyes the image was gonefor an instant. He had to get away, he knew that. He had to mount thesides of the canal and never look back.     He told himself, I am Eric North, from Earth, the Third Planet of Sol,and this is not real.     He squirmed in the dust, feeling it bite his cheeks; he squirmed untilhe could get up and see nothing but the red sand stone walls of thecanal. He ran at the walls and clawed his way up like an animal in hishaste. He wouldn't look again.     The wind freshened and the tune of the music began to talk to him. Ittold of going barefoot over long streets of fur. It told of jewels, andwine, and women as fair as springtime. These and more were in the city,waiting for him to claim them.     He sobbed, and clawed forward. He stopped to rest, and slowly his headbegan to turn. He turned, and the spires and minarets twinkled at him,beautiful, soothing, stopping the tears that had welled down his cheeks.     When he reached the bottom of the canal he began to run toward the city.     When he came to the city there was a high wall around it, and a heavygate carved with lotus blossoms. He beat against the gate and cried,Oh! Let me in. Let me in to the city! The music was richer now, as ifit were everywhere, and the gate swung open without the faintest sound.     A sentinel stood before the opened gate at the end of a long bluestreet. He was dressed in red silk with his sleeves edged in blueleopard skin, and he wore a belt with a jeweled short sword. He drewthe sword from its scabbard, and bowed forward until the point of thesword touched the street of blue fur. He said, I give you the welcomeof my sword, and the welcome of the city. Speak your name so that itmay be set in the records of the dreamers.     The music sang, and the spires twinkled, and Eric said, I am EricNorth!     The sword point jerked, and the sentinel straightened. His face waswhite. He cried aloud, It is Eric the Bronze. It is Eric of theLegend. He whirled the sword aloft, and smashed it upon Eric's metalhat, and the hatred was a blue flame in his eyes.  <doc-sep>When Humphrey Fownes stepped out of the widow's house, there was alook of such intense abstraction on his features that Lanfierre felt awistful desire to get out of the car and walk along with the man. Itwould be such a      deliciously     insane experience. (April has thirtydays, Fownes mumbled, passing them, because thirty is the largestnumber such that all smaller numbers not having a common divisorwith it are      primes     . MacBride frowned and added it to the dossier.Lanfierre sighed.)     Pinning his hopes on the Movement, Fownes went straight to thelibrary several blocks away, a shattered depressing place given overto government publications and censored old books with holes inthem. It was used so infrequently that the Movement was able to meetthere undisturbed. The librarian was a yellowed, dog-eared woman ofeighty. She spent her days reading ancient library cards and, like thebooks around her, had been rendered by time's own censor into nearunintelligibility.     Here's one, she said to him as he entered.       Gulliver's Travels.     Loaned to John Wesley Davidson on March 14, 1979 for      five     days. Whatdo you make of it?     In the litter of books and cards and dried out ink pads that surroundedthe librarian, Fownes noticed a torn dust jacket with a curiousillustration. What's that? he said.     A twister, she replied quickly. Now listen to      this     . Seven yearslater on March 21, 1986, Ella Marshall Davidson took out the same book.What do you make of      that     ?     I'd say, Humphrey Fownes said, that he ... that he recommended itto her, that one day they met in the street and he told her aboutthis book and then they ... they went to the library together and sheborrowed it and eventually, why eventually they got married.     Hah! They were brother and sister! the librarian shouted in herparched voice, her old buckram eyes laughing with cunning.     Fownes smiled weakly and looked again at the dust jacket. The twisterwas unquestionably a meteorological phenomenon. It spun ominously, likea malevolent top, and coursed the countryside destructively, carryinga Dorothy to an Oz. He couldn't help wondering if twisters did anythingto feminine pulses, if they could possibly be a part of a moonlitnight, with cocktails and roses. He absently stuffed the dust jacketin his pocket and went on into the other rooms, the librarian mumblingafter him: Edna Murdoch Featherstone, April 21, 1991, as thoughreading inscriptions on a tombstone.  <doc-sep>It was night. The city had been lost beyond the dead mounds of Earththat rolled away behind them, like a thousand ancient tombs. Theground car sat still on a crumbling road.     Looking up through the car's driving blister, they saw the stars sunkinto the blue black ocean of space; saw the path of the Milky Wayalong which they had rushed, while they had been searching franticallyfor the place of salvation.     If any one of the other couples had made it back, said Mary, do youthink they'd be with us?     I think they'd either be with us, he said, or out in spaceagain—or in prison.     She stared ahead along the beam of headlight that stabbed out into thenight over the decaying road.     How sorry are you, she said quietly, coming with me?     All I know is, if I were out in space for long without you, I'd killmyself.     Are we going to die out here, Michael? she said, gesturing towardthe wall of night that stood at the end of the headlight, with theland?     He turned from her, frowning, and drove the ground car forward,watching the headlights push back the darkness.     They followed the crumbling highway all night until light crept acrossthe bald and cracked hills. The morning sun looked down upon thedesolation ten feet above the horizon when the car stopped. They satfor a long time then, looking out upon the Earth's parched andinflamed skin. In the distance a wall of mountains rose like a greatpile of bleached bones. Close ahead the rolling plains were motionlesswaves of dead Earth with a slight breeze stirring up little swirls ofdust.     I'm getting out, she said.     I haven't the slightest idea how much farther to go, or why, saidMichael shrugging. It's all the same. Dirt and hills and mountainsand sun and dust. It's really not much different from being out inspace. We live in the car just like in a space ship. We've enoughconcentrated supplies to last for a year. How far do we go? Why?When?     They stepped upon the Earth and felt the warmth of the sun andstrolled toward the top of the hill.     The air smells clean, he said.     The ground feels good. I think I'll take off my shoes. She did.Take off your boots, Michael. Try it.     Wearily he pulled off his boots, stood in his bare feet. It takes meback.     Yes, she said and began walking toward the hilltop.     He followed, his boots slung around his neck. There was a roadsomewhere, with the dust between my toes. Or was it a dream?     I guess when the past is old enough, she said, it becomes a dream.     He watched her footprints in the dust. God, listen to the quiet.     I can't seem to remember so much quiet around me. There's always beenthe sound of a space ship, or the pumps back in the cities.     He did not answer but continued to watch her footsteps and to feel thedust squishing up between his toes. Then suddenly:     Mary!     She stopped, whirling around.     He was staring down at her feet.     She followed his gaze.     It's grass! He bent down. Three blades.     She knelt beside him. They touched the green blades.     They're new, he said.     They stared, like religious devotees concentrating upon some sacredobject.     He rose, pulling her up with him. They hurried to the top of the hilland stood very still, looking down into a valley. There were tinypatches of green and little trees sprouting, and here and there, apale flower. The green was in a cluster, in the center of the valleyand there was a tiny glint of sunlight in its center.     Oh!     Her hand found his.     They ran down the gentle slope, feeling the patches of green touchtheir feet, smelling a new freshness in the air. And coming to thelittle spring, they stood beside it and watched the crystal water thattrickled along the valley floor and lost itself around a bend. Theysaw a furry, little animal scurry away and heard the twitter of a birdand saw it resting on a slim, bending branch. They heard the buzz of abee, saw it light on a pale flower at their feet and work at thesweetness inside.     Mary knelt down and drank from the spring.     It's so cool. It must come from deep down.     It does, he said. There were tears in his eyes and a tightness inhis throat. From deep down.     We can      live     here, Michael!     Slowly he looked all around until his sight stopped at the bottom of ahill. We'll build our house just beyond those rocks. We'll dig andplant and you'll have the child.     Yes! she said. Oh yes!     And the ones back in the city will know the Earth again. Sometimewe'll lead them back here and show them the Earth is coming alive. Hepaused. By following what we had to do for ourselves, we've found away to save them.     They remained kneeling in the silence beside the pool for a long time.They felt the sun on their backs and looked into the clean depth ofthe water deeply aware of the new life breathing all around them andof themselves absorbing it, and at the same time giving back to it thelife that was their own.     There was only this quiet and breathing and warmth until Michael stoodand picked up a rock and walked toward the base of the hill where hehad decided to build the house.     ... THE END   <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does Wass's fate unfold in the story DUST UNTO DUST?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"In what location does the narrative of DUST UNTO DUST occur? [SEP] <s>  DUST UNTO DUST     By LYMAN D. HINCKLEY     It was alien but was it dead, this towering, sinister     city of metal that glittered malignantly before the     cautious advance of three awed space-scouters.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Summer 1955.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      Martin set the lifeboat down carefully, with all the attention oneusually exercises in a situation where the totally unexpected hasoccurred, and he and his two companions sat and stared in awed silenceat the city a quarter-mile away.     He saw the dull, black walls of buildings shouldering grimly into thetwilight sky, saw the sheared edge where the metal city ended and thebarren earth began ... and he remembered observing, even before theylanded, the too-strict geometry imposed on the entire construction.     He frowned. The first impression was ... malignant.     Wass, blond and slight, with enough nose for three or four men,unbuckled his safety belt and stood up. Shall we, gentlemen? and witha graceful movement of hand and arm he indicated the waiting city.     Martin led Wass, and the gangling, scarecrow-like Rodney, through thestillness overlaying the barren ground. There was only the twilightsky, and harsh and black against it, the convoluted earth. And thecity. Malignant. He wondered, again, what beings would choose to builda city—even a city like this one—in such surroundings.     The men from the ship knew only the surface facts about this waitinggeometric discovery. Theirs was the eleventh inter-planetary flight,and the previous ten, in the time allowed them for exploration whilethis planet was still close enough to their own to permit a safe returnin their ships, had not spotted the city. But the eleventh expeditionhad, an hour ago, with just thirteen hours left during which a returnflight could be safely started. So far as was known, this was the onlycity on the planet—the planet without any life at all, save tinymosses, for a million years or more. And no matter which direction fromthe city a man moved, he would always be going north.     Hey, Martin! Rodney called through his helmet radio. Martin paused.Wind, Rodney said, coming abreast of him. He glanced toward the blackpile, as if sharing Martin's thoughts. That's all we need, isn't it?     Martin looked at the semi-transparent figures of wind and dustcavorting in the distance, moving toward them. He grinned a little,adjusting his radio. Worried?     Rodney's bony face was without expression. Gives me the creeps, kindof. I wonder what they were like?     Wass murmured, Let us hope they aren't immortal.     Three feet from the edge of the city Martin stopped and stubbed at thesand with the toe of his boot, clearing earth from part of a shiningmetal band.     Wass watched him, and then shoved aside more sand, several feet away.It's here, too.     Martin stood up. Let's try farther on. Rodney, radio the ship, tellthem we're going in.     Rodney nodded.     After a time, Wass said, Here, too. How far do you think it goes?     Martin shrugged. Clear around the city? I'd like to know what itis—was—for.     Defense, Rodney, several yards behind, suggested.     Could be, Martin said. Let's go in.     The three crossed the metal band and walked abreast down a street,their broad soft soled boots making no sound on the dull metal. Theypassed doors and arches and windows and separate buildings. They movedcautiously across five intersections. And they stood in a squaresurrounded by the tallest buildings in the city.     Rodney broke the silence, hesitantly. Not—not very big. Is it?     Wass looked at him shrewdly. Neither were the—well, shall we callthem, people? Have you noticed how low everything is?     Rodney's laughter rose, too. Then, sobering—Maybe they crawled.     A nebulous image, product of childhood's vivid imagination, movedslowly across Martin's mind. All right! he rapped out—and the imagefaded.     Sorry, Rodney murmured, his throat working beneath his lantern jaw.Then—I wonder what it's like here in the winter when there's no lightat all?     I imagine they had illumination of some sort, Martin answered, dryly.If we don't hurry up and get through this place and back to the ship,we're very likely to find out.     Rodney said quickly, I mean outside.     Out there, too, Rodney, they must have had illumination. Martinlooked back along the straight, metal street they'd walked on, and pastthat out over the bleak, furrowed slopes where the ship's lifeboatlay ... and he thought everything outside the city seemed, somehow,from here, a little dim, a little hazy.     He straightened his shoulders. The city was alien, of course, and thatexplained most of it ... most of it. But he felt the black city wassomething familiar, yet twisted and distorted.     Well, Wass said, his nose wrinkling a bit, now that we're here....     Pictures, Martin decided. We have twelve hours. We'll start here.What's the matter, Wass?     The blond man grinned ruefully. I left the camera in the lifeboat.There was a pause. Then Wass, defensively—It's almost as if the citydidn't want to be photographed.     Martin ignored the remark. Go get it. Rodney and I will be somewherealong this street.     Wass turned away. Martin and Rodney started slowly down the wide metalstreet, at right angles to their path of entrance.     Again Martin felt a tug of twisted, distorted familiarity. It wasalmost as if ... they were human up to a certain point, the pointbeing, perhaps, some part of their minds.... Alien things, dark andsubtle, things no man could ever comprehend.     Parallel evolution on two inner planets of the same system? Somewhere,sometime, a common ancestor? Martin noted the shoulder-high doors, theheavier gravity, remembered the inhabitants of the city vanished beforethe thing that was to become man ever emerged from the slime, and hedecided to grin at himself, at his own imagination.     Rodney jerked his scarecrow length about quickly, and a chill sped upMartin's spine. What's the matter?     The bony face was white, the gray eyes were wide. I saw—I thought Isaw—something—moving—     Anger rose in Martin. You didn't, he said flatly, gripping theother's shoulder cruelly. You couldn't have. Get hold of yourself,man!     Rodney stared. The wind. Remember? There isn't any, here.     ... How could there be? The buildings protect us now. It was blowingfrom the other direction.     Rodney wrenched free of Martin's grip. He gestured wildly. That—     Martin! Wass' voice came through the receivers in both their radios.Martin, I can't get out!  <doc-sep>Quickly, Roddie drew the hammer from his waist. Then, with weapon readyfor an instantaneous blow, he stretched his left hand through thedarkness. He touched something warm, softish. Gingerly he felt overthat curving surface for identifying features.     While Roddie investigated by touch, his long fingers were suddenlyseized and bitten. At the same time, his right shin received a savagekick. And his own retaliatory blow was checked in mid-swing by anunexpected voice.     Get your filthy hands off me! it whispered angrily. Who do you thinkyou are?     Startled, he dropped his hammer. I'm Roddie, he said, squatting tofumble for it. Who do you think      you     are?     I'm Ida, naturally! Just how many girls      are     there in this raidingparty?     His first Invader—and he had dropped his weapon!     Scrabbling fearfully in the dust for his hammer, Roddie pausedsuddenly. This girl—whatever      that     was—seemed to think him one ofher own kind. There was a chance, not much, but worth taking, to turndelay to advantage. Maybe he could learn something of value before hekilled her. That would make the soldiers accept him!     He stalled, seeking a gambit. How would      I     know how many girls thereare?     Half expecting a blow, he got instead an apology. I'm sorry, the girlsaid. I should have known. Never even heard your name before, either.Roddie.... Whose boat did you come in, Roddie?     Boat? What was a boat? How would I know? he repeated, voice tightwith fear of discovery.     If she noticed the tension, she didn't show it. Certainly her whisperwas friendly enough. Oh, you're one of the fellows from Bodega, then.They shoved a boy into our boat at the last minute, too. Tough, wasn'tit, getting separated in the fog and tide like that? If only we didn'thave to use boats.... But, say, how are we going to get away from here?     I wouldn't know, Roddie said, closing his fingers on the hammer, andrising. How did you get in?     Followed your footprints. It was sundown and I saw human tracks in thedust and they led me here. Where were you?     Scouting around, Roddie said vaguely. How did you know I was a manwhen I came back?     Because you couldn't see me, silly! You know perfectly well theseandroids are heat-sensitive and can locate us in the dark!     Indeed he did know! Many times he'd felt ashamed that Molly could findhim whenever she wanted to, even here in the manhole. But perhaps themanhole would help him now to redeem himself....  <doc-sep>After a time he said, Rodney, Wass, it's dust, down there. Rememberthe wind? Air currents are moving it.     Rodney sat down on the metal flooring. For a long time he said nothing.Then—It wasn't.... Why did you close the hatch then?     Martin did not say he thought the other two would have shot him,otherwise. He said merely, At first I wasn't sure myself.     Rodney stood up, backing away from the closed hatch. He held his gunloosely, and his hand shook. Then prove it. Open it again.     Martin went to the wheel. He noticed Wass was standing behind Rodneyand he, too, had drawn his gun.     The hatch rose again at Martin's direction. He stood beside it,outlined in the light of two torches.     For a little while he was alone.     Then—causing a gasp from Wass, a harsh expletive from Rodney—atenuous, questing alien limb edged through the hatch, curling aboutMartin, sparkling in ten thousand separate particles in the torchlight,obscuring the dimly seen backdrop of geometrical processions of strangeobjects.       Martin raised an arm, and the particles swirled in stately, shimmeringspirals.     Rodney leaned forward and looked over the edge of the hatch. He saidnothing. He eyed the sparkling particles swirling about Martin, andnow, himself.     How deep, Wass said, from his safe distance.     We'll have to lower a flashlight, Martin answered.     Rodney, all eagerness to be of assistance now, lowered a rope with atorch swinging wildly on the end of it.     The torch came to rest about thirty feet down. It shone on gentlyrolling mounds of fine, white stuff.     Martin anchored the rope soundly, and paused, half across the lipof the hatch to stare coldly at Wass. You'd rather monkey with theswitches and blow yourself to smithereens?     Wass sighed and refused to meet Martin's gaze. Martin looked at himdisgustedly, and then began to descend the rope, slowly, peering intothe infinite, sparkling darkness pressing around him. At the bottomof the rope he sank to his knees in dust, and then was held even. Hestamped his feet, and then, as well as he was able, did a standingjump. He sank no farther than his knees.     He sighted a path parallel with the avenue above, toward the nearestedge of the city. I think we'll be all right, he called out, as longas we avoid the drifts.     Rodney began the descent. Looking up, Martin saw Wass above Rodney.     All right, Wass, Martin said quietly, as Rodney released the rope andsank into the dust.     Not me, the answer came back quickly. You two fools go your way,I'll go mine.     Wass!     There was no answer. The light faded swiftly away from the opening.     The going was hard. The dust clung like honey to their feet, and eddiedand swirled about them until the purifying systems in their suits werehard-pressed to remove the fine stuff working in at joints and valves.     Are we going straight? Rodney asked.     Of course, Martin growled.     There was silence again, the silence of almost-exhausted determination.The two men lifted their feet out of the dust, and then laboriouslyplunged forward, to sink again to the knees, repeated the act, timeswithout number.     Then Wass broke his silence, taunting. The ship leaves in two hours,Martin. Two hours. Hear me, Rodney?     Martin pulled his left foot from the sand and growled deep in histhroat. Ahead, through the confusing patterns of the sparkling dust,his flashlight gleamed against metal. He grabbed Rodney's arm, pointed.     A grate.     Rodney stared. Wass! he shouted. We've found a way out!     Their radios recorded Wass' laughter. I'm at the switchboard now,Martin. I—     There was a tinkle of breaking glass, breaking faceplate.     The grate groaned upward and stopped.     Wass babbled incoherently into the radio for a moment, and then hebegan to scream.     Martin switched off his radio, sick.     He turned it on again when they reached the opening in the metal wall.Well?     I've been trying to get you, Rodney said, frantically. Why didn'tyou answer?     We couldn't do anything for him.     Rodney's face was white and drawn. But he did this for us.     So he did, Martin said, very quietly.     Rodney said nothing.     Then Martin said, Did you listen until the end?     Rodney nodded, jerkily. He pulled three more switches. I couldn'tunderstand it all. But—Martin, dying alone like that in a place likethis—!     Martin crawled into the circular pipe behind the grate. It tilted uptoward the surface. Come on, Rodney. Last lap.     An hour later they surfaced about two hundred yards away from theedge of the city. Behind them the black pile rose, the dome of forceshimmering, almost invisible, about it.     Ahead of them were the other two scoutships from the mother ship.Martin called out faintly, pulling Rodney out of the pipe. Crew membersstanding by the scoutships, and at the edge of the city, began to runtoward them.     Radio picked you up as soon as you entered the pipe, someone said. Itwas the last thing Martin heard before he collapsed.   <doc-sep>  The Beast-Jewel of Mars     By V. E. THIESSEN     The city was strange, fantastic, beautiful.     He'd never been there before, yet already he     was a fabulous legend—a dire, hateful legend.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Spring 1955.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      He lay on his stomach, a lean man in faded one piece dungarees, and anodd metallic hat, peering over the side of the canal. Behind him thelittle winds sifted red dust into his collar, but he could not move; hecould only sit there with his gaze riveted on the spires and minaretsthat twinkled in the distance, far down the bottom of the canal.     One part of his mind said,      This is it, this is the fabled city ofMars. This is the beauty and the fantasy and the music of the legends,and I must go down there.     Yet somewhere deeper in his mind, deep inthe primal urges that kept him from death, the warning was taut andurgent.      Get away. They have a part of your mind now. Get away from thecity before you lose it all. Get away before your body becomes a husk,a soulless husk to walk the low canals with sightless eyes, like thosewho came before you.       He strained to push back from the edge, trying to get that fantasticbeauty out of his sight. He fought the lids of his eyes, fought toclose them while he pushed himself back, but they remained open,staring at the jeweled towers, and borne on the little winds the thinwail of music reached him, saying,      Come into the city, come down intothe fabled city     .     He slid over the edge, sliding down the sloping sides of the canal.The rough sandstone tore at his dungarees, tore at his elbow where ittouched but he did not feel the pain. His face was turned toward thetowers, and the sound of his breathing was less than human.     His feet caught a projecting bit of stone and were slowed for aninstant, so that he turned sideways and rolled on, down into the reddust bottom of the canal, to lie face down in the dust, with the chinstrap of the odd metallic hat cutting cruelly into his chin.     He lay there an instant, knowing that now he had a chance. With hisface down like this, and the dust smarting his eyes the image was gonefor an instant. He had to get away, he knew that. He had to mount thesides of the canal and never look back.     He told himself, I am Eric North, from Earth, the Third Planet of Sol,and this is not real.     He squirmed in the dust, feeling it bite his cheeks; he squirmed untilhe could get up and see nothing but the red sand stone walls of thecanal. He ran at the walls and clawed his way up like an animal in hishaste. He wouldn't look again.     The wind freshened and the tune of the music began to talk to him. Ittold of going barefoot over long streets of fur. It told of jewels, andwine, and women as fair as springtime. These and more were in the city,waiting for him to claim them.     He sobbed, and clawed forward. He stopped to rest, and slowly his headbegan to turn. He turned, and the spires and minarets twinkled at him,beautiful, soothing, stopping the tears that had welled down his cheeks.     When he reached the bottom of the canal he began to run toward the city.     When he came to the city there was a high wall around it, and a heavygate carved with lotus blossoms. He beat against the gate and cried,Oh! Let me in. Let me in to the city! The music was richer now, as ifit were everywhere, and the gate swung open without the faintest sound.     A sentinel stood before the opened gate at the end of a long bluestreet. He was dressed in red silk with his sleeves edged in blueleopard skin, and he wore a belt with a jeweled short sword. He drewthe sword from its scabbard, and bowed forward until the point of thesword touched the street of blue fur. He said, I give you the welcomeof my sword, and the welcome of the city. Speak your name so that itmay be set in the records of the dreamers.     The music sang, and the spires twinkled, and Eric said, I am EricNorth!     The sword point jerked, and the sentinel straightened. His face waswhite. He cried aloud, It is Eric the Bronze. It is Eric of theLegend. He whirled the sword aloft, and smashed it upon Eric's metalhat, and the hatred was a blue flame in his eyes.  <doc-sep>Carpenter rubbed modestly gloved hands together. I have no immediatebusiness, so supposing I start showing you the sights. What would youlike to see first, Mr. Frey? Or would you prefer a nice, restful movid?     Frankly, Michael admitted, the first thing I'd like to do is getmyself something to eat. I didn't have any breakfast and I'm famished.Two small creatures standing close to him giggled nervously andscuttled off on six legs apiece.     Shh, not so loud! There are females present. Carpenter drew theyouth to a secluded corner. Don't you know that on Theemim it'sfrightfully vulgar to as much as speak of eating in public?     But why? Michael demanded in too loud a voice. What's wrong witheating in public here on Earth?     Carpenter clapped a hand over the young man's mouth. Hush, hecautioned. After all, on Earth there are things we don't do or evenmention in public, aren't there?     Well, yes. But those are different.     Not at all. Those rules might seem just as ridiculous to a Theemimian.But the Theemimians have accepted our customs just as we have acceptedthe Theemimians'. How would you like it if a Theemimian violatedone of our tabus in public? You must consider the feelings of theTheemimians as equal to your own. Observe the golden rule: 'Do untoextraterrestrials as you would be done by.'     But I'm still hungry, Michael persisted, modulating his voice,however, to a decent whisper. Do the proprieties demand that I starveto death, or can I get something to eat somewhere?     Naturally, the salesman whispered back. Portyork provides for allbodily needs. Numerous feeding stations are conveniently locatedthroughout the port, and there must be some on the field.     After gazing furtively over his shoulder to see that no females werewatching, Carpenter approached a large map of the landing field andpressed a button. A tiny red light winked demurely for an instant.     That's the nearest one, Carpenter explained.  <doc-sep>When Humphrey Fownes stepped out of the widow's house, there was alook of such intense abstraction on his features that Lanfierre felt awistful desire to get out of the car and walk along with the man. Itwould be such a      deliciously     insane experience. (April has thirtydays, Fownes mumbled, passing them, because thirty is the largestnumber such that all smaller numbers not having a common divisorwith it are      primes     . MacBride frowned and added it to the dossier.Lanfierre sighed.)     Pinning his hopes on the Movement, Fownes went straight to thelibrary several blocks away, a shattered depressing place given overto government publications and censored old books with holes inthem. It was used so infrequently that the Movement was able to meetthere undisturbed. The librarian was a yellowed, dog-eared woman ofeighty. She spent her days reading ancient library cards and, like thebooks around her, had been rendered by time's own censor into nearunintelligibility.     Here's one, she said to him as he entered.       Gulliver's Travels.     Loaned to John Wesley Davidson on March 14, 1979 for      five     days. Whatdo you make of it?     In the litter of books and cards and dried out ink pads that surroundedthe librarian, Fownes noticed a torn dust jacket with a curiousillustration. What's that? he said.     A twister, she replied quickly. Now listen to      this     . Seven yearslater on March 21, 1986, Ella Marshall Davidson took out the same book.What do you make of      that     ?     I'd say, Humphrey Fownes said, that he ... that he recommended itto her, that one day they met in the street and he told her aboutthis book and then they ... they went to the library together and sheborrowed it and eventually, why eventually they got married.     Hah! They were brother and sister! the librarian shouted in herparched voice, her old buckram eyes laughing with cunning.     Fownes smiled weakly and looked again at the dust jacket. The twisterwas unquestionably a meteorological phenomenon. It spun ominously, likea malevolent top, and coursed the countryside destructively, carryinga Dorothy to an Oz. He couldn't help wondering if twisters did anythingto feminine pulses, if they could possibly be a part of a moonlitnight, with cocktails and roses. He absently stuffed the dust jacketin his pocket and went on into the other rooms, the librarian mumblingafter him: Edna Murdoch Featherstone, April 21, 1991, as thoughreading inscriptions on a tombstone.  <doc-sep>It was night. The city had been lost beyond the dead mounds of Earththat rolled away behind them, like a thousand ancient tombs. Theground car sat still on a crumbling road.     Looking up through the car's driving blister, they saw the stars sunkinto the blue black ocean of space; saw the path of the Milky Wayalong which they had rushed, while they had been searching franticallyfor the place of salvation.     If any one of the other couples had made it back, said Mary, do youthink they'd be with us?     I think they'd either be with us, he said, or out in spaceagain—or in prison.     She stared ahead along the beam of headlight that stabbed out into thenight over the decaying road.     How sorry are you, she said quietly, coming with me?     All I know is, if I were out in space for long without you, I'd killmyself.     Are we going to die out here, Michael? she said, gesturing towardthe wall of night that stood at the end of the headlight, with theland?     He turned from her, frowning, and drove the ground car forward,watching the headlights push back the darkness.     They followed the crumbling highway all night until light crept acrossthe bald and cracked hills. The morning sun looked down upon thedesolation ten feet above the horizon when the car stopped. They satfor a long time then, looking out upon the Earth's parched andinflamed skin. In the distance a wall of mountains rose like a greatpile of bleached bones. Close ahead the rolling plains were motionlesswaves of dead Earth with a slight breeze stirring up little swirls ofdust.     I'm getting out, she said.     I haven't the slightest idea how much farther to go, or why, saidMichael shrugging. It's all the same. Dirt and hills and mountainsand sun and dust. It's really not much different from being out inspace. We live in the car just like in a space ship. We've enoughconcentrated supplies to last for a year. How far do we go? Why?When?     They stepped upon the Earth and felt the warmth of the sun andstrolled toward the top of the hill.     The air smells clean, he said.     The ground feels good. I think I'll take off my shoes. She did.Take off your boots, Michael. Try it.     Wearily he pulled off his boots, stood in his bare feet. It takes meback.     Yes, she said and began walking toward the hilltop.     He followed, his boots slung around his neck. There was a roadsomewhere, with the dust between my toes. Or was it a dream?     I guess when the past is old enough, she said, it becomes a dream.     He watched her footprints in the dust. God, listen to the quiet.     I can't seem to remember so much quiet around me. There's always beenthe sound of a space ship, or the pumps back in the cities.     He did not answer but continued to watch her footsteps and to feel thedust squishing up between his toes. Then suddenly:     Mary!     She stopped, whirling around.     He was staring down at her feet.     She followed his gaze.     It's grass! He bent down. Three blades.     She knelt beside him. They touched the green blades.     They're new, he said.     They stared, like religious devotees concentrating upon some sacredobject.     He rose, pulling her up with him. They hurried to the top of the hilland stood very still, looking down into a valley. There were tinypatches of green and little trees sprouting, and here and there, apale flower. The green was in a cluster, in the center of the valleyand there was a tiny glint of sunlight in its center.     Oh!     Her hand found his.     They ran down the gentle slope, feeling the patches of green touchtheir feet, smelling a new freshness in the air. And coming to thelittle spring, they stood beside it and watched the crystal water thattrickled along the valley floor and lost itself around a bend. Theysaw a furry, little animal scurry away and heard the twitter of a birdand saw it resting on a slim, bending branch. They heard the buzz of abee, saw it light on a pale flower at their feet and work at thesweetness inside.     Mary knelt down and drank from the spring.     It's so cool. It must come from deep down.     It does, he said. There were tears in his eyes and a tightness inhis throat. From deep down.     We can      live     here, Michael!     Slowly he looked all around until his sight stopped at the bottom of ahill. We'll build our house just beyond those rocks. We'll dig andplant and you'll have the child.     Yes! she said. Oh yes!     And the ones back in the city will know the Earth again. Sometimewe'll lead them back here and show them the Earth is coming alive. Hepaused. By following what we had to do for ourselves, we've found away to save them.     They remained kneeling in the silence beside the pool for a long time.They felt the sun on their backs and looked into the clean depth ofthe water deeply aware of the new life breathing all around them andof themselves absorbing it, and at the same time giving back to it thelife that was their own.     There was only this quiet and breathing and warmth until Michael stoodand picked up a rock and walked toward the base of the hill where hehad decided to build the house.     ... THE END   <doc-sep>   The Snare     By RICHARD R. SMITH     Illustrated by WEISS     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy January 1956.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright     on this publication was renewed.]        It's easy to find a solution when there is one—the trick is to do itif there is none!        I glanced at the path we had made across the      Mare Serenitatis     . TheLatin translated as the Sea of Serenity. It was well named because,as far as the eye could see in every direction, there was a smoothlayer of pumice that resembled the surface of a calm sea. Scatteredacross the quiet sea of virgin Moon dust were occasional islandsof rock that jutted abruptly toward the infinity of stars above.Considering everything, our surroundings conveyed a sense of serenitylike none I had ever felt.     Our bounding path across the level expanse was clearly marked. Becauseof the light gravity, we had leaped high into the air with each stepand every time we struck the ground, the impact had raised a cloud ofdustlike pumice. Now the clouds of dust were slowly settling in thelight gravity.     Above us, the stars were cold, motionless and crystal-clear.Indifferently, they sprayed a faint light on our surroundings ... adim glow that was hardly sufficient for normal vision and was too weakto be reflected toward Earth.     We turned our head-lamps on the strange object before us. Five beamsof light illuminated the smooth shape that protruded from the Moon'ssurface.     The incongruity was so awesome that for several minutes, we remainedmotionless and quiet. Miller broke the silence with his quaveringvoice, Strange someone didn't notice it before.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] In what location does the narrative of DUST UNTO DUST occur?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"How do Rodney, Martin, and Wass interact with each other in DUST UNTO DUST? [SEP] <s>After a time he said, Rodney, Wass, it's dust, down there. Rememberthe wind? Air currents are moving it.     Rodney sat down on the metal flooring. For a long time he said nothing.Then—It wasn't.... Why did you close the hatch then?     Martin did not say he thought the other two would have shot him,otherwise. He said merely, At first I wasn't sure myself.     Rodney stood up, backing away from the closed hatch. He held his gunloosely, and his hand shook. Then prove it. Open it again.     Martin went to the wheel. He noticed Wass was standing behind Rodneyand he, too, had drawn his gun.     The hatch rose again at Martin's direction. He stood beside it,outlined in the light of two torches.     For a little while he was alone.     Then—causing a gasp from Wass, a harsh expletive from Rodney—atenuous, questing alien limb edged through the hatch, curling aboutMartin, sparkling in ten thousand separate particles in the torchlight,obscuring the dimly seen backdrop of geometrical processions of strangeobjects.       Martin raised an arm, and the particles swirled in stately, shimmeringspirals.     Rodney leaned forward and looked over the edge of the hatch. He saidnothing. He eyed the sparkling particles swirling about Martin, andnow, himself.     How deep, Wass said, from his safe distance.     We'll have to lower a flashlight, Martin answered.     Rodney, all eagerness to be of assistance now, lowered a rope with atorch swinging wildly on the end of it.     The torch came to rest about thirty feet down. It shone on gentlyrolling mounds of fine, white stuff.     Martin anchored the rope soundly, and paused, half across the lipof the hatch to stare coldly at Wass. You'd rather monkey with theswitches and blow yourself to smithereens?     Wass sighed and refused to meet Martin's gaze. Martin looked at himdisgustedly, and then began to descend the rope, slowly, peering intothe infinite, sparkling darkness pressing around him. At the bottomof the rope he sank to his knees in dust, and then was held even. Hestamped his feet, and then, as well as he was able, did a standingjump. He sank no farther than his knees.     He sighted a path parallel with the avenue above, toward the nearestedge of the city. I think we'll be all right, he called out, as longas we avoid the drifts.     Rodney began the descent. Looking up, Martin saw Wass above Rodney.     All right, Wass, Martin said quietly, as Rodney released the rope andsank into the dust.     Not me, the answer came back quickly. You two fools go your way,I'll go mine.     Wass!     There was no answer. The light faded swiftly away from the opening.     The going was hard. The dust clung like honey to their feet, and eddiedand swirled about them until the purifying systems in their suits werehard-pressed to remove the fine stuff working in at joints and valves.     Are we going straight? Rodney asked.     Of course, Martin growled.     There was silence again, the silence of almost-exhausted determination.The two men lifted their feet out of the dust, and then laboriouslyplunged forward, to sink again to the knees, repeated the act, timeswithout number.     Then Wass broke his silence, taunting. The ship leaves in two hours,Martin. Two hours. Hear me, Rodney?     Martin pulled his left foot from the sand and growled deep in histhroat. Ahead, through the confusing patterns of the sparkling dust,his flashlight gleamed against metal. He grabbed Rodney's arm, pointed.     A grate.     Rodney stared. Wass! he shouted. We've found a way out!     Their radios recorded Wass' laughter. I'm at the switchboard now,Martin. I—     There was a tinkle of breaking glass, breaking faceplate.     The grate groaned upward and stopped.     Wass babbled incoherently into the radio for a moment, and then hebegan to scream.     Martin switched off his radio, sick.     He turned it on again when they reached the opening in the metal wall.Well?     I've been trying to get you, Rodney said, frantically. Why didn'tyou answer?     We couldn't do anything for him.     Rodney's face was white and drawn. But he did this for us.     So he did, Martin said, very quietly.     Rodney said nothing.     Then Martin said, Did you listen until the end?     Rodney nodded, jerkily. He pulled three more switches. I couldn'tunderstand it all. But—Martin, dying alone like that in a place likethis—!     Martin crawled into the circular pipe behind the grate. It tilted uptoward the surface. Come on, Rodney. Last lap.     An hour later they surfaced about two hundred yards away from theedge of the city. Behind them the black pile rose, the dome of forceshimmering, almost invisible, about it.     Ahead of them were the other two scoutships from the mother ship.Martin called out faintly, pulling Rodney out of the pipe. Crew membersstanding by the scoutships, and at the edge of the city, began to runtoward them.     Radio picked you up as soon as you entered the pipe, someone said. Itwas the last thing Martin heard before he collapsed.   <doc-sep>  DUST UNTO DUST     By LYMAN D. HINCKLEY     It was alien but was it dead, this towering, sinister     city of metal that glittered malignantly before the     cautious advance of three awed space-scouters.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Summer 1955.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      Martin set the lifeboat down carefully, with all the attention oneusually exercises in a situation where the totally unexpected hasoccurred, and he and his two companions sat and stared in awed silenceat the city a quarter-mile away.     He saw the dull, black walls of buildings shouldering grimly into thetwilight sky, saw the sheared edge where the metal city ended and thebarren earth began ... and he remembered observing, even before theylanded, the too-strict geometry imposed on the entire construction.     He frowned. The first impression was ... malignant.     Wass, blond and slight, with enough nose for three or four men,unbuckled his safety belt and stood up. Shall we, gentlemen? and witha graceful movement of hand and arm he indicated the waiting city.     Martin led Wass, and the gangling, scarecrow-like Rodney, through thestillness overlaying the barren ground. There was only the twilightsky, and harsh and black against it, the convoluted earth. And thecity. Malignant. He wondered, again, what beings would choose to builda city—even a city like this one—in such surroundings.     The men from the ship knew only the surface facts about this waitinggeometric discovery. Theirs was the eleventh inter-planetary flight,and the previous ten, in the time allowed them for exploration whilethis planet was still close enough to their own to permit a safe returnin their ships, had not spotted the city. But the eleventh expeditionhad, an hour ago, with just thirteen hours left during which a returnflight could be safely started. So far as was known, this was the onlycity on the planet—the planet without any life at all, save tinymosses, for a million years or more. And no matter which direction fromthe city a man moved, he would always be going north.     Hey, Martin! Rodney called through his helmet radio. Martin paused.Wind, Rodney said, coming abreast of him. He glanced toward the blackpile, as if sharing Martin's thoughts. That's all we need, isn't it?     Martin looked at the semi-transparent figures of wind and dustcavorting in the distance, moving toward them. He grinned a little,adjusting his radio. Worried?     Rodney's bony face was without expression. Gives me the creeps, kindof. I wonder what they were like?     Wass murmured, Let us hope they aren't immortal.     Three feet from the edge of the city Martin stopped and stubbed at thesand with the toe of his boot, clearing earth from part of a shiningmetal band.     Wass watched him, and then shoved aside more sand, several feet away.It's here, too.     Martin stood up. Let's try farther on. Rodney, radio the ship, tellthem we're going in.     Rodney nodded.     After a time, Wass said, Here, too. How far do you think it goes?     Martin shrugged. Clear around the city? I'd like to know what itis—was—for.     Defense, Rodney, several yards behind, suggested.     Could be, Martin said. Let's go in.     The three crossed the metal band and walked abreast down a street,their broad soft soled boots making no sound on the dull metal. Theypassed doors and arches and windows and separate buildings. They movedcautiously across five intersections. And they stood in a squaresurrounded by the tallest buildings in the city.     Rodney broke the silence, hesitantly. Not—not very big. Is it?     Wass looked at him shrewdly. Neither were the—well, shall we callthem, people? Have you noticed how low everything is?     Rodney's laughter rose, too. Then, sobering—Maybe they crawled.     A nebulous image, product of childhood's vivid imagination, movedslowly across Martin's mind. All right! he rapped out—and the imagefaded.     Sorry, Rodney murmured, his throat working beneath his lantern jaw.Then—I wonder what it's like here in the winter when there's no lightat all?     I imagine they had illumination of some sort, Martin answered, dryly.If we don't hurry up and get through this place and back to the ship,we're very likely to find out.     Rodney said quickly, I mean outside.     Out there, too, Rodney, they must have had illumination. Martinlooked back along the straight, metal street they'd walked on, and pastthat out over the bleak, furrowed slopes where the ship's lifeboatlay ... and he thought everything outside the city seemed, somehow,from here, a little dim, a little hazy.     He straightened his shoulders. The city was alien, of course, and thatexplained most of it ... most of it. But he felt the black city wassomething familiar, yet twisted and distorted.     Well, Wass said, his nose wrinkling a bit, now that we're here....     Pictures, Martin decided. We have twelve hours. We'll start here.What's the matter, Wass?     The blond man grinned ruefully. I left the camera in the lifeboat.There was a pause. Then Wass, defensively—It's almost as if the citydidn't want to be photographed.     Martin ignored the remark. Go get it. Rodney and I will be somewherealong this street.     Wass turned away. Martin and Rodney started slowly down the wide metalstreet, at right angles to their path of entrance.     Again Martin felt a tug of twisted, distorted familiarity. It wasalmost as if ... they were human up to a certain point, the pointbeing, perhaps, some part of their minds.... Alien things, dark andsubtle, things no man could ever comprehend.     Parallel evolution on two inner planets of the same system? Somewhere,sometime, a common ancestor? Martin noted the shoulder-high doors, theheavier gravity, remembered the inhabitants of the city vanished beforethe thing that was to become man ever emerged from the slime, and hedecided to grin at himself, at his own imagination.     Rodney jerked his scarecrow length about quickly, and a chill sped upMartin's spine. What's the matter?     The bony face was white, the gray eyes were wide. I saw—I thought Isaw—something—moving—     Anger rose in Martin. You didn't, he said flatly, gripping theother's shoulder cruelly. You couldn't have. Get hold of yourself,man!     Rodney stared. The wind. Remember? There isn't any, here.     ... How could there be? The buildings protect us now. It was blowingfrom the other direction.     Rodney wrenched free of Martin's grip. He gestured wildly. That—     Martin! Wass' voice came through the receivers in both their radios.Martin, I can't get out!  <doc-sep>They stood before the switchboard again. Martin and Wass side by side,Rodney, still holding his gun, slightly to the rear.     Rodney moved forward a little toward the switches. His breathing wasloud and rather uneven in the radio receivers.     Martin made a final effort. Rodney, it's still almost nine hours totake off. Let's search awhile first. Let this be a last resort.     Rodney jerked his head negatively. No. Now, I know you, Martin.Postpone and postpone until it's too late, and the ship leaves withoutus and we're stranded here to eat seeds and gradually dehydrateourselves and God only knows what else and—     He reached out convulsively and yanked a switch.     Martin leaped, knocking him to the floor. Rodney's gun skittered awaysilently, like a live thing, out of the range of the torches.     The radio receivers impersonally recorded the grating sounds ofRodney's sobs.     Sorry, Martin said, without feeling. He turned quickly. Wass?     The slight, blond man stood unmoving. I'm with you, Martin, but, asa last resort it might be better to be blown sky high than to diegradually—     Martin was watching Rodney, struggling to get up. I agree. As a lastresort. We still have a little time.     Rodney's tall, spare figure looked bowed and tired in the torchlight,now that he was up again. Martin, I—     Martin turned his back. Skip it, Rodney, he said gently.     Water, Wass said thoughtfully. There must be reservoirs under thiscity somewhere.     Rodney said, How does water help us get out?     Martin glanced at Wass, then started out of the switchboard room, notlooking back. It got in and out of the city some way. Perhaps we canleave the same way.     Down the ramp again.     There's another ramp, Wass murmured.     Rodney looked down it. I wonder how many there are, all told.     Martin placed one foot on the metal incline. He angled his torch down,picking out shadowy, geometrical shapes, duplicates of the ones on thepresent level. We'll find out, he said, how many there are.     Eleven levels later Rodney asked, How much time have we now?     Seven hours, Wass said quietly, until take-off.     One more level, Martin said, ignoring the reference to time. I ...think it's the last.     They walked down the ramp and stood together, silent in a dim pool ofartificial light on the bottom level of the alien city.     Rodney played his torch about the metal figures carefully placed aboutthe floor. Martin, what if there are no reservoirs? What if there arecemeteries instead? Or cold storage units? Maybe the switch I pulled—     Rodney! Stop it!     Rodney swallowed audibly. This place scares me....     The first time I was ever in a rocket, it scared me. I was thirteen.     This is different, Wass said. Built-in traps—     They had a war, Martin said.     Wass agreed. And the survivors retired here. Why?     Martin said, They wanted to rebuild. Or maybe this was already builtbefore the war as a retreat. He turned impatiently. How should Iknow?     Wass turned, too, persistent. But the planet was through with them.     In a minute, Martin said, too irritably, we'll have a sentientplanet. From the corner of his eye he saw Rodney start at that. Knockit off, Wass. We're looking for reservoirs, you know.     They moved slowly down the metal avenue, between the twisted shadowshapes, looking carefully about them.     Rodney paused. We might not recognize one.     Martin urged him on. You know what a man-hole cover looks like. Headded dryly, Use your imagination.     They reached the metal wall at the end of the avenue and paused again,uncertain.     Martin swung his flashlight, illuminating the distorted metal shapes.     Wass said, All this had a purpose, once....     We'll disperse and search carefully, Martin said.     I wonder what the pattern was.     ... The reservoirs, Wass. The pattern will still be here for laterexpeditions to study. So will we if we don't find a way to get out.     Their radios recorded Rodney's gasp. Then—Martin! Martin! I thinkI've found something!     Martin began to run. After a moment's hesitation, Wass swung in behindhim.     Here, Rodney said, as they came up to him, out of breath. Here. See?Right here.     Three flashlights centered on a dark, metal disk raised a foot or morefrom the floor.     Well, they had hands. With his torch Wass indicated a small wheel ofthe same metal as everything else in the city, set beside the disk.     From its design Martin assumed that the disk was meant to be graspedand turned. He wondered what precisely they were standing over.     Well, Skipper, are you going to do the honors?     Martin kneeled, grasped the wheel. It turned easily—almost tooeasily—rotating the disk as it turned.     Suddenly, without a sound, the disk rose, like a hatch, on a concealedhinge.     The three men, clad in their suits and helmets, grouped around thesix-foot opening, shining their torches down into the thing thatdrifted and eddied directly beneath them.     Rodney's sudden grip on Martin's wrist nearly shattered the bone.Martin! It's all alive! It's moving!     Martin hesitated long enough for a coil to move sinuously up toward theopening. Then he spun the wheel and the hatch slammed down.     He was shaking.  <doc-sep>Rodney mumbled something, and Martin told him to shut up.     Wass said, more quietly, Remember that metal band? It's all clear now,and glittering, as far as I can see. I can't get across it; it's like aglass wall.     We're trapped, we're trapped, they are—     Shut up, Rodney! Wass, I'm only two sections from the edge. I'll checkhere.     Martin clapped a hand on Rodney's shoulder again, starting him moving,toward the city's edge, past the black, silent buildings.     The glittering band was here, too, like a halo around a silhouette.     No go, Martin said to Wass. He bit at his lower lip. I think it mustbe all around us. He was silent for a time, exploring the consequencesof this. Then—We'll meet you in the middle of the city, where weseparated.     Walking with Rodney, Martin heard Wass' voice, flat and metallicthrough the radio receiver against his ear. What do you suppose causedthis?     He shook his head angrily, saying, Judging by reports of the rest ofthe planet, it must have been horribly radioactive at one time. All ofit.     Man-made radiation, you mean.     Martin grinned faintly. Wass, too, had an active imagination. Well,alien-made, anyhow. Perhaps they had a war.     Wass' voice sounded startled. Anti-radiation screen?     Rodney interrupted, There hasn't been enough radiation around here forhundreds of thousands of years to activate such a screen.     Wass said coldly, He's right, Martin.     Martin crossed an intersection, Rodney slightly behind him. You'reboth wrong, he said. We landed here today.     Rodney stopped in the middle of the metal street and stared down atMartin. The wind—?     Why not?     That would explain why it stopped so suddenly, then. Rodney stoodstraighter. When he walked again, his steps were firmer.     They reached the center of the city, ahead of the small, slight Wass,and stood watching him labor along the metal toward them.     Wass' face, Martin saw, was sober. I tried to call the ship. No luck.     The shield?     Wass nodded. What else?     I don't know—     If we went to the roof of the tallest building, Rodney offered, wemight—     Martin shook his head. No. To be effective, the shield would have tocover the city.     Wass stared down at the metal street, as if he could look through it.I wonder where it gets its power?     Down below, probably. If there is a down below. Martin hesitated. Wemay have to....     What? Rodney prompted.     Martin shrugged. Let's look.     He led the way through a shoulder-high arch in one of the tallbuildings surrounding the square. The corridor inside was dim andplain, and he switched on his flashlight, the other two immediatelyfollowing his example. The walls and the rounded ceiling of thecorridor were of the same dull metal as the buildings' facades, andthe streets. There were a multitude of doors and arches set intoeither side of the corridor.     It was rather like ... entering a gigantic metal beehive.     Martin chose an arch, with beyond it a metal ramp, which tilteddownward, gleaming in the pale circle of his torch.     A call from Rodney halted him. Back here, the tall man repeated. Itlooks like a switchboard.     The three advanced to the end of the central corridor, pausing before agreat arch, outlined in the too-careful geometrical figures Martin hadcome to associate with the city builders. The three torches, shiningthrough the arch, picked out a bank of buttons, handles ... and a thickrope of cables which ran upward to vanish unexpectedly in the metalroof.     Is this it, Wass murmured, or an auxiliary?     Martin shrugged. The whole city's no more than a machine, apparently.     Another assumption, Wass said. We have done nothing but makeassumptions ever since we got here.     What would you suggest, instead? Martin asked calmly.     Rodney furtively, extended one hand toward a switch.     No! Martin said, sharply. That was one assumption they dared not make.     Rodney turned. But—     No. Wass, how much time have we?     The ship leaves in eleven hours.     Eleven hours, Rodney repeated. Eleven hours! He reached out for theswitch again. Martin swore, stepped forward, pulled him back roughly.     He directed his flashlight at Rodney's thin, pale face. What do youthink you're doing?     We have to find out what all this stuff's for!     Going at it blindly, we'd probably execute ourselves.     We've got to—     No! Then, more quietly—We still have eleven hours to find a wayout.     Ten hours and forty-five minutes, Wass disagreed softly. Minus thetime it takes us to get to the lifeboat, fly to the ship, land, stowit, get ourselves aboard, and get the big ship away from the planet.And Captain Morgan can't wait for us, Martin.     You too, Wass?     Up to the point of accuracy, yes.     Martin said, Not necessarily. You go the way the wind does, alwaysthinking of your own tender hide, of course.     Rodney cursed. And every second we stand here doing nothing gives usthat much less time to find a way out. Martin—     Make one move toward that switchboard and I'll stop you where youstand!  <doc-sep>Wass moved silently through the darkness beyond the torches. We allhave guns, Martin.     I'm holding mine. Martin waited.     After a moment, Wass switched his flashlight back on. He said quietly,He's right, Rodney. It would be sure death to monkey around in here.     Well.... Rodney turned quickly toward the black arch. Let's get outof here, then!     Martin hung back waiting for the others to go ahead of him down themetal hall. At the other arch, where the ramp led downward, he called ahalt. If the dome, or whatever it is, is a radiation screen there mustbe at least half-a-dozen emergency exits around the city.     Rodney said, To search every building next to the dome clean aroundthe city would take years.     Martin nodded. But there must be central roads beneath this main levelleading to them. Up here there are too many roads.     Wass laughed rudely.     Have you a better idea?     Wass ignored that, as Martin hoped he would. He said slowly, Thatleads to another idea. If the band around the city is responsible forthe dome, does it project down into the ground as well?     You mean      dig     out? Martin asked.     Sure. Why not?     We're wearing heavy suits and bulky breathing units. We have noequipment.     That shouldn't be hard to come by.     Martin smiled, banishing Wass' idea.     Rodney said, They may have had their digging equipment built right into themselves.     Anyway, Martin decided, we can take a look down below.     In the pitch dark, Wass added.     Martin adjusted his torch, began to lead the way down the metal ramp.The incline was gentle, apparently constructed for legs shorter, feetperhaps less broad than their own. The metal, without mark of any sort,gleamed under the combined light of the torches, unrolling out of thedarkness before the men.     At length the incline melted smoothly into the next level of the city.     Martin shined his light upward, and the others followed his example.Metal as smooth and featureless as that on which they stood shone downon them.     Wass turned his light parallel with the floor, and then moved slowly ina circle. No supports. No supports anywhere. What keeps all that upthere?     I don't know. I have no idea. Martin gestured toward the ramp withhis light. Does all this, this whole place, look at all familiar toyou?     Rodney's gulp was clearly audible through the radio receivers. Here?     No, no, Martin answered impatiently, not just here. I mean the wholecity.     Yes, Wass said dryly, it does. I'm sure this is where all mynightmares stay when they're not on shift.     Martin turned on his heel and started down a metal avenue which, hethought, paralleled the street above. And Rodney and Wass followed himsilently. They moved along the metal, past unfamiliar shapes made moreso by gloom and moving shadows, past doors dancing grotesquely in thethree lights, past openings in the occasional high metal partitions,past something which was perhaps a conveyor belt, past anothersomething which could have been anything at all.     The metal street ended eventually in a blank metal wall.     The edge of the city—the city which was a dome of force above and abowl of metal below.     After a long time, Wass sighed. Well, skipper...?     We go back, I guess, Martin said.     Rodney turned swiftly to face him. Martin thought the tall man washolding his gun. To the switchboard, Martin?     Unless someone has a better idea, Martin conceded. He waited. ButRodney was holding the gun ... and Wass was.... Then—I can't think ofanything else.     They began to retrace their steps along the metal street, back pastthe same dancing shapes of metal, the partitions, the odd windows, alllooking different now in the new angles of illumination.     Martin was in the lead. Wass followed him silently. Rodney, tall,matchstick thin, even in his cumbersome suit, swayed with jauntytriumph in the rear.     Martin looked at the metal street lined with its metal objects and hesighed. He remembered how the dark buildings of the city looked atsurface level, how the city itself looked when they were landing, andthen when they were walking toward it. The dream was gone again fornow. Idealism died in him, again and again, yet it was always reborn.But—The only city, so far as anyone knew, on the first planet they'dever explored. And it had to be like this. Nightmares, Wass said, andMartin thought perhaps the city was built by a race of beings who atsome point twisted away from their evolutionary spiral, plagued by asort of racial insanity.     No, Martin thought, shaking his head. No, that couldn't be.Viewpoint ... his viewpoint. It was the haunting sense of familiarity,a faint strain through all this broad jumble, the junkpile of alienmetal, which was making him theorize so wildly.     Then Wass touched his elbow. Look there, Martin. Left of the ramp.     Light from their torches was reflected, as from glass.     All right, Rodney said belligerently into his radio. What's holdingup the procession?     Martin was silent.     Wass undertook to explain. Why not, after all? Martin asked himself. Itwas in Wass' own interest. In a moment, all three were standing beforea bank of glass cases which stretched off into the distance as far asthe combined light of their torches would reach.     Seeds! Wass exclaimed, his faceplate pressed against the glass.     Martin blinked. He thought how little time they had. He wet his lips.     Wass' gloved hands fumbled awkwardly at a catch in the nearest sectionof the bank.     Martin thought of the dark, convoluted land outside the city. If theywouldn't grow there.... Or had they, once? Don't, Wass!     Torchlight reflected from Wass' faceplate as he turned his head. Whynot?     They were like children.... We don't know, released, what they'll do.     Skipper, Wass said carefully, if we don't get out of this place bythe deadline we may be eating these.     Martin raised his arm tensely. Opening a seed bank doesn't help usfind a way out of here. He started up the ramp. Besides, we've nowater.     Rodney came last up the ramp, less jaunty now, but still holding thegun. His mind, too, was taken up with childhood's imaginings. Fora plant to grow in this environment, it wouldn't need much water.Maybe— he had a vision of evil plants attacking them, growing withsuper-swiftness at the air valves and joints of their suits —only thelittle moisture in the atmosphere.  <doc-sep>  The Beast-Jewel of Mars     By V. E. THIESSEN     The city was strange, fantastic, beautiful.     He'd never been there before, yet already he     was a fabulous legend—a dire, hateful legend.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Spring 1955.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      He lay on his stomach, a lean man in faded one piece dungarees, and anodd metallic hat, peering over the side of the canal. Behind him thelittle winds sifted red dust into his collar, but he could not move; hecould only sit there with his gaze riveted on the spires and minaretsthat twinkled in the distance, far down the bottom of the canal.     One part of his mind said,      This is it, this is the fabled city ofMars. This is the beauty and the fantasy and the music of the legends,and I must go down there.     Yet somewhere deeper in his mind, deep inthe primal urges that kept him from death, the warning was taut andurgent.      Get away. They have a part of your mind now. Get away from thecity before you lose it all. Get away before your body becomes a husk,a soulless husk to walk the low canals with sightless eyes, like thosewho came before you.       He strained to push back from the edge, trying to get that fantasticbeauty out of his sight. He fought the lids of his eyes, fought toclose them while he pushed himself back, but they remained open,staring at the jeweled towers, and borne on the little winds the thinwail of music reached him, saying,      Come into the city, come down intothe fabled city     .     He slid over the edge, sliding down the sloping sides of the canal.The rough sandstone tore at his dungarees, tore at his elbow where ittouched but he did not feel the pain. His face was turned toward thetowers, and the sound of his breathing was less than human.     His feet caught a projecting bit of stone and were slowed for aninstant, so that he turned sideways and rolled on, down into the reddust bottom of the canal, to lie face down in the dust, with the chinstrap of the odd metallic hat cutting cruelly into his chin.     He lay there an instant, knowing that now he had a chance. With hisface down like this, and the dust smarting his eyes the image was gonefor an instant. He had to get away, he knew that. He had to mount thesides of the canal and never look back.     He told himself, I am Eric North, from Earth, the Third Planet of Sol,and this is not real.     He squirmed in the dust, feeling it bite his cheeks; he squirmed untilhe could get up and see nothing but the red sand stone walls of thecanal. He ran at the walls and clawed his way up like an animal in hishaste. He wouldn't look again.     The wind freshened and the tune of the music began to talk to him. Ittold of going barefoot over long streets of fur. It told of jewels, andwine, and women as fair as springtime. These and more were in the city,waiting for him to claim them.     He sobbed, and clawed forward. He stopped to rest, and slowly his headbegan to turn. He turned, and the spires and minarets twinkled at him,beautiful, soothing, stopping the tears that had welled down his cheeks.     When he reached the bottom of the canal he began to run toward the city.     When he came to the city there was a high wall around it, and a heavygate carved with lotus blossoms. He beat against the gate and cried,Oh! Let me in. Let me in to the city! The music was richer now, as ifit were everywhere, and the gate swung open without the faintest sound.     A sentinel stood before the opened gate at the end of a long bluestreet. He was dressed in red silk with his sleeves edged in blueleopard skin, and he wore a belt with a jeweled short sword. He drewthe sword from its scabbard, and bowed forward until the point of thesword touched the street of blue fur. He said, I give you the welcomeof my sword, and the welcome of the city. Speak your name so that itmay be set in the records of the dreamers.     The music sang, and the spires twinkled, and Eric said, I am EricNorth!     The sword point jerked, and the sentinel straightened. His face waswhite. He cried aloud, It is Eric the Bronze. It is Eric of theLegend. He whirled the sword aloft, and smashed it upon Eric's metalhat, and the hatred was a blue flame in his eyes.  <doc-sep>When Humphrey Fownes stepped out of the widow's house, there was alook of such intense abstraction on his features that Lanfierre felt awistful desire to get out of the car and walk along with the man. Itwould be such a      deliciously     insane experience. (April has thirtydays, Fownes mumbled, passing them, because thirty is the largestnumber such that all smaller numbers not having a common divisorwith it are      primes     . MacBride frowned and added it to the dossier.Lanfierre sighed.)     Pinning his hopes on the Movement, Fownes went straight to thelibrary several blocks away, a shattered depressing place given overto government publications and censored old books with holes inthem. It was used so infrequently that the Movement was able to meetthere undisturbed. The librarian was a yellowed, dog-eared woman ofeighty. She spent her days reading ancient library cards and, like thebooks around her, had been rendered by time's own censor into nearunintelligibility.     Here's one, she said to him as he entered.       Gulliver's Travels.     Loaned to John Wesley Davidson on March 14, 1979 for      five     days. Whatdo you make of it?     In the litter of books and cards and dried out ink pads that surroundedthe librarian, Fownes noticed a torn dust jacket with a curiousillustration. What's that? he said.     A twister, she replied quickly. Now listen to      this     . Seven yearslater on March 21, 1986, Ella Marshall Davidson took out the same book.What do you make of      that     ?     I'd say, Humphrey Fownes said, that he ... that he recommended itto her, that one day they met in the street and he told her aboutthis book and then they ... they went to the library together and sheborrowed it and eventually, why eventually they got married.     Hah! They were brother and sister! the librarian shouted in herparched voice, her old buckram eyes laughing with cunning.     Fownes smiled weakly and looked again at the dust jacket. The twisterwas unquestionably a meteorological phenomenon. It spun ominously, likea malevolent top, and coursed the countryside destructively, carryinga Dorothy to an Oz. He couldn't help wondering if twisters did anythingto feminine pulses, if they could possibly be a part of a moonlitnight, with cocktails and roses. He absently stuffed the dust jacketin his pocket and went on into the other rooms, the librarian mumblingafter him: Edna Murdoch Featherstone, April 21, 1991, as thoughreading inscriptions on a tombstone.  <doc-sep>It was night. The city had been lost beyond the dead mounds of Earththat rolled away behind them, like a thousand ancient tombs. Theground car sat still on a crumbling road.     Looking up through the car's driving blister, they saw the stars sunkinto the blue black ocean of space; saw the path of the Milky Wayalong which they had rushed, while they had been searching franticallyfor the place of salvation.     If any one of the other couples had made it back, said Mary, do youthink they'd be with us?     I think they'd either be with us, he said, or out in spaceagain—or in prison.     She stared ahead along the beam of headlight that stabbed out into thenight over the decaying road.     How sorry are you, she said quietly, coming with me?     All I know is, if I were out in space for long without you, I'd killmyself.     Are we going to die out here, Michael? she said, gesturing towardthe wall of night that stood at the end of the headlight, with theland?     He turned from her, frowning, and drove the ground car forward,watching the headlights push back the darkness.     They followed the crumbling highway all night until light crept acrossthe bald and cracked hills. The morning sun looked down upon thedesolation ten feet above the horizon when the car stopped. They satfor a long time then, looking out upon the Earth's parched andinflamed skin. In the distance a wall of mountains rose like a greatpile of bleached bones. Close ahead the rolling plains were motionlesswaves of dead Earth with a slight breeze stirring up little swirls ofdust.     I'm getting out, she said.     I haven't the slightest idea how much farther to go, or why, saidMichael shrugging. It's all the same. Dirt and hills and mountainsand sun and dust. It's really not much different from being out inspace. We live in the car just like in a space ship. We've enoughconcentrated supplies to last for a year. How far do we go? Why?When?     They stepped upon the Earth and felt the warmth of the sun andstrolled toward the top of the hill.     The air smells clean, he said.     The ground feels good. I think I'll take off my shoes. She did.Take off your boots, Michael. Try it.     Wearily he pulled off his boots, stood in his bare feet. It takes meback.     Yes, she said and began walking toward the hilltop.     He followed, his boots slung around his neck. There was a roadsomewhere, with the dust between my toes. Or was it a dream?     I guess when the past is old enough, she said, it becomes a dream.     He watched her footprints in the dust. God, listen to the quiet.     I can't seem to remember so much quiet around me. There's always beenthe sound of a space ship, or the pumps back in the cities.     He did not answer but continued to watch her footsteps and to feel thedust squishing up between his toes. Then suddenly:     Mary!     She stopped, whirling around.     He was staring down at her feet.     She followed his gaze.     It's grass! He bent down. Three blades.     She knelt beside him. They touched the green blades.     They're new, he said.     They stared, like religious devotees concentrating upon some sacredobject.     He rose, pulling her up with him. They hurried to the top of the hilland stood very still, looking down into a valley. There were tinypatches of green and little trees sprouting, and here and there, apale flower. The green was in a cluster, in the center of the valleyand there was a tiny glint of sunlight in its center.     Oh!     Her hand found his.     They ran down the gentle slope, feeling the patches of green touchtheir feet, smelling a new freshness in the air. And coming to thelittle spring, they stood beside it and watched the crystal water thattrickled along the valley floor and lost itself around a bend. Theysaw a furry, little animal scurry away and heard the twitter of a birdand saw it resting on a slim, bending branch. They heard the buzz of abee, saw it light on a pale flower at their feet and work at thesweetness inside.     Mary knelt down and drank from the spring.     It's so cool. It must come from deep down.     It does, he said. There were tears in his eyes and a tightness inhis throat. From deep down.     We can      live     here, Michael!     Slowly he looked all around until his sight stopped at the bottom of ahill. We'll build our house just beyond those rocks. We'll dig andplant and you'll have the child.     Yes! she said. Oh yes!     And the ones back in the city will know the Earth again. Sometimewe'll lead them back here and show them the Earth is coming alive. Hepaused. By following what we had to do for ourselves, we've found away to save them.     They remained kneeling in the silence beside the pool for a long time.They felt the sun on their backs and looked into the clean depth ofthe water deeply aware of the new life breathing all around them andof themselves absorbing it, and at the same time giving back to it thelife that was their own.     There was only this quiet and breathing and warmth until Michael stoodand picked up a rock and walked toward the base of the hill where hehad decided to build the house.     ... THE END   <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How do Rodney, Martin, and Wass interact with each other in DUST UNTO DUST?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What was the crucial factor that enabled their getaway in DUST UNTO DUST? [SEP] <s>  DUST UNTO DUST     By LYMAN D. HINCKLEY     It was alien but was it dead, this towering, sinister     city of metal that glittered malignantly before the     cautious advance of three awed space-scouters.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Summer 1955.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      Martin set the lifeboat down carefully, with all the attention oneusually exercises in a situation where the totally unexpected hasoccurred, and he and his two companions sat and stared in awed silenceat the city a quarter-mile away.     He saw the dull, black walls of buildings shouldering grimly into thetwilight sky, saw the sheared edge where the metal city ended and thebarren earth began ... and he remembered observing, even before theylanded, the too-strict geometry imposed on the entire construction.     He frowned. The first impression was ... malignant.     Wass, blond and slight, with enough nose for three or four men,unbuckled his safety belt and stood up. Shall we, gentlemen? and witha graceful movement of hand and arm he indicated the waiting city.     Martin led Wass, and the gangling, scarecrow-like Rodney, through thestillness overlaying the barren ground. There was only the twilightsky, and harsh and black against it, the convoluted earth. And thecity. Malignant. He wondered, again, what beings would choose to builda city—even a city like this one—in such surroundings.     The men from the ship knew only the surface facts about this waitinggeometric discovery. Theirs was the eleventh inter-planetary flight,and the previous ten, in the time allowed them for exploration whilethis planet was still close enough to their own to permit a safe returnin their ships, had not spotted the city. But the eleventh expeditionhad, an hour ago, with just thirteen hours left during which a returnflight could be safely started. So far as was known, this was the onlycity on the planet—the planet without any life at all, save tinymosses, for a million years or more. And no matter which direction fromthe city a man moved, he would always be going north.     Hey, Martin! Rodney called through his helmet radio. Martin paused.Wind, Rodney said, coming abreast of him. He glanced toward the blackpile, as if sharing Martin's thoughts. That's all we need, isn't it?     Martin looked at the semi-transparent figures of wind and dustcavorting in the distance, moving toward them. He grinned a little,adjusting his radio. Worried?     Rodney's bony face was without expression. Gives me the creeps, kindof. I wonder what they were like?     Wass murmured, Let us hope they aren't immortal.     Three feet from the edge of the city Martin stopped and stubbed at thesand with the toe of his boot, clearing earth from part of a shiningmetal band.     Wass watched him, and then shoved aside more sand, several feet away.It's here, too.     Martin stood up. Let's try farther on. Rodney, radio the ship, tellthem we're going in.     Rodney nodded.     After a time, Wass said, Here, too. How far do you think it goes?     Martin shrugged. Clear around the city? I'd like to know what itis—was—for.     Defense, Rodney, several yards behind, suggested.     Could be, Martin said. Let's go in.     The three crossed the metal band and walked abreast down a street,their broad soft soled boots making no sound on the dull metal. Theypassed doors and arches and windows and separate buildings. They movedcautiously across five intersections. And they stood in a squaresurrounded by the tallest buildings in the city.     Rodney broke the silence, hesitantly. Not—not very big. Is it?     Wass looked at him shrewdly. Neither were the—well, shall we callthem, people? Have you noticed how low everything is?     Rodney's laughter rose, too. Then, sobering—Maybe they crawled.     A nebulous image, product of childhood's vivid imagination, movedslowly across Martin's mind. All right! he rapped out—and the imagefaded.     Sorry, Rodney murmured, his throat working beneath his lantern jaw.Then—I wonder what it's like here in the winter when there's no lightat all?     I imagine they had illumination of some sort, Martin answered, dryly.If we don't hurry up and get through this place and back to the ship,we're very likely to find out.     Rodney said quickly, I mean outside.     Out there, too, Rodney, they must have had illumination. Martinlooked back along the straight, metal street they'd walked on, and pastthat out over the bleak, furrowed slopes where the ship's lifeboatlay ... and he thought everything outside the city seemed, somehow,from here, a little dim, a little hazy.     He straightened his shoulders. The city was alien, of course, and thatexplained most of it ... most of it. But he felt the black city wassomething familiar, yet twisted and distorted.     Well, Wass said, his nose wrinkling a bit, now that we're here....     Pictures, Martin decided. We have twelve hours. We'll start here.What's the matter, Wass?     The blond man grinned ruefully. I left the camera in the lifeboat.There was a pause. Then Wass, defensively—It's almost as if the citydidn't want to be photographed.     Martin ignored the remark. Go get it. Rodney and I will be somewherealong this street.     Wass turned away. Martin and Rodney started slowly down the wide metalstreet, at right angles to their path of entrance.     Again Martin felt a tug of twisted, distorted familiarity. It wasalmost as if ... they were human up to a certain point, the pointbeing, perhaps, some part of their minds.... Alien things, dark andsubtle, things no man could ever comprehend.     Parallel evolution on two inner planets of the same system? Somewhere,sometime, a common ancestor? Martin noted the shoulder-high doors, theheavier gravity, remembered the inhabitants of the city vanished beforethe thing that was to become man ever emerged from the slime, and hedecided to grin at himself, at his own imagination.     Rodney jerked his scarecrow length about quickly, and a chill sped upMartin's spine. What's the matter?     The bony face was white, the gray eyes were wide. I saw—I thought Isaw—something—moving—     Anger rose in Martin. You didn't, he said flatly, gripping theother's shoulder cruelly. You couldn't have. Get hold of yourself,man!     Rodney stared. The wind. Remember? There isn't any, here.     ... How could there be? The buildings protect us now. It was blowingfrom the other direction.     Rodney wrenched free of Martin's grip. He gestured wildly. That—     Martin! Wass' voice came through the receivers in both their radios.Martin, I can't get out!  <doc-sep>After a time he said, Rodney, Wass, it's dust, down there. Rememberthe wind? Air currents are moving it.     Rodney sat down on the metal flooring. For a long time he said nothing.Then—It wasn't.... Why did you close the hatch then?     Martin did not say he thought the other two would have shot him,otherwise. He said merely, At first I wasn't sure myself.     Rodney stood up, backing away from the closed hatch. He held his gunloosely, and his hand shook. Then prove it. Open it again.     Martin went to the wheel. He noticed Wass was standing behind Rodneyand he, too, had drawn his gun.     The hatch rose again at Martin's direction. He stood beside it,outlined in the light of two torches.     For a little while he was alone.     Then—causing a gasp from Wass, a harsh expletive from Rodney—atenuous, questing alien limb edged through the hatch, curling aboutMartin, sparkling in ten thousand separate particles in the torchlight,obscuring the dimly seen backdrop of geometrical processions of strangeobjects.       Martin raised an arm, and the particles swirled in stately, shimmeringspirals.     Rodney leaned forward and looked over the edge of the hatch. He saidnothing. He eyed the sparkling particles swirling about Martin, andnow, himself.     How deep, Wass said, from his safe distance.     We'll have to lower a flashlight, Martin answered.     Rodney, all eagerness to be of assistance now, lowered a rope with atorch swinging wildly on the end of it.     The torch came to rest about thirty feet down. It shone on gentlyrolling mounds of fine, white stuff.     Martin anchored the rope soundly, and paused, half across the lipof the hatch to stare coldly at Wass. You'd rather monkey with theswitches and blow yourself to smithereens?     Wass sighed and refused to meet Martin's gaze. Martin looked at himdisgustedly, and then began to descend the rope, slowly, peering intothe infinite, sparkling darkness pressing around him. At the bottomof the rope he sank to his knees in dust, and then was held even. Hestamped his feet, and then, as well as he was able, did a standingjump. He sank no farther than his knees.     He sighted a path parallel with the avenue above, toward the nearestedge of the city. I think we'll be all right, he called out, as longas we avoid the drifts.     Rodney began the descent. Looking up, Martin saw Wass above Rodney.     All right, Wass, Martin said quietly, as Rodney released the rope andsank into the dust.     Not me, the answer came back quickly. You two fools go your way,I'll go mine.     Wass!     There was no answer. The light faded swiftly away from the opening.     The going was hard. The dust clung like honey to their feet, and eddiedand swirled about them until the purifying systems in their suits werehard-pressed to remove the fine stuff working in at joints and valves.     Are we going straight? Rodney asked.     Of course, Martin growled.     There was silence again, the silence of almost-exhausted determination.The two men lifted their feet out of the dust, and then laboriouslyplunged forward, to sink again to the knees, repeated the act, timeswithout number.     Then Wass broke his silence, taunting. The ship leaves in two hours,Martin. Two hours. Hear me, Rodney?     Martin pulled his left foot from the sand and growled deep in histhroat. Ahead, through the confusing patterns of the sparkling dust,his flashlight gleamed against metal. He grabbed Rodney's arm, pointed.     A grate.     Rodney stared. Wass! he shouted. We've found a way out!     Their radios recorded Wass' laughter. I'm at the switchboard now,Martin. I—     There was a tinkle of breaking glass, breaking faceplate.     The grate groaned upward and stopped.     Wass babbled incoherently into the radio for a moment, and then hebegan to scream.     Martin switched off his radio, sick.     He turned it on again when they reached the opening in the metal wall.Well?     I've been trying to get you, Rodney said, frantically. Why didn'tyou answer?     We couldn't do anything for him.     Rodney's face was white and drawn. But he did this for us.     So he did, Martin said, very quietly.     Rodney said nothing.     Then Martin said, Did you listen until the end?     Rodney nodded, jerkily. He pulled three more switches. I couldn'tunderstand it all. But—Martin, dying alone like that in a place likethis—!     Martin crawled into the circular pipe behind the grate. It tilted uptoward the surface. Come on, Rodney. Last lap.     An hour later they surfaced about two hundred yards away from theedge of the city. Behind them the black pile rose, the dome of forceshimmering, almost invisible, about it.     Ahead of them were the other two scoutships from the mother ship.Martin called out faintly, pulling Rodney out of the pipe. Crew membersstanding by the scoutships, and at the edge of the city, began to runtoward them.     Radio picked you up as soon as you entered the pipe, someone said. Itwas the last thing Martin heard before he collapsed.   <doc-sep>  The Beast-Jewel of Mars     By V. E. THIESSEN     The city was strange, fantastic, beautiful.     He'd never been there before, yet already he     was a fabulous legend—a dire, hateful legend.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Spring 1955.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      He lay on his stomach, a lean man in faded one piece dungarees, and anodd metallic hat, peering over the side of the canal. Behind him thelittle winds sifted red dust into his collar, but he could not move; hecould only sit there with his gaze riveted on the spires and minaretsthat twinkled in the distance, far down the bottom of the canal.     One part of his mind said,      This is it, this is the fabled city ofMars. This is the beauty and the fantasy and the music of the legends,and I must go down there.     Yet somewhere deeper in his mind, deep inthe primal urges that kept him from death, the warning was taut andurgent.      Get away. They have a part of your mind now. Get away from thecity before you lose it all. Get away before your body becomes a husk,a soulless husk to walk the low canals with sightless eyes, like thosewho came before you.       He strained to push back from the edge, trying to get that fantasticbeauty out of his sight. He fought the lids of his eyes, fought toclose them while he pushed himself back, but they remained open,staring at the jeweled towers, and borne on the little winds the thinwail of music reached him, saying,      Come into the city, come down intothe fabled city     .     He slid over the edge, sliding down the sloping sides of the canal.The rough sandstone tore at his dungarees, tore at his elbow where ittouched but he did not feel the pain. His face was turned toward thetowers, and the sound of his breathing was less than human.     His feet caught a projecting bit of stone and were slowed for aninstant, so that he turned sideways and rolled on, down into the reddust bottom of the canal, to lie face down in the dust, with the chinstrap of the odd metallic hat cutting cruelly into his chin.     He lay there an instant, knowing that now he had a chance. With hisface down like this, and the dust smarting his eyes the image was gonefor an instant. He had to get away, he knew that. He had to mount thesides of the canal and never look back.     He told himself, I am Eric North, from Earth, the Third Planet of Sol,and this is not real.     He squirmed in the dust, feeling it bite his cheeks; he squirmed untilhe could get up and see nothing but the red sand stone walls of thecanal. He ran at the walls and clawed his way up like an animal in hishaste. He wouldn't look again.     The wind freshened and the tune of the music began to talk to him. Ittold of going barefoot over long streets of fur. It told of jewels, andwine, and women as fair as springtime. These and more were in the city,waiting for him to claim them.     He sobbed, and clawed forward. He stopped to rest, and slowly his headbegan to turn. He turned, and the spires and minarets twinkled at him,beautiful, soothing, stopping the tears that had welled down his cheeks.     When he reached the bottom of the canal he began to run toward the city.     When he came to the city there was a high wall around it, and a heavygate carved with lotus blossoms. He beat against the gate and cried,Oh! Let me in. Let me in to the city! The music was richer now, as ifit were everywhere, and the gate swung open without the faintest sound.     A sentinel stood before the opened gate at the end of a long bluestreet. He was dressed in red silk with his sleeves edged in blueleopard skin, and he wore a belt with a jeweled short sword. He drewthe sword from its scabbard, and bowed forward until the point of thesword touched the street of blue fur. He said, I give you the welcomeof my sword, and the welcome of the city. Speak your name so that itmay be set in the records of the dreamers.     The music sang, and the spires twinkled, and Eric said, I am EricNorth!     The sword point jerked, and the sentinel straightened. His face waswhite. He cried aloud, It is Eric the Bronze. It is Eric of theLegend. He whirled the sword aloft, and smashed it upon Eric's metalhat, and the hatred was a blue flame in his eyes.  <doc-sep>When Humphrey Fownes stepped out of the widow's house, there was alook of such intense abstraction on his features that Lanfierre felt awistful desire to get out of the car and walk along with the man. Itwould be such a      deliciously     insane experience. (April has thirtydays, Fownes mumbled, passing them, because thirty is the largestnumber such that all smaller numbers not having a common divisorwith it are      primes     . MacBride frowned and added it to the dossier.Lanfierre sighed.)     Pinning his hopes on the Movement, Fownes went straight to thelibrary several blocks away, a shattered depressing place given overto government publications and censored old books with holes inthem. It was used so infrequently that the Movement was able to meetthere undisturbed. The librarian was a yellowed, dog-eared woman ofeighty. She spent her days reading ancient library cards and, like thebooks around her, had been rendered by time's own censor into nearunintelligibility.     Here's one, she said to him as he entered.       Gulliver's Travels.     Loaned to John Wesley Davidson on March 14, 1979 for      five     days. Whatdo you make of it?     In the litter of books and cards and dried out ink pads that surroundedthe librarian, Fownes noticed a torn dust jacket with a curiousillustration. What's that? he said.     A twister, she replied quickly. Now listen to      this     . Seven yearslater on March 21, 1986, Ella Marshall Davidson took out the same book.What do you make of      that     ?     I'd say, Humphrey Fownes said, that he ... that he recommended itto her, that one day they met in the street and he told her aboutthis book and then they ... they went to the library together and sheborrowed it and eventually, why eventually they got married.     Hah! They were brother and sister! the librarian shouted in herparched voice, her old buckram eyes laughing with cunning.     Fownes smiled weakly and looked again at the dust jacket. The twisterwas unquestionably a meteorological phenomenon. It spun ominously, likea malevolent top, and coursed the countryside destructively, carryinga Dorothy to an Oz. He couldn't help wondering if twisters did anythingto feminine pulses, if they could possibly be a part of a moonlitnight, with cocktails and roses. He absently stuffed the dust jacketin his pocket and went on into the other rooms, the librarian mumblingafter him: Edna Murdoch Featherstone, April 21, 1991, as thoughreading inscriptions on a tombstone.  <doc-sep>It was night. The city had been lost beyond the dead mounds of Earththat rolled away behind them, like a thousand ancient tombs. Theground car sat still on a crumbling road.     Looking up through the car's driving blister, they saw the stars sunkinto the blue black ocean of space; saw the path of the Milky Wayalong which they had rushed, while they had been searching franticallyfor the place of salvation.     If any one of the other couples had made it back, said Mary, do youthink they'd be with us?     I think they'd either be with us, he said, or out in spaceagain—or in prison.     She stared ahead along the beam of headlight that stabbed out into thenight over the decaying road.     How sorry are you, she said quietly, coming with me?     All I know is, if I were out in space for long without you, I'd killmyself.     Are we going to die out here, Michael? she said, gesturing towardthe wall of night that stood at the end of the headlight, with theland?     He turned from her, frowning, and drove the ground car forward,watching the headlights push back the darkness.     They followed the crumbling highway all night until light crept acrossthe bald and cracked hills. The morning sun looked down upon thedesolation ten feet above the horizon when the car stopped. They satfor a long time then, looking out upon the Earth's parched andinflamed skin. In the distance a wall of mountains rose like a greatpile of bleached bones. Close ahead the rolling plains were motionlesswaves of dead Earth with a slight breeze stirring up little swirls ofdust.     I'm getting out, she said.     I haven't the slightest idea how much farther to go, or why, saidMichael shrugging. It's all the same. Dirt and hills and mountainsand sun and dust. It's really not much different from being out inspace. We live in the car just like in a space ship. We've enoughconcentrated supplies to last for a year. How far do we go? Why?When?     They stepped upon the Earth and felt the warmth of the sun andstrolled toward the top of the hill.     The air smells clean, he said.     The ground feels good. I think I'll take off my shoes. She did.Take off your boots, Michael. Try it.     Wearily he pulled off his boots, stood in his bare feet. It takes meback.     Yes, she said and began walking toward the hilltop.     He followed, his boots slung around his neck. There was a roadsomewhere, with the dust between my toes. Or was it a dream?     I guess when the past is old enough, she said, it becomes a dream.     He watched her footprints in the dust. God, listen to the quiet.     I can't seem to remember so much quiet around me. There's always beenthe sound of a space ship, or the pumps back in the cities.     He did not answer but continued to watch her footsteps and to feel thedust squishing up between his toes. Then suddenly:     Mary!     She stopped, whirling around.     He was staring down at her feet.     She followed his gaze.     It's grass! He bent down. Three blades.     She knelt beside him. They touched the green blades.     They're new, he said.     They stared, like religious devotees concentrating upon some sacredobject.     He rose, pulling her up with him. They hurried to the top of the hilland stood very still, looking down into a valley. There were tinypatches of green and little trees sprouting, and here and there, apale flower. The green was in a cluster, in the center of the valleyand there was a tiny glint of sunlight in its center.     Oh!     Her hand found his.     They ran down the gentle slope, feeling the patches of green touchtheir feet, smelling a new freshness in the air. And coming to thelittle spring, they stood beside it and watched the crystal water thattrickled along the valley floor and lost itself around a bend. Theysaw a furry, little animal scurry away and heard the twitter of a birdand saw it resting on a slim, bending branch. They heard the buzz of abee, saw it light on a pale flower at their feet and work at thesweetness inside.     Mary knelt down and drank from the spring.     It's so cool. It must come from deep down.     It does, he said. There were tears in his eyes and a tightness inhis throat. From deep down.     We can      live     here, Michael!     Slowly he looked all around until his sight stopped at the bottom of ahill. We'll build our house just beyond those rocks. We'll dig andplant and you'll have the child.     Yes! she said. Oh yes!     And the ones back in the city will know the Earth again. Sometimewe'll lead them back here and show them the Earth is coming alive. Hepaused. By following what we had to do for ourselves, we've found away to save them.     They remained kneeling in the silence beside the pool for a long time.They felt the sun on their backs and looked into the clean depth ofthe water deeply aware of the new life breathing all around them andof themselves absorbing it, and at the same time giving back to it thelife that was their own.     There was only this quiet and breathing and warmth until Michael stoodand picked up a rock and walked toward the base of the hill where hehad decided to build the house.     ... THE END   <doc-sep>   The Snare     By RICHARD R. SMITH     Illustrated by WEISS     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy January 1956.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright     on this publication was renewed.]        It's easy to find a solution when there is one—the trick is to do itif there is none!        I glanced at the path we had made across the      Mare Serenitatis     . TheLatin translated as the Sea of Serenity. It was well named because,as far as the eye could see in every direction, there was a smoothlayer of pumice that resembled the surface of a calm sea. Scatteredacross the quiet sea of virgin Moon dust were occasional islandsof rock that jutted abruptly toward the infinity of stars above.Considering everything, our surroundings conveyed a sense of serenitylike none I had ever felt.     Our bounding path across the level expanse was clearly marked. Becauseof the light gravity, we had leaped high into the air with each stepand every time we struck the ground, the impact had raised a cloud ofdustlike pumice. Now the clouds of dust were slowly settling in thelight gravity.     Above us, the stars were cold, motionless and crystal-clear.Indifferently, they sprayed a faint light on our surroundings ... adim glow that was hardly sufficient for normal vision and was too weakto be reflected toward Earth.     We turned our head-lamps on the strange object before us. Five beamsof light illuminated the smooth shape that protruded from the Moon'ssurface.     The incongruity was so awesome that for several minutes, we remainedmotionless and quiet. Miller broke the silence with his quaveringvoice, Strange someone didn't notice it before.  <doc-sep>She quivered above him on the stoop, panting, her eyes afire withterror.     You, baby, Wayne gasped. I gotcha.     She backed into darkness, up there against the sagging tenement wall,her arms out and poised like crippled wings. Wayne crept up. She gavea squeaking sob, turned, ran. Wayne leaped into gloom. Wood cracked.He clambered over rotten lumber. The doorway sagged and he hesitatedin the musty dark. A few feet away was the sound of loose tricklingplaster, a whimpering whine.     No use running, Wayne said. Go loose. Give, baby. Give now.     She scurried up sagging stairs. Wayne laughed and dug up after her,feeling his way through debris. Dim moonlight filtered through asagging stairway from a shattered skylight three floors up. The mouse'sshadow floated ahead.     He started up. The entire stair structure canted sickeningly. A railingripped and he nearly went with it back down to the first floor. Heheard a scream as rotten boards crumbled and dust exploded fromcracks. A rat ran past Wayne and fell into space. He burst into thethird-floor hallway and saw her half-falling through a door under thejagged skylight.     Wayne took his time. He knew how she felt waiting in there, listeningto his creeping, implacable footfalls.     Then he yelled and slammed open the door.     Dust and stench, filth so awful it made nothing of the dust. Inthe corner he saw something hardly to be called a bed. More likea nest. A dirty, lumpy pile of torn mattress, felt, excelsior,shredded newspapers and rags. It seemed to crawl a little under themoon-streaming skylight.     She crouched in the corner panting. He took his time moving in. Hesnickered as he flashed the switchblade and circled it like a serpent'stongue. He watched what was left of her nerves go to pieces like rottencloth.       Do it quick, hunter, she whispered. Please do it quick.     What's that, baby?     I'm tired running. Kill me first. Beat me after. They won't know thedifference.     I'm gonna bruise and beat you, he said.     Kill me first, she begged. I don't want— She began to cry. Shecried right up in his face, her wide eyes unblinking, and her mouthopen.     You got bad blood, baby, he snarled. He laughed but it didn't soundlike him and something was wrong with his belly. It was knotting up.     Bad, I know! So get it over with, please. Hurry, hurry.     She was small and white and quivering. She moaned but kept staring upat him.     He ripped off his rivet-studded belt and swung once, then groaned andshuffled away from her.     He kept backing toward the door. She crawled after him, begging andclutching with both arms as she wriggled forward on her knees.     Don't run. Please. Kill me! It'll be someone else if you don't. Oh,God, I'm so tired waiting and running!     I can't, he said, and sickness soured in his throat.     Please.     I can't, I can't!     He turned and ran blindly, half-fell down the cracking stairs.  <doc-sep>On Callisto I was relieved of my command. The Admiralty Court acquittedme of the charges of negligence, but the Foundation refused me anothership. It was my ... illness. It spread from my hands, as you can see.Slowly, very slowly. So what remains for me? A hospital cot and aspaceman's pension. Those tons of gold in the sky are cursed, like mostgreat treasures. Somewhere, out in the deeps between the stars, thedust of my crew guards that golden derelict. It belongs to them now ...all of it.     But the price we pay for treasure is this. Look at me. I look eighty!I'm thirty two. And the bitterest part of the story is that peoplelaugh at me when I tell what happened. They laugh and call me mynickname. Have you heard it?     It's ... Captain Midas.   <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What was the crucial factor that enabled their getaway in DUST UNTO DUST?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of the storyline in MUCK MAN? [SEP] <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>They went into a courtyard partly covered by a roof projecting fromthe Hazeltyne company's dome settlement. The far half of the courtyardwas open to the gray drizzle that fell almost ceaselessly from the skyof Jordan's Planet and turned most of its surface into marsh and mudflats. A high wall enclosed the far portion of the courtyard. Rangedalong the wall were thirty stalls for muck men.     From fifty yards across the courtyard a muck man bounded over to themin two leaps. Attached to a harness across his shoulders and chest werea gun and a long knife.     Names? he growled. He was a foot taller than Graybar and bigeverywhere in proportion.     Kershaw. I'm back, Furston.     I'm Graybar.     Kershaw again? Just start in where you left off, sucker. Come on,you. He pointed to Asa and leaped to the open portion of the courtyard.     Do what he says, Kershaw whispered to Graybar. He's sort of a trustyand warden and parole officer rolled into one.     Asa was put through a series of exercises to get him used to hisdistorted body, to teach him how to leap and how to dig. He was shownhow to operate the radio he would carry and how to fire the pencil-slimrockets of this gun. Finally he was told to eat a few berries from anative vine. He did so and immediately vomited.     Furston laughed.     That's to remind you you're still a man, Furston said, grinning.Everything that grows on this planet is poison. So if you got anyideas of hiding out till your term is up, forget 'em. Right here iswhere you eat.     Asa turned without a word and hopped feebly away from Furston. Helifted his head to breathe deeply and saw two humans watching him froman observation tower on the roof.     He leaped twenty feet into the air for a closer look.     Gazing at him with repugnance, after witnessing the end of his sessionwith Furston, were Harriet Hazeltyne and general manager Tom Dorr.     The girl's presence merely puzzled Asa, but Dorr's being here worriedhim. Dorr had tried to get rid of him once and was now in an excellentposition to make the riddance permanent.     At supper that night, squatting on the ground beside a low table withthe dozen other muck men operating from the dome, Asa asked what thetwo were doing out here.     The girl will inherit this racket some day, won't she? asked one ofthe others. She wants to see what kind of suckers are making her rich.     Maybe that guy Dorr brought her along to show her what a big wheelhe is, said one of the others. Just hope he doesn't take over theoperations.      III     Next morning Furston passed out guns, knives, radios, and pouches tocarry any eggs the muck men found. He gave each man a compass andassigned the sectors to be worked during the day. Finally he calledGraybar aside.     In case you don't like it here, Furston said, you can get a weekknocked off your sentence for every egg you bring in. Now get out thereand work that muck.     Furston sent Graybar and Kershaw out together so that the veteran couldshow Asa the ropes. Asa had already learned that the wall around thecourtyard was to keep Sliders out, not muck men in. He leaped over itand hopped along after Kershaw.     Feet slapping against the mud, they went about five miles from theHazeltyne station, swimming easily across ponds too broad to jump. Themud, if not precisely as pleasant to the touch as chinchilla fur, wasnot at all uncomfortable, and the dripping air caressed their skinslike a summer breeze back on Earth. Tiny, slippery creatures skiddedand splashed out of their way. Finally Kershaw stopped. His experiencedeye had seen a trail of swamp weeds crushed low into the mud.     Keep your eyes open, Kershaw said. There's a Slider been around herelately. If you see something like an express train headed our way,start shooting.     At each leap along the trail they peered quickly around. They saw noSliders, but this meant little, for the beasts lived under the mud asmuch as on top of it.     Kershaw halted again when they came to a roughly circular area some tenyards in diameter where the weeds had been torn out and lay rotting inthe muck.     We're in luck, he said as Asa skidded to a stop at his side. An eggwas laid somewhere here within the last week. These places are hard tospot when the new weeds start growing.     Kershaw took a long look around.     No trouble in sight. We dig.     They started at the center of the cleared area, shoveling up great gobsof mud with their hands and flinging them out of the clearing. Usuallya muck man dug in a spiral out from the center, but Graybar and Kershawdug in gradually widening semi-circles opposite each other. They hadto dig four feet deep, and it was slow going until they had a pitbig enough to stand in. Each handful of mud had to be squeezed gentlybefore it was thrown away, to make sure it didn't conceal an egg. As heworked, Asa kept thinking what an inefficient system it was. Everythingabout the operation was wrong.     Got it! Kershaw shouted. He leaped out of the pit and started wipingslime off a round object the size of a baseball. Asa jumped out towatch.     A big one, Kershaw said. He held it, still smeared with traces ofmud, lovingly to his cheek, and then lifted it to eye level. Just lookat it.      A SLIDER EGG      The egg was flashing with a mad radiance, like a thousand diamondsbeing splintered under a brilliant sun. Static crackled in Asa'searphones and he thought of what Kershaw had said, that thescintillation of an egg was an effect of its calls to a mother Sliderfor help. Asa looked around.     Jump! he shouted.     At the edge of the clearing a segmented length of greenish blackscales, some two feet thick and six feet high, had reared up out of theweeds. The top segment was almost all mouth, already opened to show rowupon row of teeth. Before Asa could draw his gun the Slider loweredits head to the ground, dug two front flippers into the mud and shotforward.     Asa leaped with all his strength, sailing far out of the clearing.While he was still in the air he snapped the mouthpiece of his radiodown from where it was hinged over his head. As he landed he turnedinstantly, his gun in his hand.     Calling the 'copter! he spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece. Kershawand Graybar, sector eight, five miles out. Hurry!     Graybar? asked a voice in his earphone. What's up?     We've got an egg but a Slider wants it back.     On the way.     Asa hopped back to the clearing. Kershaw must have been bowled over bythe Slider's first rush, for he was trying to hop on one leg as if theother had been broken. The egg lay flickering on top of the mud whereKershaw had dropped it. The Slider, eight flippers on each side workingmadly, was twisting its thirty feet of wormlike body around for anothercharge.     Aiming hastily, Asa fired a rocket at the monster's middle segment. Therocket smashed through hard scales and exploded in a fountain of grayflesh. The Slider writhed, coating its wound in mud, and twisted towardAsa. He leaped to one side, firing from the air and missing, and sawthe Slider turn toward the patch of weeds where he would land. His legswere tensed to leap again the moment he hit the mud, but he saw theSlider would be on top of him before he could escape. As he landed hethrust his gun forward almost into the mouth of the creature and firedagain.       Even as he was knocked aside into the muck, Asa's body was showeredwith shreds of alien flesh scattered by the rocket's explosion.Desperately pushing himself to his feet, he saw the long headless bodyshiver and lie still.  <doc-sep>Asa took a deep breath and looked around.     Kershaw! he called. Where are you?     Over here. Kershaw stood briefly above the weeds and fell back again.Asa leaped over to him.     Thanks, Kershaw said. Muck men stick together. You'll make a goodone. I wouldn't have had a chance. My leg's busted.     The helicopter ought to be here pretty soon, Asa said. He looked overat the dead Slider and shook his head. Tell me, what are the odds ongetting killed doing this?     Last time I was here there was about one mucker killed for every sixeggs brought out. Of course you're not supposed to stand there admiringthe eggs like I did while a Slider comes up on you.     Asa hopped over to the egg, which was still full of a dancing radiancewhere it rested on the mud. He scooped a hole in the muck and buriedthe egg.     Just in case there are any more Sliders around, he explained.     Makes no difference, said Kershaw, pointing upward. Here comes the'copter, late as usual.     The big machine circled them, hovered to inspect the dead Slider, andsettled down on broad skids. Through the transparent nose Asa could seeTom Dorr and Harriet Hazeltyne. The company manager swung the door openand leaned out.     I see you took care of the Slider, he said. Hand over the egg.     Kershaw has a broken leg, Asa said. I'll help him in and then I'llget the egg.     While Kershaw grabbed the door frame to help pull himself into thehelicopter, Asa got under his companion's belly and lifted him by thewaist. He hadn't realized before just how strong his new body was.Kershaw, as a muck man, would have weighed close to three hundredpounds on Earth, close to six hundred here.     Dorr made no move to help, but the girl reached under Kershaw'sshoulder and strained to get him in. Once he was inside, Asa saw, thecabin was crowded.     Are you going to have room for me too? he asked.     Not this trip, Dorr answered. Now give me the egg.     Asa didn't hesitate. The egg stays with me, he said softly.     You do what I tell you, mucker, said Dorr.     Nope. I want to make sure you come back. Asa turned his head toHarriet. You see, Miss Hazeltyne, I don't trust your friend. You mightask him to tell you about it.     Dorr stared at him with narrowed eyes. Suddenly he smiled in a way thatworried Asa.     Whatever you say, Graybar, Dorr said. He turned to the controls. Inanother minute the helicopter was in the sky.  <doc-sep>   MUCK MAN     BY FREMONT DODGE     The work wasn't hard, but there were some sacrifices.     You had to give up hope and freedom—and being human!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, November 1963.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I     The girl with the Slider egg glittering in her hair watched thebailiff lead Asa Graybar out of the courtroom. He recognized her asold Hazeltyne's daughter Harriet, no doubt come to see justice done.She didn't have the hothouse-flower look Asa would have expected in agirl whose father owned the most valuable of the planetary franchises.She was not afraid to meet his eye, the eye of a judicially certifiedcriminal. There was, perhaps, a crease of puzzlement in her brow, as ifshe had thought crimes were committed by shriveled, rat-faced types,and not by young biological engineers who still affected crewcuts.     Tom Dorr, Hazeltyne's general manager, was her escort. Asa feltcertain, without proof, that Dorr was the man who had framed him forthe charge of grand theft by secreting a fresh Slider egg in hislaboratory. The older man stared at Asa coldly as he was led out ofthe courtroom and down the corridor back to jail.     Jumpy, Asa's cellmate, took one look at his face as he was put backbehind bars.     Guilty, Jumpy said.     Asa glared at him.     I know, I know, Jumpy said hastily. You were framed. But what's therap?     Five or one.     Take the five, Jumpy advised. Learn basket-weaving in a niceair-conditioned rehab clinic. A year on a changeling deal will seem alot longer, even if you're lucky enough to live through it.     Asa took four steps to the far wall of the cell, stood there brieflywith his head bent and turned to face Jumpy.     Nope, Asa said softly. I'm going into a conversion tank. I'm goingto be a muck man, Jumpy. I'm going out to Jordan's Planet and huntSlider eggs.     Smuggling? It won't work.     Asa didn't answer. The Hazeltyne company had gone after him becausehe had been working on a method of keeping Slider eggs alive. TheHazeltyne company would be happy to see him mark time for five yearsof so-called social reorientation. But if he could get out to Jordan'sPlanet, with his physiology adapted to the environment of that wretchedworld, he could study the eggs under conditions no laboratory couldduplicate. He might even be able to cause trouble for Hazeltyne.     His only problem would be staying alive for a year.  <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>An interview with a doctor from the Conversion Corps was requiredfor all persons who elected changeling status. The law stated thatpotential changelings must be fully informed of the rights and hazardsof altered shape before they signed a release. The requirement heldwhether or not the individual, like Asa, was already experienced.     By the time humanity traveled to the stars, medical biology had madeit possible to regenerate damaged or deficient organs of the body.Regeneration was limited only by advanced age. Sometime after a man'stwo hundredth year his body lost the ability to be coaxed into growingnew cells. A fifth set of teeth was usually one's last. As long assenescence could be staved off, however, any man could have bulgingbiceps and a pencil waist, if he could pay for the treatment.     Until the medical associations declared such treatments unethical therewas even a short fad of deliberate deformities, with horns at thetemples particularly popular.     From regeneration it was a short step to specialized regrowth. Thetechniques were perfected to adapt humans to the dozen barely habitableworlds man had discovered. Even on Mars, the only planet outside Earthin the solar system where the human anatomy was remotely suitable, aman could work more efficiently with redesigned lungs and temperaturecontrols than he could inside a pressure suit. On more bizarre planetsa few light-years away the advantages of changeling bodies weregreater.     Unfortunately for planetary development companies, hardly anyonewanted to become a changeling. High pay lured few. So a law was passedpermitting a convicted criminal to earn his freedom by putting in oneyear as a changeling for every five years he would otherwise have hadto spend in rehabilitation.     What types of changelings do you have orders for right now, doctor?Asa asked the man assigned to his case. It would look suspicious if heasked for Jordan's Planet without some preliminary questions.     Four, answered the doctor.     Squiffs for New Arcady. Adapted for climbing the skycraper trees andwith the arm structure modified into pseudo-wings or gliding. Then weneed spiderinos for Von Neumann Two. If you want the nearest thing wehave to Earth, there's Caesar's Moon, where we'd just have to doubleyour tolerance for carbon monoxide and make you a bigger and bettergorilla than the natives. Last, of course, there's always a need formuck men on Jordan's Planet.     The doctor shrugged, as if naturally no one could be expected tochoose Jordan's Planet. Asa frowned in apparent consideration of thealternatives.     What's the pay range? he asked.     Ten dollars a day on Caesar's Moon. Fifteen on New Arcady or VonNeumann Two. Twenty-five on Jordan's.     Asa raised his eyebrows.     Why such a difference? Everyone knows about muck men living in themud while they hunt Slider eggs. But don't your conversions make thechangeling comfortable in his new environment?     Sure they do, said the doctor. We can make you think mud feelsbetter than chinchilla fur and we can have you jumping like agrasshopper despite the double gravity. But we can't make you like thesight of yourself. And we can't guarantee that a Slider won't kill you.     Still, Asa mused aloud, it would mean a nice bankroll waiting at theend of the year.     He leaned forward to fill in the necessary form.  <doc-sep>Since it was cheaper to transport a normal human than to rig specialenvironments in a spaceship, every planet operated its own conversionchambers. On the space freighter that carried him from Earth AsaGraybar was confined to a small cabin that was opened only for a guardto bring meals and take out dirty dishes. He was still a prisoner.     Sometimes he could hear voices in the passageway outside, and onceone of them sounded like a woman's. But since women neither served onspaceships nor worked in the dome settlements on harsher worlds, hedecided it was his imagination. He might have been dead cargo for allhe learned about space travel.     Nevertheless his time was not wasted. He had as a companion, orcellmate, another convict who had elected conversion to muck man. Moreimportant, his companion had done time on Jordan's Planet before andhad wanted to return.     It's the Slider eggs, explained Kershaw, the two-time loser. Theones you see on Earth knock your eyes out, but they've already begunto die. There's nothing like a fresh one. And I'm not the first togo crazy over them. When I was reconverted and got home I had ninethousand dollars waiting for me. That'll buy a two-year-old egg thatflashes maybe four times a day. So I stole a new one and got caught.     Asa had held a Slider egg in his hand as he gazed into it. He couldunderstand. The shell was clear as crystal, taut but elastic, whilethe albumen was just as clear around the sparkling network of organicfilaments that served as a yolk. Along these interior threads playedtiny flashes of lightning, part of some unexplained process of life.Electrical instruments picked up static discharges from the egg, butthe phenomenon remained a mystery.     Hardly anyone faced with the beauty of a Slider's egg bothered toquestion its workings. For a few expectant moments there would be onlyrandom, fitful gleamings, and then there would be a wild coruscation oflight, dancing from one filament to the next in a frenzy of brilliance.     It took about four years for a Slider egg to die. Beauty, rarity andfading value made the eggs a luxury item like nothing the world hadever seen. If Asa had found a means of keeping them alive it would havemade him wealthy at the expense of the Hazeltyne monopoly.     You know what I think? Kershaw asked. I think those flashes arethe egg calling its momma. They sparkle like a million diamonds whenyou scoop one out of the muck, and right away a Slider always comesswooping out of nowhere at you.     I've been meaning to ask you, Asa said. How do you handle theSliders?     Kershaw grinned.     First you try to catch it with a rocket. If you miss you start leapingfor home. All this time you're broadcasting for help, you understand.When the Slider catches you, you leap up while it buries its jaws inthe mud where you were just standing. You dig your claws in its backand hang on while it rolls around in the mud. Finally, if the 'coptercomes—and if they don't shoot off your head by mistake—you live totell the tale.      II     Asa Graybar kept his normal form on Jordan's Planet just long enough tolearn the discomfort of double gravity. He was told he needed anotherphysical examination and was taken right in to a doctor. His heart waspounding to keep his blood circulating on this massive world, but thedoctor had apparently learned to make allowances.     Swallow this, said the doctor after making a series of tests.     Asa swallowed the capsule. Two minutes later he felt himself beginningto lose consciousness.     This is it! he thought in panic.     He felt someone ease him back down onto a wheeled stretcher. Beforeconsciousness faded completely he realized that no one got a chanceto back out of becoming a changeling, that he was on his way to theconversion tank right now.     When he finally awoke he felt well rested and very comfortable. But fora long time he was afraid to open his eyes.     Come on, Graybar, said a deep, booming voice. Let's test our wings.     It was not Kershaw's voice, but it had to be Kershaw. Asa opened hiseyes.     Everyone had seen pictures of muck men. It was different having onestand beside you. Kershaw looked much like an enormous frog except thathis head was still mostly human. He was sitting on webbed feet, hislower legs bent double under huge thighs, and his trunk tilted forwardso that his arms dangled to the ground. The arms were as thick aroundas an ordinary man's legs. The hands had become efficient scoops, withbroad fingers webbed to the first joint and tipped with spade-likeclaws. The skin was still pinkish but had become scaly. Not a thread ofhair showed anywhere on the body, not even on the head.     This, Asa realized, was what he looked like himself.     It would have been more bearable if the head had not retained strongtraces of humanity. The nostrils flared wide and the jaws hardlyemerged from the neck, but the ears were human ears and the eyes, underthose horny ridges, were human eyes. Asa felt sure that the eyes couldstill weep.     He started to walk forward and tipped over on his side. Kershaw laughed.     Come to daddy, babykins, Kershaw said, holding out his hands. Onlytry hopping this time. And take it easy.     Asa pushed himself upright with one arm and tried a small hop. Nerveand muscle coordination was perfect. He found himself leaping as highas Kershaw's head.     That's the way, Kershaw said approvingly. Now get this on and we'llgo outside.     Asa snapped on a belt and breech cloth combination that had flaps offabric dangling from the belt in front and behind. He followed asKershaw pushed open a sliding door to lead the way out of the roomwhere they had been left to revive from conversion.  <doc-sep>A round trip for the helicopter should have taken no more than twentyminutes, allowing time for Kershaw to be taken out at the settlement.     After an hour passed Asa began to worry. He was sure Dorr would returnfor the egg. Finally he realized that Dorr could locate the eggapproximately by the body of the dead Slider. Dorr could return for theegg any time with some other muck man to dig for it.     Asa pulled down the mouthpiece of his radio.     This is Graybar, calling the helicopter, he said. When are youcoming?     There was no answer except the hum of carrier wave.     If he tried to carry the egg back, Asa knew, Sliders would attack himall along the way. A man had no chance of getting five miles with anegg by himself. He could leave the egg here, of course. Even so hewould be lucky if he got back, following a hazy compass course fromwhich he and Kershaw had certainly deviated on their outward trip.There were no landmarks in this wilderness of bog to help him find hisway. The workers were supposed to home in on radio signals, if theylost their bearings, but Dorr would deny him that help.     What was the night like on Jordan's Planet? Maybe Sliders slept atnight. If he could stay awake, and if he didn't faint from hunger inthis strange new body, and if the Sliders left him alone....     A whirring noise made Asa jump in alarm.     Then he smiled in relief, for it was the helicopter, the blessedhelicopter, coming in over the swamp. But what if it was Dorr, comingback alone to dispose of him without any witnesses? Asa leaped for thecarcass of the dead Slider and took shelter behind it.     No machine-gun blast of rockets came from the helicopter. The bigmachine swooped low dizzily, tilted back in an inexpert attempt tohover, thumped down upon the mud and slid forward. As Asa jumped aside,the landing skids caught against the Slider's body and the helicopterflipped forward on its nose, one of the rotor blades plunging deep intothe mud.     Asa leaped forward in consternation. Not only was his chance of safepassage back to the settlement wrecked, but now he would have theextra burden of taking care of the pilot. When he reached the noseof the helicopter he saw that the pilot, untangling herself from thecontrols to get up, was Harriet Hazeltyne.      IV     Are you hurt? Asa asked her. She reached for his shoulder to steadyherself as she climbed out of the machine.     I guess not, she said. But taking a fall in this gravity is no fun.From the way my face feels I ought to be getting a black eye prettysoon.     What happened?     I made a fool of myself. She made a face back in the direction ofthe settlement. Dorr wasn't going to come after you. He said anyonewho talked back to him should try arguing with the Sliders.     She looked up at the machine-gun on the helicopter.     They feed at night, you know. And they eat their own kind, she said.The Slider you killed would draw them like ants to jam.     Asa glanced around quickly to make sure no Sliders had already come. Heeyed the helicopter with distaste at the thought of what a flimsy fortit would make.     Anyway, Harriet said, I told him he couldn't just leave you hereand we started arguing. I lost my temper. He thought he had brought meto Jordan's Planet on a fancy tour. I told him the real reason I washere was to check up for my father on the way he was running things andthere seemed to be a lot wrong. So he told me very politely I could runthings to suit myself and he walked off.     She shrugged, as if to indicate that she had made a mess of things.     And you took the helicopter by yourself, Asa said, as if he couldhardly believe it yet.     Oh, back on Earth I can make a helicopter do stunts. But I wasn't usedto this gravity. I don't suppose you could make this machine stand upstraight?     Asa tugged at the body of the Slider until he got it off the skids ofthe plane. He pulled with all his strength at the rotor blade sunk inthe mud, but the weight of the helicopter was upon it and the mud heldit with a suction of its own. After a few minutes he had to give up.     We fight off the Sliders, then, she said, as matter of factly as ifthat problem was settled. If it's any comfort, I know how to handlethe machine-gun.     Nope. In this drizzle, at night, the Sliders would be on us beforewe could see them. We've got to try to get back. He stood in thoughtwhile she stared at him patiently. What happened to the other muck menwho went out today? he asked.     They were called in when the 'copter came out the first time. Some ofthem may not have got back yet.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in MUCK MAN?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"In what locations does the story of MUCK MAN unfold? [SEP] <s>They went into a courtyard partly covered by a roof projecting fromthe Hazeltyne company's dome settlement. The far half of the courtyardwas open to the gray drizzle that fell almost ceaselessly from the skyof Jordan's Planet and turned most of its surface into marsh and mudflats. A high wall enclosed the far portion of the courtyard. Rangedalong the wall were thirty stalls for muck men.     From fifty yards across the courtyard a muck man bounded over to themin two leaps. Attached to a harness across his shoulders and chest werea gun and a long knife.     Names? he growled. He was a foot taller than Graybar and bigeverywhere in proportion.     Kershaw. I'm back, Furston.     I'm Graybar.     Kershaw again? Just start in where you left off, sucker. Come on,you. He pointed to Asa and leaped to the open portion of the courtyard.     Do what he says, Kershaw whispered to Graybar. He's sort of a trustyand warden and parole officer rolled into one.     Asa was put through a series of exercises to get him used to hisdistorted body, to teach him how to leap and how to dig. He was shownhow to operate the radio he would carry and how to fire the pencil-slimrockets of this gun. Finally he was told to eat a few berries from anative vine. He did so and immediately vomited.     Furston laughed.     That's to remind you you're still a man, Furston said, grinning.Everything that grows on this planet is poison. So if you got anyideas of hiding out till your term is up, forget 'em. Right here iswhere you eat.     Asa turned without a word and hopped feebly away from Furston. Helifted his head to breathe deeply and saw two humans watching him froman observation tower on the roof.     He leaped twenty feet into the air for a closer look.     Gazing at him with repugnance, after witnessing the end of his sessionwith Furston, were Harriet Hazeltyne and general manager Tom Dorr.     The girl's presence merely puzzled Asa, but Dorr's being here worriedhim. Dorr had tried to get rid of him once and was now in an excellentposition to make the riddance permanent.     At supper that night, squatting on the ground beside a low table withthe dozen other muck men operating from the dome, Asa asked what thetwo were doing out here.     The girl will inherit this racket some day, won't she? asked one ofthe others. She wants to see what kind of suckers are making her rich.     Maybe that guy Dorr brought her along to show her what a big wheelhe is, said one of the others. Just hope he doesn't take over theoperations.      III     Next morning Furston passed out guns, knives, radios, and pouches tocarry any eggs the muck men found. He gave each man a compass andassigned the sectors to be worked during the day. Finally he calledGraybar aside.     In case you don't like it here, Furston said, you can get a weekknocked off your sentence for every egg you bring in. Now get out thereand work that muck.     Furston sent Graybar and Kershaw out together so that the veteran couldshow Asa the ropes. Asa had already learned that the wall around thecourtyard was to keep Sliders out, not muck men in. He leaped over itand hopped along after Kershaw.     Feet slapping against the mud, they went about five miles from theHazeltyne station, swimming easily across ponds too broad to jump. Themud, if not precisely as pleasant to the touch as chinchilla fur, wasnot at all uncomfortable, and the dripping air caressed their skinslike a summer breeze back on Earth. Tiny, slippery creatures skiddedand splashed out of their way. Finally Kershaw stopped. His experiencedeye had seen a trail of swamp weeds crushed low into the mud.     Keep your eyes open, Kershaw said. There's a Slider been around herelately. If you see something like an express train headed our way,start shooting.     At each leap along the trail they peered quickly around. They saw noSliders, but this meant little, for the beasts lived under the mud asmuch as on top of it.     Kershaw halted again when they came to a roughly circular area some tenyards in diameter where the weeds had been torn out and lay rotting inthe muck.     We're in luck, he said as Asa skidded to a stop at his side. An eggwas laid somewhere here within the last week. These places are hard tospot when the new weeds start growing.     Kershaw took a long look around.     No trouble in sight. We dig.     They started at the center of the cleared area, shoveling up great gobsof mud with their hands and flinging them out of the clearing. Usuallya muck man dug in a spiral out from the center, but Graybar and Kershawdug in gradually widening semi-circles opposite each other. They hadto dig four feet deep, and it was slow going until they had a pitbig enough to stand in. Each handful of mud had to be squeezed gentlybefore it was thrown away, to make sure it didn't conceal an egg. As heworked, Asa kept thinking what an inefficient system it was. Everythingabout the operation was wrong.     Got it! Kershaw shouted. He leaped out of the pit and started wipingslime off a round object the size of a baseball. Asa jumped out towatch.     A big one, Kershaw said. He held it, still smeared with traces ofmud, lovingly to his cheek, and then lifted it to eye level. Just lookat it.      A SLIDER EGG      The egg was flashing with a mad radiance, like a thousand diamondsbeing splintered under a brilliant sun. Static crackled in Asa'searphones and he thought of what Kershaw had said, that thescintillation of an egg was an effect of its calls to a mother Sliderfor help. Asa looked around.     Jump! he shouted.     At the edge of the clearing a segmented length of greenish blackscales, some two feet thick and six feet high, had reared up out of theweeds. The top segment was almost all mouth, already opened to show rowupon row of teeth. Before Asa could draw his gun the Slider loweredits head to the ground, dug two front flippers into the mud and shotforward.     Asa leaped with all his strength, sailing far out of the clearing.While he was still in the air he snapped the mouthpiece of his radiodown from where it was hinged over his head. As he landed he turnedinstantly, his gun in his hand.     Calling the 'copter! he spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece. Kershawand Graybar, sector eight, five miles out. Hurry!     Graybar? asked a voice in his earphone. What's up?     We've got an egg but a Slider wants it back.     On the way.     Asa hopped back to the clearing. Kershaw must have been bowled over bythe Slider's first rush, for he was trying to hop on one leg as if theother had been broken. The egg lay flickering on top of the mud whereKershaw had dropped it. The Slider, eight flippers on each side workingmadly, was twisting its thirty feet of wormlike body around for anothercharge.     Aiming hastily, Asa fired a rocket at the monster's middle segment. Therocket smashed through hard scales and exploded in a fountain of grayflesh. The Slider writhed, coating its wound in mud, and twisted towardAsa. He leaped to one side, firing from the air and missing, and sawthe Slider turn toward the patch of weeds where he would land. His legswere tensed to leap again the moment he hit the mud, but he saw theSlider would be on top of him before he could escape. As he landed hethrust his gun forward almost into the mouth of the creature and firedagain.       Even as he was knocked aside into the muck, Asa's body was showeredwith shreds of alien flesh scattered by the rocket's explosion.Desperately pushing himself to his feet, he saw the long headless bodyshiver and lie still.  <doc-sep>A round trip for the helicopter should have taken no more than twentyminutes, allowing time for Kershaw to be taken out at the settlement.     After an hour passed Asa began to worry. He was sure Dorr would returnfor the egg. Finally he realized that Dorr could locate the eggapproximately by the body of the dead Slider. Dorr could return for theegg any time with some other muck man to dig for it.     Asa pulled down the mouthpiece of his radio.     This is Graybar, calling the helicopter, he said. When are youcoming?     There was no answer except the hum of carrier wave.     If he tried to carry the egg back, Asa knew, Sliders would attack himall along the way. A man had no chance of getting five miles with anegg by himself. He could leave the egg here, of course. Even so hewould be lucky if he got back, following a hazy compass course fromwhich he and Kershaw had certainly deviated on their outward trip.There were no landmarks in this wilderness of bog to help him find hisway. The workers were supposed to home in on radio signals, if theylost their bearings, but Dorr would deny him that help.     What was the night like on Jordan's Planet? Maybe Sliders slept atnight. If he could stay awake, and if he didn't faint from hunger inthis strange new body, and if the Sliders left him alone....     A whirring noise made Asa jump in alarm.     Then he smiled in relief, for it was the helicopter, the blessedhelicopter, coming in over the swamp. But what if it was Dorr, comingback alone to dispose of him without any witnesses? Asa leaped for thecarcass of the dead Slider and took shelter behind it.     No machine-gun blast of rockets came from the helicopter. The bigmachine swooped low dizzily, tilted back in an inexpert attempt tohover, thumped down upon the mud and slid forward. As Asa jumped aside,the landing skids caught against the Slider's body and the helicopterflipped forward on its nose, one of the rotor blades plunging deep intothe mud.     Asa leaped forward in consternation. Not only was his chance of safepassage back to the settlement wrecked, but now he would have theextra burden of taking care of the pilot. When he reached the noseof the helicopter he saw that the pilot, untangling herself from thecontrols to get up, was Harriet Hazeltyne.      IV     Are you hurt? Asa asked her. She reached for his shoulder to steadyherself as she climbed out of the machine.     I guess not, she said. But taking a fall in this gravity is no fun.From the way my face feels I ought to be getting a black eye prettysoon.     What happened?     I made a fool of myself. She made a face back in the direction ofthe settlement. Dorr wasn't going to come after you. He said anyonewho talked back to him should try arguing with the Sliders.     She looked up at the machine-gun on the helicopter.     They feed at night, you know. And they eat their own kind, she said.The Slider you killed would draw them like ants to jam.     Asa glanced around quickly to make sure no Sliders had already come. Heeyed the helicopter with distaste at the thought of what a flimsy fortit would make.     Anyway, Harriet said, I told him he couldn't just leave you hereand we started arguing. I lost my temper. He thought he had brought meto Jordan's Planet on a fancy tour. I told him the real reason I washere was to check up for my father on the way he was running things andthere seemed to be a lot wrong. So he told me very politely I could runthings to suit myself and he walked off.     She shrugged, as if to indicate that she had made a mess of things.     And you took the helicopter by yourself, Asa said, as if he couldhardly believe it yet.     Oh, back on Earth I can make a helicopter do stunts. But I wasn't usedto this gravity. I don't suppose you could make this machine stand upstraight?     Asa tugged at the body of the Slider until he got it off the skids ofthe plane. He pulled with all his strength at the rotor blade sunk inthe mud, but the weight of the helicopter was upon it and the mud heldit with a suction of its own. After a few minutes he had to give up.     We fight off the Sliders, then, she said, as matter of factly as ifthat problem was settled. If it's any comfort, I know how to handlethe machine-gun.     Nope. In this drizzle, at night, the Sliders would be on us beforewe could see them. We've got to try to get back. He stood in thoughtwhile she stared at him patiently. What happened to the other muck menwho went out today? he asked.     They were called in when the 'copter came out the first time. Some ofthem may not have got back yet.  <doc-sep>Asa took a deep breath and looked around.     Kershaw! he called. Where are you?     Over here. Kershaw stood briefly above the weeds and fell back again.Asa leaped over to him.     Thanks, Kershaw said. Muck men stick together. You'll make a goodone. I wouldn't have had a chance. My leg's busted.     The helicopter ought to be here pretty soon, Asa said. He looked overat the dead Slider and shook his head. Tell me, what are the odds ongetting killed doing this?     Last time I was here there was about one mucker killed for every sixeggs brought out. Of course you're not supposed to stand there admiringthe eggs like I did while a Slider comes up on you.     Asa hopped over to the egg, which was still full of a dancing radiancewhere it rested on the mud. He scooped a hole in the muck and buriedthe egg.     Just in case there are any more Sliders around, he explained.     Makes no difference, said Kershaw, pointing upward. Here comes the'copter, late as usual.     The big machine circled them, hovered to inspect the dead Slider, andsettled down on broad skids. Through the transparent nose Asa could seeTom Dorr and Harriet Hazeltyne. The company manager swung the door openand leaned out.     I see you took care of the Slider, he said. Hand over the egg.     Kershaw has a broken leg, Asa said. I'll help him in and then I'llget the egg.     While Kershaw grabbed the door frame to help pull himself into thehelicopter, Asa got under his companion's belly and lifted him by thewaist. He hadn't realized before just how strong his new body was.Kershaw, as a muck man, would have weighed close to three hundredpounds on Earth, close to six hundred here.     Dorr made no move to help, but the girl reached under Kershaw'sshoulder and strained to get him in. Once he was inside, Asa saw, thecabin was crowded.     Are you going to have room for me too? he asked.     Not this trip, Dorr answered. Now give me the egg.     Asa didn't hesitate. The egg stays with me, he said softly.     You do what I tell you, mucker, said Dorr.     Nope. I want to make sure you come back. Asa turned his head toHarriet. You see, Miss Hazeltyne, I don't trust your friend. You mightask him to tell you about it.     Dorr stared at him with narrowed eyes. Suddenly he smiled in a way thatworried Asa.     Whatever you say, Graybar, Dorr said. He turned to the controls. Inanother minute the helicopter was in the sky.  <doc-sep>   MUCK MAN     BY FREMONT DODGE     The work wasn't hard, but there were some sacrifices.     You had to give up hope and freedom—and being human!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, November 1963.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I     The girl with the Slider egg glittering in her hair watched thebailiff lead Asa Graybar out of the courtroom. He recognized her asold Hazeltyne's daughter Harriet, no doubt come to see justice done.She didn't have the hothouse-flower look Asa would have expected in agirl whose father owned the most valuable of the planetary franchises.She was not afraid to meet his eye, the eye of a judicially certifiedcriminal. There was, perhaps, a crease of puzzlement in her brow, as ifshe had thought crimes were committed by shriveled, rat-faced types,and not by young biological engineers who still affected crewcuts.     Tom Dorr, Hazeltyne's general manager, was her escort. Asa feltcertain, without proof, that Dorr was the man who had framed him forthe charge of grand theft by secreting a fresh Slider egg in hislaboratory. The older man stared at Asa coldly as he was led out ofthe courtroom and down the corridor back to jail.     Jumpy, Asa's cellmate, took one look at his face as he was put backbehind bars.     Guilty, Jumpy said.     Asa glared at him.     I know, I know, Jumpy said hastily. You were framed. But what's therap?     Five or one.     Take the five, Jumpy advised. Learn basket-weaving in a niceair-conditioned rehab clinic. A year on a changeling deal will seem alot longer, even if you're lucky enough to live through it.     Asa took four steps to the far wall of the cell, stood there brieflywith his head bent and turned to face Jumpy.     Nope, Asa said softly. I'm going into a conversion tank. I'm goingto be a muck man, Jumpy. I'm going out to Jordan's Planet and huntSlider eggs.     Smuggling? It won't work.     Asa didn't answer. The Hazeltyne company had gone after him becausehe had been working on a method of keeping Slider eggs alive. TheHazeltyne company would be happy to see him mark time for five yearsof so-called social reorientation. But if he could get out to Jordan'sPlanet, with his physiology adapted to the environment of that wretchedworld, he could study the eggs under conditions no laboratory couldduplicate. He might even be able to cause trouble for Hazeltyne.     His only problem would be staying alive for a year.  <doc-sep>    A wayfarer's return from a far country to his wife and family may be ashining experience, a kind of second honeymoon. Or it may be so shadowedby Time's relentless tyranny that the changes which have occurred in hisabsence can lead only to tragedy and despair. This rarely discerning, warmlyhuman story by a brilliant newcomer to the science fantasy field is toldwith no pulling of punches, and its adroit unfolding will astound you.         the       hoofer         by ... Walter M. Miller, Jr.         A space rover has no business with a family. But what can a manin the full vigor of youth do—if his heart cries out for a home?    <doc-sep>An interview with a doctor from the Conversion Corps was requiredfor all persons who elected changeling status. The law stated thatpotential changelings must be fully informed of the rights and hazardsof altered shape before they signed a release. The requirement heldwhether or not the individual, like Asa, was already experienced.     By the time humanity traveled to the stars, medical biology had madeit possible to regenerate damaged or deficient organs of the body.Regeneration was limited only by advanced age. Sometime after a man'stwo hundredth year his body lost the ability to be coaxed into growingnew cells. A fifth set of teeth was usually one's last. As long assenescence could be staved off, however, any man could have bulgingbiceps and a pencil waist, if he could pay for the treatment.     Until the medical associations declared such treatments unethical therewas even a short fad of deliberate deformities, with horns at thetemples particularly popular.     From regeneration it was a short step to specialized regrowth. Thetechniques were perfected to adapt humans to the dozen barely habitableworlds man had discovered. Even on Mars, the only planet outside Earthin the solar system where the human anatomy was remotely suitable, aman could work more efficiently with redesigned lungs and temperaturecontrols than he could inside a pressure suit. On more bizarre planetsa few light-years away the advantages of changeling bodies weregreater.     Unfortunately for planetary development companies, hardly anyonewanted to become a changeling. High pay lured few. So a law was passedpermitting a convicted criminal to earn his freedom by putting in oneyear as a changeling for every five years he would otherwise have hadto spend in rehabilitation.     What types of changelings do you have orders for right now, doctor?Asa asked the man assigned to his case. It would look suspicious if heasked for Jordan's Planet without some preliminary questions.     Four, answered the doctor.     Squiffs for New Arcady. Adapted for climbing the skycraper trees andwith the arm structure modified into pseudo-wings or gliding. Then weneed spiderinos for Von Neumann Two. If you want the nearest thing wehave to Earth, there's Caesar's Moon, where we'd just have to doubleyour tolerance for carbon monoxide and make you a bigger and bettergorilla than the natives. Last, of course, there's always a need formuck men on Jordan's Planet.     The doctor shrugged, as if naturally no one could be expected tochoose Jordan's Planet. Asa frowned in apparent consideration of thealternatives.     What's the pay range? he asked.     Ten dollars a day on Caesar's Moon. Fifteen on New Arcady or VonNeumann Two. Twenty-five on Jordan's.     Asa raised his eyebrows.     Why such a difference? Everyone knows about muck men living in themud while they hunt Slider eggs. But don't your conversions make thechangeling comfortable in his new environment?     Sure they do, said the doctor. We can make you think mud feelsbetter than chinchilla fur and we can have you jumping like agrasshopper despite the double gravity. But we can't make you like thesight of yourself. And we can't guarantee that a Slider won't kill you.     Still, Asa mused aloud, it would mean a nice bankroll waiting at theend of the year.     He leaned forward to fill in the necessary form.  <doc-sep>Since it was cheaper to transport a normal human than to rig specialenvironments in a spaceship, every planet operated its own conversionchambers. On the space freighter that carried him from Earth AsaGraybar was confined to a small cabin that was opened only for a guardto bring meals and take out dirty dishes. He was still a prisoner.     Sometimes he could hear voices in the passageway outside, and onceone of them sounded like a woman's. But since women neither served onspaceships nor worked in the dome settlements on harsher worlds, hedecided it was his imagination. He might have been dead cargo for allhe learned about space travel.     Nevertheless his time was not wasted. He had as a companion, orcellmate, another convict who had elected conversion to muck man. Moreimportant, his companion had done time on Jordan's Planet before andhad wanted to return.     It's the Slider eggs, explained Kershaw, the two-time loser. Theones you see on Earth knock your eyes out, but they've already begunto die. There's nothing like a fresh one. And I'm not the first togo crazy over them. When I was reconverted and got home I had ninethousand dollars waiting for me. That'll buy a two-year-old egg thatflashes maybe four times a day. So I stole a new one and got caught.     Asa had held a Slider egg in his hand as he gazed into it. He couldunderstand. The shell was clear as crystal, taut but elastic, whilethe albumen was just as clear around the sparkling network of organicfilaments that served as a yolk. Along these interior threads playedtiny flashes of lightning, part of some unexplained process of life.Electrical instruments picked up static discharges from the egg, butthe phenomenon remained a mystery.     Hardly anyone faced with the beauty of a Slider's egg bothered toquestion its workings. For a few expectant moments there would be onlyrandom, fitful gleamings, and then there would be a wild coruscation oflight, dancing from one filament to the next in a frenzy of brilliance.     It took about four years for a Slider egg to die. Beauty, rarity andfading value made the eggs a luxury item like nothing the world hadever seen. If Asa had found a means of keeping them alive it would havemade him wealthy at the expense of the Hazeltyne monopoly.     You know what I think? Kershaw asked. I think those flashes arethe egg calling its momma. They sparkle like a million diamonds whenyou scoop one out of the muck, and right away a Slider always comesswooping out of nowhere at you.     I've been meaning to ask you, Asa said. How do you handle theSliders?     Kershaw grinned.     First you try to catch it with a rocket. If you miss you start leapingfor home. All this time you're broadcasting for help, you understand.When the Slider catches you, you leap up while it buries its jaws inthe mud where you were just standing. You dig your claws in its backand hang on while it rolls around in the mud. Finally, if the 'coptercomes—and if they don't shoot off your head by mistake—you live totell the tale.      II     Asa Graybar kept his normal form on Jordan's Planet just long enough tolearn the discomfort of double gravity. He was told he needed anotherphysical examination and was taken right in to a doctor. His heart waspounding to keep his blood circulating on this massive world, but thedoctor had apparently learned to make allowances.     Swallow this, said the doctor after making a series of tests.     Asa swallowed the capsule. Two minutes later he felt himself beginningto lose consciousness.     This is it! he thought in panic.     He felt someone ease him back down onto a wheeled stretcher. Beforeconsciousness faded completely he realized that no one got a chanceto back out of becoming a changeling, that he was on his way to theconversion tank right now.     When he finally awoke he felt well rested and very comfortable. But fora long time he was afraid to open his eyes.     Come on, Graybar, said a deep, booming voice. Let's test our wings.     It was not Kershaw's voice, but it had to be Kershaw. Asa opened hiseyes.     Everyone had seen pictures of muck men. It was different having onestand beside you. Kershaw looked much like an enormous frog except thathis head was still mostly human. He was sitting on webbed feet, hislower legs bent double under huge thighs, and his trunk tilted forwardso that his arms dangled to the ground. The arms were as thick aroundas an ordinary man's legs. The hands had become efficient scoops, withbroad fingers webbed to the first joint and tipped with spade-likeclaws. The skin was still pinkish but had become scaly. Not a thread ofhair showed anywhere on the body, not even on the head.     This, Asa realized, was what he looked like himself.     It would have been more bearable if the head had not retained strongtraces of humanity. The nostrils flared wide and the jaws hardlyemerged from the neck, but the ears were human ears and the eyes, underthose horny ridges, were human eyes. Asa felt sure that the eyes couldstill weep.     He started to walk forward and tipped over on his side. Kershaw laughed.     Come to daddy, babykins, Kershaw said, holding out his hands. Onlytry hopping this time. And take it easy.     Asa pushed himself upright with one arm and tried a small hop. Nerveand muscle coordination was perfect. He found himself leaping as highas Kershaw's head.     That's the way, Kershaw said approvingly. Now get this on and we'llgo outside.     Asa snapped on a belt and breech cloth combination that had flaps offabric dangling from the belt in front and behind. He followed asKershaw pushed open a sliding door to lead the way out of the roomwhere they had been left to revive from conversion.  <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></s> [SEP] In what locations does the story of MUCK MAN unfold?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the fate of Tom Dorr in the tale of MUCK MAN? [SEP] <s>Asa took a deep breath and looked around.     Kershaw! he called. Where are you?     Over here. Kershaw stood briefly above the weeds and fell back again.Asa leaped over to him.     Thanks, Kershaw said. Muck men stick together. You'll make a goodone. I wouldn't have had a chance. My leg's busted.     The helicopter ought to be here pretty soon, Asa said. He looked overat the dead Slider and shook his head. Tell me, what are the odds ongetting killed doing this?     Last time I was here there was about one mucker killed for every sixeggs brought out. Of course you're not supposed to stand there admiringthe eggs like I did while a Slider comes up on you.     Asa hopped over to the egg, which was still full of a dancing radiancewhere it rested on the mud. He scooped a hole in the muck and buriedthe egg.     Just in case there are any more Sliders around, he explained.     Makes no difference, said Kershaw, pointing upward. Here comes the'copter, late as usual.     The big machine circled them, hovered to inspect the dead Slider, andsettled down on broad skids. Through the transparent nose Asa could seeTom Dorr and Harriet Hazeltyne. The company manager swung the door openand leaned out.     I see you took care of the Slider, he said. Hand over the egg.     Kershaw has a broken leg, Asa said. I'll help him in and then I'llget the egg.     While Kershaw grabbed the door frame to help pull himself into thehelicopter, Asa got under his companion's belly and lifted him by thewaist. He hadn't realized before just how strong his new body was.Kershaw, as a muck man, would have weighed close to three hundredpounds on Earth, close to six hundred here.     Dorr made no move to help, but the girl reached under Kershaw'sshoulder and strained to get him in. Once he was inside, Asa saw, thecabin was crowded.     Are you going to have room for me too? he asked.     Not this trip, Dorr answered. Now give me the egg.     Asa didn't hesitate. The egg stays with me, he said softly.     You do what I tell you, mucker, said Dorr.     Nope. I want to make sure you come back. Asa turned his head toHarriet. You see, Miss Hazeltyne, I don't trust your friend. You mightask him to tell you about it.     Dorr stared at him with narrowed eyes. Suddenly he smiled in a way thatworried Asa.     Whatever you say, Graybar, Dorr said. He turned to the controls. Inanother minute the helicopter was in the sky.  <doc-sep>   MUCK MAN     BY FREMONT DODGE     The work wasn't hard, but there were some sacrifices.     You had to give up hope and freedom—and being human!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, November 1963.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I     The girl with the Slider egg glittering in her hair watched thebailiff lead Asa Graybar out of the courtroom. He recognized her asold Hazeltyne's daughter Harriet, no doubt come to see justice done.She didn't have the hothouse-flower look Asa would have expected in agirl whose father owned the most valuable of the planetary franchises.She was not afraid to meet his eye, the eye of a judicially certifiedcriminal. There was, perhaps, a crease of puzzlement in her brow, as ifshe had thought crimes were committed by shriveled, rat-faced types,and not by young biological engineers who still affected crewcuts.     Tom Dorr, Hazeltyne's general manager, was her escort. Asa feltcertain, without proof, that Dorr was the man who had framed him forthe charge of grand theft by secreting a fresh Slider egg in hislaboratory. The older man stared at Asa coldly as he was led out ofthe courtroom and down the corridor back to jail.     Jumpy, Asa's cellmate, took one look at his face as he was put backbehind bars.     Guilty, Jumpy said.     Asa glared at him.     I know, I know, Jumpy said hastily. You were framed. But what's therap?     Five or one.     Take the five, Jumpy advised. Learn basket-weaving in a niceair-conditioned rehab clinic. A year on a changeling deal will seem alot longer, even if you're lucky enough to live through it.     Asa took four steps to the far wall of the cell, stood there brieflywith his head bent and turned to face Jumpy.     Nope, Asa said softly. I'm going into a conversion tank. I'm goingto be a muck man, Jumpy. I'm going out to Jordan's Planet and huntSlider eggs.     Smuggling? It won't work.     Asa didn't answer. The Hazeltyne company had gone after him becausehe had been working on a method of keeping Slider eggs alive. TheHazeltyne company would be happy to see him mark time for five yearsof so-called social reorientation. But if he could get out to Jordan'sPlanet, with his physiology adapted to the environment of that wretchedworld, he could study the eggs under conditions no laboratory couldduplicate. He might even be able to cause trouble for Hazeltyne.     His only problem would be staying alive for a year.  <doc-sep>They went into a courtyard partly covered by a roof projecting fromthe Hazeltyne company's dome settlement. The far half of the courtyardwas open to the gray drizzle that fell almost ceaselessly from the skyof Jordan's Planet and turned most of its surface into marsh and mudflats. A high wall enclosed the far portion of the courtyard. Rangedalong the wall were thirty stalls for muck men.     From fifty yards across the courtyard a muck man bounded over to themin two leaps. Attached to a harness across his shoulders and chest werea gun and a long knife.     Names? he growled. He was a foot taller than Graybar and bigeverywhere in proportion.     Kershaw. I'm back, Furston.     I'm Graybar.     Kershaw again? Just start in where you left off, sucker. Come on,you. He pointed to Asa and leaped to the open portion of the courtyard.     Do what he says, Kershaw whispered to Graybar. He's sort of a trustyand warden and parole officer rolled into one.     Asa was put through a series of exercises to get him used to hisdistorted body, to teach him how to leap and how to dig. He was shownhow to operate the radio he would carry and how to fire the pencil-slimrockets of this gun. Finally he was told to eat a few berries from anative vine. He did so and immediately vomited.     Furston laughed.     That's to remind you you're still a man, Furston said, grinning.Everything that grows on this planet is poison. So if you got anyideas of hiding out till your term is up, forget 'em. Right here iswhere you eat.     Asa turned without a word and hopped feebly away from Furston. Helifted his head to breathe deeply and saw two humans watching him froman observation tower on the roof.     He leaped twenty feet into the air for a closer look.     Gazing at him with repugnance, after witnessing the end of his sessionwith Furston, were Harriet Hazeltyne and general manager Tom Dorr.     The girl's presence merely puzzled Asa, but Dorr's being here worriedhim. Dorr had tried to get rid of him once and was now in an excellentposition to make the riddance permanent.     At supper that night, squatting on the ground beside a low table withthe dozen other muck men operating from the dome, Asa asked what thetwo were doing out here.     The girl will inherit this racket some day, won't she? asked one ofthe others. She wants to see what kind of suckers are making her rich.     Maybe that guy Dorr brought her along to show her what a big wheelhe is, said one of the others. Just hope he doesn't take over theoperations.      III     Next morning Furston passed out guns, knives, radios, and pouches tocarry any eggs the muck men found. He gave each man a compass andassigned the sectors to be worked during the day. Finally he calledGraybar aside.     In case you don't like it here, Furston said, you can get a weekknocked off your sentence for every egg you bring in. Now get out thereand work that muck.     Furston sent Graybar and Kershaw out together so that the veteran couldshow Asa the ropes. Asa had already learned that the wall around thecourtyard was to keep Sliders out, not muck men in. He leaped over itand hopped along after Kershaw.     Feet slapping against the mud, they went about five miles from theHazeltyne station, swimming easily across ponds too broad to jump. Themud, if not precisely as pleasant to the touch as chinchilla fur, wasnot at all uncomfortable, and the dripping air caressed their skinslike a summer breeze back on Earth. Tiny, slippery creatures skiddedand splashed out of their way. Finally Kershaw stopped. His experiencedeye had seen a trail of swamp weeds crushed low into the mud.     Keep your eyes open, Kershaw said. There's a Slider been around herelately. If you see something like an express train headed our way,start shooting.     At each leap along the trail they peered quickly around. They saw noSliders, but this meant little, for the beasts lived under the mud asmuch as on top of it.     Kershaw halted again when they came to a roughly circular area some tenyards in diameter where the weeds had been torn out and lay rotting inthe muck.     We're in luck, he said as Asa skidded to a stop at his side. An eggwas laid somewhere here within the last week. These places are hard tospot when the new weeds start growing.     Kershaw took a long look around.     No trouble in sight. We dig.     They started at the center of the cleared area, shoveling up great gobsof mud with their hands and flinging them out of the clearing. Usuallya muck man dug in a spiral out from the center, but Graybar and Kershawdug in gradually widening semi-circles opposite each other. They hadto dig four feet deep, and it was slow going until they had a pitbig enough to stand in. Each handful of mud had to be squeezed gentlybefore it was thrown away, to make sure it didn't conceal an egg. As heworked, Asa kept thinking what an inefficient system it was. Everythingabout the operation was wrong.     Got it! Kershaw shouted. He leaped out of the pit and started wipingslime off a round object the size of a baseball. Asa jumped out towatch.     A big one, Kershaw said. He held it, still smeared with traces ofmud, lovingly to his cheek, and then lifted it to eye level. Just lookat it.      A SLIDER EGG      The egg was flashing with a mad radiance, like a thousand diamondsbeing splintered under a brilliant sun. Static crackled in Asa'searphones and he thought of what Kershaw had said, that thescintillation of an egg was an effect of its calls to a mother Sliderfor help. Asa looked around.     Jump! he shouted.     At the edge of the clearing a segmented length of greenish blackscales, some two feet thick and six feet high, had reared up out of theweeds. The top segment was almost all mouth, already opened to show rowupon row of teeth. Before Asa could draw his gun the Slider loweredits head to the ground, dug two front flippers into the mud and shotforward.     Asa leaped with all his strength, sailing far out of the clearing.While he was still in the air he snapped the mouthpiece of his radiodown from where it was hinged over his head. As he landed he turnedinstantly, his gun in his hand.     Calling the 'copter! he spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece. Kershawand Graybar, sector eight, five miles out. Hurry!     Graybar? asked a voice in his earphone. What's up?     We've got an egg but a Slider wants it back.     On the way.     Asa hopped back to the clearing. Kershaw must have been bowled over bythe Slider's first rush, for he was trying to hop on one leg as if theother had been broken. The egg lay flickering on top of the mud whereKershaw had dropped it. The Slider, eight flippers on each side workingmadly, was twisting its thirty feet of wormlike body around for anothercharge.     Aiming hastily, Asa fired a rocket at the monster's middle segment. Therocket smashed through hard scales and exploded in a fountain of grayflesh. The Slider writhed, coating its wound in mud, and twisted towardAsa. He leaped to one side, firing from the air and missing, and sawthe Slider turn toward the patch of weeds where he would land. His legswere tensed to leap again the moment he hit the mud, but he saw theSlider would be on top of him before he could escape. As he landed hethrust his gun forward almost into the mouth of the creature and firedagain.       Even as he was knocked aside into the muck, Asa's body was showeredwith shreds of alien flesh scattered by the rocket's explosion.Desperately pushing himself to his feet, he saw the long headless bodyshiver and lie still.  <doc-sep>A round trip for the helicopter should have taken no more than twentyminutes, allowing time for Kershaw to be taken out at the settlement.     After an hour passed Asa began to worry. He was sure Dorr would returnfor the egg. Finally he realized that Dorr could locate the eggapproximately by the body of the dead Slider. Dorr could return for theegg any time with some other muck man to dig for it.     Asa pulled down the mouthpiece of his radio.     This is Graybar, calling the helicopter, he said. When are youcoming?     There was no answer except the hum of carrier wave.     If he tried to carry the egg back, Asa knew, Sliders would attack himall along the way. A man had no chance of getting five miles with anegg by himself. He could leave the egg here, of course. Even so hewould be lucky if he got back, following a hazy compass course fromwhich he and Kershaw had certainly deviated on their outward trip.There were no landmarks in this wilderness of bog to help him find hisway. The workers were supposed to home in on radio signals, if theylost their bearings, but Dorr would deny him that help.     What was the night like on Jordan's Planet? Maybe Sliders slept atnight. If he could stay awake, and if he didn't faint from hunger inthis strange new body, and if the Sliders left him alone....     A whirring noise made Asa jump in alarm.     Then he smiled in relief, for it was the helicopter, the blessedhelicopter, coming in over the swamp. But what if it was Dorr, comingback alone to dispose of him without any witnesses? Asa leaped for thecarcass of the dead Slider and took shelter behind it.     No machine-gun blast of rockets came from the helicopter. The bigmachine swooped low dizzily, tilted back in an inexpert attempt tohover, thumped down upon the mud and slid forward. As Asa jumped aside,the landing skids caught against the Slider's body and the helicopterflipped forward on its nose, one of the rotor blades plunging deep intothe mud.     Asa leaped forward in consternation. Not only was his chance of safepassage back to the settlement wrecked, but now he would have theextra burden of taking care of the pilot. When he reached the noseof the helicopter he saw that the pilot, untangling herself from thecontrols to get up, was Harriet Hazeltyne.      IV     Are you hurt? Asa asked her. She reached for his shoulder to steadyherself as she climbed out of the machine.     I guess not, she said. But taking a fall in this gravity is no fun.From the way my face feels I ought to be getting a black eye prettysoon.     What happened?     I made a fool of myself. She made a face back in the direction ofthe settlement. Dorr wasn't going to come after you. He said anyonewho talked back to him should try arguing with the Sliders.     She looked up at the machine-gun on the helicopter.     They feed at night, you know. And they eat their own kind, she said.The Slider you killed would draw them like ants to jam.     Asa glanced around quickly to make sure no Sliders had already come. Heeyed the helicopter with distaste at the thought of what a flimsy fortit would make.     Anyway, Harriet said, I told him he couldn't just leave you hereand we started arguing. I lost my temper. He thought he had brought meto Jordan's Planet on a fancy tour. I told him the real reason I washere was to check up for my father on the way he was running things andthere seemed to be a lot wrong. So he told me very politely I could runthings to suit myself and he walked off.     She shrugged, as if to indicate that she had made a mess of things.     And you took the helicopter by yourself, Asa said, as if he couldhardly believe it yet.     Oh, back on Earth I can make a helicopter do stunts. But I wasn't usedto this gravity. I don't suppose you could make this machine stand upstraight?     Asa tugged at the body of the Slider until he got it off the skids ofthe plane. He pulled with all his strength at the rotor blade sunk inthe mud, but the weight of the helicopter was upon it and the mud heldit with a suction of its own. After a few minutes he had to give up.     We fight off the Sliders, then, she said, as matter of factly as ifthat problem was settled. If it's any comfort, I know how to handlethe machine-gun.     Nope. In this drizzle, at night, the Sliders would be on us beforewe could see them. We've got to try to get back. He stood in thoughtwhile she stared at him patiently. What happened to the other muck menwho went out today? he asked.     They were called in when the 'copter came out the first time. Some ofthem may not have got back yet.  <doc-sep>Manet finished the mellow whiskey and looked into the glass. It seemedto have been polished clean. What do you have to offer?     Whatever you want?     Irritably, How do I know what I want until I know what you have?     You know.     I know? All right, I know. You don't have it for sale.     Old chap, understand if you please that I do not only      sell     . Iam a trader—Trader Tom. I trade with many parties. There are, forexample ... extraterrestrials.     Folk legend!     On the contrary,      mon cher     , the only reality it lacks is politicalreality. The Assembly could no longer justify their disposition ofthe cosmos if it were known they were dealing confiscation withoutrepresentation. Come, tell me what you want.     Manet gave in to it. I want to be not alone, he said.     Of course, Trader Tom replied, I suspected. It is not so unusual,you know. Sign here. And here. Two copies. This is yours. Thank you somuch.     Manet handed back the pen and stared at the laminated card in his hand.       When he looked up from the card, Manet saw the box. Trader Tom waspushing it across the floor towards him.     The box had the general dimensions of a coffin, but it wasn'twood—only brightly illustrated cardboard. There was a large four-colorpicture on the lid showing men, women and children moving through abusy city street. The red and blue letters said:     LIFO       The Socialization Kit       It is commercialized, Trader Tom admitted with no little chagrin.It is presented to appeal to a twelve-year-old child, an erotic,aggressive twelve-year-old, the typical sensie goer—but that isreality. It offends men of good taste like ourselves, yet sometimes itapproaches being art. We must accept it.     What's the cost? Manet asked. Before I accept it, I have to know thecharges.     You never know the cost. Only your executor knows that. It's theTrader Tom plan.     Well, is it guaranteed?     There are no guarantees, Trader Tom admitted. But I've never had anycomplaints yet.     Suppose I'm the first? Manet suggested reasonably.     You won't be, Trader Tom said. I won't pass this way again.  <doc-sep>Since it was cheaper to transport a normal human than to rig specialenvironments in a spaceship, every planet operated its own conversionchambers. On the space freighter that carried him from Earth AsaGraybar was confined to a small cabin that was opened only for a guardto bring meals and take out dirty dishes. He was still a prisoner.     Sometimes he could hear voices in the passageway outside, and onceone of them sounded like a woman's. But since women neither served onspaceships nor worked in the dome settlements on harsher worlds, hedecided it was his imagination. He might have been dead cargo for allhe learned about space travel.     Nevertheless his time was not wasted. He had as a companion, orcellmate, another convict who had elected conversion to muck man. Moreimportant, his companion had done time on Jordan's Planet before andhad wanted to return.     It's the Slider eggs, explained Kershaw, the two-time loser. Theones you see on Earth knock your eyes out, but they've already begunto die. There's nothing like a fresh one. And I'm not the first togo crazy over them. When I was reconverted and got home I had ninethousand dollars waiting for me. That'll buy a two-year-old egg thatflashes maybe four times a day. So I stole a new one and got caught.     Asa had held a Slider egg in his hand as he gazed into it. He couldunderstand. The shell was clear as crystal, taut but elastic, whilethe albumen was just as clear around the sparkling network of organicfilaments that served as a yolk. Along these interior threads playedtiny flashes of lightning, part of some unexplained process of life.Electrical instruments picked up static discharges from the egg, butthe phenomenon remained a mystery.     Hardly anyone faced with the beauty of a Slider's egg bothered toquestion its workings. For a few expectant moments there would be onlyrandom, fitful gleamings, and then there would be a wild coruscation oflight, dancing from one filament to the next in a frenzy of brilliance.     It took about four years for a Slider egg to die. Beauty, rarity andfading value made the eggs a luxury item like nothing the world hadever seen. If Asa had found a means of keeping them alive it would havemade him wealthy at the expense of the Hazeltyne monopoly.     You know what I think? Kershaw asked. I think those flashes arethe egg calling its momma. They sparkle like a million diamonds whenyou scoop one out of the muck, and right away a Slider always comesswooping out of nowhere at you.     I've been meaning to ask you, Asa said. How do you handle theSliders?     Kershaw grinned.     First you try to catch it with a rocket. If you miss you start leapingfor home. All this time you're broadcasting for help, you understand.When the Slider catches you, you leap up while it buries its jaws inthe mud where you were just standing. You dig your claws in its backand hang on while it rolls around in the mud. Finally, if the 'coptercomes—and if they don't shoot off your head by mistake—you live totell the tale.      II     Asa Graybar kept his normal form on Jordan's Planet just long enough tolearn the discomfort of double gravity. He was told he needed anotherphysical examination and was taken right in to a doctor. His heart waspounding to keep his blood circulating on this massive world, but thedoctor had apparently learned to make allowances.     Swallow this, said the doctor after making a series of tests.     Asa swallowed the capsule. Two minutes later he felt himself beginningto lose consciousness.     This is it! he thought in panic.     He felt someone ease him back down onto a wheeled stretcher. Beforeconsciousness faded completely he realized that no one got a chanceto back out of becoming a changeling, that he was on his way to theconversion tank right now.     When he finally awoke he felt well rested and very comfortable. But fora long time he was afraid to open his eyes.     Come on, Graybar, said a deep, booming voice. Let's test our wings.     It was not Kershaw's voice, but it had to be Kershaw. Asa opened hiseyes.     Everyone had seen pictures of muck men. It was different having onestand beside you. Kershaw looked much like an enormous frog except thathis head was still mostly human. He was sitting on webbed feet, hislower legs bent double under huge thighs, and his trunk tilted forwardso that his arms dangled to the ground. The arms were as thick aroundas an ordinary man's legs. The hands had become efficient scoops, withbroad fingers webbed to the first joint and tipped with spade-likeclaws. The skin was still pinkish but had become scaly. Not a thread ofhair showed anywhere on the body, not even on the head.     This, Asa realized, was what he looked like himself.     It would have been more bearable if the head had not retained strongtraces of humanity. The nostrils flared wide and the jaws hardlyemerged from the neck, but the ears were human ears and the eyes, underthose horny ridges, were human eyes. Asa felt sure that the eyes couldstill weep.     He started to walk forward and tipped over on his side. Kershaw laughed.     Come to daddy, babykins, Kershaw said, holding out his hands. Onlytry hopping this time. And take it easy.     Asa pushed himself upright with one arm and tried a small hop. Nerveand muscle coordination was perfect. He found himself leaping as highas Kershaw's head.     That's the way, Kershaw said approvingly. Now get this on and we'llgo outside.     Asa snapped on a belt and breech cloth combination that had flaps offabric dangling from the belt in front and behind. He followed asKershaw pushed open a sliding door to lead the way out of the roomwhere they had been left to revive from conversion.  <doc-sep>Manet suspected hallucination, but in an existence with all the palliddispassion of a requited love he was happy to welcome dementia.Sometimes he even manufactured it. Sometimes he would run through thearteries of the factory and play that it had suddenly gone mad hatinghuman beings, and was about to close down its bulkheads on him as sureas the Engineers' Thumb and bale up the pressure-dehydrated digest,making so much stall flooring of him. He ran until he dropped with akind of climaxing release of terror.     So Manet put on the pressure suit he had been given because he wouldnever need it, and marched out to meet the visiting spaceship.     He wasn't quite clear how he came from walking effortlessly acrossthe Martian plain that had all the distance-perpetuating qualities ofa kid's crank movie machine to the comfortable interior of a strangecabin. Not a ship's cabin but a Northwoods cabin.     The black and orange Hallowe'en log charring in the slate stonefireplace seemed real. So did the lean man with the smiling mustachepainted with the random designs of the fire, standing before thehorizontal pattern of chinked wall.     Need a fresher? the host inquired.     Manet's eyes wondered down to heavy water tumbler full of rich, amberwhiskey full of sparks from the hearth. He stirred himself in thecomfortingly warm leather chair. No, no, I'm      fine     . He let the wordhang there for examination. Pardon me, but could you tell me just whatplace this is?     The host shrugged. It was the only word for it. Whatever place youchoose it to be, so long as you're with Trader Tom. 'Service,' that'smy motto. It is a way of life with me.     Trader Tom? Service?     Yes! That's it exactly. It's      me     exactly. Trader Tom Service—Servingthe Wants of the Spaceman Between the Stars. Of course, 'stars' ispoetic. Any point of light in the sky in a star. We service theplanets.     Manet took the tumbler in both hands and drank. It was good whiskey,immensely powerful. The government wouldn't pay for somebody servingthe wants of spacemen, he exploded.     Ah, Trader Tom said, cautionary. He moved nearer the fire and warmedhis hands and buttocks. Ah, but I am not a      government     service. Irepresent free enterprise.  <doc-sep>Nonsense, Manet said. No group of private individuals can build aspaceship. It takes a combine of nations.     But remember only that businessmen are reactionary. It's well-known.Ask anyone on the street. Businessmen are reactionary even beyond thecapitalistic system. Money is a fiction that exists mostly on paper.They play along on paper to get paper things, but to get real thingsthey can forego the papers. Comprehend,      mon ami     ? My businessmenhave gone back to the barter system. Between them, they have the rawmaterials, the trained men, the man-hours to make a spaceship. So theymake it. Damned reactionaries, all of my principals.     I don't believe you, Manet stated flatly. His conversation had grownblunt with disuse. What possible profit could your principals turnfrom running a trading ship among scattered exploration posts on theplanets? What could you give us that a benevolent government doesn'talready supply us with? And if there was anything, how could we pay forit? My year's salary wouldn't cover the transportation costs of thisglass of whiskey.     Do you find it good whiskey?     Very good.     Excellent?     Excellent, if you prefer.     I only meant—but never mind. We give you what you want. As forpaying for it—why, forget about the payment. You may apply for aTrader Tom Credit Card.     And I could buy anything that I wanted with it? Manet demanded.That's absurd. I'd never be able to pay for it.     That's it precisely! Trader Tom said with enthusiasm. You      never     pay for it. Charges are merely deducted from your      estate     .     But I may leave no estate!     Trader Tom demonstrated his peculiar shrug. All businesses operate ona certain margin of risk. That is our worry.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the fate of Tom Dorr in the tale of MUCK MAN?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"How would you describe the dynamic between Asa and Kershaw in MUCK MAN? [SEP] <s>Asa took a deep breath and looked around.     Kershaw! he called. Where are you?     Over here. Kershaw stood briefly above the weeds and fell back again.Asa leaped over to him.     Thanks, Kershaw said. Muck men stick together. You'll make a goodone. I wouldn't have had a chance. My leg's busted.     The helicopter ought to be here pretty soon, Asa said. He looked overat the dead Slider and shook his head. Tell me, what are the odds ongetting killed doing this?     Last time I was here there was about one mucker killed for every sixeggs brought out. Of course you're not supposed to stand there admiringthe eggs like I did while a Slider comes up on you.     Asa hopped over to the egg, which was still full of a dancing radiancewhere it rested on the mud. He scooped a hole in the muck and buriedthe egg.     Just in case there are any more Sliders around, he explained.     Makes no difference, said Kershaw, pointing upward. Here comes the'copter, late as usual.     The big machine circled them, hovered to inspect the dead Slider, andsettled down on broad skids. Through the transparent nose Asa could seeTom Dorr and Harriet Hazeltyne. The company manager swung the door openand leaned out.     I see you took care of the Slider, he said. Hand over the egg.     Kershaw has a broken leg, Asa said. I'll help him in and then I'llget the egg.     While Kershaw grabbed the door frame to help pull himself into thehelicopter, Asa got under his companion's belly and lifted him by thewaist. He hadn't realized before just how strong his new body was.Kershaw, as a muck man, would have weighed close to three hundredpounds on Earth, close to six hundred here.     Dorr made no move to help, but the girl reached under Kershaw'sshoulder and strained to get him in. Once he was inside, Asa saw, thecabin was crowded.     Are you going to have room for me too? he asked.     Not this trip, Dorr answered. Now give me the egg.     Asa didn't hesitate. The egg stays with me, he said softly.     You do what I tell you, mucker, said Dorr.     Nope. I want to make sure you come back. Asa turned his head toHarriet. You see, Miss Hazeltyne, I don't trust your friend. You mightask him to tell you about it.     Dorr stared at him with narrowed eyes. Suddenly he smiled in a way thatworried Asa.     Whatever you say, Graybar, Dorr said. He turned to the controls. Inanother minute the helicopter was in the sky.  <doc-sep>They went into a courtyard partly covered by a roof projecting fromthe Hazeltyne company's dome settlement. The far half of the courtyardwas open to the gray drizzle that fell almost ceaselessly from the skyof Jordan's Planet and turned most of its surface into marsh and mudflats. A high wall enclosed the far portion of the courtyard. Rangedalong the wall were thirty stalls for muck men.     From fifty yards across the courtyard a muck man bounded over to themin two leaps. Attached to a harness across his shoulders and chest werea gun and a long knife.     Names? he growled. He was a foot taller than Graybar and bigeverywhere in proportion.     Kershaw. I'm back, Furston.     I'm Graybar.     Kershaw again? Just start in where you left off, sucker. Come on,you. He pointed to Asa and leaped to the open portion of the courtyard.     Do what he says, Kershaw whispered to Graybar. He's sort of a trustyand warden and parole officer rolled into one.     Asa was put through a series of exercises to get him used to hisdistorted body, to teach him how to leap and how to dig. He was shownhow to operate the radio he would carry and how to fire the pencil-slimrockets of this gun. Finally he was told to eat a few berries from anative vine. He did so and immediately vomited.     Furston laughed.     That's to remind you you're still a man, Furston said, grinning.Everything that grows on this planet is poison. So if you got anyideas of hiding out till your term is up, forget 'em. Right here iswhere you eat.     Asa turned without a word and hopped feebly away from Furston. Helifted his head to breathe deeply and saw two humans watching him froman observation tower on the roof.     He leaped twenty feet into the air for a closer look.     Gazing at him with repugnance, after witnessing the end of his sessionwith Furston, were Harriet Hazeltyne and general manager Tom Dorr.     The girl's presence merely puzzled Asa, but Dorr's being here worriedhim. Dorr had tried to get rid of him once and was now in an excellentposition to make the riddance permanent.     At supper that night, squatting on the ground beside a low table withthe dozen other muck men operating from the dome, Asa asked what thetwo were doing out here.     The girl will inherit this racket some day, won't she? asked one ofthe others. She wants to see what kind of suckers are making her rich.     Maybe that guy Dorr brought her along to show her what a big wheelhe is, said one of the others. Just hope he doesn't take over theoperations.      III     Next morning Furston passed out guns, knives, radios, and pouches tocarry any eggs the muck men found. He gave each man a compass andassigned the sectors to be worked during the day. Finally he calledGraybar aside.     In case you don't like it here, Furston said, you can get a weekknocked off your sentence for every egg you bring in. Now get out thereand work that muck.     Furston sent Graybar and Kershaw out together so that the veteran couldshow Asa the ropes. Asa had already learned that the wall around thecourtyard was to keep Sliders out, not muck men in. He leaped over itand hopped along after Kershaw.     Feet slapping against the mud, they went about five miles from theHazeltyne station, swimming easily across ponds too broad to jump. Themud, if not precisely as pleasant to the touch as chinchilla fur, wasnot at all uncomfortable, and the dripping air caressed their skinslike a summer breeze back on Earth. Tiny, slippery creatures skiddedand splashed out of their way. Finally Kershaw stopped. His experiencedeye had seen a trail of swamp weeds crushed low into the mud.     Keep your eyes open, Kershaw said. There's a Slider been around herelately. If you see something like an express train headed our way,start shooting.     At each leap along the trail they peered quickly around. They saw noSliders, but this meant little, for the beasts lived under the mud asmuch as on top of it.     Kershaw halted again when they came to a roughly circular area some tenyards in diameter where the weeds had been torn out and lay rotting inthe muck.     We're in luck, he said as Asa skidded to a stop at his side. An eggwas laid somewhere here within the last week. These places are hard tospot when the new weeds start growing.     Kershaw took a long look around.     No trouble in sight. We dig.     They started at the center of the cleared area, shoveling up great gobsof mud with their hands and flinging them out of the clearing. Usuallya muck man dug in a spiral out from the center, but Graybar and Kershawdug in gradually widening semi-circles opposite each other. They hadto dig four feet deep, and it was slow going until they had a pitbig enough to stand in. Each handful of mud had to be squeezed gentlybefore it was thrown away, to make sure it didn't conceal an egg. As heworked, Asa kept thinking what an inefficient system it was. Everythingabout the operation was wrong.     Got it! Kershaw shouted. He leaped out of the pit and started wipingslime off a round object the size of a baseball. Asa jumped out towatch.     A big one, Kershaw said. He held it, still smeared with traces ofmud, lovingly to his cheek, and then lifted it to eye level. Just lookat it.      A SLIDER EGG      The egg was flashing with a mad radiance, like a thousand diamondsbeing splintered under a brilliant sun. Static crackled in Asa'searphones and he thought of what Kershaw had said, that thescintillation of an egg was an effect of its calls to a mother Sliderfor help. Asa looked around.     Jump! he shouted.     At the edge of the clearing a segmented length of greenish blackscales, some two feet thick and six feet high, had reared up out of theweeds. The top segment was almost all mouth, already opened to show rowupon row of teeth. Before Asa could draw his gun the Slider loweredits head to the ground, dug two front flippers into the mud and shotforward.     Asa leaped with all his strength, sailing far out of the clearing.While he was still in the air he snapped the mouthpiece of his radiodown from where it was hinged over his head. As he landed he turnedinstantly, his gun in his hand.     Calling the 'copter! he spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece. Kershawand Graybar, sector eight, five miles out. Hurry!     Graybar? asked a voice in his earphone. What's up?     We've got an egg but a Slider wants it back.     On the way.     Asa hopped back to the clearing. Kershaw must have been bowled over bythe Slider's first rush, for he was trying to hop on one leg as if theother had been broken. The egg lay flickering on top of the mud whereKershaw had dropped it. The Slider, eight flippers on each side workingmadly, was twisting its thirty feet of wormlike body around for anothercharge.     Aiming hastily, Asa fired a rocket at the monster's middle segment. Therocket smashed through hard scales and exploded in a fountain of grayflesh. The Slider writhed, coating its wound in mud, and twisted towardAsa. He leaped to one side, firing from the air and missing, and sawthe Slider turn toward the patch of weeds where he would land. His legswere tensed to leap again the moment he hit the mud, but he saw theSlider would be on top of him before he could escape. As he landed hethrust his gun forward almost into the mouth of the creature and firedagain.       Even as he was knocked aside into the muck, Asa's body was showeredwith shreds of alien flesh scattered by the rocket's explosion.Desperately pushing himself to his feet, he saw the long headless bodyshiver and lie still.  <doc-sep>Since it was cheaper to transport a normal human than to rig specialenvironments in a spaceship, every planet operated its own conversionchambers. On the space freighter that carried him from Earth AsaGraybar was confined to a small cabin that was opened only for a guardto bring meals and take out dirty dishes. He was still a prisoner.     Sometimes he could hear voices in the passageway outside, and onceone of them sounded like a woman's. But since women neither served onspaceships nor worked in the dome settlements on harsher worlds, hedecided it was his imagination. He might have been dead cargo for allhe learned about space travel.     Nevertheless his time was not wasted. He had as a companion, orcellmate, another convict who had elected conversion to muck man. Moreimportant, his companion had done time on Jordan's Planet before andhad wanted to return.     It's the Slider eggs, explained Kershaw, the two-time loser. Theones you see on Earth knock your eyes out, but they've already begunto die. There's nothing like a fresh one. And I'm not the first togo crazy over them. When I was reconverted and got home I had ninethousand dollars waiting for me. That'll buy a two-year-old egg thatflashes maybe four times a day. So I stole a new one and got caught.     Asa had held a Slider egg in his hand as he gazed into it. He couldunderstand. The shell was clear as crystal, taut but elastic, whilethe albumen was just as clear around the sparkling network of organicfilaments that served as a yolk. Along these interior threads playedtiny flashes of lightning, part of some unexplained process of life.Electrical instruments picked up static discharges from the egg, butthe phenomenon remained a mystery.     Hardly anyone faced with the beauty of a Slider's egg bothered toquestion its workings. For a few expectant moments there would be onlyrandom, fitful gleamings, and then there would be a wild coruscation oflight, dancing from one filament to the next in a frenzy of brilliance.     It took about four years for a Slider egg to die. Beauty, rarity andfading value made the eggs a luxury item like nothing the world hadever seen. If Asa had found a means of keeping them alive it would havemade him wealthy at the expense of the Hazeltyne monopoly.     You know what I think? Kershaw asked. I think those flashes arethe egg calling its momma. They sparkle like a million diamonds whenyou scoop one out of the muck, and right away a Slider always comesswooping out of nowhere at you.     I've been meaning to ask you, Asa said. How do you handle theSliders?     Kershaw grinned.     First you try to catch it with a rocket. If you miss you start leapingfor home. All this time you're broadcasting for help, you understand.When the Slider catches you, you leap up while it buries its jaws inthe mud where you were just standing. You dig your claws in its backand hang on while it rolls around in the mud. Finally, if the 'coptercomes—and if they don't shoot off your head by mistake—you live totell the tale.      II     Asa Graybar kept his normal form on Jordan's Planet just long enough tolearn the discomfort of double gravity. He was told he needed anotherphysical examination and was taken right in to a doctor. His heart waspounding to keep his blood circulating on this massive world, but thedoctor had apparently learned to make allowances.     Swallow this, said the doctor after making a series of tests.     Asa swallowed the capsule. Two minutes later he felt himself beginningto lose consciousness.     This is it! he thought in panic.     He felt someone ease him back down onto a wheeled stretcher. Beforeconsciousness faded completely he realized that no one got a chanceto back out of becoming a changeling, that he was on his way to theconversion tank right now.     When he finally awoke he felt well rested and very comfortable. But fora long time he was afraid to open his eyes.     Come on, Graybar, said a deep, booming voice. Let's test our wings.     It was not Kershaw's voice, but it had to be Kershaw. Asa opened hiseyes.     Everyone had seen pictures of muck men. It was different having onestand beside you. Kershaw looked much like an enormous frog except thathis head was still mostly human. He was sitting on webbed feet, hislower legs bent double under huge thighs, and his trunk tilted forwardso that his arms dangled to the ground. The arms were as thick aroundas an ordinary man's legs. The hands had become efficient scoops, withbroad fingers webbed to the first joint and tipped with spade-likeclaws. The skin was still pinkish but had become scaly. Not a thread ofhair showed anywhere on the body, not even on the head.     This, Asa realized, was what he looked like himself.     It would have been more bearable if the head had not retained strongtraces of humanity. The nostrils flared wide and the jaws hardlyemerged from the neck, but the ears were human ears and the eyes, underthose horny ridges, were human eyes. Asa felt sure that the eyes couldstill weep.     He started to walk forward and tipped over on his side. Kershaw laughed.     Come to daddy, babykins, Kershaw said, holding out his hands. Onlytry hopping this time. And take it easy.     Asa pushed himself upright with one arm and tried a small hop. Nerveand muscle coordination was perfect. He found himself leaping as highas Kershaw's head.     That's the way, Kershaw said approvingly. Now get this on and we'llgo outside.     Asa snapped on a belt and breech cloth combination that had flaps offabric dangling from the belt in front and behind. He followed asKershaw pushed open a sliding door to lead the way out of the roomwhere they had been left to revive from conversion.  <doc-sep>A round trip for the helicopter should have taken no more than twentyminutes, allowing time for Kershaw to be taken out at the settlement.     After an hour passed Asa began to worry. He was sure Dorr would returnfor the egg. Finally he realized that Dorr could locate the eggapproximately by the body of the dead Slider. Dorr could return for theegg any time with some other muck man to dig for it.     Asa pulled down the mouthpiece of his radio.     This is Graybar, calling the helicopter, he said. When are youcoming?     There was no answer except the hum of carrier wave.     If he tried to carry the egg back, Asa knew, Sliders would attack himall along the way. A man had no chance of getting five miles with anegg by himself. He could leave the egg here, of course. Even so hewould be lucky if he got back, following a hazy compass course fromwhich he and Kershaw had certainly deviated on their outward trip.There were no landmarks in this wilderness of bog to help him find hisway. The workers were supposed to home in on radio signals, if theylost their bearings, but Dorr would deny him that help.     What was the night like on Jordan's Planet? Maybe Sliders slept atnight. If he could stay awake, and if he didn't faint from hunger inthis strange new body, and if the Sliders left him alone....     A whirring noise made Asa jump in alarm.     Then he smiled in relief, for it was the helicopter, the blessedhelicopter, coming in over the swamp. But what if it was Dorr, comingback alone to dispose of him without any witnesses? Asa leaped for thecarcass of the dead Slider and took shelter behind it.     No machine-gun blast of rockets came from the helicopter. The bigmachine swooped low dizzily, tilted back in an inexpert attempt tohover, thumped down upon the mud and slid forward. As Asa jumped aside,the landing skids caught against the Slider's body and the helicopterflipped forward on its nose, one of the rotor blades plunging deep intothe mud.     Asa leaped forward in consternation. Not only was his chance of safepassage back to the settlement wrecked, but now he would have theextra burden of taking care of the pilot. When he reached the noseof the helicopter he saw that the pilot, untangling herself from thecontrols to get up, was Harriet Hazeltyne.      IV     Are you hurt? Asa asked her. She reached for his shoulder to steadyherself as she climbed out of the machine.     I guess not, she said. But taking a fall in this gravity is no fun.From the way my face feels I ought to be getting a black eye prettysoon.     What happened?     I made a fool of myself. She made a face back in the direction ofthe settlement. Dorr wasn't going to come after you. He said anyonewho talked back to him should try arguing with the Sliders.     She looked up at the machine-gun on the helicopter.     They feed at night, you know. And they eat their own kind, she said.The Slider you killed would draw them like ants to jam.     Asa glanced around quickly to make sure no Sliders had already come. Heeyed the helicopter with distaste at the thought of what a flimsy fortit would make.     Anyway, Harriet said, I told him he couldn't just leave you hereand we started arguing. I lost my temper. He thought he had brought meto Jordan's Planet on a fancy tour. I told him the real reason I washere was to check up for my father on the way he was running things andthere seemed to be a lot wrong. So he told me very politely I could runthings to suit myself and he walked off.     She shrugged, as if to indicate that she had made a mess of things.     And you took the helicopter by yourself, Asa said, as if he couldhardly believe it yet.     Oh, back on Earth I can make a helicopter do stunts. But I wasn't usedto this gravity. I don't suppose you could make this machine stand upstraight?     Asa tugged at the body of the Slider until he got it off the skids ofthe plane. He pulled with all his strength at the rotor blade sunk inthe mud, but the weight of the helicopter was upon it and the mud heldit with a suction of its own. After a few minutes he had to give up.     We fight off the Sliders, then, she said, as matter of factly as ifthat problem was settled. If it's any comfort, I know how to handlethe machine-gun.     Nope. In this drizzle, at night, the Sliders would be on us beforewe could see them. We've got to try to get back. He stood in thoughtwhile she stared at him patiently. What happened to the other muck menwho went out today? he asked.     They were called in when the 'copter came out the first time. Some ofthem may not have got back yet.  <doc-sep>   MUCK MAN     BY FREMONT DODGE     The work wasn't hard, but there were some sacrifices.     You had to give up hope and freedom—and being human!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, November 1963.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I     The girl with the Slider egg glittering in her hair watched thebailiff lead Asa Graybar out of the courtroom. He recognized her asold Hazeltyne's daughter Harriet, no doubt come to see justice done.She didn't have the hothouse-flower look Asa would have expected in agirl whose father owned the most valuable of the planetary franchises.She was not afraid to meet his eye, the eye of a judicially certifiedcriminal. There was, perhaps, a crease of puzzlement in her brow, as ifshe had thought crimes were committed by shriveled, rat-faced types,and not by young biological engineers who still affected crewcuts.     Tom Dorr, Hazeltyne's general manager, was her escort. Asa feltcertain, without proof, that Dorr was the man who had framed him forthe charge of grand theft by secreting a fresh Slider egg in hislaboratory. The older man stared at Asa coldly as he was led out ofthe courtroom and down the corridor back to jail.     Jumpy, Asa's cellmate, took one look at his face as he was put backbehind bars.     Guilty, Jumpy said.     Asa glared at him.     I know, I know, Jumpy said hastily. You were framed. But what's therap?     Five or one.     Take the five, Jumpy advised. Learn basket-weaving in a niceair-conditioned rehab clinic. A year on a changeling deal will seem alot longer, even if you're lucky enough to live through it.     Asa took four steps to the far wall of the cell, stood there brieflywith his head bent and turned to face Jumpy.     Nope, Asa said softly. I'm going into a conversion tank. I'm goingto be a muck man, Jumpy. I'm going out to Jordan's Planet and huntSlider eggs.     Smuggling? It won't work.     Asa didn't answer. The Hazeltyne company had gone after him becausehe had been working on a method of keeping Slider eggs alive. TheHazeltyne company would be happy to see him mark time for five yearsof so-called social reorientation. But if he could get out to Jordan'sPlanet, with his physiology adapted to the environment of that wretchedworld, he could study the eggs under conditions no laboratory couldduplicate. He might even be able to cause trouble for Hazeltyne.     His only problem would be staying alive for a year.  <doc-sep>An interview with a doctor from the Conversion Corps was requiredfor all persons who elected changeling status. The law stated thatpotential changelings must be fully informed of the rights and hazardsof altered shape before they signed a release. The requirement heldwhether or not the individual, like Asa, was already experienced.     By the time humanity traveled to the stars, medical biology had madeit possible to regenerate damaged or deficient organs of the body.Regeneration was limited only by advanced age. Sometime after a man'stwo hundredth year his body lost the ability to be coaxed into growingnew cells. A fifth set of teeth was usually one's last. As long assenescence could be staved off, however, any man could have bulgingbiceps and a pencil waist, if he could pay for the treatment.     Until the medical associations declared such treatments unethical therewas even a short fad of deliberate deformities, with horns at thetemples particularly popular.     From regeneration it was a short step to specialized regrowth. Thetechniques were perfected to adapt humans to the dozen barely habitableworlds man had discovered. Even on Mars, the only planet outside Earthin the solar system where the human anatomy was remotely suitable, aman could work more efficiently with redesigned lungs and temperaturecontrols than he could inside a pressure suit. On more bizarre planetsa few light-years away the advantages of changeling bodies weregreater.     Unfortunately for planetary development companies, hardly anyonewanted to become a changeling. High pay lured few. So a law was passedpermitting a convicted criminal to earn his freedom by putting in oneyear as a changeling for every five years he would otherwise have hadto spend in rehabilitation.     What types of changelings do you have orders for right now, doctor?Asa asked the man assigned to his case. It would look suspicious if heasked for Jordan's Planet without some preliminary questions.     Four, answered the doctor.     Squiffs for New Arcady. Adapted for climbing the skycraper trees andwith the arm structure modified into pseudo-wings or gliding. Then weneed spiderinos for Von Neumann Two. If you want the nearest thing wehave to Earth, there's Caesar's Moon, where we'd just have to doubleyour tolerance for carbon monoxide and make you a bigger and bettergorilla than the natives. Last, of course, there's always a need formuck men on Jordan's Planet.     The doctor shrugged, as if naturally no one could be expected tochoose Jordan's Planet. Asa frowned in apparent consideration of thealternatives.     What's the pay range? he asked.     Ten dollars a day on Caesar's Moon. Fifteen on New Arcady or VonNeumann Two. Twenty-five on Jordan's.     Asa raised his eyebrows.     Why such a difference? Everyone knows about muck men living in themud while they hunt Slider eggs. But don't your conversions make thechangeling comfortable in his new environment?     Sure they do, said the doctor. We can make you think mud feelsbetter than chinchilla fur and we can have you jumping like agrasshopper despite the double gravity. But we can't make you like thesight of yourself. And we can't guarantee that a Slider won't kill you.     Still, Asa mused aloud, it would mean a nice bankroll waiting at theend of the year.     He leaned forward to fill in the necessary form.  <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>Men are too perishable, Mrs. Deshazaway said over dinner. For allpractical purposes I'm never going to marry again. All my husbands die.     Would you pass the beets, please? Humphrey Fownes said.     She handed him a platter of steaming red beets. And don't look at methat way, she said. I'm      not     going to marry you and if you wantreasons I'll give you four of them. Andrew. Curt. Norman. And Alphonse.     The widow was a passionate woman. She did everythingpassionately—talking, cooking, dressing. Her beets were passionatelyred. Her clothes rustled and her high heels clicked and her jewelrytinkled. She was possessed by an uncontrollable dynamism. Fownes hadnever known anyone like her. You forgot to put salt on the potatoes,she said passionately, then went on as calmly as it was possible forher to be, to explain why she couldn't marry him. Do you have anyidea what people are saying? They're all saying I'm a cannibal! I robmy husbands of their life force and when they're empty I carry theirbodies outside on my way to the justice of the peace.     As long as there are people, he said philosophically, there'll betalk.     But it's the air! Why don't they talk about that? The air is stale,I'm positive. It's not nourishing. The air is stale and Andrew, Curt,Norman and Alphonse couldn't stand it. Poor Alphonse. He was never sohealthy as on the day he was born. From then on things got steadilyworse for him.     I don't seem to mind the air.     She threw up her hands. You'd be the worst of the lot! She left thetable, rustling and tinkling about the room. I can just hear them. Trysome of the asparagus.      Five.     That's what they'd say. That woman didit again. And the plain fact is I don't want you on my record.     Really, Fownes protested. I feel splendid. Never better.     He could hear her moving about and then felt her hands on hisshoulders. And what about those      very     elaborate plans you've beenmaking to seduce me?     Fownes froze with three asparagus hanging from his fork.     Don't you think      they'll     find out?      I     found out and you can bet      they     will. It's my fault, I guess. I talk too much. And I don'talways tell the truth. To be completely honest with you, Mr. Fownes, itwasn't the old customs at all standing between us, it was air. I can'thave another man die on me, it's bad for my self-esteem. And now you'vegone and done something good and criminal, something peculiar.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How would you describe the dynamic between Asa and Kershaw in MUCK MAN?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What role does the egg play in the plot of MUCK MAN? [SEP] <s>Asa took a deep breath and looked around.     Kershaw! he called. Where are you?     Over here. Kershaw stood briefly above the weeds and fell back again.Asa leaped over to him.     Thanks, Kershaw said. Muck men stick together. You'll make a goodone. I wouldn't have had a chance. My leg's busted.     The helicopter ought to be here pretty soon, Asa said. He looked overat the dead Slider and shook his head. Tell me, what are the odds ongetting killed doing this?     Last time I was here there was about one mucker killed for every sixeggs brought out. Of course you're not supposed to stand there admiringthe eggs like I did while a Slider comes up on you.     Asa hopped over to the egg, which was still full of a dancing radiancewhere it rested on the mud. He scooped a hole in the muck and buriedthe egg.     Just in case there are any more Sliders around, he explained.     Makes no difference, said Kershaw, pointing upward. Here comes the'copter, late as usual.     The big machine circled them, hovered to inspect the dead Slider, andsettled down on broad skids. Through the transparent nose Asa could seeTom Dorr and Harriet Hazeltyne. The company manager swung the door openand leaned out.     I see you took care of the Slider, he said. Hand over the egg.     Kershaw has a broken leg, Asa said. I'll help him in and then I'llget the egg.     While Kershaw grabbed the door frame to help pull himself into thehelicopter, Asa got under his companion's belly and lifted him by thewaist. He hadn't realized before just how strong his new body was.Kershaw, as a muck man, would have weighed close to three hundredpounds on Earth, close to six hundred here.     Dorr made no move to help, but the girl reached under Kershaw'sshoulder and strained to get him in. Once he was inside, Asa saw, thecabin was crowded.     Are you going to have room for me too? he asked.     Not this trip, Dorr answered. Now give me the egg.     Asa didn't hesitate. The egg stays with me, he said softly.     You do what I tell you, mucker, said Dorr.     Nope. I want to make sure you come back. Asa turned his head toHarriet. You see, Miss Hazeltyne, I don't trust your friend. You mightask him to tell you about it.     Dorr stared at him with narrowed eyes. Suddenly he smiled in a way thatworried Asa.     Whatever you say, Graybar, Dorr said. He turned to the controls. Inanother minute the helicopter was in the sky.  <doc-sep>They went into a courtyard partly covered by a roof projecting fromthe Hazeltyne company's dome settlement. The far half of the courtyardwas open to the gray drizzle that fell almost ceaselessly from the skyof Jordan's Planet and turned most of its surface into marsh and mudflats. A high wall enclosed the far portion of the courtyard. Rangedalong the wall were thirty stalls for muck men.     From fifty yards across the courtyard a muck man bounded over to themin two leaps. Attached to a harness across his shoulders and chest werea gun and a long knife.     Names? he growled. He was a foot taller than Graybar and bigeverywhere in proportion.     Kershaw. I'm back, Furston.     I'm Graybar.     Kershaw again? Just start in where you left off, sucker. Come on,you. He pointed to Asa and leaped to the open portion of the courtyard.     Do what he says, Kershaw whispered to Graybar. He's sort of a trustyand warden and parole officer rolled into one.     Asa was put through a series of exercises to get him used to hisdistorted body, to teach him how to leap and how to dig. He was shownhow to operate the radio he would carry and how to fire the pencil-slimrockets of this gun. Finally he was told to eat a few berries from anative vine. He did so and immediately vomited.     Furston laughed.     That's to remind you you're still a man, Furston said, grinning.Everything that grows on this planet is poison. So if you got anyideas of hiding out till your term is up, forget 'em. Right here iswhere you eat.     Asa turned without a word and hopped feebly away from Furston. Helifted his head to breathe deeply and saw two humans watching him froman observation tower on the roof.     He leaped twenty feet into the air for a closer look.     Gazing at him with repugnance, after witnessing the end of his sessionwith Furston, were Harriet Hazeltyne and general manager Tom Dorr.     The girl's presence merely puzzled Asa, but Dorr's being here worriedhim. Dorr had tried to get rid of him once and was now in an excellentposition to make the riddance permanent.     At supper that night, squatting on the ground beside a low table withthe dozen other muck men operating from the dome, Asa asked what thetwo were doing out here.     The girl will inherit this racket some day, won't she? asked one ofthe others. She wants to see what kind of suckers are making her rich.     Maybe that guy Dorr brought her along to show her what a big wheelhe is, said one of the others. Just hope he doesn't take over theoperations.      III     Next morning Furston passed out guns, knives, radios, and pouches tocarry any eggs the muck men found. He gave each man a compass andassigned the sectors to be worked during the day. Finally he calledGraybar aside.     In case you don't like it here, Furston said, you can get a weekknocked off your sentence for every egg you bring in. Now get out thereand work that muck.     Furston sent Graybar and Kershaw out together so that the veteran couldshow Asa the ropes. Asa had already learned that the wall around thecourtyard was to keep Sliders out, not muck men in. He leaped over itand hopped along after Kershaw.     Feet slapping against the mud, they went about five miles from theHazeltyne station, swimming easily across ponds too broad to jump. Themud, if not precisely as pleasant to the touch as chinchilla fur, wasnot at all uncomfortable, and the dripping air caressed their skinslike a summer breeze back on Earth. Tiny, slippery creatures skiddedand splashed out of their way. Finally Kershaw stopped. His experiencedeye had seen a trail of swamp weeds crushed low into the mud.     Keep your eyes open, Kershaw said. There's a Slider been around herelately. If you see something like an express train headed our way,start shooting.     At each leap along the trail they peered quickly around. They saw noSliders, but this meant little, for the beasts lived under the mud asmuch as on top of it.     Kershaw halted again when they came to a roughly circular area some tenyards in diameter where the weeds had been torn out and lay rotting inthe muck.     We're in luck, he said as Asa skidded to a stop at his side. An eggwas laid somewhere here within the last week. These places are hard tospot when the new weeds start growing.     Kershaw took a long look around.     No trouble in sight. We dig.     They started at the center of the cleared area, shoveling up great gobsof mud with their hands and flinging them out of the clearing. Usuallya muck man dug in a spiral out from the center, but Graybar and Kershawdug in gradually widening semi-circles opposite each other. They hadto dig four feet deep, and it was slow going until they had a pitbig enough to stand in. Each handful of mud had to be squeezed gentlybefore it was thrown away, to make sure it didn't conceal an egg. As heworked, Asa kept thinking what an inefficient system it was. Everythingabout the operation was wrong.     Got it! Kershaw shouted. He leaped out of the pit and started wipingslime off a round object the size of a baseball. Asa jumped out towatch.     A big one, Kershaw said. He held it, still smeared with traces ofmud, lovingly to his cheek, and then lifted it to eye level. Just lookat it.      A SLIDER EGG      The egg was flashing with a mad radiance, like a thousand diamondsbeing splintered under a brilliant sun. Static crackled in Asa'searphones and he thought of what Kershaw had said, that thescintillation of an egg was an effect of its calls to a mother Sliderfor help. Asa looked around.     Jump! he shouted.     At the edge of the clearing a segmented length of greenish blackscales, some two feet thick and six feet high, had reared up out of theweeds. The top segment was almost all mouth, already opened to show rowupon row of teeth. Before Asa could draw his gun the Slider loweredits head to the ground, dug two front flippers into the mud and shotforward.     Asa leaped with all his strength, sailing far out of the clearing.While he was still in the air he snapped the mouthpiece of his radiodown from where it was hinged over his head. As he landed he turnedinstantly, his gun in his hand.     Calling the 'copter! he spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece. Kershawand Graybar, sector eight, five miles out. Hurry!     Graybar? asked a voice in his earphone. What's up?     We've got an egg but a Slider wants it back.     On the way.     Asa hopped back to the clearing. Kershaw must have been bowled over bythe Slider's first rush, for he was trying to hop on one leg as if theother had been broken. The egg lay flickering on top of the mud whereKershaw had dropped it. The Slider, eight flippers on each side workingmadly, was twisting its thirty feet of wormlike body around for anothercharge.     Aiming hastily, Asa fired a rocket at the monster's middle segment. Therocket smashed through hard scales and exploded in a fountain of grayflesh. The Slider writhed, coating its wound in mud, and twisted towardAsa. He leaped to one side, firing from the air and missing, and sawthe Slider turn toward the patch of weeds where he would land. His legswere tensed to leap again the moment he hit the mud, but he saw theSlider would be on top of him before he could escape. As he landed hethrust his gun forward almost into the mouth of the creature and firedagain.       Even as he was knocked aside into the muck, Asa's body was showeredwith shreds of alien flesh scattered by the rocket's explosion.Desperately pushing himself to his feet, he saw the long headless bodyshiver and lie still.  <doc-sep>Since it was cheaper to transport a normal human than to rig specialenvironments in a spaceship, every planet operated its own conversionchambers. On the space freighter that carried him from Earth AsaGraybar was confined to a small cabin that was opened only for a guardto bring meals and take out dirty dishes. He was still a prisoner.     Sometimes he could hear voices in the passageway outside, and onceone of them sounded like a woman's. But since women neither served onspaceships nor worked in the dome settlements on harsher worlds, hedecided it was his imagination. He might have been dead cargo for allhe learned about space travel.     Nevertheless his time was not wasted. He had as a companion, orcellmate, another convict who had elected conversion to muck man. Moreimportant, his companion had done time on Jordan's Planet before andhad wanted to return.     It's the Slider eggs, explained Kershaw, the two-time loser. Theones you see on Earth knock your eyes out, but they've already begunto die. There's nothing like a fresh one. And I'm not the first togo crazy over them. When I was reconverted and got home I had ninethousand dollars waiting for me. That'll buy a two-year-old egg thatflashes maybe four times a day. So I stole a new one and got caught.     Asa had held a Slider egg in his hand as he gazed into it. He couldunderstand. The shell was clear as crystal, taut but elastic, whilethe albumen was just as clear around the sparkling network of organicfilaments that served as a yolk. Along these interior threads playedtiny flashes of lightning, part of some unexplained process of life.Electrical instruments picked up static discharges from the egg, butthe phenomenon remained a mystery.     Hardly anyone faced with the beauty of a Slider's egg bothered toquestion its workings. For a few expectant moments there would be onlyrandom, fitful gleamings, and then there would be a wild coruscation oflight, dancing from one filament to the next in a frenzy of brilliance.     It took about four years for a Slider egg to die. Beauty, rarity andfading value made the eggs a luxury item like nothing the world hadever seen. If Asa had found a means of keeping them alive it would havemade him wealthy at the expense of the Hazeltyne monopoly.     You know what I think? Kershaw asked. I think those flashes arethe egg calling its momma. They sparkle like a million diamonds whenyou scoop one out of the muck, and right away a Slider always comesswooping out of nowhere at you.     I've been meaning to ask you, Asa said. How do you handle theSliders?     Kershaw grinned.     First you try to catch it with a rocket. If you miss you start leapingfor home. All this time you're broadcasting for help, you understand.When the Slider catches you, you leap up while it buries its jaws inthe mud where you were just standing. You dig your claws in its backand hang on while it rolls around in the mud. Finally, if the 'coptercomes—and if they don't shoot off your head by mistake—you live totell the tale.      II     Asa Graybar kept his normal form on Jordan's Planet just long enough tolearn the discomfort of double gravity. He was told he needed anotherphysical examination and was taken right in to a doctor. His heart waspounding to keep his blood circulating on this massive world, but thedoctor had apparently learned to make allowances.     Swallow this, said the doctor after making a series of tests.     Asa swallowed the capsule. Two minutes later he felt himself beginningto lose consciousness.     This is it! he thought in panic.     He felt someone ease him back down onto a wheeled stretcher. Beforeconsciousness faded completely he realized that no one got a chanceto back out of becoming a changeling, that he was on his way to theconversion tank right now.     When he finally awoke he felt well rested and very comfortable. But fora long time he was afraid to open his eyes.     Come on, Graybar, said a deep, booming voice. Let's test our wings.     It was not Kershaw's voice, but it had to be Kershaw. Asa opened hiseyes.     Everyone had seen pictures of muck men. It was different having onestand beside you. Kershaw looked much like an enormous frog except thathis head was still mostly human. He was sitting on webbed feet, hislower legs bent double under huge thighs, and his trunk tilted forwardso that his arms dangled to the ground. The arms were as thick aroundas an ordinary man's legs. The hands had become efficient scoops, withbroad fingers webbed to the first joint and tipped with spade-likeclaws. The skin was still pinkish but had become scaly. Not a thread ofhair showed anywhere on the body, not even on the head.     This, Asa realized, was what he looked like himself.     It would have been more bearable if the head had not retained strongtraces of humanity. The nostrils flared wide and the jaws hardlyemerged from the neck, but the ears were human ears and the eyes, underthose horny ridges, were human eyes. Asa felt sure that the eyes couldstill weep.     He started to walk forward and tipped over on his side. Kershaw laughed.     Come to daddy, babykins, Kershaw said, holding out his hands. Onlytry hopping this time. And take it easy.     Asa pushed himself upright with one arm and tried a small hop. Nerveand muscle coordination was perfect. He found himself leaping as highas Kershaw's head.     That's the way, Kershaw said approvingly. Now get this on and we'llgo outside.     Asa snapped on a belt and breech cloth combination that had flaps offabric dangling from the belt in front and behind. He followed asKershaw pushed open a sliding door to lead the way out of the roomwhere they had been left to revive from conversion.  <doc-sep>   MUCK MAN     BY FREMONT DODGE     The work wasn't hard, but there were some sacrifices.     You had to give up hope and freedom—and being human!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, November 1963.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I     The girl with the Slider egg glittering in her hair watched thebailiff lead Asa Graybar out of the courtroom. He recognized her asold Hazeltyne's daughter Harriet, no doubt come to see justice done.She didn't have the hothouse-flower look Asa would have expected in agirl whose father owned the most valuable of the planetary franchises.She was not afraid to meet his eye, the eye of a judicially certifiedcriminal. There was, perhaps, a crease of puzzlement in her brow, as ifshe had thought crimes were committed by shriveled, rat-faced types,and not by young biological engineers who still affected crewcuts.     Tom Dorr, Hazeltyne's general manager, was her escort. Asa feltcertain, without proof, that Dorr was the man who had framed him forthe charge of grand theft by secreting a fresh Slider egg in hislaboratory. The older man stared at Asa coldly as he was led out ofthe courtroom and down the corridor back to jail.     Jumpy, Asa's cellmate, took one look at his face as he was put backbehind bars.     Guilty, Jumpy said.     Asa glared at him.     I know, I know, Jumpy said hastily. You were framed. But what's therap?     Five or one.     Take the five, Jumpy advised. Learn basket-weaving in a niceair-conditioned rehab clinic. A year on a changeling deal will seem alot longer, even if you're lucky enough to live through it.     Asa took four steps to the far wall of the cell, stood there brieflywith his head bent and turned to face Jumpy.     Nope, Asa said softly. I'm going into a conversion tank. I'm goingto be a muck man, Jumpy. I'm going out to Jordan's Planet and huntSlider eggs.     Smuggling? It won't work.     Asa didn't answer. The Hazeltyne company had gone after him becausehe had been working on a method of keeping Slider eggs alive. TheHazeltyne company would be happy to see him mark time for five yearsof so-called social reorientation. But if he could get out to Jordan'sPlanet, with his physiology adapted to the environment of that wretchedworld, he could study the eggs under conditions no laboratory couldduplicate. He might even be able to cause trouble for Hazeltyne.     His only problem would be staying alive for a year.  <doc-sep>A round trip for the helicopter should have taken no more than twentyminutes, allowing time for Kershaw to be taken out at the settlement.     After an hour passed Asa began to worry. He was sure Dorr would returnfor the egg. Finally he realized that Dorr could locate the eggapproximately by the body of the dead Slider. Dorr could return for theegg any time with some other muck man to dig for it.     Asa pulled down the mouthpiece of his radio.     This is Graybar, calling the helicopter, he said. When are youcoming?     There was no answer except the hum of carrier wave.     If he tried to carry the egg back, Asa knew, Sliders would attack himall along the way. A man had no chance of getting five miles with anegg by himself. He could leave the egg here, of course. Even so hewould be lucky if he got back, following a hazy compass course fromwhich he and Kershaw had certainly deviated on their outward trip.There were no landmarks in this wilderness of bog to help him find hisway. The workers were supposed to home in on radio signals, if theylost their bearings, but Dorr would deny him that help.     What was the night like on Jordan's Planet? Maybe Sliders slept atnight. If he could stay awake, and if he didn't faint from hunger inthis strange new body, and if the Sliders left him alone....     A whirring noise made Asa jump in alarm.     Then he smiled in relief, for it was the helicopter, the blessedhelicopter, coming in over the swamp. But what if it was Dorr, comingback alone to dispose of him without any witnesses? Asa leaped for thecarcass of the dead Slider and took shelter behind it.     No machine-gun blast of rockets came from the helicopter. The bigmachine swooped low dizzily, tilted back in an inexpert attempt tohover, thumped down upon the mud and slid forward. As Asa jumped aside,the landing skids caught against the Slider's body and the helicopterflipped forward on its nose, one of the rotor blades plunging deep intothe mud.     Asa leaped forward in consternation. Not only was his chance of safepassage back to the settlement wrecked, but now he would have theextra burden of taking care of the pilot. When he reached the noseof the helicopter he saw that the pilot, untangling herself from thecontrols to get up, was Harriet Hazeltyne.      IV     Are you hurt? Asa asked her. She reached for his shoulder to steadyherself as she climbed out of the machine.     I guess not, she said. But taking a fall in this gravity is no fun.From the way my face feels I ought to be getting a black eye prettysoon.     What happened?     I made a fool of myself. She made a face back in the direction ofthe settlement. Dorr wasn't going to come after you. He said anyonewho talked back to him should try arguing with the Sliders.     She looked up at the machine-gun on the helicopter.     They feed at night, you know. And they eat their own kind, she said.The Slider you killed would draw them like ants to jam.     Asa glanced around quickly to make sure no Sliders had already come. Heeyed the helicopter with distaste at the thought of what a flimsy fortit would make.     Anyway, Harriet said, I told him he couldn't just leave you hereand we started arguing. I lost my temper. He thought he had brought meto Jordan's Planet on a fancy tour. I told him the real reason I washere was to check up for my father on the way he was running things andthere seemed to be a lot wrong. So he told me very politely I could runthings to suit myself and he walked off.     She shrugged, as if to indicate that she had made a mess of things.     And you took the helicopter by yourself, Asa said, as if he couldhardly believe it yet.     Oh, back on Earth I can make a helicopter do stunts. But I wasn't usedto this gravity. I don't suppose you could make this machine stand upstraight?     Asa tugged at the body of the Slider until he got it off the skids ofthe plane. He pulled with all his strength at the rotor blade sunk inthe mud, but the weight of the helicopter was upon it and the mud heldit with a suction of its own. After a few minutes he had to give up.     We fight off the Sliders, then, she said, as matter of factly as ifthat problem was settled. If it's any comfort, I know how to handlethe machine-gun.     Nope. In this drizzle, at night, the Sliders would be on us beforewe could see them. We've got to try to get back. He stood in thoughtwhile she stared at him patiently. What happened to the other muck menwho went out today? he asked.     They were called in when the 'copter came out the first time. Some ofthem may not have got back yet.  <doc-sep>An interview with a doctor from the Conversion Corps was requiredfor all persons who elected changeling status. The law stated thatpotential changelings must be fully informed of the rights and hazardsof altered shape before they signed a release. The requirement heldwhether or not the individual, like Asa, was already experienced.     By the time humanity traveled to the stars, medical biology had madeit possible to regenerate damaged or deficient organs of the body.Regeneration was limited only by advanced age. Sometime after a man'stwo hundredth year his body lost the ability to be coaxed into growingnew cells. A fifth set of teeth was usually one's last. As long assenescence could be staved off, however, any man could have bulgingbiceps and a pencil waist, if he could pay for the treatment.     Until the medical associations declared such treatments unethical therewas even a short fad of deliberate deformities, with horns at thetemples particularly popular.     From regeneration it was a short step to specialized regrowth. Thetechniques were perfected to adapt humans to the dozen barely habitableworlds man had discovered. Even on Mars, the only planet outside Earthin the solar system where the human anatomy was remotely suitable, aman could work more efficiently with redesigned lungs and temperaturecontrols than he could inside a pressure suit. On more bizarre planetsa few light-years away the advantages of changeling bodies weregreater.     Unfortunately for planetary development companies, hardly anyonewanted to become a changeling. High pay lured few. So a law was passedpermitting a convicted criminal to earn his freedom by putting in oneyear as a changeling for every five years he would otherwise have hadto spend in rehabilitation.     What types of changelings do you have orders for right now, doctor?Asa asked the man assigned to his case. It would look suspicious if heasked for Jordan's Planet without some preliminary questions.     Four, answered the doctor.     Squiffs for New Arcady. Adapted for climbing the skycraper trees andwith the arm structure modified into pseudo-wings or gliding. Then weneed spiderinos for Von Neumann Two. If you want the nearest thing wehave to Earth, there's Caesar's Moon, where we'd just have to doubleyour tolerance for carbon monoxide and make you a bigger and bettergorilla than the natives. Last, of course, there's always a need formuck men on Jordan's Planet.     The doctor shrugged, as if naturally no one could be expected tochoose Jordan's Planet. Asa frowned in apparent consideration of thealternatives.     What's the pay range? he asked.     Ten dollars a day on Caesar's Moon. Fifteen on New Arcady or VonNeumann Two. Twenty-five on Jordan's.     Asa raised his eyebrows.     Why such a difference? Everyone knows about muck men living in themud while they hunt Slider eggs. But don't your conversions make thechangeling comfortable in his new environment?     Sure they do, said the doctor. We can make you think mud feelsbetter than chinchilla fur and we can have you jumping like agrasshopper despite the double gravity. But we can't make you like thesight of yourself. And we can't guarantee that a Slider won't kill you.     Still, Asa mused aloud, it would mean a nice bankroll waiting at theend of the year.     He leaned forward to fill in the necessary form.  <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>He thought,      I don't want your Martian wench. I don't want your opiumor your Devil's Egg or your Venusian kali. But if you had a drug that'dbring a dead man to life, I'd buy and pay with my soul.       It is deal,      monsieur     ? Five dollars or twenty      keelis     for visitMartian friend. Maybe you like House of Dreams. For House of Dreams—     I'm not buying.     The dirty-faced kid shrugged. Then I show you to good table,—      tresbien     . I do not charge you,      senor     .     The boy grabbed his hand. Because Ben could think of no reason forresisting, he followed. They plunged into shifting layers of smoke andthrough the drone of alcohol-cracked voices.       They passed the bar with its line of lean-featured, slit-eyedEarthmen—merchant spacemen.     They wormed down a narrow aisle flanked by booths carved from Venusianmarble that jutted up into the semi-darkness like fog-blanketedtombstones.     Several times, Ben glimpsed the bulky figures of CO  2  -breathingVenusians, the first he'd ever seen.     They were smoky gray, scaly, naked giants, toads in human shape.They stood solitary and motionless, aloof, their green-lidded eyesunblinking. They certainly didn't look like telepaths, as Ben had heardthey were, but the thought sent a fresh rivulet of fear down his spine.     Once he spied a white-uniformed officer of Hoover City's SecurityPolice. The man was striding down an aisle, idly tapping his neuro-clubagainst the stone booths.       Keep walking     , Ben told himself.      You look the same as anyone elsehere. Keep walking. Look straight ahead.       The officer passed. Ben breathed easier.     Here we are,      monsieur     , piped the Martian boy. A      tres     fine table.Close in the shadows.     Ben winced. How did this kid know he wanted to sit in the shadows?Frowning, he sat down—he and the dead man.     He listened to the lonely rhythms of the four-piece Martian orchestra.     The Martians were fragile, doll-like creatures with heads too large fortheir spindly bodies. Their long fingers played upon the strings oftheir      cirillas     or crawled over the holes of their flutes like spiderlegs. Their tune was sad. Even when they played an Earth tune, it stillseemed a song of old Mars, charged with echoes of lost voices andforgotten grandeur.     For an instant, Ben's mind rose above the haunting vision of the deadman. He thought,      What are they doing here, these Martians? Here, ina smoke-filled room under a metalite dome on a dust-covered world?Couldn't they have played their music on Mars? Or had they, like me,felt the challenge of new worlds?       He sobered. It didn't matter. He ordered a whiskey from a Chinesewaiter. He wet his lips but did not drink. His gaze wandered over thefaces of the Inn's other occupants.       You've got to find him     , he thought.      You've got to find the man withthe red beard. It's the only way you can escape the dead man.    <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What role does the egg play in the plot of MUCK MAN?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of the storyline in THE DESERT AND THE STARS? [SEP] <s>   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>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 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>Eric caught a faint nod here, a gesture there. Kroon nodded as ifin satisfaction. He turned to the girl, And what is your opinion,Daughter of the City?     Nolette's expression held sorrow, as if she looked into the far future.She said, He is Eric the Bronze. I have no doubt.     Eric asked, And what is this Legend of Eric the Bronze? Why am I sodespised in the city?     Kroon answered, According to the Ancient Legend you will destroy thecity. This, and other things.     Eric gaped. No wonder the crowd had shown such hatred. But why werethe elders so friendly? They were obviously the governing body, and ifthere was strife between them and the people it had not shown in therespect the crowd had accorded Nolette.     Kroon said, I see you are puzzled. Let me tell you the story of theCity. The City is old. It dates from long ago when the canals of Marsran clear and green with water, and the deserts were vineyards andgardens. The drouth came, and the changes in climate, and soon itbecame plain that the people of Mars were doomed. They had ships, andcould build more, and gradually they left to colonize other planets.Yet they could take little of their science. And fear and riotsdestroyed much. Also there were those who were filled with love forthis homeland, and who thought that one day it might be habitableagain. All the skill of the ancient Martian fathers went into thebuilding of a giant machine, the machine that is the City, to protect asmall colony of those who were chosen to remain on Mars.     This whole city is a machine! Eric asked.     Yes, or the product of one. The heart of it lies underneath our feet,in caverns beneath this building. The nature of the machine is this,that it translates thought into reality.     Eric stared. The idea was staggering.     This is essentially simple, although the technology is complex. It isnecessary to have a recording device, to capture thought, a transmutingdevice capable of transmuting the red dust of the desert into anysort of material desired, and a construction device, to assemble thismaterial into the pattern already recorded from thought. Kroon paused.You still doubt, my friend. Perhaps you are thirsty after your escape.Think strongly of a tall glass of cold water, visualize it in yourmind, the sight and the fluidity and the touch of it.     Eric did so. Without warning a glass of water stood on the table beforehim. He touched the water to his lips. It was cool and satisfying. Hedrank it, convinced completely.     Eric asked, And I am to destroy the City?     Yes. The time has come.     But why? Eric demanded. For an instant he could see the twinklingbeauty as clearly as if he had stood outside the walls of this building.     Kroon said, There are difficulties. The machine builds according tothe mass will of the people, though it is sensitive to the individualin areas where it does not conflict with the imagination of the mass.We have had strangers, visitors, and even our own people, who grewdrunk with the power of the machine, who dreamed more and more lust andgreed into existence. These were banished from the city, and so strongis the call of the city that many of them became victims of their ownevilness, and now walk mindlessly, with no thought but to seek for thebeauty they have lost here.     Kroon sighed. The people have lost the will to learn. Many do not evenknow of the machine. Our science is almost gone, and only a few of us,the dreamers, the elders, have kept alive the old knowledge of themachine and its history. By the collected powers of our imagination webuild and control the outward appearance of the city.     We have passed this down from father to son. A part of the ancientLegend is that the builders made provisions for the machine to bedestroyed when contact with outsiders had been made once again, so thatour people would again have to struggle forward to knowledge and power.The instrument of destruction was to be a man termed Eric the Bronze.It is not that you are reborn. It is just that sometime such a manwould come.     Eric said, I can understand the Bronze part. They had thought that aspace man might well be sun tanned. They had thought that a science toprotect against this beautiful illusion would provide a metal shieldof some sort, probably copper in nature. That such a man should comeis inevitable. But why Eric. Why the name Eric?     For the first time Nolette spoke. She said quietly, The name Ericwas an honorable name of the ancient fathers. It must have been theirthought that the new beginning should wait for some of their own farflung kind to return.     Eric nodded. He asked, What happens now?     Nothing. Dwell here with us and you will be safe from our people. Ifthe prediction is not soon fulfilled and you are not the Eric of theLegend, you may stay or go as you desire.     My brother, Garve. What about him?     He loves the city. He will also stay, though he will be outside thisbuilding. Kroon clasped his hands. Nolette, will you show Eric hisquarters?  <doc-sep>   THE DESERT AND THE STARS     BY KEITH LAUMER     The Aga Kaga wanted peace—a     piece of everything in sight!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, November 1962.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I'm not at all sure, Under-Secretary Sternwheeler said, that I fullyunderstand the necessity for your ... ah ... absenting yourself fromyour post of duty, Mr. Retief. Surely this matter could have been dealtwith in the usual way—assuming any action is necessary.     I had a sharp attack of writer's cramp, Mr. Secretary, Retief said.So I thought I'd better come along in person—just to be sure I waspositive of making my point.     Eh?     Why, ah, there were a number of dispatches, Deputy Under-SecretaryMagnan put in. Unfortunately, this being end-of-the-fiscal-year time,we found ourselves quite inundated with reports. Reports, reports,reports—     Not criticizing the reporting system, are you, Mr. Magnan? theUnder-Secretary barked.     Gracious, no, Magnan said. I love reports.     It seems nobody's told the Aga Kagans about fiscal years, Retiefsaid. They're going right ahead with their program of land-grabbing onFlamme. So far, I've persuaded the Boyars that this is a matter for theCorps, and not to take matters into their own hands.     The Under-Secretary nodded. Quite right. Carry on along the samelines. Now, if there's nothing further—     Thank you, Mr. Secretary, Magnan said, rising. We certainlyappreciate your guidance.     There is a little something further, said Retief, sitting solidly inhis chair. What's the Corps going to do about the Aga Kagans?     The Under-Secretary turned a liverish eye on Retief. As Ministerto Flamme, you should know that the function of a diplomaticrepresentative is merely to ... what shall I say...?     String them along? Magnan suggested.     An unfortunate choice of phrase, the Under-Secretary said. However,it embodies certain realities of Galactic politics. The Corps mustconcern itself with matters of broad policy.     Sixty years ago the Corps was encouraging the Boyars to settleFlamme, Retief said. They were assured of Corps support.     I don't believe you'll find that in writing, said the Under-Secretaryblandly. In any event, that was sixty years ago. At that time afoothold against Neo-Concordiatist elements was deemed desirable. Nowthe situation has changed.     The Boyars have spent sixty years terraforming Flamme, Retief said.They've cleared jungle, descummed the seas, irrigated deserts, set outforests. They've just about reached the point where they can begin toenjoy it. The Aga Kagans have picked this as a good time to move in.They've landed thirty detachments of 'fishermen'—complete with armoredtrawlers mounting 40 mm infinite repeaters—and another two dozenparties of 'homesteaders'—all male and toting rocket launchers.     Surely there's land enough on the world to afford space to bothgroups, the Under-Secretary said. A spirit of co-operation—  <doc-sep>We played. Tune after tune.John knew them all, from thelatest pop melodies to a swing versionof the classic      Rhapsody of TheStars     . He was a quiet guy duringthe next couple of hours, and gettingmore than a few words fromhim seemed as hard as extracting atooth. He'd stand by his fiddle—Imean, his      Zloomph     —with a dreamyexpression in those watery eyes,staring at nothing.     But after one number he studiedFat Boy's clarinet for a moment.Nice clarinet, he mused. Has anunusual hole in the front.     Fat Boy scratched the back ofhis head. You—you mean here?Where the music comes out?     John Smith nodded. Unusual.     Hummm, I thought again.     Awhile later I caught him eyeingmy piano keyboard. What'sthe matter, John?     He pointed.     Oh, there, I said. A cigarettefell out of my ashtray, burnt a holein the key. If The Eye sees it, he'llswear at me in seven languages.     Even there, he said softly,even there....     There was no doubt about it.John Smith was peculiar, but hewas the best bass man this side of amusician's Nirvana.     It didn't take a genius to figureout our situation. Item one: Goon-Face'scountenance had evidencedan excellent imitation of Mephistophelesbefore John began to play.Item two: Goon-Face had beamedlike a kitten with a quart of creamafter John began to play.     Conclusion: If we wanted tokeep eating, we'd have to persuadeJohn Smith to join our combo.     At intermission I said, Howabout a drink, John? Maybe a shotof wine-syrup?     He shook his head.     Then maybe a Venusian fizz?     His grunt was negative.     Then some old-fashioned beer?     He smiled. Yes, I      like     beer.     I escorted him to the bar and assistedhim in his arduous climb ontoa stool.     John, I ventured after he'dtaken an experimental sip, wherehave you been hiding? A guy likeyou should be playing every night.     John yawned. Just got here. FiguredI might need some money soI went to the union. Then I workedon my plan.     Then you need a job. Howabout playing with us steady? Welike your style a lot.     He made a long, low hummingsound which I interpreted as anexpression of intense concentration.I don't know, he finally drawled.     It'd be a steady job, John. Inspirationstruck me. And listen, Ihave an apartment. It's got everything,solar shower, automatic chef,'copter landing—if we ever get a'copter. Plenty of room there fortwo people. You can stay with meand it won't cost you a cent. Andwe'll even pay you over unionwages.     His watery gaze wandered lazilyto the bar mirror, down to the glitteringarray of bottles and then outto the dance floor.     He yawned again and spokeslowly, as if each word were a leadenweight cast reluctantly from histongue:     No, I don't ... care much ...about playing.     What      do     you like to do, John?     His string-bean of a body stiffened.I like to study ancient history ...and I must work on myplan.     Oh Lord, that plan again!     I took a deep breath. Tell meabout it, John. It      must     be interesting.     He made queer clicking noiseswith his mouth that reminded meof a mechanical toy being woundinto motion. The whole foundationof this or any other culture isbased on the history of all the timedimensions, each interwoven withthe other, throughout the ages. Andthe holes provide a means of studyingall of it first hand.       Oh, oh     , I thought.      But you stillhave to eat. Remember, you stillhave to eat.       Trouble is, he went on, thereare so many holes in this universe.     Holes? I kept a straight face.     Certainly. Look around you. Allyou see is holes. These beer bottlesare just holes surrounded by glass.The doors and windows—they'reholes in walls. The mine tunnelsmake a network of holes under thedesert. Caves are holes, animals livein holes, our faces have holes,clothes have holes—millions andmillions of holes!     I winced and thought, humorhim because you gotta eat, yougotta eat.     His voice trembled with emotion.Why, they're everywhere. They'rein pots and pans, in pipes, in rocketjets, in bumpy roads. There are buttonholesand well holes, and shoelaceholes. There are doughnutholes and stocking holes and woodpeckerholes and cheese holes.Oceans lie in holes in the earth,and rivers and canals and valleys.The craters of the Moon are holes.Everything is—     But, John, I said as patiently aspossible, what have these holesgot to do with you?     He glowered at me as if I wereunworthy of such a confidence.What have they to do with me?he shrilled. I can't find the rightone—that's what!     I closed my eyes. Which particularhole are you looking for, John?     He was speaking rapidly againnow.     I was hurrying back to the Universitywith the      Zloomph     to provea point of ancient history to thosefools. They don't believe that instrumentswhich make music actuallyexisted before the tapes! Itwas dark—and some fool researcherhad forgotten to set a force-fieldover the hole—I fell through.     I closed my eyes. Now wait aminute. Did you drop something,lose it in the hole—is that why youhave to find it?     Oh I didn't lose anything important,he snapped,       just     my owntime dimension. And if I don't getback they will think I couldn't provemy theory, that I'm ashamed tocome back, and I'll be discredited.     His chest sagged for an instant.Then he straightened. But there'sstill time for my plan to work out—withthe relative difference takeninto account. Only I get so tiredjust thinking about it.     Yes, I can see where thinkingabout it would tire any one.     He nodded. But it can't be toofar away.     I'd like to hear more about it,I said. But if you're not going toplay with us—     Oh, I'll play with you, hebeamed. I can talk to      you     .      You     understand.     Thank heaven!  <doc-sep>A tall man, clad in a claw-hammer coat, came out from the wings andadvanced to the footlights.     People of Swamp City, he said, bowing, permit me to introducemyself. I am Doctor Universe, and these are my nine experts.     There was a roar of applause from the      Satellite     audience. When it hadsubsided, the man continued:     As most of you are familiar with our program, it will be unnecessaryto give any advance explanation. I will only say that on this stage arenine visi sets, each tuned to one of the nine planets. At transmittingsets all over these planets listeners will appear and voice questions.These questions, my nine experts will endeavor to answer. For everyquestion missed, the sender will receive a check for one thousand      planetoles     .     One thing more. As usual we have with us a guest star who will matchher wits with the experts. May I present that renowned writer ofscience fiction, Annabella C. Flowers.     From the left wing Grannie Annie appeared. She bowed and took her placeon the dais.     The Doctor's program began. The operator of the Earth visi twisted hisdials and nodded. Blue light flickered on the pantascope panel tocoalesce slowly into the face of a red-haired man. Sharp and dear hisvoice echoed through the theater:           Who was the first Earthman to titter the sunward side of Mercury?          Doctor Universe nodded and turned to Grannie Annie who had raised herhand. She said quietly:     Charles Zanner in the year 2012. In a specially constructedtracto-car.     And so it went. Questions from Mars, from Earth, from Saturn flowed inthe visi sets. Isolated miners on Jupiter, dancers in swank Plutoniancafes strove to stump the experts. With Doctor Universe offeringbantering side play, the experts gave their answers. When they failed,or when the Truthicator flashed a red light, he announced the name ofthe winner.     It grew a little tiresome after a while and I wondered why Grannie hadbrought me here. And then I began to notice things.     The audience in the      Satellite     seemed to have lost much of itsoriginal fervor. They applauded as before but they did so only at thesignal of Doctor Universe. The spell created by the man was complete.     Pompous and erect, he strode back and forth across the stage like ageneral surveying his army. His black eyes gleamed, and his thin lipswere turned in a smile of satisfaction.     When the last question had been answered I joined the exit-movingcrowd. It was outside under the street marquee that a strange incidentoccurred.     A yellow-faced Kagor from the upper Martian desert country shuffled by,dragging his cumbersome third leg behind him. Kagors, of course, had anunpleasant history of persecution since the early colonization days ofthe Red Planet. But the thing that happened there was a throw back toan earlier era.     Someone shouted, Yah, yellow-face! Down with all Kagors! As oneman the crowd took up the cry and surged forward. The helpless Kagorwas seized and flung to the pavement. A knife appeared from nowhere,snipped the Martian's single lock of hair. A booted foot bludgeonedinto his mouth.     Moments later an official hydrocar roared up and a dozen I.P. menrushed out and scattered the crowd. But a few stragglers lingered toshout derisive epithets.     Grannie Annie came out from behind the box office then. She took my armand led me around a corner and through a doorway under a sign that readTHE JET. Inside was a deep room with booths along one wall. The placewas all but deserted.     In a booth well toward the rear the old lady surveyed me with sobereyes.     Billy-boy, did you see the way that crowd acted?     I nodded. As disgraceful an exhibition as I've ever seen. The I.P. menought to clamp down.     The I.P. men aren't strong enough.     She said it quietly, but there was a glitter in her eyes and a harshline about her usually smiling lips.     What do you mean?  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in THE DESERT AND THE STARS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"How do Georges and Retief differ and what similarities do they share in THE DESERT AND THE STARS? [SEP] <s>The air car followed the escort down a long slope to a dry river bedand across it, through a barren stretch of shifting sand to a greenoasis set with canopies.     The armed escort motioned the car to a halt before an immense tent ofglistening black. Before the tent armed men lounged under a pennantbearing a lion      couchant     in crimson on a field verte.     Get out, Blackbeard ordered. The guards eyed the visitors, theirdrawn sabers catching sunlight. Retief and Georges stepped from thecar onto rich rugs spread on the grass. They followed the ferociousgesture of the bearded man through the opening into a perfumed interiorof luminous shadows. A heavy odor of incense hung in the air, and thestrumming of stringed instruments laid a muted pattern of sound behindthe decorations of gold and blue, silver and green. At the far end ofthe room, among a bevy of female slaves, a large and resplendently cladman with blue-black hair and a clean-shaven chin popped a grape intohis mouth. He wiped his fingers negligently on a wisp of silk offeredby a handmaiden, belched loudly and looked the callers over.     Blackbeard cleared his throat. Down on your faces in the presence ofthe Exalted One, the Aga Kaga, ruler of East and West.     Sorry, Retief said firmly. My hay-fever, you know.     The reclining giant waved a hand languidly.     Never mind the formalities, he said. Approach.     Retief and Georges crossed the thick rugs. A cold draft blew towardthem. The reclining man sneezed violently, wiped his nose on anothersilken scarf and held up a hand.     Night and the horses and the desert know me, he said in resonanttones. Also the sword and the guest and paper and pen— Hepaused, wrinkled his nose and sneezed again. Turn off that damnedair-conditioner, he snapped.     He settled himself and motioned the bearded man to him. The twoexchanged muted remarks. Then the bearded man stepped back, ducked hishead and withdrew to the rear.     Excellency, Retief said, I have the honor to present M. GeorgesDuror, Chef d'Regime of the Planetary government.     Planetary government? The Aga Kaga spat grape seeds on the rug. Mymen have observed a few squatters along the shore. If they're indistress, I'll see about a distribution of goat-meat.     It is the punishment of the envious to grieve at anothers' plenty,Retief said. No goat-meat will be required.     Ralph told me you talk like a page out of Mustapha ben Abdallah KatibJelebi, the Aga Kaga said. I know a few old sayings myself. Forexample, 'A Bedouin is only cheated once.'     We have no such intentions, Excellency, Retief said. Is it notwritten, 'Have no faith in the Prince whose minister cheats you'?     I've had some unhappy experiences with strangers, the Aga Kaga said.It is written in the sands that all strangers are kin. Still, he whovisits rarely is a welcome guest. Be seated.      III     Handmaidens brought cushions, giggled and fled. Retief and Georgessettled themselves comfortably. The Aga Kaga eyed them in silence.       We have come to bear tidings from the Corps DiplomatiqueTerrestrienne, Retief said solemnly. A perfumed slave girl offeredgrapes.     Modest ignorance is better than boastful knowledge, the Aga Kagasaid. What brings the CDT into the picture?     The essay of the drunkard will be read in the tavern, Retief said.Whereas the words of kings....     Very well, I concede the point. The Aga Kaga waved a hand at theserving maids. Depart, my dears. Attend me later. You too, Ralph.These are mere diplomats. They are men of words, not deeds.     The bearded man glared and departed. The girls hurried after him.     Now, the Aga Kaga said. Let's drop the wisdom of the ages andget down to the issues. Not that I don't admire your repertoire ofplatitudes. How do you remember them all?     Diplomats and other liars require good memories, said Retief. Butas you point out, small wisdom to small minds. I'm here to effect asettlement of certain differences between yourself and the planetaryauthorities. I have here a Note, which I'm conveying on behalf of theSector Under-Secretary. With your permission, I'll read it.     Go ahead. The Aga Kaga kicked a couple of cushions onto the floor,eased a bottle from under the couch and reached for glasses.     The Under-Secretary for Sector Affairs presents his compliments to hisExcellency, the Aga Kaga of the Aga Kaga, Primary Potentate, HereditarySheik, Emir of the—     Yes, yes. Skip the titles.     Retief flipped over two pages.     ... and with reference to the recent relocation of persons under thejurisdiction of his Excellency, has the honor to point out that theterritories now under settlement comprise a portion of that area,hereinafter designated as Sub-sector Alpha, which, under terms ofthe Agreement entered into by his Excellency's predecessor, and asreferenced in Sector Ministry's Notes numbers G-175846573957-b andX-7584736 c-1, with particular pertinence to that body designated inthe Revised Galactic Catalogue, Tenth Edition, as amended, VolumeNine, reel 43, as 54 Cygni Alpha, otherwise referred to hereinafter asFlamme—     Come to the point, the Aga Kaga cut in. You're here to lodge acomplaint that I'm invading territories to which someone else laysclaim, is that it? He smiled broadly, offered dope-sticks and lit one.Well, I've been expecting a call. After all, it's what you gentlemenare paid for. Cheers.     Your Excellency has a lucid way of putting things, Retief said.     Call me Stanley, the Aga Kaga said. The other routine is just toplease some of the old fools—I mean the more conservative membersof my government. They're still gnawing their beards and kickingthemselves because their ancestors dropped science in favor of alchemyand got themselves stranded in a cultural dead end. This charade issupposed to prove they were right all along. However, I've no timeto waste in neurotic compensations. I have places to go and deeds toaccomplish.     At first glance, Retief said, it looks as though the places arealready occupied, and the deeds are illegal.  <doc-sep>The Aga Kaga guffawed. For a diplomat, you speak plainly, Retief. Haveanother drink. He poured, eyeing Georges. What of M. Duror? How doeshe feel about it?     Georges took a thoughtful swallow of whiskey. Not bad, he said. Butnot quite good enough to cover the odor of goats.     The Aga Kaga snorted. I thought the goats were overdoing it a bitmyself, he said. Still, the graybeards insisted. And I need theirsupport.     Also, Georges said distinctly, I think you're soft. You lie aroundletting women wait on you, while your betters are out doing an honestday's work.     The Aga Kaga looked startled. Soft? I can tie a knot in an iron baras big as your thumb. He popped a grape into his mouth. As for therest, your pious views about the virtues of hard labor are as childishas my advisors' faith in the advantages of primitive plumbing. As formyself, I am a realist. If two monkeys want the same banana, in the endone will have it, and the other will cry morality. The days of my yearsare numbered, praise be to God. While they last, I hope to eat well,hunt well, fight well and take my share of pleasure. I leave to othersthe arid satisfactions of self-denial and other perversions.     You admit you're here to grab our land, then, Georges said. That'sthe damnedest piece of bare-faced aggression—     Ah, ah! The Aga Kaga held up a hand. Watch your vocabulary, mydear sir. I'm sure that 'justifiable yearnings for territorialself-realization' would be more appropriate to the situation. Orpossibly 'legitimate aspirations, for self-determination of formerlyexploited peoples' might fit the case. Aggression is, by definition,an activity carried on only by those who have inherited the mantle ofColonial Imperialism.     Imperialism! Why, you Aga Kagans have been the most notoriousplanet-grabbers in Sector history, you—you—     Call me Stanley. The Aga Kaga munched a grape. I merely face therealities of popular folk-lore. Let's be pragmatic; it's a matter ofhistorical association. Some people can grab land and pass it offlightly as a moral duty; others are dubbed imperialist merely forholding onto their own. Unfair, you say. But that's life, my friends.And I shall continue to take every advantage of it.     We'll fight you! Georges bellowed. He took another gulp of whiskeyand slammed the glass down. You won't take this world without astruggle!     Another? the Aga Kaga said, offering the bottle. Georges glowered ashis glass was filled. The Aga Kaga held the glass up to the light.     Excellent color, don't you agree? He turned his eyes on Georges.     It's pointless to resist, he said. We have you outgunned andoutmanned. Your small nation has no chance against us. But we'reprepared to be generous. You may continue to occupy such areas as we donot immediately require until such time as you're able to make otherarrangements.     And by the time we've got a crop growing out of what was bare rock,you'll be ready to move in, the Boyar Chef d'Regime snapped. Butyou'll find that we aren't alone!  <doc-sep>That would have been a mistake, said Retief. The Aga Kagans aretough customers. They're active on half a dozen worlds at the moment.They've been building up for this push for the last five years. Ashow of resistance by you Boyars without Corps backing would be aninvitation to slaughter—with the excuse that you started it.     So what are we going to do? Sit here and watch these goat-herders takeover our farms and fisheries?     Those goat-herders aren't all they seem. They've got a first-classmodern navy.     I've seen 'em. They camp in goat-skin tents, gallop around onanimal-back, wear dresses down to their ankles—     The 'goat-skin' tents are a high-polymer plastic, made in the samefactory that turns out those long flowing bullet-proof robes youmention. The animals are just for show. Back home they use helis andground cars of the most modern design.     The Chef d'Regime chewed his cigar.     Why the masquerade?     Something to do with internal policies, I suppose.     So we sit tight and watch 'em take our world away from us. That's whatI get for playing along with you, Retief. We should have clobberedthese monkeys as soon as they set foot on our world.     Slow down, I haven't finished yet. There's still the Note.     I've got plenty of paper already. Rolls and rolls of it.     Give diplomatic processes a chance, said Retief. The Note hasn'teven been delivered yet. Who knows? We may get surprising results.     If you expect me to supply a runner for the purpose, you're out ofluck. From what I hear, he's likely to come back with his ears stuffedin his hip pocket.     I'll deliver the Note personally, Retief said. I could use a coupleof escorts—preferably strong-arm lads.     The Chef d'Regime frowned, blew out a cloud of smoke. I wasn't kiddingabout these Aga Kagans, he said. I hear they have some nasty habits.I don't want to see you operated on with the same knives they use toskin out the goats.     I'd be against that myself. Still, the mail must go through.     Strong-arm lads, eh? What have you got in mind, Retief?     A little muscle in the background is an old diplomatic custom, Retiefsaid.     The Chef d'Regime stubbed out his cigar thoughtfully. I used to be apretty fair elbow-wrestler myself, he said. Suppose I go along...?     That, said Retief, should lend just the right note of solidarity toour little delegation. He hitched his chair closer. Now, depending onwhat we run into, here's how we'll play it....      II     Eight miles into the rolling granite hills west of the capital, ablack-painted official air-car flying the twin flags of Chief of Stateand Terrestrial Minister skimmed along a foot above a pot-holed road.Slumped in the padded seat, the Boyar Chef d'Regime waved his cigarglumly at the surrounding hills.     Fifty years ago this was bare rock, he said. We've bred specialstrains of bacteria here to break down the formations into soil, and wefollowed up with a program of broad-spectrum fertilization. We plannedto put the whole area into crops by next year. Now it looks like thegoats will get it.     Will that scrubland support a crop? Retief said, eyeing thelichen-covered knolls.     Sure. We start with legumes and follow up with cereals. Wait until yousee this next section. It's an old flood plain, came into productionthirty years ago. One of our finest—     The air-car topped a rise. The Chef dropped his cigar and half rose,with a hoarse yell. A herd of scraggly goats tossed their heads among astand of ripe grain. The car pulled to a stop. Retief held the Boyar'sarm.     Keep calm, Georges, he said. Remember, we're on a diplomaticmission. It wouldn't do to come to the conference table smelling ofgoats.     Let me at 'em! Georges roared. I'll throttle 'em with my bare hands!     A bearded goat eyed the Boyar Chef sardonically, jaw working. Look atthat long-nosed son! The goat gave a derisive bleat and took anothermouthful of ripe grain.     Did you see that? Georges yelled. They've trained the son of a—     Chin up, Georges, Retief said. We'll take up the goat problem alongwith the rest.     I'll murder 'em!     Hold it, Georges. Look over there.     A hundred yards away, a trio of brown-cloaked horsemen topped a rise,paused dramatically against the cloudless pale sky, then gallopeddown the slope toward the car, rifles bobbing at their backs, cloaksbillowing out behind. Side by side they rode, through the brown-goldengrain, cutting three narrow swaths that ran in a straight sweep fromthe ridge to the air-car where Retief and the Chef d'Regime hovered,waiting.     Georges scrambled for the side of the car. Just wait 'til I get myhands on him!     Retief pulled him back. Sit tight and look pleased, Georges. Nevergive the opposition a hint of your true feelings. Pretend you're a goatlover—and hand me one of your cigars.     The three horsemen pulled up in a churn of chaff and a clatter ofpebbles. Georges coughed, batting a hand at the settling dust. Retiefpeeled the cigar unhurriedly, sniffed, at it and thumbed it alight. Hedrew at it, puffed out a cloud of smoke and glanced casually at thetrio of Aga Kagan cavaliers.     Peace be with you, he intoned in accent-free Kagan. May your shadowsnever grow less.  <doc-sep>The leader of the three, a hawk-faced man with a heavy beard,unlimbered his rifle. He fingered it, frowning ferociously.     Have no fear, Retief said, smiling graciously. He who comes as aguest enjoys perfect safety.     A smooth-faced member of the threesome barked an oath and leveled hisrifle at Retief.     Youth is the steed of folly, Retief said. Take care that thebeardless one does not disgrace his house.     The leader whirled on the youth and snarled an order. He lowered therifle, muttering. Blackbeard turned back to Retief.     Begone, interlopers, he said. You disturb the goats.     Provision is not taken to the houses of the generous, Retief said.May the creatures dine well ere they move on.     Hah! The goats of the Aga Kaga graze on the lands of the Aga Kaga.The leader edged his horse close, eyed Retief fiercely. We welcome nointruders on our lands.     To praise a man for what he does not possess is to make him appearfoolish, Retief said. These are the lands of the Boyars. But enoughof these pleasantries. We seek audience with your ruler.     You may address me as 'Exalted One', the leader said. Now dismountfrom that steed of Shaitan.     It is written, if you need anything from a dog, call him 'sir',Retief said. I must decline to impute canine ancestry to a guest. Nowyou may conduct us to your headquarters.     Enough of your insolence! The bearded man cocked his rifle. I couldblow your heads off!     The hen has feathers, but it does not fly, Retief said. We haveasked for escort. A slave must be beaten with a stick; for a free man,a hint is enough.     You mock me, pale one. I warn you—     Only love makes me weep, Retief said. I laugh at hatred.     Get out of the car!     Retief puffed at his cigar, eyeing the Aga Kagan cheerfully. The youthin the rear moved forward, teeth bared.     Never give in to the fool, lest he say, 'He fears me,' Retief said.     I cannot restrain my men in the face of your insults, the bearded AgaKagan roared. These hens of mine have feathers—and talons as well!     When God would destroy an ant, he gives him wings, Retief said.Distress in misfortune is another misfortune.     The bearded man's face grew purple.     Retief dribbled the ash from his cigar over the side of the car.     Now I think we'd better be getting on, he said briskly. I've enjoyedour chat, but we do have business to attend to.     The bearded leader laughed shortly. Does the condemned man beg for theaxe? he enquired rhetorically. You shall visit the Aga Kaga, then.Move on! And make no attempt to escape, else my gun will speak you abrief farewell.     The horsemen glowered, then, at a word from the leader, took positionsaround the car. Georges started the vehicle forward, following theleading rider. Retief leaned back and let out a long sigh.     That was close, he said. I was about out of proverbs.     You sound as though you'd brought off a coup, Georges said. From theexpression on the whiskery one's face, we're in for trouble. What washe saying?     Just a routine exchange of bluffs, Retief said. Now when we getthere, remember to make your flattery sound like insults and yourinsults sound like flattery, and you'll be all right.     These birds are armed. And they don't like strangers, Georges said.Maybe I should have boned up on their habits before I joined thisexpedition.     Just stick to the plan, Retief said. And remember: a handful of luckis better than a camel-load of learning.  <doc-sep>There were.     Retief dug in and the Flap-jack writhed, pulled away. Retief held on,scrambled to his feet, threw his weight against the alien and fell ontop of him, still gouging. Hoshick rippled his fringe wildly, floppedin terror, then went limp.     Retief relaxed, released his hold and got to his feet, breathing hard.Hoshick humped himself over onto his ventral side, lifted and movedgingerly over to the sidelines. His retainers came forward, assistedhim into his trappings, strapped on the translator. He sighed heavily,adjusted the volume.     There is much to be said for the old system, he said. What a burdenone's sportsmanship places on one at times.     Great sport, wasn't it? said Retief. Now, I know you'll be eager tocontinue. If you'll just wait while I run back and fetch some of ourgougerforms—     May hide-ticks devour the gougerforms! Hoshick bellowed. You'vegiven me such a sprong-ache as I'll remember each spawning-time for ayear.     Speaking of hide-ticks, said Retief, we've developed a biterform—     Enough! Hoshick roared, so loudly that the translator bounced on hishide. Suddenly I yearn for the crowded yellow sands of Jaq. I hadhoped.... He broke off, drew a rasping breath. I had hoped, Retief,he said, speaking sadly now, to find a new land here where I mightplan my own Mosaic, till these alien sands and bring forth such a cropof paradise-lichen as should glut the markets of a hundred worlds. Butmy spirit is not equal to the prospect of biterforms and gougerformswithout end. I am shamed before you....     To tell you the truth, I'm old-fashioned myself. I'd rather watch theaction from a distance too.     But surely your spawn-fellows would never condone such an attitude.     My spawn-fellows aren't here. And besides, didn't I mention it? Noone who's really in the know would think of engaging in competition bymere combat if there were any other way. Now, you mentioned tilling thesand, raising lichens—things like that—     That on which we dined but now, said Hoshick, and from which thewine is made.     The big news in fashionable diplomacy today is farming competition.Now, if you'd like to take these deserts and raise lichen, we'llpromise to stick to the oases and vegetables.     Hoshick curled his back in attention. Retief, you're quite serious?You would leave all the fair sand hills to us?     The whole works, Hoshick. I'll take the oases.     Hoshick rippled his fringes ecstatically. Once again you have outdoneme, Retief, he cried. This time, in generosity.     We'll talk over the details later. I'm sure we can establish a set ofrules that will satisfy all parties. Now I've got to get back. I thinksome of the gougerforms are waiting to see me.      IV     It was nearly dawn when Retief gave the whistled signal he had agreedon with Potter, then rose and walked into the camp circle. Swazey stoodup.     There you are, he said. We been wonderin' whether to go out afteryou.     Lemuel came forward, one eye black to the cheekbone. He held out araw-boned hand. Sorry I jumped you, stranger. Tell you the truth, Ithought you was some kind of stool-pigeon from the CDT.     Bert came up behind Lemuel. How do you know he ain't, Lemuel? hesaid. Maybe he—     Lemuel floored Bert with a backward sweep of his arm. Nextcotton-picker says some embassy Johnny can cool me gets worse'n that.     Tell me, said Retief. How are you boys fixed for wine?     Wine? Mister, we been livin' on stump water for a year now. 'Dobe'sfatal to the kind of bacteria it takes to ferment likker.     Try this. Retief handed over a sqat jug. Swazey drew the cork,sniffed, drank and passed it to Lemuel.     Mister, where'd you get that?     The Flap-jacks make it. Here's another question for you: Would youconcede a share in this planet to the Flap-jacks in return for a peaceguarantee?     At the end of a half hour of heated debate Lemuel turned to Retief.We'll make any reasonable deal, he said. I guess they got as muchright here as we have. I think we'd agree to a fifty-fifty split.That'd give about a hundred and fifty oases to each side.     What would you say to keeping all the oases and giving them thedesert?     Lemuel reached for the wine jug, eyes on Retief. Keep talkin',mister, he said. I think you got yourself a deal.  <doc-sep>Quite alone, the Aga said. He nodded sagely. Yes, one need but readthe lesson of history. The Corps Diplomatique will make expostulatorynoises, but it will accept the      fait accompli     . You, my dear sir, arebut a very small nibble. We won't make the mistake of excessive greed.We shall inch our way to empire—and those who stand in our way shallbe dubbed warmongers.     I see you're quite a student of history, Stanley, Retief said. Iwonder if you recall the eventual fate of most of the would-be empirenibblers of the past?     Ah, but they grew incautious. They went too far, too fast.     The confounded impudence, Georges rasped. Tells us to our face whathe has in mind!     An ancient and honorable custom, from the time of      Mein Kampf     andthe      Communist Manifesto     through the      Porcelain Wall     of Leung. Suchdeclarations have a legendary quality. It's traditional that they'renever taken at face value.     But always, Retief said, there was a critical point at which the manon horseback could have been pulled from the saddle.           Could     have been, the Aga Kaga chuckled. He finished the grapes andbegan peeling an orange. But they never were. Hitler could have beenstopped by the Czech Air Force in 1938; Stalin was at the mercy of theprimitive atomics of the west in 1946; Leung was grossly over-extendedat Rangoon. But the onus of that historic role could not be overcome.It has been the fate of your spiritual forebears to carve civilizationfrom the wilderness and then, amid tearing of garments and the heapingof ashes of self-accusation on your own confused heads, to withdraw,leaving the spoils for local political opportunists and mob leaders,clothed in the mystical virtue of native birth. Have a banana.     You're stretching your analogy a little too far, Retief said. You'rebanking on the inaction of the Corps. You could be wrong.     I shall know when to stop, the Aga Kaga said.     Tell me, Stanley, Retief said, rising. Are we quite private here?     Yes, perfectly so, the Aga Kaga said. None would dare to intrude inmy council. He cocked an eyebrow at Retief. You have a proposal tomake in confidence? But what of our dear friend Georges? One would notlike to see him disillusioned.     Don't worry about Georges. He's a realist, like you. He's prepared todeal in facts. Hard facts, in this case.     The Aga Kaga nodded thoughtfully. What are you getting at?     You're basing your plan of action on the certainty that the Corps willsit by, wringing its hands, while you embark on a career of planetarypiracy.     Isn't it the custom? the Aga Kaga smiled complacently.     I have news for you, Stanley. In this instance, neck-wringing seemsmore in order than hand-wringing.     The Aga Kaga frowned. Your manner—     Never mind our manners! Georges blurted, standing. We don't need anylessons from goat-herding land-thieves!     The Aga Kaga's face darkened. You dare to speak thus to me, pig of amuck-grubber!  <doc-sep>   THE DESERT AND THE STARS     BY KEITH LAUMER     The Aga Kaga wanted peace—a     piece of everything in sight!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, November 1962.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I'm not at all sure, Under-Secretary Sternwheeler said, that I fullyunderstand the necessity for your ... ah ... absenting yourself fromyour post of duty, Mr. Retief. Surely this matter could have been dealtwith in the usual way—assuming any action is necessary.     I had a sharp attack of writer's cramp, Mr. Secretary, Retief said.So I thought I'd better come along in person—just to be sure I waspositive of making my point.     Eh?     Why, ah, there were a number of dispatches, Deputy Under-SecretaryMagnan put in. Unfortunately, this being end-of-the-fiscal-year time,we found ourselves quite inundated with reports. Reports, reports,reports—     Not criticizing the reporting system, are you, Mr. Magnan? theUnder-Secretary barked.     Gracious, no, Magnan said. I love reports.     It seems nobody's told the Aga Kagans about fiscal years, Retiefsaid. They're going right ahead with their program of land-grabbing onFlamme. So far, I've persuaded the Boyars that this is a matter for theCorps, and not to take matters into their own hands.     The Under-Secretary nodded. Quite right. Carry on along the samelines. Now, if there's nothing further—     Thank you, Mr. Secretary, Magnan said, rising. We certainlyappreciate your guidance.     There is a little something further, said Retief, sitting solidly inhis chair. What's the Corps going to do about the Aga Kagans?     The Under-Secretary turned a liverish eye on Retief. As Ministerto Flamme, you should know that the function of a diplomaticrepresentative is merely to ... what shall I say...?     String them along? Magnan suggested.     An unfortunate choice of phrase, the Under-Secretary said. However,it embodies certain realities of Galactic politics. The Corps mustconcern itself with matters of broad policy.     Sixty years ago the Corps was encouraging the Boyars to settleFlamme, Retief said. They were assured of Corps support.     I don't believe you'll find that in writing, said the Under-Secretaryblandly. In any event, that was sixty years ago. At that time afoothold against Neo-Concordiatist elements was deemed desirable. Nowthe situation has changed.     The Boyars have spent sixty years terraforming Flamme, Retief said.They've cleared jungle, descummed the seas, irrigated deserts, set outforests. They've just about reached the point where they can begin toenjoy it. The Aga Kagans have picked this as a good time to move in.They've landed thirty detachments of 'fishermen'—complete with armoredtrawlers mounting 40 mm infinite repeaters—and another two dozenparties of 'homesteaders'—all male and toting rocket launchers.     Surely there's land enough on the world to afford space to bothgroups, the Under-Secretary said. A spirit of co-operation—  <doc-sep>On the broad verandah at Government House, Retief settled himselfcomfortably in a lounge chair. He accepted a tall glass from awhite-jacketed waiter and regarded the flamboyant Flamme sunset, agorgeous blaze of vermillion and purple that reflected from a stilllake, tinged the broad lawn with color, silhouetted tall poplars amongflower beds.     You've done great things here in sixty years, Georges, said Retief.Not that natural geological processes wouldn't have produced the sameresults, given a couple of hundred million years.     Don't belabor the point, the Boyar Chef d'Regime said. Since we seemto be on the verge of losing it.     You're forgetting the Note.     A Note, Georges said, waving his cigar. What the purple pollutedhell is a Note supposed to do? I've got Aga Kagan claim-jumpers campedin the middle of what used to be a fine stand of barley, cookingsheep's brains over dung fires not ten miles from Government House—andupwind at that.     Say, if that's the same barley you distill your whiskey from, I'dcall that a first-class atrocity.     Retief, on your say-so, I've kept my boys on a short leash. They'veput up with plenty. Last week, while you were away, these barbarianssailed that flotilla of armor-plated junks right through the middle ofone of our best oyster breeding beds. It was all I could do to keep abunch of our men from going out in private helis and blasting 'em outof the water.     That wouldn't have been good for the oysters, either.     That's what I told 'em. I also said you'd be back here in a few dayswith something from Corps HQ. When I tell 'em all we've got is a pieceof paper, that'll be the end. There's a strong vigilante organizationhere that's been outfitting for the last four weeks. If I hadn't heldthem back with assurances that the CDT would step in and take care ofthis invasion, they would have hit them before now.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How do Georges and Retief differ and what similarities do they share in THE DESERT AND THE STARS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the backdrop of the story ""The Desert and the Stars""? [SEP] <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>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>   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>   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>   THE DESERT AND THE STARS     BY KEITH LAUMER     The Aga Kaga wanted peace—a     piece of everything in sight!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, November 1962.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I'm not at all sure, Under-Secretary Sternwheeler said, that I fullyunderstand the necessity for your ... ah ... absenting yourself fromyour post of duty, Mr. Retief. Surely this matter could have been dealtwith in the usual way—assuming any action is necessary.     I had a sharp attack of writer's cramp, Mr. Secretary, Retief said.So I thought I'd better come along in person—just to be sure I waspositive of making my point.     Eh?     Why, ah, there were a number of dispatches, Deputy Under-SecretaryMagnan put in. Unfortunately, this being end-of-the-fiscal-year time,we found ourselves quite inundated with reports. Reports, reports,reports—     Not criticizing the reporting system, are you, Mr. Magnan? theUnder-Secretary barked.     Gracious, no, Magnan said. I love reports.     It seems nobody's told the Aga Kagans about fiscal years, Retiefsaid. They're going right ahead with their program of land-grabbing onFlamme. So far, I've persuaded the Boyars that this is a matter for theCorps, and not to take matters into their own hands.     The Under-Secretary nodded. Quite right. Carry on along the samelines. Now, if there's nothing further—     Thank you, Mr. Secretary, Magnan said, rising. We certainlyappreciate your guidance.     There is a little something further, said Retief, sitting solidly inhis chair. What's the Corps going to do about the Aga Kagans?     The Under-Secretary turned a liverish eye on Retief. As Ministerto Flamme, you should know that the function of a diplomaticrepresentative is merely to ... what shall I say...?     String them along? Magnan suggested.     An unfortunate choice of phrase, the Under-Secretary said. However,it embodies certain realities of Galactic politics. The Corps mustconcern itself with matters of broad policy.     Sixty years ago the Corps was encouraging the Boyars to settleFlamme, Retief said. They were assured of Corps support.     I don't believe you'll find that in writing, said the Under-Secretaryblandly. In any event, that was sixty years ago. At that time afoothold against Neo-Concordiatist elements was deemed desirable. Nowthe situation has changed.     The Boyars have spent sixty years terraforming Flamme, Retief said.They've cleared jungle, descummed the seas, irrigated deserts, set outforests. They've just about reached the point where they can begin toenjoy it. The Aga Kagans have picked this as a good time to move in.They've landed thirty detachments of 'fishermen'—complete with armoredtrawlers mounting 40 mm infinite repeaters—and another two dozenparties of 'homesteaders'—all male and toting rocket launchers.     Surely there's land enough on the world to afford space to bothgroups, the Under-Secretary said. A spirit of co-operation—  <doc-sep>A tall man, clad in a claw-hammer coat, came out from the wings andadvanced to the footlights.     People of Swamp City, he said, bowing, permit me to introducemyself. I am Doctor Universe, and these are my nine experts.     There was a roar of applause from the      Satellite     audience. When it hadsubsided, the man continued:     As most of you are familiar with our program, it will be unnecessaryto give any advance explanation. I will only say that on this stage arenine visi sets, each tuned to one of the nine planets. At transmittingsets all over these planets listeners will appear and voice questions.These questions, my nine experts will endeavor to answer. For everyquestion missed, the sender will receive a check for one thousand      planetoles     .     One thing more. As usual we have with us a guest star who will matchher wits with the experts. May I present that renowned writer ofscience fiction, Annabella C. Flowers.     From the left wing Grannie Annie appeared. She bowed and took her placeon the dais.     The Doctor's program began. The operator of the Earth visi twisted hisdials and nodded. Blue light flickered on the pantascope panel tocoalesce slowly into the face of a red-haired man. Sharp and dear hisvoice echoed through the theater:           Who was the first Earthman to titter the sunward side of Mercury?          Doctor Universe nodded and turned to Grannie Annie who had raised herhand. She said quietly:     Charles Zanner in the year 2012. In a specially constructedtracto-car.     And so it went. Questions from Mars, from Earth, from Saturn flowed inthe visi sets. Isolated miners on Jupiter, dancers in swank Plutoniancafes strove to stump the experts. With Doctor Universe offeringbantering side play, the experts gave their answers. When they failed,or when the Truthicator flashed a red light, he announced the name ofthe winner.     It grew a little tiresome after a while and I wondered why Grannie hadbrought me here. And then I began to notice things.     The audience in the      Satellite     seemed to have lost much of itsoriginal fervor. They applauded as before but they did so only at thesignal of Doctor Universe. The spell created by the man was complete.     Pompous and erect, he strode back and forth across the stage like ageneral surveying his army. His black eyes gleamed, and his thin lipswere turned in a smile of satisfaction.     When the last question had been answered I joined the exit-movingcrowd. It was outside under the street marquee that a strange incidentoccurred.     A yellow-faced Kagor from the upper Martian desert country shuffled by,dragging his cumbersome third leg behind him. Kagors, of course, had anunpleasant history of persecution since the early colonization days ofthe Red Planet. But the thing that happened there was a throw back toan earlier era.     Someone shouted, Yah, yellow-face! Down with all Kagors! As oneman the crowd took up the cry and surged forward. The helpless Kagorwas seized and flung to the pavement. A knife appeared from nowhere,snipped the Martian's single lock of hair. A booted foot bludgeonedinto his mouth.     Moments later an official hydrocar roared up and a dozen I.P. menrushed out and scattered the crowd. But a few stragglers lingered toshout derisive epithets.     Grannie Annie came out from behind the box office then. She took my armand led me around a corner and through a doorway under a sign that readTHE JET. Inside was a deep room with booths along one wall. The placewas all but deserted.     In a booth well toward the rear the old lady surveyed me with sobereyes.     Billy-boy, did you see the way that crowd acted?     I nodded. As disgraceful an exhibition as I've ever seen. The I.P. menought to clamp down.     The I.P. men aren't strong enough.     She said it quietly, but there was a glitter in her eyes and a harshline about her usually smiling lips.     What do you mean?  <doc-sep>The first thing about the derelict that struck us as we drew near washer size. No ship ever built in the Foundation Yards had ever attainedsuch gargantuan proportions. She must have stretched a full thousandfeet from bow to stern, a sleek torpedo shape of somehow unspeakablealienness. Against the backdrop of the Milky Way, she gleamed fitfullyin the light of the faraway sun, the metal of her flanks grained withsomething like tiny, glittering whorls. It was as though the stuffwere somehow unstable ... seeking balance ... maybe even alive in somestrange and alien way.     It was readily apparent to all of us that she had never been built forinter-planetary flight. She was a starship. Origin unknown. An aura ofmystery surrounded her like a shroud, protecting the world that gaveher birth mutely but effectively. The distance she must have come wasunthinkable. And the time it had taken...? Aeons. Millennia. For shewas drifting, dead in space, slowly spinning end over end as she swungabout Sol in a hyperbolic orbit that would soon take her out and awayagain into the inter-stellar deeps.     Something had wounded her ... perhaps ten million years ago ... perhapsyesterday. She was gashed deeply from stem to stern with a jagged ripthat bared her mangled innards. A wandering asteroid? A meteor? Wewould never know. It gave me an uncomfortable feeling of things beyondthe ken of men as I looked at her through the port. I would never knowwhat killed her, or where she was going, or whence she came. Yet shewas mine. It made me feel like an upstart. And it made me afraid ...but of what?     We should have reported her to the nearest EMV base, but that wouldhave meant that we'd lose her. Scientists would be sent out. Men betterequipped than we to investigate the first extrasolar artifact found bymen. But I didn't report her. She was ours. She was money in the bank.Let the scientists take over after we'd put a prize crew aboard andbrought her into Callisto for salvage.... That's the way I had thingsfigured.     The Maid hove to about a hundred yards from her and hung there, dwarfedby the mighty glistening ship. I called for volunteers and we prepareda boarding party. I was thinking that her drives alone would be worthmillions. Cohn took charge and he and three of the men suited up andcrossed to her.     In an hour they were back, disappointment largely written on theirfaces.     There's nothing left of her, Captain, Cohn reported, Whatever hither tore up the innards so badly we couldn't even find the drives.She's a mess inside. Nothing left but the hull and a few storagecompartments that are still unbroken.     She was never built to carry humanoids he told us, and there wasnothing that could give us a hint of where she had come from. The hullalone was left.     He dropped two chunks of metal on my desk. I brought back some samplesof her pressure hull, he said, The whole thing is made of thisstuff....     We'll still take her in, I said, hiding my disappointment. Thecarcass will be worth money in Callisto. Have Mister Marvin andZaleski assemble a spare pulse-jet. We'll jury-rig her and bring herdown under her own power. You take charge of provisioning her. Checkthose compartments you found and install oxy-generators aboard. Whenit's done report to me in my quarters.     I picked up the two samples of gleaming metal and called for ametallurgical testing kit. I'm going to try and find out if this stuffis worth anything....     The metal was heavy—too heavy, it seemed to me, for spaceshipconstruction. But then, who was to say what conditions existed on thatdistant world where this metal was made?     Under the bright fluorescent over my work-table, the chunks of metaltorn from a random bulkhead of the starship gleamed like pale silver;those strange little whorls that I had noticed on the outer hull werethere too, like tiny magnetic lines of force, making the surface ofthe metal seem to dance. I held the stuff in my bare hand.      It had ayellowish tinge, and it was heavier     ....     Even as I watched, the metal grew yellower, and the hand that heldit grew bone weary, little tongues of fatigue licking up my forearm.Suddenly terrified, I dropped the chunk as though it were white hot. Itstruck the table with a dull thud and lay there, a rich yellow lump ofmetallic lustre.     For a long while I just sat and stared. Then I began testing, tryingall the while to quiet the trembling of my hands. I weighed it on abalance. I tested it with acids. It had changed unquestionably. Itwas no longer the same as when I had carried it into my quarters. Thewhorls of force were gone. It was no longer alive with a questingvibrancy ... it was inert, stable. From somewhere, somehow, it haddrawn the energy necessary for transmutation. The unknown metal—thestuff of which that whole mammoth spaceship from the stars wasbuilt—was now....       Gold!       I scarcely dared believe it, but there it was staring at me from mytable-top.      Gold!       I searched my mind for an explanation. Contra-terrene matter, perhaps,from some distant island universe where matter reacted differently ...drawing energy from somewhere, the energy it needed to find stabilityin its new environment. Stability as a terrene element—wonderfully,miraculously gold!     And outside, in the void beyond the Maid's ports there were tons ofthis metal that could be turned into treasure. My laughter must havebeen a wild sound in those moments of discovery....  <doc-sep>Steve gave him another drink. You still haven't told me what happened.Actually, though, Steve could guess. With the twenty-second centuryEarth population hovering at the eleven billion mark, colonies weresought everywhere. Even on a parched desert wasteland like this. TheKumaji tribesmen had never accepted the colony as a fact of their lifeon the desert, and in a way Steve could not blame them. It meant oneoasis less for their own nomadic sustenance. When Steve was a boy,Kumaji raids were frequent. At school on Earth and Luna he'd read aboutthe raids, how they'd increased in violence, how the Earth government,so far away and utterly unable to protect its distant colony, hadsuggested withdrawal from the Kumaji desert settlement, especially sincea colony could exist there under only the most primitive conditions,almost like the purple-skinned Kumaji natives themselves.     When did it happen? Steve demanded.     Last night. It was now midafternoon. Three folks died, the Kumajisaid in his almost perfect English, from the poisoning of the well. Thewell was the last straw. The colonists had no choice. They had to go,and go fast, taking what little water they had left in the houses.     Will they try to walk all the way through to Oasis City? Oasis City,built at the confluence of two underground rivers which came to thesurface there and flowed the rest of the way to the sea above ground,was almost five hundred miles from the colony. Five hundred miles oftrackless sands and hundred-and-thirty-degree heat....     They have to, the old man said. And they have to hurry. Men, womenand children. The Kumaji are after them.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the backdrop of the story ""The Desert and the Stars""?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"How does history play a part in THE DESERT AND THE STARS? [SEP] <s>We played. Tune after tune.John knew them all, from thelatest pop melodies to a swing versionof the classic      Rhapsody of TheStars     . He was a quiet guy duringthe next couple of hours, and gettingmore than a few words fromhim seemed as hard as extracting atooth. He'd stand by his fiddle—Imean, his      Zloomph     —with a dreamyexpression in those watery eyes,staring at nothing.     But after one number he studiedFat Boy's clarinet for a moment.Nice clarinet, he mused. Has anunusual hole in the front.     Fat Boy scratched the back ofhis head. You—you mean here?Where the music comes out?     John Smith nodded. Unusual.     Hummm, I thought again.     Awhile later I caught him eyeingmy piano keyboard. What'sthe matter, John?     He pointed.     Oh, there, I said. A cigarettefell out of my ashtray, burnt a holein the key. If The Eye sees it, he'llswear at me in seven languages.     Even there, he said softly,even there....     There was no doubt about it.John Smith was peculiar, but hewas the best bass man this side of amusician's Nirvana.     It didn't take a genius to figureout our situation. Item one: Goon-Face'scountenance had evidencedan excellent imitation of Mephistophelesbefore John began to play.Item two: Goon-Face had beamedlike a kitten with a quart of creamafter John began to play.     Conclusion: If we wanted tokeep eating, we'd have to persuadeJohn Smith to join our combo.     At intermission I said, Howabout a drink, John? Maybe a shotof wine-syrup?     He shook his head.     Then maybe a Venusian fizz?     His grunt was negative.     Then some old-fashioned beer?     He smiled. Yes, I      like     beer.     I escorted him to the bar and assistedhim in his arduous climb ontoa stool.     John, I ventured after he'dtaken an experimental sip, wherehave you been hiding? A guy likeyou should be playing every night.     John yawned. Just got here. FiguredI might need some money soI went to the union. Then I workedon my plan.     Then you need a job. Howabout playing with us steady? Welike your style a lot.     He made a long, low hummingsound which I interpreted as anexpression of intense concentration.I don't know, he finally drawled.     It'd be a steady job, John. Inspirationstruck me. And listen, Ihave an apartment. It's got everything,solar shower, automatic chef,'copter landing—if we ever get a'copter. Plenty of room there fortwo people. You can stay with meand it won't cost you a cent. Andwe'll even pay you over unionwages.     His watery gaze wandered lazilyto the bar mirror, down to the glitteringarray of bottles and then outto the dance floor.     He yawned again and spokeslowly, as if each word were a leadenweight cast reluctantly from histongue:     No, I don't ... care much ...about playing.     What      do     you like to do, John?     His string-bean of a body stiffened.I like to study ancient history ...and I must work on myplan.     Oh Lord, that plan again!     I took a deep breath. Tell meabout it, John. It      must     be interesting.     He made queer clicking noiseswith his mouth that reminded meof a mechanical toy being woundinto motion. The whole foundationof this or any other culture isbased on the history of all the timedimensions, each interwoven withthe other, throughout the ages. Andthe holes provide a means of studyingall of it first hand.       Oh, oh     , I thought.      But you stillhave to eat. Remember, you stillhave to eat.       Trouble is, he went on, thereare so many holes in this universe.     Holes? I kept a straight face.     Certainly. Look around you. Allyou see is holes. These beer bottlesare just holes surrounded by glass.The doors and windows—they'reholes in walls. The mine tunnelsmake a network of holes under thedesert. Caves are holes, animals livein holes, our faces have holes,clothes have holes—millions andmillions of holes!     I winced and thought, humorhim because you gotta eat, yougotta eat.     His voice trembled with emotion.Why, they're everywhere. They'rein pots and pans, in pipes, in rocketjets, in bumpy roads. There are buttonholesand well holes, and shoelaceholes. There are doughnutholes and stocking holes and woodpeckerholes and cheese holes.Oceans lie in holes in the earth,and rivers and canals and valleys.The craters of the Moon are holes.Everything is—     But, John, I said as patiently aspossible, what have these holesgot to do with you?     He glowered at me as if I wereunworthy of such a confidence.What have they to do with me?he shrilled. I can't find the rightone—that's what!     I closed my eyes. Which particularhole are you looking for, John?     He was speaking rapidly againnow.     I was hurrying back to the Universitywith the      Zloomph     to provea point of ancient history to thosefools. They don't believe that instrumentswhich make music actuallyexisted before the tapes! Itwas dark—and some fool researcherhad forgotten to set a force-fieldover the hole—I fell through.     I closed my eyes. Now wait aminute. Did you drop something,lose it in the hole—is that why youhave to find it?     Oh I didn't lose anything important,he snapped,       just     my owntime dimension. And if I don't getback they will think I couldn't provemy theory, that I'm ashamed tocome back, and I'll be discredited.     His chest sagged for an instant.Then he straightened. But there'sstill time for my plan to work out—withthe relative difference takeninto account. Only I get so tiredjust thinking about it.     Yes, I can see where thinkingabout it would tire any one.     He nodded. But it can't be toofar away.     I'd like to hear more about it,I said. But if you're not going toplay with us—     Oh, I'll play with you, hebeamed. I can talk to      you     .      You     understand.     Thank heaven!  <doc-sep>A tall man, clad in a claw-hammer coat, came out from the wings andadvanced to the footlights.     People of Swamp City, he said, bowing, permit me to introducemyself. I am Doctor Universe, and these are my nine experts.     There was a roar of applause from the      Satellite     audience. When it hadsubsided, the man continued:     As most of you are familiar with our program, it will be unnecessaryto give any advance explanation. I will only say that on this stage arenine visi sets, each tuned to one of the nine planets. At transmittingsets all over these planets listeners will appear and voice questions.These questions, my nine experts will endeavor to answer. For everyquestion missed, the sender will receive a check for one thousand      planetoles     .     One thing more. As usual we have with us a guest star who will matchher wits with the experts. May I present that renowned writer ofscience fiction, Annabella C. Flowers.     From the left wing Grannie Annie appeared. She bowed and took her placeon the dais.     The Doctor's program began. The operator of the Earth visi twisted hisdials and nodded. Blue light flickered on the pantascope panel tocoalesce slowly into the face of a red-haired man. Sharp and dear hisvoice echoed through the theater:           Who was the first Earthman to titter the sunward side of Mercury?          Doctor Universe nodded and turned to Grannie Annie who had raised herhand. She said quietly:     Charles Zanner in the year 2012. In a specially constructedtracto-car.     And so it went. Questions from Mars, from Earth, from Saturn flowed inthe visi sets. Isolated miners on Jupiter, dancers in swank Plutoniancafes strove to stump the experts. With Doctor Universe offeringbantering side play, the experts gave their answers. When they failed,or when the Truthicator flashed a red light, he announced the name ofthe winner.     It grew a little tiresome after a while and I wondered why Grannie hadbrought me here. And then I began to notice things.     The audience in the      Satellite     seemed to have lost much of itsoriginal fervor. They applauded as before but they did so only at thesignal of Doctor Universe. The spell created by the man was complete.     Pompous and erect, he strode back and forth across the stage like ageneral surveying his army. His black eyes gleamed, and his thin lipswere turned in a smile of satisfaction.     When the last question had been answered I joined the exit-movingcrowd. It was outside under the street marquee that a strange incidentoccurred.     A yellow-faced Kagor from the upper Martian desert country shuffled by,dragging his cumbersome third leg behind him. Kagors, of course, had anunpleasant history of persecution since the early colonization days ofthe Red Planet. But the thing that happened there was a throw back toan earlier era.     Someone shouted, Yah, yellow-face! Down with all Kagors! As oneman the crowd took up the cry and surged forward. The helpless Kagorwas seized and flung to the pavement. A knife appeared from nowhere,snipped the Martian's single lock of hair. A booted foot bludgeonedinto his mouth.     Moments later an official hydrocar roared up and a dozen I.P. menrushed out and scattered the crowd. But a few stragglers lingered toshout derisive epithets.     Grannie Annie came out from behind the box office then. She took my armand led me around a corner and through a doorway under a sign that readTHE JET. Inside was a deep room with booths along one wall. The placewas all but deserted.     In a booth well toward the rear the old lady surveyed me with sobereyes.     Billy-boy, did you see the way that crowd acted?     I nodded. As disgraceful an exhibition as I've ever seen. The I.P. menought to clamp down.     The I.P. men aren't strong enough.     She said it quietly, but there was a glitter in her eyes and a harshline about her usually smiling lips.     What do you mean?  <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>Eric caught a faint nod here, a gesture there. Kroon nodded as ifin satisfaction. He turned to the girl, And what is your opinion,Daughter of the City?     Nolette's expression held sorrow, as if she looked into the far future.She said, He is Eric the Bronze. I have no doubt.     Eric asked, And what is this Legend of Eric the Bronze? Why am I sodespised in the city?     Kroon answered, According to the Ancient Legend you will destroy thecity. This, and other things.     Eric gaped. No wonder the crowd had shown such hatred. But why werethe elders so friendly? They were obviously the governing body, and ifthere was strife between them and the people it had not shown in therespect the crowd had accorded Nolette.     Kroon said, I see you are puzzled. Let me tell you the story of theCity. The City is old. It dates from long ago when the canals of Marsran clear and green with water, and the deserts were vineyards andgardens. The drouth came, and the changes in climate, and soon itbecame plain that the people of Mars were doomed. They had ships, andcould build more, and gradually they left to colonize other planets.Yet they could take little of their science. And fear and riotsdestroyed much. Also there were those who were filled with love forthis homeland, and who thought that one day it might be habitableagain. All the skill of the ancient Martian fathers went into thebuilding of a giant machine, the machine that is the City, to protect asmall colony of those who were chosen to remain on Mars.     This whole city is a machine! Eric asked.     Yes, or the product of one. The heart of it lies underneath our feet,in caverns beneath this building. The nature of the machine is this,that it translates thought into reality.     Eric stared. The idea was staggering.     This is essentially simple, although the technology is complex. It isnecessary to have a recording device, to capture thought, a transmutingdevice capable of transmuting the red dust of the desert into anysort of material desired, and a construction device, to assemble thismaterial into the pattern already recorded from thought. Kroon paused.You still doubt, my friend. Perhaps you are thirsty after your escape.Think strongly of a tall glass of cold water, visualize it in yourmind, the sight and the fluidity and the touch of it.     Eric did so. Without warning a glass of water stood on the table beforehim. He touched the water to his lips. It was cool and satisfying. Hedrank it, convinced completely.     Eric asked, And I am to destroy the City?     Yes. The time has come.     But why? Eric demanded. For an instant he could see the twinklingbeauty as clearly as if he had stood outside the walls of this building.     Kroon said, There are difficulties. The machine builds according tothe mass will of the people, though it is sensitive to the individualin areas where it does not conflict with the imagination of the mass.We have had strangers, visitors, and even our own people, who grewdrunk with the power of the machine, who dreamed more and more lust andgreed into existence. These were banished from the city, and so strongis the call of the city that many of them became victims of their ownevilness, and now walk mindlessly, with no thought but to seek for thebeauty they have lost here.     Kroon sighed. The people have lost the will to learn. Many do not evenknow of the machine. Our science is almost gone, and only a few of us,the dreamers, the elders, have kept alive the old knowledge of themachine and its history. By the collected powers of our imagination webuild and control the outward appearance of the city.     We have passed this down from father to son. A part of the ancientLegend is that the builders made provisions for the machine to bedestroyed when contact with outsiders had been made once again, so thatour people would again have to struggle forward to knowledge and power.The instrument of destruction was to be a man termed Eric the Bronze.It is not that you are reborn. It is just that sometime such a manwould come.     Eric said, I can understand the Bronze part. They had thought that aspace man might well be sun tanned. They had thought that a science toprotect against this beautiful illusion would provide a metal shieldof some sort, probably copper in nature. That such a man should comeis inevitable. But why Eric. Why the name Eric?     For the first time Nolette spoke. She said quietly, The name Ericwas an honorable name of the ancient fathers. It must have been theirthought that the new beginning should wait for some of their own farflung kind to return.     Eric nodded. He asked, What happens now?     Nothing. Dwell here with us and you will be safe from our people. Ifthe prediction is not soon fulfilled and you are not the Eric of theLegend, you may stay or go as you desire.     My brother, Garve. What about him?     He loves the city. He will also stay, though he will be outside thisbuilding. Kroon clasped his hands. Nolette, will you show Eric hisquarters?  <doc-sep>The taxi let them off at a square meadow which was filled withtransparent plastic domes housing clocks of all varieties, most ofthe antique type based on the old twenty-four hour day instead of thestandard thirty hours. There were few extraterrestrial clocks becausemost non-humans had time sense, Michael knew, and needed no mechanicaldevices.     This, said Carpenter, is Times Square. Once it wasn't really square,but it is contrary to Nekkarian custom to do, say, imply, or permitthe existence of anything that isn't true, so when Nekkar entered theUnion, we had to square off the place. And, of course, install theclocks. Finest clock museum in the Union, I understand.     The pictures in my history books— Michael began.     Did I hear you correctly, sir? The capes of a bright blue cloaktrembled with the indignation of a scarlet, many-tentacled being. Didyou use the word      history     ? He pronounced it in terms of loathing. Ihave been grossly insulted and I shall be forced to report you to thepolice, sir.     Please don't! Carpenter begged. This youth has just come from one ofthe Brotherhoods and is not yet accustomed to the ways of our universe.I know that, because of the great sophistication for which your race isnoted, you will overlook this little gaucherie on his part.     Well, the red one conceded, let it not be said that Meropians arenot tolerant. But, be careful, young man, he warned Michael. Thereare other beings less sophisticated than we. Guard your tongue, or youmight find yourself in trouble.     He indicated the stalwart constable who, splendid in gold helmet andgold-spangled pink tights, surveyed the terrain haughtily from hisfloating platform in the air.     I should have told you, Carpenter reproached himself as the Meropianswirled off. Never mention the word 'history' in front of a Meropian.They rose from barbarism in one generation, and so they haven't anyhistory at all. Naturally, they're sensitive in the extreme about it.     Naturally, Michael said. Tell me, Mr. Carpenter, is there somespecial reason for everything being decorated in red and green? Inoticed it along the way and it's all over here, too.     Why, Christmas is coming, my boy, Carpenter answered, surprised.It's July already—about time they got started fixing things up. Someplaces are so slack, they haven't even got their Mother's Week shrinescleared away.  <doc-sep>Don't you see, the lady continued. Everything that Xartal put onpaper has been seen by one or more of these cockatoos. The cockatoosare like Earth parrots all right, but not only have they the powerof copying speech, they also have the ability to recreate a mentalimage of what they have seen. In other words their brains form apowerful photographic impression of the object. That impression isthen transmitted simultaneously in telepathic wavelengths to commonfoci. That eyrie might be likened to a cinema screen, receiving brainvibrations from a hundred different sources that blend into the lightfield to form what are apparently three-dimensional images.     The Larynx manager nodded slowly. I see, he said. But why don't thebirds reconstruct images from the actual person. Why use drawings?     Probably because the drawings are exaggerated in certain details andmade a greater impression on their brains, Grannie replied.     Up on the eyrie a strange performance was taking place. The duplicateof Grannie Annie was bowing to the duplicate of Jimmy Baker, and theimage of Ezra Karn was playing leap frog with the image of Antlers Park.     Then abruptly the screen before me blurred and went blank.     Sorry, the operator said. I've used too much power already. Have togive the generators a chance to build it up again.     Nodding, I turned and motioned to Karn. We went back downstairs.     That explains something at any rate, the old prospector said. Buthow about that Red spot fever?     On Jimmy Baker's desk was a large file marked: FEVER VICTIMS. I openedit and found it contained the case histories of those men who had beenattacked by the strange malady.     Reading them over, I was struck by one detail. Each patient hadreceived the first symptoms, not while working in the mines, but whilesleeping or lounging in the barracks.     Five minutes later Karn and I were striding down a white ramp thatled to the nearest barracks. The building came into sight, a lowrectangular structure, dome-roofed to withstand the violent winds.     Inside double tiers of bunks stretched along either wall. In thosebunks some thirty men lay sleeping.     The far wall was taken up by a huge window of denvo-quartz. As I stoodthere, something suddenly caught Ezra Karn's eye. He began to walktoward that window.     Look here, he said.     Six feet up on that window a small almost imperceptible button of dullmetal had been wedged into an aperture cut in the quartz. The centralpart of the button appeared to be a powerful lens of some kind, and asI seized it and pulled it loose, I felt the hum of tiny clock work.     All at once I had it! Red spot fever. Heat fever from the infra-redrays of Jupiter's great spot. Someone had constructed this lens toconcentrate and amplify the power of those rays. The internal clockworkserved a double purpose. It opened a shutter, and it rotated the lensslowly so that it played for a time on each of the sleeping men.     I slid the metal button in my pocket and left the barracks at a run.Back in the visiscreen room, I snapped to the operator:     Turn it on!     The kite car swam into view in the screen above the instrument panel.I stared with open eyes. Jimmy Baker no longer was in the car, norwas Xartal, the Martian. Grannie Annie was there, but seated at thecontrols was Antlers Park, the manager of Interstellar Voice.  <doc-sep>I didn't realize it was a derelict when Spinelli first reportedit from the forward scope position. I assumed it was a Foundationship. The Holcomb Foundation was founded for the purpose ofdeveloping spaceflight, and as the years went by it took on the wholeresponsibility for the building and dispatching of space ships. Neverin history had there been any real evidence of extra-terrestrialintelligent life, and when the EMV Triangle proved barren, we all justassumed that the Universe was man's own particular oyster. That kind ofunreasoning arrogance is as hard to explain as it is to correct.     There were plenty of ships being lost in space, and immediately thatSpinelli's report from up forward got noised about the Maid every oneof us started mentally counting up his share of the salvage money. Allthis before we were within ten thousand miles of the hulk!     All spaceships look pretty much alike, but as I sat at the telescopeI saw that there was something different about this one. At such adistance I couldn't get too much detail in our small three inch glass,but I could see that the hulk was big—bigger than any ship I'd everseen before. I had the radar fixed on her and then I retired with myslide rule to Control. It wasn't long before I discovered that thederelict ship was on a near collision course, but there was somethingabout its orbit that was strange. I called Cohn, the Metering Officer,and showed him my figures.     Mister Cohn, I said, chart in hand, do these figures look right toyou?     Cohn's dark eyes lit up as they always did when he worked with figures.It didn't take him long to check me. The math is quite correct,Captain, he said. I could see that he hadn't missed the inference ofthose figures on the chart.     Assemble the ship's company, Mister Cohn, I ordered.     The assembly horn sounded throughout the Maid and I could feel the tugof the automatics taking over as the crew left their stations. Soonthey were assembled in Control.     You have all heard about Mister Spinelli's find, I said, I havecomputed the orbit and inspected the object through the glass. It seemsto be a spacer ... either abandoned or in distress.... Reaching intothe book rack above my desk I took down a copy of the Foundation's      Space Regulations     and opened it to the section concerning salvage.     Sections XVIII, Paragraph 8 of the Code Regulating InterplanetaryAstrogation and Commerce, I read, Any vessel or part of vessel foundin an abandoned or totally disabled condition in any region of spacenot subject to the sovereignty of any planet of the Earth-Venus-MarsTriangle shall be considered to be the property of the crew of thevessel locating said abandoned or disabled vessel except in such casesas the ownership of said abandoned or disabled vessel may be readilyascertained.... I looked up and closed the book. Simply stated, thatmeans that if that thing ahead of us is a derelict we are entitled toclaim it as salvage.     Unless it already belongs to someone? asked Spinelli.     That's correct Mister Spinelli, but I don't think there is much dangerof that, I replied quietly. My figures show that hulk out there camein from the direction of Coma Berenices....     There was a long silence before Zaleski shifted his two hundred poundsuneasily and gave a form to the muted fear inside me. You think ...you think it came from the      stars     , Captain?     Maybe even from beyond the stars, Cohn said in a low voice.     Looking at that circle of faces I saw the beginnings of greed. Thefirst impact of the Metering Officer's words wore off quickly and soonevery man of my crew was thinking that anything from the stars would beworth money ... lots of money.     Spinelli said, Do we look her over, Captain?     They all looked at me, waiting for my answer. I knew it would be worthplenty, and money hunger was like a fever inside me.     Certainly we look it over, Mister Spinelli, I said sharply.Certainly!  <doc-sep>The next room we examined was obviously for recreation. Containers werefilled with dozens of strange games and books of instructions in theform of simple drawings. The games were foreign, but designed in such afashion that they would be interesting to Earthmen.     Two of the rooms were sleeping quarters. The floors were covered with aspongy substance and the lights were dim and soothing.     Another room contained a small bathing pool, running water,waste-disposal units and yellow cakes of soap.     The last room was an observatory. The ceiling and an entire wall weretransparent. Outside, the stars shone clearly for a few seconds, thendisappeared for an equal time, only to reappear in a different position.     Hyper-space drive, Verana whispered softly. She was fascinated bythe movement of the stars. For years, our scientists had sought ahyperspatial drive to conquer the stars.     We selected a comfortable chair facing the transparent wall, litcigarettes and waited.     A few minutes later, Marie entered the room.     I noticed with some surprise that her face was calm. If she wasexcited, her actions didn't betray it.     She sat next to Verana.     What happened? my wife asked.     Marie crossed her legs and began in a rambling manner as if discussinga new recipe, That was really a surprise, wasn't it? I was scaredsilly, at first. That room was dark and I didn't know what to expect.Something touched my head and I heard a telepathic voice—     Telepathic? Verana interrupted.     Yes. Well, this voice said not to worry and that it wasn't going tohurt me. It said it only wanted to learn something about us. It wasthe      oddest     feeling! All the time, this voice kept talking to me ina nice way and made me feel at ease ... and at the same time, I felt      something     search my mind and gather information. I could actually      feel     it search my memories!     What memories? I inquired.     She frowned with concentration. Memories of high school mostly. Itseemed interested in English and history classes. And then it searchedfor memories of our customs and lives in general....  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does history play a part in THE DESERT AND THE STARS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the significance of the Aga Kagans in THE DESERT AND THE STARS? [SEP] <s>   THE DESERT AND THE STARS     BY KEITH LAUMER     The Aga Kaga wanted peace—a     piece of everything in sight!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, November 1962.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I'm not at all sure, Under-Secretary Sternwheeler said, that I fullyunderstand the necessity for your ... ah ... absenting yourself fromyour post of duty, Mr. Retief. Surely this matter could have been dealtwith in the usual way—assuming any action is necessary.     I had a sharp attack of writer's cramp, Mr. Secretary, Retief said.So I thought I'd better come along in person—just to be sure I waspositive of making my point.     Eh?     Why, ah, there were a number of dispatches, Deputy Under-SecretaryMagnan put in. Unfortunately, this being end-of-the-fiscal-year time,we found ourselves quite inundated with reports. Reports, reports,reports—     Not criticizing the reporting system, are you, Mr. Magnan? theUnder-Secretary barked.     Gracious, no, Magnan said. I love reports.     It seems nobody's told the Aga Kagans about fiscal years, Retiefsaid. They're going right ahead with their program of land-grabbing onFlamme. So far, I've persuaded the Boyars that this is a matter for theCorps, and not to take matters into their own hands.     The Under-Secretary nodded. Quite right. Carry on along the samelines. Now, if there's nothing further—     Thank you, Mr. Secretary, Magnan said, rising. We certainlyappreciate your guidance.     There is a little something further, said Retief, sitting solidly inhis chair. What's the Corps going to do about the Aga Kagans?     The Under-Secretary turned a liverish eye on Retief. As Ministerto Flamme, you should know that the function of a diplomaticrepresentative is merely to ... what shall I say...?     String them along? Magnan suggested.     An unfortunate choice of phrase, the Under-Secretary said. However,it embodies certain realities of Galactic politics. The Corps mustconcern itself with matters of broad policy.     Sixty years ago the Corps was encouraging the Boyars to settleFlamme, Retief said. They were assured of Corps support.     I don't believe you'll find that in writing, said the Under-Secretaryblandly. In any event, that was sixty years ago. At that time afoothold against Neo-Concordiatist elements was deemed desirable. Nowthe situation has changed.     The Boyars have spent sixty years terraforming Flamme, Retief said.They've cleared jungle, descummed the seas, irrigated deserts, set outforests. They've just about reached the point where they can begin toenjoy it. The Aga Kagans have picked this as a good time to move in.They've landed thirty detachments of 'fishermen'—complete with armoredtrawlers mounting 40 mm infinite repeaters—and another two dozenparties of 'homesteaders'—all male and toting rocket launchers.     Surely there's land enough on the world to afford space to bothgroups, the Under-Secretary said. A spirit of co-operation—  <doc-sep>The leader of the three, a hawk-faced man with a heavy beard,unlimbered his rifle. He fingered it, frowning ferociously.     Have no fear, Retief said, smiling graciously. He who comes as aguest enjoys perfect safety.     A smooth-faced member of the threesome barked an oath and leveled hisrifle at Retief.     Youth is the steed of folly, Retief said. Take care that thebeardless one does not disgrace his house.     The leader whirled on the youth and snarled an order. He lowered therifle, muttering. Blackbeard turned back to Retief.     Begone, interlopers, he said. You disturb the goats.     Provision is not taken to the houses of the generous, Retief said.May the creatures dine well ere they move on.     Hah! The goats of the Aga Kaga graze on the lands of the Aga Kaga.The leader edged his horse close, eyed Retief fiercely. We welcome nointruders on our lands.     To praise a man for what he does not possess is to make him appearfoolish, Retief said. These are the lands of the Boyars. But enoughof these pleasantries. We seek audience with your ruler.     You may address me as 'Exalted One', the leader said. Now dismountfrom that steed of Shaitan.     It is written, if you need anything from a dog, call him 'sir',Retief said. I must decline to impute canine ancestry to a guest. Nowyou may conduct us to your headquarters.     Enough of your insolence! The bearded man cocked his rifle. I couldblow your heads off!     The hen has feathers, but it does not fly, Retief said. We haveasked for escort. A slave must be beaten with a stick; for a free man,a hint is enough.     You mock me, pale one. I warn you—     Only love makes me weep, Retief said. I laugh at hatred.     Get out of the car!     Retief puffed at his cigar, eyeing the Aga Kagan cheerfully. The youthin the rear moved forward, teeth bared.     Never give in to the fool, lest he say, 'He fears me,' Retief said.     I cannot restrain my men in the face of your insults, the bearded AgaKagan roared. These hens of mine have feathers—and talons as well!     When God would destroy an ant, he gives him wings, Retief said.Distress in misfortune is another misfortune.     The bearded man's face grew purple.     Retief dribbled the ash from his cigar over the side of the car.     Now I think we'd better be getting on, he said briskly. I've enjoyedour chat, but we do have business to attend to.     The bearded leader laughed shortly. Does the condemned man beg for theaxe? he enquired rhetorically. You shall visit the Aga Kaga, then.Move on! And make no attempt to escape, else my gun will speak you abrief farewell.     The horsemen glowered, then, at a word from the leader, took positionsaround the car. Georges started the vehicle forward, following theleading rider. Retief leaned back and let out a long sigh.     That was close, he said. I was about out of proverbs.     You sound as though you'd brought off a coup, Georges said. From theexpression on the whiskery one's face, we're in for trouble. What washe saying?     Just a routine exchange of bluffs, Retief said. Now when we getthere, remember to make your flattery sound like insults and yourinsults sound like flattery, and you'll be all right.     These birds are armed. And they don't like strangers, Georges said.Maybe I should have boned up on their habits before I joined thisexpedition.     Just stick to the plan, Retief said. And remember: a handful of luckis better than a camel-load of learning.  <doc-sep>The Aga Kaga guffawed. For a diplomat, you speak plainly, Retief. Haveanother drink. He poured, eyeing Georges. What of M. Duror? How doeshe feel about it?     Georges took a thoughtful swallow of whiskey. Not bad, he said. Butnot quite good enough to cover the odor of goats.     The Aga Kaga snorted. I thought the goats were overdoing it a bitmyself, he said. Still, the graybeards insisted. And I need theirsupport.     Also, Georges said distinctly, I think you're soft. You lie aroundletting women wait on you, while your betters are out doing an honestday's work.     The Aga Kaga looked startled. Soft? I can tie a knot in an iron baras big as your thumb. He popped a grape into his mouth. As for therest, your pious views about the virtues of hard labor are as childishas my advisors' faith in the advantages of primitive plumbing. As formyself, I am a realist. If two monkeys want the same banana, in the endone will have it, and the other will cry morality. The days of my yearsare numbered, praise be to God. While they last, I hope to eat well,hunt well, fight well and take my share of pleasure. I leave to othersthe arid satisfactions of self-denial and other perversions.     You admit you're here to grab our land, then, Georges said. That'sthe damnedest piece of bare-faced aggression—     Ah, ah! The Aga Kaga held up a hand. Watch your vocabulary, mydear sir. I'm sure that 'justifiable yearnings for territorialself-realization' would be more appropriate to the situation. Orpossibly 'legitimate aspirations, for self-determination of formerlyexploited peoples' might fit the case. Aggression is, by definition,an activity carried on only by those who have inherited the mantle ofColonial Imperialism.     Imperialism! Why, you Aga Kagans have been the most notoriousplanet-grabbers in Sector history, you—you—     Call me Stanley. The Aga Kaga munched a grape. I merely face therealities of popular folk-lore. Let's be pragmatic; it's a matter ofhistorical association. Some people can grab land and pass it offlightly as a moral duty; others are dubbed imperialist merely forholding onto their own. Unfair, you say. But that's life, my friends.And I shall continue to take every advantage of it.     We'll fight you! Georges bellowed. He took another gulp of whiskeyand slammed the glass down. You won't take this world without astruggle!     Another? the Aga Kaga said, offering the bottle. Georges glowered ashis glass was filled. The Aga Kaga held the glass up to the light.     Excellent color, don't you agree? He turned his eyes on Georges.     It's pointless to resist, he said. We have you outgunned andoutmanned. Your small nation has no chance against us. But we'reprepared to be generous. You may continue to occupy such areas as we donot immediately require until such time as you're able to make otherarrangements.     And by the time we've got a crop growing out of what was bare rock,you'll be ready to move in, the Boyar Chef d'Regime snapped. Butyou'll find that we aren't alone!  <doc-sep>That would have been a mistake, said Retief. The Aga Kagans aretough customers. They're active on half a dozen worlds at the moment.They've been building up for this push for the last five years. Ashow of resistance by you Boyars without Corps backing would be aninvitation to slaughter—with the excuse that you started it.     So what are we going to do? Sit here and watch these goat-herders takeover our farms and fisheries?     Those goat-herders aren't all they seem. They've got a first-classmodern navy.     I've seen 'em. They camp in goat-skin tents, gallop around onanimal-back, wear dresses down to their ankles—     The 'goat-skin' tents are a high-polymer plastic, made in the samefactory that turns out those long flowing bullet-proof robes youmention. The animals are just for show. Back home they use helis andground cars of the most modern design.     The Chef d'Regime chewed his cigar.     Why the masquerade?     Something to do with internal policies, I suppose.     So we sit tight and watch 'em take our world away from us. That's whatI get for playing along with you, Retief. We should have clobberedthese monkeys as soon as they set foot on our world.     Slow down, I haven't finished yet. There's still the Note.     I've got plenty of paper already. Rolls and rolls of it.     Give diplomatic processes a chance, said Retief. The Note hasn'teven been delivered yet. Who knows? We may get surprising results.     If you expect me to supply a runner for the purpose, you're out ofluck. From what I hear, he's likely to come back with his ears stuffedin his hip pocket.     I'll deliver the Note personally, Retief said. I could use a coupleof escorts—preferably strong-arm lads.     The Chef d'Regime frowned, blew out a cloud of smoke. I wasn't kiddingabout these Aga Kagans, he said. I hear they have some nasty habits.I don't want to see you operated on with the same knives they use toskin out the goats.     I'd be against that myself. Still, the mail must go through.     Strong-arm lads, eh? What have you got in mind, Retief?     A little muscle in the background is an old diplomatic custom, Retiefsaid.     The Chef d'Regime stubbed out his cigar thoughtfully. I used to be apretty fair elbow-wrestler myself, he said. Suppose I go along...?     That, said Retief, should lend just the right note of solidarity toour little delegation. He hitched his chair closer. Now, depending onwhat we run into, here's how we'll play it....      II     Eight miles into the rolling granite hills west of the capital, ablack-painted official air-car flying the twin flags of Chief of Stateand Terrestrial Minister skimmed along a foot above a pot-holed road.Slumped in the padded seat, the Boyar Chef d'Regime waved his cigarglumly at the surrounding hills.     Fifty years ago this was bare rock, he said. We've bred specialstrains of bacteria here to break down the formations into soil, and wefollowed up with a program of broad-spectrum fertilization. We plannedto put the whole area into crops by next year. Now it looks like thegoats will get it.     Will that scrubland support a crop? Retief said, eyeing thelichen-covered knolls.     Sure. We start with legumes and follow up with cereals. Wait until yousee this next section. It's an old flood plain, came into productionthirty years ago. One of our finest—     The air-car topped a rise. The Chef dropped his cigar and half rose,with a hoarse yell. A herd of scraggly goats tossed their heads among astand of ripe grain. The car pulled to a stop. Retief held the Boyar'sarm.     Keep calm, Georges, he said. Remember, we're on a diplomaticmission. It wouldn't do to come to the conference table smelling ofgoats.     Let me at 'em! Georges roared. I'll throttle 'em with my bare hands!     A bearded goat eyed the Boyar Chef sardonically, jaw working. Look atthat long-nosed son! The goat gave a derisive bleat and took anothermouthful of ripe grain.     Did you see that? Georges yelled. They've trained the son of a—     Chin up, Georges, Retief said. We'll take up the goat problem alongwith the rest.     I'll murder 'em!     Hold it, Georges. Look over there.     A hundred yards away, a trio of brown-cloaked horsemen topped a rise,paused dramatically against the cloudless pale sky, then gallopeddown the slope toward the car, rifles bobbing at their backs, cloaksbillowing out behind. Side by side they rode, through the brown-goldengrain, cutting three narrow swaths that ran in a straight sweep fromthe ridge to the air-car where Retief and the Chef d'Regime hovered,waiting.     Georges scrambled for the side of the car. Just wait 'til I get myhands on him!     Retief pulled him back. Sit tight and look pleased, Georges. Nevergive the opposition a hint of your true feelings. Pretend you're a goatlover—and hand me one of your cigars.     The three horsemen pulled up in a churn of chaff and a clatter ofpebbles. Georges coughed, batting a hand at the settling dust. Retiefpeeled the cigar unhurriedly, sniffed, at it and thumbed it alight. Hedrew at it, puffed out a cloud of smoke and glanced casually at thetrio of Aga Kagan cavaliers.     Peace be with you, he intoned in accent-free Kagan. May your shadowsnever grow less.  <doc-sep>The Boyars needed some co-operation sixty years ago, Retief said.They tried to get the Aga Kagans to join in and help them beatback some of the saurian wild life that liked to graze on people.The Corps didn't like the idea. They wanted to see an undisputedanti-Concordiatist enclave. The Aga Kagans didn't want to play, either.But now that the world is tamed, they're moving in.     The exigencies of diplomacy require a flexible policy—     I want a firm assurance of Corps support to take back to Flamme,Retief said. The Boyars are a little naive. They don't understanddiplomatic triple-speak. They just want to hold onto the homes they'vemade out of a wasteland.     I'm warning you, Retief! the Under-Secretary snapped, leaningforward, wattles quivering. Corps policy with regard to Flammeincludes no inflammatory actions based on outmoded concepts. The Boyarswill have to accommodate themselves to the situation!     That's what I'm afraid of, Retief said. They're not going to sitstill and watch it happen. If I don't take back concrete evidence ofCorps backing, we're going to have a nice hot little shooting war onour hands.     The Under-Secretary pushed out his lips and drummed his fingers on thedesk.     Confounded hot-heads, he muttered. Very well, Retief. I'll go alongto the extent of a Note; but positively no further.     A Note? I was thinking of something more like a squadron of CorpsPeace Enforcers running through a few routine maneuvers off Flamme.     Out of the question. A stiffly worded Protest Note is the best I cando. That's final.     Back in the corridor, Magnan turned to Retief. When will you learnnot to argue with Under-Secretaries? One would think you activelydisliked the idea of ever receiving a promotion. I was astonishedat the Under-Secretary's restraint. Frankly, I was stunned when heactually agreed to a Note. I, of course, will have to draft it. Magnanpulled at his lower lip thoughtfully. Now, I wonder, should I viewwith deep concern an act of open aggression, or merely point out anapparent violation of technicalities....     Don't bother, Retief said. I have a draft all ready to go.     But how—?     I had a feeling I'd get paper instead of action, Retief said. Ithought I'd save a little time all around.     At times, your cynicism borders on impudence.     At other times, it borders on disgust. Now, if you'll run the Notethrough for signature, I'll try to catch the six o'clock shuttle.     Leaving so soon? There's an important reception tonight. Some of ourbiggest names will be there. An excellent opportunity for you to joinin the diplomatic give-and-take.     No, thanks. I want to get back to Flamme and join in something mild,like a dinosaur hunt.     When you get there, said Magnan, I hope you'll make it quite clearthat this matter is to be settled without violence.     Don't worry. I'll keep the peace, if I have to start a war to do it.  <doc-sep>The air car followed the escort down a long slope to a dry river bedand across it, through a barren stretch of shifting sand to a greenoasis set with canopies.     The armed escort motioned the car to a halt before an immense tent ofglistening black. Before the tent armed men lounged under a pennantbearing a lion      couchant     in crimson on a field verte.     Get out, Blackbeard ordered. The guards eyed the visitors, theirdrawn sabers catching sunlight. Retief and Georges stepped from thecar onto rich rugs spread on the grass. They followed the ferociousgesture of the bearded man through the opening into a perfumed interiorof luminous shadows. A heavy odor of incense hung in the air, and thestrumming of stringed instruments laid a muted pattern of sound behindthe decorations of gold and blue, silver and green. At the far end ofthe room, among a bevy of female slaves, a large and resplendently cladman with blue-black hair and a clean-shaven chin popped a grape intohis mouth. He wiped his fingers negligently on a wisp of silk offeredby a handmaiden, belched loudly and looked the callers over.     Blackbeard cleared his throat. Down on your faces in the presence ofthe Exalted One, the Aga Kaga, ruler of East and West.     Sorry, Retief said firmly. My hay-fever, you know.     The reclining giant waved a hand languidly.     Never mind the formalities, he said. Approach.     Retief and Georges crossed the thick rugs. A cold draft blew towardthem. The reclining man sneezed violently, wiped his nose on anothersilken scarf and held up a hand.     Night and the horses and the desert know me, he said in resonanttones. Also the sword and the guest and paper and pen— Hepaused, wrinkled his nose and sneezed again. Turn off that damnedair-conditioner, he snapped.     He settled himself and motioned the bearded man to him. The twoexchanged muted remarks. Then the bearded man stepped back, ducked hishead and withdrew to the rear.     Excellency, Retief said, I have the honor to present M. GeorgesDuror, Chef d'Regime of the Planetary government.     Planetary government? The Aga Kaga spat grape seeds on the rug. Mymen have observed a few squatters along the shore. If they're indistress, I'll see about a distribution of goat-meat.     It is the punishment of the envious to grieve at anothers' plenty,Retief said. No goat-meat will be required.     Ralph told me you talk like a page out of Mustapha ben Abdallah KatibJelebi, the Aga Kaga said. I know a few old sayings myself. Forexample, 'A Bedouin is only cheated once.'     We have no such intentions, Excellency, Retief said. Is it notwritten, 'Have no faith in the Prince whose minister cheats you'?     I've had some unhappy experiences with strangers, the Aga Kaga said.It is written in the sands that all strangers are kin. Still, he whovisits rarely is a welcome guest. Be seated.      III     Handmaidens brought cushions, giggled and fled. Retief and Georgessettled themselves comfortably. The Aga Kaga eyed them in silence.       We have come to bear tidings from the Corps DiplomatiqueTerrestrienne, Retief said solemnly. A perfumed slave girl offeredgrapes.     Modest ignorance is better than boastful knowledge, the Aga Kagasaid. What brings the CDT into the picture?     The essay of the drunkard will be read in the tavern, Retief said.Whereas the words of kings....     Very well, I concede the point. The Aga Kaga waved a hand at theserving maids. Depart, my dears. Attend me later. You too, Ralph.These are mere diplomats. They are men of words, not deeds.     The bearded man glared and departed. The girls hurried after him.     Now, the Aga Kaga said. Let's drop the wisdom of the ages andget down to the issues. Not that I don't admire your repertoire ofplatitudes. How do you remember them all?     Diplomats and other liars require good memories, said Retief. Butas you point out, small wisdom to small minds. I'm here to effect asettlement of certain differences between yourself and the planetaryauthorities. I have here a Note, which I'm conveying on behalf of theSector Under-Secretary. With your permission, I'll read it.     Go ahead. The Aga Kaga kicked a couple of cushions onto the floor,eased a bottle from under the couch and reached for glasses.     The Under-Secretary for Sector Affairs presents his compliments to hisExcellency, the Aga Kaga of the Aga Kaga, Primary Potentate, HereditarySheik, Emir of the—     Yes, yes. Skip the titles.     Retief flipped over two pages.     ... and with reference to the recent relocation of persons under thejurisdiction of his Excellency, has the honor to point out that theterritories now under settlement comprise a portion of that area,hereinafter designated as Sub-sector Alpha, which, under terms ofthe Agreement entered into by his Excellency's predecessor, and asreferenced in Sector Ministry's Notes numbers G-175846573957-b andX-7584736 c-1, with particular pertinence to that body designated inthe Revised Galactic Catalogue, Tenth Edition, as amended, VolumeNine, reel 43, as 54 Cygni Alpha, otherwise referred to hereinafter asFlamme—     Come to the point, the Aga Kaga cut in. You're here to lodge acomplaint that I'm invading territories to which someone else laysclaim, is that it? He smiled broadly, offered dope-sticks and lit one.Well, I've been expecting a call. After all, it's what you gentlemenare paid for. Cheers.     Your Excellency has a lucid way of putting things, Retief said.     Call me Stanley, the Aga Kaga said. The other routine is just toplease some of the old fools—I mean the more conservative membersof my government. They're still gnawing their beards and kickingthemselves because their ancestors dropped science in favor of alchemyand got themselves stranded in a cultural dead end. This charade issupposed to prove they were right all along. However, I've no timeto waste in neurotic compensations. I have places to go and deeds toaccomplish.     At first glance, Retief said, it looks as though the places arealready occupied, and the deeds are illegal.  <doc-sep>On the broad verandah at Government House, Retief settled himselfcomfortably in a lounge chair. He accepted a tall glass from awhite-jacketed waiter and regarded the flamboyant Flamme sunset, agorgeous blaze of vermillion and purple that reflected from a stilllake, tinged the broad lawn with color, silhouetted tall poplars amongflower beds.     You've done great things here in sixty years, Georges, said Retief.Not that natural geological processes wouldn't have produced the sameresults, given a couple of hundred million years.     Don't belabor the point, the Boyar Chef d'Regime said. Since we seemto be on the verge of losing it.     You're forgetting the Note.     A Note, Georges said, waving his cigar. What the purple pollutedhell is a Note supposed to do? I've got Aga Kagan claim-jumpers campedin the middle of what used to be a fine stand of barley, cookingsheep's brains over dung fires not ten miles from Government House—andupwind at that.     Say, if that's the same barley you distill your whiskey from, I'dcall that a first-class atrocity.     Retief, on your say-so, I've kept my boys on a short leash. They'veput up with plenty. Last week, while you were away, these barbarianssailed that flotilla of armor-plated junks right through the middle ofone of our best oyster breeding beds. It was all I could do to keep abunch of our men from going out in private helis and blasting 'em outof the water.     That wouldn't have been good for the oysters, either.     That's what I told 'em. I also said you'd be back here in a few dayswith something from Corps HQ. When I tell 'em all we've got is a pieceof paper, that'll be the end. There's a strong vigilante organizationhere that's been outfitting for the last four weeks. If I hadn't heldthem back with assurances that the CDT would step in and take care ofthis invasion, they would have hit them before now.  <doc-sep>Quite alone, the Aga said. He nodded sagely. Yes, one need but readthe lesson of history. The Corps Diplomatique will make expostulatorynoises, but it will accept the      fait accompli     . You, my dear sir, arebut a very small nibble. We won't make the mistake of excessive greed.We shall inch our way to empire—and those who stand in our way shallbe dubbed warmongers.     I see you're quite a student of history, Stanley, Retief said. Iwonder if you recall the eventual fate of most of the would-be empirenibblers of the past?     Ah, but they grew incautious. They went too far, too fast.     The confounded impudence, Georges rasped. Tells us to our face whathe has in mind!     An ancient and honorable custom, from the time of      Mein Kampf     andthe      Communist Manifesto     through the      Porcelain Wall     of Leung. Suchdeclarations have a legendary quality. It's traditional that they'renever taken at face value.     But always, Retief said, there was a critical point at which the manon horseback could have been pulled from the saddle.           Could     have been, the Aga Kaga chuckled. He finished the grapes andbegan peeling an orange. But they never were. Hitler could have beenstopped by the Czech Air Force in 1938; Stalin was at the mercy of theprimitive atomics of the west in 1946; Leung was grossly over-extendedat Rangoon. But the onus of that historic role could not be overcome.It has been the fate of your spiritual forebears to carve civilizationfrom the wilderness and then, amid tearing of garments and the heapingof ashes of self-accusation on your own confused heads, to withdraw,leaving the spoils for local political opportunists and mob leaders,clothed in the mystical virtue of native birth. Have a banana.     You're stretching your analogy a little too far, Retief said. You'rebanking on the inaction of the Corps. You could be wrong.     I shall know when to stop, the Aga Kaga said.     Tell me, Stanley, Retief said, rising. Are we quite private here?     Yes, perfectly so, the Aga Kaga said. None would dare to intrude inmy council. He cocked an eyebrow at Retief. You have a proposal tomake in confidence? But what of our dear friend Georges? One would notlike to see him disillusioned.     Don't worry about Georges. He's a realist, like you. He's prepared todeal in facts. Hard facts, in this case.     The Aga Kaga nodded thoughtfully. What are you getting at?     You're basing your plan of action on the certainty that the Corps willsit by, wringing its hands, while you embark on a career of planetarypiracy.     Isn't it the custom? the Aga Kaga smiled complacently.     I have news for you, Stanley. In this instance, neck-wringing seemsmore in order than hand-wringing.     The Aga Kaga frowned. Your manner—     Never mind our manners! Georges blurted, standing. We don't need anylessons from goat-herding land-thieves!     The Aga Kaga's face darkened. You dare to speak thus to me, pig of amuck-grubber!  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the significance of the Aga Kagans in THE DESERT AND THE STARS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of the storyline in INNOCENT AT LARGE? [SEP] <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>   INNOCENT AT LARGE     By POUL AND KAREN ANDERSON     Illustrated by WOOD     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction July 1958.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        A hayseed Martian among big-planet slickers ... of course       he would get into trouble. But that was nothing compared       to the trouble he would be in if he did not get into trouble!        The visiphone chimed when Peri had just gotten into her dinner gown.She peeled it off again and slipped on a casual bathrobe: a wisp oftranslucence which had set the president of Antarctic Enterprise—orhad it been the chairman of the board?—back several thousand dollars.Then she pulled a lock of lion-colored hair down over one eye, checkedwith a mirror, rumpled it a tiny bit more and wrapped the robe looselyon top and tight around the hips.     After all, some of the men who knew her private number were important.     She undulated to the phone and pressed its Accept. Hello-o, there,she said automatically. So sorry to keep you waiting. I was justtaking a bath and—Oh. It's you.     Gus Doran's prawnlike eyes popped at her. Holy Success, he whisperedin awe. You sure the wires can carry that much voltage?       Well, hurry up with whatever it is, snapped Peri. I got a datetonight.     I'll say you do! With a Martian!  <doc-sep>They were there for three days. They were delighted with the place.It was a world with everything, and it seemed to have only twoinhabitants. They went everywhere except into the big cave.     What is there, Adam? asked Captain Stark.     The great serpent lives there. I would not disturb him. He has longbeen cranky because plans he had for us did not materialize. But weare taught that should ever evil come to us, which it cannot if wepersevere, it will come by him.     They learned no more of the real nature of the sphere in their timethere. Yet all but one of them were convinced of the reality when theyleft. And they talked of it as they took off.     A crowd would laugh if told of it, said Stark, but not many wouldlaugh if they had actually seen the place, or them. I am not a gullibleman, but I am convinced of this: that this is a pristine and pure worldand that ours and all the others we have visited are fallen worlds.Here are the prototypes of our first parents before their fall. Theyare garbed in light and innocence, and they have the happiness thatwe have been seeking for centuries. It would be a crime if anyonedisturbed that happiness.     I too am convinced, said Steiner. It is Paradise itself, where thelion lies down with the lamb, and where the serpent has not prevailed.It would be the darkest of crimes if we or others should play the partof the serpent, and intrude and spoil.     I am probably the most skeptical man in the world, said Casper Craigthe tycoon, but I do believe my eyes. I have been there and seen it.It is indeed an unspoiled Paradise; and it would be a crime calling tothe wide heavens for vengeance for anyone to smirch in any way thatperfection.     So much for that. Now to business. Gilbert, take a gram: NinetyMillion Square Miles of Pristine Paradise for Sale or Lease. Farming,Ranching, exceptional opportunities for Horticulture. Gold, Silver,Iron, Earth-Type Fauna. Terms. Special Rates for Large SettlementParties. Write, Gram, or call in person at any of our planetary officesas listed below. Ask for Brochure—Eden Acres Unlimited.  <doc-sep>Being a beggar, Skkiru discovered, did give him certain small,momentary advantages over those who had been alloted higher ranks.For one thing, it was quite in character for him to tread curiouslyupon the strangers' heels all the way to the temple—a ramshackleaffair, but then it had been run up in only three days—where theofficial reception was to be held. The principal difficulty was that,because of his equipment, he had a little trouble keeping himself fromovershooting the strangers. And though Bbulas might frown menacingly athim—and not only for his forwardness—that was in character on bothsides, too.     Nonetheless, Skkiru could not reconcile himself to his beggarhood, nomatter how much he tried to comfort himself by thinking at least hewasn't a pariah like the unfortunate metal-workers who had to standsegregated from the rest by a chain of their own devising—a poeticthought, that was, but well in keeping with his beggarhood. Beggarswere often poets, he believed, and poets almost always beggars. Sincemetal-working was the chief industry of Snaddra, this had provided theplanet automatically with a large lowest caste. Bbulas had taken theeasy way out.     Skkiru swallowed the last of the chocolate and regarded the highpriest with a simple-minded mendicant's grin. However, there werevolcanic passions within him that surged up from his toes when, as thewind and rain whipped through his scanty coverings, he remembered thesnug underskirts Bbulas was wearing beneath his warm gown. They weremetal, but they were solid. All the garments visible or potentiallyvisible were of woven metal, because, although there was cloth on theplanet, it was not politic for the Earthmen to discover how heavily theSnaddrath depended upon imports.     As the Earthmen reached the temple, Larhgan now appeared to join Bbulasat the head of the long flight of stairs that led to it. AlthoughSkkiru had seen her in her priestly apparel before, it had not madethe emotional impression upon him then that it did now, when, standingthere, clad in beauty, dignity and warm clothes, she bade the newcomerswelcome in several thousand words not too well chosen for her byBbulas—who fancied himself a speech-writer as well as a speech-maker,for there was no end to the man's conceit.     The difference between her magnificent garments and his own miserablerags had their full impact upon Skkiru at this moment. He saw the gulfthat had been dug between them and, for the first time in his shortlife, he felt the tormenting pangs of caste distinction. She looked solovely and so remote.     ... and so you are most welcome to Snaddra, men of Earth, she wassaying in her melodious voice. Our resources may be small but ourhearts are large, and what little we have, we offer with humility andwith love. We hope that you will enjoy as long and as happy a stay hereas you did on Nemeth....     Cyril looked at Raoul, who, however, seemed too absorbed incontemplating Larhgan's apparently universal charms to pay muchattention to the expression on his companion's face.     ... and that you will carry our affection back to all the peoples ofthe Galaxy.  <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>Carpenter rubbed modestly gloved hands together. I have no immediatebusiness, so supposing I start showing you the sights. What would youlike to see first, Mr. Frey? Or would you prefer a nice, restful movid?     Frankly, Michael admitted, the first thing I'd like to do is getmyself something to eat. I didn't have any breakfast and I'm famished.Two small creatures standing close to him giggled nervously andscuttled off on six legs apiece.     Shh, not so loud! There are females present. Carpenter drew theyouth to a secluded corner. Don't you know that on Theemim it'sfrightfully vulgar to as much as speak of eating in public?     But why? Michael demanded in too loud a voice. What's wrong witheating in public here on Earth?     Carpenter clapped a hand over the young man's mouth. Hush, hecautioned. After all, on Earth there are things we don't do or evenmention in public, aren't there?     Well, yes. But those are different.     Not at all. Those rules might seem just as ridiculous to a Theemimian.But the Theemimians have accepted our customs just as we have acceptedthe Theemimians'. How would you like it if a Theemimian violatedone of our tabus in public? You must consider the feelings of theTheemimians as equal to your own. Observe the golden rule: 'Do untoextraterrestrials as you would be done by.'     But I'm still hungry, Michael persisted, modulating his voice,however, to a decent whisper. Do the proprieties demand that I starveto death, or can I get something to eat somewhere?     Naturally, the salesman whispered back. Portyork provides for allbodily needs. Numerous feeding stations are conveniently locatedthroughout the port, and there must be some on the field.     After gazing furtively over his shoulder to see that no females werewatching, Carpenter approached a large map of the landing field andpressed a button. A tiny red light winked demurely for an instant.     That's the nearest one, Carpenter explained.  <doc-sep>The traditional office of Planetary Dilettante was a civil-servicejob, awarded by competitive examination whenever it fell vacant tothe person who scored highest in intelligence, character and generalgloonatz. However, the tests were inadequate when it came to measuringsense of proportion, adaptiveness and charm—and there, Skkiru felt,was where the essential flaw lay. After all, no really effective testwould have let a person like Bbulas come out on top.     The winner was sent to Gambrell, the nearest planet with a TerranLeague University, to be given a thorough Terran-type education. Noindividual on Snaddra could afford such schooling, no matter howgreat his personal fortune, because the transportation costs were soimmense that only a government could afford them. That was the reasonwhy only one person in each generation could be chosen to go abroad atthe planet's expense and acquire enough finish to cover the rest of thepopulation.     The Dilettante's official function had always been, in theory, to servethe planet when an emergency came—and this, old Luccar, the formerPresident, had decided, when he and the Parliament had awakened to thefact that Snaddra was falling into ruin, was an emergency. So he had,after considerable soul-searching, called upon Bbulas to plan a methodof saving Snaddra—and Bbulas, happy to be in the limelight at last,had come up with this program.     It was not one Skkiru himself would have chosen. It was not one, hefelt, that any reasonable person would have chosen. Nevertheless, theBbulas Plan had been adopted by a majority vote of the Snaddrath,largely because no one had come up with a feasible alternative and,as a patriotic citizen, Skkiru would abide by it. He would accept thestatus of beggar; it was his duty to do so. Moreover, as in the case ofthe planet, there was no choice.     But all was not necessarily lost, he told himself. Had he not, in hisanthropological viewings—though Bbulas might have been the only oneprivileged to go on ethnological field trips to other planets, he wasnot the only one who could use a library—seen accounts of societieswhere beggarhood could be a rewarding and even responsible station inlife? There was no reason why, within the framework of the primitivesociety Bbulas had created to allure Terran anthropologists, Skkirushould not make something of himself and show that a beggar was worthyof the high priestess's hand—which would be entirely in the Terranprimitive tradition of romance.     Skkiru! Bbulas was screaming, as he spun, now that the Terrans wereout of ear- and eye-shot Skkiru, you idiot, listen to me! What arethose ridiculous things you are wearing on your silly feet?     Skkiru protruded all of his eyes in innocent surprise. Just someold pontoons I took from a wrecked air-car once. I have a habit ofcollecting junk and I thought—     Bbulas twirled madly in the air. You are not supposed to think. Leaveall the thinking to me!     Yes, Bbulas, Skkiru said meekly.  <doc-sep>The woman looked directly at him. Her eyes were bright. He revised hisestimate of her age drastically downward. She couldn't be as old as he.Nothing outward had happened, but she no longer seemed dowdy. Not thathe was interested. Still, it might pay him to be friendly to the firstcounselor.     We're a philanthropic agency, said Murra Foray. Your case isspecial, though—     I understand, he said gruffly. You accept contributions.     She nodded. If the donor is able to give. We don't ask so much thatyou'll have to compromise your standard of living. But she named a sumthat would force him to do just that if getting to Tunney 21 took anyappreciable time.     He stared at her unhappily. I suppose it's worth it. I can alwayswork, if I have to.     As a salesman? she asked. I'm afraid you'll find it difficult to dobusiness with Godolphians.     Irony wasn't called for at a time like this, he thought reproachfully.     Not just another salesman, he answered definitely. I have specialknowledge of customer reactions. I can tell exactly—     He stopped abruptly. Was she baiting him? For what reason? Theinstrument he called Dimanche was not known to the Galaxy at large.From the business angle, it would be poor policy to hand out thatinformation at random. Aside from that, he needed every advantage hecould get. Dimanche was his special advantage.     Anyway, he finished lamely, I'm a first class engineer. I canalways find something in that line.     A scientist, maybe, murmured Murra Foray. But in this part of theMilky Way, an engineer is regarded as merely a technician who hasn'tyet gained practical experience. She shook her head. You'll do betteras a salesman.     He got up, glowering. If that's all—     It is. We'll keep you informed. Drop your contribution in the slotprovided for that purpose as you leave.     A door, which he hadn't noticed in entering the counselling cubicle,swung open. The agency was efficient.     Remember, the counselor called out as he left, identification ishard to work with. Don't accept a crude forgery.     He didn't answer, but it was an idea worth considering. The agency wasalso eminently practical.     The exit path guided him firmly to an inconspicuous and yet inescapablecontribution station. He began to doubt the philanthropic aspect of thebureau.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in INNOCENT AT LARGE?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the location where the events of INNOCENT AT LARGE take place? [SEP] <s>They were there for three days. They were delighted with the place.It was a world with everything, and it seemed to have only twoinhabitants. They went everywhere except into the big cave.     What is there, Adam? asked Captain Stark.     The great serpent lives there. I would not disturb him. He has longbeen cranky because plans he had for us did not materialize. But weare taught that should ever evil come to us, which it cannot if wepersevere, it will come by him.     They learned no more of the real nature of the sphere in their timethere. Yet all but one of them were convinced of the reality when theyleft. And they talked of it as they took off.     A crowd would laugh if told of it, said Stark, but not many wouldlaugh if they had actually seen the place, or them. I am not a gullibleman, but I am convinced of this: that this is a pristine and pure worldand that ours and all the others we have visited are fallen worlds.Here are the prototypes of our first parents before their fall. Theyare garbed in light and innocence, and they have the happiness thatwe have been seeking for centuries. It would be a crime if anyonedisturbed that happiness.     I too am convinced, said Steiner. It is Paradise itself, where thelion lies down with the lamb, and where the serpent has not prevailed.It would be the darkest of crimes if we or others should play the partof the serpent, and intrude and spoil.     I am probably the most skeptical man in the world, said Casper Craigthe tycoon, but I do believe my eyes. I have been there and seen it.It is indeed an unspoiled Paradise; and it would be a crime calling tothe wide heavens for vengeance for anyone to smirch in any way thatperfection.     So much for that. Now to business. Gilbert, take a gram: NinetyMillion Square Miles of Pristine Paradise for Sale or Lease. Farming,Ranching, exceptional opportunities for Horticulture. Gold, Silver,Iron, Earth-Type Fauna. Terms. Special Rates for Large SettlementParties. Write, Gram, or call in person at any of our planetary officesas listed below. Ask for Brochure—Eden Acres Unlimited.  <doc-sep>When it came over the hastily established camp, the rocket was low,obviously looking for a landing site. It was a military craft, from theoutpost on the near moon, and forward, near the nose, there was theblazoned emblem of the Ninth Fleet. The rocket roared directly overExtrone's tent, turned slowly, spouting fuel expensively, and settledinto the scrub forest, turning the vegetation beneath it sere by itsblasts.     Extrone sat on an upholstered stool before his tent and spatdisgustedly and combed his beard with his blunt fingers.     Shortly, from the direction of the rocket, a group of four high-rankingofficers came out of the forest, heading toward him. They were spruce,the officers, with military discipline holding their waists in andknees almost stiff.     What in hell do you want? Extrone asked.     They stopped a respectful distance away. Sir.... one began.     Haven't I told you gentlemen that rockets frighten the game? Extronedemanded, ominously not raising his voice.     Sir, the lead officer said, it's another alien ship. It was sighteda few hours ago, off this very planet, sir.     Extrone's face looked much too innocent. How did it get there,gentlemen? Why wasn't it destroyed?     We lost it again, sir. Temporarily, sir.     So? Extrone mocked.     We thought you ought to return to a safer planet, sir. Until we couldlocate and destroy it.     Extrone stared at them for a space. Then, indifferently, he turnedaway, in the direction of a resting bearer. You! he said. Hey! Bringme a drink! He faced the officers again. He smiled maliciously. I'mstaying here.     The lead officer licked his firm lower lip. But, sir....     Extrone toyed with his beard. About a year ago, gentlemen, there wasan alien ship around here then, wasn't there? And you destroyed it,didn't you?     Yes, sir. When we located it, sir.     You'll destroy this one, too, Extrone said.     We have a tight patrol, sir. It can't slip through. But it might try along range bombardment, sir.  <doc-sep>Purnie worked his way down the hill, imploring them to save themselves.The sounds they made carried a new tone, a desperate foreboding ofdeath.     Rhodes! Cabot! Can you hear me?     I—I can't move, Captain. My leg, it's.... My God, we're going todrown!     Look around you, Cabot. Can you see anyone moving?     The men on the beach are nearly buried, Captain. And the rest of ushere in the water—     Forbes. Can you see Forbes? Maybe he's— His sounds were cut off by awavelet gently rolling over his head.     Purnie could wait no longer. The tides were all but covering one of theanimals, and soon the others would be in the same plight. Disregardingthe consequences, he ordered time to stop.     Wading down into the surf, he worked a log off one victim, then hetugged the animal up to the sand. Through blinding tears, Purnie workedslowly and carefully. He knew there was no hurry—at least, not as faras his friends' safety was concerned. No matter what their conditionof life or death was at this moment, it would stay the same way untilhe started time again. He made his way deeper into the orange liquid,where a raised hand signalled the location of a submerged body. Thehand was clutching a large white banner that was tangled among thelogs. Purnie worked the animal free and pulled it ashore.     It was the one who had been carrying the shiny object that spit smoke.     Scarcely noticing his own injured leg, he ferried one victim afteranother until there were no more in the surf. Up on the beach, hestarted unraveling the logs that pinned down the animals caught there.He removed a log from the lap of one, who then remained in a sittingposition, his face contorted into a frozen mask of agony and shock.Another, with the weight removed, rolled over like an iron statue intoa new position. Purnie whimpered in black misery as he surveyed thechaotic scene before him.     At last he could do no more; he felt consciousness slipping away fromhim.     He instinctively knew that if he lost his senses during a period oftime-stopping, events would pick up where they had left off ... withouthim. For Purnie, this would be death. If he had to lose consciousness,he knew he must first resume time.     Step by step he plodded up the little hill, pausing every now and thento consider if this were the moment to start time before it was toolate. With his energy fast draining away, he reached the top of theknoll, and he turned to look down once more on the group below.     Then he knew how much his mind and body had suffered: when he orderedtime to resume, nothing happened.     His heart sank. He wasn't afraid of death, and he knew that if he diedthe oceans would roll again and his friends would move about. But hewanted to see them safe.     He tried to clear his mind for supreme effort. There was no      urging     time to start. He knew he couldn't persuade it by bits and pieces,first slowly then full ahead. Time either progressed or it didn't. Hehad to take one viewpoint or the other.     Then, without knowing exactly when it happened, his mind tookcommand....  <doc-sep>   INNOCENT AT LARGE     By POUL AND KAREN ANDERSON     Illustrated by WOOD     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction July 1958.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        A hayseed Martian among big-planet slickers ... of course       he would get into trouble. But that was nothing compared       to the trouble he would be in if he did not get into trouble!        The visiphone chimed when Peri had just gotten into her dinner gown.She peeled it off again and slipped on a casual bathrobe: a wisp oftranslucence which had set the president of Antarctic Enterprise—orhad it been the chairman of the board?—back several thousand dollars.Then she pulled a lock of lion-colored hair down over one eye, checkedwith a mirror, rumpled it a tiny bit more and wrapped the robe looselyon top and tight around the hips.     After all, some of the men who knew her private number were important.     She undulated to the phone and pressed its Accept. Hello-o, there,she said automatically. So sorry to keep you waiting. I was justtaking a bath and—Oh. It's you.     Gus Doran's prawnlike eyes popped at her. Holy Success, he whisperedin awe. You sure the wires can carry that much voltage?       Well, hurry up with whatever it is, snapped Peri. I got a datetonight.     I'll say you do! With a Martian!  <doc-sep>Consul Passwyn glanced up at Retief, went on perusing a paper.     Sit down, Retief, he said absently. I thought you were over onPueblo, or Mud-flat, or whatever they call that desert.     I'm back.     Passwyn eyed him sharply. Well, well, what is it you need, man? Speakup. Don't expect me to request any military assistance, no matter howthings are....     Retief passed a bundle of documents across the desk. Here's theTreaty. And a Mutual Assistance Pact declaration and a trade agreement.     Eh? Passwyn picked up the papers, riffled through them. He leanedback in his chair, beamed.     Well, Retief. Expeditiously handled. He stopped, blinked at Retief.You seem to have a bruise on your jaw. I hope you've been conductingyourself as befits a member of the Embassy staff.     I attended a sporting event, Retief said. One of the players got alittle excited.     Well ... it's one of the hazards of the profession. One mustpretend an interest in such matters. Passwyn rose, extended a hand.You've done well, my boy. Let this teach you the value of followinginstructions to the letter.     Outside, by the hall incinerator drop, Retief paused long enough totake from his briefcase a large buff envelope, still sealed, and dropit in the slot.   <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>Moments later a rude circle of flagpole trees loomed ahead. Across thetop of them was stretched a translucent web. Jimmy and Grannie got outof the car and began making camp. Xartal remained in his seat. He wasdrawing pictures on large pieces of pasteboard, and as I stood there inthe visiscreen room, I watched him.     There was no doubt about it, the Martian was clever. He would makea few rapid lines on one of the pasteboards, rub it a little to getthe proper shading and then go on to the next. In swift rotationlikenesses of Ezra Karn, of myself, of Jimmy Baker, and of Antlers Parktook form.     Ezra spoke over my shoulder. He's doing scenes for Grannie's newbook, he said. The old lady figures on using the events here for aplot.      Look at that damned nosy bird!          A silver cockatoo had alighted on the kite car and was surveyingcuriously Xartal's work. As each drawing was completed, the birdscanned it with rapt attention. Abruptly it flew to the top of theeyrie, where it seemed to be having a consultation with its birdcompanions.     And then abruptly it happened. The cockatoos took off in mass flight. Agroup of Earth people suddenly materialized on the eyrie, talking andmoving about as if it were the most natural thing in the world.     With a shock I saw the likeness of myself; I saw Ezra Karn; and I sawthe image of Jimmy Baker.     The      real     Jimmy Baker stood next to Grannie, staring up at thisincredible mirage. Grannie let out a whoop. I've got it! she said.Those things we see up there are nothing more than mental images.They're Xartal's drawings!  <doc-sep>She didn't answer; she kept her eyes straight ahead and I saw the faintspot of color on her cheek.     I had a sudden impulse to ask her to meet me after hours at oneof the rec centers. If it had been my danger alone, I might have,but I couldn't very well ask her to risk discovery of a haphazard,unauthorized arrangement like that and the possibility of going to thepsycho-scan.     We came to a turn in the corridor and something happened; I'm not surejust how it happened. I keep telling myself that my movements were notactually deliberate. I was to the right of her. The turn was to theleft. She turned quickly, and I didn't, so that I bumped into her,knocking her off balance. I grabbed her to keep her from falling.     For a moment we stood there, face to face, touching each other lightly.I held her by the arms. I felt the primitive warmth of her breath. Oureyes held together ... proton ... electron ... I felt her tremble.     She broke from my grip suddenly and started off again.     After that she was very business-like.     We came finally to the controls of Bank 29 and she stood before themand began to press button combinations. I watched her work; I watchedher move. I had almost forgotten why I'd come here. The lights blinkedon and off and the typers clacked softly as the machine sorted outinformation.     She had a long printed sheet from the roll presently. She frowned atit and turned to me. You can take this along and study it, she said,but I'm afraid what you have in mind may be—a little difficult.     She must have guessed what I had in mind. I said, I didn't think itwould be easy.     It seems that the only agency authorized to change a State Serialunder any circumstances is Opsych.     Opsych? You can't keep up with all these departments.     The Office of Psychological Adjustment. They can change you if you gofrom a lower to higher E.A.C.     I don't get it, exactly.     As she spoke I had the idea that there was sympathy in her voice. Justan overtone. Well, she said, as you know, the post a person isqualified to hold often depends largely on his Emotional AdjustmentCategory. Now if he improves and passes from, let us say, Grade 3 toGrade 4, he will probably change his place of work. In order to protecthim from any associative maladjustments developed under the old E.A.C,he is permitted a new number.     I groaned. But I'm already in the highest E.A.C.!     It looks very uncertain then.     Sometimes I think I'd be better off in the mines, or onMarscol—or—in the hell of the pre-atomics!     She looked amused. What did you say your E.A.C. was?     Oh, all right. Sorry. I controlled myself and grinned. I guess thiswhole thing has been just a little too much for me. Maybe my E.A.C.'seven gone down.     That might be your chance then.     How do you mean?     If you could get to the top man in Opsych and demonstrate that yournumber has inadvertently changed your E.A.C., he might be able tojustify a change.     By the State, he might! I punched my palm. Only how do I get to him?     I can find his location on the cyb here. Center One, the capital, fora guess. You'll have to get a travel permit to go there, of course.Just a moment.     She worked at the machine again, trying it on general data. The printedslip came out a moment later and she read it to me. Chief, Opsych, wasin the capital all right. It didn't give the exact location of hisoffice, but it did tell how to find the underground bay in Center Onecontaining the Opsych offices.     We headed back through the passageway then and she kept well ahead ofme. I couldn't keep my eyes from her walk, from the way she walked witheverything below her shoulders. My blood was pounding at my templesagain.     I tried to keep the conversation going. Do you think it'll be hard toget a travel permit?     Not impossible. My guess is that you'll be at Travbur all daytomorrow, maybe even the next day. But you ought to be able to swing itif you hold out long enough.     I sighed. I know. It's that way everywhere in Northem. Our motto oughtto be, 'Why make it difficult when with just a little more effort youcan make it impossible?'  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the location where the events of INNOCENT AT LARGE take place?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What role does Gus Doran play in the story INNOCENT AT LARGE? [SEP] <s>   INNOCENT AT LARGE     By POUL AND KAREN ANDERSON     Illustrated by WOOD     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction July 1958.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        A hayseed Martian among big-planet slickers ... of course       he would get into trouble. But that was nothing compared       to the trouble he would be in if he did not get into trouble!        The visiphone chimed when Peri had just gotten into her dinner gown.She peeled it off again and slipped on a casual bathrobe: a wisp oftranslucence which had set the president of Antarctic Enterprise—orhad it been the chairman of the board?—back several thousand dollars.Then she pulled a lock of lion-colored hair down over one eye, checkedwith a mirror, rumpled it a tiny bit more and wrapped the robe looselyon top and tight around the hips.     After all, some of the men who knew her private number were important.     She undulated to the phone and pressed its Accept. Hello-o, there,she said automatically. So sorry to keep you waiting. I was justtaking a bath and—Oh. It's you.     Gus Doran's prawnlike eyes popped at her. Holy Success, he whisperedin awe. You sure the wires can carry that much voltage?       Well, hurry up with whatever it is, snapped Peri. I got a datetonight.     I'll say you do! With a Martian!  <doc-sep>The lady drew herself up and jutted an indignant brow at him. Sir!This is a church!     Oh—I see—excuse me, I, I, I— Matheny backed out of the crowd,shuddering. He looked around for some place to hide his burning ears.     You forgot your chips, pal, said a voice.     Oh. Thanks. Thanks ever so much. I, I, that is— Matheny cursedhis knotting tongue.      Damn it, just because they're so much moresophisticated than I, do I have to talk like a leaky boiler?       The helpful Earthman was not tall. He was dark and chisel-faced andsleekly pomaded, dapper in blue pajamas with a red zigzag, a sleighbellcloak and curly-toed slippers.     You're from Mars, aren't you? he asked in the friendliest toneMatheny had yet heard.     Yes. Yes, I am. M-my name's Peter Matheny. I, I— He stuck out hishand to shake and chips rolled over the floor. Damn! Oh, excuse me, Iforgot this was a church. Never mind the chips. No, please. I just wantto g-g-get the hell out of here.     Good idea. How about a drink? I know a bar downshaft.     Matheny sighed. A drink is what I need the very most.     My name's Doran. Gus Doran. Call me Gus.     They walked back to the deaconette's booth and Matheny cashed whatremained of his winnings.     I don't want to—I mean if you're busy tonight, Mr. Doran—     Nah. I am not doing one thing in particular. Besides, I have never meta Martian. I am very interested.     There aren't many of us on Earth, agreed Matheny. Just a smallembassy staff and an occasional like me.     I should think you would do a lot of traveling here. The old motherplanet and so on.     We can't afford it, said Matheny. What with gravitation anddistance, such voyages are much too expensive for us to make them forpleasure. Not to mention our dollar shortage. As they entered theshaft, he added wistfully: You Earth people have that kind of money,at least in your more prosperous brackets. Why don't you send a fewtourists to us?     I always wanted to, said Doran. I would like to see the what theycall City of Time, and so on. As a matter of fact, I have given mygirl one of those Old Martian rings last Ike's Birthday and she wasjust gazoo about it. A jewel dug out of the City of Time, like,made a million years ago by a, uh, extinct race ... I tell you, she      appreciated     me for it! He winked and nudged.     Oh, said Matheny.  <doc-sep>Peri narrowed her silver-blue gaze and looked icily at him. You musthave heard wrong, Gus. He's the heir apparent of Indonesia, Inc.,that's who, and if you called up to ask for a piece of him, you canjust blank right out again. I saw him first!     Doran's thin sharp face grinned. You break that date, Peri. Put it offor something. I got this Martian for you, see?     So? Since when has all Mars had as much spending money as one big-timemarijuana rancher? Not to mention the heir ap—     Sure, sure. But how much are those boys going to spend on any girl,even a high-level type like you? Listen, I need you just for tonight,see? This Martian is strictly from gone. He is here on officialbusiness, but he is a yokel and I do mean hayseed. Like he asked mewhat the Christmas decorations in all the stores were! And here is thesolar nexus of it, Peri, kid.     Doran leaned forward as if to climb out of the screen. He has got ahundred million dollars expense money, and they are not going to audithis accounts at home. One hundred million good green certificates,legal tender anywhere in the United Protectorates. And he has aboutas much backbone as a piece of steak alga. Kid, if I did not happen tohave experience otherwise with a small nephew, I would say this will belike taking candy from a baby.     Peri's peaches-and-cream countenance began to resemble peaches andcream left overnight on Pluto. Badger? she asked.     Sure. You and Sam Wendt handle the routine. I will take the go-betweenangle, so he will think of me as still his friend, because I have otherplans for him too. But if we can't shake a million out of him for thisone night's work, there is something akilter. And your share of amillion is three hundred thirty-three—     Is five hundred thousand flat, said Peri. Too bad I just got anawful headache and can't see Mr. Sastro tonight. Where you at, Gus?  <doc-sep>Doran squinted through cigarette smoke. You are interesting mestrangely, my friend. Say on.     No. Matheny realized his head was a bit smoky. The walls of the boothseemed odd, somehow. They were just leatheroid walls, but they had anodd quality.     No, sorry, Gus, he said. I spoke too much.     Okay. Forget it. I do not like a man that pries. But look, let's bombout of here, how about it? Go have a little fun.     By all means. Matheny disposed of his last beer. I could use somegaiety.     You have come to the right town then. But let us get you a hotel roomfirst and some more up-to-date clothes.           Allez     , said Matheny. If I don't mean      allons     , or maybe      alors     .     The drop down to cab-ramp level and the short ride afterward soberedhim; the room rate at the Jupiter-Astoria sobered him still more.       Oh, well     , he thought,      if I succeed in this job, no one at home willquibble.       And the chamber to which he and Doran were shown was spectacularenough, with a pneumo direct to the bar and a full-wall transparency toshow the vertical incandescence of the towers.     Whoof! Matheny sat down. The chair slithered sensuously about hiscontours. He jumped. What the dusty hell—Oh. He tried to grin, buthis face burned. I see.     That is a sexy type of furniture, all right, agreed Doran. He loweredhimself into another chair, cocked his feet on the 3-D and waved acigarette. Which speaking of, what say we get some girls? It is nottoo late to catch them at home. A date here will usually start around2100 hours earliest.     What?     You know. Dames. Like a certain blonde warhead with twin radar andswivel mounting, and she just loves exotics. Such as you.     Me? Matheny heard his voice climb to a schoolboy squeak. Me?Exotic? Why, I'm just a little college professor. I g-g-g, that is—His tongue got stuck on his palate. He pulled it loose and moisteneduncertain lips.     You are from Mars. Okay? So you fought bushcats barehanded in anabandoned canal.     What's a bushcat? And we don't have canals. The evaporation rate—     Look, Pete, said Doran patiently. She don't have to know that, doesshe?     Well—well, no. I guess not No.     Let's order you some clothes on the pneumo, said Doran. I recommendyou buy from Schwartzherz. Everybody knows he is expensive.  <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>They were there for three days. They were delighted with the place.It was a world with everything, and it seemed to have only twoinhabitants. They went everywhere except into the big cave.     What is there, Adam? asked Captain Stark.     The great serpent lives there. I would not disturb him. He has longbeen cranky because plans he had for us did not materialize. But weare taught that should ever evil come to us, which it cannot if wepersevere, it will come by him.     They learned no more of the real nature of the sphere in their timethere. Yet all but one of them were convinced of the reality when theyleft. And they talked of it as they took off.     A crowd would laugh if told of it, said Stark, but not many wouldlaugh if they had actually seen the place, or them. I am not a gullibleman, but I am convinced of this: that this is a pristine and pure worldand that ours and all the others we have visited are fallen worlds.Here are the prototypes of our first parents before their fall. Theyare garbed in light and innocence, and they have the happiness thatwe have been seeking for centuries. It would be a crime if anyonedisturbed that happiness.     I too am convinced, said Steiner. It is Paradise itself, where thelion lies down with the lamb, and where the serpent has not prevailed.It would be the darkest of crimes if we or others should play the partof the serpent, and intrude and spoil.     I am probably the most skeptical man in the world, said Casper Craigthe tycoon, but I do believe my eyes. I have been there and seen it.It is indeed an unspoiled Paradise; and it would be a crime calling tothe wide heavens for vengeance for anyone to smirch in any way thatperfection.     So much for that. Now to business. Gilbert, take a gram: NinetyMillion Square Miles of Pristine Paradise for Sale or Lease. Farming,Ranching, exceptional opportunities for Horticulture. Gold, Silver,Iron, Earth-Type Fauna. Terms. Special Rates for Large SettlementParties. Write, Gram, or call in person at any of our planetary officesas listed below. Ask for Brochure—Eden Acres Unlimited.  <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>Terrence said, why did you shoot Doran?     I didn't like him enough to take the nonsense he was handing me, andwhen he shot the— Bruce hesitated.     What? When he shot what?     Bruce felt an odd tingling in his stomach. The wind's voice seemed tosharpen and rise to a kind of wail.     All right, I'll tell you. I was sleeping, having a dream. Doran wokeme up. Marsha was with him. I'd forgotten about that geological job wewere supposed to be working on. I've had these dreams ever since we gothere.     What kind of dreams?     Someone laughed.     Just fantastic stuff. Ask your Pavlovian there, Bruce said. Peopletalk to me, and there are other things in the dreams. Voices and somekind of shapes that aren't what you would call human at all.     Someone coughed. There was obvious embarrassment in the room.     It's peculiar, but many faces and voices are those of crew members ofsome of the ships out there, the ones that never got back to Earth.     Terrence grinned. Ghosts, Bruce?     Maybe. This planet may not be a dead ball of clay. I've had a feelingthere's something real in the dreams, but I can't figure it out.You're still interested?     Terrence nodded and glanced to either side.     We've seen no indication of any kind of life whatsoever, Brucepointed out. Not even an insect, or any kind of plant life except somefungi and lichen down in the crevices. That never seemed logical to mefrom the start. We've covered the planet everywhere except one place—     The mountain, Terrence said. You've been afraid even to talk aboutscaling it.     Not afraid, Bruce objected. I don't see any need to climb it. Comingto Mars, conquering space, isn't that enough? It happens that the crewof the first ship here decided to climb the mountain, and that set aprecedent. Every ship that has come here has had to climb it. Why?Because they had to accept the challenge. And what's happened to them?Like you, they all had the necessary equipment to make a successfulclimb, but no one's ever come back down. No contact with anything upthere.     Captain, I'm not accepting a ridiculous challenge like that. Whyshould I? I didn't come here to conquer anything, even a mountain. Thechallenge of coming to Mars, of going on to where ever you guys intendgoing before something bigger than you are stops you—it doesn'tinterest me.     Nothing's bigger than the destiny of Earth! Terrence said, sitting upstraight and rigid.     I know, Bruce said. Anyway, I got off the track. As I was saying,I woke up from this dream and Marsha and Doran were there. Doran wasshaking me. But I didn't seem to have gotten entirely awake; eitherthat or some part of the dream was real, because I looked out thewindow—something was out there, looking at me. It was late, and atfirst I thought it might be a shadow. But it wasn't. It was misty,almost translucent, but I think it was something alive. I had a feelingit was intelligent, maybe very intelligent. I could feel something inmy mind. A kind of beauty and softness and warmth. I kept looking—     His throat was getting tight. He had difficulty talking. Doran askedme what I was looking at, and I told him. He laughed. But he looked.Then I realized that maybe I wasn't still dreaming. Doran saw it, too,or thought he did. He kept looking and finally he jumped and grabbed uphis rifle and ran outside. I yelled at him. I kept on yelling and ranafter him. 'It's intelligent, whatever it is!' I kept saying. 'How doyou know it means any harm?' But I heard Doran's rifle go off before Icould get to him. And whatever it was we saw, I didn't see it any more.Neither did Doran. Maybe he killed it. I don't know. He had to kill it.That's the way you think.     What? Explain that remark.     That's the philosophy of conquest—don't take any chances withaliens. They might hinder our advance across the Universe. So we killeverything. Doran acted without thinking at all. Conditioned to killeverything that doesn't look like us. So I hit Doran and took the gunaway from him and killed him. I felt sick, crazy with rage. Maybethat's part of it. All I know is that I thought he deserved to die andthat I had to kill him, so I did.     Is that all, Bruce?     That's about all. Except that I'd like to kill all of you. And I wouldif I had the chance.     That's what I figured. Terrence turned to the psychologist, a smallwiry man who sat there constantly fingering his ear. Stromberg, whatdo you think of this gobbledegook? We know he's crazy. But what hithim? You said his record was good up until a year ago.     Stromberg's voice was monotonous, like a voice off of a tape.Schizophrenia with mingled delusions of persecution. The schizophreniais caused by inner conflict—indecision between the older values andour present ones which he hasn't been able to accept. A complete casehistory would tell why he can't accept our present attitudes. I wouldsay that he has an incipient fear of personal inadequacy, which is whyhe fears our desire for conquest. He's rationalized, built up a defensewhich he's structured with his idealism, foundationed with Old Eravalues. Retreat into the past, an escape from his own present feelingsof inadequacy. Also, he escapes into these dream fantasies.     Yes, Terrence said. But how does that account for Doran's action?Doran must have seen something—     Doran's charts show high suggestibility under stress. Another weakpersonality eliminated. Let's regard it that way. He      imagined     he sawsomething. He glanced at Marsha. Did      you     see anything?     She hesitated, avoiding Bruce's eyes. Nothing at all. There wasn'tanything out there to see, except the dust and rocks. That's all thereis to see here. We could stay a million years and never see anythingelse. A shadow maybe—     All right, Terrence interrupted. Now, Bruce, you know the lawregulating the treatment of serious psycho cases in space?     Yes. Execution.     No facilities for handling such cases en route back to Earth.     I understand. No apologies necessary, Captain.     Terrence shifted his position. However, we've voted to grant youa kind of leniency. In exchange for a little further service fromyou, you can remain here on Mars after we leave. You'll be leftfood-concentrates to last a long time.     What kind of service?     Stay by the radio and take down what we report as we go up themountain.     Why not? Bruce said. You aren't certain you're coming back, then?     We might not, Terrence admitted calmly. Something's happened to theothers. We're going to find out what and we want it recorded. None ofus want to back down and stay here. You can take our reports as theycome in.     I'll do that, Bruce said. It should be interesting.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What role does Gus Doran play in the story INNOCENT AT LARGE?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What does the Red Ankh Society represent in INNOCENT AT LARGE? [SEP] <s>Doran blew up in laughter. That is one thing I would never spill, evenwithout security. I told you about my girl friend, didn't I?     Yes, and that calls to mind the Little Girl, said Mathenyapologetically. She was another official project.     Who?     Remember Junie O'Brien? The little golden-haired girl on Mars, amathematical prodigy, but dying of an incurable disease? She collectedEarth coins.     Oh, that. Sure, I remember—Hey! You didn't!     Yes. We made about a billion dollars on that one.     I will be double damned. You know, Pete, I sent her a hundred-buckpiece myself. Say, how is Junie O'Brien?     Oh, fine. Under a different name, she's now our finance minister.Matheny stared out the wall, his hands twisting nervously behind hisback. There were no lies involved. She really does have a fataldisease. So do you and I. Every day we grow older.     Uh! exclaimed Doran.     And then the Red Ankh Society. You must have seen or heard their ads.'What mysterious knowledge did the Old Martians possess? What wasthe secret wisdom of the Ancient Aliens? Now the incredibly powerfulsemantics of the Red Ankh (not a religious organization) is availableto a select few—' That's our largest dollar-earning enterprise.     He would have liked to say it was his suggestion originally, but itwould have been too presumptuous. He was talking to an Earthman, whohad heard everything already.     Doran whistled.     That's about all, so far, confessed Matheny. Perhaps a con is ouronly hope. I've been wondering, maybe we could organize a Martianbucket shop, handling Martian securities, but—well, I don't know.     I think— Doran removed the helmet and stood up.     Yes? Matheny faced around, shivering with his own tension.     I may be able to find the man you want, said Doran. I just may. Itwill take a few days and might get a little expensive.     You mean.... Mr. Doran—Gus—you could actually—     I cannot promise anything yet except that I will try. Now you finishdressing. I will be down in the bar. And I will call up this girl Iknow. We deserve a celebration!  <doc-sep>The traditional office of Planetary Dilettante was a civil-servicejob, awarded by competitive examination whenever it fell vacant tothe person who scored highest in intelligence, character and generalgloonatz. However, the tests were inadequate when it came to measuringsense of proportion, adaptiveness and charm—and there, Skkiru felt,was where the essential flaw lay. After all, no really effective testwould have let a person like Bbulas come out on top.     The winner was sent to Gambrell, the nearest planet with a TerranLeague University, to be given a thorough Terran-type education. Noindividual on Snaddra could afford such schooling, no matter howgreat his personal fortune, because the transportation costs were soimmense that only a government could afford them. That was the reasonwhy only one person in each generation could be chosen to go abroad atthe planet's expense and acquire enough finish to cover the rest of thepopulation.     The Dilettante's official function had always been, in theory, to servethe planet when an emergency came—and this, old Luccar, the formerPresident, had decided, when he and the Parliament had awakened to thefact that Snaddra was falling into ruin, was an emergency. So he had,after considerable soul-searching, called upon Bbulas to plan a methodof saving Snaddra—and Bbulas, happy to be in the limelight at last,had come up with this program.     It was not one Skkiru himself would have chosen. It was not one, hefelt, that any reasonable person would have chosen. Nevertheless, theBbulas Plan had been adopted by a majority vote of the Snaddrath,largely because no one had come up with a feasible alternative and,as a patriotic citizen, Skkiru would abide by it. He would accept thestatus of beggar; it was his duty to do so. Moreover, as in the case ofthe planet, there was no choice.     But all was not necessarily lost, he told himself. Had he not, in hisanthropological viewings—though Bbulas might have been the only oneprivileged to go on ethnological field trips to other planets, he wasnot the only one who could use a library—seen accounts of societieswhere beggarhood could be a rewarding and even responsible station inlife? There was no reason why, within the framework of the primitivesociety Bbulas had created to allure Terran anthropologists, Skkirushould not make something of himself and show that a beggar was worthyof the high priestess's hand—which would be entirely in the Terranprimitive tradition of romance.     Skkiru! Bbulas was screaming, as he spun, now that the Terrans wereout of ear- and eye-shot Skkiru, you idiot, listen to me! What arethose ridiculous things you are wearing on your silly feet?     Skkiru protruded all of his eyes in innocent surprise. Just someold pontoons I took from a wrecked air-car once. I have a habit ofcollecting junk and I thought—     Bbulas twirled madly in the air. You are not supposed to think. Leaveall the thinking to me!     Yes, Bbulas, Skkiru said meekly.  <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>Doran whistled. I got to give your people credit for enterprise,anyway! He fingered his mustache. Uh, pardon me, but have you triedto, well, attract capital from Earth?     Of course, said Matheny bitterly. We offer the most liberalconcessions in the Solar System. Any little mining company or transportfirm or—or anybody—who wanted to come and actually invest a fewdollars in Mars—why, we'd probably give him the President's daughteras security. No, the Minister of Ecology has a better-looking one.But who's interested? We haven't a thing that Earth hasn't got moreof. We're only the descendants of a few scientists, a few politicalmalcontents, oddballs who happen to prefer elbow room and a bill ofliberties to the incorporated state—what could General Nucleonicshope to get from Mars?     I see. Well, what are you having to drink?     Beer, said Matheny without hesitation.     Huh? Look, pal, this is on me.     The only beer on Mars comes forty million miles, with interplanetaryfreight charges tacked on, said Matheny. Heineken's!     Doran shrugged, dialed the dispenser and fed it coins.     This is a real interesting talk, Pete, he said. You are being veryfrank with me. I like a man that is frank.     Matheny shrugged. I haven't told you anything that isn't known toevery economist.       Of course I haven't. I've not so much as mentioned the Red Ankh, forinstance. But, in principle, I have told him the truth, told him of ourneed; for even the secret operations do not yield us enough.       The beer arrived. Matheny engulfed himself in it. Doran sipped at awhiskey sour and unobtrusively set another full bottle in front of theMartian.     Ahhh! said Matheny. Bless you, my friend.     A pleasure.     But now you must let me buy you one.     That is not necessary. After all, said Doran with great tact, withthe situation as you have been describing—     Oh, we're not      that     poor! My expense allowance assumes I willentertain quite a bit.     Doran's brows lifted a few minutes of arc. You're here on business,then?     Yes. I told you we haven't any tourists. I was sent to hire a businessmanager for the Martian export trade.     What's wrong with your own people? I mean, Pete, it is not your faultthere are so many rackets—uh, taxes—and middlemen and agencies and etcetera. That is just the way Earth is set up these days.  <doc-sep>   INNOCENT AT LARGE     By POUL AND KAREN ANDERSON     Illustrated by WOOD     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction July 1958.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        A hayseed Martian among big-planet slickers ... of course       he would get into trouble. But that was nothing compared       to the trouble he would be in if he did not get into trouble!        The visiphone chimed when Peri had just gotten into her dinner gown.She peeled it off again and slipped on a casual bathrobe: a wisp oftranslucence which had set the president of Antarctic Enterprise—orhad it been the chairman of the board?—back several thousand dollars.Then she pulled a lock of lion-colored hair down over one eye, checkedwith a mirror, rumpled it a tiny bit more and wrapped the robe looselyon top and tight around the hips.     After all, some of the men who knew her private number were important.     She undulated to the phone and pressed its Accept. Hello-o, there,she said automatically. So sorry to keep you waiting. I was justtaking a bath and—Oh. It's you.     Gus Doran's prawnlike eyes popped at her. Holy Success, he whisperedin awe. You sure the wires can carry that much voltage?       Well, hurry up with whatever it is, snapped Peri. I got a datetonight.     I'll say you do! With a Martian!  <doc-sep>Seeming to grind her teeth, the Old O Woman turned abruptly to leaveO'Rielly's watch room. Was all O'Rielly could do to keep from bustingout laughing for joy.     Old Woman had been flimflammed for fair! Dear Trillium was saved! Andbetwixt O'Rielly's grand brain and Callahan's great experience she'd behappy forever.     A fine loud thump, however, was now heard. Old Woman whirled back andyanked open the doors under O'Rielly's bunk.     Of all the sappy hiding places! Callahan yelped, in surprise ofcourse.     Trillium? His Excellency bellowed as if stung by one of thesabre-tailed hornets of his native planet. Trillium!     Trillium, O'Rielly pleaded in loving anguish, why do you have tokeep coming out of hiding just when nobody's going to find you?     Her eyes merely became deep pools in which O'Rielly would have gladlydrowned himself if he could.       There are rewards, the Old Woman said with the deadly coldness ofouter space, for Earthmen found in a Venus woman's company, and forher leaving her planet.     Shut up! His Excellency's ear beards were standing straight outsideways. I'll handle this!     May I remind His Excellency, the Old Woman snapped, that I representEarth and her dominion of space gained by right of original flight!     May I remind the Captain, His Excellency declared fit to be heardback to his planet, that I am the Personal Ambassador of the Presidentof Venus and this thing can mean war!     Yes! War in which people will actually die! As His Excellency paledat that grisly remark, the Old Woman spoke through her teeth atO'Rielly, Callahan and Trillium. All right, come along!     O'Rielly joined the death march gladly. He felt the way Callahanlooked: ready to wrap his arms around Trillium's brave loveliness andprotect it to his last breath of life.     Old Woman led the way to her office. Jabbed some buttons on her desk.Panels on opposite walls lit up.     Presidents of Earth and Venus, please, the Old Woman stated evenly.Interplanetary emergency.     Highly groomed flunkies appeared on the panels and were impersonallypleasant.     Madame President's office. She is in a Cabinet meeting.     Mr. President's office. He is in personal command of our glorious warefforts.     Old Woman sighed through her teeth. Venus woman aboard this ship.Stowaway. Rattle that around your belfries.     The flunkies' faces went slack with shock, then were replaced by ablizzard of scrambled faces and torrents of incoherent voices.     Finally on the Earth panel appeared the famous classic features. Thefacts, if you please, Captain Hatwoody.     The Venus panel finally held steady on universally notorious features,that were as fierce as an eagle's, in a fancy war helmet. Trillium! Myown granddaughter? Impossible! Dimdooly, Mr. President roared at hisExcellency, what's this nonsense?     Some loud creature is interfering, Madame President snapped withannoyance.     Blasted fools still have the circuits crossed, Mr. President swore.Some silly female cackling now!     The parties in the panels saw each other now. Each one's left hand on adesk moved toward a big red button marked, ROCKETS.     So, Mr. President said evenly. Another violation by your Earthmen.     By your granddaughter, at least, Madame President replied coolly.     An innocent child, Mr. President snapped, obviously kidnapped bythose two idiotic Earthmen there!     Oh, no, Grandpapa, Trillium said swiftly; I stole away all bymyself, and Mr. O'Rielly and Callahan have been very helpful.     Impossible! Grandpapa President's ear beards stood near straight upas he roared, You couldn't have stolen away by yourself! Trillium,tell the truth!     Very well. Grandmamma told me how.  <doc-sep>When he awoke dawn was red against thin clouds in the east.     Old Maota stood in the street with webbed feet planted far apart inthe sand, a weapon in the crook of his arm. It was a long tube affair,familiar to Michaelson.     Michaelson asked, Did you sleep well?     No.     I'm sorry to hear that.     How do you feel?     Fine, but my head aches a little.     Sorry, Maota said.     For what?     For hitting you. Pain is not for gods like you.     Michaelson relaxed somewhat. What kind of man are you? First you tryto break my skull, then you apologize.     I abhor pain. I should have killed you outright.     He thought about that for a moment, eyeing the weapon.     It looked in good working order. Slim and shiny and innocent, it lookedlike a glorified African blowgun. But he was not deceived by itsappearance. It was a deadly weapon.       Well, he said, before you kill me, tell me about the book. He heldit up for Maota to see.     What about the book?     What kind of book is it?     What does Mr. Earthgod mean, what      kind     of book? You have seen it. Itis like any other book, except for the material and the fact that ittalks.     No, no. I mean, what's in it?     Poetry.     Poetry? For God's sake, why poetry? Why not mathematics or history?Why not tell how to make the metal of the book itself? Now there is asubject worthy of a book.     Maota shook his head. One does not study a dead culture to learn howthey made things, but how they thought. But we are wasting time. I mustkill you now, so I can get some rest.     The old man raised the gun.  <doc-sep>They were there for three days. They were delighted with the place.It was a world with everything, and it seemed to have only twoinhabitants. They went everywhere except into the big cave.     What is there, Adam? asked Captain Stark.     The great serpent lives there. I would not disturb him. He has longbeen cranky because plans he had for us did not materialize. But weare taught that should ever evil come to us, which it cannot if wepersevere, it will come by him.     They learned no more of the real nature of the sphere in their timethere. Yet all but one of them were convinced of the reality when theyleft. And they talked of it as they took off.     A crowd would laugh if told of it, said Stark, but not many wouldlaugh if they had actually seen the place, or them. I am not a gullibleman, but I am convinced of this: that this is a pristine and pure worldand that ours and all the others we have visited are fallen worlds.Here are the prototypes of our first parents before their fall. Theyare garbed in light and innocence, and they have the happiness thatwe have been seeking for centuries. It would be a crime if anyonedisturbed that happiness.     I too am convinced, said Steiner. It is Paradise itself, where thelion lies down with the lamb, and where the serpent has not prevailed.It would be the darkest of crimes if we or others should play the partof the serpent, and intrude and spoil.     I am probably the most skeptical man in the world, said Casper Craigthe tycoon, but I do believe my eyes. I have been there and seen it.It is indeed an unspoiled Paradise; and it would be a crime calling tothe wide heavens for vengeance for anyone to smirch in any way thatperfection.     So much for that. Now to business. Gilbert, take a gram: NinetyMillion Square Miles of Pristine Paradise for Sale or Lease. Farming,Ranching, exceptional opportunities for Horticulture. Gold, Silver,Iron, Earth-Type Fauna. Terms. Special Rates for Large SettlementParties. Write, Gram, or call in person at any of our planetary officesas listed below. Ask for Brochure—Eden Acres Unlimited.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What does the Red Ankh Society represent in INNOCENT AT LARGE?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the role of Peri in the story INNOCENT AT LARGE? [SEP] <s>   INNOCENT AT LARGE     By POUL AND KAREN ANDERSON     Illustrated by WOOD     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction July 1958.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        A hayseed Martian among big-planet slickers ... of course       he would get into trouble. But that was nothing compared       to the trouble he would be in if he did not get into trouble!        The visiphone chimed when Peri had just gotten into her dinner gown.She peeled it off again and slipped on a casual bathrobe: a wisp oftranslucence which had set the president of Antarctic Enterprise—orhad it been the chairman of the board?—back several thousand dollars.Then she pulled a lock of lion-colored hair down over one eye, checkedwith a mirror, rumpled it a tiny bit more and wrapped the robe looselyon top and tight around the hips.     After all, some of the men who knew her private number were important.     She undulated to the phone and pressed its Accept. Hello-o, there,she said automatically. So sorry to keep you waiting. I was justtaking a bath and—Oh. It's you.     Gus Doran's prawnlike eyes popped at her. Holy Success, he whisperedin awe. You sure the wires can carry that much voltage?       Well, hurry up with whatever it is, snapped Peri. I got a datetonight.     I'll say you do! With a Martian!  <doc-sep>Peri narrowed her silver-blue gaze and looked icily at him. You musthave heard wrong, Gus. He's the heir apparent of Indonesia, Inc.,that's who, and if you called up to ask for a piece of him, you canjust blank right out again. I saw him first!     Doran's thin sharp face grinned. You break that date, Peri. Put it offor something. I got this Martian for you, see?     So? Since when has all Mars had as much spending money as one big-timemarijuana rancher? Not to mention the heir ap—     Sure, sure. But how much are those boys going to spend on any girl,even a high-level type like you? Listen, I need you just for tonight,see? This Martian is strictly from gone. He is here on officialbusiness, but he is a yokel and I do mean hayseed. Like he asked mewhat the Christmas decorations in all the stores were! And here is thesolar nexus of it, Peri, kid.     Doran leaned forward as if to climb out of the screen. He has got ahundred million dollars expense money, and they are not going to audithis accounts at home. One hundred million good green certificates,legal tender anywhere in the United Protectorates. And he has aboutas much backbone as a piece of steak alga. Kid, if I did not happen tohave experience otherwise with a small nephew, I would say this will belike taking candy from a baby.     Peri's peaches-and-cream countenance began to resemble peaches andcream left overnight on Pluto. Badger? she asked.     Sure. You and Sam Wendt handle the routine. I will take the go-betweenangle, so he will think of me as still his friend, because I have otherplans for him too. But if we can't shake a million out of him for thisone night's work, there is something akilter. And your share of amillion is three hundred thirty-three—     Is five hundred thousand flat, said Peri. Too bad I just got anawful headache and can't see Mr. Sastro tonight. Where you at, Gus?  <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>They were there for three days. They were delighted with the place.It was a world with everything, and it seemed to have only twoinhabitants. They went everywhere except into the big cave.     What is there, Adam? asked Captain Stark.     The great serpent lives there. I would not disturb him. He has longbeen cranky because plans he had for us did not materialize. But weare taught that should ever evil come to us, which it cannot if wepersevere, it will come by him.     They learned no more of the real nature of the sphere in their timethere. Yet all but one of them were convinced of the reality when theyleft. And they talked of it as they took off.     A crowd would laugh if told of it, said Stark, but not many wouldlaugh if they had actually seen the place, or them. I am not a gullibleman, but I am convinced of this: that this is a pristine and pure worldand that ours and all the others we have visited are fallen worlds.Here are the prototypes of our first parents before their fall. Theyare garbed in light and innocence, and they have the happiness thatwe have been seeking for centuries. It would be a crime if anyonedisturbed that happiness.     I too am convinced, said Steiner. It is Paradise itself, where thelion lies down with the lamb, and where the serpent has not prevailed.It would be the darkest of crimes if we or others should play the partof the serpent, and intrude and spoil.     I am probably the most skeptical man in the world, said Casper Craigthe tycoon, but I do believe my eyes. I have been there and seen it.It is indeed an unspoiled Paradise; and it would be a crime calling tothe wide heavens for vengeance for anyone to smirch in any way thatperfection.     So much for that. Now to business. Gilbert, take a gram: NinetyMillion Square Miles of Pristine Paradise for Sale or Lease. Farming,Ranching, exceptional opportunities for Horticulture. Gold, Silver,Iron, Earth-Type Fauna. Terms. Special Rates for Large SettlementParties. Write, Gram, or call in person at any of our planetary officesas listed below. Ask for Brochure—Eden Acres Unlimited.  <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>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>The traditional office of Planetary Dilettante was a civil-servicejob, awarded by competitive examination whenever it fell vacant tothe person who scored highest in intelligence, character and generalgloonatz. However, the tests were inadequate when it came to measuringsense of proportion, adaptiveness and charm—and there, Skkiru felt,was where the essential flaw lay. After all, no really effective testwould have let a person like Bbulas come out on top.     The winner was sent to Gambrell, the nearest planet with a TerranLeague University, to be given a thorough Terran-type education. Noindividual on Snaddra could afford such schooling, no matter howgreat his personal fortune, because the transportation costs were soimmense that only a government could afford them. That was the reasonwhy only one person in each generation could be chosen to go abroad atthe planet's expense and acquire enough finish to cover the rest of thepopulation.     The Dilettante's official function had always been, in theory, to servethe planet when an emergency came—and this, old Luccar, the formerPresident, had decided, when he and the Parliament had awakened to thefact that Snaddra was falling into ruin, was an emergency. So he had,after considerable soul-searching, called upon Bbulas to plan a methodof saving Snaddra—and Bbulas, happy to be in the limelight at last,had come up with this program.     It was not one Skkiru himself would have chosen. It was not one, hefelt, that any reasonable person would have chosen. Nevertheless, theBbulas Plan had been adopted by a majority vote of the Snaddrath,largely because no one had come up with a feasible alternative and,as a patriotic citizen, Skkiru would abide by it. He would accept thestatus of beggar; it was his duty to do so. Moreover, as in the case ofthe planet, there was no choice.     But all was not necessarily lost, he told himself. Had he not, in hisanthropological viewings—though Bbulas might have been the only oneprivileged to go on ethnological field trips to other planets, he wasnot the only one who could use a library—seen accounts of societieswhere beggarhood could be a rewarding and even responsible station inlife? There was no reason why, within the framework of the primitivesociety Bbulas had created to allure Terran anthropologists, Skkirushould not make something of himself and show that a beggar was worthyof the high priestess's hand—which would be entirely in the Terranprimitive tradition of romance.     Skkiru! Bbulas was screaming, as he spun, now that the Terrans wereout of ear- and eye-shot Skkiru, you idiot, listen to me! What arethose ridiculous things you are wearing on your silly feet?     Skkiru protruded all of his eyes in innocent surprise. Just someold pontoons I took from a wrecked air-car once. I have a habit ofcollecting junk and I thought—     Bbulas twirled madly in the air. You are not supposed to think. Leaveall the thinking to me!     Yes, Bbulas, Skkiru said meekly.  <doc-sep>Marge didn't suspect a thing. In fact, George Prime seemed to be havinga remarkable effect on her. I didn't notice anything at first—I washardly ever home. But one night I found my pipe and slippers laid outfor me, and the evening paper neatly folded on my chair, and it broughtme up short. Marge had been extremely docile lately. We hadn't had agood fight in days. Weeks, come to think of it.     I thought it over and shrugged. Old age, I figured. She was bound tomellow sometime.     But pretty soon I began to wonder if she wasn't mellowing a little toomuch.     One night when I got home, she kissed me almost as though she reallymeant it. There wasn't an unpleasant word all through dinner, whichhappened to be steak with mushrooms, served in the dining room (!) bycandlelight (!!) with dinner music that Marge could never bear, chieflybecause I liked it.     We sat over coffee and cigarettes, and it seemed almost like oldtimes.      Very     old times, in fact I even caught myself looking at Margeagain—really      looking     at her, watching the light catch in her hair,almost admiring the sparkle in her brown eyes. Sparkle, I said, notglint.     As I mentioned before, Marge was always easy to look at. That night,she was practically ravishing.     What are you doing to her? I asked George Prime later, out in theworkshop.     Why, nothing, said George Prime, looking innocent. He couldn't foolme with his look, though, because it was exactly the look I use whenI'm guilty and pretending to be innocent.     There must be      something     .     George Prime shrugged. Any woman will warm up if you spend enough timetelling her all the things she wants to hear and pay all the attentionto her that she wants paid to her. That's elemental psychology. I cangive you page references.     I ought to mention that George Prime had a complete set of basic textsrun into his circuits, at a slightly additional charge. Never can tellwhen an odd bit of information will come in useful.     Well, you must be doing quite a job, I said.      I'd     never managed towarm Marge up much.     I try, said George Prime.     Oh, I'm not complaining, I hastened to add, forgetting that a Prime'sfeelings can't be hurt and that he was only acting like me because itwas in character. I was just curious.     Of course, George.     I'm really delighted that you're doing so well.     Thank you, George.     But the next night when I was with Dawn, who happens to be a gorgeousredhead who could put Marge to shame on practically any field of battleexcept maybe brains, I kept thinking about Marge all evening long, andwondering if things weren't getting just a little out of hand.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the role of Peri in the story INNOCENT AT LARGE?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of the storyline in The CONJURER of VENUS? [SEP] <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 SOUL EATERS     By WILLIAM CONOVER     Firebrand Dennis Brooke had one final chance     to redeem himself by capturing Koerber whose     ships were the scourge of the Void. But his     luck had run its course, and now he was     marooned on a rogue planet—fighting to save     himself from a menace weapons could not kill.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Fall 1944.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]            And so, my dear     , Dennis detected a faint irony in the phrase,       I'mafraid I can offer no competition to the beauties of five planets—oris it six? With regret I bow myself out, and knowing me as you do,you'll understand the futility of trying to convince me again. Anyway,there will be no temptation, for I'm sailing on a new assignment I'veaccepted. I did love you.... Good-by.          Dennis Brooke had lost count of the times he'd read Marla's lastletter, but every time he came to these final, poignant lines, theynever failed to conjure a vision of her tawny loveliness, slender asthe palms of Venus, and of the blue ecstasy of her eyes, wide with aperpetual wonder—limpid as a child's.     The barbaric rhythms of the      Congahua     , were a background of annoyancein Dennis' mind; he frowned slightly as the maneuvers of the Mercuriandancer, who writhed among the guests of the notorious pleasure palace,began to leave no doubt as to her intentions. The girl was beautiful,in a sultry, almost incandescent sort of way, but her open promise lefthim cold. He wanted solitude, somewhere to coordinate his thoughtsin silence and salvage something out of the wreck of his heart, notto speak of his career. But Venus, in the throes of a gigantic boomupon the discovery of radio-active fields, could offer only onesolitude—the fatal one of her swamps and virgin forests.     Dennis Brooke was thirty, the time when youth no longer seems unending.When the minor adventures of the heart begin to pall. If the loss ofMarla left an aching void that all the women of five planets could notfill, the loss of Space, was quite as deadly. For he had been grounded.True, Koerber's escape from the I.S.P. net had not quite been hisfault; but had he not been enjoying the joys of a voluptuous JovianChamber, in Venus' fabulous Inter-planetary Palace, he would have beenready for duty to complete the last link in the net of I.S.P. cruisersthat almost surrounded the space pirate.     A night in the Jovian Chamber, was to be emperor for one night. Everydream of a man's desire was marvelously induced through the skilful useof hypnotics; the rarest viands and most delectable drinks appeared asif by magic; the unearthly peace of an Olympus descended on a man'ssoul, and beauty ... beauty such as men dreamed of was a warm realityunder the ineffable illumination of the Chamber.     It cost a young fortune. But to pleasure mad, boom-ridden Venus, afortune was a bagatelle. Only it had cost Dennis Brooke far more than asheaf of credits—it had cost him the severe rebuff of the I.S.P., andmost of his heart in Marla.     Dennis sighed, he tilted his red, curly head and drank deeply of theinsidious      Verbena     , fragrant as a mint garden, in the tall frostyglass of Martian      Bacca-glas     , and as he did so, his brilliant hazeleyes found themselves gazing into the unwinking, violet stare of ayoung Martian at the next table. There was a smouldering hatred inthose eyes, and something else ... envy, perhaps, or was it jealousy?Dennis couldn't tell. But his senses became instantly alert. Dangerbrought a faint vibration which his superbly trained faculties couldinstantly denote.     His steady, bronzed hand lowered the drink, and his eyes narrowedslightly. Absorbed in trying to puzzle the sudden enmity of thisMartian stranger, he was unaware of the Mercurian Dancer. The latterhad edged closer, whirling in prismatic flashes from the myriadsemi-precious stones that studded her brief gauze skirt. And now, ina final bid for the spacer's favor she flung herself in his lap andtilted back invitingly.     Some of the guests laughed, others stared in plain envy at thehandsome, red-haired spacer, but from the table across, came thetinkling sound of a fragile glass being crushed in a powerful hand,and a muffled Martian curse. Without warning, the Martian was on hisfeet with the speed of an Hellacorium, the table went crashing to oneside as he leaped with deadly intent on the sprawled figure of DennisBrooke. A high-pitched scream brought instant silence as a Terran girlcried out. Then the Martian's hand reached out hungrily. But Dennis wasnot there.  <doc-sep>  The CONJURER of VENUS     By CONAN T. TROY       A world-famed Earth scientist had disappeared on Venus.       When Johnson found him, he found too the secret to that       globe-shaking mystery—the fabulous Room of The Dreaming.       [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories November 1952.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      The city dripped with rain. Crossing the street toward the dive,Johnson got rain in his eyes, his nose, and his ears. That was the waywith the rain here. It came at you from all directions. There had beenoccasions when Johnson had thought the rain was falling straight up.Otherwise, how had the insides of his pants gotten wet?     On Venus, everything came at you from all directions, it seemed toJohnson. Opening the door of the joint, it was noise instead of rainthat came at him, the wild frantic beat of a Venusian rhumba, thenotes pounding and jumping through the smoke and perfume clouded room.Feeling states came at him, intangible, but to his trained senses,perceptible emotional nuances of hate, love, fear, and rage. But mostlylove. Since this place had been designed to excite the senses of bothhumans and Venusians, the love feelings were heavily tinged withstraight sex. He sniffed at them, feeling them somewhere inside of him,aware of them but aware also that here was apprehension, and plain fear.     Caldwell, sitting in a booth next to the door, glanced up as Johnsonentered but neither Caldwell's facial expression or his eyes revealedthat he had ever seen this human before. Nor did Johnson seem torecognize Caldwell.     Is the mighty human wanting liquor, a woman or dreams? His voicewas all soft syllables of liquid sound. The Venusian equivalent of aheadwaiter was bowing to him.     I'll have a tarmur to start, Johnson said. How are the dreamstonight?     Ze vill be the most wonserful of all sonight. The great Unger hisselfwill be here to do ze dreaming. There is no ozzer one who has quitehis touch at dreaming, mighty one. The headwaiter spread his handsin a gesture indicating ecstasy. It is my great regret that I must doze work tonight instead of being wiz ze dreamers. Ah, ze great Ungerhisself! The headwaiter kissed the tips of his fingers.     Um, Johnson said. The great Unger! His voice expressed surprise,just the right amount of it. I'll have a tarmur to start but when doesthe dreaming commence?     In one zonar or maybe less. Shall I make ze reservations for ze mightyone? As he was speaking, the headwaiter was deftly conducting Johnsonto the bar.     Not just yet, Johnson said. See me a little later.     But certainly. The headwaiter was gone into the throng. Johnson wasat the bar. Behind it, a Venusian was bowing to him. Tarmur, Johnsonsaid. The green drink was set before him. He held it up to the light,admiring the slow rise of the tiny golden bubbles in it. To him,watching the bubbles rise was perhaps more important than drinkingitself.     Beautiful, aren't they? a soft voice said. He glanced to his right.A girl had slid into the stool beside him. She wore a green dress cutvery low at the throat. Her skin had the pleasant tan recently onEarth. Her hair was a shade of abundant brown and her eyes were blue,the color of the skies of Earth. A necklace circled her throat andbelow the necklace ... Johnson felt his pulse quicken, for two reasons.Women such as this one had been quickening the pulse of men since thedays of Adam. The second reason concerned her presence here in thisplace where no woman in her right mind ever came unescorted. Her eyessmiled up at him unafraid. Didn't she know there were men present herein this space port city who would snatch her bodily from the barstool and carry her away for sleeping purposes? And Venusians werehere who would cut her pretty throat for the sake of the necklace thatcircled it?     They      are     beautiful, he said, smiling.     Thank you.     I was referring to the bubbles.     You were talking about my eyes, she answered, unperturbed.     How did you know? I mean....     I am very knowing, the girl said, smiling.     Are you sufficiently knowing to be here?     For an instant, as if doubt crossed her mind, the smile flickered. Thenit came again, stronger. Aren't you here?     Johnson choked as bubbles from the tarmur seemed to go suddenly up hisnose. My dear child ... he sputtered.     I am not a child, she answered with a firm sureness that left nodoubt in his mind that she knew what she was saying. And my name isVee Vee.     Vee Vee? Um. That is....     Don't you think it's a nice name?     I certainly do. Probably the rest of it is even nicer.     There is no more of it. Just Vee Vee. Like Topsy, I just grew.  <doc-sep>Lethla half-crouched in the midst of the smell of death and thechugging of blood-pumps below. In the silence he reached up with quickfingers, tapped a tiny crystal stud upon the back of his head, and thehalves of a microscopically thin chrysalis parted transparently offof his face. He shucked it off, trailing air-tendrils that had beeninserted, hidden in the uniform, ending in thin globules of oxygen.     He spoke. Triumph warmed his crystal-thin voice. That's how I did it,Earthman.     Glassite! said Rice. A face-moulded mask of glassite!     Lethla nodded. His milk-blue eyes dilated. Very marvelously pared toan unbreakable thickness of one-thirtieth of an inch; worn only on thehead. You have to look quickly to notice it, and, unfortunately, viewedas you saw it, outside the ship, floating in the void, not discernibleat all.     Prickles of sweat appeared on Rice's face. He swore at the Venusian andthe Venusian laughed like some sort of stringed instrument, high andquick.     Burnett laughed, too. Ironically. First time in years a man ever cameaboard the Constellation alive. It's a welcome change.     Lethla showed his needle-like teeth. I thought it might be. Where'syour radio?     Go find it! snapped Rice, hotly.     I will. One hand, blue-veined, on the ladder-rungs, Lethla paused.I know you're weaponless; Purple Cross regulations. And this air-lockis safe. Don't move. Whispering, his naked feet padded white up theladder. Two long breaths later something crashed; metal and glass andcoils. The radio.     Burnett put his shoulder blades against the wall-metal, looking at hisfeet. When he glanced up, Rice's fresh, animated face was spoiled bythe new bitterness in it.     Lethla came down. Like a breath of air on the rungs.     He smiled. That's better. Now. We can talk—     Rice said it, slow:     Interplanetary law declares it straight, Lethla! Get out! Only deadmen belong here.     Lethla's gun grip tightened. More talk of that nature, and only deadmen there will be. He blinked. But first—we must rescue Kriere....     Kriere! Rice acted as if he had been hit in the jaw.     Burnett moved his tongue back and forth on his lips silently, his eyeslidded, listening to the two of them as if they were a radio drama.Lethla's voice came next:     Rather unfortunately, yes. He's still alive, heading toward Venusat an orbital velocity of two thousand m.p.h., wearing one of theseair-chrysali. Enough air for two more hours. Our flag ship was attackedunexpectedly yesterday near Mars. We were forced to take to thelife-boats, scattering, Kriere and I in one, the others sacrificingtheir lives to cover our escape. We were lucky. We got through theEarth cordon unseen. But luck can't last forever.     We saw your morgue ship an hour ago. It's a long, long way to Venus.We were running out of fuel, food, water. Radio was broken. Capturewas certain. You were coming our way; we took the chance. We set asmall time-bomb to destroy the life-rocket, and cast off, wearing ourchrysali-helmets. It was the first time we had ever tried using them totrick anyone. We knew you wouldn't know we were alive until it was toolate and we controlled your ship. We knew you picked up all bodies forbrief exams, returning alien corpses to space later.     Rice's voice was sullen. A set-up for you, huh? Traveling under theprotection of the Purple Cross you can get your damned All-Mighty safeto Venus.     Lethla bowed slightly. Who would suspect a Morgue Rocket of providingsafe hiding for precious Venusian cargo?     Precious is the word for you, brother! said Rice.     Enough! Lethla moved his gun several inches.     Accelerate toward Venus, mote-detectors wide open. Kriere must bepicked up—      now!       <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>They walked toward the ugly red mound that jutted above the green. Whenthey came close enough, he saw the bodies lying there ... the remains,actually, of what had once been bodies. He felt too sickened to go onwalking.     It may seem cruel now, she said, but the Martians realized thatthere is no cure for the will to conquer. There is no safety from it,either, as the people of Earth and Venus discovered, unless it isgiven an impossible obstacle to overcome. So the Martians provided theConquerors with a mountain. They themselves wanted to climb. They hadto.     He was hardly listening as he walked away from Helene toward the erodedhills. The crew members of the first four ships were skeletons tiedtogether with imperishably strong rope about their waists. Far beyondthem were those from      Mars V     , too freshly dead to have decayedmuch ... Anhauser with his rope cut, a bullet in his head; Jacobs andMarsha and the others ... Terrence much past them all. He had managedto climb higher than anyone else and he lay with his arms stretchedout, his fingers still clutching at rock outcroppings.     The trail they left wound over the ground, chipped in places for holds,red elsewhere with blood from torn hands. Terrence was more than twelvemiles from the ship—horizontally.     Bruce lifted Marsha and carried her back over the rocky dust, into thefresh fragrance of the high grass, and across it to the shade and peacebeside the canal.     He put her down. She looked peaceful enough, more peaceful than thatother time, years ago, when the two of them seemed to have shared somuch, when the future had not yet destroyed her. He saw the shadow ofHelene bend across Marsha's face against the background of the silentlyflowing water of the cool, green canal.     You loved her?     Once, Bruce said. She might have been sane. They got her when shewas young. Too young to fight. But she would have, I think, if she'dbeen older when they got her.     He sat looking down at Marsha's face, and then at the water with theleaves floating down it.     '... And the springs that flow on the floor of the valley will neverseem fresh or clear for thinking of the glitter of the mountain waterin the feathery green of the year....'     He stood up, walked back with Helene along the canal toward the calmcity. He didn't look back.     They've all been dead quite a while, Bruce said wonderingly. YetI seemed to be hearing from Terrence until only a short time ago.Are—are the climbers still climbing—somewhere, Helene?     Who knows? Helene answered softly. Maybe. I doubt if even theMartians have the answer to that.     They entered the city.   <doc-sep>Dimdooly—the mighty, the lordly, who had sneered at the sight of mereEarthmen kowtowing to a mere woman—swelled up fit to blow his gaskets,then all the gas went out of him. His ear beards, however, still hadenough zip left to flutter like butterflies. Yes, Trillium dear. Ilove only you. Please marry me at your earliest convenience.     Well, Grandmamma, Trillium said with a highly self-satisfied air, itworks. And just like you said, Earthmen meant nothing once I knew weVenus women had our own men in our power.     Those crewmen there, Grandmamma President said, seem to be proofenough that we Venus women no longer radiate any threat to Earth'stranquility.     Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly sure felt like proof of something all of a sudden.Worse than the hangover from that crap game with Venus vino. He lookedaway from Trillium and took a look at Callahan. Old guy looked awayfrom Grandmamma President like he was packing the second biggestheadache in history.     Hmmmm, yes, Madame President of Earth observed. Reactions agreeperfectly with the psychoanalytical research project we have beenconducting on the subject of the Venus female influence. MadamePresident of Venus, congratulations on your victory!     Long may the superior sex reign on Venus too! We shall be delighted toreceive an Ambassadoress to discuss a new trade treaty at your earliestconvenience.     Thank you for cancelling the old trade agreements at the psychologicalmoment, Grandmamma President said cordially. What with thecommunications mixup, we managed to have the scenes on these panelsbroadcast throughout all Venus. When the rug went out from under thetop man, the tide really turned in our favor. Now, Trillium, you takeover Dimmy's credentials.     The Ambassadorial Suite, too, Madame President of Earth saidgraciously. Anything else now, Berta?     I should like, Grandmamma President Berta said charmingly, thatMr. O'Rielly and Mr. Callahan be suitably rewarded for assisting ourrevolution better than they knew.     Of course, Madame President of Earth was delighted to oblige. Nodoubt Captain Hatwoody knows what reward would satisfy their needsbest.     The Madame Presidents switched to a private circuit, Trillium draggedDimdooly off somewhere and the Old Woman eyed O'Rielly and Callahan.Especially she eyed Callahan, like running chilled drills through hisold conniving brain. I award the pair of you five minutes leisurebefore returning to your stations.     Oh, well, O'Rielly muttered, once he and Callahan were safely beyondearshot, could have been rewarded worse, I suppose.     What you expect for being flimflammed by a foreign dame, the rings ofSaturn? Lucky we ain't programmed to be hung, shot and thrown to thecrows for breakfast. Callahan's old pick-and-shovel face wore a littlegrin like the cat that nobody could prove ate the canary.     You—I mean, that Earth guy a hundred twenty-five years ago, O'Riellysaid in sudden thought. If Venus dames wanted to be loved so bad, whydid Trillium's Grandmamma let him go?     Venus guys wasn't so busy playing war all the time, Callahan mumbled,like to himself, they'd of found out the answer centuries ago. Yep,guess our boy was the only guy on Earth or Venus to find out and live.Dames bossing both planets now, though, his old secret won't be onemuch longer. Venus dames could of let it out centuries ago themselvesbut didn't, just to spite Earth probably. Later, was part of organizingto take over Venus, I guess.     O'Rielly still had memories of the way he had felt about Trilliumbefore her revolution. All right, Callahan, why did 'our boy' leaveGrandmamma?     Yes, ma'am, Callahan sighed like he hadn't heard a word O'Riellysaid, you could sweet-talk 'em, kiss 'em and hold 'em tighter'nBilly-be-damned. And that's all.     I'm not sure, O'Rielly said, what you mean by, 'that's all.'     Anybody ever seen anybody but a Venus guy come built with ear beards?Course not.     But I thought our boy was wearing the best fakes ever.     Ain't nothing can match the natural growed-on variety, no, ma'am.Venus guy kisses a Venus dame, his beards grabs her roundst the ears.     So what?     Tickles 'em, boy, tickles 'em!   <doc-sep>Obviously Trillium's poor little brain has been drugged, HisExcellency Dimdooly declared. Grandmamma Berta wouldn't know the firstthing about such things!     Impossible! Grandpapa President agreed. I've been married to herfor a hundred and twenty-four and a half years and she's the finestrattle-brain I ever knew!     She learned, Trillium stated emphatically, a hundred and twenty-fiveyears ago.     Hundred twenty-five, Grandpapa president growled like a boilingvolcano. The year some Earthman.... Never did catch the devil....Berta? Impossible!     Madame President's shapely finger now rested full on the button thatcould launch the fleets of war rockets that had been pre-aimed for athousand years. I'm afraid your Ambassador is unwelcome now, MadamePresident stated coolly. Your granddaughter's actions have every markof an invasion tactic by your government.     What do you mean, her actions? Grandpapa President's finger now laypoised on the button that had been waiting a thousand years to blowEarth out of the universe. My grandchild was kidnapped by men underyour official command! Weren't you, Trillium dear?     No. One of us stowing away was the only way we Venus women could bringour cause to the attention of Earth's President. If Earth will onlystop buying from Venus, you won't have any money to squander on yourwars any longer no matter what happens to we revolutionaries!     Revolutionaries? Such claptrap! And what's wrong with my wars? Peoplehave to have something to keep their minds off their troubles! Nobodyaround here gets hurt. Oh, maybe a few scratches here and there. Butnobody on Venus dies from the things any more.     But Venus men are so excited all the time about going to war theyhaven't time for us women. That's why we always radiated such a fatalattraction for Earthmen. We want to be loved! We want our own men homedoing useful work!     Well, they do come home and do useful work! Couple weeks every tenmonths. Proven to be a highly efficient arrangement.     More boys to run off to your old wars and more girls to stay home andbe lonely!     Now you just listen to me, Trillium! Grandpapa President was allVenus manhood laying down the law. That's the way things have been onVenus for ten thousand years and all the women in the universe can'tchange it!     I have been in constant contact with my Cabinet during theseconversations, Madame President said crisply. Earth is terminatingall trade agreements with Venus as of this instant.     What? Grandpapa's beards near pulled his ears off. It's not legal!You can't get away with this!     Take your finger off that trigger, boy! a heavenly voice similar toTrillium's advised from the Venus panel.     Whereupon Grandpapa glared to one side. Berta! What are you doinghere? I am deciding matters of the gravest interplanetary nature!     Were. Features more beautifully mature than Trillium's crowded ontothe panel too. From now on I'm doing the deciding.     Nonsense! You're only my wife!     And new President of Venus, elected by unanimous vote of all women.     Impossible! The men run Venus! Nobody's turning this planet intoanother Earth where a man can't even sneeze unless some woman says so!     Take him away, girls, Berta ordered coolly, whereupon her spouse wasyanked from view.     His bellows, however, could be heard yet. Unhand me, you foolcreatures! Guards! Guards!     Save your breath, Berta advised him. And while you're in the cooler,enjoy this latest batch of surrender communiques. We women are incontrol everywhere now.     Dimmy, Trillium was saying firmly to His Excellency, you have beataround the bush with me long enough. Now say it!  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in The CONJURER of VENUS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the role of Johnson in The CONJURER of VENUS? [SEP] <s>  The CONJURER of VENUS     By CONAN T. TROY       A world-famed Earth scientist had disappeared on Venus.       When Johnson found him, he found too the secret to that       globe-shaking mystery—the fabulous Room of The Dreaming.       [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories November 1952.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      The city dripped with rain. Crossing the street toward the dive,Johnson got rain in his eyes, his nose, and his ears. That was the waywith the rain here. It came at you from all directions. There had beenoccasions when Johnson had thought the rain was falling straight up.Otherwise, how had the insides of his pants gotten wet?     On Venus, everything came at you from all directions, it seemed toJohnson. Opening the door of the joint, it was noise instead of rainthat came at him, the wild frantic beat of a Venusian rhumba, thenotes pounding and jumping through the smoke and perfume clouded room.Feeling states came at him, intangible, but to his trained senses,perceptible emotional nuances of hate, love, fear, and rage. But mostlylove. Since this place had been designed to excite the senses of bothhumans and Venusians, the love feelings were heavily tinged withstraight sex. He sniffed at them, feeling them somewhere inside of him,aware of them but aware also that here was apprehension, and plain fear.     Caldwell, sitting in a booth next to the door, glanced up as Johnsonentered but neither Caldwell's facial expression or his eyes revealedthat he had ever seen this human before. Nor did Johnson seem torecognize Caldwell.     Is the mighty human wanting liquor, a woman or dreams? His voicewas all soft syllables of liquid sound. The Venusian equivalent of aheadwaiter was bowing to him.     I'll have a tarmur to start, Johnson said. How are the dreamstonight?     Ze vill be the most wonserful of all sonight. The great Unger hisselfwill be here to do ze dreaming. There is no ozzer one who has quitehis touch at dreaming, mighty one. The headwaiter spread his handsin a gesture indicating ecstasy. It is my great regret that I must doze work tonight instead of being wiz ze dreamers. Ah, ze great Ungerhisself! The headwaiter kissed the tips of his fingers.     Um, Johnson said. The great Unger! His voice expressed surprise,just the right amount of it. I'll have a tarmur to start but when doesthe dreaming commence?     In one zonar or maybe less. Shall I make ze reservations for ze mightyone? As he was speaking, the headwaiter was deftly conducting Johnsonto the bar.     Not just yet, Johnson said. See me a little later.     But certainly. The headwaiter was gone into the throng. Johnson wasat the bar. Behind it, a Venusian was bowing to him. Tarmur, Johnsonsaid. The green drink was set before him. He held it up to the light,admiring the slow rise of the tiny golden bubbles in it. To him,watching the bubbles rise was perhaps more important than drinkingitself.     Beautiful, aren't they? a soft voice said. He glanced to his right.A girl had slid into the stool beside him. She wore a green dress cutvery low at the throat. Her skin had the pleasant tan recently onEarth. Her hair was a shade of abundant brown and her eyes were blue,the color of the skies of Earth. A necklace circled her throat andbelow the necklace ... Johnson felt his pulse quicken, for two reasons.Women such as this one had been quickening the pulse of men since thedays of Adam. The second reason concerned her presence here in thisplace where no woman in her right mind ever came unescorted. Her eyessmiled up at him unafraid. Didn't she know there were men present herein this space port city who would snatch her bodily from the barstool and carry her away for sleeping purposes? And Venusians werehere who would cut her pretty throat for the sake of the necklace thatcircled it?     They      are     beautiful, he said, smiling.     Thank you.     I was referring to the bubbles.     You were talking about my eyes, she answered, unperturbed.     How did you know? I mean....     I am very knowing, the girl said, smiling.     Are you sufficiently knowing to be here?     For an instant, as if doubt crossed her mind, the smile flickered. Thenit came again, stronger. Aren't you here?     Johnson choked as bubbles from the tarmur seemed to go suddenly up hisnose. My dear child ... he sputtered.     I am not a child, she answered with a firm sureness that left nodoubt in his mind that she knew what she was saying. And my name isVee Vee.     Vee Vee? Um. That is....     Don't you think it's a nice name?     I certainly do. Probably the rest of it is even nicer.     There is no more of it. Just Vee Vee. Like Topsy, I just grew.  <doc-sep>What the devil are you doing here on Venus and here in this place?     Growing. The blue eyes were unafraid.     Sombrely, Johnson regarded her. What was she doing here? Was she inthe employ of the Venusians? If she was being planted on him, thenhis purpose here was suspected. He shrugged the thought aside. If hispurpose here was suspected, there would be no point in planting a womanon him.     There would only be the minor matter of slipping a knife into his back.     In this city, as on all of Venus, humans died easily. No one questionedthe motives of the killer.     You look as if you were considering some very grave matter, Vee Veesaid.     Not any longer, he laughed.     You have decided them?     Yes.     Every last one of them?     Oh, there might be one or two matters undecided somewhere, say out onthe periphery of the galaxy. But we will solve them when we get tothem. He waved vaguely toward the roof and the sky of space hiddenbehind the clouds that lay over the roof, glanced around as a man easedhimself into an empty stool on his left. The man was Caldwell.     Zlock! Caldwell said, to the bartender. Make it snappy. Gotta havezlock. Finest damn drink in the solar system. Caldwell's voice wasthick, his tongue heavy. Johnson's eyes went back to the girl but outof the corner of them he watched Caldwell's hand lying on the bar. Thefingers were beating a quick nervous tattoo on the yellow wood.     I haven't seen him, Caldwell's fingers beat out their tattoo. But Ithink he is, or was, here.     Um, Johnson said, his eyes on Vee Vee. How—     Because that girl was asking for him, Caldwell's fingers answered.Watch that girl! Picking up the zlock, he lurched away from the bar.     Your friend is not as drunk as he seems, Vee Vee said, watchingCaldwell.     My friend? Do you mean that drunk? I never saw him—     Lying is one of the deadly sins. Her eyes twinkled at him. Under themerriment that danced in them there was ice. Johnson felt cold.     The reservations for ze dreaming, great one? The headwaiter wasbowing and scraping in front of him. The great one has decided, yes?     The dreaming! Vee Vee looked suddenly alert. Of course. We must seethe dreaming. Everyone wants to see the dreaming. We will go, won't wedarling? She hooked her hand into Johnson's elbow.     Certainly, Johnson said. The decision was made on the spur of themoment. That there was danger in it, he did not doubt. But there mightbe something else. And      he     might be there.     Oh. But very good. Ze great Unger, you will love him! The headwaiterclutched the gold coins that Johnson extended, bowed himself out ofsight.     Say, I want to know more— Johnson began. His words were drowned ina blast of trumpets. The band that had been playing went into suddensilence. Waves of perfume began to flow into the place. The perfumeswere blended, but one aroma was prominent among them, the sweet,cloying, soul-stirring perfume of the Dreamer.     In the suddenly hushed place little sounds began to appear as Venusiansand humans began to shift their feet and their bodies in anticipationof what was to happen.     The trumpets flared again.     On one side of the place, a big door began to swing slowly open. Frombeyond that slowly opening door came music, soft, muted strains thatsounded like lutes from heaven.     Vee Vee, her hand on Johnson's elbow, rose. Johnson stood up withher. He got the surprise of his life as her fingers clenched, digginginto his muscles. Pain shot through his arm, paralyzing it and almostparalyzing him. He knew instantly that she was using the Karmer nerveblock paralysis on him. His left hand moved with lightning speed, thetips of his fingers striking savagely against her shoulder.     She gasped, her face whitened as pain shot through her in response tothe thrust of his finger tips. Her hand that had been digging into hiselbow lost its grip, dropped away and hung limp at her side. Grabbingit, she began to massage it.     You—you— Hot anger and shock were in her voice. You're the firstman I ever knew who could break the Karmer nerve paralysis.     And you're the first woman who ever tried it on me.     But—     Shall we go watch the dreaming? He took the arm that still hung limpat her side and tucked it into his elbow.     If you try to use the Karmer grip on me again I'll break your arm, hesaid. His voice was low but there was a wealth of meaning in it.     I won't do it again, the girl said stoutly. I never make the samemistake twice.     Good, Johnson said.     The second time we break our victim's neck, Vee Vee said.     What a sweet, charming child you—     I told you before, I'm not a child.     Child vampire, Johnson said. Let me finish my sentences before youinterrupt.     She was silent. A smile, struggling to appear on her face, seemed tosay she held no malice. Her fingers tightened on Johnson's arm. Hetensed, expecting the nerve block grip again. Instead with the tips ofher fingers she gently patted his arm.     There, there, darling, relax, she said. I know a better way to getyou than by using the Karmer grip.     What way?     Her eyes sparkled. Eve's way, she answered.     Um! Surprise sounded in his grunt. But apples don't grow on Venus.     Eve's daughters don't use apples any more, darling. Come along.     Moving toward the open door that led to the Room of the Dreaming,Johnson saw that Caldwell had risen and was following them. Caldwell'sface was writhing in apprehensive agony and he was making warningsigns. Johnson ignored them. With Vee Vee's fingers lightly patting hisarm, they moved into the Room of the Dreaming.      II     It was a huge, semi-illumined room, with tier on tier of circling rampsrising up from an open space at the bottom. There ought to have beena stage there at the bottom, but there wasn't. Instead there was anopen space, a mat, and a head rest. Up at the top of the circling rampsthe room was in darkness, a fit hiding place for ghosts or Venusianwerewolves. Pillows and a thick rug covered the circling ramps.     The soul-quickening Perfume of the Dreamer was stronger here. Thethrobbing of the lutes was louder. It was Venusian music the lutes wereplaying. Human ears found it inharmonious at first, but as they becameaccustomed to it, they began to detect rhythms and melodies that humanminds had not known existed. The room was pleasantly cool but it hadthe feel of dampness. A world that was rarely without pelting rainwould have the feel of dampness in its dreaming rooms.     The music playing strange harmonies in his ears, the perfume sendingtingling feelings through his nose, Johnson entered the Room of theDreamer. He suspected that other forces, unknown to him, were catchinghold of his senses. He had been in dreaming rooms many times before buthe had not grown accustomed to them. He wondered if any human everdid. A touch of chill always came over him as he crossed the threshold.In entering these places, it was as if some unknown nerve centerinside the human organism was touched by something, some force, someradiation, some subtlety, that quite escaped radiation. He felt thecoldness now.     Vee Vee's fingers left off patting his arm.     Do you feel it, darling?     Yes.     What is it?     How would I know?     Please! Her voice grew sharp. I think Johnny Johnson ought to know.     Johnny! How do you know my name?     Shouldn't I recognize one of Earth's foremost scientists, even if heis incognito on Venus? Her voice had a teasing quality in it.     But—     And who besides Johnny Johnson would recognize the Karmer nerve gripand be able to break it instantly?     Hell—     John Michael Johnson, known as Johnny to his friends, Earth's foremostexpert in the field of electro-magnetic radiations within the humanbody! Her words were needles of icy fact, each one jabbing deeper anddeeper into him.     And how would I make certain you were Johnny Johnson, except by seeingif you could break the Karmer nerve grip? If you could break it, thenthere was no doubt who you were! Her words went on and on.     Who are you? His words were blasts of sound.     Please, darling, you are making a scene. I am sure this is the lastthing you really want to do.     He looked quickly around them. The Venusians and humans moving intothis room seemed to be paying no attention to him. His gaze came backto her.     Again she patted his arm. Relax, darling. Your secrets are safe withme.     A gray color came up inside his soul. But—but— His voice wassuddenly weak.     The fingers on his arm were very gentle. No harm will come to you. AmI not with you?     That's what I'm afraid of! he snapped at her. If he had had achoice, he might have drawn back. But with circumstances as theywere—his life, Caldwell's life, possibly Vee Vee's life hung in thebalance. Didn't she know that this was true? And as for Martin—ButCaldwell had said that she had been asking about Martin. Whatconnection did she have with that frantic human genius he sought here?     Johnson felt his skin crawl. He moved toward a nest of cushions ona ramp, found a Venusian was beating him to them, deftly changed toanother nest, found it. Vee Vee flowed to the floor on his right, movedcushions to make him more comfortable. She moved in an easy sort of waythat was all flowing movement. He sat down. Someone bumped him on theleft.     Sorry, bud. Didn't mean to bump into you. Caldwell's voice was stillthick and heavy. He sprawled to the floor on Johnson's left. Underthe man's coat, Johnson caught a glimpse of a slight bulge, the zitgun hidden there. His left arm pressed against his own coat, feelinghis own zit gun. Operating under gas pressure, throwing a charge ofgas-driven corvel, the zit guns were not only almost noiseless inoperation but they knocked out a human or a Venusian in a matter ofseconds.     True, the person they knocked unconscious would be all right the nextday. For this reason, many people did not regard the zit guns aseffective weapons, but Johnson had a fondness for them. The feel of thelittle weapon inside his coat sent a surge of comfort through him.     The music picked up a beat, perfume seemed to flow even more freelythrough the air, the lights dimmed almost to darkness, a single brightspotlight appeared in the ceiling, casting a circle of brilliantillumination on the mat and the headrest at the bottom of the room. Thecurtain rose.  <doc-sep>Joe was still dazed by that monetary vista when he and Harvey carriedthe case of medicine to the saloon. The mayor had already cleared aplace of honor in the cluttered back room, where he told them to put itdown carefully. Then he took the elaborate bottle-opener Harvey gavehim, reverently uncorked a bottle and sampled it. It must have been atleast as good as the first; he gagged.     That's the stuff, all right, he said, swallowing hard. He countedout the money into Harvey's hand, at a moderate rate that precariouslybalanced between his pleasure at getting the fever remedy and his painat paying for it. Then he glanced out to see the position of Jupiter,and asked: You gents eaten yet? The restaurant's open now.     Harvey and Joe looked at each other. They hadn't been thinking aboutfood at all, but suddenly they realized that they were hungry.     It's only water we were short of, Harvey said apprehensively. We'vegot rations back at the ship.           H-mph!      the mayor grunted. Powdered concentrates. Compressed pap.Suit yourselves. We treat our stomachs better here. And you're welcometo our hospitality.     Your hospitality, said Harvey, depends on the prices you charge.     Well, if that's what's worrying you, you can stop worrying, answeredthe mayor promptly. What's more, the kind of dinner I serve here youcan't get anywhere else for any price.     Swiftly, Harvey conned the possibilities of being bilked again. He sawnone.     Let's take a look at the menu, anyhow, Joe, he said guardedly.     Johnson immediately fell into the role of mine host.     Come right in, gents, he invited. Right into the dining room.     He seated them at a table, which a rope tied between posts made more orless private, though nobody else was in the saloon and there was littlechance of company.     Genius, the six-armed native, appeared from the dingy kitchen withtwo menus in one hand, two glasses of water in another, plus napkins,silverware, a pitcher, plates, saucers, cups, and their cocktails,which were on the house. Then he stood by for orders.     Harvey and Joe studied the menu critically. The prices werephenomenally low. When they glanced up at Johnson in perplexity, hegrinned, bowed and asked: Everything satisfactory, gents?     Quite, said Harvey. We shall order.     For an hour they were served amazing dishes, both fresh and canned, theculinary wealth of this planetoid and all the system. And the servicewas as extraordinary as the meal itself. With four hands, Genius playeddeftly upon a pair of mellow Venusian      viotars     , using his other twohands for waiting on the table.     We absolutely must purchase this incredible specimen, Harveywhispered excitedly when Johnson and the native were both in thekitchen, attending to the next course. He would make any societyhostess's season a riotous success, which should be worth a great sumto women like Mrs. van Schuyler-Morgan, merely for his hire.     Think of a fast one fast, Joe agreed. You're right.     But I dislike having to revise my opinion of a man so often,complained Harvey. I wish Johnson would stay either swindler or honestmerchant. This dinner is worth as least twenty buckos, yet I estimateour check at a mere bucko twenty redsents.     The mayor's appearance prevented them from continuing the discussion.     It's been a great honor, gents, he said. Ain't often I havevisitors, and I like the best, like you two gents.     As if on cue, Genius came out and put the check down between Joe andHarvey. Harvey picked it up negligently, but his casual air vanished ina yelp of horror.     What the devil is this? he shouted.—How do you arrive at thisfantastic, idiotic figure—      three hundred and twenty-eight buckos     !  <doc-sep>Unger stood in the middle of the spot of light.     Johnson felt his chest muscles contract, then relax. Vee Vee's fingerssought his arm, not to harm him but running to him for protection. Hecaught the flutter of her breathing. On his left, Caldwell stiffenedand became a rock.     Johnson had not seen Unger appear. One second the circle of lighthad been empty, the next second the Venusian, smiling with all theimpassivity of a bland Buddha, was in the light. He weighed threehundred pounds if he weighed an ounce, he was clad in a long robethat would impede movement. He had appeared in the bright beam of thespotlight as if by magic.     Vee Vee's fingers dug deeper into Johnson's arm. How—     Shhh. Nobody knows.     No human knew the answer to that trick. Unless perhaps Martin—     Unger bowed. A little ripple of something that was not quite soundpassed through the audience. Unger bowed again. He stretched himselfflat on the mat, adjusted the rest to support his head, and apparentlywent to sleep. Johnson saw the Dreamer's eyes close, watched the chesttake on the even, regular rhythm of sleep.     The music changed, a slow dreamy tempo crept into it. Vee Vee's fingersdug at Johnson's arm as if they were trying to dig under his hide forprotection. She was shivering. He reached for her hand, patted it. Shedrew closer to him.     A few minutes earlier, she had been a very certain young woman, ableto take care of herself, and handle anyone around her. Now she wassuddenly uncertain, suddenly scared. In the Room of the Dreaming, shehad suddenly become a frightened child looking for protection.     Haven't you ever seen this before? he whispered.     N—o. She shivered again. Oh, Johnny....     Under the circle of light pouring down from the ceiling, the Dreamerlay motionless. Johnson found himself with the tendency to hold hisbreath. He was waiting, waiting, waiting—for what? The whole situationwas senseless, silly, but under its apparent lack of coherence, hesensed a pattern. Perhaps the path to the far-off stars passed thisway, through such scented and musical and impossible places as theseRooms of the Dreamers. Certainly Martin thought so. And Johnson himselfwas not prepared to disagree.     Around him, he saw that the Venusians were already going ... going ...going.... Some of them were already gone. This was an old experienceto them. They went rapidly. Humans went more slowly.     The Venusian watchers had relaxed. They looked as if they were asleep,perhaps in a hypnotic trance, lulled into this state by the musicand the perfume, and by something else. It was this something elsethat sent Johnson's thoughts pounding. The Venusians were like opiumsmokers. But he was not smoking opium. He was not in a hypnotic trance.He was wide awake and very much alert. He was ...       watching a space ship float in an endless void     .     As Unger had come into the spotlight, so the space ship had come intohis vision, out of nowhere, out of nothingness. The room, the Dreamer,the sound of the music, the sweetness of the perfume, Vee Vee andCaldwell were gone. They were no longer in his reality. They were notin the range of his vision. It was as if they did not exist. Yet heknew they did exist, the memory of them, and of other things, was outon the periphery of his universe, perhaps of      the     universe.     All he saw was the space ship.     It was a wonderful thing, perhaps the most beautiful sight he had seenin his life. At the sight of it, a deep glow sprang inside of him.     Back when he had been a kid he had dreamed of flight to the far-offstars. He had made models of space ships. In a way, they had shaped hisdestiny, had made him what he was. They had brought him where he wasthis night, to the Dream Room of a Venusian tavern.     The vision of the space ship floating in the void entranced andthrilled him. Something told him that this was real; that here and nowhe was making contact with a vision that belonged to time.     He started to his feet. Fingers gripped his arm.     Please, darling. You startled me. Don't move. Vee Vee's voice. Whowas Vee Vee?     The fingers dug into his arm. Pain came up in him. The space shipvanished. He looked with startled eyes at Vee Vee, at the Dream Room,at Unger, dreaming on the mat under the spot.     You ... you startled me, Vee Vee whispered. She released the grip onhis arm.     But, didn't you see it?     See what?     The space ship!     No. No. She seemed startled and a little terrified and half asleep.I ... I was watching something else. When you moved I broke contactwith my dream.     Your dream?     He asked a question but she did not answer it. Sit down, darling,and look at your damned space ship. Her voice was a taut whisper ofsound in the darkened room. Johnson settled down. A glance to his lefttold him that Caldwell was still sitting like a chunk of stone.... TheVenusians were quiet. The music had shifted. A slow languorous beatof hidden drums filled the room. There was another sound present, ahigh-speed whirring. It was, somehow, a familiar sound, but Johnson hadnot heard it before in this place.     He thought about the space ship he had seen.     The vision would not come.     He shook his head and tried again.     Beside him, Vee Vee was silent, her face ecstatic, like the face of awoman in love.     He tried again for the space ship.     It would not come.     Anger came up instead.     Somehow he had the impression that the whirring sound which keptintruding into his consciousness was stopping the vision.     So far as he could tell, he was the only one present who was notdreaming, who was not in a state of trance.     His gaze went to Unger, the Dreamer....     Cold flowed over him.     Unger was slowly rising from the mat.     The bland face and the body in the robe were slowly floating upward!      III     An invisible force seemed to twitch at Johnson's skin, nipping it hereand there with a multitude of tiny pinches, like invisible fleas bitinghim.     This is it! a voice whispered in his mind. This is what you came toVenus to see. This ... this.... The first voice went into silence.Another voice took its place.     This is another damned vision! the second voice said. This ...this is something that is not real, that is not possible! No VenusianDreamer, and no one else, can levitate, can defy the laws of gravity,can float upward toward the ceiling. Your damned eyes are tricking you!     We are not tricking you! the eyes hotly insisted. It is happening.We are seeing it. We are reporting accurately to you. That VenusianBuddha is levitating. We, your eyes, do not lie to you!     You lied about the space ship! the second voice said.     We did not lie about the space ship! the eyes insisted. When ourmaster saw that ship we were out of focus, we were not reporting. Someother sense, some other organ, may have lied, but we did not.     I— Johnson whispered.     I am your skin, another voice whispered. I am covered with sweat.     We are your adrenals. We are pouring forth adrenalin.     I am your pancreas. I am gearing you for action.     I am your thyroid. I....     A multitude of tiny voices seemed to whisper through him. It was as ifthe parts of his body had suddenly found voices and were reporting tohim what they were doing. These were voices out of his training dayswhen he had learned the names of these functions and how to use them.     Be quiet! he said roughly.     The little voices seemed to blend into a single chorus. Action,Master! Do something.     Quiet! Johnson ordered.     But hurry. We are excited.     There is a time to be excited and a time to hurry. In this situation,if action is taken before the time for it—if that time ever comes—wecan all die.     Die? the chorus quavered.     Yes, Johnson said. Now be quiet. When the time goes we will all gotogether.     The chorus went into muted silence. But just under the threshold thelittle voices were a multitude of tiny fretful pressures.     I hear a whirring sound, his ears reported.     Please! Johnson said.     In the front of the room Unger floated ten feet above the floor.     Master, we are not lying! his eyes repeated.     I sweat.... his skin began.     Watch Unger! Johnson said.     The Dreamer floated. If wires suspended him, Johnson could not seethem. If any known force lifted him, Johnson could not detect thatforce. All he could say for certain was that Unger floated.     Yaaah! The silence of a room was broken by the enraged scream of aVenusian being jarred out of his dream.     Damn it! A human voice said.     A wave as sharp as the tip of a sword swept through the room.     Unger fell.     He was ten feet high when he started to fall. With a bone-breaking,body-jarring thud, the Dreamer fell. Hard.     There was a split second of startled silence in the Dreaming Room. Thesilence went. Voices came.     Who did that?     What happened?     That human hidden there did it! He broke the Dreaming! Anger markedthe voices. Although the language was Venusian, Johnson got most of themeaning. His hand dived under his coat for the gun holstered there. Athis left, Caldwell was muttering thickly. What—what happened? I wasback in the lab on Earth— Caldwell's voice held a plaintive note, asif some pleasant dream had been interrupted.     On Johnson's right, Vee Vee seemed to flow to life. Her arms came uparound his neck. He was instantly prepared for anything. Her lips camehungrily against his lips, pressed very hard, then gently drew away.     What— he gasped.     I had to do it now, darling, she answered. There may not be a later.     Johnson had no time to ask her what she meant. Somewhere in the backof the room a human screamed. He jerked around. Back there a knot ofVenusians were attacking a man.     It's Martin! Caldwell shouted. He      is     here!     In Johnson's hand as he came to his feet the zit gun throbbed. He firedblindly at the mass of Venusians. Caldwell was firing too. The softthrob of the guns was not audible above the uproar from the crowd.Struck by the gas-driven corvel charges, Venusians were falling. Butthere seemed to be an endless number of them.     Vee Vee? Johnson suddenly realized that she had disappeared. She hadslid out of his sight.     Vee Vee! Johnson's voice became a shout.     To hell with the woman! Caldwell grunted. Martin's the importantone.     Zit, zit, zit, Caldwell moved toward the rear, shooting as he went.Johnson followed.  <doc-sep>Johnson didn't answer. Neither did Genius; he simply put on the table,not a fingerbowl, but a magnifying glass. With one of his thirtyfingers he pointed politely to the bottom of the menu.     Harvey focused on the microscopic print, and his face went pasty withrage. The minute note read: Services and entertainment, 327 buckos 80redsents.     You can go to hell! Joe growled. We won't pay it!     Johnson sighed ponderously. I was afraid you'd act like that, he saidwith regret. He pulled a tin badge out of his rear pocket, pinned it onhis vest, and twisted his holstered gun into view. Afraid I'll have toask the sheriff to take over.     Johnson, the sheriff, collected the money, and Johnson, therestaurateur, pocketed it. Meanwhile, Harvey tipped Joe the sign toremain calm.     My friend, he said to the mayor, and his tones took on aschoolmasterish severity, your long absence from Earth has perhapsmade you forget those elements of human wisdom that have entered thefolk-lore of your native planet. Such as, for example: 'It is follyto kill a goose that lays golden eggs,' and 'Penny wise is poundfoolish.'     I don't get the connection, objected Johnson.     Well, by obliging us to pay such a high price for your dinner, you putout of your reach the chance of profiting from a really substantialdeal. My partner and I were prepared to make you a sizable offer forthe peculiar creature you call Genius. But by reducing our funds theway you have—     Who said I wanted to sell him? the mayor interrupted. He rubbed hisfingers together and asked disinterestedly: What were you going tooffer, anyhow?     It doesn't matter any longer, Harvey said with elaboratecarelessness. Perhaps you wouldn't have accepted it, anyway.     That's right, Johnson came back emphatically. But what would youroffer have been which I would have turned down?     Which one? The one we were going to make, or the one we can make now?     Either one. It don't make no difference. Genius is too valuable tosell.     Oh, come now, Mr. Johnson. Don't tell me no amount of money wouldtempt you!     Nope. But how much did you say?     Ah, then you will consider releasing Genius!     Well, I'll tell you something, said the mayor confidentially. Whenyou've got one thing, you've got one thing. But when you've got money,it's the same as having a lot of things. Because, if you've got money,you can buy this and that and this and that and—     This and that, concluded Joe. We'll give you five hundred buckos.     Now, gents! Johnson remonstrated. Why, six hundred would hardly—     You haven't left us much money, Harvey put in.     The mayor frowned. All right, we'll split the difference. Make itfive-fifty.     Harvey was quick to pay out, for this was a genuine windfall. Then hestood up and admired the astonishing possession he had so inexpensivelyacquired.     I really hate to deprive you of this unique creature, he said toJohnson. I should imagine you will be rather lonely, with only yourfilial mammoth to keep you company.     I sure will, Johnson confessed glumly. I got pretty attached toGenius, and I'm going to miss him something awful.     Harvey forcibly removed his eyes from the native, who was clearing offthe table almost all at once.     My friend, he said, we take your only solace, it is true, but in hisplace we can offer something no less amazing and instructive.     The mayor's hand went protectively to his pocket. What is it? heasked with the suspicion of a man who has seen human nature at itsworst and expects nothing better.     Joseph, get our most prized belonging from the communications room ofthe ship, Harvey instructed. To Johnson he explained: You must seethe wondrous instrument before its value can be appreciated. My partnerwill soon have it here for your astonishment.     Joe's face grew as glum as Johnson's had been. Aw, Harv, heprotested, do we have to sell it? And right when I thought we weregetting the key!     We must not be selfish, my boy, Harvey said nobly. We have had ourchance; now we must relinquish Fate to the hands of a man who mighthave more success than we. Go, Joseph. Bring it here.     Unwillingly, Joe turned and shuffled out.  <doc-sep>On a larger and heavier world than Planetoid 42, Johnson's curiositywould probably have had weight and mass. He was bursting withquestions, but he was obviously afraid they would cost him money. Forhis part, Harvey allowed that curiosity to grow like a Venusian amoebauntil Joe came in, lugging a radio.     Is that what you were talking about? the mayor snorted. What makesyou think I want a radio? I came here to get away from singers andpolitical speech-makers.     Do not jump to hasty conclusions, Harvey cautioned. Another word,and I shall refuse you the greatest opportunity any man has ever had,with the sole exceptions of Joseph, myself and the unfortunate inventorof this absolutely awe-inspiring device.     I ain't in the market for a radio, Johnson said stubbornly.     Harvey nodded in relief. We have attempted to repay our host, Joseph.He has spurned our generosity. We have now the chance to continue ourstudy, which I am positive will soon reward us with the key to anenormous fortune.     Well, that's no plating off our bow, Joe grunted. I'm glad he didturn it down. I hated to give it up after working on it for three wholeyears.     He picked up the radio and began walking toward the door.     Now, hold on! the mayor cried. I ain't      saying     I'll buy, but whatis it I'm turning down?     Joe returned and set the instrument down on the bar. His facesorrowful, Harvey fondly stroked the scarred plasticoid cabinet.     To make a long story, Mr. Johnson, he said, Joseph and I were amongthe chosen few who knew the famous Doctor Dean intimately. Just beforehis tragic death, you will recall, Dean allegedly went insane. Hebanged his fist on the bar. I have said it before, and I repeat again,that was a malicious lie, spread by the doctor's enemies to discredithis greatest invention—this fourth dimensional radio!     This what? Johnson blurted out.     In simple terms, clarified Harvey, the ingenious doctor discoveredthat the yawning chasm between the dimensions could be bridged byenergy of all quanta. There has never been any question that theinhabitants of the super-dimension would be far more civilized thanourselves. Consequently, the man who could tap their knowledge wouldfind himself in possession of a powerful, undreamt-of science!     The mayor looked respectfully at the silent box on the bar.     And this thing gets broadcasts from the fourth dimension?     It does, Mr. Johnson! Only charlatans like those who envied DoctorDean's magnificent accomplishments could deny that fact.     The mayor put his hands in his pockets, unswiveled one hip and staredthoughtfully at the battered cabinet.     Well, let's say it picks up fourth dimensional broadcasts, heconceded. But how could you understand what they're saying? Folks upthere wouldn't talk our language.     Again Harvey smashed his fist down. Do you dare to repeat the scurvylie that broke Dean's spirit and drove him to suicide?     Johnson recoiled. No—no,      of course not     . I mean, being up here, Inaturally couldn't get all the details.     Naturally, Harvey agreed, mollified. I'm sorry I lost my temper.But it is a matter of record that the doctor proved the broadcastsemanating from the super-dimension were in English! Why should that beso difficult to believe? Is it impossible that at one time there wascommunication between the dimensions, that the super-beings admiredour language and adopted it in all its beauty, adding to it their ownhyper-scientific trimmings?     Why, I don't know, Johnson said in confusion.     For three years, Joseph and I lost sleep and hair, trying to detectthe simple key that would translate the somewhat metamorphosedbroadcasts into our primitive English. It eluded us. Even the doctorfailed. But that was understandable; a sensitive soul like his couldstand only so much. And the combination of ridicule and failure tosolve the mystery caused him to take his own life.     Johnson winced. Is that what you want to unload on me?     For a very good reason, sir. Patience is the virtue that will berewarded with the key to these fourth dimensional broadcasts. A man whocould devote his life to improving this lonely worldlet is obviously aperson with unusual patience.     Yeah, the mayor said grudgingly, I ain't exactly flighty.     Therefore, you are the man who could unravel the problem!     Johnson asked skeptically: How about a sample first?  <doc-sep>  THE SOUL EATERS     By WILLIAM CONOVER     Firebrand Dennis Brooke had one final chance     to redeem himself by capturing Koerber whose     ships were the scourge of the Void. But his     luck had run its course, and now he was     marooned on a rogue planet—fighting to save     himself from a menace weapons could not kill.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Fall 1944.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]            And so, my dear     , Dennis detected a faint irony in the phrase,       I'mafraid I can offer no competition to the beauties of five planets—oris it six? With regret I bow myself out, and knowing me as you do,you'll understand the futility of trying to convince me again. Anyway,there will be no temptation, for I'm sailing on a new assignment I'veaccepted. I did love you.... Good-by.          Dennis Brooke had lost count of the times he'd read Marla's lastletter, but every time he came to these final, poignant lines, theynever failed to conjure a vision of her tawny loveliness, slender asthe palms of Venus, and of the blue ecstasy of her eyes, wide with aperpetual wonder—limpid as a child's.     The barbaric rhythms of the      Congahua     , were a background of annoyancein Dennis' mind; he frowned slightly as the maneuvers of the Mercuriandancer, who writhed among the guests of the notorious pleasure palace,began to leave no doubt as to her intentions. The girl was beautiful,in a sultry, almost incandescent sort of way, but her open promise lefthim cold. He wanted solitude, somewhere to coordinate his thoughtsin silence and salvage something out of the wreck of his heart, notto speak of his career. But Venus, in the throes of a gigantic boomupon the discovery of radio-active fields, could offer only onesolitude—the fatal one of her swamps and virgin forests.     Dennis Brooke was thirty, the time when youth no longer seems unending.When the minor adventures of the heart begin to pall. If the loss ofMarla left an aching void that all the women of five planets could notfill, the loss of Space, was quite as deadly. For he had been grounded.True, Koerber's escape from the I.S.P. net had not quite been hisfault; but had he not been enjoying the joys of a voluptuous JovianChamber, in Venus' fabulous Inter-planetary Palace, he would have beenready for duty to complete the last link in the net of I.S.P. cruisersthat almost surrounded the space pirate.     A night in the Jovian Chamber, was to be emperor for one night. Everydream of a man's desire was marvelously induced through the skilful useof hypnotics; the rarest viands and most delectable drinks appeared asif by magic; the unearthly peace of an Olympus descended on a man'ssoul, and beauty ... beauty such as men dreamed of was a warm realityunder the ineffable illumination of the Chamber.     It cost a young fortune. But to pleasure mad, boom-ridden Venus, afortune was a bagatelle. Only it had cost Dennis Brooke far more than asheaf of credits—it had cost him the severe rebuff of the I.S.P., andmost of his heart in Marla.     Dennis sighed, he tilted his red, curly head and drank deeply of theinsidious      Verbena     , fragrant as a mint garden, in the tall frostyglass of Martian      Bacca-glas     , and as he did so, his brilliant hazeleyes found themselves gazing into the unwinking, violet stare of ayoung Martian at the next table. There was a smouldering hatred inthose eyes, and something else ... envy, perhaps, or was it jealousy?Dennis couldn't tell. But his senses became instantly alert. Dangerbrought a faint vibration which his superbly trained faculties couldinstantly denote.     His steady, bronzed hand lowered the drink, and his eyes narrowedslightly. Absorbed in trying to puzzle the sudden enmity of thisMartian stranger, he was unaware of the Mercurian Dancer. The latterhad edged closer, whirling in prismatic flashes from the myriadsemi-precious stones that studded her brief gauze skirt. And now, ina final bid for the spacer's favor she flung herself in his lap andtilted back invitingly.     Some of the guests laughed, others stared in plain envy at thehandsome, red-haired spacer, but from the table across, came thetinkling sound of a fragile glass being crushed in a powerful hand,and a muffled Martian curse. Without warning, the Martian was on hisfeet with the speed of an Hellacorium, the table went crashing to oneside as he leaped with deadly intent on the sprawled figure of DennisBrooke. A high-pitched scream brought instant silence as a Terran girlcried out. Then the Martian's hand reached out hungrily. But Dennis wasnot there.  <doc-sep>Harvey turned a knob on the face of the scarred radio. After severalsqueals of spatial figures, a smooth voice began:     There are omnious pleajes of moby-hailegs in sonmirand which,howgraismon, are notch to be donfured miss ellasellabell in either orboth hagasanipaj, by all means. This does not refly, on the brotherman, nat or mizzafil saces are denuded by this ossifaligo....     Harvey switched off the set determinedly.     Wait a minute! Johnson begged. I almost got it then!     I dislike being commercial, said Harvey, but this astounding devicestill belongs to us. Would we not be foolish to let you discover theclue before purchasing the right to do so?     The mayor nodded indecisively, looking at the radio with agonizedlonging. How much do you want? he asked unhappily.     One thousand buckos, and no haggling. I am not in the mood.     Johnson opened his mouth to argue; then, seeing Harvey's set features,paid with the worst possible grace.     Don't you think we ought to tell him about the batteries, Harv? Joeasked.     What about the batteries? demanded Johnson with deadly calm.     A very small matter, Harvey said airily. You see, we have beenanalyzing these broadcasts for three years. In that time, of course,the batteries are bound to weaken. I estimate these should last notless than one Terrestrial month, at the very least.     What do I do then?     Harvey shrugged. Special batteries are required, which I see Josephhas by chance brought along. For the batteries, the only ones of theirkind left in the system, I ask only what they cost—one hundred andninety-nine buckos, no more and, on the other hand, no less.     Johnson was breathing hard, and his hand hovered dangerously near hisgun. But he paid the amount Harvey wanted.     Moreover, he actually shook hands when the two panacea purveyorscollected their six-armed prize and said goodbye. Before they wereoutside, however, he had turned on the radio and was listening tenselyto a woman's highly cultured, though rather angry voice, saying:     Oh, you hannaforge are all beasa-taga-sanimort. If you rue amount it,how do you respench a pure woman to ansver go-samak—     I'll get it! they heard Johnson mutter.     Then the sound of giant feet crossing the barroom floor reached theirears, and a shrill question: What's that, Papa?     A fortune, Jed! Those fakers are damned fools, selling us a thinglike—     Joe gazed at Harvey admiringly. Another one sold? Harv, that spielpulls them in like an ether storm!     Together with the remarkable planetoid man, they reached the ship.Above them, dark, tumbling shapes blotted out the stars and silentlymoved on. Joe opened the gangway door.     Come on in, pal, he said to Genius. We're shoving off.     The planetoid man grinned foolishly. Can't go arong with you, he saidwith an apologetic manner. I rike to, but pressure fratten me out if Igo.     What in solar blazes are you talking about? Harvey asked.     I grow up on pranetoid, Genius explained. On big pranet, too muchpressure for me.     The two salesmen looked narrowly at each other.     Did Johnson know that when he sold you? Joe snarled.     Oh, sure. The silly grin became wider than ever. Peopre from Earthbuy me rots of times. I never reave pranetoid, though.     Joseph, Harvey said ominously, that slick colonist has put one overupon us. What is our customary procedure in that event?     We tear him apart, Joe replied between his teeth.     Not Mister Johnson, advised Genius. Have gun and badge. He shoot youfirst and then rock you up in prison.     Harvey paused, his ominous air vanishing. True. There is also thefact, Joseph, that when he discovers the scrambled rectifier inthe radio we sold him, he will have been paid back in full for hisregrettable dishonesty.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the role of Johnson in The CONJURER of VENUS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the role of Vee Vee in The CONJURER of VENUS? [SEP] <s>  The CONJURER of VENUS     By CONAN T. TROY       A world-famed Earth scientist had disappeared on Venus.       When Johnson found him, he found too the secret to that       globe-shaking mystery—the fabulous Room of The Dreaming.       [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories November 1952.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      The city dripped with rain. Crossing the street toward the dive,Johnson got rain in his eyes, his nose, and his ears. That was the waywith the rain here. It came at you from all directions. There had beenoccasions when Johnson had thought the rain was falling straight up.Otherwise, how had the insides of his pants gotten wet?     On Venus, everything came at you from all directions, it seemed toJohnson. Opening the door of the joint, it was noise instead of rainthat came at him, the wild frantic beat of a Venusian rhumba, thenotes pounding and jumping through the smoke and perfume clouded room.Feeling states came at him, intangible, but to his trained senses,perceptible emotional nuances of hate, love, fear, and rage. But mostlylove. Since this place had been designed to excite the senses of bothhumans and Venusians, the love feelings were heavily tinged withstraight sex. He sniffed at them, feeling them somewhere inside of him,aware of them but aware also that here was apprehension, and plain fear.     Caldwell, sitting in a booth next to the door, glanced up as Johnsonentered but neither Caldwell's facial expression or his eyes revealedthat he had ever seen this human before. Nor did Johnson seem torecognize Caldwell.     Is the mighty human wanting liquor, a woman or dreams? His voicewas all soft syllables of liquid sound. The Venusian equivalent of aheadwaiter was bowing to him.     I'll have a tarmur to start, Johnson said. How are the dreamstonight?     Ze vill be the most wonserful of all sonight. The great Unger hisselfwill be here to do ze dreaming. There is no ozzer one who has quitehis touch at dreaming, mighty one. The headwaiter spread his handsin a gesture indicating ecstasy. It is my great regret that I must doze work tonight instead of being wiz ze dreamers. Ah, ze great Ungerhisself! The headwaiter kissed the tips of his fingers.     Um, Johnson said. The great Unger! His voice expressed surprise,just the right amount of it. I'll have a tarmur to start but when doesthe dreaming commence?     In one zonar or maybe less. Shall I make ze reservations for ze mightyone? As he was speaking, the headwaiter was deftly conducting Johnsonto the bar.     Not just yet, Johnson said. See me a little later.     But certainly. The headwaiter was gone into the throng. Johnson wasat the bar. Behind it, a Venusian was bowing to him. Tarmur, Johnsonsaid. The green drink was set before him. He held it up to the light,admiring the slow rise of the tiny golden bubbles in it. To him,watching the bubbles rise was perhaps more important than drinkingitself.     Beautiful, aren't they? a soft voice said. He glanced to his right.A girl had slid into the stool beside him. She wore a green dress cutvery low at the throat. Her skin had the pleasant tan recently onEarth. Her hair was a shade of abundant brown and her eyes were blue,the color of the skies of Earth. A necklace circled her throat andbelow the necklace ... Johnson felt his pulse quicken, for two reasons.Women such as this one had been quickening the pulse of men since thedays of Adam. The second reason concerned her presence here in thisplace where no woman in her right mind ever came unescorted. Her eyessmiled up at him unafraid. Didn't she know there were men present herein this space port city who would snatch her bodily from the barstool and carry her away for sleeping purposes? And Venusians werehere who would cut her pretty throat for the sake of the necklace thatcircled it?     They      are     beautiful, he said, smiling.     Thank you.     I was referring to the bubbles.     You were talking about my eyes, she answered, unperturbed.     How did you know? I mean....     I am very knowing, the girl said, smiling.     Are you sufficiently knowing to be here?     For an instant, as if doubt crossed her mind, the smile flickered. Thenit came again, stronger. Aren't you here?     Johnson choked as bubbles from the tarmur seemed to go suddenly up hisnose. My dear child ... he sputtered.     I am not a child, she answered with a firm sureness that left nodoubt in his mind that she knew what she was saying. And my name isVee Vee.     Vee Vee? Um. That is....     Don't you think it's a nice name?     I certainly do. Probably the rest of it is even nicer.     There is no more of it. Just Vee Vee. Like Topsy, I just grew.  <doc-sep>What the devil are you doing here on Venus and here in this place?     Growing. The blue eyes were unafraid.     Sombrely, Johnson regarded her. What was she doing here? Was she inthe employ of the Venusians? If she was being planted on him, thenhis purpose here was suspected. He shrugged the thought aside. If hispurpose here was suspected, there would be no point in planting a womanon him.     There would only be the minor matter of slipping a knife into his back.     In this city, as on all of Venus, humans died easily. No one questionedthe motives of the killer.     You look as if you were considering some very grave matter, Vee Veesaid.     Not any longer, he laughed.     You have decided them?     Yes.     Every last one of them?     Oh, there might be one or two matters undecided somewhere, say out onthe periphery of the galaxy. But we will solve them when we get tothem. He waved vaguely toward the roof and the sky of space hiddenbehind the clouds that lay over the roof, glanced around as a man easedhimself into an empty stool on his left. The man was Caldwell.     Zlock! Caldwell said, to the bartender. Make it snappy. Gotta havezlock. Finest damn drink in the solar system. Caldwell's voice wasthick, his tongue heavy. Johnson's eyes went back to the girl but outof the corner of them he watched Caldwell's hand lying on the bar. Thefingers were beating a quick nervous tattoo on the yellow wood.     I haven't seen him, Caldwell's fingers beat out their tattoo. But Ithink he is, or was, here.     Um, Johnson said, his eyes on Vee Vee. How—     Because that girl was asking for him, Caldwell's fingers answered.Watch that girl! Picking up the zlock, he lurched away from the bar.     Your friend is not as drunk as he seems, Vee Vee said, watchingCaldwell.     My friend? Do you mean that drunk? I never saw him—     Lying is one of the deadly sins. Her eyes twinkled at him. Under themerriment that danced in them there was ice. Johnson felt cold.     The reservations for ze dreaming, great one? The headwaiter wasbowing and scraping in front of him. The great one has decided, yes?     The dreaming! Vee Vee looked suddenly alert. Of course. We must seethe dreaming. Everyone wants to see the dreaming. We will go, won't wedarling? She hooked her hand into Johnson's elbow.     Certainly, Johnson said. The decision was made on the spur of themoment. That there was danger in it, he did not doubt. But there mightbe something else. And      he     might be there.     Oh. But very good. Ze great Unger, you will love him! The headwaiterclutched the gold coins that Johnson extended, bowed himself out ofsight.     Say, I want to know more— Johnson began. His words were drowned ina blast of trumpets. The band that had been playing went into suddensilence. Waves of perfume began to flow into the place. The perfumeswere blended, but one aroma was prominent among them, the sweet,cloying, soul-stirring perfume of the Dreamer.     In the suddenly hushed place little sounds began to appear as Venusiansand humans began to shift their feet and their bodies in anticipationof what was to happen.     The trumpets flared again.     On one side of the place, a big door began to swing slowly open. Frombeyond that slowly opening door came music, soft, muted strains thatsounded like lutes from heaven.     Vee Vee, her hand on Johnson's elbow, rose. Johnson stood up withher. He got the surprise of his life as her fingers clenched, digginginto his muscles. Pain shot through his arm, paralyzing it and almostparalyzing him. He knew instantly that she was using the Karmer nerveblock paralysis on him. His left hand moved with lightning speed, thetips of his fingers striking savagely against her shoulder.     She gasped, her face whitened as pain shot through her in response tothe thrust of his finger tips. Her hand that had been digging into hiselbow lost its grip, dropped away and hung limp at her side. Grabbingit, she began to massage it.     You—you— Hot anger and shock were in her voice. You're the firstman I ever knew who could break the Karmer nerve paralysis.     And you're the first woman who ever tried it on me.     But—     Shall we go watch the dreaming? He took the arm that still hung limpat her side and tucked it into his elbow.     If you try to use the Karmer grip on me again I'll break your arm, hesaid. His voice was low but there was a wealth of meaning in it.     I won't do it again, the girl said stoutly. I never make the samemistake twice.     Good, Johnson said.     The second time we break our victim's neck, Vee Vee said.     What a sweet, charming child you—     I told you before, I'm not a child.     Child vampire, Johnson said. Let me finish my sentences before youinterrupt.     She was silent. A smile, struggling to appear on her face, seemed tosay she held no malice. Her fingers tightened on Johnson's arm. Hetensed, expecting the nerve block grip again. Instead with the tips ofher fingers she gently patted his arm.     There, there, darling, relax, she said. I know a better way to getyou than by using the Karmer grip.     What way?     Her eyes sparkled. Eve's way, she answered.     Um! Surprise sounded in his grunt. But apples don't grow on Venus.     Eve's daughters don't use apples any more, darling. Come along.     Moving toward the open door that led to the Room of the Dreaming,Johnson saw that Caldwell had risen and was following them. Caldwell'sface was writhing in apprehensive agony and he was making warningsigns. Johnson ignored them. With Vee Vee's fingers lightly patting hisarm, they moved into the Room of the Dreaming.      II     It was a huge, semi-illumined room, with tier on tier of circling rampsrising up from an open space at the bottom. There ought to have beena stage there at the bottom, but there wasn't. Instead there was anopen space, a mat, and a head rest. Up at the top of the circling rampsthe room was in darkness, a fit hiding place for ghosts or Venusianwerewolves. Pillows and a thick rug covered the circling ramps.     The soul-quickening Perfume of the Dreamer was stronger here. Thethrobbing of the lutes was louder. It was Venusian music the lutes wereplaying. Human ears found it inharmonious at first, but as they becameaccustomed to it, they began to detect rhythms and melodies that humanminds had not known existed. The room was pleasantly cool but it hadthe feel of dampness. A world that was rarely without pelting rainwould have the feel of dampness in its dreaming rooms.     The music playing strange harmonies in his ears, the perfume sendingtingling feelings through his nose, Johnson entered the Room of theDreamer. He suspected that other forces, unknown to him, were catchinghold of his senses. He had been in dreaming rooms many times before buthe had not grown accustomed to them. He wondered if any human everdid. A touch of chill always came over him as he crossed the threshold.In entering these places, it was as if some unknown nerve centerinside the human organism was touched by something, some force, someradiation, some subtlety, that quite escaped radiation. He felt thecoldness now.     Vee Vee's fingers left off patting his arm.     Do you feel it, darling?     Yes.     What is it?     How would I know?     Please! Her voice grew sharp. I think Johnny Johnson ought to know.     Johnny! How do you know my name?     Shouldn't I recognize one of Earth's foremost scientists, even if heis incognito on Venus? Her voice had a teasing quality in it.     But—     And who besides Johnny Johnson would recognize the Karmer nerve gripand be able to break it instantly?     Hell—     John Michael Johnson, known as Johnny to his friends, Earth's foremostexpert in the field of electro-magnetic radiations within the humanbody! Her words were needles of icy fact, each one jabbing deeper anddeeper into him.     And how would I make certain you were Johnny Johnson, except by seeingif you could break the Karmer nerve grip? If you could break it, thenthere was no doubt who you were! Her words went on and on.     Who are you? His words were blasts of sound.     Please, darling, you are making a scene. I am sure this is the lastthing you really want to do.     He looked quickly around them. The Venusians and humans moving intothis room seemed to be paying no attention to him. His gaze came backto her.     Again she patted his arm. Relax, darling. Your secrets are safe withme.     A gray color came up inside his soul. But—but— His voice wassuddenly weak.     The fingers on his arm were very gentle. No harm will come to you. AmI not with you?     That's what I'm afraid of! he snapped at her. If he had had achoice, he might have drawn back. But with circumstances as theywere—his life, Caldwell's life, possibly Vee Vee's life hung in thebalance. Didn't she know that this was true? And as for Martin—ButCaldwell had said that she had been asking about Martin. Whatconnection did she have with that frantic human genius he sought here?     Johnson felt his skin crawl. He moved toward a nest of cushions ona ramp, found a Venusian was beating him to them, deftly changed toanother nest, found it. Vee Vee flowed to the floor on his right, movedcushions to make him more comfortable. She moved in an easy sort of waythat was all flowing movement. He sat down. Someone bumped him on theleft.     Sorry, bud. Didn't mean to bump into you. Caldwell's voice was stillthick and heavy. He sprawled to the floor on Johnson's left. Underthe man's coat, Johnson caught a glimpse of a slight bulge, the zitgun hidden there. His left arm pressed against his own coat, feelinghis own zit gun. Operating under gas pressure, throwing a charge ofgas-driven corvel, the zit guns were not only almost noiseless inoperation but they knocked out a human or a Venusian in a matter ofseconds.     True, the person they knocked unconscious would be all right the nextday. For this reason, many people did not regard the zit guns aseffective weapons, but Johnson had a fondness for them. The feel of thelittle weapon inside his coat sent a surge of comfort through him.     The music picked up a beat, perfume seemed to flow even more freelythrough the air, the lights dimmed almost to darkness, a single brightspotlight appeared in the ceiling, casting a circle of brilliantillumination on the mat and the headrest at the bottom of the room. Thecurtain rose.  <doc-sep>Unger stood in the middle of the spot of light.     Johnson felt his chest muscles contract, then relax. Vee Vee's fingerssought his arm, not to harm him but running to him for protection. Hecaught the flutter of her breathing. On his left, Caldwell stiffenedand became a rock.     Johnson had not seen Unger appear. One second the circle of lighthad been empty, the next second the Venusian, smiling with all theimpassivity of a bland Buddha, was in the light. He weighed threehundred pounds if he weighed an ounce, he was clad in a long robethat would impede movement. He had appeared in the bright beam of thespotlight as if by magic.     Vee Vee's fingers dug deeper into Johnson's arm. How—     Shhh. Nobody knows.     No human knew the answer to that trick. Unless perhaps Martin—     Unger bowed. A little ripple of something that was not quite soundpassed through the audience. Unger bowed again. He stretched himselfflat on the mat, adjusted the rest to support his head, and apparentlywent to sleep. Johnson saw the Dreamer's eyes close, watched the chesttake on the even, regular rhythm of sleep.     The music changed, a slow dreamy tempo crept into it. Vee Vee's fingersdug at Johnson's arm as if they were trying to dig under his hide forprotection. She was shivering. He reached for her hand, patted it. Shedrew closer to him.     A few minutes earlier, she had been a very certain young woman, ableto take care of herself, and handle anyone around her. Now she wassuddenly uncertain, suddenly scared. In the Room of the Dreaming, shehad suddenly become a frightened child looking for protection.     Haven't you ever seen this before? he whispered.     N—o. She shivered again. Oh, Johnny....     Under the circle of light pouring down from the ceiling, the Dreamerlay motionless. Johnson found himself with the tendency to hold hisbreath. He was waiting, waiting, waiting—for what? The whole situationwas senseless, silly, but under its apparent lack of coherence, hesensed a pattern. Perhaps the path to the far-off stars passed thisway, through such scented and musical and impossible places as theseRooms of the Dreamers. Certainly Martin thought so. And Johnson himselfwas not prepared to disagree.     Around him, he saw that the Venusians were already going ... going ...going.... Some of them were already gone. This was an old experienceto them. They went rapidly. Humans went more slowly.     The Venusian watchers had relaxed. They looked as if they were asleep,perhaps in a hypnotic trance, lulled into this state by the musicand the perfume, and by something else. It was this something elsethat sent Johnson's thoughts pounding. The Venusians were like opiumsmokers. But he was not smoking opium. He was not in a hypnotic trance.He was wide awake and very much alert. He was ...       watching a space ship float in an endless void     .     As Unger had come into the spotlight, so the space ship had come intohis vision, out of nowhere, out of nothingness. The room, the Dreamer,the sound of the music, the sweetness of the perfume, Vee Vee andCaldwell were gone. They were no longer in his reality. They were notin the range of his vision. It was as if they did not exist. Yet heknew they did exist, the memory of them, and of other things, was outon the periphery of his universe, perhaps of      the     universe.     All he saw was the space ship.     It was a wonderful thing, perhaps the most beautiful sight he had seenin his life. At the sight of it, a deep glow sprang inside of him.     Back when he had been a kid he had dreamed of flight to the far-offstars. He had made models of space ships. In a way, they had shaped hisdestiny, had made him what he was. They had brought him where he wasthis night, to the Dream Room of a Venusian tavern.     The vision of the space ship floating in the void entranced andthrilled him. Something told him that this was real; that here and nowhe was making contact with a vision that belonged to time.     He started to his feet. Fingers gripped his arm.     Please, darling. You startled me. Don't move. Vee Vee's voice. Whowas Vee Vee?     The fingers dug into his arm. Pain came up in him. The space shipvanished. He looked with startled eyes at Vee Vee, at the Dream Room,at Unger, dreaming on the mat under the spot.     You ... you startled me, Vee Vee whispered. She released the grip onhis arm.     But, didn't you see it?     See what?     The space ship!     No. No. She seemed startled and a little terrified and half asleep.I ... I was watching something else. When you moved I broke contactwith my dream.     Your dream?     He asked a question but she did not answer it. Sit down, darling,and look at your damned space ship. Her voice was a taut whisper ofsound in the darkened room. Johnson settled down. A glance to his lefttold him that Caldwell was still sitting like a chunk of stone.... TheVenusians were quiet. The music had shifted. A slow languorous beatof hidden drums filled the room. There was another sound present, ahigh-speed whirring. It was, somehow, a familiar sound, but Johnson hadnot heard it before in this place.     He thought about the space ship he had seen.     The vision would not come.     He shook his head and tried again.     Beside him, Vee Vee was silent, her face ecstatic, like the face of awoman in love.     He tried again for the space ship.     It would not come.     Anger came up instead.     Somehow he had the impression that the whirring sound which keptintruding into his consciousness was stopping the vision.     So far as he could tell, he was the only one present who was notdreaming, who was not in a state of trance.     His gaze went to Unger, the Dreamer....     Cold flowed over him.     Unger was slowly rising from the mat.     The bland face and the body in the robe were slowly floating upward!      III     An invisible force seemed to twitch at Johnson's skin, nipping it hereand there with a multitude of tiny pinches, like invisible fleas bitinghim.     This is it! a voice whispered in his mind. This is what you came toVenus to see. This ... this.... The first voice went into silence.Another voice took its place.     This is another damned vision! the second voice said. This ...this is something that is not real, that is not possible! No VenusianDreamer, and no one else, can levitate, can defy the laws of gravity,can float upward toward the ceiling. Your damned eyes are tricking you!     We are not tricking you! the eyes hotly insisted. It is happening.We are seeing it. We are reporting accurately to you. That VenusianBuddha is levitating. We, your eyes, do not lie to you!     You lied about the space ship! the second voice said.     We did not lie about the space ship! the eyes insisted. When ourmaster saw that ship we were out of focus, we were not reporting. Someother sense, some other organ, may have lied, but we did not.     I— Johnson whispered.     I am your skin, another voice whispered. I am covered with sweat.     We are your adrenals. We are pouring forth adrenalin.     I am your pancreas. I am gearing you for action.     I am your thyroid. I....     A multitude of tiny voices seemed to whisper through him. It was as ifthe parts of his body had suddenly found voices and were reporting tohim what they were doing. These were voices out of his training dayswhen he had learned the names of these functions and how to use them.     Be quiet! he said roughly.     The little voices seemed to blend into a single chorus. Action,Master! Do something.     Quiet! Johnson ordered.     But hurry. We are excited.     There is a time to be excited and a time to hurry. In this situation,if action is taken before the time for it—if that time ever comes—wecan all die.     Die? the chorus quavered.     Yes, Johnson said. Now be quiet. When the time goes we will all gotogether.     The chorus went into muted silence. But just under the threshold thelittle voices were a multitude of tiny fretful pressures.     I hear a whirring sound, his ears reported.     Please! Johnson said.     In the front of the room Unger floated ten feet above the floor.     Master, we are not lying! his eyes repeated.     I sweat.... his skin began.     Watch Unger! Johnson said.     The Dreamer floated. If wires suspended him, Johnson could not seethem. If any known force lifted him, Johnson could not detect thatforce. All he could say for certain was that Unger floated.     Yaaah! The silence of a room was broken by the enraged scream of aVenusian being jarred out of his dream.     Damn it! A human voice said.     A wave as sharp as the tip of a sword swept through the room.     Unger fell.     He was ten feet high when he started to fall. With a bone-breaking,body-jarring thud, the Dreamer fell. Hard.     There was a split second of startled silence in the Dreaming Room. Thesilence went. Voices came.     Who did that?     What happened?     That human hidden there did it! He broke the Dreaming! Anger markedthe voices. Although the language was Venusian, Johnson got most of themeaning. His hand dived under his coat for the gun holstered there. Athis left, Caldwell was muttering thickly. What—what happened? I wasback in the lab on Earth— Caldwell's voice held a plaintive note, asif some pleasant dream had been interrupted.     On Johnson's right, Vee Vee seemed to flow to life. Her arms came uparound his neck. He was instantly prepared for anything. Her lips camehungrily against his lips, pressed very hard, then gently drew away.     What— he gasped.     I had to do it now, darling, she answered. There may not be a later.     Johnson had no time to ask her what she meant. Somewhere in the backof the room a human screamed. He jerked around. Back there a knot ofVenusians were attacking a man.     It's Martin! Caldwell shouted. He      is     here!     In Johnson's hand as he came to his feet the zit gun throbbed. He firedblindly at the mass of Venusians. Caldwell was firing too. The softthrob of the guns was not audible above the uproar from the crowd.Struck by the gas-driven corvel charges, Venusians were falling. Butthere seemed to be an endless number of them.     Vee Vee? Johnson suddenly realized that she had disappeared. She hadslid out of his sight.     Vee Vee! Johnson's voice became a shout.     To hell with the woman! Caldwell grunted. Martin's the importantone.     Zit, zit, zit, Caldwell moved toward the rear, shooting as he went.Johnson followed.  <doc-sep>  THE SOUL EATERS     By WILLIAM CONOVER     Firebrand Dennis Brooke had one final chance     to redeem himself by capturing Koerber whose     ships were the scourge of the Void. But his     luck had run its course, and now he was     marooned on a rogue planet—fighting to save     himself from a menace weapons could not kill.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Fall 1944.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]            And so, my dear     , Dennis detected a faint irony in the phrase,       I'mafraid I can offer no competition to the beauties of five planets—oris it six? With regret I bow myself out, and knowing me as you do,you'll understand the futility of trying to convince me again. Anyway,there will be no temptation, for I'm sailing on a new assignment I'veaccepted. I did love you.... Good-by.          Dennis Brooke had lost count of the times he'd read Marla's lastletter, but every time he came to these final, poignant lines, theynever failed to conjure a vision of her tawny loveliness, slender asthe palms of Venus, and of the blue ecstasy of her eyes, wide with aperpetual wonder—limpid as a child's.     The barbaric rhythms of the      Congahua     , were a background of annoyancein Dennis' mind; he frowned slightly as the maneuvers of the Mercuriandancer, who writhed among the guests of the notorious pleasure palace,began to leave no doubt as to her intentions. The girl was beautiful,in a sultry, almost incandescent sort of way, but her open promise lefthim cold. He wanted solitude, somewhere to coordinate his thoughtsin silence and salvage something out of the wreck of his heart, notto speak of his career. But Venus, in the throes of a gigantic boomupon the discovery of radio-active fields, could offer only onesolitude—the fatal one of her swamps and virgin forests.     Dennis Brooke was thirty, the time when youth no longer seems unending.When the minor adventures of the heart begin to pall. If the loss ofMarla left an aching void that all the women of five planets could notfill, the loss of Space, was quite as deadly. For he had been grounded.True, Koerber's escape from the I.S.P. net had not quite been hisfault; but had he not been enjoying the joys of a voluptuous JovianChamber, in Venus' fabulous Inter-planetary Palace, he would have beenready for duty to complete the last link in the net of I.S.P. cruisersthat almost surrounded the space pirate.     A night in the Jovian Chamber, was to be emperor for one night. Everydream of a man's desire was marvelously induced through the skilful useof hypnotics; the rarest viands and most delectable drinks appeared asif by magic; the unearthly peace of an Olympus descended on a man'ssoul, and beauty ... beauty such as men dreamed of was a warm realityunder the ineffable illumination of the Chamber.     It cost a young fortune. But to pleasure mad, boom-ridden Venus, afortune was a bagatelle. Only it had cost Dennis Brooke far more than asheaf of credits—it had cost him the severe rebuff of the I.S.P., andmost of his heart in Marla.     Dennis sighed, he tilted his red, curly head and drank deeply of theinsidious      Verbena     , fragrant as a mint garden, in the tall frostyglass of Martian      Bacca-glas     , and as he did so, his brilliant hazeleyes found themselves gazing into the unwinking, violet stare of ayoung Martian at the next table. There was a smouldering hatred inthose eyes, and something else ... envy, perhaps, or was it jealousy?Dennis couldn't tell. But his senses became instantly alert. Dangerbrought a faint vibration which his superbly trained faculties couldinstantly denote.     His steady, bronzed hand lowered the drink, and his eyes narrowedslightly. Absorbed in trying to puzzle the sudden enmity of thisMartian stranger, he was unaware of the Mercurian Dancer. The latterhad edged closer, whirling in prismatic flashes from the myriadsemi-precious stones that studded her brief gauze skirt. And now, ina final bid for the spacer's favor she flung herself in his lap andtilted back invitingly.     Some of the guests laughed, others stared in plain envy at thehandsome, red-haired spacer, but from the table across, came thetinkling sound of a fragile glass being crushed in a powerful hand,and a muffled Martian curse. Without warning, the Martian was on hisfeet with the speed of an Hellacorium, the table went crashing to oneside as he leaped with deadly intent on the sprawled figure of DennisBrooke. A high-pitched scream brought instant silence as a Terran girlcried out. Then the Martian's hand reached out hungrily. But Dennis wasnot there.  <doc-sep>   CINDERELLA STORY     By ALLEN KIM LANG       What a bank! The First Vice-President       was a cool cat—the elevator and the       money operators all wore earmuffs—was       just as phony as a three-dollar bill!       [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1961.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I     The First Vice-President of the William Howard Taft National Bank andTrust Company, the gentleman to whom Miss Orison McCall was applyingfor a job, was not at all the public picture of a banker. His suit ofhound's-tooth checks, the scarlet vest peeping above the vee of hisjacket, were enough to assure Orison that the Taft Bank was a curiousbank indeed. I gotta say, chick, these references of yours reallyswing, said the Vice-President, Mr. Wanji. Your last boss says youcome on real cool in the secretary-bit.     He was a very kind employer, Orison said. She tried to keep fromstaring at the most remarkable item of Mr. Wanji's costume, a pair offurry green earmuffs. It was not cold.     Mr. Wanji returned to Orison her letters of reference. What colorbread you got eyes for taking down, baby? he asked.     Beg pardon?     What kinda salary you bucking for? he translated, bouncing up anddown on the toes of his rough-leather desert boots.     I was making one-twenty a week in my last position, Miss McCall said.     You're worth more'n that, just to jazz up the decor, Mr. Wanji said.What you say we pass you a cee-and-a-half a week. Okay? He caughtOrison's look of bewilderment. One each, a Franklin and a Grant, heexplained further. She still looked blank. Sister, you gonna workin a bank, you gotta know who's picture's on the paper. That's ahunnerd-fifty a week, doll.     That will be most satisfactory, Mr. Wanji, Orison said. It was indeed.     Crazy! Mr. Wanji grabbed Orison's right hand and shook it withathletic vigor. You just now joined up with our herd. I wanna tellyou, chick, it's none too soon we got some decent scenery aroundthis tomb, girlwise. He took her arm and led her toward the bank ofelevators. The uniformed operator nodded to Mr. Wanji, bowed slightlyto Orison. He, too, she observed, wore earmuffs. His were more formalthan Mr. Wanji's, being midnight blue in color. Lift us to five, Mac,Mr. Wanji said. As the elevator door shut he explained to Orison,You can make the Taft Bank scene anywhere between the street floorand floor five. Basement and everything higher'n fifth floor is IronCurtain Country far's you're concerned. Dig, baby?     Yes, sir, Orison said. She was wondering if she'd be issued earmuffs,now that she'd become an employee of this most peculiar bank.     The elevator opened on five to a tiny office, just large enough tohold a single desk and two chairs. On the desk were a telephone anda microphone. Beside them was a double-decked In and Out basket.Here's where you'll do your nine-to-five, honey, Mr. Wanji said.     What will I be doing, Mr. Wanji? Orison asked.     The Vice-President pointed to the newspaper folded in the In basket.Flip on the microphone and read the paper to it, he said. When youget done reading the paper, someone will run you up something new toread. Okay?     It seems a rather peculiar job, Orison said. After all, I'm asecretary. Is reading the newspaper aloud supposed to familiarize mewith the Bank's operation?     Don't bug me, kid, Mr. Wanji said. All you gotta do is read thatthere paper into this here microphone. Can do?     Yes, sir, Orison said. While you're here, Mr. Wanji, I'd like toask you about my withholding tax, social security, credit union,coffee-breaks, union membership, lunch hour and the like. Shall we takecare of these details now? Or would you—     You just take care of that chicken-flickin' kinda stuff any way seemsbest to you, kid, Mr. Wanji said.     Yes, sir, Orison said. This laissez-faire policy of Taft Bank'smight explain why she'd been selected from the Treasury Department'ssecretarial pool to apply for work here, she thought. Orison McCall,girl Government spy. She picked up the newspaper from the In basket,unfolded it to discover the day's      Wall Street Journal     , and began atthe top of column one to read it aloud. Wanji stood before the desk,nodding his head as he listened. You blowing real good, kid, he said.The boss is gonna dig you the most.     Orison nodded. Holding her newspaper and her microphone, she read theone into the other. Mr. Wanji flicked his fingers in a good-by, thentook off upstairs in the elevator.  <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>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>Dimdooly—the mighty, the lordly, who had sneered at the sight of mereEarthmen kowtowing to a mere woman—swelled up fit to blow his gaskets,then all the gas went out of him. His ear beards, however, still hadenough zip left to flutter like butterflies. Yes, Trillium dear. Ilove only you. Please marry me at your earliest convenience.     Well, Grandmamma, Trillium said with a highly self-satisfied air, itworks. And just like you said, Earthmen meant nothing once I knew weVenus women had our own men in our power.     Those crewmen there, Grandmamma President said, seem to be proofenough that we Venus women no longer radiate any threat to Earth'stranquility.     Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly sure felt like proof of something all of a sudden.Worse than the hangover from that crap game with Venus vino. He lookedaway from Trillium and took a look at Callahan. Old guy looked awayfrom Grandmamma President like he was packing the second biggestheadache in history.     Hmmmm, yes, Madame President of Earth observed. Reactions agreeperfectly with the psychoanalytical research project we have beenconducting on the subject of the Venus female influence. MadamePresident of Venus, congratulations on your victory!     Long may the superior sex reign on Venus too! We shall be delighted toreceive an Ambassadoress to discuss a new trade treaty at your earliestconvenience.     Thank you for cancelling the old trade agreements at the psychologicalmoment, Grandmamma President said cordially. What with thecommunications mixup, we managed to have the scenes on these panelsbroadcast throughout all Venus. When the rug went out from under thetop man, the tide really turned in our favor. Now, Trillium, you takeover Dimmy's credentials.     The Ambassadorial Suite, too, Madame President of Earth saidgraciously. Anything else now, Berta?     I should like, Grandmamma President Berta said charmingly, thatMr. O'Rielly and Mr. Callahan be suitably rewarded for assisting ourrevolution better than they knew.     Of course, Madame President of Earth was delighted to oblige. Nodoubt Captain Hatwoody knows what reward would satisfy their needsbest.     The Madame Presidents switched to a private circuit, Trillium draggedDimdooly off somewhere and the Old Woman eyed O'Rielly and Callahan.Especially she eyed Callahan, like running chilled drills through hisold conniving brain. I award the pair of you five minutes leisurebefore returning to your stations.     Oh, well, O'Rielly muttered, once he and Callahan were safely beyondearshot, could have been rewarded worse, I suppose.     What you expect for being flimflammed by a foreign dame, the rings ofSaturn? Lucky we ain't programmed to be hung, shot and thrown to thecrows for breakfast. Callahan's old pick-and-shovel face wore a littlegrin like the cat that nobody could prove ate the canary.     You—I mean, that Earth guy a hundred twenty-five years ago, O'Riellysaid in sudden thought. If Venus dames wanted to be loved so bad, whydid Trillium's Grandmamma let him go?     Venus guys wasn't so busy playing war all the time, Callahan mumbled,like to himself, they'd of found out the answer centuries ago. Yep,guess our boy was the only guy on Earth or Venus to find out and live.Dames bossing both planets now, though, his old secret won't be onemuch longer. Venus dames could of let it out centuries ago themselvesbut didn't, just to spite Earth probably. Later, was part of organizingto take over Venus, I guess.     O'Rielly still had memories of the way he had felt about Trilliumbefore her revolution. All right, Callahan, why did 'our boy' leaveGrandmamma?     Yes, ma'am, Callahan sighed like he hadn't heard a word O'Riellysaid, you could sweet-talk 'em, kiss 'em and hold 'em tighter'nBilly-be-damned. And that's all.     I'm not sure, O'Rielly said, what you mean by, 'that's all.'     Anybody ever seen anybody but a Venus guy come built with ear beards?Course not.     But I thought our boy was wearing the best fakes ever.     Ain't nothing can match the natural growed-on variety, no, ma'am.Venus guy kisses a Venus dame, his beards grabs her roundst the ears.     So what?     Tickles 'em, boy, tickles 'em!   <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the role of Vee Vee in The CONJURER of VENUS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What are the different locations featured in The CONJURER of VENUS? [SEP] <s>  THE SOUL EATERS     By WILLIAM CONOVER     Firebrand Dennis Brooke had one final chance     to redeem himself by capturing Koerber whose     ships were the scourge of the Void. But his     luck had run its course, and now he was     marooned on a rogue planet—fighting to save     himself from a menace weapons could not kill.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Fall 1944.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]            And so, my dear     , Dennis detected a faint irony in the phrase,       I'mafraid I can offer no competition to the beauties of five planets—oris it six? With regret I bow myself out, and knowing me as you do,you'll understand the futility of trying to convince me again. Anyway,there will be no temptation, for I'm sailing on a new assignment I'veaccepted. I did love you.... Good-by.          Dennis Brooke had lost count of the times he'd read Marla's lastletter, but every time he came to these final, poignant lines, theynever failed to conjure a vision of her tawny loveliness, slender asthe palms of Venus, and of the blue ecstasy of her eyes, wide with aperpetual wonder—limpid as a child's.     The barbaric rhythms of the      Congahua     , were a background of annoyancein Dennis' mind; he frowned slightly as the maneuvers of the Mercuriandancer, who writhed among the guests of the notorious pleasure palace,began to leave no doubt as to her intentions. The girl was beautiful,in a sultry, almost incandescent sort of way, but her open promise lefthim cold. He wanted solitude, somewhere to coordinate his thoughtsin silence and salvage something out of the wreck of his heart, notto speak of his career. But Venus, in the throes of a gigantic boomupon the discovery of radio-active fields, could offer only onesolitude—the fatal one of her swamps and virgin forests.     Dennis Brooke was thirty, the time when youth no longer seems unending.When the minor adventures of the heart begin to pall. If the loss ofMarla left an aching void that all the women of five planets could notfill, the loss of Space, was quite as deadly. For he had been grounded.True, Koerber's escape from the I.S.P. net had not quite been hisfault; but had he not been enjoying the joys of a voluptuous JovianChamber, in Venus' fabulous Inter-planetary Palace, he would have beenready for duty to complete the last link in the net of I.S.P. cruisersthat almost surrounded the space pirate.     A night in the Jovian Chamber, was to be emperor for one night. Everydream of a man's desire was marvelously induced through the skilful useof hypnotics; the rarest viands and most delectable drinks appeared asif by magic; the unearthly peace of an Olympus descended on a man'ssoul, and beauty ... beauty such as men dreamed of was a warm realityunder the ineffable illumination of the Chamber.     It cost a young fortune. But to pleasure mad, boom-ridden Venus, afortune was a bagatelle. Only it had cost Dennis Brooke far more than asheaf of credits—it had cost him the severe rebuff of the I.S.P., andmost of his heart in Marla.     Dennis sighed, he tilted his red, curly head and drank deeply of theinsidious      Verbena     , fragrant as a mint garden, in the tall frostyglass of Martian      Bacca-glas     , and as he did so, his brilliant hazeleyes found themselves gazing into the unwinking, violet stare of ayoung Martian at the next table. There was a smouldering hatred inthose eyes, and something else ... envy, perhaps, or was it jealousy?Dennis couldn't tell. But his senses became instantly alert. Dangerbrought a faint vibration which his superbly trained faculties couldinstantly denote.     His steady, bronzed hand lowered the drink, and his eyes narrowedslightly. Absorbed in trying to puzzle the sudden enmity of thisMartian stranger, he was unaware of the Mercurian Dancer. The latterhad edged closer, whirling in prismatic flashes from the myriadsemi-precious stones that studded her brief gauze skirt. And now, ina final bid for the spacer's favor she flung herself in his lap andtilted back invitingly.     Some of the guests laughed, others stared in plain envy at thehandsome, red-haired spacer, but from the table across, came thetinkling sound of a fragile glass being crushed in a powerful hand,and a muffled Martian curse. Without warning, the Martian was on hisfeet with the speed of an Hellacorium, the table went crashing to oneside as he leaped with deadly intent on the sprawled figure of DennisBrooke. A high-pitched scream brought instant silence as a Terran girlcried out. Then the Martian's hand reached out hungrily. But Dennis wasnot there.  <doc-sep>Seeming to grind her teeth, the Old O Woman turned abruptly to leaveO'Rielly's watch room. Was all O'Rielly could do to keep from bustingout laughing for joy.     Old Woman had been flimflammed for fair! Dear Trillium was saved! Andbetwixt O'Rielly's grand brain and Callahan's great experience she'd behappy forever.     A fine loud thump, however, was now heard. Old Woman whirled back andyanked open the doors under O'Rielly's bunk.     Of all the sappy hiding places! Callahan yelped, in surprise ofcourse.     Trillium? His Excellency bellowed as if stung by one of thesabre-tailed hornets of his native planet. Trillium!     Trillium, O'Rielly pleaded in loving anguish, why do you have tokeep coming out of hiding just when nobody's going to find you?     Her eyes merely became deep pools in which O'Rielly would have gladlydrowned himself if he could.       There are rewards, the Old Woman said with the deadly coldness ofouter space, for Earthmen found in a Venus woman's company, and forher leaving her planet.     Shut up! His Excellency's ear beards were standing straight outsideways. I'll handle this!     May I remind His Excellency, the Old Woman snapped, that I representEarth and her dominion of space gained by right of original flight!     May I remind the Captain, His Excellency declared fit to be heardback to his planet, that I am the Personal Ambassador of the Presidentof Venus and this thing can mean war!     Yes! War in which people will actually die! As His Excellency paledat that grisly remark, the Old Woman spoke through her teeth atO'Rielly, Callahan and Trillium. All right, come along!     O'Rielly joined the death march gladly. He felt the way Callahanlooked: ready to wrap his arms around Trillium's brave loveliness andprotect it to his last breath of life.     Old Woman led the way to her office. Jabbed some buttons on her desk.Panels on opposite walls lit up.     Presidents of Earth and Venus, please, the Old Woman stated evenly.Interplanetary emergency.     Highly groomed flunkies appeared on the panels and were impersonallypleasant.     Madame President's office. She is in a Cabinet meeting.     Mr. President's office. He is in personal command of our glorious warefforts.     Old Woman sighed through her teeth. Venus woman aboard this ship.Stowaway. Rattle that around your belfries.     The flunkies' faces went slack with shock, then were replaced by ablizzard of scrambled faces and torrents of incoherent voices.     Finally on the Earth panel appeared the famous classic features. Thefacts, if you please, Captain Hatwoody.     The Venus panel finally held steady on universally notorious features,that were as fierce as an eagle's, in a fancy war helmet. Trillium! Myown granddaughter? Impossible! Dimdooly, Mr. President roared at hisExcellency, what's this nonsense?     Some loud creature is interfering, Madame President snapped withannoyance.     Blasted fools still have the circuits crossed, Mr. President swore.Some silly female cackling now!     The parties in the panels saw each other now. Each one's left hand on adesk moved toward a big red button marked, ROCKETS.     So, Mr. President said evenly. Another violation by your Earthmen.     By your granddaughter, at least, Madame President replied coolly.     An innocent child, Mr. President snapped, obviously kidnapped bythose two idiotic Earthmen there!     Oh, no, Grandpapa, Trillium said swiftly; I stole away all bymyself, and Mr. O'Rielly and Callahan have been very helpful.     Impossible! Grandpapa President's ear beards stood near straight upas he roared, You couldn't have stolen away by yourself! Trillium,tell the truth!     Very well. Grandmamma told me how.  <doc-sep>Obviously Trillium's poor little brain has been drugged, HisExcellency Dimdooly declared. Grandmamma Berta wouldn't know the firstthing about such things!     Impossible! Grandpapa President agreed. I've been married to herfor a hundred and twenty-four and a half years and she's the finestrattle-brain I ever knew!     She learned, Trillium stated emphatically, a hundred and twenty-fiveyears ago.     Hundred twenty-five, Grandpapa president growled like a boilingvolcano. The year some Earthman.... Never did catch the devil....Berta? Impossible!     Madame President's shapely finger now rested full on the button thatcould launch the fleets of war rockets that had been pre-aimed for athousand years. I'm afraid your Ambassador is unwelcome now, MadamePresident stated coolly. Your granddaughter's actions have every markof an invasion tactic by your government.     What do you mean, her actions? Grandpapa President's finger now laypoised on the button that had been waiting a thousand years to blowEarth out of the universe. My grandchild was kidnapped by men underyour official command! Weren't you, Trillium dear?     No. One of us stowing away was the only way we Venus women could bringour cause to the attention of Earth's President. If Earth will onlystop buying from Venus, you won't have any money to squander on yourwars any longer no matter what happens to we revolutionaries!     Revolutionaries? Such claptrap! And what's wrong with my wars? Peoplehave to have something to keep their minds off their troubles! Nobodyaround here gets hurt. Oh, maybe a few scratches here and there. Butnobody on Venus dies from the things any more.     But Venus men are so excited all the time about going to war theyhaven't time for us women. That's why we always radiated such a fatalattraction for Earthmen. We want to be loved! We want our own men homedoing useful work!     Well, they do come home and do useful work! Couple weeks every tenmonths. Proven to be a highly efficient arrangement.     More boys to run off to your old wars and more girls to stay home andbe lonely!     Now you just listen to me, Trillium! Grandpapa President was allVenus manhood laying down the law. That's the way things have been onVenus for ten thousand years and all the women in the universe can'tchange it!     I have been in constant contact with my Cabinet during theseconversations, Madame President said crisply. Earth is terminatingall trade agreements with Venus as of this instant.     What? Grandpapa's beards near pulled his ears off. It's not legal!You can't get away with this!     Take your finger off that trigger, boy! a heavenly voice similar toTrillium's advised from the Venus panel.     Whereupon Grandpapa glared to one side. Berta! What are you doinghere? I am deciding matters of the gravest interplanetary nature!     Were. Features more beautifully mature than Trillium's crowded ontothe panel too. From now on I'm doing the deciding.     Nonsense! You're only my wife!     And new President of Venus, elected by unanimous vote of all women.     Impossible! The men run Venus! Nobody's turning this planet intoanother Earth where a man can't even sneeze unless some woman says so!     Take him away, girls, Berta ordered coolly, whereupon her spouse wasyanked from view.     His bellows, however, could be heard yet. Unhand me, you foolcreatures! Guards! Guards!     Save your breath, Berta advised him. And while you're in the cooler,enjoy this latest batch of surrender communiques. We women are incontrol everywhere now.     Dimmy, Trillium was saying firmly to His Excellency, you have beataround the bush with me long enough. Now say it!  <doc-sep>  The CONJURER of VENUS     By CONAN T. TROY       A world-famed Earth scientist had disappeared on Venus.       When Johnson found him, he found too the secret to that       globe-shaking mystery—the fabulous Room of The Dreaming.       [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories November 1952.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      The city dripped with rain. Crossing the street toward the dive,Johnson got rain in his eyes, his nose, and his ears. That was the waywith the rain here. It came at you from all directions. There had beenoccasions when Johnson had thought the rain was falling straight up.Otherwise, how had the insides of his pants gotten wet?     On Venus, everything came at you from all directions, it seemed toJohnson. Opening the door of the joint, it was noise instead of rainthat came at him, the wild frantic beat of a Venusian rhumba, thenotes pounding and jumping through the smoke and perfume clouded room.Feeling states came at him, intangible, but to his trained senses,perceptible emotional nuances of hate, love, fear, and rage. But mostlylove. Since this place had been designed to excite the senses of bothhumans and Venusians, the love feelings were heavily tinged withstraight sex. He sniffed at them, feeling them somewhere inside of him,aware of them but aware also that here was apprehension, and plain fear.     Caldwell, sitting in a booth next to the door, glanced up as Johnsonentered but neither Caldwell's facial expression or his eyes revealedthat he had ever seen this human before. Nor did Johnson seem torecognize Caldwell.     Is the mighty human wanting liquor, a woman or dreams? His voicewas all soft syllables of liquid sound. The Venusian equivalent of aheadwaiter was bowing to him.     I'll have a tarmur to start, Johnson said. How are the dreamstonight?     Ze vill be the most wonserful of all sonight. The great Unger hisselfwill be here to do ze dreaming. There is no ozzer one who has quitehis touch at dreaming, mighty one. The headwaiter spread his handsin a gesture indicating ecstasy. It is my great regret that I must doze work tonight instead of being wiz ze dreamers. Ah, ze great Ungerhisself! The headwaiter kissed the tips of his fingers.     Um, Johnson said. The great Unger! His voice expressed surprise,just the right amount of it. I'll have a tarmur to start but when doesthe dreaming commence?     In one zonar or maybe less. Shall I make ze reservations for ze mightyone? As he was speaking, the headwaiter was deftly conducting Johnsonto the bar.     Not just yet, Johnson said. See me a little later.     But certainly. The headwaiter was gone into the throng. Johnson wasat the bar. Behind it, a Venusian was bowing to him. Tarmur, Johnsonsaid. The green drink was set before him. He held it up to the light,admiring the slow rise of the tiny golden bubbles in it. To him,watching the bubbles rise was perhaps more important than drinkingitself.     Beautiful, aren't they? a soft voice said. He glanced to his right.A girl had slid into the stool beside him. She wore a green dress cutvery low at the throat. Her skin had the pleasant tan recently onEarth. Her hair was a shade of abundant brown and her eyes were blue,the color of the skies of Earth. A necklace circled her throat andbelow the necklace ... Johnson felt his pulse quicken, for two reasons.Women such as this one had been quickening the pulse of men since thedays of Adam. The second reason concerned her presence here in thisplace where no woman in her right mind ever came unescorted. Her eyessmiled up at him unafraid. Didn't she know there were men present herein this space port city who would snatch her bodily from the barstool and carry her away for sleeping purposes? And Venusians werehere who would cut her pretty throat for the sake of the necklace thatcircled it?     They      are     beautiful, he said, smiling.     Thank you.     I was referring to the bubbles.     You were talking about my eyes, she answered, unperturbed.     How did you know? I mean....     I am very knowing, the girl said, smiling.     Are you sufficiently knowing to be here?     For an instant, as if doubt crossed her mind, the smile flickered. Thenit came again, stronger. Aren't you here?     Johnson choked as bubbles from the tarmur seemed to go suddenly up hisnose. My dear child ... he sputtered.     I am not a child, she answered with a firm sureness that left nodoubt in his mind that she knew what she was saying. And my name isVee Vee.     Vee Vee? Um. That is....     Don't you think it's a nice name?     I certainly do. Probably the rest of it is even nicer.     There is no more of it. Just Vee Vee. Like Topsy, I just grew.  <doc-sep>The stern, white haired I.S.P. Commander behind the immense Aluminildesk, frowned slightly as Dennis Brooke entered. He eyed the six footfour frame of the Captain before him with a mixture of feelings, asif uncertain how to begin. Finally, he sighed as if, having come to adecision, he were forcing himself to speak:     Sit down, Dennis. I've sent for you, despite your grounding, fortwo reasons. The first one you already know—your capture of one ofKoerber's henchmen—has given us a line as to his present orbit ofpiracy, and the means of a check on his activities. But that's notreally why I've brought you here. He frowned again as if what he hadto say were difficult indeed.     Marla Starland, your fiancee, accepted an assignment we offered her—adelicate piece of work here on Terra that only a very beautiful, andvery clever young lady could perform. And, he paused, grimacing,somewhere between Venus and Terra, the interplanetary spacer bringingher and several other passengers, began to send distress signals.Finally, we couldn't contact the ship any more. It is three daysoverdue. All passengers, a cargo of radium from Venus worth untoldmillions, the spacer itself—seem to have vanished.     Dennis Brooke's space-tanned features had gone pale. His large hazeleyes, fringed with auburn lashes, too long for a man, were bright slitsthat smouldered. He stood silent, his hands clenched at his sides,while something cold and sharp seemed to dig at his heart with cruelprecision.     Marla! He breathed at last. The thought of Marla in the powerof Koerber sent a wave of anguish that seared through him like anatom-blast.     Commander, Dennis said, and his rich baritone voice had depths ofemotion so great that they startled Commander Bertram himself—andthat grizzled veteran of the I.S.P., had at one time or another knownevery change of torture that could possibly be wrung on a human soul.Commander, give me one ...      one     chance at that spawn of unthinkablebegetting! Let me try, and I promise you ... in his torture, Denniswas unconsciously banging a knotted fist on the chaste, satiny surfaceof the priceless desk, I promise you that I will either bring youKoerber, or forfeit my life!     Commander Bertram nodded his head. I brought you here for thatpurpose, son. We have reached a point in our war with Koerber, wherethe last stakes must be played ... and the last stake is death!     He reached over and flipped up the activator on a small telecast seton his desk; instantly the viso-screen lighted up. You'll now seea visual record of all we know about the passenger spacer that leftVenus with passengers and cargo, as far as we could contact the vesselin space. This, Dennis, the Commander emphasized his words, is yourchance to redeem yourself! He fell silent, while the viso-screen beganto show a crowded space port on Venus, and a gigantic passenger spacerup-tilted in its cradle.  <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>Captain Bransten was a mousey, unimpressive sort of man. He was wearinga tropical tunic, but he still resembled a wilted lily more than he didan officer.     Have a seat, Major, he offered. He reached for a cigarette box on thedesk and extended it to me. He coughed in embarrassment when he saw itwas empty. Quickly, he pressed a button on his desk and the door poppedopen. A tall, blue Venusian stepped lithely into the room.     Sir? the Venusian asked.     We're out of cigarettes, Joe, the Captain said. Will you get ussome, please?     Sure thing, the Venusian answered. He smiled broadly and closed thedoor behind him.       Another Joe     , I thought.      Another damned Joe.       They steal them, Captain Bransten said abruptly.     Steal what? I asked.     Cigarettes. I sometimes think the cigarette is one of the few thingsthey like about Terran culture.     So Walsh had taken care of that angle too.      He does have a peculiarhabit, though. He has an affinity for Terran cigarettes.     Cigaretteswas the tip I should have given; not solars.     All right, I said, suppose we start at the beginning.     Captain Bransten opened his eyes wide. Sir? he asked.     What's with all this Joe business? It may be a very original name butI think its popularity here is a little outstanding.     Captain Bransten began to chuckle softly. I personally didn't think itwas so funny. I tossed him my withering Superior Officer's gaze andwaited for his explanation.     I hadn't realized this was your first time on Venus, he said.     Is there a local hero named Joe? I asked.     No, no, nothing like that, he assured me. It's a simple culture, youknow. Not nearly as developed as Mars.     I can see that, I said bitingly.     And the natives are only now becoming acquainted with Terran culture.Lots of enlisted men, you know.     I began to get the idea. And I began to appreciate Walsh's doubtfulancestry more keenly.     It's impossible to tell exactly where it all started, of course,Bransten was saying.     I was beginning to get angry. Very angry. I was thinking of Walshsitting back in a nice cozy foam chair back on Earth.     Get to the point, Captain! I barked.     Easy, sir, Bransten said, turning pale. I could see that the Captainwasn't used to entertaining Majors. The enlisted men. You know howthey are. They'll ask a native to do something and they'll call himJoe. 'Hey, Joe, give me a hand with this.' Or 'Listen, Joe, how'd youlike to earn some cigarettes?' Do you follow?     I follow, all right, I said bitterly.     Well, Bransten went on, that sort of thing mushrooms. The nativesare a simple, almost childish people. It appealed to them—the Joebusiness, I mean. Now they're all Joe. They like it. That and thecigarettes.     He cleared his throat and looked at me apologetically as if he werepersonally responsible for Venusian culture. In fact, he looked as ifhe were responsible for having put Venus in the heavens in the firstplace.     Do you understand, Major? Just a case of extended idiom, that's all.     Just a case of extended      idiot     , I thought. An idiot on a wild goosechase a hell of a long way from home.     I understand perfectly, I snapped. Where are my quarters?     Bransten asked a Venusian named Joe to show me my quarters, remindingme that chow was at thirteen hundred. As I was leaving, the firstVenusian came back with the cigarettes Bransten had ordered.     I could tell by the look on his face that he probably had half a cartonstuffed into his pockets. I shrugged and went to change into a tropicaltunic.     I called Earth right after chow. The Captain assured me that this sortof thing was definitely against regulations, but he submitted when Itwinkled my little gold leaf under his nose.     Walsh's face appeared on the screen. He was smiling, looking like a fatpussy cat.     What is it, Major? he asked.     This man Joe, I said. Can you give me any more on him?     Walsh's grin grew wider. Why, Major, he said, you're not having anydifficulties, are you?     None at all, I snapped back. I just thought I'd be able to find hima lot sooner if....     Take your time, Major, Walsh beamed. There's no rush at all.     I thought....     I'm sure you can do the job, Walsh cut in. I wouldn't have sent youotherwise.     Hell, I was through kidding around. Look....     He's somewhere in the jungle, you know, Walsh said.     I wanted to ram my fist into the screen, right smack up against thosebig white teeth. Instead, I cut off the transmission and watched thesurprised look on his face as his screen went blank millions of milesaway.     He blinked at the screen, trying to realize I'd deliberately hung up onhim.     Polk! he shouted, can you hear me?     I smiled, saw the twisted hatred on his features, and then the screenon my end went blank, too.       He's somewhere in the jungle, you know.       I thanked Captain Bransten for his hospitality and went back to myquarters.     As I saw it, there were two courses for me to follow.     One: I could say the hell with Walsh and Venus. That would mean hoppingthe next ship back to Earth.     It would also mean disobeying the direct order of a superior officer.It might mean demotion, and it might mean getting bounced out of theService altogether.     Two: I could assume there really was a guy name Joe somewhere in thatjungle, a Joe separate and apart from the other Joes on this planet, atrader Joe who knew the Martians well. I could always admit failure, ofcourse, and return empty handed. Mission not accomplished. Or, I mightreally find a guy who was trader Joe.     I made my decision quickly. I wanted to stay in the Service, andbesides Walsh may have been on the level for the first time in hislife. Maybe there was a Joe here who could help us on Mars. If therewas I'd try to find him. It was still a hell of a trick though.     I cursed Walsh again and pushed the buzzer near my bed.     A tall Venusian stepped into the room.     Joe? I asked, just to be sure.     Who else, boss? he answered.     I'm trying to locate someone, I said. I'll need a guide to take meinto the jungle. Can you get me one?     It'll cost you, boss, the Venusian said.     How much?     Two cartons of cigarettes at least.     Who's the guide? I asked.     How's the price sound?     Fine, fine, I said impatiently. And the Captain had said they werealmost a childish people!     His name is Joe, the Venusian told me. Best damn guide on theplanet. Take you anywhere you want to go, do anything you want to do.Courageous. Doesn't know the meaning of fear. I've known him to....     Skip it, I said, cutting the promotion short. Tell him to show uparound fifteen hundred with a complete list of what we'll need.     The Venusian started to leave.     And Joe, I said, stopping him at the door, I hope you're notoverlooking your commission on the deal.     His face broke into a wide grin. No danger of that, boss, he said.     When he was gone I began figuring out a plan of action. Obviously, I'djust have to traipse through the jungle looking for a guy named Joe ona planet where everyone was named Joe. Everybody, at least, but theCaptain, the small garrison attached to the Station, and me.  <doc-sep>Barry opened his eyes. The ship was in normal deceleration and NickPodtiaguine was watching him from a nearby bunk.     I could eat a cow with the smallpox, Barry declared.     Nick grinned. No doubt. You slept around the clock and more. Nice jobof work out there.     Barry unhitched his straps and sat up.     Say, he asked anxiously. What's haywire with the air?     Nick looked startled. Nothing. Everything checked out when I came offwatch a few minutes ago.     Barry shrugged. Probably just me. Guess I'll go see if I can mooch ahandout.     He found himself a hero. The cook was ready to turn the galley insideout while a radio engineer and an entomologist hovered near to wait onhim. But he couldn't enjoy the meal. The sensations of heat and drynesshe had noticed on awakening grew steadily worse. It became difficult tobreathe.     He started to rise, and abruptly the room swirled and darkened aroundhim. Even as he sank into unconsciousness he knew the answer.     The suit's Kendall-shield had leaked!     Four plunged toward Venus tail first, the Hoskins jets flaring ahead.The single doctor for the Colony had gone out in Two and the crewmentrained in first aid could do little to relieve Barry's distress.Fainting spells alternated with fever and delirium and an unquenchablethirst. His breathing became increasingly difficult.     A few thousand miles out Four picked up a microbeam. A feeling ofexultation surged through the ship as Captain Reno passed the word, forthe beam meant that some Earthmen were alive upon Venus. They were notnecessarily diving straight toward oblivion. Barry, sick as he was,felt the thrill of the unknown world that lay ahead.     Into a miles-thick layer of opacity Four roared, with Captain Renohimself jockeying throttles to keep it balanced on its self-createdsupport of flame.     You're almost in, a voice chanted into his headphones throughcrackling, sizzling static. Easy toward spherical one-thirty. Hold it!Lower. Lower. CUT YOUR POWER!     The heavy hull dropped sickeningly, struck with a mushy thud, settled,steadied.     Barry was weak, but with Nick Podtiaguine steadying him he was waitingwith the others when Captain Reno gave the last order.     Airlock open. Both doors.     Venusian air poured in.     For this I left Panama? one of the men yelped.     Enough to gag a maggot, another agreed with hand to nose.     It was like mid-summer noon in a tropical mangrove swamp, hot andunbearably humid and overpowering with the stench of decayingvegetation.     But Barry took one deep breath, then another. The stabbing needles inhis chest blunted, and the choking band around his throat loosened.     The outer door swung wide. He blinked, and a shift in the encompassingvapors gave him his first sight of a world bathed in subdued light.     Four had landed in a marsh with the midships lock only a few feet abovea quagmire surface still steaming from the final rocket blast. Nearbythe identical hulls of Two and Three stood upright in the mud. Themist shifted again and beyond the swamp he could see the low, roundedoutlines of the collapsible buildings Two and Three had carried intheir cargo pits. They were set on a rock ledge rising a few feet outof the marsh. The Colony!     Men were tossing sections of lattice duckboard out upon the swamp,extending a narrow walkway toward Four's airlock, and within a fewminutes the new arrivals were scrambling down.     Barry paid little attention to the noisy greetings and excited talk.Impatiently he trotted toward the rock ledge, searching for oneparticular figure among the men and women who waited.     Dorothy! he said fervently.     Then his arms were around her and she was responding to his kiss.     Then unexpected pain tore at his chest. Her lovely face took on anexpression of fright even as it wavered and grew dim. The last thing hesaw was Robson Hind looming beside her.     By the glow of an overhead tubelight he recognized the kindly, deeplylined features of the man bending over him. Dr. Carl Jensen, specialistin tropical diseases. He tried to sit up but the doctor laid arestraining hand on his shoulder.     Water! Barry croaked.     The doctor held out a glass. Then his eyes widened incredulously as hispatient deliberately drew in a breath while drinking, sucking waterdirectly into his lungs.     Doctor, he asked, keeping his voice low to spare his throat. Whatare my chances? On the level.     Dr. Jensen shook his head thoughtfully. There's not a thing—not adamned solitary thing—I can do. It's something new to medical science.     Barry lay still.     Your body is undergoing certain radical changes, the doctorcontinued, and you know as much—more about your condition than I do.If a normal person who took water into his lungs that way didn't die ofa coughing spasm, congestive pneumonia would get him sure. But it seemsto give you relief.     Barry scratched his neck, where a thickened, darkening patch on eachside itched infuriatingly.     What are these changes? he asked. What's this?     Those things seem to be— the doctor began hesitantly. Damn it, Iknow it sounds crazy but they're rudimentary gills.     Barry accepted the outrageous statement unemotionally. He was beyondshock.     But there must be—     Pain struck again, so intense his body twisted and archedinvoluntarily. Then the prick of a needle brought merciful oblivion.      II     Barry's mind was working furiously. The changes the Sigma radiationshad inflicted upon his body might reverse themselves spontaneously, Dr.Jensen had mentioned during a second visit—but for that to happen hemust remain alive. That meant easing all possible strains.     When the doctor came in again Barry asked him to find Nick Podtiaguine.Within a few minutes the mechanic appeared.     Cheez, it's good to see you, Barry, he began.     Stuff it, the sick man interrupted. I want favors. Can do?     Nick nodded vigorously.     First cut that air conditioner and get the window open.     Nick stared as though he were demented, but obeyed, unbolting the heavyplastic window panel and lifting it aside. He made a face at the damp,malodorous Venusian air but to Barry it brought relief.     It was not enough, but it indicated he was on the right track. And hewas not an engineer for nothing.     Got a pencil? he asked.     He drew only a rough sketch, for Nick was far too competent to needdetailed drawings.     Think you can get materials?     Nick glanced at the sketch. Hell, man, for you I can get anything theColony has. You saved Four and everybody knows it.     Two days?     Nick looked insulted.     He was back in eight hours, and with him came a dozen helpers. Apower line and water tube were run through the metal partition to thecorridor, connections were made, and the machine Barry had sketched wasready.     Nick flipped the switch. The thing whined shrilly. From a fanshapednozzle came innumerable droplets of water, droplets of colloidal sizethat hung in the air and only slowly coalesced into larger drops thatfell toward the metal floor.     Barry nodded, a smile beginning to spread across his drawn features.     Perfect. Now put the window back.     Outside lay the unknown world of Venus, and an open, unguarded windowmight invite disaster.     A few hours later Dr. Jensen found his patient in a normal sleep. Theroom was warm and the air was so filled with water-mist it was almostliquid. Coalescing drops dripped from the walls and curving ceilingand furniture, from the half clad body of the sleeping man, and thescavenger pump made greedy gulping sounds as it removed excess waterfrom the floor.     The doctor shook his head as he backed out, his clothes clinging wetfrom the short exposure.     It was abnormal.     But so was Barry Barr.     With breathing no longer a continuous agony Barry began to recover someof his strength. But for several days much of his time was spent insleep and Dorothy Voorhees haunted his dreams.     Whenever he closed his eyes he could see her as clearly as thoughshe were with him—her face with the exotic high cheek-bones—hereyes a deep gray in fascinating contrast to her raven hair—lips thatseemed to promise more of giving than she had ever allowed herself tofulfil—her incongruously pert, humorous little nose that was a legacyfrom some venturesome Irishman—her slender yet firmly lithe body.     After a few days Dr. Jensen permitted him to have visitors. They camein a steady stream, the people from Four and men he had not seen sinceTraining Base days, and although none could endure his semi-liquidatmosphere more than a few minutes at a time Barry enjoyed their visits.     But the person for whom he waited most anxiously did not arrive. Ateach knock Barry's heart would leap, and each time he settled back witha sigh of disappointment. Days passed and still Dorothy did not cometo him. He could not go to her, and stubborn pride kept him from eveninquiring. All the while he was aware of Robson Hind's presence in theColony, and only weakness kept him from pacing his room like a cagedanimal.     Through his window he could see nothing but the gradual brighteningand darkening of the enveloping fog as the slow 82-hour Venusian dayprogressed, but from his visitors' words he learned something ofVenusian conditions and the story of the Colony.     Number One had bumbled in on visual, the pilot depending on the smearyimages of infra-sight goggles. An inviting grassy plain had proved tobe a layer of algae floating on quicksand. Frantically the crew hadblasted down huge balsa-like marsh trees, cutting up the trunks withflame guns to make crude rafts. They had performed fantastic feats ofstrength and endurance but managed to salvage only half their equipmentbefore the shining nose of One had vanished in the gurgling ooze.     Lost in a steaming, stinking marsh teeming with alien creatures thatslithered and crawled and swam and flew, blinded by the eternal fog,the crew had proved the rightness of their choice as pioneers. Forweeks they had floundered across the deadly terrain until at last,beside a stagnant-looking slough that drained sluggishly into a warm,almost tideless sea a mile away, they had discovered an outcropping ofrock. It was the only solid ground they had encountered.     One man had died, his swamp suit pierced by a poisonous thorn, but theothers had hand-hauled the radio beacon piece by piece and set it upin time to guide Two to a safe landing. Houses had been assembled, thesecondary power units of the spaceship put to work, and the colony hadestablished a tenuous foothold.     Three had landed beside Two a few months later, bringingreinforcements, but the day-by-day demands of the little colony'sstruggle for survival had so far been too pressing to permit extendedor detailed explorations. Venus remained a planet of unsolved mysteries.     The helicopter brought out in Three had made several flights whichby radar and sound reflection had placed vague outlines on the blankmaps. The surface appeared to be half water, with land masses mainlyjungle-covered swamp broken by a few rocky ledges, but landings awayfrom base had been judged too hazardous.     Test borings from the ledge had located traces of oil and radioactiveminerals, while enough Venusian plants had proven edible to provide anadequate though monotonous food source.     Venus was the diametric opposite of lifeless Mars. Through the foggigantic insects hummed and buzzed like lost airplanes, but fortunatelythey were harmless and timid.     In the swamps wildly improbable life forms grew and reproduced andfought and died, and many of those most harmless in appearancepossessed surprisingly venomous characteristics.     The jungle had been flamed away in a huge circle around the colony tominimize the chances of surprise by anything that might attack, but theblasting was an almost continuous process. The plants of Venus grewwith a vigor approaching fury.     Most spectacular of the Venusian creatures were the amphibious armoredmonsters, saurian or semi-saurians with a slight resemblance to thebrontosauri that had once lived on Earth, massive swamp-dwellers thatused the slough beside the colony's ledge as a highway. They wereapparently vegetarians, but thorough stupidity in tremendous bulk madethem dangerous. One had damaged a building by blundering against it,and since then the colony had remained alert, using weapons to repelthe beasts.     The most important question—that of the presence or absence ofintelligent, civilized Venusians—remained unanswered. Some of the menreported a disquieting feeling of being watched, particularly when nearopen water, but others argued that any intelligent creatures would haveestablished contact.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What are the different locations featured in The CONJURER of VENUS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What can we learn about the culture on Venus from The CONJURER of VENUS? [SEP] <s>Obviously Trillium's poor little brain has been drugged, HisExcellency Dimdooly declared. Grandmamma Berta wouldn't know the firstthing about such things!     Impossible! Grandpapa President agreed. I've been married to herfor a hundred and twenty-four and a half years and she's the finestrattle-brain I ever knew!     She learned, Trillium stated emphatically, a hundred and twenty-fiveyears ago.     Hundred twenty-five, Grandpapa president growled like a boilingvolcano. The year some Earthman.... Never did catch the devil....Berta? Impossible!     Madame President's shapely finger now rested full on the button thatcould launch the fleets of war rockets that had been pre-aimed for athousand years. I'm afraid your Ambassador is unwelcome now, MadamePresident stated coolly. Your granddaughter's actions have every markof an invasion tactic by your government.     What do you mean, her actions? Grandpapa President's finger now laypoised on the button that had been waiting a thousand years to blowEarth out of the universe. My grandchild was kidnapped by men underyour official command! Weren't you, Trillium dear?     No. One of us stowing away was the only way we Venus women could bringour cause to the attention of Earth's President. If Earth will onlystop buying from Venus, you won't have any money to squander on yourwars any longer no matter what happens to we revolutionaries!     Revolutionaries? Such claptrap! And what's wrong with my wars? Peoplehave to have something to keep their minds off their troubles! Nobodyaround here gets hurt. Oh, maybe a few scratches here and there. Butnobody on Venus dies from the things any more.     But Venus men are so excited all the time about going to war theyhaven't time for us women. That's why we always radiated such a fatalattraction for Earthmen. We want to be loved! We want our own men homedoing useful work!     Well, they do come home and do useful work! Couple weeks every tenmonths. Proven to be a highly efficient arrangement.     More boys to run off to your old wars and more girls to stay home andbe lonely!     Now you just listen to me, Trillium! Grandpapa President was allVenus manhood laying down the law. That's the way things have been onVenus for ten thousand years and all the women in the universe can'tchange it!     I have been in constant contact with my Cabinet during theseconversations, Madame President said crisply. Earth is terminatingall trade agreements with Venus as of this instant.     What? Grandpapa's beards near pulled his ears off. It's not legal!You can't get away with this!     Take your finger off that trigger, boy! a heavenly voice similar toTrillium's advised from the Venus panel.     Whereupon Grandpapa glared to one side. Berta! What are you doinghere? I am deciding matters of the gravest interplanetary nature!     Were. Features more beautifully mature than Trillium's crowded ontothe panel too. From now on I'm doing the deciding.     Nonsense! You're only my wife!     And new President of Venus, elected by unanimous vote of all women.     Impossible! The men run Venus! Nobody's turning this planet intoanother Earth where a man can't even sneeze unless some woman says so!     Take him away, girls, Berta ordered coolly, whereupon her spouse wasyanked from view.     His bellows, however, could be heard yet. Unhand me, you foolcreatures! Guards! Guards!     Save your breath, Berta advised him. And while you're in the cooler,enjoy this latest batch of surrender communiques. We women are incontrol everywhere now.     Dimmy, Trillium was saying firmly to His Excellency, you have beataround the bush with me long enough. Now say it!  <doc-sep>  THE SOUL EATERS     By WILLIAM CONOVER     Firebrand Dennis Brooke had one final chance     to redeem himself by capturing Koerber whose     ships were the scourge of the Void. But his     luck had run its course, and now he was     marooned on a rogue planet—fighting to save     himself from a menace weapons could not kill.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Fall 1944.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]            And so, my dear     , Dennis detected a faint irony in the phrase,       I'mafraid I can offer no competition to the beauties of five planets—oris it six? With regret I bow myself out, and knowing me as you do,you'll understand the futility of trying to convince me again. Anyway,there will be no temptation, for I'm sailing on a new assignment I'veaccepted. I did love you.... Good-by.          Dennis Brooke had lost count of the times he'd read Marla's lastletter, but every time he came to these final, poignant lines, theynever failed to conjure a vision of her tawny loveliness, slender asthe palms of Venus, and of the blue ecstasy of her eyes, wide with aperpetual wonder—limpid as a child's.     The barbaric rhythms of the      Congahua     , were a background of annoyancein Dennis' mind; he frowned slightly as the maneuvers of the Mercuriandancer, who writhed among the guests of the notorious pleasure palace,began to leave no doubt as to her intentions. The girl was beautiful,in a sultry, almost incandescent sort of way, but her open promise lefthim cold. He wanted solitude, somewhere to coordinate his thoughtsin silence and salvage something out of the wreck of his heart, notto speak of his career. But Venus, in the throes of a gigantic boomupon the discovery of radio-active fields, could offer only onesolitude—the fatal one of her swamps and virgin forests.     Dennis Brooke was thirty, the time when youth no longer seems unending.When the minor adventures of the heart begin to pall. If the loss ofMarla left an aching void that all the women of five planets could notfill, the loss of Space, was quite as deadly. For he had been grounded.True, Koerber's escape from the I.S.P. net had not quite been hisfault; but had he not been enjoying the joys of a voluptuous JovianChamber, in Venus' fabulous Inter-planetary Palace, he would have beenready for duty to complete the last link in the net of I.S.P. cruisersthat almost surrounded the space pirate.     A night in the Jovian Chamber, was to be emperor for one night. Everydream of a man's desire was marvelously induced through the skilful useof hypnotics; the rarest viands and most delectable drinks appeared asif by magic; the unearthly peace of an Olympus descended on a man'ssoul, and beauty ... beauty such as men dreamed of was a warm realityunder the ineffable illumination of the Chamber.     It cost a young fortune. But to pleasure mad, boom-ridden Venus, afortune was a bagatelle. Only it had cost Dennis Brooke far more than asheaf of credits—it had cost him the severe rebuff of the I.S.P., andmost of his heart in Marla.     Dennis sighed, he tilted his red, curly head and drank deeply of theinsidious      Verbena     , fragrant as a mint garden, in the tall frostyglass of Martian      Bacca-glas     , and as he did so, his brilliant hazeleyes found themselves gazing into the unwinking, violet stare of ayoung Martian at the next table. There was a smouldering hatred inthose eyes, and something else ... envy, perhaps, or was it jealousy?Dennis couldn't tell. But his senses became instantly alert. Dangerbrought a faint vibration which his superbly trained faculties couldinstantly denote.     His steady, bronzed hand lowered the drink, and his eyes narrowedslightly. Absorbed in trying to puzzle the sudden enmity of thisMartian stranger, he was unaware of the Mercurian Dancer. The latterhad edged closer, whirling in prismatic flashes from the myriadsemi-precious stones that studded her brief gauze skirt. And now, ina final bid for the spacer's favor she flung herself in his lap andtilted back invitingly.     Some of the guests laughed, others stared in plain envy at thehandsome, red-haired spacer, but from the table across, came thetinkling sound of a fragile glass being crushed in a powerful hand,and a muffled Martian curse. Without warning, the Martian was on hisfeet with the speed of an Hellacorium, the table went crashing to oneside as he leaped with deadly intent on the sprawled figure of DennisBrooke. A high-pitched scream brought instant silence as a Terran girlcried out. Then the Martian's hand reached out hungrily. But Dennis wasnot there.  <doc-sep>  The CONJURER of VENUS     By CONAN T. TROY       A world-famed Earth scientist had disappeared on Venus.       When Johnson found him, he found too the secret to that       globe-shaking mystery—the fabulous Room of The Dreaming.       [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories November 1952.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      The city dripped with rain. Crossing the street toward the dive,Johnson got rain in his eyes, his nose, and his ears. That was the waywith the rain here. It came at you from all directions. There had beenoccasions when Johnson had thought the rain was falling straight up.Otherwise, how had the insides of his pants gotten wet?     On Venus, everything came at you from all directions, it seemed toJohnson. Opening the door of the joint, it was noise instead of rainthat came at him, the wild frantic beat of a Venusian rhumba, thenotes pounding and jumping through the smoke and perfume clouded room.Feeling states came at him, intangible, but to his trained senses,perceptible emotional nuances of hate, love, fear, and rage. But mostlylove. Since this place had been designed to excite the senses of bothhumans and Venusians, the love feelings were heavily tinged withstraight sex. He sniffed at them, feeling them somewhere inside of him,aware of them but aware also that here was apprehension, and plain fear.     Caldwell, sitting in a booth next to the door, glanced up as Johnsonentered but neither Caldwell's facial expression or his eyes revealedthat he had ever seen this human before. Nor did Johnson seem torecognize Caldwell.     Is the mighty human wanting liquor, a woman or dreams? His voicewas all soft syllables of liquid sound. The Venusian equivalent of aheadwaiter was bowing to him.     I'll have a tarmur to start, Johnson said. How are the dreamstonight?     Ze vill be the most wonserful of all sonight. The great Unger hisselfwill be here to do ze dreaming. There is no ozzer one who has quitehis touch at dreaming, mighty one. The headwaiter spread his handsin a gesture indicating ecstasy. It is my great regret that I must doze work tonight instead of being wiz ze dreamers. Ah, ze great Ungerhisself! The headwaiter kissed the tips of his fingers.     Um, Johnson said. The great Unger! His voice expressed surprise,just the right amount of it. I'll have a tarmur to start but when doesthe dreaming commence?     In one zonar or maybe less. Shall I make ze reservations for ze mightyone? As he was speaking, the headwaiter was deftly conducting Johnsonto the bar.     Not just yet, Johnson said. See me a little later.     But certainly. The headwaiter was gone into the throng. Johnson wasat the bar. Behind it, a Venusian was bowing to him. Tarmur, Johnsonsaid. The green drink was set before him. He held it up to the light,admiring the slow rise of the tiny golden bubbles in it. To him,watching the bubbles rise was perhaps more important than drinkingitself.     Beautiful, aren't they? a soft voice said. He glanced to his right.A girl had slid into the stool beside him. She wore a green dress cutvery low at the throat. Her skin had the pleasant tan recently onEarth. Her hair was a shade of abundant brown and her eyes were blue,the color of the skies of Earth. A necklace circled her throat andbelow the necklace ... Johnson felt his pulse quicken, for two reasons.Women such as this one had been quickening the pulse of men since thedays of Adam. The second reason concerned her presence here in thisplace where no woman in her right mind ever came unescorted. Her eyessmiled up at him unafraid. Didn't she know there were men present herein this space port city who would snatch her bodily from the barstool and carry her away for sleeping purposes? And Venusians werehere who would cut her pretty throat for the sake of the necklace thatcircled it?     They      are     beautiful, he said, smiling.     Thank you.     I was referring to the bubbles.     You were talking about my eyes, she answered, unperturbed.     How did you know? I mean....     I am very knowing, the girl said, smiling.     Are you sufficiently knowing to be here?     For an instant, as if doubt crossed her mind, the smile flickered. Thenit came again, stronger. Aren't you here?     Johnson choked as bubbles from the tarmur seemed to go suddenly up hisnose. My dear child ... he sputtered.     I am not a child, she answered with a firm sureness that left nodoubt in his mind that she knew what she was saying. And my name isVee Vee.     Vee Vee? Um. That is....     Don't you think it's a nice name?     I certainly do. Probably the rest of it is even nicer.     There is no more of it. Just Vee Vee. Like Topsy, I just grew.  <doc-sep>Dimdooly—the mighty, the lordly, who had sneered at the sight of mereEarthmen kowtowing to a mere woman—swelled up fit to blow his gaskets,then all the gas went out of him. His ear beards, however, still hadenough zip left to flutter like butterflies. Yes, Trillium dear. Ilove only you. Please marry me at your earliest convenience.     Well, Grandmamma, Trillium said with a highly self-satisfied air, itworks. And just like you said, Earthmen meant nothing once I knew weVenus women had our own men in our power.     Those crewmen there, Grandmamma President said, seem to be proofenough that we Venus women no longer radiate any threat to Earth'stranquility.     Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly sure felt like proof of something all of a sudden.Worse than the hangover from that crap game with Venus vino. He lookedaway from Trillium and took a look at Callahan. Old guy looked awayfrom Grandmamma President like he was packing the second biggestheadache in history.     Hmmmm, yes, Madame President of Earth observed. Reactions agreeperfectly with the psychoanalytical research project we have beenconducting on the subject of the Venus female influence. MadamePresident of Venus, congratulations on your victory!     Long may the superior sex reign on Venus too! We shall be delighted toreceive an Ambassadoress to discuss a new trade treaty at your earliestconvenience.     Thank you for cancelling the old trade agreements at the psychologicalmoment, Grandmamma President said cordially. What with thecommunications mixup, we managed to have the scenes on these panelsbroadcast throughout all Venus. When the rug went out from under thetop man, the tide really turned in our favor. Now, Trillium, you takeover Dimmy's credentials.     The Ambassadorial Suite, too, Madame President of Earth saidgraciously. Anything else now, Berta?     I should like, Grandmamma President Berta said charmingly, thatMr. O'Rielly and Mr. Callahan be suitably rewarded for assisting ourrevolution better than they knew.     Of course, Madame President of Earth was delighted to oblige. Nodoubt Captain Hatwoody knows what reward would satisfy their needsbest.     The Madame Presidents switched to a private circuit, Trillium draggedDimdooly off somewhere and the Old Woman eyed O'Rielly and Callahan.Especially she eyed Callahan, like running chilled drills through hisold conniving brain. I award the pair of you five minutes leisurebefore returning to your stations.     Oh, well, O'Rielly muttered, once he and Callahan were safely beyondearshot, could have been rewarded worse, I suppose.     What you expect for being flimflammed by a foreign dame, the rings ofSaturn? Lucky we ain't programmed to be hung, shot and thrown to thecrows for breakfast. Callahan's old pick-and-shovel face wore a littlegrin like the cat that nobody could prove ate the canary.     You—I mean, that Earth guy a hundred twenty-five years ago, O'Riellysaid in sudden thought. If Venus dames wanted to be loved so bad, whydid Trillium's Grandmamma let him go?     Venus guys wasn't so busy playing war all the time, Callahan mumbled,like to himself, they'd of found out the answer centuries ago. Yep,guess our boy was the only guy on Earth or Venus to find out and live.Dames bossing both planets now, though, his old secret won't be onemuch longer. Venus dames could of let it out centuries ago themselvesbut didn't, just to spite Earth probably. Later, was part of organizingto take over Venus, I guess.     O'Rielly still had memories of the way he had felt about Trilliumbefore her revolution. All right, Callahan, why did 'our boy' leaveGrandmamma?     Yes, ma'am, Callahan sighed like he hadn't heard a word O'Riellysaid, you could sweet-talk 'em, kiss 'em and hold 'em tighter'nBilly-be-damned. And that's all.     I'm not sure, O'Rielly said, what you mean by, 'that's all.'     Anybody ever seen anybody but a Venus guy come built with ear beards?Course not.     But I thought our boy was wearing the best fakes ever.     Ain't nothing can match the natural growed-on variety, no, ma'am.Venus guy kisses a Venus dame, his beards grabs her roundst the ears.     So what?     Tickles 'em, boy, tickles 'em!   <doc-sep>Venus boys rared up and served notice that if Earth ever got any funnynotions, right away there wouldn't be enough Earth left to hide in anatom's eyebrow. Touchy as hornets on a hot griddle, them Venus guys.Crazier than bed bugs about war. Could smell a loose dollar a millionlight years away too. Finagled around until they finally cooked up adeal.     No Venus dames allowed within fifty miles of their port. Earth guysstay inside the high-voltage fence. Any dame caught trying to leaveVenus thrown to the tigers for supper. Same for any Earth guy caughtaround a Venus dame. In return, Earth could buy practically everythingat bargain basement prices.     Oh, I was shown the history films in pre-flight, O'Rielly said, stilldreamily. But not a peek of any Venus dame.     Pray heaven you'll never lay eyes on one nor have one get within tenfoot of you! Even though you'd know she'd be your damnation wouldn'tmake a whit difference—you'd still act sappier than thirty-sevenangels flying on vino. Callahan suddenly stared at O'Rielly. Holyhollering saints!     Now, now, Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly responded with an airylaugh. No Earth guy for a hundred twenty-five years been near one andlived to tell it, has he?     So the whispers run, Callahan murmured with a queer flame dancinginto his eyes. So the old whispers still run.     Never a name, though. Never how it was done. O'Rielly snorted.Probably just a goofy tale set loose by some old space bum.     Oh? Callahan bristled up like a bad name had been bandied about.Seen them ditty bags Venus bigwigs have, ain't you? Some big enough tostuff a cow in. Notice how nobody ever dares question a bigwig's bags,even through customs? Just run 'em through the big Geiger that tellswhether there's any fusionable junk inside. Well, our boy got himselfone of them bags, stuffed himself inside and joined a bigwig's pile of'em.     Didn't pull it whilst on the Venus port during a layover either, whena crew check would of turned him up missing. Pulled it on vacation.Started on the Earth end. Made himself a pair of beards to paste on hisears of course. Wove Jupiter wiggle worms in to keep the beards moving.Wasn't like the real thing, but good enough to flimflam Venus guys.     With suddenly enlivened interest O'Rielly looked at Callahan. Hey, howcome you know so much?     Hah? What? Callahan blinked like waking from a trance; even groanedto himself, something that sounded like, Blabbering like I'd hada nip myself—or one of them dillies was radiating nearby. ThenCallahan glared fit to drill holes in O'Rielly's head. Look! I wasa full Burnerman before you was born. Been flying the spaces hundredtwenty-five years now. Had more chances to hear more—just hear more,you hear! Only tried to clear your mind about Venus dames so you couldput your brain on your control mess. So now put it! If you ain't highon vino and ain't been made nuts by a Venus dame, what answer do wefeed the Old Woman?     Search me, Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly responded cheerfully.     Of all the loony apprentices I ever had to answer the Old Woman for!Awp, lemme out where I can think of something to save me own neck atleast!     Was all O'Rielly could do to keep from rolling on the deck with glee.Old Callahan had been flimflammed for fair! The dear little stowawaywas saved! And O'Rielly would now think of grand ways to save herlovely neck and his own forever.     O'Rielly's shower door, however, opened abruptly. O'Rielly had notopened it. O'Rielly, however, suffered a cruel stab of dismay. Surelyhis dear stowaway had been listening through the door. Why didn't shehave brains enough to stay hid until Callahan was gone!     At sight of her, of course, Callahan's eyes near popped from his oldhead. Berta!     Oh, I'm Trillium, she assured Callahan sweetly. But Grandmamma'sname is Berta and people say I'm just like she was a hundred andtwenty-five years ago.  <doc-sep>I’d been interested in the Brightside for almost as long asI can remember (Claney said). I guess I was about ten whenWyatt and Carpenter made the last attempt—that was in 2082,I think. I followed the news stories like a tri-V serial and thenI was heartbroken when they just disappeared.     I know now that they were a pair of idiots, starting off withoutproper equipment, with practically no knowledge of surfaceconditions, without any charts—they couldn’t have madea hundred miles—but I didn’t know that then and it was aterrible tragedy. After that, I followed Sanderson’s work in theTwilight Lab up there and began to get Brightside into myblood, sure as death.     But it was Mikuta’s idea to attempt a Crossing. Did you everknow Tom Mikuta? I don’t suppose you did. No, not Japanese—Polish-American.He was a major in the Interplanetary Servicefor some years and hung onto the title after he gave uphis commission.     He was with Armstrong on Mars during his Service days,did a good deal of the original mapping and surveying forthe Colony there. I first met him on Venus; we spent fiveyears together up there doing some of the nastiest exploringsince the Matto Grasso. Then he made the attempt on VulcanCrater that paved the way for Balmer a few years later.     I’d always liked the Major—he was big and quiet and cool,the sort of guy who always had things figured a little furtherahead than anyone else and always knew what to do in a tightplace. Too many men in this game are all nerve and luck,with no judgment. The Major had both. He also had the kindof personality that could take a crew of wild men andmake them work like a well-oiled machine across a thousandmiles of Venus jungle. I liked him and I trusted him.     He contacted me in New York and he was very casual atfirst. We spent an evening here at the Red Lion, talking aboutold times; he told me about the Vulcan business, and how he’dbeen out to see Sanderson and the Twilight Lab on Mercury,and how he preferred a hot trek to a cold one any day of theyear—and then he wanted to know what I’d been doing sinceVenus and what my plans were.     “No particular plans,” I told him. “Why?”     He looked me over. “How much do you weigh, Peter?”     I told him one-thirty-five.     “That much!” he said. “Well, there can’t be much fat onyou, at any rate. How do you take heat?”     “You should know,” I said. “Venus was no icebox.”     “No, I mean      real     heat.”     Then I began to get it. “You’re planning a trip.”     “That’s right. A hot trip.” He grinned at me. “Might bedangerous, too.”     “What trip?”     “Brightside of Mercury,” the Major said.     I whistled cautiously. “At aphelion?”     He threw his head back. “Why try a Crossing at aphelion?What have you done then? Four thousand miles of butcherousheat, just to have some joker come along, use your data anddrum you out of the glory by crossing at perihelion forty-fourdays later? No, thanks. I want the Brightside without any nonsenseabout it.” He leaned across me eagerly. “I want to makea Crossing at perihelion and I want to cross on the surface. Ifa man can do that, he’s got Mercury. Until then,      nobody’s     gotMercury. I want Mercury—but I’ll need help getting it.”     I’d thought of it a thousand times and never dared considerit. Nobody had, since Wyatt and Carpenter disappeared. Mercuryturns on its axis in the same time that it wheels aroundthe Sun, which means that the Brightside is always facing in.That makes the Brightside of Mercury at perihelion the hottestplace in the Solar System, with one single exception: thesurface of the Sun itself.     It would be a hellish trek. Only a few men had ever learnedjust      how     hellish and they never came back to tell about it. Itwas a real hell’s Crossing, but someday, I thought, somebodywould cross it.     I wanted to be along.  <doc-sep>Captain Bransten was a mousey, unimpressive sort of man. He was wearinga tropical tunic, but he still resembled a wilted lily more than he didan officer.     Have a seat, Major, he offered. He reached for a cigarette box on thedesk and extended it to me. He coughed in embarrassment when he saw itwas empty. Quickly, he pressed a button on his desk and the door poppedopen. A tall, blue Venusian stepped lithely into the room.     Sir? the Venusian asked.     We're out of cigarettes, Joe, the Captain said. Will you get ussome, please?     Sure thing, the Venusian answered. He smiled broadly and closed thedoor behind him.       Another Joe     , I thought.      Another damned Joe.       They steal them, Captain Bransten said abruptly.     Steal what? I asked.     Cigarettes. I sometimes think the cigarette is one of the few thingsthey like about Terran culture.     So Walsh had taken care of that angle too.      He does have a peculiarhabit, though. He has an affinity for Terran cigarettes.     Cigaretteswas the tip I should have given; not solars.     All right, I said, suppose we start at the beginning.     Captain Bransten opened his eyes wide. Sir? he asked.     What's with all this Joe business? It may be a very original name butI think its popularity here is a little outstanding.     Captain Bransten began to chuckle softly. I personally didn't think itwas so funny. I tossed him my withering Superior Officer's gaze andwaited for his explanation.     I hadn't realized this was your first time on Venus, he said.     Is there a local hero named Joe? I asked.     No, no, nothing like that, he assured me. It's a simple culture, youknow. Not nearly as developed as Mars.     I can see that, I said bitingly.     And the natives are only now becoming acquainted with Terran culture.Lots of enlisted men, you know.     I began to get the idea. And I began to appreciate Walsh's doubtfulancestry more keenly.     It's impossible to tell exactly where it all started, of course,Bransten was saying.     I was beginning to get angry. Very angry. I was thinking of Walshsitting back in a nice cozy foam chair back on Earth.     Get to the point, Captain! I barked.     Easy, sir, Bransten said, turning pale. I could see that the Captainwasn't used to entertaining Majors. The enlisted men. You know howthey are. They'll ask a native to do something and they'll call himJoe. 'Hey, Joe, give me a hand with this.' Or 'Listen, Joe, how'd youlike to earn some cigarettes?' Do you follow?     I follow, all right, I said bitterly.     Well, Bransten went on, that sort of thing mushrooms. The nativesare a simple, almost childish people. It appealed to them—the Joebusiness, I mean. Now they're all Joe. They like it. That and thecigarettes.     He cleared his throat and looked at me apologetically as if he werepersonally responsible for Venusian culture. In fact, he looked as ifhe were responsible for having put Venus in the heavens in the firstplace.     Do you understand, Major? Just a case of extended idiom, that's all.     Just a case of extended      idiot     , I thought. An idiot on a wild goosechase a hell of a long way from home.     I understand perfectly, I snapped. Where are my quarters?     Bransten asked a Venusian named Joe to show me my quarters, remindingme that chow was at thirteen hundred. As I was leaving, the firstVenusian came back with the cigarettes Bransten had ordered.     I could tell by the look on his face that he probably had half a cartonstuffed into his pockets. I shrugged and went to change into a tropicaltunic.     I called Earth right after chow. The Captain assured me that this sortof thing was definitely against regulations, but he submitted when Itwinkled my little gold leaf under his nose.     Walsh's face appeared on the screen. He was smiling, looking like a fatpussy cat.     What is it, Major? he asked.     This man Joe, I said. Can you give me any more on him?     Walsh's grin grew wider. Why, Major, he said, you're not having anydifficulties, are you?     None at all, I snapped back. I just thought I'd be able to find hima lot sooner if....     Take your time, Major, Walsh beamed. There's no rush at all.     I thought....     I'm sure you can do the job, Walsh cut in. I wouldn't have sent youotherwise.     Hell, I was through kidding around. Look....     He's somewhere in the jungle, you know, Walsh said.     I wanted to ram my fist into the screen, right smack up against thosebig white teeth. Instead, I cut off the transmission and watched thesurprised look on his face as his screen went blank millions of milesaway.     He blinked at the screen, trying to realize I'd deliberately hung up onhim.     Polk! he shouted, can you hear me?     I smiled, saw the twisted hatred on his features, and then the screenon my end went blank, too.       He's somewhere in the jungle, you know.       I thanked Captain Bransten for his hospitality and went back to myquarters.     As I saw it, there were two courses for me to follow.     One: I could say the hell with Walsh and Venus. That would mean hoppingthe next ship back to Earth.     It would also mean disobeying the direct order of a superior officer.It might mean demotion, and it might mean getting bounced out of theService altogether.     Two: I could assume there really was a guy name Joe somewhere in thatjungle, a Joe separate and apart from the other Joes on this planet, atrader Joe who knew the Martians well. I could always admit failure, ofcourse, and return empty handed. Mission not accomplished. Or, I mightreally find a guy who was trader Joe.     I made my decision quickly. I wanted to stay in the Service, andbesides Walsh may have been on the level for the first time in hislife. Maybe there was a Joe here who could help us on Mars. If therewas I'd try to find him. It was still a hell of a trick though.     I cursed Walsh again and pushed the buzzer near my bed.     A tall Venusian stepped into the room.     Joe? I asked, just to be sure.     Who else, boss? he answered.     I'm trying to locate someone, I said. I'll need a guide to take meinto the jungle. Can you get me one?     It'll cost you, boss, the Venusian said.     How much?     Two cartons of cigarettes at least.     Who's the guide? I asked.     How's the price sound?     Fine, fine, I said impatiently. And the Captain had said they werealmost a childish people!     His name is Joe, the Venusian told me. Best damn guide on theplanet. Take you anywhere you want to go, do anything you want to do.Courageous. Doesn't know the meaning of fear. I've known him to....     Skip it, I said, cutting the promotion short. Tell him to show uparound fifteen hundred with a complete list of what we'll need.     The Venusian started to leave.     And Joe, I said, stopping him at the door, I hope you're notoverlooking your commission on the deal.     His face broke into a wide grin. No danger of that, boss, he said.     When he was gone I began figuring out a plan of action. Obviously, I'djust have to traipse through the jungle looking for a guy named Joe ona planet where everyone was named Joe. Everybody, at least, but theCaptain, the small garrison attached to the Station, and me.  <doc-sep>O'Rielly suddenly felt like turning her over his knee and whaling heruntil she couldn't sit for a year. This, mind you, he felt in an agewhere no Earth guy for a thousand years had dared raise so much as abreath against woman's supremacy in all matters. That male charactertrait, however, did not seem to be the overpowering reason whyO'Rielly, instead of laying violent hands upon this one's person, heardhimself saying in sympathetic outrage, A shame you had to go to allthat bother to get out here!     You're so kind. But I'm afraid I became rather sticky and smelly inthere.     They ought to cool the air in there with perfume! I'll drop asuggestion in the Old Woman's box first chance I get.     You're so thoughtful. And do you have bathing facilities?     That door right there. Oh, let me open it for you!     You're so sweet. Her big dark eyes glowed with such pure innocencethat O'Rielly could have torn down the universe and rebuilt it just forher.     Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly was floating on a pink cloud with heavenly musicin his head. Never felt so fine before. Except on the Venus layoverwhen he'd been roped into a dice game with a bunch of Venus lads whohad a jug to cheer one's parting with one's money.     A bell suddenly clanged fit to wake the dead while the overhead lightsflashed wildly. Only the watch room door. Only Callahan here now. Oldbuzzard had a drooped nose like a pick, chin like a shovel.     When he talked he was like digging a hole in front of himself. Well,what about that control?     What control?     Your fusion control that got itself two points low!     Oh, that little thing.     Callahan said something through his teeth, then studied O'Riellysharply. Hey, you been wetting your whistle on that Venus vino again?Lemme smell your breath! Bah. Loaded yourself full of chlorophyllagain probably. All right, stand aside whilst I see your burner.     Charmed to, Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly said while bowinggracefully.     Higher than a swacked skunk's tail again, Callahan muttered, thensnapped back over his shoulder, Use your shower!     O'Rielly stood considering his shower door. Somehow he doubted thatBurner Chief Terrence Callahan's mood, or Captain Millicent Hatwoody's,would be improved by knowledge of she who was in O'Rielly's shower now.Not that the dear stowaway was less than charming. Quite the contrary.Oh, very quite!     You rockhead! Only Callahan back from the burner. Didn't I tell youto shower the stink off yourself? Old Woman's taking a Venus bigwigon tour the ship. Old Woman catches you like you been rassling skunksshe'll peel both our hides off. Not to mention what she'll do anywayabout your fusion control!     Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly responded courteously, I havebeen thinking.     With what? Never mind, just keep on trying whilst I have a shower formyself here. Wherewith Callahan reached hand for O'Rielly's showerdoor.     Venus dames, O'Rielly said dreamily, don't boss anything, do they?     Callahan yelped like he'd been bit in the pants by a big Jupiter ant.O'Rielly! You trying to get both of us condemned to a Uranus moon?Callahan also shot a wild look to the intercom switch. It was in OFFposition; the flight room full of fancy gold-lace petticoats could nothave overheard from here. Nevertheless Callahan's eyes rolled like thedevil was behind him with the fork ready. O'Rielly, open your big earswhilst for your own good and mine I speak of certain matters.     Thousand years ago, it was, the first flight reached Venus. Guysgot one look at them dames. Had to bring some home or bust. So theneverybody on Earth got a look, mostly by TV only of course. That didit. Every guy on Earth began blowing his fuse over them dames. Give upthe shirt off his back, last buck in the bank, his own Earth dame orfamily—everything.     Well, that's when Earth dames took over like armies of wild catswith knots in their tails. Before the guys who'd brought the Venusdames to Earth could say anything they was taken apart too small topick up with a blotter. Earth dames wound up by flying the Venus onesback where they come from and serving notice if one ever set foot onEarth again there wouldn't be enough left of Venus to find with anelectron microscope.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What can we learn about the culture on Venus from The CONJURER of VENUS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of the story's storyline? [SEP] <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>Young Peter Karson put the last black-print down and sighed withsatisfaction. His dream was perfect; the      Citadel     was complete, everyminutest detail provided for—on paper. In two weeks they would belaying the core, and then the metal giant itself would begin to grow,glittering, pulsing with each increment of power, until at last it layfinished, a living thing.     Then there would remain only the task of blasting the great, shiningship out into the carefully-calculated orbit that would be its home.In his mind's eye he could see it, slowly wheeling, like a secondsatellite, about the Earth; endlessly gathering knowledge into itsinsatiable mechanisms. He could see, too, the level on level oflaboratories and storerooms that filled its interlocking segments; themeteor deflectors, the air renewal system, the mighty engines at thestern—all the children of his brain.     Out there, away from the muffling, distorting, damnable blanket ofatmosphere, away from Earth's inexorable gravitational pull, would bea laboratory such as man had never seen. The ship would be filled withthe sounds of busy men and women, wresting secrets from the reluctantether. A new chemistry, a new physics; perhaps even a new biochemistry.     A discordant note suddenly entered his fantasy. He looked up, consciousof the walls of his office again, but could see nothing unusual. Still,that thin, dark whisper of dread was at the back of his mind. Slowly,as if reluctantly compelled, he turned around to face the window at hisback.     There, outside the window, fifty stories up, a face was staringimpassively in at him. That was the first impression he got; just aface, staring. Then he saw, with a queer, icy chill, that the face wasblood-red and subtly inhuman. It tapered off into a formless, shriveledbody.     For a moment or an eternity it hung there, unsupported, the bulgingeyes staring at him. Then it grew misty at the edges. It dissolvedslowly away and was gone.     Lord! he said.     He stared after it, stunned into immobility. Down in the streetsomewhere, a portable video was shrilling a popular song; after amoment he heard the faint swish of a tube car going past. Everythingwas normal. Nothing, on examination, seemed to have changed. But theworld had grown suddenly unreal.     One part of his brain had been shocked into its shell. It was hidingfrom the thing that had hurt it, and it refused to respond. But theother part was going calmly, lucidly on, quite without his volition.It considered the possibility that he had gone temporarily insane, anddecided that this was probable.     Hardly knowing what he did, he found a cigarette and lit it. His handswere shaking. He stared at them dully, and then he reached over to thenewsbox on his desk, and switched it on.     There were flaring red headlines.     Relief washed over him, leaving him breathless. He was horrified,of course, but only abstractedly. For the moment he could only beglad that what he had seen was terrible reality rather than even moreterrible illusion.     INVADERS APPEAR IN BOSTON.     200 DEAD     Then lines of type, and farther down:     50 CHILDREN DISAPPEAR FROM     PARIS MATERNITY CENTER     He pressed the stud. The roll was full of them.     MOON SHIP DESTROYED     IN TRANSIT     NO COMMUNICATION FROM     ANTARCTICA IN 6 HOURS     STRANGE FORCE DEFLECTS     PLANES FROM SAHARA AREA     WORLD POLICE MOBILIZING     The item below the last one said:     Pacifica, June 7—The World Police are mobilizing, for the first timein fifty years. The order was made public early this morning byR. Stein, Secretary of the Council, who said in part:     The reason for this ... order must be apparent to all civilizedpeoples. For the Invaders have spared no part of this planet in theirdepredations: they have laid Hong Kong waste; they have terrorizedLondon; they have destroyed the lives of citizens in every member stateand in every inhabited area. There can be few within reach of printedreports or my words who have not seen the Invaders, or whose friendshave not seen them.     The peoples of the world, then, know what they are, and know thatwe face the most momentous struggle in our history. We face an enemy      superior to ourselves in every way     .     Since the Invaders first appeared in Wood River, Oregon, 24 hoursago, they have not once acknowledged our attempts to communicate, orin any way taken notice of our existence as reasoning beings. Theyhave treated us precisely as we, in less enlightened days, mighthave treated a newly-discovered race of lower animals. They have notattacked our centers of government, nor immobilized our communications,nor laid siege to our defenses. But in instance after instance, theyhave done as they would with us. They have examined us, dissected us,driven us mad, killed us with no discernable provocation; and this ismore intolerable than any normal invasion.     I have no fear that the people of Earth will fail to meet thischallenge, for there is no alternative. Not only our individual livesare threatened, but our existence as a race. We must, and will, destroythe Invaders!     Peter sank back in his chair, the full shock of it striking him for thefirst time.           Will     we? he asked himself softly.  <doc-sep>Until then, I'd managed somehow to keep the day's minor disasters fromruining my mood. Even while eating that horrible egg—I couldn't verywell throw it away, broken yolk or no; it was my breakfast allotmentand I was hungry—and while hurriedly jury-rigging drapery across thatgaspingly transparent window—one hundred and fifty-three storiesstraight down to slag—I kept going over and over my prepared proposalspeeches, trying to select the most effective one.     I had a Whimsical Approach: Honey, I see there's a nice littleNon-P apartment available up on one seventy-three. And I had aRomantic Approach: Darling, I can't live without you at the moment.Temporarily, I'm madly in love with you. I want to share my lifewith you for a while. Will you be provisionally mine? I even had aStraightforward Approach: Linda, I'm going to be needing a wife for atleast a year or two, and I can't think of anyone I would rather spendthat time with than you.     Actually, though I wouldn't even have admitted this to Linda, much lessto anyone else, I loved her in more than a Non-P way. But even if weboth had been genetically desirable (neither of us were) I knew thatLinda relished her freedom and independence too much to ever contractfor any kind of marriage other than Non-P—Non-Permanent, No Progeny.     So I rehearsed my various approaches, realizing that when the timecame I would probably be so tongue-tied I'd be capable of no morethan a blurted, Will you marry me? and I struggled with zippers andmalfunctioning air-cons, and I managed somehow to leave the apartmentat five minutes to ten.     Linda lived down on the hundred fortieth floor, thirteen stories away.It never took more than two or three minutes to get to her place, so Iwas giving myself plenty of time.     But then the elevator didn't come.     I pushed the button, waited, and nothing happened. I couldn'tunderstand it.     The elevator had always arrived before, within thirty seconds ofthe button being pushed. This was a local stop, with an elevatorthat traveled between the hundred thirty-third floor and the hundredsixty-seventh floor, where it was possible to make connections foreither the next local or for the express. So it couldn't be more thantwenty stories away. And this was a non-rush hour.     I pushed the button again, and then I waited some more. I looked at mywatch and it was three minutes to ten. Two minutes, and no elevator! Ifit didn't arrive this instant, this second, I would be late.     It didn't arrive.     I vacillated, not knowing what to do next. Stay, hoping the elevatorwould come after all? Or hurry back to the apartment and call Linda, togive her advance warning that I would be late?     Ten more seconds, and still no elevator. I chose the secondalternative, raced back down the hall, and thumbed my way into myapartment. I dialed Linda's number, and the screen lit up with whiteletters on black: PRIVACY DISCONNECTION.     Of course! Linda expected me at any moment. And she knew what I wantedto say to her, so quite naturally she had disconnected the phone, tokeep us from being interrupted.     Frantic, I dashed from the apartment again, back down the hall to theelevator, and leaned on that blasted button with all my weight. Even ifthe elevator should arrive right now, I would still be almost a minutelate.     No matter. It didn't arrive.     I would have been in a howling rage anyway, but this impossibilitypiled on top of all the other annoyances and breakdowns of the daywas just too much. I went into a frenzy, and kicked the elevator doorthree times before I realized I was hurting myself more than I washurting the door. I limped back to the apartment, fuming, slammed thedoor behind me, grabbed the phone book and looked up the number ofthe Transit Staff. I dialed, prepared to register a complaint so loudthey'd be able to hear me in sub-basement three.     I got some more letters that spelled: BUSY.  <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>She was pink and clean and her platinum hair was pulled straight back,drawing her cheek-bones tighter, straightening her wide, appealingmouth, drawing her lean, athletic, feminine body erect. She was wearinga powder-blue dress that covered all of her breasts and hips and theupper half of her legs.     The most wonderful thing about her was her perfume. Then I realized itwasn't perfume, only the scent of soap. Finally, I knew it wasn't that.It was just healthy, fresh-scrubbed skin.     I went to her at the bus stop, forcing my legs not to stagger. Nobodywould help a drunk. I don't know why, but nobody will help you if theythink you are blotto.     Ma'am, could you help a man who's not had work? I kept my eyes down.I couldn't look a human in the eye and ask for help. Just a dime for acup of coffee. I knew where I could get it for three cents, maybe twoand a half.     I felt her looking at me. She spoke in an educated voice, one she used,perhaps, as a teacher or supervising telephone operator. Do you wantit for coffee, or to apply, or a glass or hypo of something else?     I cringed and whined. She would expect it of me. I suddenly realizedthat anybody as clean as she was had to be a tourist here. I hatetourists.     Just coffee, ma'am. She was younger than I was, so I didn't have tocall her that. A little more for food, if you could spare it.     I hadn't eaten in a day and a half, but I didn't care much.     I'll buy you a dinner, she said carefully, provided I can go withyou and see for myself that you actually eat it.     I felt my face flushing red. You wouldn't want to be seen with a bumlike me, ma'am.     I'll be seen with you if you really want to eat.     It was certainly unfair and probably immoral. But I had no choicewhatever.     Okay, I said, tasting bitterness over the craving.  <doc-sep>  Mr. Dawes  came home anhour later, looking tired.Mom pecked him lightly onthe forehead. He glanced atthe evening paper, and thenspoke to Sol.     Hear you been askingquestions, Mr. Becker.     Sol nodded, embarrassed.Guess I have. I'm awfullycurious about this Armagonplace. Never heard of anythinglike it before.     Dawes grunted. You ain'ta reporter?     Oh, no. I'm an engineer. Iwas just satisfying my owncuriosity.     Uh-huh. Dawes lookedreflective. You wouldn't bethinkin' about writing us upor anything. I mean, this is apretty private affair.     Writing it up? Solblinked. I hadn't thought ofit. But you'll have to admit—it'ssure interesting.     Yeah, Dawes said narrowly.I guess it would be.     Supper! Mom called.     After the meal, they spenta quiet evening at home. Sallywent to bed, screaming herreluctance, at eight-thirty.Mom, dozing in the big chairnear the fireplace, padded upstairsat nine. Then Dawesyawned widely, stood up, andsaid goodnight at quarter-of-ten.     He paused in the doorwaybefore leaving.     I'd think about that, hesaid. Writing it up, I mean.A lot of folks would thinkyou were just plum crazy.     Sol laughed feebly. Iguess they would at that.     Goodnight, Dawes said.     Goodnight.     He read Sally's copy of      Treasure Island     for abouthalf an hour. Then he undressed,made himself comfortableon the sofa, snuggledunder the soft blanketthat Mom had provided, andshut his eyes.     He reviewed the events ofthe day before dropping offto sleep. The troublesomeSally. The strange dreamworld of Armagon. The visitto the barber shop. The removalof Brundage's body.The conversations with thetownspeople. Dawes' suspiciousattitude ...     Then sleep came. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the story's storyline?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What are the characteristics of Evelyn Sparling in the story Venus Is a Man's World? [SEP] <s>Then I passed Deck Twelve and there was a big sign. Notice! Passengersnot permitted past this point! A big sign in red.     I peeked around the corner. I knew it—the next deck was the hull. Icould see the portholes. Every twelve feet, they were, filled with thevelvet of space and the dancing of more stars than I'd ever dreamedexisted in the Universe.     There wasn't anyone on the deck, as far as I could see. And thisdistance from the grav helix, the ship seemed mighty quiet and lonely.If I just took one quick look....     But I thought of what Sis would say and I turned around obediently.Then I saw the big red sign again. Passengers not permitted—     Well! Didn't I know from my civics class that only women could be EarthCitizens these days? Sure, ever since the Male Desuffrage Act. Anddidn't I know that you had to be a citizen of a planet in order toget an interplanetary passport? Sis had explained it all to me in thecareful, patient way she always talks politics and things like that tomen.     Technically, Ferdinand, I'm the only passenger in our family. Youcan't be one, because, not being a citizen, you can't acquire an EarthPassport. However, you'll be going to Venus on the strength of thisclause—'Miss Evelyn Sparling and all dependent male members of family,this number not to exceed the registered quota of sub-regulationspertaining'—and so on. I want you to understand these matters, so thatyou will grow into a man who takes an active interest in world affairs.No matter what you hear, women really like and appreciate such men.     Of course, I never pay much attention to Sis when she says such dumbthings. I'm old enough, I guess, to know that it isn't what      Women     like and appreciate that counts when it comes to people gettingmarried. If it were, Sis and three hundred other pretty girls like herwouldn't be on their way to Venus to hook husbands.     Still, if I wasn't a passenger, the sign didn't have anything to dowith me. I knew what Sis could say to      that     , but at least it was anargument I could use if it ever came up. So I broke the law.     I was glad I did. The stars were exciting enough, but away off tothe left, about five times as big as I'd ever seen it, except in themovies, was the Moon, a great blob of gray and white pockmarks holdingoff the black of space. I was hoping to see the Earth, but I figured itmust be on the other side of the ship or behind us. I pressed my noseagainst the port and saw the tiny flicker of a spaceliner taking off,Marsbound. I wished I was on that one!     Then I noticed, a little farther down the companionway, a stretch ofblank wall where there should have been portholes. High up on thewall in glowing red letters were the words, Lifeboat 47. Passengers:Thirty-two. Crew: Eleven. Unauthorized personnel keep away!     Another one of those signs.  <doc-sep>He had just begun to work into a wonderful anecdote about his brotherwhen the dinner gong rang. Butt told me to scat. He said I was agrowing tadpole and needed my vitamins. And he mentioned, veryoff-hand, that he wouldn't at all object if I brought him some freshfruit. It seemed there was nothing but processed foods in the lifeboatand Butt was used to a farmer's diet.     Trouble was, he was a special kind of farmer. Ordinary fruit would havebeen pretty easy to sneak into my pockets at meals. I even found a wayto handle the kelp and giant watercress Mr. Brown liked, but thingslike seaweed salt and Venusian mud-grapes just had too strong a smell.Twice, the mechanical hamper refused to accept my jacket for launderingand I had to wash it myself. But I learned so many wonderful thingsabout Venus every time I visited that stowaway....     I learned three wild-wave songs of the Flatfolk and what it is that thenative Venusians hate so much; I learned how you tell the differencebetween a lousy government paddlefoot from New Kalamazoo and theslaptoe slinker who is the planter's friend. After a lot of begging,Butt Lee Brown explained the workings of his blaster, explained itso carefully that I could name every part and tell what it did fromthe tiny round electrodes to the long spirals of transformer. But nomatter what, he would never let me hold it.     Sorry, Ford, old tad, he would drawl, spinning around and around inthe control swivel-chair at the nose of the lifeboat. But way I lookat it, a man who lets somebody else handle his blaster is like thegiant whose heart was in an egg that an enemy found. When you've grownenough so's your pop feels you ought to have a weapon, why, then's thetime to learn it and you might's well learn fast. Before then, you'replain too young to be even near it.     I don't have a father to give me one when I come of age. I don't evenhave an older brother as head of my family like your brother Labrador.All I have is Sis. And      she     —     She'll marry some fancy dryhorn who's never been farther South thanthe Polar Coast. And she'll stay head of the family, if I know herbreed of green shata.      Bossy, opinionated.     By the way, Fordie, hesaid, rising and stretching so the fish-leather bounced and rippled offhis biceps, that sister. She ever....     And he'd be off again, cross-examining me about Evelyn. I sat in theswivel chair he'd vacated and tried to answer his questions. But therewas a lot of stuff I didn't know. Evelyn was a healthy girl, forinstance; how healthy, exactly, I had no way of finding out. Yes, I'dtell him, my aunts on both sides of my family each had had more thanthe average number of children. No, we'd never done any farming tospeak of, back in Undersea, but—yes, I'd guess Evelyn knew about asmuch as any girl there when it came to diving equipment and pressurepump regulation.     How would I know that stuff would lead to trouble for me?  <doc-sep>He cocked his head and considered a moment. Look, he said finally,I have more than enough munit to pay for round trip tickets, but Icouldn't get a return visa because of that brinosaur judge and allthe charges she hung on me. Had to stow away. Picked the      EleanorRoosevelt     because a couple of the boys in the crew are friends of mineand they were willing to help. But this lifeboat—don't you know thatevery passenger ship carries four times as many lifeboats as it needs?Not to mention the food I didn't eat because it stuck in my throat?     Yes, she said bitterly. You had this boy steal fresh fruit for you.I suppose you didn't know that under space regulations that makes himequally guilty?     No, Sis, he didn't, I was beginning to argue. All he wanted—     Sure I knew. Also know that if I'm picked up as a stowaway, I'll besent back to Earth to serve out those fancy little sentences.     Well, you're guilty of them, aren't you?     He waved his hands at her impatiently. I'm not talking law, female;I'm talking sense. Listen! I'm in trouble because I went to Earth tolook for a wife. You're standing here right now because you're on yourway to Venus for a husband. So let's.     Sis actually staggered back. Let's? Let's      what     ? Are—are you daringto suggest that—that—     Now, Miss Sparling, no hoopla. I'm saying let's get married, and youknow it. You figured out from what the boy told you that I was chewingon you for a wife. You're healthy and strong, got good heredity, youknow how to operate sub-surface machinery, you've lived underwater, andyour disposition's no worse than most of the anura I've seen. Prolificstock, too.     I was so excited I just had to yell: Gee, Sis, say      yes     !  <doc-sep>Sis had insisted I come along to the geography lecture. Most of theother girls who were going to Venus for husbands talked to each otherduring the lecture, but not      my     sister! She hung on every word, tooknotes even, and asked enough questions to make the perspiring purserreally work in those orientation periods.     I am very sorry, Miss Sparling, he said with pretty heavy sarcasm,but I cannot remember any of the agricultural products of the MacroContinent. Since the human population is well below one per thousandsquare miles, it can readily be understood that the quantity oftilled soil, land or sub-surface, is so small that—Wait, I remembersomething. The Macro Continent exports a fruit though not exactly anedible one. The wild      dunging     drug is harvested there by criminalspeculators. Contrary to belief on Earth, the traffic has been growingin recent years. In fact—     Pardon me, sir, I broke in, but doesn't      dunging     come only fromLeif Erickson Island off the Moscow Peninsula of the Macro Continent?You remember, purser—Wang Li's third exploration, where he proved theisland and the peninsula didn't meet for most of the year?     The purser nodded slowly. I forgot, he admitted. Sorry, ladies, butthe boy's right. Please make the correction in your notes.     But Sis was the only one who took notes, and she didn't take that one.She stared at me for a moment, biting her lower lip thoughtfully, whileI got sicker and sicker. Then she shut her pad with the final gestureof the right hand that Mom used to use just before challenging theopposition to come right down on the Council floor and debate it outwith her.     Ferdinand, Sis said, let's go back to our cabin.     The moment she sat me down and walked slowly around me, I knew I wasin for it. I've been reading up on Venusian geography in the ship'slibrary, I told her in a hurry.     No doubt, she said drily. She shook her night-black hair out. Butyou aren't going to tell me that you read about      dunging     in the ship'slibrary. The books there have been censored by a government agent ofEarth against the possibility that they might be read by susceptibleyoung male minds like yours. She would not have allowed—this TerranAgent—     Paddlefoot, I sneered.     Sis sat down hard in our zoom-air chair. Now that's a term, she saidcarefully, that is used only by Venusian riffraff.     They're not!     Not what?     Riffraff, I had to answer, knowing I was getting in deeper all thetime and not being able to help it. I mustn't give Mr. Brown away!They're trappers and farmers, pioneers and explorers, who're buildingVenus. And it takes a real man to build on a hot, hungry hell likeVenus.     Does it, now? she said, looking at me as if I were beginning to growa second pair of ears. Tell me more.     You can't have meek, law-abiding, women-ruled men when you startcivilization on a new planet. You've got to have men who aren't afraidto make their own law if necessary—with their own guns. That's wherelaw begins; the books get written up later.     You're going to      tell     , Ferdinand, what evil, criminal male isspeaking through your mouth!     Nobody! I insisted. They're my own ideas!     They are remarkably well-organized for a young boy's ideas. A boywho, I might add, has previously shown a ridiculous but nonethelessentirely masculine boredom with political philosophy. I plan to have agovernment career on that new planet you talk about, Ferdinand—afterI have found a good, steady husband, of course—and I don't lookforward to a masculinist radical in the family. Now, who has beenfilling your head with all this nonsense?  <doc-sep>I crept up to the porthole nearest it and could just barely make outthe stern jets where it was plastered against the hull. Then I walkedunder the sign and tried to figure the way you were supposed to getinto it. There was a very thin line going around in a big circle that Iknew must be the door. But I couldn't see any knobs or switches to openit with. Not even a button you could press.     That meant it was a sonic lock like the kind we had on the outer keepsback home in Undersea. But knock or voice? I tried the two knockcombinations I knew, and nothing happened. I only remembered one voicekey—might as well see if that's it, I figured.     Twenty, Twenty-three. Open Sesame.     For a second, I thought I'd hit it just right out of all the millionpossible combinations—The door clicked inward toward a black hole, anda hairy hand as broad as my shoulders shot out of the hole. It closedaround my throat and plucked me inside as if I'd been a baby sardine.     I bounced once on the hard lifeboat floor. Before I got my breath andsat up, the door had been shut again. When the light came on, I foundmyself staring up the muzzle of a highly polished blaster and into thecold blue eyes of the biggest man I'd ever seen.       He was wearing a one-piece suit made of some scaly green stuff thatlooked hard and soft at the same time.     His boots were made of it too, and so was the hood hanging down hisback.     And his face was brown. Not just ordinary tan, you understand, but thedeep, dark, burned-all-the-way-in brown I'd seen on the lifeguardsin New Orleans whenever we took a surface vacation—the kind of tanthat comes from day after broiling day under a really hot Sun. Hishair looked as if it had once been blond, but now there were just longcombed-out waves with a yellowish tinge that boiled all the way downto his shoulders.     I hadn't seen hair like that on a man except maybe in history books;every man I'd ever known had his hair cropped in the fashionablesoup-bowl style. I was staring at his hair, almost forgetting about theblaster which I knew it was against the law for him to have at all,when I suddenly got scared right through.     His eyes.     They didn't blink and there seemed to be no expression around them.Just coldness. Maybe it was the kind of clothes he was wearing that didit, but all of a sudden I was reminded of a crocodile I'd seen in asurface zoo that had stared quietly at me for twenty minutes until itopened two long tooth-studded jaws.     Green shatas! he said suddenly. Only a tadpole. I must be gettingjumpy enough to splash.     Then he shoved the blaster away in a holster made of the same scalyleather, crossed his arms on his chest and began to study me. I gruntedto my feet, feeling a lot better. The coldness had gone out of his eyes.     I held out my hand the way Sis had taught me. My name is FerdinandSparling. I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr.—Mr.—     Hope for your sake, he said to me, that you aren't what youseem—tadpole brother to one of them husbandless anura.           What?          A 'nuran is a female looking to nest. Anura is a herd of same. Comefrom Flatfolk ways.     Flatfolk are the Venusian natives, aren't they? Are you a Venusian?What part of Venus do you come from? Why did you say you hope—     He chuckled and swung me up into one of the bunks that lined thelifeboat. Questions you ask, he said in his soft voice. Venus is asharp enough place for a dryhorn, let alone a tadpole dryhorn with aboss-minded sister.     I'm not a dryleg, I told him proudly.       We're     from Undersea.           Dryhorn     , I said, not dryleg. And what's Undersea?     Well, in Undersea we called foreigners and newcomers drylegs. Justlike on Venus, I guess, you call them dryhorns. And then I told himhow Undersea had been built on the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico, whenthe mineral resources of the land began to give out and engineersfigured that a lot could still be reached from the sea bottoms.  <doc-sep>Evelyn was extremely careful with her mental probe as she descendedfrom the transport. The Occupational Commandant would undoubtedlybe high-born and telepathic. He must not have occasion to suspect asimilar ability in a mere clerk.     Fighting had passed this way, too, and recently. Many of the buildingswere still smoking, and many of the radions high above were eithershot out or obscured by slowly drifting dust clouds. The acrid odor ofradiation-remover was everywhere.     She caught the sound of spasmodic small-arm fire.     What is that? she asked the transport attendant.     The Commandant is shooting prisoners, he replied laconically.     Oh.     Where did you want to go?     To the personnel office.     That way. He pointed to the largest building of the group—twostories high, reasonably intact.     She walked off down the gravel path, which was stained here and therewith dark sticky red. She gave her visa to the guard at the door andwas admitted to an improvised waiting room, where another guard eyedher stonily. The firing was much nearer. She recognized the obscenecoughs of a Faeg pistol and began to feel sick.     A woman in the green uniform of the Scythe auxiliary came in, whisperedsomething to the guard, and then told Evelyn to follow her.     In the anteroom a grey cat looked her over curiously, and Evelynfrowned. She might have to get rid of the cat if she stayed here. Undercertain circumstances the animal could prove her deadliest enemy.     The next room held a foppish little man, evidently a supervisor of somesort, who was studying her visa.     I'm very happy to have you here, S'ria—ah——he looked at the visasuspiciously—S'ria Lyn. Do sit down. But, as I was just remarking toS'ria Gerek, here—he nodded to the other woman, who smiled back—Iwish the field officers would make up their august minds as to whetherthey want you or don't want you. Just why did they transfer you toH.Q.?     She thought quickly. This pompous little ass would have to be givensome answer that would keep him from checking with the inquisitor. Itwould have to be something personal. She looked at the false black inhis eyebrows and sideburns, and the artificial way in which he hadcombed hair over his bald spot. She crossed her knees slowly, ignoringthe narrowing eyes of S'ria Gerek, and smoothed the back of her braidedyellow hair. He was studying her covertly.     The men in the fighting zones are uncouth, S'ria Gorph, she saidsimply. I was told that      you     , that is, I mean—     Yes? he was the soul of graciousness. S'ria Gerek began to dictateloudly into her mechanical transcriber.     Evelyn cleared her throat, averted her eyes, and with some effort,managed a delicate flush. I meant to say, I thought I would be happierworking for—working here. So I asked for a transfer.     S'ria Gorph beamed. Splendid. But the occupation isn't over, yet,you know. There'll be hard work here for several weeks yet, before wecut loose from the enemy globe. But you do your work well—winkingartfully—and I'll see that—     He stopped, and his face took on a hunted look of mingled fear andanxiety. He appeared to listen.     Evelyn tensed her mind to receive and deceive a mental probe. She wascertain now that the Zone Commandant was high-born and telepathic. Thechances were only fifty-fifty that she could delude him for any lengthof time if he became interested in her. He must be avoided if at allpossible. It should not be too difficult. He undoubtedly had a dozenpersonal secretaries and/or concubines and would take small interest inthe lowly employees that amused Gorph.     Gorph looked at her uncertainly. Perat, Viscount of the Tharn Suns,sends you his compliments and wishes to see you on the balcony. Hepointed to a hallway. All the way through there, across to the otherwing.     As she left, she heard all sound in the room stop. The transcribing andcalculating machines trailed off into a watchful silence, and she couldfeel the eyes of the men and women on her back. She noticed then thatthe Faeg had ceased firing.  <doc-sep>Her heart was beating faster as she walked down the hall. She felt avery strong probe flooding over her brain casually, palping with mildinterest the artificial memories she supplied: Escapades with officersin the combat areas. Reprimands. Demotion and transfer. Her deceptionof Gorph. Her anticipation of meeting a real Viscount and hoping hewould let her dance for him.     The questing probe withdrew as idly as it had come, and she breatheda sigh of relief. She could not hope to deceive a suspicious telepathfor long. Perat was merely amused at her lie to his under-supervisor.He had accepted her at her own face value, as supplied by her falsememories.     She opened the door to the balcony and saw a man leaning moodily on thebalustrade. He gave no immediate notice of her presence.     The five hundred and sixth heir of Tharn was of uncertain age, as weremost of the men of both globes. Only the left side of his face could beseen. It was gaunt and leathery, and a deep thin scar lifted the cornerof his mouth into a satanic smile. A faint paunch was gathering at hisabdomen, as befitted a warrior turned to boring paper work. His closelycut black hair and the two sparkling red-gemmed rings—apparentlyidentical—on his right hand seemed to denote a certain fastidiousnessand unconscious superiority. To Evelyn the jeweled fingers bespoke anunnatural contrast to the past history of the man and were symptomaticof a personality that could find stimulation only in strange and cruelpleasures.     In alarm she suddenly realized that she had inadvertently let herappraisal penetrate her uncovered conscious mind, and that this probewas there awaiting it.     You are right, he said coldly, still staring into the court below.Now that the long battle is over, there is little left to divert me.     He pushed the Faeg across the coping toward her. Take this.     He had not as yet looked at her.     She crossed the balcony, simultaneously grasping the pistol he offeredher and looking down into the courtyard. There seemed to be nearlytwenty Terrans lying about, in pools of their own blood.     Only one man, a Terran officer of very high rank—was left standing.His arms were folded somberly across his chest, and he studied thekiller above him almost casually. But when the woman came out, theireyes met, and he started imperceptibly.     Evelyn Kane felt a horrid chill creeping over her. The man's hair waswhite, now, and his proud face lined with deep furrows, but there couldbe no mistake. It was Gordon, Lord Kane.     Her father.     The sweat continued to grow on her forehead, and she felt for a momentthat she needed only to wish hard enough, and this would be a dream.A dream of a big, kind, dark-haired man with laugh-wrinkles about hiseyes, who sat her on his knee when she was a little girl and readbedtime stories to her from a great book with many pictures.     An icy, amused voice came through: Our orders are to kill allprisoners. It is entertaining to shoot down helpless men, isn't it? Itwarms me to know that I am cruel and wanton, and worthy of my trust.     Even in the midst of her horror, a cold, analytical part of her wasexplaining why the Commandant had called her to the balcony. Becauseall captured Terrans had to be killed, he hated his superiors, his ownmen, and especially the prisoners. A task so revolting he could notrelegate to his own officers. He must do it himself, but he wanted hisunderlings to know he loathed them for it. She was merely a symbol ofthat contempt. His next words did not surprise her.     It is even more stimulating to require a shuddering female to killthem. You are shuddering you know?     She nodded dumbly. Her palm was so wet that a drop of sweat droppedfrom it to the floor. She was thinking hard. She could kill theCommandant and save her father for a little while. But then theproblem of detonating the pile remained, and it would not be solvedmore quickly by killing the man who controlled the pile area. On thecontrary if she could get him interested in her—     So far as our records indicate, murmured Perat, the man down thereis the last living Terran within      The Defender     . It occurred to me thatour newest clerk would like to start off her duties with a bang. TheFaeg is adjusted to a needle-beam. If you put a bolt between the man'seyes, you may dance for me tonight, and perhaps there will be othernights—     The woman seemed lost in thought for a long time. Slowly, she liftedthe ugly little weapon. The doomed Terran looked up at her peacefully,without expression. She lowered the Faeg, her arm trembling.     Gordon, Lord Kane, frowned faintly, then closed his eyes. She raisedthe gun again, drew cross hairs with a nerveless wrist, and squeezedthe trigger. There was a loud, hollow cough, but no recoil. The Terranofficer, his eyes still closed and arms folded, sank to the ground,face up. Blood was running from a tiny hole in his forehead.     The man leaning on the balustrade turned and looked at Evelyn, at firstwith amused contempt, then with narrowing, questioning eyes.     Come here, he ordered.     The Faeg dropped from her hand. With a titanic effort she activated herlegs and walked toward him.     He was studying her face very carefully.     She felt that she was going to be sick. Her knees were so weak that shehad to lean on the coping.     With a forefinger he lifted up the mass of golden curls that hungover her right forehead and examined the scar hidden there, where thementors had cut into her frontal lobe. The tiny doll they had createdfor her writhed uneasily in her waist-purse, but Perat seemed to bethinking of something else, and missed the significance of the scarcompletely.     He dropped his hand. I'm sorry, he said with a quiet weariness. Ishouldn't have asked you to kill the Terran. It was a sorry joke.Then: Have you ever seen me before?     No, she whispered hoarsely. His mind was in hers, verifying the fact.     Have you ever met my father, Phaen, the old Count of Tharn?     No.     Do you have a son?     No.     His mind was out of hers again, and he had turned moodily back,surveying the courtyard and the dead. Gorph will be wondering whathappened to you. Come to my quarters at the eighth metron tonight.     Apparently he suspected nothing.       Father. Father. I had to do it. But we'll all join you, soon. Soon.        III     Perat lay on his couch, sipping cold purple      terif     and following thethinly-clad dancer with narrowed eyes. Music, soft and subtle, floatedfrom his communications box, illegally tuned to an officer's clubsomewhere. Evelyn made the rhythm part of her as she swayed slowly ontiptoe.     For the last thirty nights—the hours allotted to rest and sleep—ithad been thus. By day she probed furtively into the minds of theoffice staff, memorizing area designations, channels for officialmessages, and the names and authorizations of occupational field crews.By night she danced for Perat, who never took his eyes from her, norhis probe from her mind. While she danced it was not too difficult toelude the probe. There was an odd autohypnosis in dancing that blottedout memory and knowledge.     Enough for now, he ordered. Careful of your rib.     When he had first seen the bandages on her bare chest, that firstnight, she had been ready with a memory of dancing on a freshly waxedfloor, and of falling.     Perat seemed to be debating with himself as she sat down on her owncouch to rest. He got up, unlocked his desk, and drew out a tiny reelof metal wire, which Evelyn recognized as being feed for an amateurstereop projector. He placed the reel in a projector that had beeninstalled in the wall, flicked off the table luminar, and both of themwaited in the dark, breathing rather loudly.     Suddenly the center of the room was bright with a ball of light sometwo feet in diameter, and inside the luminous sphere were an old man, awoman, and a little boy of about four years. They were walking througha luxurious garden, and then they stopped, looked up, and waved gaily.     Evelyn studied the trio with growing wonder. The old man and the boywere complete strangers.      But the woman—!       That is Phaen, my father, said Perat quietly. He stayed at homebecause he hated war. And that is a path in our country estate onTharn-R-VII. The little boy I fail to recognize, beyond a generalresemblance to the Tharn line.     But—      can you deny that you are the woman     ?     The stereop snapped off, and she sat wordless in the dark.     There seemed to be some similarity— she admitted. Her throat wassuddenly dry. Yet, why should she be alarmed? She really didn't knowthe woman.     The table luminar was on now, and Perat was prowling hungrily about theroom, his scar twisting his otherwise handsome face into a snarlingscowl.     Similarity! Bah! That loop of hair over her right forehead hid a scaridentical to yours. I have had the individual frames analyzed!     Evelyn's hands knotted unconsciously. She forced her body to relax, buther mind was racing. This introduced another variable to be controlledin her plan for destruction. She      must     make it a known quantity.     Did your father send it to you? she asked.     The day before you arrived here. It had been en route for months, ofcourse.     What did he say about it?     He said, 'Your widow and son send greetings. Be of good cheer, andaccept our love.' What nonsense! He knows very well I'm not married andthat—well, if I have ever fathered any children, I don't know aboutthem.     Is that all he said?     That's all, except that he included this ring. He pulled one of theduplicate jewels from his right middle finger and tossed it to her.It's identical to the one he had made for me when I entered on mymajority. For a long time it was thought that it was the only stone ofits kind on all the planets of the Tharn suns, a mineralogical freak,but I guess he found another. But why should I want two of them?     Evelyn crossed the room and returned the ring.     Existence is so full of mysteries, isn't it? murmured Perat.Sometimes it seems unfortunate that we must pass through a sentientphase on our way to death. This foolish, foolish war. Maybe the oldcount was right.     You could be courtmartialed for that.     Speaking of courtmartials, I've got to attend one tonight—an appealfrom a death sentence. He arose, smoothed his hair and clothes, andpoured another glass of      terif     . Some fool inquisitor can't showproper disposition of a woman prisoner.     Evelyn's heart skipped a beat. Indeed?     The wretch insists that he could remember if we would just let himalone. I suppose he took a bribe. You'll find one now and then whotries for a little extra profit.     She must absolutely not be seen by the condemned inquisitor. Thestimulus would almost certainly make him remember.     I'll wait for you, she said indifferently, thrusting her arms out ina languorous yawn.     Very well. Perat stepped to the door, then turned and looked back ather. On the other hand, I may need a clerk. It's way after hours, andthe others have gone.     Beneath a gesture of wry protest, she swallowed rapidly.     Perhaps you'd better come, insisted Perat.     She stood up, unloosed her waist-purse, checked its contents swiftly,and then followed him out.     This might be a very close thing. From the purse she took a bottle ofperfume and rubbed her ear lobes casually.     Odd smell, commented Perat, wrinkling his nose.     Odd scent, corrected Evelyn cryptically. She was thinking aboutthe earnest faces of the mentors as they instructed her carefully inthe use of the perfume. The adrenalin glands, they had explained,provided a useful and powerful stimulant to a man in danger. Adrenalinslowed the heart and digestion, increased the systole and bloodpressure, and increased perspiration to cool the skin. But therecould be too much of a good thing. An overdose of adrenalin, they hadpointed out, caused almost immediate edema. The lungs filled rapidlywith the serum and the victim ... drowned. The perfume she possessedover-stimulated, in some unknown way, the adrenals of frightenedpersons. It had no effect on inactive adrenals.     The question remained—who would be the more frightened, she or thecondemned inquisitor?     She was perspiring freely, and the blonde hair on her arms and neck wasstanding stiffly when Perat opened the door for her and they enteredthe Zone Provost's chambers.  <doc-sep>Once the fact was clear, she composed herself and lay there, breathinghard and thinking. She had no means to construct another key. At best,finding the rare tools and parts would take months, and during theinterval the invaders would be cutting loose from the dead hulk thatclutched their conquering battle globe in a metallic rigor mortis.     She gave herself six weeks to accomplish this stalemate in space.     Within that time she must know whether the prime movers were stillintact, and whether she could safely enter the pile room herself,set the movers in motion, and draw the moderator columns. If it wereunsafe, she must secure the unwitting assistance of her Scythianenemies.     Still prone, she found the first-aid kit and taped her chest expertly.The cold was beginning to make itself felt, so she flicked on thechaudiere she wore as an under-garment to her Scythian woman's uniform.Then she crawled on her elbows and stomach to the tiny door, spun thesealing gear, and was soon outside. Ignoring the pain and pulling onthe side of the imitation rock that contained her cell, she got slowlyto her feet. The air was thin indeed, and frigid. She turned the valveof her portable oxygen bottle almost subconsciously, while exploringthe surrounding blackened forest as far as she could see. Mentally shewas alert for roving alien minds. She had left her weapons inside thecubicle, except for the three things in the little leather bag danglingfrom her waist, for she knew that her greatest weapon in the struggleto come would be her apparent harmlessness.     Four hundred yards behind her she detected the mind of a low-bornScythe, of the Tharn sun group. Very quickly she established it as thatof a tired, brutish corporal, taking a mop-up squad through the blackstumps and forlorn branches of the small forest that for years hadsupplied oxygen to the defenders of this sector.     The corporal could not see her green Scythian uniform clearly, andevidently took her for a Terran woman. In his mind was the question:Should he shoot immediately, or should he capture her? It had been twomonths since he had seen a woman. But then, his orders were to shoot.Yes, he would shoot.     Evelyn turned in profile to the beam-gun and stretched luxuriously,hoping that her grimace of pain could not be detected. Withsatisfaction, she sensed a sudden change of determination in the mindof the Tharn. The gun was lowered, and the man was circling to creep upbehind her. He did not bother to notify his men. He wanted her first.He had seen her uniform, but that deterred him not a whit. Afterwards,he would call up the squad. Finally, they would kill her and move on.Women auxiliaries had no business here, anyway.     Hips dipping, Evelyn sauntered into the shattered copse. The man movedfaster, though still trying to approach quietly. Most of the radions inthe mile-high ceiling had been destroyed, and the light was poor. Hewas not surprised when he lost track of his quarry. He tip-toed rapidlyonward, picking his way through the charred and fallen branches,thinking that she must turn up again soon. He had not gone twenty yardsin this manner when a howl of unbearable fury sounded in his mind, andthe dull light in his brain went out.        She fought for her life under that mile-high ceiling.        Breathing deeply from her mental effort, the woman stepped frombehind a great black tree trunk and hurried to the unconscious man.For I.Q.'s of 100 and less, telepathic cortical paralysis was quiteeffective. With cool efficiency and no trace of distaste she strippedthe odorous uniform from the man, then took his weapon, turned the beampower down very low, and needled a neat slash across his throat. Whilehe bled to death, she slipped deftly into the baggy suit, clasped thebeam gun by the handle, and started up the sooty slope. For a time, atleast, it would be safer to pass as a Tharn soldier than as any kind ofa woman.      II     The inquisitor leaned forward, frowning at the girl before him.     Name?     Evelyn Kane.     The eyes of the inquisitor widened. So you admit to a Terran name.Well, Terran, you are charged with having stolen passage on a supplylorry, and you also seem to be wearing the uniform of an infantrycorporal as well as that of a Scythian woman auxiliary. Incidentally,where is the corporal? Did you kill him?     He was prepared for a last-ditch denial. He would cut it short, havethe guards remove her, and execution would follow immediately. In away, it was unfortunate. The woman was obviously of a high Terranclass. No—he couldn't consider that. His slender means couldn't affordanother woman in his quarters, and besides, he wouldn't feel safe withthis cool murderess.     Do you not understand the master tongue? Why did you kill thecorporal? He leaned impatiently over his desk.     The woman stared frankly back at him with her clear blue eyes. Theguards on either side of her dug their nails into her arms, as wastheir custom with recalcitrant prisoners, but she took no notice.     She had analyzed the minds of the three men. She could handle theinquisitor alone or the two guards alone, but not all three.     If you aren't afraid of me, perhaps you'd be so kind as to send theguards out for a few minutes, she said, placing a hand on her hip. Ihave interesting information.     So that was it. Buy her freedom by betraying fugitive Terrans. Well, hecould take the information and then kill her. He nodded curtly to theguards, and they walked out of the hut, exchanging sly winks with oneanother.     Evelyn Kane crossed her arms across her chest and felt her broken ribgingerly. The inquisitor stared up at her in sadistic admiration. Hewould certainly be on hand for the execution. His anticipation was cutshort with a horrible realization. Under the paralyzing force of a mindgreater than his own, he reached beneath the desk and switched off therecorder.     Who is the Occupational Commandant for this Sector, she askedtersely. This must be done swiftly before the guards returned.     Perat, Viscount of Tharn, replied the man mechanically.     What is the extent of his jurisdiction?     From the center of the Terran globe, outward four hundred milesradius.     Good. Prepare for me the usual visa that a woman clerk needs forpassage to the offices of the Occupational Commandant.     The inquisitor filled in blanks in a stiff sheet of paper and stamped aseal at its bottom.     You will add in the portion reserved for 'comments', the following:'Capable clerk. Others will follow as they are found available.'     The man's pen scratched away obediently.     Evelyn Kane smiled gently at the impotent, inwardly raging inquisitor.She took the paper, folded it, and placed it in a pocket in her blouse.Call the guards, she ordered.     He pressed the button on his desk, and the guards re-entered.     This person is no longer a prisoner, said the inquisitor woodenly.She is to take the next transport to the Occupational Commandant ofZone One.     When the transport had left, neither inquisitor nor guards had anymemory of the woman. However, in the due course of events, therecording was gathered up with many others like it, boxed carefully,and sent to the Office of the Occupational Commandant, Zone One, forauditing.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What are the characteristics of Evelyn Sparling in the story Venus Is a Man's World?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What are the characteristics of Alberta Lee Brown in the story Venus Is a Man's World? [SEP] <s>He opened his mouth to its maximum width and raised an enormous hand.Then he let the air out and dropped his arm.     I take it you either have no defense or care to make none, Sis addedcaustically.     Butt laughed slowly and carefully as if he were going over each word.Wonder if all the anura talk like that. And      you     want to foul upVenus.     We haven't done so badly on Earth, after the mess you men made ofpolitics. It needed a revolution of the mothers before—     Needed nothing. Everyone wanted peace. Earth is a weary old world.     It's a world of strong moral fiber compared to yours, Mr. Alberta LeeBrown. Hearing his rightful name made him move suddenly and tower overher. Sis said with a certain amount of hurry and change of tone, What      do     you have to say about stowing away and using up lifeboat stores?  <doc-sep>For a moment, I didn't understand him. When I did, I was almost ill.Y-you mean, I choked, th-that you're b-breaking the law right now?And I'm with you while you're doing it?     He leaned over the edge of the bunk and stared at me very seriously.What breed of tadpole are they turning out these days? Besides, whatbusiness do      you     have this close to the hull?     After a moment of sober reflection, I nodded. You're right. I've alsobecome a male outside the law. We're in this together.     He guffawed. Then he sat up and began cleaning his blaster. I foundmyself drawn to the bright killer-tube with exactly the fascination Sisinsists such things have always had for men.     Ferdinand your label? That's not right for a sprouting tadpole. I'llcall you Ford. My name's Butt. Butt Lee Brown.     I liked the sound of Ford. Is Butt a nickname, too?     Yeah. Short for Alberta, but I haven't found a man who can draw ablaster fast enough to call me that. You see, Pop came over in theeighties—the big wave of immigrants when they evacuated Ontario. Namedall us boys after Canadian provinces. I was the youngest, so I got thename they were saving for a girl.     You had a lot of brothers, Mr. Butt?     He grinned with a mighty set of teeth. Oh, a nestful. Of course, theywere all killed in the Blue Chicago Rising by the MacGregor boys—allexcept me and Saskatchewan. Then Sas and me hunted the MacGregors down.Took a heap of time; we didn't float Jock MacGregor's ugly face downthe Tuscany till both of us were pretty near grown up.     I walked up close to where I could see the tiny bright copper coils ofthe blaster above the firing button. Have you killed a lot of men withthat, Mr. Butt?     Butt. Just plain Butt to you, Ford. He frowned and sighted atthe light globe. No more'n twelve—not counting five governmentpaddlefeet, of course. I'm a peaceable planter. Way I figure it,violence never accomplishes much that's important. My brother Sas,now—  <doc-sep>He had just begun to work into a wonderful anecdote about his brotherwhen the dinner gong rang. Butt told me to scat. He said I was agrowing tadpole and needed my vitamins. And he mentioned, veryoff-hand, that he wouldn't at all object if I brought him some freshfruit. It seemed there was nothing but processed foods in the lifeboatand Butt was used to a farmer's diet.     Trouble was, he was a special kind of farmer. Ordinary fruit would havebeen pretty easy to sneak into my pockets at meals. I even found a wayto handle the kelp and giant watercress Mr. Brown liked, but thingslike seaweed salt and Venusian mud-grapes just had too strong a smell.Twice, the mechanical hamper refused to accept my jacket for launderingand I had to wash it myself. But I learned so many wonderful thingsabout Venus every time I visited that stowaway....     I learned three wild-wave songs of the Flatfolk and what it is that thenative Venusians hate so much; I learned how you tell the differencebetween a lousy government paddlefoot from New Kalamazoo and theslaptoe slinker who is the planter's friend. After a lot of begging,Butt Lee Brown explained the workings of his blaster, explained itso carefully that I could name every part and tell what it did fromthe tiny round electrodes to the long spirals of transformer. But nomatter what, he would never let me hold it.     Sorry, Ford, old tad, he would drawl, spinning around and around inthe control swivel-chair at the nose of the lifeboat. But way I lookat it, a man who lets somebody else handle his blaster is like thegiant whose heart was in an egg that an enemy found. When you've grownenough so's your pop feels you ought to have a weapon, why, then's thetime to learn it and you might's well learn fast. Before then, you'replain too young to be even near it.     I don't have a father to give me one when I come of age. I don't evenhave an older brother as head of my family like your brother Labrador.All I have is Sis. And      she     —     She'll marry some fancy dryhorn who's never been farther South thanthe Polar Coast. And she'll stay head of the family, if I know herbreed of green shata.      Bossy, opinionated.     By the way, Fordie, hesaid, rising and stretching so the fish-leather bounced and rippled offhis biceps, that sister. She ever....     And he'd be off again, cross-examining me about Evelyn. I sat in theswivel chair he'd vacated and tried to answer his questions. But therewas a lot of stuff I didn't know. Evelyn was a healthy girl, forinstance; how healthy, exactly, I had no way of finding out. Yes, I'dtell him, my aunts on both sides of my family each had had more thanthe average number of children. No, we'd never done any farming tospeak of, back in Undersea, but—yes, I'd guess Evelyn knew about asmuch as any girl there when it came to diving equipment and pressurepump regulation.     How would I know that stuff would lead to trouble for me?  <doc-sep>I was sweating. Sis has that deadly bulldog approach when she feelssomeone is lying. I pulled my pulpast handkerchief from my pocket towipe my face. Something rattled to the floor.     What is this picture of me doing in your pocket, Ferdinand?     A trap seemed to be hinging noisily into place. One of the passengerswanted to see how you looked in a bathing suit.     The passengers on this ship are all female. I can't imagine any ofthem that curious about my appearance. Ferdinand, it's a man who hasbeen giving you these anti-social ideas, isn't it? A war-mongeringmasculinist like all the frustrated men who want to engage ingovernment and don't have the vaguest idea how to. Except, of course,in their ancient, bloody ways. Ferdinand, who has been perverting thatsunny and carefree soul of yours?     Nobody!      Nobody!          Ferdinand, there's no point in lying! I demand—     I told you, Sis. I told you! And don't call me Ferdinand. Call meFord.     Ford?      Ford?     Now, you listen to me, Ferdinand....     After that it was all over but the confession. That came in a fewmoments. I couldn't fool Sis. She just knew me too well, I decidedmiserably. Besides, she was a girl.     All the same, I wouldn't get Mr. Butt Lee Brown into trouble if I couldhelp it. I made Sis promise she wouldn't turn him in if I took her tohim. And the quick, nodding way she said she would made me feel just alittle better.     The door opened on the signal, Sesame. When Butt saw somebody waswith me, he jumped and the ten-inch blaster barrel grew out of hisfingers. Then he recognized Sis from the pictures.     He stepped to one side and, with the same sweeping gesture, holsteredhis blaster and pushed his green hood off. It was Sis's turn to jumpwhen she saw the wild mass of hair rolling down his back.     An honor, Miss Sparling, he said in that rumbly voice. Please comeright in. There's a hurry-up draft.     So Sis went in and I followed right after her. Mr. Brown closed thedoor. I tried to catch his eye so I could give him some kind of hint orexplanation, but he had taken a couple of his big strides and was inthe control section with Sis. She didn't give ground, though; I'll saythat for her. She only came to his chest, but she had her arms crossedsternly.     First, Mr. Brown, she began, like talking to a cluck of a kid inclass, you realize that you are not only committing the politicalcrime of traveling without a visa, and the criminal one of stowing awaywithout paying your fare, but the moral delinquency of consuming storesintended for the personnel of this ship solely in emergency?  <doc-sep>I crept up to the porthole nearest it and could just barely make outthe stern jets where it was plastered against the hull. Then I walkedunder the sign and tried to figure the way you were supposed to getinto it. There was a very thin line going around in a big circle that Iknew must be the door. But I couldn't see any knobs or switches to openit with. Not even a button you could press.     That meant it was a sonic lock like the kind we had on the outer keepsback home in Undersea. But knock or voice? I tried the two knockcombinations I knew, and nothing happened. I only remembered one voicekey—might as well see if that's it, I figured.     Twenty, Twenty-three. Open Sesame.     For a second, I thought I'd hit it just right out of all the millionpossible combinations—The door clicked inward toward a black hole, anda hairy hand as broad as my shoulders shot out of the hole. It closedaround my throat and plucked me inside as if I'd been a baby sardine.     I bounced once on the hard lifeboat floor. Before I got my breath andsat up, the door had been shut again. When the light came on, I foundmyself staring up the muzzle of a highly polished blaster and into thecold blue eyes of the biggest man I'd ever seen.       He was wearing a one-piece suit made of some scaly green stuff thatlooked hard and soft at the same time.     His boots were made of it too, and so was the hood hanging down hisback.     And his face was brown. Not just ordinary tan, you understand, but thedeep, dark, burned-all-the-way-in brown I'd seen on the lifeguardsin New Orleans whenever we took a surface vacation—the kind of tanthat comes from day after broiling day under a really hot Sun. Hishair looked as if it had once been blond, but now there were just longcombed-out waves with a yellowish tinge that boiled all the way downto his shoulders.     I hadn't seen hair like that on a man except maybe in history books;every man I'd ever known had his hair cropped in the fashionablesoup-bowl style. I was staring at his hair, almost forgetting about theblaster which I knew it was against the law for him to have at all,when I suddenly got scared right through.     His eyes.     They didn't blink and there seemed to be no expression around them.Just coldness. Maybe it was the kind of clothes he was wearing that didit, but all of a sudden I was reminded of a crocodile I'd seen in asurface zoo that had stared quietly at me for twenty minutes until itopened two long tooth-studded jaws.     Green shatas! he said suddenly. Only a tadpole. I must be gettingjumpy enough to splash.     Then he shoved the blaster away in a holster made of the same scalyleather, crossed his arms on his chest and began to study me. I gruntedto my feet, feeling a lot better. The coldness had gone out of his eyes.     I held out my hand the way Sis had taught me. My name is FerdinandSparling. I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr.—Mr.—     Hope for your sake, he said to me, that you aren't what youseem—tadpole brother to one of them husbandless anura.           What?          A 'nuran is a female looking to nest. Anura is a herd of same. Comefrom Flatfolk ways.     Flatfolk are the Venusian natives, aren't they? Are you a Venusian?What part of Venus do you come from? Why did you say you hope—     He chuckled and swung me up into one of the bunks that lined thelifeboat. Questions you ask, he said in his soft voice. Venus is asharp enough place for a dryhorn, let alone a tadpole dryhorn with aboss-minded sister.     I'm not a dryleg, I told him proudly.       We're     from Undersea.           Dryhorn     , I said, not dryleg. And what's Undersea?     Well, in Undersea we called foreigners and newcomers drylegs. Justlike on Venus, I guess, you call them dryhorns. And then I told himhow Undersea had been built on the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico, whenthe mineral resources of the land began to give out and engineersfigured that a lot could still be reached from the sea bottoms.  <doc-sep>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>Sis had insisted I come along to the geography lecture. Most of theother girls who were going to Venus for husbands talked to each otherduring the lecture, but not      my     sister! She hung on every word, tooknotes even, and asked enough questions to make the perspiring purserreally work in those orientation periods.     I am very sorry, Miss Sparling, he said with pretty heavy sarcasm,but I cannot remember any of the agricultural products of the MacroContinent. Since the human population is well below one per thousandsquare miles, it can readily be understood that the quantity oftilled soil, land or sub-surface, is so small that—Wait, I remembersomething. The Macro Continent exports a fruit though not exactly anedible one. The wild      dunging     drug is harvested there by criminalspeculators. Contrary to belief on Earth, the traffic has been growingin recent years. In fact—     Pardon me, sir, I broke in, but doesn't      dunging     come only fromLeif Erickson Island off the Moscow Peninsula of the Macro Continent?You remember, purser—Wang Li's third exploration, where he proved theisland and the peninsula didn't meet for most of the year?     The purser nodded slowly. I forgot, he admitted. Sorry, ladies, butthe boy's right. Please make the correction in your notes.     But Sis was the only one who took notes, and she didn't take that one.She stared at me for a moment, biting her lower lip thoughtfully, whileI got sicker and sicker. Then she shut her pad with the final gestureof the right hand that Mom used to use just before challenging theopposition to come right down on the Council floor and debate it outwith her.     Ferdinand, Sis said, let's go back to our cabin.     The moment she sat me down and walked slowly around me, I knew I wasin for it. I've been reading up on Venusian geography in the ship'slibrary, I told her in a hurry.     No doubt, she said drily. She shook her night-black hair out. Butyou aren't going to tell me that you read about      dunging     in the ship'slibrary. The books there have been censored by a government agent ofEarth against the possibility that they might be read by susceptibleyoung male minds like yours. She would not have allowed—this TerranAgent—     Paddlefoot, I sneered.     Sis sat down hard in our zoom-air chair. Now that's a term, she saidcarefully, that is used only by Venusian riffraff.     They're not!     Not what?     Riffraff, I had to answer, knowing I was getting in deeper all thetime and not being able to help it. I mustn't give Mr. Brown away!They're trappers and farmers, pioneers and explorers, who're buildingVenus. And it takes a real man to build on a hot, hungry hell likeVenus.     Does it, now? she said, looking at me as if I were beginning to growa second pair of ears. Tell me more.     You can't have meek, law-abiding, women-ruled men when you startcivilization on a new planet. You've got to have men who aren't afraidto make their own law if necessary—with their own guns. That's wherelaw begins; the books get written up later.     You're going to      tell     , Ferdinand, what evil, criminal male isspeaking through your mouth!     Nobody! I insisted. They're my own ideas!     They are remarkably well-organized for a young boy's ideas. A boywho, I might add, has previously shown a ridiculous but nonethelessentirely masculine boredom with political philosophy. I plan to have agovernment career on that new planet you talk about, Ferdinand—afterI have found a good, steady husband, of course—and I don't lookforward to a masculinist radical in the family. Now, who has beenfilling your head with all this nonsense?  <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></s> [SEP] What are the characteristics of Alberta Lee Brown in the story Venus Is a Man's World?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"How are the societal structures on Venus distinct from those on Earth in the story Venus Is a Man's World? [SEP] <s>Dimdooly—the mighty, the lordly, who had sneered at the sight of mereEarthmen kowtowing to a mere woman—swelled up fit to blow his gaskets,then all the gas went out of him. His ear beards, however, still hadenough zip left to flutter like butterflies. Yes, Trillium dear. Ilove only you. Please marry me at your earliest convenience.     Well, Grandmamma, Trillium said with a highly self-satisfied air, itworks. And just like you said, Earthmen meant nothing once I knew weVenus women had our own men in our power.     Those crewmen there, Grandmamma President said, seem to be proofenough that we Venus women no longer radiate any threat to Earth'stranquility.     Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly sure felt like proof of something all of a sudden.Worse than the hangover from that crap game with Venus vino. He lookedaway from Trillium and took a look at Callahan. Old guy looked awayfrom Grandmamma President like he was packing the second biggestheadache in history.     Hmmmm, yes, Madame President of Earth observed. Reactions agreeperfectly with the psychoanalytical research project we have beenconducting on the subject of the Venus female influence. MadamePresident of Venus, congratulations on your victory!     Long may the superior sex reign on Venus too! We shall be delighted toreceive an Ambassadoress to discuss a new trade treaty at your earliestconvenience.     Thank you for cancelling the old trade agreements at the psychologicalmoment, Grandmamma President said cordially. What with thecommunications mixup, we managed to have the scenes on these panelsbroadcast throughout all Venus. When the rug went out from under thetop man, the tide really turned in our favor. Now, Trillium, you takeover Dimmy's credentials.     The Ambassadorial Suite, too, Madame President of Earth saidgraciously. Anything else now, Berta?     I should like, Grandmamma President Berta said charmingly, thatMr. O'Rielly and Mr. Callahan be suitably rewarded for assisting ourrevolution better than they knew.     Of course, Madame President of Earth was delighted to oblige. Nodoubt Captain Hatwoody knows what reward would satisfy their needsbest.     The Madame Presidents switched to a private circuit, Trillium draggedDimdooly off somewhere and the Old Woman eyed O'Rielly and Callahan.Especially she eyed Callahan, like running chilled drills through hisold conniving brain. I award the pair of you five minutes leisurebefore returning to your stations.     Oh, well, O'Rielly muttered, once he and Callahan were safely beyondearshot, could have been rewarded worse, I suppose.     What you expect for being flimflammed by a foreign dame, the rings ofSaturn? Lucky we ain't programmed to be hung, shot and thrown to thecrows for breakfast. Callahan's old pick-and-shovel face wore a littlegrin like the cat that nobody could prove ate the canary.     You—I mean, that Earth guy a hundred twenty-five years ago, O'Riellysaid in sudden thought. If Venus dames wanted to be loved so bad, whydid Trillium's Grandmamma let him go?     Venus guys wasn't so busy playing war all the time, Callahan mumbled,like to himself, they'd of found out the answer centuries ago. Yep,guess our boy was the only guy on Earth or Venus to find out and live.Dames bossing both planets now, though, his old secret won't be onemuch longer. Venus dames could of let it out centuries ago themselvesbut didn't, just to spite Earth probably. Later, was part of organizingto take over Venus, I guess.     O'Rielly still had memories of the way he had felt about Trilliumbefore her revolution. All right, Callahan, why did 'our boy' leaveGrandmamma?     Yes, ma'am, Callahan sighed like he hadn't heard a word O'Riellysaid, you could sweet-talk 'em, kiss 'em and hold 'em tighter'nBilly-be-damned. And that's all.     I'm not sure, O'Rielly said, what you mean by, 'that's all.'     Anybody ever seen anybody but a Venus guy come built with ear beards?Course not.     But I thought our boy was wearing the best fakes ever.     Ain't nothing can match the natural growed-on variety, no, ma'am.Venus guy kisses a Venus dame, his beards grabs her roundst the ears.     So what?     Tickles 'em, boy, tickles 'em!   <doc-sep>Obviously Trillium's poor little brain has been drugged, HisExcellency Dimdooly declared. Grandmamma Berta wouldn't know the firstthing about such things!     Impossible! Grandpapa President agreed. I've been married to herfor a hundred and twenty-four and a half years and she's the finestrattle-brain I ever knew!     She learned, Trillium stated emphatically, a hundred and twenty-fiveyears ago.     Hundred twenty-five, Grandpapa president growled like a boilingvolcano. The year some Earthman.... Never did catch the devil....Berta? Impossible!     Madame President's shapely finger now rested full on the button thatcould launch the fleets of war rockets that had been pre-aimed for athousand years. I'm afraid your Ambassador is unwelcome now, MadamePresident stated coolly. Your granddaughter's actions have every markof an invasion tactic by your government.     What do you mean, her actions? Grandpapa President's finger now laypoised on the button that had been waiting a thousand years to blowEarth out of the universe. My grandchild was kidnapped by men underyour official command! Weren't you, Trillium dear?     No. One of us stowing away was the only way we Venus women could bringour cause to the attention of Earth's President. If Earth will onlystop buying from Venus, you won't have any money to squander on yourwars any longer no matter what happens to we revolutionaries!     Revolutionaries? Such claptrap! And what's wrong with my wars? Peoplehave to have something to keep their minds off their troubles! Nobodyaround here gets hurt. Oh, maybe a few scratches here and there. Butnobody on Venus dies from the things any more.     But Venus men are so excited all the time about going to war theyhaven't time for us women. That's why we always radiated such a fatalattraction for Earthmen. We want to be loved! We want our own men homedoing useful work!     Well, they do come home and do useful work! Couple weeks every tenmonths. Proven to be a highly efficient arrangement.     More boys to run off to your old wars and more girls to stay home andbe lonely!     Now you just listen to me, Trillium! Grandpapa President was allVenus manhood laying down the law. That's the way things have been onVenus for ten thousand years and all the women in the universe can'tchange it!     I have been in constant contact with my Cabinet during theseconversations, Madame President said crisply. Earth is terminatingall trade agreements with Venus as of this instant.     What? Grandpapa's beards near pulled his ears off. It's not legal!You can't get away with this!     Take your finger off that trigger, boy! a heavenly voice similar toTrillium's advised from the Venus panel.     Whereupon Grandpapa glared to one side. Berta! What are you doinghere? I am deciding matters of the gravest interplanetary nature!     Were. Features more beautifully mature than Trillium's crowded ontothe panel too. From now on I'm doing the deciding.     Nonsense! You're only my wife!     And new President of Venus, elected by unanimous vote of all women.     Impossible! The men run Venus! Nobody's turning this planet intoanother Earth where a man can't even sneeze unless some woman says so!     Take him away, girls, Berta ordered coolly, whereupon her spouse wasyanked from view.     His bellows, however, could be heard yet. Unhand me, you foolcreatures! Guards! Guards!     Save your breath, Berta advised him. And while you're in the cooler,enjoy this latest batch of surrender communiques. We women are incontrol everywhere now.     Dimmy, Trillium was saying firmly to His Excellency, you have beataround the bush with me long enough. Now say it!  <doc-sep>Venus boys rared up and served notice that if Earth ever got any funnynotions, right away there wouldn't be enough Earth left to hide in anatom's eyebrow. Touchy as hornets on a hot griddle, them Venus guys.Crazier than bed bugs about war. Could smell a loose dollar a millionlight years away too. Finagled around until they finally cooked up adeal.     No Venus dames allowed within fifty miles of their port. Earth guysstay inside the high-voltage fence. Any dame caught trying to leaveVenus thrown to the tigers for supper. Same for any Earth guy caughtaround a Venus dame. In return, Earth could buy practically everythingat bargain basement prices.     Oh, I was shown the history films in pre-flight, O'Rielly said, stilldreamily. But not a peek of any Venus dame.     Pray heaven you'll never lay eyes on one nor have one get within tenfoot of you! Even though you'd know she'd be your damnation wouldn'tmake a whit difference—you'd still act sappier than thirty-sevenangels flying on vino. Callahan suddenly stared at O'Rielly. Holyhollering saints!     Now, now, Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly responded with an airylaugh. No Earth guy for a hundred twenty-five years been near one andlived to tell it, has he?     So the whispers run, Callahan murmured with a queer flame dancinginto his eyes. So the old whispers still run.     Never a name, though. Never how it was done. O'Rielly snorted.Probably just a goofy tale set loose by some old space bum.     Oh? Callahan bristled up like a bad name had been bandied about.Seen them ditty bags Venus bigwigs have, ain't you? Some big enough tostuff a cow in. Notice how nobody ever dares question a bigwig's bags,even through customs? Just run 'em through the big Geiger that tellswhether there's any fusionable junk inside. Well, our boy got himselfone of them bags, stuffed himself inside and joined a bigwig's pile of'em.     Didn't pull it whilst on the Venus port during a layover either, whena crew check would of turned him up missing. Pulled it on vacation.Started on the Earth end. Made himself a pair of beards to paste on hisears of course. Wove Jupiter wiggle worms in to keep the beards moving.Wasn't like the real thing, but good enough to flimflam Venus guys.     With suddenly enlivened interest O'Rielly looked at Callahan. Hey, howcome you know so much?     Hah? What? Callahan blinked like waking from a trance; even groanedto himself, something that sounded like, Blabbering like I'd hada nip myself—or one of them dillies was radiating nearby. ThenCallahan glared fit to drill holes in O'Rielly's head. Look! I wasa full Burnerman before you was born. Been flying the spaces hundredtwenty-five years now. Had more chances to hear more—just hear more,you hear! Only tried to clear your mind about Venus dames so you couldput your brain on your control mess. So now put it! If you ain't highon vino and ain't been made nuts by a Venus dame, what answer do wefeed the Old Woman?     Search me, Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly responded cheerfully.     Of all the loony apprentices I ever had to answer the Old Woman for!Awp, lemme out where I can think of something to save me own neck atleast!     Was all O'Rielly could do to keep from rolling on the deck with glee.Old Callahan had been flimflammed for fair! The dear little stowawaywas saved! And O'Rielly would now think of grand ways to save herlovely neck and his own forever.     O'Rielly's shower door, however, opened abruptly. O'Rielly had notopened it. O'Rielly, however, suffered a cruel stab of dismay. Surelyhis dear stowaway had been listening through the door. Why didn't shehave brains enough to stay hid until Callahan was gone!     At sight of her, of course, Callahan's eyes near popped from his oldhead. Berta!     Oh, I'm Trillium, she assured Callahan sweetly. But Grandmamma'sname is Berta and people say I'm just like she was a hundred andtwenty-five years ago.  <doc-sep>O'Rielly suddenly felt like turning her over his knee and whaling heruntil she couldn't sit for a year. This, mind you, he felt in an agewhere no Earth guy for a thousand years had dared raise so much as abreath against woman's supremacy in all matters. That male charactertrait, however, did not seem to be the overpowering reason whyO'Rielly, instead of laying violent hands upon this one's person, heardhimself saying in sympathetic outrage, A shame you had to go to allthat bother to get out here!     You're so kind. But I'm afraid I became rather sticky and smelly inthere.     They ought to cool the air in there with perfume! I'll drop asuggestion in the Old Woman's box first chance I get.     You're so thoughtful. And do you have bathing facilities?     That door right there. Oh, let me open it for you!     You're so sweet. Her big dark eyes glowed with such pure innocencethat O'Rielly could have torn down the universe and rebuilt it just forher.     Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly was floating on a pink cloud with heavenly musicin his head. Never felt so fine before. Except on the Venus layoverwhen he'd been roped into a dice game with a bunch of Venus lads whohad a jug to cheer one's parting with one's money.     A bell suddenly clanged fit to wake the dead while the overhead lightsflashed wildly. Only the watch room door. Only Callahan here now. Oldbuzzard had a drooped nose like a pick, chin like a shovel.     When he talked he was like digging a hole in front of himself. Well,what about that control?     What control?     Your fusion control that got itself two points low!     Oh, that little thing.     Callahan said something through his teeth, then studied O'Riellysharply. Hey, you been wetting your whistle on that Venus vino again?Lemme smell your breath! Bah. Loaded yourself full of chlorophyllagain probably. All right, stand aside whilst I see your burner.     Charmed to, Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly said while bowinggracefully.     Higher than a swacked skunk's tail again, Callahan muttered, thensnapped back over his shoulder, Use your shower!     O'Rielly stood considering his shower door. Somehow he doubted thatBurner Chief Terrence Callahan's mood, or Captain Millicent Hatwoody's,would be improved by knowledge of she who was in O'Rielly's shower now.Not that the dear stowaway was less than charming. Quite the contrary.Oh, very quite!     You rockhead! Only Callahan back from the burner. Didn't I tell youto shower the stink off yourself? Old Woman's taking a Venus bigwigon tour the ship. Old Woman catches you like you been rassling skunksshe'll peel both our hides off. Not to mention what she'll do anywayabout your fusion control!     Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly responded courteously, I havebeen thinking.     With what? Never mind, just keep on trying whilst I have a shower formyself here. Wherewith Callahan reached hand for O'Rielly's showerdoor.     Venus dames, O'Rielly said dreamily, don't boss anything, do they?     Callahan yelped like he'd been bit in the pants by a big Jupiter ant.O'Rielly! You trying to get both of us condemned to a Uranus moon?Callahan also shot a wild look to the intercom switch. It was in OFFposition; the flight room full of fancy gold-lace petticoats could nothave overheard from here. Nevertheless Callahan's eyes rolled like thedevil was behind him with the fork ready. O'Rielly, open your big earswhilst for your own good and mine I speak of certain matters.     Thousand years ago, it was, the first flight reached Venus. Guysgot one look at them dames. Had to bring some home or bust. So theneverybody on Earth got a look, mostly by TV only of course. That didit. Every guy on Earth began blowing his fuse over them dames. Give upthe shirt off his back, last buck in the bank, his own Earth dame orfamily—everything.     Well, that's when Earth dames took over like armies of wild catswith knots in their tails. Before the guys who'd brought the Venusdames to Earth could say anything they was taken apart too small topick up with a blotter. Earth dames wound up by flying the Venus onesback where they come from and serving notice if one ever set foot onEarth again there wouldn't be enough left of Venus to find with anelectron microscope.  <doc-sep>  IMAGE OF SPLENDOR     By LU KELLA       From Venus to Earth, and all the way between,       it was a hell of a world for men ... and       Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly particularly.       [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Summer 1955.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      The intercom roared fit to blow O'Rielly back to Venus. Burner Four!     On my way, sir!     At the first flash of red on the bank of meters Apprentice BurnermanO'Rielly had slammed the safety helmet on his head; he was alreadythrowing open the lock to the burner room. The hot, throbbing rumblewhipped around him and near crushed his breath away. Power! Power ofthe universe trapped here and ready to destroy its captors given onechance! Swiftly O'Rielly unlocked the controls and reset them. Thethrobbing rumble changed tone.     Old Callahan's voice crackled now through the helmet's ear contact.Well, Mr. O'Rielly?     Fusion control two points low, sir.     O'Rielly wondered had Callahan passed out, was so long before the oldBurner Chief demanded hoarsely, Didn't you lock them controls beforeblast-off?     If every control hadn't been locked in correct setting, O'Riellyanswered from his own angry bewilderment, the error would haveregistered before blast-off—wouldn't it, sir?     So a control reset itself in flight, hey?     I don't know yet, sir.     Well, Mr. O'Rielly, you better know before we orbit Earth!     The icy knot in O'Rielly's stomach jerked tighter. A dozen burners onthis ship; why did something crazy have to happen to O'Rielly's? In ahundred years, so the instructors—brisk females all—had told O'Riellyin pre-flight school, no control had ever been known to slip. But onehad moved here. Not enough to cause serious trouble this far out fromEarth. On blast-down, though, with one jet below peak, the uneventhrust could throw the ship, crash it, the whole lovely thing and allaboard gone in a churning cloud.     Sweat pouring off him, O'Rielly prowled around his burner. Design ofthe thing had been bossed by dames of course; what on Earth wasn't anymore? Anyway, nobody could get to a burner except through its watchroom. Anyone entered or left there, a bell clanged, lights flashedand a meter registered beside the Burnerman's bunk and on the BurnerChief's console up in the flight room full of beautifully efficientofficers. Ever since Venus blast-off O'Rielly had been in Four's watchroom. Nobody had passed through. O'Rielly knew it. Callahan knew it.By now the Old Woman herself, Captain Millicent Hatwoody, had probablyinquired what was in charge of Burner Four.     Well, ma'am, O'Rielly searched every cranny where even a three-tailedmouse of Venus could have stowed away. His first flight, and O'Riellysaw himself washed out, busted to sweeper on the blast-off stands ofsome God-forsaken satellite. He staggered back into his watch room. Andhis brain was suddenly taken apart and slapped together again. Feltthat way.     She was sitting on his bunk. No three-tailed mouse. No Old Womaneither. Oh, she was a female human, though, this creature at whichO'Rielly stood gaping. Yes, ma'am!     I was in your burner room. Her voice matched the rest of her, a blendof loveliness unlike anything outside a guy's most secret dreams. Icouldn't stand the heat any longer and I couldn't open that big door.So I moved one of your controls a tiny bit. All the noise in there,naturally you couldn't hear me walk out while your back was turnedresetting the control.  <doc-sep>He opened his mouth to its maximum width and raised an enormous hand.Then he let the air out and dropped his arm.     I take it you either have no defense or care to make none, Sis addedcaustically.     Butt laughed slowly and carefully as if he were going over each word.Wonder if all the anura talk like that. And      you     want to foul upVenus.     We haven't done so badly on Earth, after the mess you men made ofpolitics. It needed a revolution of the mothers before—     Needed nothing. Everyone wanted peace. Earth is a weary old world.     It's a world of strong moral fiber compared to yours, Mr. Alberta LeeBrown. Hearing his rightful name made him move suddenly and tower overher. Sis said with a certain amount of hurry and change of tone, What      do     you have to say about stowing away and using up lifeboat stores?  <doc-sep>For some twenty minutes, he raced through a dizzying, nightmare worldof dark rocketfront alleys and shouting voices and pursuing feet.     At last, abruptly, he realized that he was alone and in silence. He sawthat he was still on the rocketfront, but in the Tycho-ward side of thecity.     He huddled in a dark corner of a loading platform and lit a cigarette.A thousand stars—a thousand motionless balls of silver fire—shoneabove him through Luna City's transparent dome.     He was sorry he'd hit Cobb, of course. He was not sorry he'd run.Escaping at least gave him a power of choice, of decision.       You can do two things     , he thought.       You can give yourself up, and that's what a good officer would do.That would eliminate the escape charge. You'd get off with voluntarymanslaughter. Under interplanetary law, that would mean ten years inprison and a dishonorable discharge. And then you'd be free.         But you'd be through with rockets and space. They don't want newmen over thirty-four for officers on rockets or even for third-classjet-men on beat-up freighters—they don't want convicted killers. You'dget the rest of the thrill of conquering space through video and bypeeking through electric fences of spaceports.         Or—       There were old wives' tales of a group of renegade spacemen whooperated from the Solar System's frontiers. The spacemen weren'toutlaws. They were misfits, rejectees from the clearing houses on Earth.     And whereas no legally recognized ship had ventured past Mars, thesouped-up renegade rigs had supposedly hit the asteroids. Theirheadquarters was Venus. Their leader—a subject of popular andfantastic conjecture in the men's audiozines—was rumored to be ared-bearded giant.       So     , Ben reflected,      you can take a beer-and-pretzels tale seriously.You can hide for a couple of days, get rid of your uniform, change yourname. You can wait for a chance to get to Venus. To hell with yourduty. You can try to stay in space, even if you exile yourself fromEarth.       After all, was it right for a single second, a single insignificantsecond, to destroy a man's life and his dream?  <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> [SEP] How are the societal structures on Venus distinct from those on Earth in the story Venus Is a Man's World?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the primary location of the events in Venus Is a Man's World? [SEP] <s>You have done well, announced Torp when Thig had completed his reporton the resources and temperatures of various sections of Terra. We nowhave located three worlds fit for colonization and so we will return toOrtha at once.     I will recommend the conquest of this planet, 72-P-3 at once and thecomplete destruction of all biped life upon it. The mental aberrationsof the barbaric natives might lead to endless complications if theywere permitted to exist outside our ordered way of life. I imagine thatthree circuits of the planet about its primary should prove sufficientfor the purposes of complete liquidation.     But why, asked Thig slowly, could we not disarm all the natives andexile them on one of the less desirable continents, Antarctica forexample or Siberia? They are primitive humans even as our race was oncea race of primitives. It is not our duty to help to attain our owndegree of knowledge and comfort?     Only the good of the Horde matters! shouted Torp angrily. Shall arace of feeble-witted beasts, such as these Earthmen, stand in the wayof a superior race? We want their world, and so we will take it. TheLaw of the Horde states that all the universe is ours for the taking.     Let us get back to Ortha at once, then, gritted out Thig savagely.Never again do I wish to set foot upon the soil of this mad planet.There are forces at work upon Earth that we of Ortha have longforgotten.     Check the blood of Thig for disease, Kam, ordered Torp shortly. Hiswords are highly irrational. Some form of fever perhaps native to thisworld. While you examine him I will blast off for Ortha.     Thig followed Kam into the tiny laboratory and found a seat beside thesquat scientist's desk. His eyes roamed over the familiar instrumentsand gauges, each in its own precise position in the cases along thewalls. His gaze lingered longest on the stubby black ugliness ofa decomposition blaster in its rack close to the deck. A blast ofthe invisible radiations from that weapon's hot throat and flesh orvegetable fiber rotted into flaky ashes.     The ship trembled beneath their feet; it tore free from the feebleclutch of the sand about it, and they were rocketing skyward. Thig'sbroad fingers bit deep into the unyielding metal of his chair. Suddenlyhe knew that he must go back to Earth, back to Ellen and the childrenof the man he had helped destroy. He loved Ellen, and nothing muststand between them! The Hordes of Ortha must find some other world, anempty world—this planet was not for them.     Turn back! he cried wildly. I must go back to Earth. There is awoman there, helpless and alone, who needs me! The Horde does not needthis planet.     Kam eyed him coldly and lifted a shining hypodermic syringe from itscase. He approached Thig warily, aware that disease often made a maniacof the finest members of the Horde.     No human being is more important than the Horde, he stated baldly.This woman of whom you speak is merely one unit of the millions wemust eliminate for the good of the Horde.     Then it was that Thig went berserk. His fists slashed into the thickjaw of the scientist and his fingers ripped at the hard cords overlyingthe Orthan's vital throat tubes. His fingers and thumb gouged deep intoKam's startled throat and choked off any cry for assistance before itcould be uttered.     Kam's hand swept down to the holster swung from his intricate harnessand dragged his blaster from it. Thig's other hand clamped over his andfor long moments they swayed there, locked together in silent deadlystruggle. The fate of a world hung in the balance as Kam's other handfought against that lone arm of Thig.  <doc-sep>The blazing disc of Sol, the minor globes of the planets, the unwinkingpinpoints of the stars, all stared with cosmic disinterest at the tinyfigure crawling along the hull. His spacesuit trapped and amplifiedbreathing and heartbeats into a roaring chaos that was an invitationto blind panic, and all the while there was consciousness of theinsidiously deadly Sigma radiations.     Barry found the debris of the meteorite, an ugly shining splotchagainst the dull superceramic tube, readied his power chisel, startedcutting. Soon it became a tedious, torturingly strenuous manual taskrequiring little conscious thought, and Barry's mind touched briefly onthe events that had brought him here.     First Luna, and that had been murderous. Man had encountered Sigmafor the first time, and many had died before the Kendall-shield wasperfected. And the chemical-fueled rockets of those days had beeninherently poor.     Hoskins semi-atomics had made possible the next step—to Mars. But menhad found Mars barren, swept clear of all life in the cataclysm thathad shattered the trans-Martian planet to form the Asteroid Belt.     Venus, its true surface forever hidden by enshrouding mists, had beenwell within one-way range. But Hoskins fuel requirements for a roundtrip added up to something beyond critical mass. Impossible.     But the Five Ship Plan had evolved, a joint enterprise of governmentand various private groups. Five vessels were to go out, each fueledto within a whiskered neutron of spontaneous detonation, manned byspecialists who, it was hoped, could maintain themselves under alienconditions.     On Venus the leftover fuel from all five would be transferred towhichever ship had survived the outbound voyage in best condition.That one would return to Earth. Permanent base or homeward voyage withcolonists crowded aboard like defeated sardines? Only time would tell.     Barry Barr had volunteered, and because the enlightened guesses of theexperts called for men and women familiar with tropical conditions,he had survived the rigorous weeding-out process. His duties in VenusColony would be to refabricate the discarded ships into whatever formwas most needed—most particularly a launching ramp—and to studynative Venusian materials.     Dorothy Voorhees had signed on as toxicologist and dietician. When thelimited supply of Earth food ran out the Colony would be forced torely upon Venusian plants and animals. She would guard against subtledelayed-action poisons, meanwhile devising ways of preparing Venusianmaterials to suit Earth tastes and digestions.     Barry had met her at Training Base and known at once that his years ofloneliness had come to an end.     She seemed utterly independent, self-contained, completely intellectualdespite her beauty, but Barry had not been deceived. From the momentof first meeting he had sensed within her deep springs of suppressedemotion, and he had understood. He too had come up the hard way, alone,and been forced to develop a shell of hardness and cold, single-mindeddevotion to his work. Gradually, often unwillingly under hisinsistence, her aloofness had begun to melt.     But Robson Hind too had been attracted. He was the only son of thebusiness manager of the great Hoskins Corporation which carrieda considerable share in the Five Ship Plan. Dorothy's failure tovirtually fall into his arms had only piqued his desires.     The man's smooth charm had fascinated the girl and his money had openedto her an entirely new world of lavish nightclubs and extravagantlyexpensive entertainments, but her inborn shrewdness had sensed somefactor in his personality that had made her hesitate.     Barry had felt a distrust of Hind apart from the normal dislike ofrivalry. He had looked forward to being with Dorothy aboard Three, andhad made no secret of his satisfaction when Hind's efforts to havehimself transferred to Three also or the girl to Four had failed.     But then a scaffold had slipped while Three was being readied, and witha fractured ankle he had been forced to miss the ship.     He unclipped the magnetic detector from his belt and ran it inch byinch over the nozzle. He found one spot of metal, pinhead-sized, butenough to cause trouble, and once more swung his power chisel intostuttering action.     Then it was done.     As quickly as possible he inched back to the airlock. Turnover had tostart according to calculations.  <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>   RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN     by KEITH LAUMER     Retief knew the importance of sealed     orders—and the need to keep them that way!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1962.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      It's true, Consul Passwyn said, I requested assignment as principalofficer at a small post. But I had in mind one of those charming resortworlds, with only an occasional visa problem, or perhaps a distressedspaceman or two a year. Instead, I'm zoo-keeper to these confoundedsettlers. And not for one world, mind you, but eight! He stared glumlyat Vice-Consul Retief.     Still, Retief said, it gives an opportunity to travel—     Travel! the consul barked. I hate travel. Here in this backwatersystem particularly— He paused, blinked at Retief and cleared histhroat. Not that a bit of travel isn't an excellent thing for ajunior officer. Marvelous experience.     He turned to the wall-screen and pressed a button. A system triagramappeared: eight luminous green dots arranged around a larger diskrepresenting the primary. He picked up a pointer, indicating theinnermost planet.     The situation on Adobe is nearing crisis. The confounded settlers—amere handful of them—have managed, as usual, to stir up trouble withan intelligent indigenous life form, the Jaq. I can't think why theybother, merely for a few oases among the endless deserts. However Ihave, at last, received authorization from Sector Headquarters totake certain action. He swung back to face Retief. I'm sending youin to handle the situation, Retief—under sealed orders. He pickedup a fat buff envelope. A pity they didn't see fit to order theTerrestrial settlers out weeks ago, as I suggested. Now it is too late.I'm expected to produce a miracle—a rapprochement between Terrestrialand Adoban and a division of territory. It's idiotic. However, failurewould look very bad in my record, so I shall expect results.     He passed the buff envelope across to Retief.     I understood that Adobe was uninhabited, Retief said, until theTerrestrial settlers arrived.     Apparently, that was an erroneous impression. Passwyn fixed Retiefwith a watery eye. You'll follow your instructions to the letter. In adelicate situation such as this, there must be no impulsive, impromptuelement introduced. This approach has been worked out in detail atSector. You need merely implement it. Is that entirely clear?     Has anyone at Headquarters ever visited Adobe?     Of course not. They all hate travel. If there are no other questions,you'd best be on your way. The mail run departs the dome in less thanan hour.     What's this native life form like? Retief asked, getting to his feet.     When you get back, said Passwyn, you tell me.  <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>Feeling better? I asked Quade in the infirmary.     He punched up his pillow and settled back. I guess so. But when Ithink of all the ways I nearly got myself killed out there.... How farhave you got in the tractors?     I'm having the tractors torn down and the parts put back into thespaceship where they belong. We      shouldn't     risk losing them andgetting stuck here.     Are you settling for a primary exploration?     No. I think I had the right idea on your rescue party. You have tomeet and fight a planet on its own terms. Fighting confused sounds andtastes with music and wine was crude, but it was on the right track.Out there, we understood language because we were familiar with alienlanguages changed to other sense mediums by cybernetic translators.Using the translator, we can learn to recognize all confused data aseasily. I'm starting indoctrination courses.     I doubt that that is necessary, sir, Quade said. Experiencedspacemen are experienced with transphasia. You don't have to worry. Inthe future, I'll be able to resist sensations that tell me I'm freezingto death—if my gauges tell me it's a lie.     I examined his bandisprayed hide. I think my way of gaining experienceis less painful and more efficient.     Quade squirmed. Yes, sir. One thing, sir—I don't understand how yougot me away from those aliens.     The aliens were trying to help. They knew something was wrong and theywere prodding and probing. When the first tractor pulled up and the mengot out, they seemed to realize our own people could help us easierthan they could.     I am not quite convinced that those babies just meant to help us allthe time.     But they did! First, that call of theirs—it wasn't to lead us intodanger, but to warn us of the cliff, the freezing wind. They saw wewere trying to find out things about their world, so they even offeredus one of their own kind to study. Unfortunately, he was too much forus. They didn't give us their top man, of course, only the villageidiot. It's just as well. We aren't allowed to dissect creatures thatfar up the intelligence scale.     But why should they want to help us? Quade demanded suspiciously.     I think it's like Nagurski's dog. The dog came to him when it wantedsomebody to own it, protect it, feed it, love it. These aliens      want     Earthmen to colonize the planet. We came here, you see, same as the dogcame to Nagurski.     Well, I've learned one thing from all of this, Quade said. I've beena blind, arrogant, cocksure fool, following courses that were good on      some     worlds,      most     worlds, but not good on      all     worlds. I'm nevergoing to be that foolhardy again.     But you're losing      confidence     , Quade! You aren't sure of yourself anymore. Isn't confidence a spaceman's most valuable asset?     The hell it is, Quade said grimly. It's his deadliest liability.     In that case, I must inform you that I am demoting you to ActingExecutive Officer.     Huh? Quade gawked. But dammit, Captain, you can't do that to me!I'll lose hazard pay and be that much further from retirement!     That's tough, I sympathized, but in every service a chap gets brokenin rank now and then.     Maybe it's worth it, Quade said heavily. Now maybe I've learned howto stay alive out here. I just hope I don't forget.     I thought about that. I was nearly through with my first mission andI could speak with experience, even if it was the least amount ofexperience aboard.     Quade, I said, space isn't as dangerous as all that. I clapped himon the shoulder fraternally. You worry too much!   <doc-sep>Purnie worked his way down the hill, imploring them to save themselves.The sounds they made carried a new tone, a desperate foreboding ofdeath.     Rhodes! Cabot! Can you hear me?     I—I can't move, Captain. My leg, it's.... My God, we're going todrown!     Look around you, Cabot. Can you see anyone moving?     The men on the beach are nearly buried, Captain. And the rest of ushere in the water—     Forbes. Can you see Forbes? Maybe he's— His sounds were cut off by awavelet gently rolling over his head.     Purnie could wait no longer. The tides were all but covering one of theanimals, and soon the others would be in the same plight. Disregardingthe consequences, he ordered time to stop.     Wading down into the surf, he worked a log off one victim, then hetugged the animal up to the sand. Through blinding tears, Purnie workedslowly and carefully. He knew there was no hurry—at least, not as faras his friends' safety was concerned. No matter what their conditionof life or death was at this moment, it would stay the same way untilhe started time again. He made his way deeper into the orange liquid,where a raised hand signalled the location of a submerged body. Thehand was clutching a large white banner that was tangled among thelogs. Purnie worked the animal free and pulled it ashore.     It was the one who had been carrying the shiny object that spit smoke.     Scarcely noticing his own injured leg, he ferried one victim afteranother until there were no more in the surf. Up on the beach, hestarted unraveling the logs that pinned down the animals caught there.He removed a log from the lap of one, who then remained in a sittingposition, his face contorted into a frozen mask of agony and shock.Another, with the weight removed, rolled over like an iron statue intoa new position. Purnie whimpered in black misery as he surveyed thechaotic scene before him.     At last he could do no more; he felt consciousness slipping away fromhim.     He instinctively knew that if he lost his senses during a period oftime-stopping, events would pick up where they had left off ... withouthim. For Purnie, this would be death. If he had to lose consciousness,he knew he must first resume time.     Step by step he plodded up the little hill, pausing every now and thento consider if this were the moment to start time before it was toolate. With his energy fast draining away, he reached the top of theknoll, and he turned to look down once more on the group below.     Then he knew how much his mind and body had suffered: when he orderedtime to resume, nothing happened.     His heart sank. He wasn't afraid of death, and he knew that if he diedthe oceans would roll again and his friends would move about. But hewanted to see them safe.     He tried to clear his mind for supreme effort. There was no      urging     time to start. He knew he couldn't persuade it by bits and pieces,first slowly then full ahead. Time either progressed or it didn't. Hehad to take one viewpoint or the other.     Then, without knowing exactly when it happened, his mind tookcommand....  <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> [SEP] What is the primary location of the events in Venus Is a Man's World?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of the storyline in Stalemate In Space? [SEP] <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>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STALEMATE IN SPACE ***    Stalemate In Space     By CHARLES L. HARNESS     Two mighty metal globes clung in a murderous     death-struggle, lashing out with flames of poison.     Yet deep in their twisted, radioactive wreckage     the main battle raged—where a girl swayed     sensuously before her conqueror's mocking eyes.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Summer 1949.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      At first there was only the voice, a monotonous murmur in her ears.           Die now—die now—die now     —     Evelyn Kane awoke, breathing slowly and painfully. The top of thecubicle was bulging inward on her chest, and it seemed likely that arib or two was broken. How long ago? Years? Minutes? She had no way ofknowing. Her slender right hand found the oxygen valve and turned it.For a long while she lay, hurting and breathing helplessly.           Die now—die now—die now     —     The votron had awakened her with its heart-breaking code message, andit was her duty to carry out its command. Nine years after the greatbattle globes had crunched together the mentors had sealed her in thistiny cell, dormant, unwaking, to be livened only when it was certainher countrymen had either definitely won—or lost.     The votron's telepathic dirge chronicled the latter fact. She hadexpected nothing else.     She had only to find the relay beside her cot, press the key that wouldset in motion gigantic prime movers in the heart of the great globe,and the conquerors would join the conquered in the wide and namelessgrave of space.     But life, now doled out by the second, was too delicious to abandonimmediately. Her mind, like that of a drowning person, raced hungrilyover the memories of her past.     For twenty years, in company with her great father, she had watched      The Defender     grow from a vast metal skeleton into a planet-sizedbattle globe. But it had not grown fast enough, for when the Scythianglobe,      The Invader     , sprang out of black space to enslave the buddingTerran Confederacy,      The Defender     was unfinished, half-equipped, andundermanned.     The Terrans could only fight for time and hope for a miracle.       The Defender     , commanded by her father, Gordon, Lord Kane, hurleditself from its orbit around Procyon and met      The Invader     with giantfission torpedoes.     And then, in an intergalactic proton storm beyond the Lesser MagellanicCloud, the globes lost their bearings and collided. Hordes of brute-menpoured through the crushed outer armor of the stricken      Defender     .     The prone woman stirred uneasily. Here the images became unrealand terrible, with the recurrent vision of death. It had taken theScythians nine years to conquer      The Defender's     outer shell. Then hadcome that final interview with her father.     In half an hour our last space port will be captured, he hadtelepathed curtly. Only one more messenger ship can leave      TheDefender     . Be on it.     No. I shall die here.     His fine tired eyes had studied her face in enigmatic appraisal. Thendie usefully. The mentors are trying to develop a force that willdestroy both globes in the moment of our inevitable defeat. If they aresuccessful, you will have the task of pressing the final button of thebattle.     There's an off-chance you may survive, countered a mentor. We'realso working on a means for your escape—not only because you areGordon's daughter, but because this great proton storm will preventradio contact with Terra for years, and we want someone to escape withour secret if and when our experiments prove successful.     But you must expect to die, her father had warned with gentlefinality.     She clenched her fingernails vehemently into her palms and wrenchedherself back to the present.     That time had come.     With some effort she worked herself out of the crumpled bed and lay onthe floor of her little cubicle, panting and holding her chest withboth hands. The metal floor was very cold. Evidently the enemy torpedofissionables had finally broken through to the center portions of theship, letting in the icy breath of space. Small matter. Not by freezingwould she die.     She reached out her hand, felt for the all-important key, and gasped indismay. The mahogany box containing the key had burst its metal bondsand was lying on its side. The explosion that had crushed her cubiclehad been terrific.     With a gurgle of horror she snapped on her wrist luminar and examinedthe interior of the box.     It was a shattered ruin.  <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>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>Once the fact was clear, she composed herself and lay there, breathinghard and thinking. She had no means to construct another key. At best,finding the rare tools and parts would take months, and during theinterval the invaders would be cutting loose from the dead hulk thatclutched their conquering battle globe in a metallic rigor mortis.     She gave herself six weeks to accomplish this stalemate in space.     Within that time she must know whether the prime movers were stillintact, and whether she could safely enter the pile room herself,set the movers in motion, and draw the moderator columns. If it wereunsafe, she must secure the unwitting assistance of her Scythianenemies.     Still prone, she found the first-aid kit and taped her chest expertly.The cold was beginning to make itself felt, so she flicked on thechaudiere she wore as an under-garment to her Scythian woman's uniform.Then she crawled on her elbows and stomach to the tiny door, spun thesealing gear, and was soon outside. Ignoring the pain and pulling onthe side of the imitation rock that contained her cell, she got slowlyto her feet. The air was thin indeed, and frigid. She turned the valveof her portable oxygen bottle almost subconsciously, while exploringthe surrounding blackened forest as far as she could see. Mentally shewas alert for roving alien minds. She had left her weapons inside thecubicle, except for the three things in the little leather bag danglingfrom her waist, for she knew that her greatest weapon in the struggleto come would be her apparent harmlessness.     Four hundred yards behind her she detected the mind of a low-bornScythe, of the Tharn sun group. Very quickly she established it as thatof a tired, brutish corporal, taking a mop-up squad through the blackstumps and forlorn branches of the small forest that for years hadsupplied oxygen to the defenders of this sector.     The corporal could not see her green Scythian uniform clearly, andevidently took her for a Terran woman. In his mind was the question:Should he shoot immediately, or should he capture her? It had been twomonths since he had seen a woman. But then, his orders were to shoot.Yes, he would shoot.     Evelyn turned in profile to the beam-gun and stretched luxuriously,hoping that her grimace of pain could not be detected. Withsatisfaction, she sensed a sudden change of determination in the mindof the Tharn. The gun was lowered, and the man was circling to creep upbehind her. He did not bother to notify his men. He wanted her first.He had seen her uniform, but that deterred him not a whit. Afterwards,he would call up the squad. Finally, they would kill her and move on.Women auxiliaries had no business here, anyway.     Hips dipping, Evelyn sauntered into the shattered copse. The man movedfaster, though still trying to approach quietly. Most of the radions inthe mile-high ceiling had been destroyed, and the light was poor. Hewas not surprised when he lost track of his quarry. He tip-toed rapidlyonward, picking his way through the charred and fallen branches,thinking that she must turn up again soon. He had not gone twenty yardsin this manner when a howl of unbearable fury sounded in his mind, andthe dull light in his brain went out.        She fought for her life under that mile-high ceiling.        Breathing deeply from her mental effort, the woman stepped frombehind a great black tree trunk and hurried to the unconscious man.For I.Q.'s of 100 and less, telepathic cortical paralysis was quiteeffective. With cool efficiency and no trace of distaste she strippedthe odorous uniform from the man, then took his weapon, turned the beampower down very low, and needled a neat slash across his throat. Whilehe bled to death, she slipped deftly into the baggy suit, clasped thebeam gun by the handle, and started up the sooty slope. For a time, atleast, it would be safer to pass as a Tharn soldier than as any kind ofa woman.      II     The inquisitor leaned forward, frowning at the girl before him.     Name?     Evelyn Kane.     The eyes of the inquisitor widened. So you admit to a Terran name.Well, Terran, you are charged with having stolen passage on a supplylorry, and you also seem to be wearing the uniform of an infantrycorporal as well as that of a Scythian woman auxiliary. Incidentally,where is the corporal? Did you kill him?     He was prepared for a last-ditch denial. He would cut it short, havethe guards remove her, and execution would follow immediately. In away, it was unfortunate. The woman was obviously of a high Terranclass. No—he couldn't consider that. His slender means couldn't affordanother woman in his quarters, and besides, he wouldn't feel safe withthis cool murderess.     Do you not understand the master tongue? Why did you kill thecorporal? He leaned impatiently over his desk.     The woman stared frankly back at him with her clear blue eyes. Theguards on either side of her dug their nails into her arms, as wastheir custom with recalcitrant prisoners, but she took no notice.     She had analyzed the minds of the three men. She could handle theinquisitor alone or the two guards alone, but not all three.     If you aren't afraid of me, perhaps you'd be so kind as to send theguards out for a few minutes, she said, placing a hand on her hip. Ihave interesting information.     So that was it. Buy her freedom by betraying fugitive Terrans. Well, hecould take the information and then kill her. He nodded curtly to theguards, and they walked out of the hut, exchanging sly winks with oneanother.     Evelyn Kane crossed her arms across her chest and felt her broken ribgingerly. The inquisitor stared up at her in sadistic admiration. Hewould certainly be on hand for the execution. His anticipation was cutshort with a horrible realization. Under the paralyzing force of a mindgreater than his own, he reached beneath the desk and switched off therecorder.     Who is the Occupational Commandant for this Sector, she askedtersely. This must be done swiftly before the guards returned.     Perat, Viscount of Tharn, replied the man mechanically.     What is the extent of his jurisdiction?     From the center of the Terran globe, outward four hundred milesradius.     Good. Prepare for me the usual visa that a woman clerk needs forpassage to the offices of the Occupational Commandant.     The inquisitor filled in blanks in a stiff sheet of paper and stamped aseal at its bottom.     You will add in the portion reserved for 'comments', the following:'Capable clerk. Others will follow as they are found available.'     The man's pen scratched away obediently.     Evelyn Kane smiled gently at the impotent, inwardly raging inquisitor.She took the paper, folded it, and placed it in a pocket in her blouse.Call the guards, she ordered.     He pressed the button on his desk, and the guards re-entered.     This person is no longer a prisoner, said the inquisitor woodenly.She is to take the next transport to the Occupational Commandant ofZone One.     When the transport had left, neither inquisitor nor guards had anymemory of the woman. However, in the due course of events, therecording was gathered up with many others like it, boxed carefully,and sent to the Office of the Occupational Commandant, Zone One, forauditing.  <doc-sep>She was pink and clean and her platinum hair was pulled straight back,drawing her cheek-bones tighter, straightening her wide, appealingmouth, drawing her lean, athletic, feminine body erect. She was wearinga powder-blue dress that covered all of her breasts and hips and theupper half of her legs.     The most wonderful thing about her was her perfume. Then I realized itwasn't perfume, only the scent of soap. Finally, I knew it wasn't that.It was just healthy, fresh-scrubbed skin.     I went to her at the bus stop, forcing my legs not to stagger. Nobodywould help a drunk. I don't know why, but nobody will help you if theythink you are blotto.     Ma'am, could you help a man who's not had work? I kept my eyes down.I couldn't look a human in the eye and ask for help. Just a dime for acup of coffee. I knew where I could get it for three cents, maybe twoand a half.     I felt her looking at me. She spoke in an educated voice, one she used,perhaps, as a teacher or supervising telephone operator. Do you wantit for coffee, or to apply, or a glass or hypo of something else?     I cringed and whined. She would expect it of me. I suddenly realizedthat anybody as clean as she was had to be a tourist here. I hatetourists.     Just coffee, ma'am. She was younger than I was, so I didn't have tocall her that. A little more for food, if you could spare it.     I hadn't eaten in a day and a half, but I didn't care much.     I'll buy you a dinner, she said carefully, provided I can go withyou and see for myself that you actually eat it.     I felt my face flushing red. You wouldn't want to be seen with a bumlike me, ma'am.     I'll be seen with you if you really want to eat.     It was certainly unfair and probably immoral. But I had no choicewhatever.     Okay, I said, tasting bitterness over the craving.  <doc-sep>  Mr. Dawes  came home anhour later, looking tired.Mom pecked him lightly onthe forehead. He glanced atthe evening paper, and thenspoke to Sol.     Hear you been askingquestions, Mr. Becker.     Sol nodded, embarrassed.Guess I have. I'm awfullycurious about this Armagonplace. Never heard of anythinglike it before.     Dawes grunted. You ain'ta reporter?     Oh, no. I'm an engineer. Iwas just satisfying my owncuriosity.     Uh-huh. Dawes lookedreflective. You wouldn't bethinkin' about writing us upor anything. I mean, this is apretty private affair.     Writing it up? Solblinked. I hadn't thought ofit. But you'll have to admit—it'ssure interesting.     Yeah, Dawes said narrowly.I guess it would be.     Supper! Mom called.     After the meal, they spenta quiet evening at home. Sallywent to bed, screaming herreluctance, at eight-thirty.Mom, dozing in the big chairnear the fireplace, padded upstairsat nine. Then Dawesyawned widely, stood up, andsaid goodnight at quarter-of-ten.     He paused in the doorwaybefore leaving.     I'd think about that, hesaid. Writing it up, I mean.A lot of folks would thinkyou were just plum crazy.     Sol laughed feebly. Iguess they would at that.     Goodnight, Dawes said.     Goodnight.     He read Sally's copy of      Treasure Island     for abouthalf an hour. Then he undressed,made himself comfortableon the sofa, snuggledunder the soft blanketthat Mom had provided, andshut his eyes.     He reviewed the events ofthe day before dropping offto sleep. The troublesomeSally. The strange dreamworld of Armagon. The visitto the barber shop. The removalof Brundage's body.The conversations with thetownspeople. Dawes' suspiciousattitude ...     Then sleep came. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in Stalemate In Space?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"How is Evelyn's relationship with her father portrayed in Stalemate In Space? [SEP] <s>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STALEMATE IN SPACE ***    Stalemate In Space     By CHARLES L. HARNESS     Two mighty metal globes clung in a murderous     death-struggle, lashing out with flames of poison.     Yet deep in their twisted, radioactive wreckage     the main battle raged—where a girl swayed     sensuously before her conqueror's mocking eyes.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Summer 1949.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      At first there was only the voice, a monotonous murmur in her ears.           Die now—die now—die now     —     Evelyn Kane awoke, breathing slowly and painfully. The top of thecubicle was bulging inward on her chest, and it seemed likely that arib or two was broken. How long ago? Years? Minutes? She had no way ofknowing. Her slender right hand found the oxygen valve and turned it.For a long while she lay, hurting and breathing helplessly.           Die now—die now—die now     —     The votron had awakened her with its heart-breaking code message, andit was her duty to carry out its command. Nine years after the greatbattle globes had crunched together the mentors had sealed her in thistiny cell, dormant, unwaking, to be livened only when it was certainher countrymen had either definitely won—or lost.     The votron's telepathic dirge chronicled the latter fact. She hadexpected nothing else.     She had only to find the relay beside her cot, press the key that wouldset in motion gigantic prime movers in the heart of the great globe,and the conquerors would join the conquered in the wide and namelessgrave of space.     But life, now doled out by the second, was too delicious to abandonimmediately. Her mind, like that of a drowning person, raced hungrilyover the memories of her past.     For twenty years, in company with her great father, she had watched      The Defender     grow from a vast metal skeleton into a planet-sizedbattle globe. But it had not grown fast enough, for when the Scythianglobe,      The Invader     , sprang out of black space to enslave the buddingTerran Confederacy,      The Defender     was unfinished, half-equipped, andundermanned.     The Terrans could only fight for time and hope for a miracle.       The Defender     , commanded by her father, Gordon, Lord Kane, hurleditself from its orbit around Procyon and met      The Invader     with giantfission torpedoes.     And then, in an intergalactic proton storm beyond the Lesser MagellanicCloud, the globes lost their bearings and collided. Hordes of brute-menpoured through the crushed outer armor of the stricken      Defender     .     The prone woman stirred uneasily. Here the images became unrealand terrible, with the recurrent vision of death. It had taken theScythians nine years to conquer      The Defender's     outer shell. Then hadcome that final interview with her father.     In half an hour our last space port will be captured, he hadtelepathed curtly. Only one more messenger ship can leave      TheDefender     . Be on it.     No. I shall die here.     His fine tired eyes had studied her face in enigmatic appraisal. Thendie usefully. The mentors are trying to develop a force that willdestroy both globes in the moment of our inevitable defeat. If they aresuccessful, you will have the task of pressing the final button of thebattle.     There's an off-chance you may survive, countered a mentor. We'realso working on a means for your escape—not only because you areGordon's daughter, but because this great proton storm will preventradio contact with Terra for years, and we want someone to escape withour secret if and when our experiments prove successful.     But you must expect to die, her father had warned with gentlefinality.     She clenched her fingernails vehemently into her palms and wrenchedherself back to the present.     That time had come.     With some effort she worked herself out of the crumpled bed and lay onthe floor of her little cubicle, panting and holding her chest withboth hands. The metal floor was very cold. Evidently the enemy torpedofissionables had finally broken through to the center portions of theship, letting in the icy breath of space. Small matter. Not by freezingwould she die.     She reached out her hand, felt for the all-important key, and gasped indismay. The mahogany box containing the key had burst its metal bondsand was lying on its side. The explosion that had crushed her cubiclehad been terrific.     With a gurgle of horror she snapped on her wrist luminar and examinedthe interior of the box.     It was a shattered ruin.  <doc-sep>Her heart was beating faster as she walked down the hall. She felt avery strong probe flooding over her brain casually, palping with mildinterest the artificial memories she supplied: Escapades with officersin the combat areas. Reprimands. Demotion and transfer. Her deceptionof Gorph. Her anticipation of meeting a real Viscount and hoping hewould let her dance for him.     The questing probe withdrew as idly as it had come, and she breatheda sigh of relief. She could not hope to deceive a suspicious telepathfor long. Perat was merely amused at her lie to his under-supervisor.He had accepted her at her own face value, as supplied by her falsememories.     She opened the door to the balcony and saw a man leaning moodily on thebalustrade. He gave no immediate notice of her presence.     The five hundred and sixth heir of Tharn was of uncertain age, as weremost of the men of both globes. Only the left side of his face could beseen. It was gaunt and leathery, and a deep thin scar lifted the cornerof his mouth into a satanic smile. A faint paunch was gathering at hisabdomen, as befitted a warrior turned to boring paper work. His closelycut black hair and the two sparkling red-gemmed rings—apparentlyidentical—on his right hand seemed to denote a certain fastidiousnessand unconscious superiority. To Evelyn the jeweled fingers bespoke anunnatural contrast to the past history of the man and were symptomaticof a personality that could find stimulation only in strange and cruelpleasures.     In alarm she suddenly realized that she had inadvertently let herappraisal penetrate her uncovered conscious mind, and that this probewas there awaiting it.     You are right, he said coldly, still staring into the court below.Now that the long battle is over, there is little left to divert me.     He pushed the Faeg across the coping toward her. Take this.     He had not as yet looked at her.     She crossed the balcony, simultaneously grasping the pistol he offeredher and looking down into the courtyard. There seemed to be nearlytwenty Terrans lying about, in pools of their own blood.     Only one man, a Terran officer of very high rank—was left standing.His arms were folded somberly across his chest, and he studied thekiller above him almost casually. But when the woman came out, theireyes met, and he started imperceptibly.     Evelyn Kane felt a horrid chill creeping over her. The man's hair waswhite, now, and his proud face lined with deep furrows, but there couldbe no mistake. It was Gordon, Lord Kane.     Her father.     The sweat continued to grow on her forehead, and she felt for a momentthat she needed only to wish hard enough, and this would be a dream.A dream of a big, kind, dark-haired man with laugh-wrinkles about hiseyes, who sat her on his knee when she was a little girl and readbedtime stories to her from a great book with many pictures.     An icy, amused voice came through: Our orders are to kill allprisoners. It is entertaining to shoot down helpless men, isn't it? Itwarms me to know that I am cruel and wanton, and worthy of my trust.     Even in the midst of her horror, a cold, analytical part of her wasexplaining why the Commandant had called her to the balcony. Becauseall captured Terrans had to be killed, he hated his superiors, his ownmen, and especially the prisoners. A task so revolting he could notrelegate to his own officers. He must do it himself, but he wanted hisunderlings to know he loathed them for it. She was merely a symbol ofthat contempt. His next words did not surprise her.     It is even more stimulating to require a shuddering female to killthem. You are shuddering you know?     She nodded dumbly. Her palm was so wet that a drop of sweat droppedfrom it to the floor. She was thinking hard. She could kill theCommandant and save her father for a little while. But then theproblem of detonating the pile remained, and it would not be solvedmore quickly by killing the man who controlled the pile area. On thecontrary if she could get him interested in her—     So far as our records indicate, murmured Perat, the man down thereis the last living Terran within      The Defender     . It occurred to me thatour newest clerk would like to start off her duties with a bang. TheFaeg is adjusted to a needle-beam. If you put a bolt between the man'seyes, you may dance for me tonight, and perhaps there will be othernights—     The woman seemed lost in thought for a long time. Slowly, she liftedthe ugly little weapon. The doomed Terran looked up at her peacefully,without expression. She lowered the Faeg, her arm trembling.     Gordon, Lord Kane, frowned faintly, then closed his eyes. She raisedthe gun again, drew cross hairs with a nerveless wrist, and squeezedthe trigger. There was a loud, hollow cough, but no recoil. The Terranofficer, his eyes still closed and arms folded, sank to the ground,face up. Blood was running from a tiny hole in his forehead.     The man leaning on the balustrade turned and looked at Evelyn, at firstwith amused contempt, then with narrowing, questioning eyes.     Come here, he ordered.     The Faeg dropped from her hand. With a titanic effort she activated herlegs and walked toward him.     He was studying her face very carefully.     She felt that she was going to be sick. Her knees were so weak that shehad to lean on the coping.     With a forefinger he lifted up the mass of golden curls that hungover her right forehead and examined the scar hidden there, where thementors had cut into her frontal lobe. The tiny doll they had createdfor her writhed uneasily in her waist-purse, but Perat seemed to bethinking of something else, and missed the significance of the scarcompletely.     He dropped his hand. I'm sorry, he said with a quiet weariness. Ishouldn't have asked you to kill the Terran. It was a sorry joke.Then: Have you ever seen me before?     No, she whispered hoarsely. His mind was in hers, verifying the fact.     Have you ever met my father, Phaen, the old Count of Tharn?     No.     Do you have a son?     No.     His mind was out of hers again, and he had turned moodily back,surveying the courtyard and the dead. Gorph will be wondering whathappened to you. Come to my quarters at the eighth metron tonight.     Apparently he suspected nothing.       Father. Father. I had to do it. But we'll all join you, soon. Soon.        III     Perat lay on his couch, sipping cold purple      terif     and following thethinly-clad dancer with narrowed eyes. Music, soft and subtle, floatedfrom his communications box, illegally tuned to an officer's clubsomewhere. Evelyn made the rhythm part of her as she swayed slowly ontiptoe.     For the last thirty nights—the hours allotted to rest and sleep—ithad been thus. By day she probed furtively into the minds of theoffice staff, memorizing area designations, channels for officialmessages, and the names and authorizations of occupational field crews.By night she danced for Perat, who never took his eyes from her, norhis probe from her mind. While she danced it was not too difficult toelude the probe. There was an odd autohypnosis in dancing that blottedout memory and knowledge.     Enough for now, he ordered. Careful of your rib.     When he had first seen the bandages on her bare chest, that firstnight, she had been ready with a memory of dancing on a freshly waxedfloor, and of falling.     Perat seemed to be debating with himself as she sat down on her owncouch to rest. He got up, unlocked his desk, and drew out a tiny reelof metal wire, which Evelyn recognized as being feed for an amateurstereop projector. He placed the reel in a projector that had beeninstalled in the wall, flicked off the table luminar, and both of themwaited in the dark, breathing rather loudly.     Suddenly the center of the room was bright with a ball of light sometwo feet in diameter, and inside the luminous sphere were an old man, awoman, and a little boy of about four years. They were walking througha luxurious garden, and then they stopped, looked up, and waved gaily.     Evelyn studied the trio with growing wonder. The old man and the boywere complete strangers.      But the woman—!       That is Phaen, my father, said Perat quietly. He stayed at homebecause he hated war. And that is a path in our country estate onTharn-R-VII. The little boy I fail to recognize, beyond a generalresemblance to the Tharn line.     But—      can you deny that you are the woman     ?     The stereop snapped off, and she sat wordless in the dark.     There seemed to be some similarity— she admitted. Her throat wassuddenly dry. Yet, why should she be alarmed? She really didn't knowthe woman.     The table luminar was on now, and Perat was prowling hungrily about theroom, his scar twisting his otherwise handsome face into a snarlingscowl.     Similarity! Bah! That loop of hair over her right forehead hid a scaridentical to yours. I have had the individual frames analyzed!     Evelyn's hands knotted unconsciously. She forced her body to relax, buther mind was racing. This introduced another variable to be controlledin her plan for destruction. She      must     make it a known quantity.     Did your father send it to you? she asked.     The day before you arrived here. It had been en route for months, ofcourse.     What did he say about it?     He said, 'Your widow and son send greetings. Be of good cheer, andaccept our love.' What nonsense! He knows very well I'm not married andthat—well, if I have ever fathered any children, I don't know aboutthem.     Is that all he said?     That's all, except that he included this ring. He pulled one of theduplicate jewels from his right middle finger and tossed it to her.It's identical to the one he had made for me when I entered on mymajority. For a long time it was thought that it was the only stone ofits kind on all the planets of the Tharn suns, a mineralogical freak,but I guess he found another. But why should I want two of them?     Evelyn crossed the room and returned the ring.     Existence is so full of mysteries, isn't it? murmured Perat.Sometimes it seems unfortunate that we must pass through a sentientphase on our way to death. This foolish, foolish war. Maybe the oldcount was right.     You could be courtmartialed for that.     Speaking of courtmartials, I've got to attend one tonight—an appealfrom a death sentence. He arose, smoothed his hair and clothes, andpoured another glass of      terif     . Some fool inquisitor can't showproper disposition of a woman prisoner.     Evelyn's heart skipped a beat. Indeed?     The wretch insists that he could remember if we would just let himalone. I suppose he took a bribe. You'll find one now and then whotries for a little extra profit.     She must absolutely not be seen by the condemned inquisitor. Thestimulus would almost certainly make him remember.     I'll wait for you, she said indifferently, thrusting her arms out ina languorous yawn.     Very well. Perat stepped to the door, then turned and looked back ather. On the other hand, I may need a clerk. It's way after hours, andthe others have gone.     Beneath a gesture of wry protest, she swallowed rapidly.     Perhaps you'd better come, insisted Perat.     She stood up, unloosed her waist-purse, checked its contents swiftly,and then followed him out.     This might be a very close thing. From the purse she took a bottle ofperfume and rubbed her ear lobes casually.     Odd smell, commented Perat, wrinkling his nose.     Odd scent, corrected Evelyn cryptically. She was thinking aboutthe earnest faces of the mentors as they instructed her carefully inthe use of the perfume. The adrenalin glands, they had explained,provided a useful and powerful stimulant to a man in danger. Adrenalinslowed the heart and digestion, increased the systole and bloodpressure, and increased perspiration to cool the skin. But therecould be too much of a good thing. An overdose of adrenalin, they hadpointed out, caused almost immediate edema. The lungs filled rapidlywith the serum and the victim ... drowned. The perfume she possessedover-stimulated, in some unknown way, the adrenals of frightenedpersons. It had no effect on inactive adrenals.     The question remained—who would be the more frightened, she or thecondemned inquisitor?     She was perspiring freely, and the blonde hair on her arms and neck wasstanding stiffly when Perat opened the door for her and they enteredthe Zone Provost's chambers.  <doc-sep>Once the fact was clear, she composed herself and lay there, breathinghard and thinking. She had no means to construct another key. At best,finding the rare tools and parts would take months, and during theinterval the invaders would be cutting loose from the dead hulk thatclutched their conquering battle globe in a metallic rigor mortis.     She gave herself six weeks to accomplish this stalemate in space.     Within that time she must know whether the prime movers were stillintact, and whether she could safely enter the pile room herself,set the movers in motion, and draw the moderator columns. If it wereunsafe, she must secure the unwitting assistance of her Scythianenemies.     Still prone, she found the first-aid kit and taped her chest expertly.The cold was beginning to make itself felt, so she flicked on thechaudiere she wore as an under-garment to her Scythian woman's uniform.Then she crawled on her elbows and stomach to the tiny door, spun thesealing gear, and was soon outside. Ignoring the pain and pulling onthe side of the imitation rock that contained her cell, she got slowlyto her feet. The air was thin indeed, and frigid. She turned the valveof her portable oxygen bottle almost subconsciously, while exploringthe surrounding blackened forest as far as she could see. Mentally shewas alert for roving alien minds. She had left her weapons inside thecubicle, except for the three things in the little leather bag danglingfrom her waist, for she knew that her greatest weapon in the struggleto come would be her apparent harmlessness.     Four hundred yards behind her she detected the mind of a low-bornScythe, of the Tharn sun group. Very quickly she established it as thatof a tired, brutish corporal, taking a mop-up squad through the blackstumps and forlorn branches of the small forest that for years hadsupplied oxygen to the defenders of this sector.     The corporal could not see her green Scythian uniform clearly, andevidently took her for a Terran woman. In his mind was the question:Should he shoot immediately, or should he capture her? It had been twomonths since he had seen a woman. But then, his orders were to shoot.Yes, he would shoot.     Evelyn turned in profile to the beam-gun and stretched luxuriously,hoping that her grimace of pain could not be detected. Withsatisfaction, she sensed a sudden change of determination in the mindof the Tharn. The gun was lowered, and the man was circling to creep upbehind her. He did not bother to notify his men. He wanted her first.He had seen her uniform, but that deterred him not a whit. Afterwards,he would call up the squad. Finally, they would kill her and move on.Women auxiliaries had no business here, anyway.     Hips dipping, Evelyn sauntered into the shattered copse. The man movedfaster, though still trying to approach quietly. Most of the radions inthe mile-high ceiling had been destroyed, and the light was poor. Hewas not surprised when he lost track of his quarry. He tip-toed rapidlyonward, picking his way through the charred and fallen branches,thinking that she must turn up again soon. He had not gone twenty yardsin this manner when a howl of unbearable fury sounded in his mind, andthe dull light in his brain went out.        She fought for her life under that mile-high ceiling.        Breathing deeply from her mental effort, the woman stepped frombehind a great black tree trunk and hurried to the unconscious man.For I.Q.'s of 100 and less, telepathic cortical paralysis was quiteeffective. With cool efficiency and no trace of distaste she strippedthe odorous uniform from the man, then took his weapon, turned the beampower down very low, and needled a neat slash across his throat. Whilehe bled to death, she slipped deftly into the baggy suit, clasped thebeam gun by the handle, and started up the sooty slope. For a time, atleast, it would be safer to pass as a Tharn soldier than as any kind ofa woman.      II     The inquisitor leaned forward, frowning at the girl before him.     Name?     Evelyn Kane.     The eyes of the inquisitor widened. So you admit to a Terran name.Well, Terran, you are charged with having stolen passage on a supplylorry, and you also seem to be wearing the uniform of an infantrycorporal as well as that of a Scythian woman auxiliary. Incidentally,where is the corporal? Did you kill him?     He was prepared for a last-ditch denial. He would cut it short, havethe guards remove her, and execution would follow immediately. In away, it was unfortunate. The woman was obviously of a high Terranclass. No—he couldn't consider that. His slender means couldn't affordanother woman in his quarters, and besides, he wouldn't feel safe withthis cool murderess.     Do you not understand the master tongue? Why did you kill thecorporal? He leaned impatiently over his desk.     The woman stared frankly back at him with her clear blue eyes. Theguards on either side of her dug their nails into her arms, as wastheir custom with recalcitrant prisoners, but she took no notice.     She had analyzed the minds of the three men. She could handle theinquisitor alone or the two guards alone, but not all three.     If you aren't afraid of me, perhaps you'd be so kind as to send theguards out for a few minutes, she said, placing a hand on her hip. Ihave interesting information.     So that was it. Buy her freedom by betraying fugitive Terrans. Well, hecould take the information and then kill her. He nodded curtly to theguards, and they walked out of the hut, exchanging sly winks with oneanother.     Evelyn Kane crossed her arms across her chest and felt her broken ribgingerly. The inquisitor stared up at her in sadistic admiration. Hewould certainly be on hand for the execution. His anticipation was cutshort with a horrible realization. Under the paralyzing force of a mindgreater than his own, he reached beneath the desk and switched off therecorder.     Who is the Occupational Commandant for this Sector, she askedtersely. This must be done swiftly before the guards returned.     Perat, Viscount of Tharn, replied the man mechanically.     What is the extent of his jurisdiction?     From the center of the Terran globe, outward four hundred milesradius.     Good. Prepare for me the usual visa that a woman clerk needs forpassage to the offices of the Occupational Commandant.     The inquisitor filled in blanks in a stiff sheet of paper and stamped aseal at its bottom.     You will add in the portion reserved for 'comments', the following:'Capable clerk. Others will follow as they are found available.'     The man's pen scratched away obediently.     Evelyn Kane smiled gently at the impotent, inwardly raging inquisitor.She took the paper, folded it, and placed it in a pocket in her blouse.Call the guards, she ordered.     He pressed the button on his desk, and the guards re-entered.     This person is no longer a prisoner, said the inquisitor woodenly.She is to take the next transport to the Occupational Commandant ofZone One.     When the transport had left, neither inquisitor nor guards had anymemory of the woman. However, in the due course of events, therecording was gathered up with many others like it, boxed carefully,and sent to the Office of the Occupational Commandant, Zone One, forauditing.  <doc-sep>He had just begun to work into a wonderful anecdote about his brotherwhen the dinner gong rang. Butt told me to scat. He said I was agrowing tadpole and needed my vitamins. And he mentioned, veryoff-hand, that he wouldn't at all object if I brought him some freshfruit. It seemed there was nothing but processed foods in the lifeboatand Butt was used to a farmer's diet.     Trouble was, he was a special kind of farmer. Ordinary fruit would havebeen pretty easy to sneak into my pockets at meals. I even found a wayto handle the kelp and giant watercress Mr. Brown liked, but thingslike seaweed salt and Venusian mud-grapes just had too strong a smell.Twice, the mechanical hamper refused to accept my jacket for launderingand I had to wash it myself. But I learned so many wonderful thingsabout Venus every time I visited that stowaway....     I learned three wild-wave songs of the Flatfolk and what it is that thenative Venusians hate so much; I learned how you tell the differencebetween a lousy government paddlefoot from New Kalamazoo and theslaptoe slinker who is the planter's friend. After a lot of begging,Butt Lee Brown explained the workings of his blaster, explained itso carefully that I could name every part and tell what it did fromthe tiny round electrodes to the long spirals of transformer. But nomatter what, he would never let me hold it.     Sorry, Ford, old tad, he would drawl, spinning around and around inthe control swivel-chair at the nose of the lifeboat. But way I lookat it, a man who lets somebody else handle his blaster is like thegiant whose heart was in an egg that an enemy found. When you've grownenough so's your pop feels you ought to have a weapon, why, then's thetime to learn it and you might's well learn fast. Before then, you'replain too young to be even near it.     I don't have a father to give me one when I come of age. I don't evenhave an older brother as head of my family like your brother Labrador.All I have is Sis. And      she     —     She'll marry some fancy dryhorn who's never been farther South thanthe Polar Coast. And she'll stay head of the family, if I know herbreed of green shata.      Bossy, opinionated.     By the way, Fordie, hesaid, rising and stretching so the fish-leather bounced and rippled offhis biceps, that sister. She ever....     And he'd be off again, cross-examining me about Evelyn. I sat in theswivel chair he'd vacated and tried to answer his questions. But therewas a lot of stuff I didn't know. Evelyn was a healthy girl, forinstance; how healthy, exactly, I had no way of finding out. Yes, I'dtell him, my aunts on both sides of my family each had had more thanthe average number of children. No, we'd never done any farming tospeak of, back in Undersea, but—yes, I'd guess Evelyn knew about asmuch as any girl there when it came to diving equipment and pressurepump regulation.     How would I know that stuff would lead to trouble for me?  <doc-sep>   Jack of No Trades     By EVELYN E. SMITH     Illustrated by CAVAT     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy October 1955.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright     on this publication was renewed.]        I was psick of Psi powers, not having any. Or didn't I? Maybe they'dpsee otherwise psomeday!        I walked into the dining room and collided with a floating mass offabric, which promptly draped itself over me like a sentient shroud.     Oh, for God's sake, Kevin! my middle brother's voice came muffledthrough the folds. If you can't help, at least don't hinder!     I managed to struggle out of the tablecloth, even though it seemed tobe trying to wrap itself around me. When Danny got excited, he lost hismental grip.     I could help, I yelled as soon as I got my head free, if anybodywould let me and, what's more, I could set the table a damn sightfaster by hand than you do with 'kinesis.     Just then Father appeared at the head of the table. He could as easilyhave walked downstairs as teleported, but I belonged to a family ofexhibitionists. And Father tended to show off as if he were still akid. Not that he looked his age—he was big and blond, like Danny andTim and me, and could have passed for our older brother.     Boys, boys! he reproved us. Danny, you ought to be ashamed ofyourself—picking on poor Kev.     Even if it hadn't been Danny's fault, he would still have been blamed.     Nobody was ever supposed to raise a voice or a hand or a thought topoor afflicted Kev, because nature had picked on me enough. And thenicer everybody was to me, the nastier I became, since only when theylost their tempers could I get—or so I believed—their true attitudetoward me.     How else could I tell?     Sorry, fella, Dan apologized to me. The tablecloth spread itself outon the table. Wrinkles, he grumbled to himself. Wrinkles. And I hadit so nice and smooth before. Mother will be furious.     If she were going to be furious, she'd be furious already, Fatherreminded him sadly. It must be tough to be married to a deep-probetelepath, I thought, and I felt a sudden wave of sympathy for him. Itwas so seldom I got the chance to feel sorry for anyone except myself.But I think you'll find she understands.     She knows, all right, Danny remarked as he went on into the kitchen,but I'm not sure she always understands.     I was surprised to find him so perceptive on the abstract level,because he wasn't what you might call an understanding person, either.  <doc-sep>   Tea Tray in the Sky     By EVELYN E. SMITH     Illustrated by ASHMAN     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction September 1952.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        Visiting a society is tougher than being born       into it. A 40 credit tour is no substitute!        The picture changed on the illuminated panel that filled the forwardend of the shelf on which Michael lay. A haggard blonde woman sprawledapathetically in a chair.     Rundown, nervous, hypertensive? inquired a mellifluous voice. Inneed of mental therapy? Buy Grugis juice; it's not expensive. And theyswear by it on Meropé.     A disembodied pair of hands administered a spoonful of Grugis juice tothe woman, whereupon her hair turned bright yellow, makeup bloomed onher face, her clothes grew briefer, and she burst into a fast Callistanclog.     I see from your hair that you have been a member of one of theBrotherhoods, the passenger lying next to Michael on the shelfremarked inquisitively. He was a middle-aged man, his dust-brown hairthinning on top, his small blue eyes glittering preternaturally fromthe lenses fitted over his eyeballs.     Michael rubbed his fingers ruefully over the blond stubble on his scalpand wished he had waited until his tonsure were fully grown beforehe had ventured out into the world. But he had been so impatient toleave the Lodge, so impatient to exchange the flowing robes of theBrotherhood for the close-fitting breeches and tunic of the outer worldthat had seemed so glamorous and now proved so itchy.     Yes, he replied courteously, for he knew the first rule of universalbehavior, I have been a Brother.     Now why would a good-looking young fellow like you want to join aBrotherhood? his shelf companion wanted to know. Trouble over afemale?     Michael shook his head, smiling. No, I have been a member of theAngeleno Brotherhood since I was an infant. My father brought me whenhe entered.     The other man clucked sympathetically. No doubt he was grieved overthe death of your mother.     Michael closed his eyes to shut out the sight of a baby protruding itsfat face at him three-dimensionally, but he could not shut out itslisping voice: Does your child refuse its food, grow wizened like amonkey? It will grow plump with oh-so-good Mealy Mush from Nunki.     No, sir, Michael replied. Father said that was one of the fewblessings that brightened an otherwise benighted life.     Horror contorted his fellow traveller's plump features. Be careful,young man! he warned. Lucky for you that you are talking to someoneas broad-minded as I, but others aren't. You might be reported forviolating a tabu. An Earth tabu, moreover.     An Earth tabu?     Certainly. Motherhood is sacred here on Earth and so, of course, inthe entire United Universe. You should have known that.  <doc-sep>Evelyn was extremely careful with her mental probe as she descendedfrom the transport. The Occupational Commandant would undoubtedlybe high-born and telepathic. He must not have occasion to suspect asimilar ability in a mere clerk.     Fighting had passed this way, too, and recently. Many of the buildingswere still smoking, and many of the radions high above were eithershot out or obscured by slowly drifting dust clouds. The acrid odor ofradiation-remover was everywhere.     She caught the sound of spasmodic small-arm fire.     What is that? she asked the transport attendant.     The Commandant is shooting prisoners, he replied laconically.     Oh.     Where did you want to go?     To the personnel office.     That way. He pointed to the largest building of the group—twostories high, reasonably intact.     She walked off down the gravel path, which was stained here and therewith dark sticky red. She gave her visa to the guard at the door andwas admitted to an improvised waiting room, where another guard eyedher stonily. The firing was much nearer. She recognized the obscenecoughs of a Faeg pistol and began to feel sick.     A woman in the green uniform of the Scythe auxiliary came in, whisperedsomething to the guard, and then told Evelyn to follow her.     In the anteroom a grey cat looked her over curiously, and Evelynfrowned. She might have to get rid of the cat if she stayed here. Undercertain circumstances the animal could prove her deadliest enemy.     The next room held a foppish little man, evidently a supervisor of somesort, who was studying her visa.     I'm very happy to have you here, S'ria—ah——he looked at the visasuspiciously—S'ria Lyn. Do sit down. But, as I was just remarking toS'ria Gerek, here—he nodded to the other woman, who smiled back—Iwish the field officers would make up their august minds as to whetherthey want you or don't want you. Just why did they transfer you toH.Q.?     She thought quickly. This pompous little ass would have to be givensome answer that would keep him from checking with the inquisitor. Itwould have to be something personal. She looked at the false black inhis eyebrows and sideburns, and the artificial way in which he hadcombed hair over his bald spot. She crossed her knees slowly, ignoringthe narrowing eyes of S'ria Gerek, and smoothed the back of her braidedyellow hair. He was studying her covertly.     The men in the fighting zones are uncouth, S'ria Gorph, she saidsimply. I was told that      you     , that is, I mean—     Yes? he was the soul of graciousness. S'ria Gerek began to dictateloudly into her mechanical transcriber.     Evelyn cleared her throat, averted her eyes, and with some effort,managed a delicate flush. I meant to say, I thought I would be happierworking for—working here. So I asked for a transfer.     S'ria Gorph beamed. Splendid. But the occupation isn't over, yet,you know. There'll be hard work here for several weeks yet, before wecut loose from the enemy globe. But you do your work well—winkingartfully—and I'll see that—     He stopped, and his face took on a hunted look of mingled fear andanxiety. He appeared to listen.     Evelyn tensed her mind to receive and deceive a mental probe. She wascertain now that the Zone Commandant was high-born and telepathic. Thechances were only fifty-fifty that she could delude him for any lengthof time if he became interested in her. He must be avoided if at allpossible. It should not be too difficult. He undoubtedly had a dozenpersonal secretaries and/or concubines and would take small interest inthe lowly employees that amused Gorph.     Gorph looked at her uncertainly. Perat, Viscount of the Tharn Suns,sends you his compliments and wishes to see you on the balcony. Hepointed to a hallway. All the way through there, across to the otherwing.     As she left, she heard all sound in the room stop. The transcribing andcalculating machines trailed off into a watchful silence, and she couldfeel the eyes of the men and women on her back. She noticed then thatthe Faeg had ceased firing.  <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> [SEP] How is Evelyn's relationship with her father portrayed in Stalemate In Space?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"How does Evelyn manage to survive and maintain her freedom in Stalemate In Space? [SEP] <s>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STALEMATE IN SPACE ***    Stalemate In Space     By CHARLES L. HARNESS     Two mighty metal globes clung in a murderous     death-struggle, lashing out with flames of poison.     Yet deep in their twisted, radioactive wreckage     the main battle raged—where a girl swayed     sensuously before her conqueror's mocking eyes.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Summer 1949.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      At first there was only the voice, a monotonous murmur in her ears.           Die now—die now—die now     —     Evelyn Kane awoke, breathing slowly and painfully. The top of thecubicle was bulging inward on her chest, and it seemed likely that arib or two was broken. How long ago? Years? Minutes? She had no way ofknowing. Her slender right hand found the oxygen valve and turned it.For a long while she lay, hurting and breathing helplessly.           Die now—die now—die now     —     The votron had awakened her with its heart-breaking code message, andit was her duty to carry out its command. Nine years after the greatbattle globes had crunched together the mentors had sealed her in thistiny cell, dormant, unwaking, to be livened only when it was certainher countrymen had either definitely won—or lost.     The votron's telepathic dirge chronicled the latter fact. She hadexpected nothing else.     She had only to find the relay beside her cot, press the key that wouldset in motion gigantic prime movers in the heart of the great globe,and the conquerors would join the conquered in the wide and namelessgrave of space.     But life, now doled out by the second, was too delicious to abandonimmediately. Her mind, like that of a drowning person, raced hungrilyover the memories of her past.     For twenty years, in company with her great father, she had watched      The Defender     grow from a vast metal skeleton into a planet-sizedbattle globe. But it had not grown fast enough, for when the Scythianglobe,      The Invader     , sprang out of black space to enslave the buddingTerran Confederacy,      The Defender     was unfinished, half-equipped, andundermanned.     The Terrans could only fight for time and hope for a miracle.       The Defender     , commanded by her father, Gordon, Lord Kane, hurleditself from its orbit around Procyon and met      The Invader     with giantfission torpedoes.     And then, in an intergalactic proton storm beyond the Lesser MagellanicCloud, the globes lost their bearings and collided. Hordes of brute-menpoured through the crushed outer armor of the stricken      Defender     .     The prone woman stirred uneasily. Here the images became unrealand terrible, with the recurrent vision of death. It had taken theScythians nine years to conquer      The Defender's     outer shell. Then hadcome that final interview with her father.     In half an hour our last space port will be captured, he hadtelepathed curtly. Only one more messenger ship can leave      TheDefender     . Be on it.     No. I shall die here.     His fine tired eyes had studied her face in enigmatic appraisal. Thendie usefully. The mentors are trying to develop a force that willdestroy both globes in the moment of our inevitable defeat. If they aresuccessful, you will have the task of pressing the final button of thebattle.     There's an off-chance you may survive, countered a mentor. We'realso working on a means for your escape—not only because you areGordon's daughter, but because this great proton storm will preventradio contact with Terra for years, and we want someone to escape withour secret if and when our experiments prove successful.     But you must expect to die, her father had warned with gentlefinality.     She clenched her fingernails vehemently into her palms and wrenchedherself back to the present.     That time had come.     With some effort she worked herself out of the crumpled bed and lay onthe floor of her little cubicle, panting and holding her chest withboth hands. The metal floor was very cold. Evidently the enemy torpedofissionables had finally broken through to the center portions of theship, letting in the icy breath of space. Small matter. Not by freezingwould she die.     She reached out her hand, felt for the all-important key, and gasped indismay. The mahogany box containing the key had burst its metal bondsand was lying on its side. The explosion that had crushed her cubiclehad been terrific.     With a gurgle of horror she snapped on her wrist luminar and examinedthe interior of the box.     It was a shattered ruin.  <doc-sep>Once the fact was clear, she composed herself and lay there, breathinghard and thinking. She had no means to construct another key. At best,finding the rare tools and parts would take months, and during theinterval the invaders would be cutting loose from the dead hulk thatclutched their conquering battle globe in a metallic rigor mortis.     She gave herself six weeks to accomplish this stalemate in space.     Within that time she must know whether the prime movers were stillintact, and whether she could safely enter the pile room herself,set the movers in motion, and draw the moderator columns. If it wereunsafe, she must secure the unwitting assistance of her Scythianenemies.     Still prone, she found the first-aid kit and taped her chest expertly.The cold was beginning to make itself felt, so she flicked on thechaudiere she wore as an under-garment to her Scythian woman's uniform.Then she crawled on her elbows and stomach to the tiny door, spun thesealing gear, and was soon outside. Ignoring the pain and pulling onthe side of the imitation rock that contained her cell, she got slowlyto her feet. The air was thin indeed, and frigid. She turned the valveof her portable oxygen bottle almost subconsciously, while exploringthe surrounding blackened forest as far as she could see. Mentally shewas alert for roving alien minds. She had left her weapons inside thecubicle, except for the three things in the little leather bag danglingfrom her waist, for she knew that her greatest weapon in the struggleto come would be her apparent harmlessness.     Four hundred yards behind her she detected the mind of a low-bornScythe, of the Tharn sun group. Very quickly she established it as thatof a tired, brutish corporal, taking a mop-up squad through the blackstumps and forlorn branches of the small forest that for years hadsupplied oxygen to the defenders of this sector.     The corporal could not see her green Scythian uniform clearly, andevidently took her for a Terran woman. In his mind was the question:Should he shoot immediately, or should he capture her? It had been twomonths since he had seen a woman. But then, his orders were to shoot.Yes, he would shoot.     Evelyn turned in profile to the beam-gun and stretched luxuriously,hoping that her grimace of pain could not be detected. Withsatisfaction, she sensed a sudden change of determination in the mindof the Tharn. The gun was lowered, and the man was circling to creep upbehind her. He did not bother to notify his men. He wanted her first.He had seen her uniform, but that deterred him not a whit. Afterwards,he would call up the squad. Finally, they would kill her and move on.Women auxiliaries had no business here, anyway.     Hips dipping, Evelyn sauntered into the shattered copse. The man movedfaster, though still trying to approach quietly. Most of the radions inthe mile-high ceiling had been destroyed, and the light was poor. Hewas not surprised when he lost track of his quarry. He tip-toed rapidlyonward, picking his way through the charred and fallen branches,thinking that she must turn up again soon. He had not gone twenty yardsin this manner when a howl of unbearable fury sounded in his mind, andthe dull light in his brain went out.        She fought for her life under that mile-high ceiling.        Breathing deeply from her mental effort, the woman stepped frombehind a great black tree trunk and hurried to the unconscious man.For I.Q.'s of 100 and less, telepathic cortical paralysis was quiteeffective. With cool efficiency and no trace of distaste she strippedthe odorous uniform from the man, then took his weapon, turned the beampower down very low, and needled a neat slash across his throat. Whilehe bled to death, she slipped deftly into the baggy suit, clasped thebeam gun by the handle, and started up the sooty slope. For a time, atleast, it would be safer to pass as a Tharn soldier than as any kind ofa woman.      II     The inquisitor leaned forward, frowning at the girl before him.     Name?     Evelyn Kane.     The eyes of the inquisitor widened. So you admit to a Terran name.Well, Terran, you are charged with having stolen passage on a supplylorry, and you also seem to be wearing the uniform of an infantrycorporal as well as that of a Scythian woman auxiliary. Incidentally,where is the corporal? Did you kill him?     He was prepared for a last-ditch denial. He would cut it short, havethe guards remove her, and execution would follow immediately. In away, it was unfortunate. The woman was obviously of a high Terranclass. No—he couldn't consider that. His slender means couldn't affordanother woman in his quarters, and besides, he wouldn't feel safe withthis cool murderess.     Do you not understand the master tongue? Why did you kill thecorporal? He leaned impatiently over his desk.     The woman stared frankly back at him with her clear blue eyes. Theguards on either side of her dug their nails into her arms, as wastheir custom with recalcitrant prisoners, but she took no notice.     She had analyzed the minds of the three men. She could handle theinquisitor alone or the two guards alone, but not all three.     If you aren't afraid of me, perhaps you'd be so kind as to send theguards out for a few minutes, she said, placing a hand on her hip. Ihave interesting information.     So that was it. Buy her freedom by betraying fugitive Terrans. Well, hecould take the information and then kill her. He nodded curtly to theguards, and they walked out of the hut, exchanging sly winks with oneanother.     Evelyn Kane crossed her arms across her chest and felt her broken ribgingerly. The inquisitor stared up at her in sadistic admiration. Hewould certainly be on hand for the execution. His anticipation was cutshort with a horrible realization. Under the paralyzing force of a mindgreater than his own, he reached beneath the desk and switched off therecorder.     Who is the Occupational Commandant for this Sector, she askedtersely. This must be done swiftly before the guards returned.     Perat, Viscount of Tharn, replied the man mechanically.     What is the extent of his jurisdiction?     From the center of the Terran globe, outward four hundred milesradius.     Good. Prepare for me the usual visa that a woman clerk needs forpassage to the offices of the Occupational Commandant.     The inquisitor filled in blanks in a stiff sheet of paper and stamped aseal at its bottom.     You will add in the portion reserved for 'comments', the following:'Capable clerk. Others will follow as they are found available.'     The man's pen scratched away obediently.     Evelyn Kane smiled gently at the impotent, inwardly raging inquisitor.She took the paper, folded it, and placed it in a pocket in her blouse.Call the guards, she ordered.     He pressed the button on his desk, and the guards re-entered.     This person is no longer a prisoner, said the inquisitor woodenly.She is to take the next transport to the Occupational Commandant ofZone One.     When the transport had left, neither inquisitor nor guards had anymemory of the woman. However, in the due course of events, therecording was gathered up with many others like it, boxed carefully,and sent to the Office of the Occupational Commandant, Zone One, forauditing.  <doc-sep>Evelyn was extremely careful with her mental probe as she descendedfrom the transport. The Occupational Commandant would undoubtedlybe high-born and telepathic. He must not have occasion to suspect asimilar ability in a mere clerk.     Fighting had passed this way, too, and recently. Many of the buildingswere still smoking, and many of the radions high above were eithershot out or obscured by slowly drifting dust clouds. The acrid odor ofradiation-remover was everywhere.     She caught the sound of spasmodic small-arm fire.     What is that? she asked the transport attendant.     The Commandant is shooting prisoners, he replied laconically.     Oh.     Where did you want to go?     To the personnel office.     That way. He pointed to the largest building of the group—twostories high, reasonably intact.     She walked off down the gravel path, which was stained here and therewith dark sticky red. She gave her visa to the guard at the door andwas admitted to an improvised waiting room, where another guard eyedher stonily. The firing was much nearer. She recognized the obscenecoughs of a Faeg pistol and began to feel sick.     A woman in the green uniform of the Scythe auxiliary came in, whisperedsomething to the guard, and then told Evelyn to follow her.     In the anteroom a grey cat looked her over curiously, and Evelynfrowned. She might have to get rid of the cat if she stayed here. Undercertain circumstances the animal could prove her deadliest enemy.     The next room held a foppish little man, evidently a supervisor of somesort, who was studying her visa.     I'm very happy to have you here, S'ria—ah——he looked at the visasuspiciously—S'ria Lyn. Do sit down. But, as I was just remarking toS'ria Gerek, here—he nodded to the other woman, who smiled back—Iwish the field officers would make up their august minds as to whetherthey want you or don't want you. Just why did they transfer you toH.Q.?     She thought quickly. This pompous little ass would have to be givensome answer that would keep him from checking with the inquisitor. Itwould have to be something personal. She looked at the false black inhis eyebrows and sideburns, and the artificial way in which he hadcombed hair over his bald spot. She crossed her knees slowly, ignoringthe narrowing eyes of S'ria Gerek, and smoothed the back of her braidedyellow hair. He was studying her covertly.     The men in the fighting zones are uncouth, S'ria Gorph, she saidsimply. I was told that      you     , that is, I mean—     Yes? he was the soul of graciousness. S'ria Gerek began to dictateloudly into her mechanical transcriber.     Evelyn cleared her throat, averted her eyes, and with some effort,managed a delicate flush. I meant to say, I thought I would be happierworking for—working here. So I asked for a transfer.     S'ria Gorph beamed. Splendid. But the occupation isn't over, yet,you know. There'll be hard work here for several weeks yet, before wecut loose from the enemy globe. But you do your work well—winkingartfully—and I'll see that—     He stopped, and his face took on a hunted look of mingled fear andanxiety. He appeared to listen.     Evelyn tensed her mind to receive and deceive a mental probe. She wascertain now that the Zone Commandant was high-born and telepathic. Thechances were only fifty-fifty that she could delude him for any lengthof time if he became interested in her. He must be avoided if at allpossible. It should not be too difficult. He undoubtedly had a dozenpersonal secretaries and/or concubines and would take small interest inthe lowly employees that amused Gorph.     Gorph looked at her uncertainly. Perat, Viscount of the Tharn Suns,sends you his compliments and wishes to see you on the balcony. Hepointed to a hallway. All the way through there, across to the otherwing.     As she left, she heard all sound in the room stop. The transcribing andcalculating machines trailed off into a watchful silence, and she couldfeel the eyes of the men and women on her back. She noticed then thatthe Faeg had ceased firing.  <doc-sep>The blazing disc of Sol, the minor globes of the planets, the unwinkingpinpoints of the stars, all stared with cosmic disinterest at the tinyfigure crawling along the hull. His spacesuit trapped and amplifiedbreathing and heartbeats into a roaring chaos that was an invitationto blind panic, and all the while there was consciousness of theinsidiously deadly Sigma radiations.     Barry found the debris of the meteorite, an ugly shining splotchagainst the dull superceramic tube, readied his power chisel, startedcutting. Soon it became a tedious, torturingly strenuous manual taskrequiring little conscious thought, and Barry's mind touched briefly onthe events that had brought him here.     First Luna, and that had been murderous. Man had encountered Sigmafor the first time, and many had died before the Kendall-shield wasperfected. And the chemical-fueled rockets of those days had beeninherently poor.     Hoskins semi-atomics had made possible the next step—to Mars. But menhad found Mars barren, swept clear of all life in the cataclysm thathad shattered the trans-Martian planet to form the Asteroid Belt.     Venus, its true surface forever hidden by enshrouding mists, had beenwell within one-way range. But Hoskins fuel requirements for a roundtrip added up to something beyond critical mass. Impossible.     But the Five Ship Plan had evolved, a joint enterprise of governmentand various private groups. Five vessels were to go out, each fueledto within a whiskered neutron of spontaneous detonation, manned byspecialists who, it was hoped, could maintain themselves under alienconditions.     On Venus the leftover fuel from all five would be transferred towhichever ship had survived the outbound voyage in best condition.That one would return to Earth. Permanent base or homeward voyage withcolonists crowded aboard like defeated sardines? Only time would tell.     Barry Barr had volunteered, and because the enlightened guesses of theexperts called for men and women familiar with tropical conditions,he had survived the rigorous weeding-out process. His duties in VenusColony would be to refabricate the discarded ships into whatever formwas most needed—most particularly a launching ramp—and to studynative Venusian materials.     Dorothy Voorhees had signed on as toxicologist and dietician. When thelimited supply of Earth food ran out the Colony would be forced torely upon Venusian plants and animals. She would guard against subtledelayed-action poisons, meanwhile devising ways of preparing Venusianmaterials to suit Earth tastes and digestions.     Barry had met her at Training Base and known at once that his years ofloneliness had come to an end.     She seemed utterly independent, self-contained, completely intellectualdespite her beauty, but Barry had not been deceived. From the momentof first meeting he had sensed within her deep springs of suppressedemotion, and he had understood. He too had come up the hard way, alone,and been forced to develop a shell of hardness and cold, single-mindeddevotion to his work. Gradually, often unwillingly under hisinsistence, her aloofness had begun to melt.     But Robson Hind too had been attracted. He was the only son of thebusiness manager of the great Hoskins Corporation which carrieda considerable share in the Five Ship Plan. Dorothy's failure tovirtually fall into his arms had only piqued his desires.     The man's smooth charm had fascinated the girl and his money had openedto her an entirely new world of lavish nightclubs and extravagantlyexpensive entertainments, but her inborn shrewdness had sensed somefactor in his personality that had made her hesitate.     Barry had felt a distrust of Hind apart from the normal dislike ofrivalry. He had looked forward to being with Dorothy aboard Three, andhad made no secret of his satisfaction when Hind's efforts to havehimself transferred to Three also or the girl to Four had failed.     But then a scaffold had slipped while Three was being readied, and witha fractured ankle he had been forced to miss the ship.     He unclipped the magnetic detector from his belt and ran it inch byinch over the nozzle. He found one spot of metal, pinhead-sized, butenough to cause trouble, and once more swung his power chisel intostuttering action.     Then it was done.     As quickly as possible he inched back to the airlock. Turnover had tostart according to calculations.  <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>Her heart was beating faster as she walked down the hall. She felt avery strong probe flooding over her brain casually, palping with mildinterest the artificial memories she supplied: Escapades with officersin the combat areas. Reprimands. Demotion and transfer. Her deceptionof Gorph. Her anticipation of meeting a real Viscount and hoping hewould let her dance for him.     The questing probe withdrew as idly as it had come, and she breatheda sigh of relief. She could not hope to deceive a suspicious telepathfor long. Perat was merely amused at her lie to his under-supervisor.He had accepted her at her own face value, as supplied by her falsememories.     She opened the door to the balcony and saw a man leaning moodily on thebalustrade. He gave no immediate notice of her presence.     The five hundred and sixth heir of Tharn was of uncertain age, as weremost of the men of both globes. Only the left side of his face could beseen. It was gaunt and leathery, and a deep thin scar lifted the cornerof his mouth into a satanic smile. A faint paunch was gathering at hisabdomen, as befitted a warrior turned to boring paper work. His closelycut black hair and the two sparkling red-gemmed rings—apparentlyidentical—on his right hand seemed to denote a certain fastidiousnessand unconscious superiority. To Evelyn the jeweled fingers bespoke anunnatural contrast to the past history of the man and were symptomaticof a personality that could find stimulation only in strange and cruelpleasures.     In alarm she suddenly realized that she had inadvertently let herappraisal penetrate her uncovered conscious mind, and that this probewas there awaiting it.     You are right, he said coldly, still staring into the court below.Now that the long battle is over, there is little left to divert me.     He pushed the Faeg across the coping toward her. Take this.     He had not as yet looked at her.     She crossed the balcony, simultaneously grasping the pistol he offeredher and looking down into the courtyard. There seemed to be nearlytwenty Terrans lying about, in pools of their own blood.     Only one man, a Terran officer of very high rank—was left standing.His arms were folded somberly across his chest, and he studied thekiller above him almost casually. But when the woman came out, theireyes met, and he started imperceptibly.     Evelyn Kane felt a horrid chill creeping over her. The man's hair waswhite, now, and his proud face lined with deep furrows, but there couldbe no mistake. It was Gordon, Lord Kane.     Her father.     The sweat continued to grow on her forehead, and she felt for a momentthat she needed only to wish hard enough, and this would be a dream.A dream of a big, kind, dark-haired man with laugh-wrinkles about hiseyes, who sat her on his knee when she was a little girl and readbedtime stories to her from a great book with many pictures.     An icy, amused voice came through: Our orders are to kill allprisoners. It is entertaining to shoot down helpless men, isn't it? Itwarms me to know that I am cruel and wanton, and worthy of my trust.     Even in the midst of her horror, a cold, analytical part of her wasexplaining why the Commandant had called her to the balcony. Becauseall captured Terrans had to be killed, he hated his superiors, his ownmen, and especially the prisoners. A task so revolting he could notrelegate to his own officers. He must do it himself, but he wanted hisunderlings to know he loathed them for it. She was merely a symbol ofthat contempt. His next words did not surprise her.     It is even more stimulating to require a shuddering female to killthem. You are shuddering you know?     She nodded dumbly. Her palm was so wet that a drop of sweat droppedfrom it to the floor. She was thinking hard. She could kill theCommandant and save her father for a little while. But then theproblem of detonating the pile remained, and it would not be solvedmore quickly by killing the man who controlled the pile area. On thecontrary if she could get him interested in her—     So far as our records indicate, murmured Perat, the man down thereis the last living Terran within      The Defender     . It occurred to me thatour newest clerk would like to start off her duties with a bang. TheFaeg is adjusted to a needle-beam. If you put a bolt between the man'seyes, you may dance for me tonight, and perhaps there will be othernights—     The woman seemed lost in thought for a long time. Slowly, she liftedthe ugly little weapon. The doomed Terran looked up at her peacefully,without expression. She lowered the Faeg, her arm trembling.     Gordon, Lord Kane, frowned faintly, then closed his eyes. She raisedthe gun again, drew cross hairs with a nerveless wrist, and squeezedthe trigger. There was a loud, hollow cough, but no recoil. The Terranofficer, his eyes still closed and arms folded, sank to the ground,face up. Blood was running from a tiny hole in his forehead.     The man leaning on the balustrade turned and looked at Evelyn, at firstwith amused contempt, then with narrowing, questioning eyes.     Come here, he ordered.     The Faeg dropped from her hand. With a titanic effort she activated herlegs and walked toward him.     He was studying her face very carefully.     She felt that she was going to be sick. Her knees were so weak that shehad to lean on the coping.     With a forefinger he lifted up the mass of golden curls that hungover her right forehead and examined the scar hidden there, where thementors had cut into her frontal lobe. The tiny doll they had createdfor her writhed uneasily in her waist-purse, but Perat seemed to bethinking of something else, and missed the significance of the scarcompletely.     He dropped his hand. I'm sorry, he said with a quiet weariness. Ishouldn't have asked you to kill the Terran. It was a sorry joke.Then: Have you ever seen me before?     No, she whispered hoarsely. His mind was in hers, verifying the fact.     Have you ever met my father, Phaen, the old Count of Tharn?     No.     Do you have a son?     No.     His mind was out of hers again, and he had turned moodily back,surveying the courtyard and the dead. Gorph will be wondering whathappened to you. Come to my quarters at the eighth metron tonight.     Apparently he suspected nothing.       Father. Father. I had to do it. But we'll all join you, soon. Soon.        III     Perat lay on his couch, sipping cold purple      terif     and following thethinly-clad dancer with narrowed eyes. Music, soft and subtle, floatedfrom his communications box, illegally tuned to an officer's clubsomewhere. Evelyn made the rhythm part of her as she swayed slowly ontiptoe.     For the last thirty nights—the hours allotted to rest and sleep—ithad been thus. By day she probed furtively into the minds of theoffice staff, memorizing area designations, channels for officialmessages, and the names and authorizations of occupational field crews.By night she danced for Perat, who never took his eyes from her, norhis probe from her mind. While she danced it was not too difficult toelude the probe. There was an odd autohypnosis in dancing that blottedout memory and knowledge.     Enough for now, he ordered. Careful of your rib.     When he had first seen the bandages on her bare chest, that firstnight, she had been ready with a memory of dancing on a freshly waxedfloor, and of falling.     Perat seemed to be debating with himself as she sat down on her owncouch to rest. He got up, unlocked his desk, and drew out a tiny reelof metal wire, which Evelyn recognized as being feed for an amateurstereop projector. He placed the reel in a projector that had beeninstalled in the wall, flicked off the table luminar, and both of themwaited in the dark, breathing rather loudly.     Suddenly the center of the room was bright with a ball of light sometwo feet in diameter, and inside the luminous sphere were an old man, awoman, and a little boy of about four years. They were walking througha luxurious garden, and then they stopped, looked up, and waved gaily.     Evelyn studied the trio with growing wonder. The old man and the boywere complete strangers.      But the woman—!       That is Phaen, my father, said Perat quietly. He stayed at homebecause he hated war. And that is a path in our country estate onTharn-R-VII. The little boy I fail to recognize, beyond a generalresemblance to the Tharn line.     But—      can you deny that you are the woman     ?     The stereop snapped off, and she sat wordless in the dark.     There seemed to be some similarity— she admitted. Her throat wassuddenly dry. Yet, why should she be alarmed? She really didn't knowthe woman.     The table luminar was on now, and Perat was prowling hungrily about theroom, his scar twisting his otherwise handsome face into a snarlingscowl.     Similarity! Bah! That loop of hair over her right forehead hid a scaridentical to yours. I have had the individual frames analyzed!     Evelyn's hands knotted unconsciously. She forced her body to relax, buther mind was racing. This introduced another variable to be controlledin her plan for destruction. She      must     make it a known quantity.     Did your father send it to you? she asked.     The day before you arrived here. It had been en route for months, ofcourse.     What did he say about it?     He said, 'Your widow and son send greetings. Be of good cheer, andaccept our love.' What nonsense! He knows very well I'm not married andthat—well, if I have ever fathered any children, I don't know aboutthem.     Is that all he said?     That's all, except that he included this ring. He pulled one of theduplicate jewels from his right middle finger and tossed it to her.It's identical to the one he had made for me when I entered on mymajority. For a long time it was thought that it was the only stone ofits kind on all the planets of the Tharn suns, a mineralogical freak,but I guess he found another. But why should I want two of them?     Evelyn crossed the room and returned the ring.     Existence is so full of mysteries, isn't it? murmured Perat.Sometimes it seems unfortunate that we must pass through a sentientphase on our way to death. This foolish, foolish war. Maybe the oldcount was right.     You could be courtmartialed for that.     Speaking of courtmartials, I've got to attend one tonight—an appealfrom a death sentence. He arose, smoothed his hair and clothes, andpoured another glass of      terif     . Some fool inquisitor can't showproper disposition of a woman prisoner.     Evelyn's heart skipped a beat. Indeed?     The wretch insists that he could remember if we would just let himalone. I suppose he took a bribe. You'll find one now and then whotries for a little extra profit.     She must absolutely not be seen by the condemned inquisitor. Thestimulus would almost certainly make him remember.     I'll wait for you, she said indifferently, thrusting her arms out ina languorous yawn.     Very well. Perat stepped to the door, then turned and looked back ather. On the other hand, I may need a clerk. It's way after hours, andthe others have gone.     Beneath a gesture of wry protest, she swallowed rapidly.     Perhaps you'd better come, insisted Perat.     She stood up, unloosed her waist-purse, checked its contents swiftly,and then followed him out.     This might be a very close thing. From the purse she took a bottle ofperfume and rubbed her ear lobes casually.     Odd smell, commented Perat, wrinkling his nose.     Odd scent, corrected Evelyn cryptically. She was thinking aboutthe earnest faces of the mentors as they instructed her carefully inthe use of the perfume. The adrenalin glands, they had explained,provided a useful and powerful stimulant to a man in danger. Adrenalinslowed the heart and digestion, increased the systole and bloodpressure, and increased perspiration to cool the skin. But therecould be too much of a good thing. An overdose of adrenalin, they hadpointed out, caused almost immediate edema. The lungs filled rapidlywith the serum and the victim ... drowned. The perfume she possessedover-stimulated, in some unknown way, the adrenals of frightenedpersons. It had no effect on inactive adrenals.     The question remained—who would be the more frightened, she or thecondemned inquisitor?     She was perspiring freely, and the blonde hair on her arms and neck wasstanding stiffly when Perat opened the door for her and they enteredthe Zone Provost's chambers.  <doc-sep>He had just begun to work into a wonderful anecdote about his brotherwhen the dinner gong rang. Butt told me to scat. He said I was agrowing tadpole and needed my vitamins. And he mentioned, veryoff-hand, that he wouldn't at all object if I brought him some freshfruit. It seemed there was nothing but processed foods in the lifeboatand Butt was used to a farmer's diet.     Trouble was, he was a special kind of farmer. Ordinary fruit would havebeen pretty easy to sneak into my pockets at meals. I even found a wayto handle the kelp and giant watercress Mr. Brown liked, but thingslike seaweed salt and Venusian mud-grapes just had too strong a smell.Twice, the mechanical hamper refused to accept my jacket for launderingand I had to wash it myself. But I learned so many wonderful thingsabout Venus every time I visited that stowaway....     I learned three wild-wave songs of the Flatfolk and what it is that thenative Venusians hate so much; I learned how you tell the differencebetween a lousy government paddlefoot from New Kalamazoo and theslaptoe slinker who is the planter's friend. After a lot of begging,Butt Lee Brown explained the workings of his blaster, explained itso carefully that I could name every part and tell what it did fromthe tiny round electrodes to the long spirals of transformer. But nomatter what, he would never let me hold it.     Sorry, Ford, old tad, he would drawl, spinning around and around inthe control swivel-chair at the nose of the lifeboat. But way I lookat it, a man who lets somebody else handle his blaster is like thegiant whose heart was in an egg that an enemy found. When you've grownenough so's your pop feels you ought to have a weapon, why, then's thetime to learn it and you might's well learn fast. Before then, you'replain too young to be even near it.     I don't have a father to give me one when I come of age. I don't evenhave an older brother as head of my family like your brother Labrador.All I have is Sis. And      she     —     She'll marry some fancy dryhorn who's never been farther South thanthe Polar Coast. And she'll stay head of the family, if I know herbreed of green shata.      Bossy, opinionated.     By the way, Fordie, hesaid, rising and stretching so the fish-leather bounced and rippled offhis biceps, that sister. She ever....     And he'd be off again, cross-examining me about Evelyn. I sat in theswivel chair he'd vacated and tried to answer his questions. But therewas a lot of stuff I didn't know. Evelyn was a healthy girl, forinstance; how healthy, exactly, I had no way of finding out. Yes, I'dtell him, my aunts on both sides of my family each had had more thanthe average number of children. No, we'd never done any farming tospeak of, back in Undersea, but—yes, I'd guess Evelyn knew about asmuch as any girl there when it came to diving equipment and pressurepump regulation.     How would I know that stuff would lead to trouble for me?  <doc-sep>   Jack of No Trades     By EVELYN E. SMITH     Illustrated by CAVAT     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy October 1955.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright     on this publication was renewed.]        I was psick of Psi powers, not having any. Or didn't I? Maybe they'dpsee otherwise psomeday!        I walked into the dining room and collided with a floating mass offabric, which promptly draped itself over me like a sentient shroud.     Oh, for God's sake, Kevin! my middle brother's voice came muffledthrough the folds. If you can't help, at least don't hinder!     I managed to struggle out of the tablecloth, even though it seemed tobe trying to wrap itself around me. When Danny got excited, he lost hismental grip.     I could help, I yelled as soon as I got my head free, if anybodywould let me and, what's more, I could set the table a damn sightfaster by hand than you do with 'kinesis.     Just then Father appeared at the head of the table. He could as easilyhave walked downstairs as teleported, but I belonged to a family ofexhibitionists. And Father tended to show off as if he were still akid. Not that he looked his age—he was big and blond, like Danny andTim and me, and could have passed for our older brother.     Boys, boys! he reproved us. Danny, you ought to be ashamed ofyourself—picking on poor Kev.     Even if it hadn't been Danny's fault, he would still have been blamed.     Nobody was ever supposed to raise a voice or a hand or a thought topoor afflicted Kev, because nature had picked on me enough. And thenicer everybody was to me, the nastier I became, since only when theylost their tempers could I get—or so I believed—their true attitudetoward me.     How else could I tell?     Sorry, fella, Dan apologized to me. The tablecloth spread itself outon the table. Wrinkles, he grumbled to himself. Wrinkles. And I hadit so nice and smooth before. Mother will be furious.     If she were going to be furious, she'd be furious already, Fatherreminded him sadly. It must be tough to be married to a deep-probetelepath, I thought, and I felt a sudden wave of sympathy for him. Itwas so seldom I got the chance to feel sorry for anyone except myself.But I think you'll find she understands.     She knows, all right, Danny remarked as he went on into the kitchen,but I'm not sure she always understands.     I was surprised to find him so perceptive on the abstract level,because he wasn't what you might call an understanding person, either.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does Evelyn manage to survive and maintain her freedom in Stalemate In Space?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What does it mean that the device given to Evelyn did not detonate in Stalemate In Space? [SEP] <s>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STALEMATE IN SPACE ***    Stalemate In Space     By CHARLES L. HARNESS     Two mighty metal globes clung in a murderous     death-struggle, lashing out with flames of poison.     Yet deep in their twisted, radioactive wreckage     the main battle raged—where a girl swayed     sensuously before her conqueror's mocking eyes.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Summer 1949.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      At first there was only the voice, a monotonous murmur in her ears.           Die now—die now—die now     —     Evelyn Kane awoke, breathing slowly and painfully. The top of thecubicle was bulging inward on her chest, and it seemed likely that arib or two was broken. How long ago? Years? Minutes? She had no way ofknowing. Her slender right hand found the oxygen valve and turned it.For a long while she lay, hurting and breathing helplessly.           Die now—die now—die now     —     The votron had awakened her with its heart-breaking code message, andit was her duty to carry out its command. Nine years after the greatbattle globes had crunched together the mentors had sealed her in thistiny cell, dormant, unwaking, to be livened only when it was certainher countrymen had either definitely won—or lost.     The votron's telepathic dirge chronicled the latter fact. She hadexpected nothing else.     She had only to find the relay beside her cot, press the key that wouldset in motion gigantic prime movers in the heart of the great globe,and the conquerors would join the conquered in the wide and namelessgrave of space.     But life, now doled out by the second, was too delicious to abandonimmediately. Her mind, like that of a drowning person, raced hungrilyover the memories of her past.     For twenty years, in company with her great father, she had watched      The Defender     grow from a vast metal skeleton into a planet-sizedbattle globe. But it had not grown fast enough, for when the Scythianglobe,      The Invader     , sprang out of black space to enslave the buddingTerran Confederacy,      The Defender     was unfinished, half-equipped, andundermanned.     The Terrans could only fight for time and hope for a miracle.       The Defender     , commanded by her father, Gordon, Lord Kane, hurleditself from its orbit around Procyon and met      The Invader     with giantfission torpedoes.     And then, in an intergalactic proton storm beyond the Lesser MagellanicCloud, the globes lost their bearings and collided. Hordes of brute-menpoured through the crushed outer armor of the stricken      Defender     .     The prone woman stirred uneasily. Here the images became unrealand terrible, with the recurrent vision of death. It had taken theScythians nine years to conquer      The Defender's     outer shell. Then hadcome that final interview with her father.     In half an hour our last space port will be captured, he hadtelepathed curtly. Only one more messenger ship can leave      TheDefender     . Be on it.     No. I shall die here.     His fine tired eyes had studied her face in enigmatic appraisal. Thendie usefully. The mentors are trying to develop a force that willdestroy both globes in the moment of our inevitable defeat. If they aresuccessful, you will have the task of pressing the final button of thebattle.     There's an off-chance you may survive, countered a mentor. We'realso working on a means for your escape—not only because you areGordon's daughter, but because this great proton storm will preventradio contact with Terra for years, and we want someone to escape withour secret if and when our experiments prove successful.     But you must expect to die, her father had warned with gentlefinality.     She clenched her fingernails vehemently into her palms and wrenchedherself back to the present.     That time had come.     With some effort she worked herself out of the crumpled bed and lay onthe floor of her little cubicle, panting and holding her chest withboth hands. The metal floor was very cold. Evidently the enemy torpedofissionables had finally broken through to the center portions of theship, letting in the icy breath of space. Small matter. Not by freezingwould she die.     She reached out her hand, felt for the all-important key, and gasped indismay. The mahogany box containing the key had burst its metal bondsand was lying on its side. The explosion that had crushed her cubiclehad been terrific.     With a gurgle of horror she snapped on her wrist luminar and examinedthe interior of the box.     It was a shattered ruin.  <doc-sep>Once the fact was clear, she composed herself and lay there, breathinghard and thinking. She had no means to construct another key. At best,finding the rare tools and parts would take months, and during theinterval the invaders would be cutting loose from the dead hulk thatclutched their conquering battle globe in a metallic rigor mortis.     She gave herself six weeks to accomplish this stalemate in space.     Within that time she must know whether the prime movers were stillintact, and whether she could safely enter the pile room herself,set the movers in motion, and draw the moderator columns. If it wereunsafe, she must secure the unwitting assistance of her Scythianenemies.     Still prone, she found the first-aid kit and taped her chest expertly.The cold was beginning to make itself felt, so she flicked on thechaudiere she wore as an under-garment to her Scythian woman's uniform.Then she crawled on her elbows and stomach to the tiny door, spun thesealing gear, and was soon outside. Ignoring the pain and pulling onthe side of the imitation rock that contained her cell, she got slowlyto her feet. The air was thin indeed, and frigid. She turned the valveof her portable oxygen bottle almost subconsciously, while exploringthe surrounding blackened forest as far as she could see. Mentally shewas alert for roving alien minds. She had left her weapons inside thecubicle, except for the three things in the little leather bag danglingfrom her waist, for she knew that her greatest weapon in the struggleto come would be her apparent harmlessness.     Four hundred yards behind her she detected the mind of a low-bornScythe, of the Tharn sun group. Very quickly she established it as thatof a tired, brutish corporal, taking a mop-up squad through the blackstumps and forlorn branches of the small forest that for years hadsupplied oxygen to the defenders of this sector.     The corporal could not see her green Scythian uniform clearly, andevidently took her for a Terran woman. In his mind was the question:Should he shoot immediately, or should he capture her? It had been twomonths since he had seen a woman. But then, his orders were to shoot.Yes, he would shoot.     Evelyn turned in profile to the beam-gun and stretched luxuriously,hoping that her grimace of pain could not be detected. Withsatisfaction, she sensed a sudden change of determination in the mindof the Tharn. The gun was lowered, and the man was circling to creep upbehind her. He did not bother to notify his men. He wanted her first.He had seen her uniform, but that deterred him not a whit. Afterwards,he would call up the squad. Finally, they would kill her and move on.Women auxiliaries had no business here, anyway.     Hips dipping, Evelyn sauntered into the shattered copse. The man movedfaster, though still trying to approach quietly. Most of the radions inthe mile-high ceiling had been destroyed, and the light was poor. Hewas not surprised when he lost track of his quarry. He tip-toed rapidlyonward, picking his way through the charred and fallen branches,thinking that she must turn up again soon. He had not gone twenty yardsin this manner when a howl of unbearable fury sounded in his mind, andthe dull light in his brain went out.        She fought for her life under that mile-high ceiling.        Breathing deeply from her mental effort, the woman stepped frombehind a great black tree trunk and hurried to the unconscious man.For I.Q.'s of 100 and less, telepathic cortical paralysis was quiteeffective. With cool efficiency and no trace of distaste she strippedthe odorous uniform from the man, then took his weapon, turned the beampower down very low, and needled a neat slash across his throat. Whilehe bled to death, she slipped deftly into the baggy suit, clasped thebeam gun by the handle, and started up the sooty slope. For a time, atleast, it would be safer to pass as a Tharn soldier than as any kind ofa woman.      II     The inquisitor leaned forward, frowning at the girl before him.     Name?     Evelyn Kane.     The eyes of the inquisitor widened. So you admit to a Terran name.Well, Terran, you are charged with having stolen passage on a supplylorry, and you also seem to be wearing the uniform of an infantrycorporal as well as that of a Scythian woman auxiliary. Incidentally,where is the corporal? Did you kill him?     He was prepared for a last-ditch denial. He would cut it short, havethe guards remove her, and execution would follow immediately. In away, it was unfortunate. The woman was obviously of a high Terranclass. No—he couldn't consider that. His slender means couldn't affordanother woman in his quarters, and besides, he wouldn't feel safe withthis cool murderess.     Do you not understand the master tongue? Why did you kill thecorporal? He leaned impatiently over his desk.     The woman stared frankly back at him with her clear blue eyes. Theguards on either side of her dug their nails into her arms, as wastheir custom with recalcitrant prisoners, but she took no notice.     She had analyzed the minds of the three men. She could handle theinquisitor alone or the two guards alone, but not all three.     If you aren't afraid of me, perhaps you'd be so kind as to send theguards out for a few minutes, she said, placing a hand on her hip. Ihave interesting information.     So that was it. Buy her freedom by betraying fugitive Terrans. Well, hecould take the information and then kill her. He nodded curtly to theguards, and they walked out of the hut, exchanging sly winks with oneanother.     Evelyn Kane crossed her arms across her chest and felt her broken ribgingerly. The inquisitor stared up at her in sadistic admiration. Hewould certainly be on hand for the execution. His anticipation was cutshort with a horrible realization. Under the paralyzing force of a mindgreater than his own, he reached beneath the desk and switched off therecorder.     Who is the Occupational Commandant for this Sector, she askedtersely. This must be done swiftly before the guards returned.     Perat, Viscount of Tharn, replied the man mechanically.     What is the extent of his jurisdiction?     From the center of the Terran globe, outward four hundred milesradius.     Good. Prepare for me the usual visa that a woman clerk needs forpassage to the offices of the Occupational Commandant.     The inquisitor filled in blanks in a stiff sheet of paper and stamped aseal at its bottom.     You will add in the portion reserved for 'comments', the following:'Capable clerk. Others will follow as they are found available.'     The man's pen scratched away obediently.     Evelyn Kane smiled gently at the impotent, inwardly raging inquisitor.She took the paper, folded it, and placed it in a pocket in her blouse.Call the guards, she ordered.     He pressed the button on his desk, and the guards re-entered.     This person is no longer a prisoner, said the inquisitor woodenly.She is to take the next transport to the Occupational Commandant ofZone One.     When the transport had left, neither inquisitor nor guards had anymemory of the woman. However, in the due course of events, therecording was gathered up with many others like it, boxed carefully,and sent to the Office of the Occupational Commandant, Zone One, forauditing.  <doc-sep>Evelyn was extremely careful with her mental probe as she descendedfrom the transport. The Occupational Commandant would undoubtedlybe high-born and telepathic. He must not have occasion to suspect asimilar ability in a mere clerk.     Fighting had passed this way, too, and recently. Many of the buildingswere still smoking, and many of the radions high above were eithershot out or obscured by slowly drifting dust clouds. The acrid odor ofradiation-remover was everywhere.     She caught the sound of spasmodic small-arm fire.     What is that? she asked the transport attendant.     The Commandant is shooting prisoners, he replied laconically.     Oh.     Where did you want to go?     To the personnel office.     That way. He pointed to the largest building of the group—twostories high, reasonably intact.     She walked off down the gravel path, which was stained here and therewith dark sticky red. She gave her visa to the guard at the door andwas admitted to an improvised waiting room, where another guard eyedher stonily. The firing was much nearer. She recognized the obscenecoughs of a Faeg pistol and began to feel sick.     A woman in the green uniform of the Scythe auxiliary came in, whisperedsomething to the guard, and then told Evelyn to follow her.     In the anteroom a grey cat looked her over curiously, and Evelynfrowned. She might have to get rid of the cat if she stayed here. Undercertain circumstances the animal could prove her deadliest enemy.     The next room held a foppish little man, evidently a supervisor of somesort, who was studying her visa.     I'm very happy to have you here, S'ria—ah——he looked at the visasuspiciously—S'ria Lyn. Do sit down. But, as I was just remarking toS'ria Gerek, here—he nodded to the other woman, who smiled back—Iwish the field officers would make up their august minds as to whetherthey want you or don't want you. Just why did they transfer you toH.Q.?     She thought quickly. This pompous little ass would have to be givensome answer that would keep him from checking with the inquisitor. Itwould have to be something personal. She looked at the false black inhis eyebrows and sideburns, and the artificial way in which he hadcombed hair over his bald spot. She crossed her knees slowly, ignoringthe narrowing eyes of S'ria Gerek, and smoothed the back of her braidedyellow hair. He was studying her covertly.     The men in the fighting zones are uncouth, S'ria Gorph, she saidsimply. I was told that      you     , that is, I mean—     Yes? he was the soul of graciousness. S'ria Gerek began to dictateloudly into her mechanical transcriber.     Evelyn cleared her throat, averted her eyes, and with some effort,managed a delicate flush. I meant to say, I thought I would be happierworking for—working here. So I asked for a transfer.     S'ria Gorph beamed. Splendid. But the occupation isn't over, yet,you know. There'll be hard work here for several weeks yet, before wecut loose from the enemy globe. But you do your work well—winkingartfully—and I'll see that—     He stopped, and his face took on a hunted look of mingled fear andanxiety. He appeared to listen.     Evelyn tensed her mind to receive and deceive a mental probe. She wascertain now that the Zone Commandant was high-born and telepathic. Thechances were only fifty-fifty that she could delude him for any lengthof time if he became interested in her. He must be avoided if at allpossible. It should not be too difficult. He undoubtedly had a dozenpersonal secretaries and/or concubines and would take small interest inthe lowly employees that amused Gorph.     Gorph looked at her uncertainly. Perat, Viscount of the Tharn Suns,sends you his compliments and wishes to see you on the balcony. Hepointed to a hallway. All the way through there, across to the otherwing.     As she left, she heard all sound in the room stop. The transcribing andcalculating machines trailed off into a watchful silence, and she couldfeel the eyes of the men and women on her back. She noticed then thatthe Faeg had ceased firing.  <doc-sep>Her heart was beating faster as she walked down the hall. She felt avery strong probe flooding over her brain casually, palping with mildinterest the artificial memories she supplied: Escapades with officersin the combat areas. Reprimands. Demotion and transfer. Her deceptionof Gorph. Her anticipation of meeting a real Viscount and hoping hewould let her dance for him.     The questing probe withdrew as idly as it had come, and she breatheda sigh of relief. She could not hope to deceive a suspicious telepathfor long. Perat was merely amused at her lie to his under-supervisor.He had accepted her at her own face value, as supplied by her falsememories.     She opened the door to the balcony and saw a man leaning moodily on thebalustrade. He gave no immediate notice of her presence.     The five hundred and sixth heir of Tharn was of uncertain age, as weremost of the men of both globes. Only the left side of his face could beseen. It was gaunt and leathery, and a deep thin scar lifted the cornerof his mouth into a satanic smile. A faint paunch was gathering at hisabdomen, as befitted a warrior turned to boring paper work. His closelycut black hair and the two sparkling red-gemmed rings—apparentlyidentical—on his right hand seemed to denote a certain fastidiousnessand unconscious superiority. To Evelyn the jeweled fingers bespoke anunnatural contrast to the past history of the man and were symptomaticof a personality that could find stimulation only in strange and cruelpleasures.     In alarm she suddenly realized that she had inadvertently let herappraisal penetrate her uncovered conscious mind, and that this probewas there awaiting it.     You are right, he said coldly, still staring into the court below.Now that the long battle is over, there is little left to divert me.     He pushed the Faeg across the coping toward her. Take this.     He had not as yet looked at her.     She crossed the balcony, simultaneously grasping the pistol he offeredher and looking down into the courtyard. There seemed to be nearlytwenty Terrans lying about, in pools of their own blood.     Only one man, a Terran officer of very high rank—was left standing.His arms were folded somberly across his chest, and he studied thekiller above him almost casually. But when the woman came out, theireyes met, and he started imperceptibly.     Evelyn Kane felt a horrid chill creeping over her. The man's hair waswhite, now, and his proud face lined with deep furrows, but there couldbe no mistake. It was Gordon, Lord Kane.     Her father.     The sweat continued to grow on her forehead, and she felt for a momentthat she needed only to wish hard enough, and this would be a dream.A dream of a big, kind, dark-haired man with laugh-wrinkles about hiseyes, who sat her on his knee when she was a little girl and readbedtime stories to her from a great book with many pictures.     An icy, amused voice came through: Our orders are to kill allprisoners. It is entertaining to shoot down helpless men, isn't it? Itwarms me to know that I am cruel and wanton, and worthy of my trust.     Even in the midst of her horror, a cold, analytical part of her wasexplaining why the Commandant had called her to the balcony. Becauseall captured Terrans had to be killed, he hated his superiors, his ownmen, and especially the prisoners. A task so revolting he could notrelegate to his own officers. He must do it himself, but he wanted hisunderlings to know he loathed them for it. She was merely a symbol ofthat contempt. His next words did not surprise her.     It is even more stimulating to require a shuddering female to killthem. You are shuddering you know?     She nodded dumbly. Her palm was so wet that a drop of sweat droppedfrom it to the floor. She was thinking hard. She could kill theCommandant and save her father for a little while. But then theproblem of detonating the pile remained, and it would not be solvedmore quickly by killing the man who controlled the pile area. On thecontrary if she could get him interested in her—     So far as our records indicate, murmured Perat, the man down thereis the last living Terran within      The Defender     . It occurred to me thatour newest clerk would like to start off her duties with a bang. TheFaeg is adjusted to a needle-beam. If you put a bolt between the man'seyes, you may dance for me tonight, and perhaps there will be othernights—     The woman seemed lost in thought for a long time. Slowly, she liftedthe ugly little weapon. The doomed Terran looked up at her peacefully,without expression. She lowered the Faeg, her arm trembling.     Gordon, Lord Kane, frowned faintly, then closed his eyes. She raisedthe gun again, drew cross hairs with a nerveless wrist, and squeezedthe trigger. There was a loud, hollow cough, but no recoil. The Terranofficer, his eyes still closed and arms folded, sank to the ground,face up. Blood was running from a tiny hole in his forehead.     The man leaning on the balustrade turned and looked at Evelyn, at firstwith amused contempt, then with narrowing, questioning eyes.     Come here, he ordered.     The Faeg dropped from her hand. With a titanic effort she activated herlegs and walked toward him.     He was studying her face very carefully.     She felt that she was going to be sick. Her knees were so weak that shehad to lean on the coping.     With a forefinger he lifted up the mass of golden curls that hungover her right forehead and examined the scar hidden there, where thementors had cut into her frontal lobe. The tiny doll they had createdfor her writhed uneasily in her waist-purse, but Perat seemed to bethinking of something else, and missed the significance of the scarcompletely.     He dropped his hand. I'm sorry, he said with a quiet weariness. Ishouldn't have asked you to kill the Terran. It was a sorry joke.Then: Have you ever seen me before?     No, she whispered hoarsely. His mind was in hers, verifying the fact.     Have you ever met my father, Phaen, the old Count of Tharn?     No.     Do you have a son?     No.     His mind was out of hers again, and he had turned moodily back,surveying the courtyard and the dead. Gorph will be wondering whathappened to you. Come to my quarters at the eighth metron tonight.     Apparently he suspected nothing.       Father. Father. I had to do it. But we'll all join you, soon. Soon.        III     Perat lay on his couch, sipping cold purple      terif     and following thethinly-clad dancer with narrowed eyes. Music, soft and subtle, floatedfrom his communications box, illegally tuned to an officer's clubsomewhere. Evelyn made the rhythm part of her as she swayed slowly ontiptoe.     For the last thirty nights—the hours allotted to rest and sleep—ithad been thus. By day she probed furtively into the minds of theoffice staff, memorizing area designations, channels for officialmessages, and the names and authorizations of occupational field crews.By night she danced for Perat, who never took his eyes from her, norhis probe from her mind. While she danced it was not too difficult toelude the probe. There was an odd autohypnosis in dancing that blottedout memory and knowledge.     Enough for now, he ordered. Careful of your rib.     When he had first seen the bandages on her bare chest, that firstnight, she had been ready with a memory of dancing on a freshly waxedfloor, and of falling.     Perat seemed to be debating with himself as she sat down on her owncouch to rest. He got up, unlocked his desk, and drew out a tiny reelof metal wire, which Evelyn recognized as being feed for an amateurstereop projector. He placed the reel in a projector that had beeninstalled in the wall, flicked off the table luminar, and both of themwaited in the dark, breathing rather loudly.     Suddenly the center of the room was bright with a ball of light sometwo feet in diameter, and inside the luminous sphere were an old man, awoman, and a little boy of about four years. They were walking througha luxurious garden, and then they stopped, looked up, and waved gaily.     Evelyn studied the trio with growing wonder. The old man and the boywere complete strangers.      But the woman—!       That is Phaen, my father, said Perat quietly. He stayed at homebecause he hated war. And that is a path in our country estate onTharn-R-VII. The little boy I fail to recognize, beyond a generalresemblance to the Tharn line.     But—      can you deny that you are the woman     ?     The stereop snapped off, and she sat wordless in the dark.     There seemed to be some similarity— she admitted. Her throat wassuddenly dry. Yet, why should she be alarmed? She really didn't knowthe woman.     The table luminar was on now, and Perat was prowling hungrily about theroom, his scar twisting his otherwise handsome face into a snarlingscowl.     Similarity! Bah! That loop of hair over her right forehead hid a scaridentical to yours. I have had the individual frames analyzed!     Evelyn's hands knotted unconsciously. She forced her body to relax, buther mind was racing. This introduced another variable to be controlledin her plan for destruction. She      must     make it a known quantity.     Did your father send it to you? she asked.     The day before you arrived here. It had been en route for months, ofcourse.     What did he say about it?     He said, 'Your widow and son send greetings. Be of good cheer, andaccept our love.' What nonsense! He knows very well I'm not married andthat—well, if I have ever fathered any children, I don't know aboutthem.     Is that all he said?     That's all, except that he included this ring. He pulled one of theduplicate jewels from his right middle finger and tossed it to her.It's identical to the one he had made for me when I entered on mymajority. For a long time it was thought that it was the only stone ofits kind on all the planets of the Tharn suns, a mineralogical freak,but I guess he found another. But why should I want two of them?     Evelyn crossed the room and returned the ring.     Existence is so full of mysteries, isn't it? murmured Perat.Sometimes it seems unfortunate that we must pass through a sentientphase on our way to death. This foolish, foolish war. Maybe the oldcount was right.     You could be courtmartialed for that.     Speaking of courtmartials, I've got to attend one tonight—an appealfrom a death sentence. He arose, smoothed his hair and clothes, andpoured another glass of      terif     . Some fool inquisitor can't showproper disposition of a woman prisoner.     Evelyn's heart skipped a beat. Indeed?     The wretch insists that he could remember if we would just let himalone. I suppose he took a bribe. You'll find one now and then whotries for a little extra profit.     She must absolutely not be seen by the condemned inquisitor. Thestimulus would almost certainly make him remember.     I'll wait for you, she said indifferently, thrusting her arms out ina languorous yawn.     Very well. Perat stepped to the door, then turned and looked back ather. On the other hand, I may need a clerk. It's way after hours, andthe others have gone.     Beneath a gesture of wry protest, she swallowed rapidly.     Perhaps you'd better come, insisted Perat.     She stood up, unloosed her waist-purse, checked its contents swiftly,and then followed him out.     This might be a very close thing. From the purse she took a bottle ofperfume and rubbed her ear lobes casually.     Odd smell, commented Perat, wrinkling his nose.     Odd scent, corrected Evelyn cryptically. She was thinking aboutthe earnest faces of the mentors as they instructed her carefully inthe use of the perfume. The adrenalin glands, they had explained,provided a useful and powerful stimulant to a man in danger. Adrenalinslowed the heart and digestion, increased the systole and bloodpressure, and increased perspiration to cool the skin. But therecould be too much of a good thing. An overdose of adrenalin, they hadpointed out, caused almost immediate edema. The lungs filled rapidlywith the serum and the victim ... drowned. The perfume she possessedover-stimulated, in some unknown way, the adrenals of frightenedpersons. It had no effect on inactive adrenals.     The question remained—who would be the more frightened, she or thecondemned inquisitor?     She was perspiring freely, and the blonde hair on her arms and neck wasstanding stiffly when Perat opened the door for her and they enteredthe Zone Provost's chambers.  <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>Once seated, the AEC man said I'll get right to the point. You mayfind this troublesome, gentlemen, but your government intends toconfiscate all of the devices using your so-called Expendable field,and forever bar their manufacture in this country or their importation.     You stinking G-men aren't getting away with this, Carmen saidingratiatingly. Ever hear of the Mafia?     Not much, the young man admitted earnestly, since the FBI finishedwith its deportations a few years back.     I cleared my throat. I must admit that the destruction of amulti-billion business is disconcerting before lunch. May we ask whyyou took this step?     The agent inserted a finger between his collar and tie. Have younoticed how unseasonably warm it is?     I wondered if you had. You're going to have heat prostration if youkeep that suit coat on five minutes more.     The young man collapsed back in his chair, loosening the top button ofhis ivy league jacket, looking from my naked hide to the gossomer scrapof sport shirt Carmen wore. We have to dress inconspicuously in theservice, he panted weakly.     I nodded understandingly. What does the heat have to do with theoutlawing of the Expendables?     At first we thought there might be some truth in the folk nonsensethat nuclear tests had something to do with raising the meantemperature of the world, the AEC man said. But our scientistsquickly found they weren't to blame.     Clever of them.     Yes, they saw that the widespread use of your machines was responsiblefor the higher temperature. Your device violates the law ofconservation of energy,      seemingly     . It      seemingly     destroys matterwithout creating energy. Actually—     He paused dramatically.     Actually, your device added the energy it created in destroying matterto the energy potential of the planet in the form of      heat     . You seewhat that means? If your devices continue in operation, the meantemperature of Earth will rise to the point where we burst into flame.They must be outlawed!     I agree, I said reluctantly.     Tony Carmen spoke up. No, you don't, Professor. We don't agree tothat.     I waved his protests aside.     I      would     agree, I said, except that it wouldn't work. Explain thedanger to the public, let them feel the heat rise themselves, and theywill hoard Expendables against seizure and continue to use them, untilwe do burst into flame, as you put it so religiously.     Why? the young man demanded.     Because Expendables are convenient. There is a ban on frivolous useof water due to the dire need. But the police still have to go stoppeople from watering lawns, and I suspect not a few swimming pools arebeing filled on the sly. Water is somebody else's worry. So will begenerating enough heat to turn Eden into Hell.     Mass psychology isn't my strongest point, the young man saidworriedly. But I suspect you may be right. Then—we'll be damned?     No, not necessarily, I told him comfortingly. All we have to do is      use up     the excess energy with engines of a specific design.     But can we design those engines in time? the young man wondered withuncharacteristic gloom.     Certainly, I said, practising the power of positive thinking. Nowthat your world-wide testing laboratories have confirmed a vague fearof mine, I can easily reverse the field of the Expendable device andcreate a rather low-efficiency engine that consumes the excess energyin our planetary potential.  <doc-sep>He had just begun to work into a wonderful anecdote about his brotherwhen the dinner gong rang. Butt told me to scat. He said I was agrowing tadpole and needed my vitamins. And he mentioned, veryoff-hand, that he wouldn't at all object if I brought him some freshfruit. It seemed there was nothing but processed foods in the lifeboatand Butt was used to a farmer's diet.     Trouble was, he was a special kind of farmer. Ordinary fruit would havebeen pretty easy to sneak into my pockets at meals. I even found a wayto handle the kelp and giant watercress Mr. Brown liked, but thingslike seaweed salt and Venusian mud-grapes just had too strong a smell.Twice, the mechanical hamper refused to accept my jacket for launderingand I had to wash it myself. But I learned so many wonderful thingsabout Venus every time I visited that stowaway....     I learned three wild-wave songs of the Flatfolk and what it is that thenative Venusians hate so much; I learned how you tell the differencebetween a lousy government paddlefoot from New Kalamazoo and theslaptoe slinker who is the planter's friend. After a lot of begging,Butt Lee Brown explained the workings of his blaster, explained itso carefully that I could name every part and tell what it did fromthe tiny round electrodes to the long spirals of transformer. But nomatter what, he would never let me hold it.     Sorry, Ford, old tad, he would drawl, spinning around and around inthe control swivel-chair at the nose of the lifeboat. But way I lookat it, a man who lets somebody else handle his blaster is like thegiant whose heart was in an egg that an enemy found. When you've grownenough so's your pop feels you ought to have a weapon, why, then's thetime to learn it and you might's well learn fast. Before then, you'replain too young to be even near it.     I don't have a father to give me one when I come of age. I don't evenhave an older brother as head of my family like your brother Labrador.All I have is Sis. And      she     —     She'll marry some fancy dryhorn who's never been farther South thanthe Polar Coast. And she'll stay head of the family, if I know herbreed of green shata.      Bossy, opinionated.     By the way, Fordie, hesaid, rising and stretching so the fish-leather bounced and rippled offhis biceps, that sister. She ever....     And he'd be off again, cross-examining me about Evelyn. I sat in theswivel chair he'd vacated and tried to answer his questions. But therewas a lot of stuff I didn't know. Evelyn was a healthy girl, forinstance; how healthy, exactly, I had no way of finding out. Yes, I'dtell him, my aunts on both sides of my family each had had more thanthe average number of children. No, we'd never done any farming tospeak of, back in Undersea, but—yes, I'd guess Evelyn knew about asmuch as any girl there when it came to diving equipment and pressurepump regulation.     How would I know that stuff would lead to trouble for me?  <doc-sep>It was like a fantastic dream come true. Only the dream wasn'tfantastic any more. With the huge atomic power plants scattered acrossthe country and supplying endless electrical power at ridiculouslylow prices, no endeavor that required power was fantastic. The powerrequired to operate the CPA devices cost each taxpayer an average offour dollars a year, and the invention, development and manufacture ofthe devices had cost even less.     And the CPA had attacked crime through society itself, striking atthe individual. In every city there were neon signs that blinkedsubliminally with the statement, CRIME IS FILTH. Listening to a radioor watching television, if a person heard station identification, heinvariably heard or saw just below perception the words CRIME IS FILTH.If he went for a walk or a ride, he saw the endless subliminal postersdeclaring CRIME IS FILTH, and if he read a magazine or newspaper healways found, in those little dead spaces where an editor couldn't fitanything else, the below-perception words CRIME IS FILTH.     It was monotonous and, after a while, a person looked at the words andheard them without thinking about them. And they were imprinted on hissubconscious over and over, year after year, until he knew that crimewas the same as filth and that criminals were filthy things.     Except men like Joe Harper. No system is perfect. Along with thousandsof other DCTs, Joe refused to believe it, and when he reached apartment204 at 2141 Orange Street, he felt as if he'd inherited a gold mine.     The hall was dimly lit, but when he stood before the door numbered 204,he could see that the wall on either side of it was      new     . That is,instead of being covered with dust, dirt and stains as the other wallswere, it was clean. The building was an old one, the hall was wide, andthe owner had obviously constructed a wall across the hall, creatinganother room. If the owner had reported the new room as required bylaw, it would have been wired with CPA burglarproof devices, butevidently he didn't want to pay for installation.     When Joe entered the cubbyhole, he had to stand to one side in order toclose the door behind him. The place was barely large enough for thebed, chair and bureau; it was a place where a man could fall down atnight and sleep, but where no normal man could live day after day.     Fearing that someone might detect him before he actually committed thecrime, Joe hurried to the bureau and searched it.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What does it mean that the device given to Evelyn did not detonate in Stalemate In Space?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"In what ways is the concept of obligation examined in Stalemate In Space? [SEP] <s>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STALEMATE IN SPACE ***    Stalemate In Space     By CHARLES L. HARNESS     Two mighty metal globes clung in a murderous     death-struggle, lashing out with flames of poison.     Yet deep in their twisted, radioactive wreckage     the main battle raged—where a girl swayed     sensuously before her conqueror's mocking eyes.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Summer 1949.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      At first there was only the voice, a monotonous murmur in her ears.           Die now—die now—die now     —     Evelyn Kane awoke, breathing slowly and painfully. The top of thecubicle was bulging inward on her chest, and it seemed likely that arib or two was broken. How long ago? Years? Minutes? She had no way ofknowing. Her slender right hand found the oxygen valve and turned it.For a long while she lay, hurting and breathing helplessly.           Die now—die now—die now     —     The votron had awakened her with its heart-breaking code message, andit was her duty to carry out its command. Nine years after the greatbattle globes had crunched together the mentors had sealed her in thistiny cell, dormant, unwaking, to be livened only when it was certainher countrymen had either definitely won—or lost.     The votron's telepathic dirge chronicled the latter fact. She hadexpected nothing else.     She had only to find the relay beside her cot, press the key that wouldset in motion gigantic prime movers in the heart of the great globe,and the conquerors would join the conquered in the wide and namelessgrave of space.     But life, now doled out by the second, was too delicious to abandonimmediately. Her mind, like that of a drowning person, raced hungrilyover the memories of her past.     For twenty years, in company with her great father, she had watched      The Defender     grow from a vast metal skeleton into a planet-sizedbattle globe. But it had not grown fast enough, for when the Scythianglobe,      The Invader     , sprang out of black space to enslave the buddingTerran Confederacy,      The Defender     was unfinished, half-equipped, andundermanned.     The Terrans could only fight for time and hope for a miracle.       The Defender     , commanded by her father, Gordon, Lord Kane, hurleditself from its orbit around Procyon and met      The Invader     with giantfission torpedoes.     And then, in an intergalactic proton storm beyond the Lesser MagellanicCloud, the globes lost their bearings and collided. Hordes of brute-menpoured through the crushed outer armor of the stricken      Defender     .     The prone woman stirred uneasily. Here the images became unrealand terrible, with the recurrent vision of death. It had taken theScythians nine years to conquer      The Defender's     outer shell. Then hadcome that final interview with her father.     In half an hour our last space port will be captured, he hadtelepathed curtly. Only one more messenger ship can leave      TheDefender     . Be on it.     No. I shall die here.     His fine tired eyes had studied her face in enigmatic appraisal. Thendie usefully. The mentors are trying to develop a force that willdestroy both globes in the moment of our inevitable defeat. If they aresuccessful, you will have the task of pressing the final button of thebattle.     There's an off-chance you may survive, countered a mentor. We'realso working on a means for your escape—not only because you areGordon's daughter, but because this great proton storm will preventradio contact with Terra for years, and we want someone to escape withour secret if and when our experiments prove successful.     But you must expect to die, her father had warned with gentlefinality.     She clenched her fingernails vehemently into her palms and wrenchedherself back to the present.     That time had come.     With some effort she worked herself out of the crumpled bed and lay onthe floor of her little cubicle, panting and holding her chest withboth hands. The metal floor was very cold. Evidently the enemy torpedofissionables had finally broken through to the center portions of theship, letting in the icy breath of space. Small matter. Not by freezingwould she die.     She reached out her hand, felt for the all-important key, and gasped indismay. The mahogany box containing the key had burst its metal bondsand was lying on its side. The explosion that had crushed her cubiclehad been terrific.     With a gurgle of horror she snapped on her wrist luminar and examinedthe interior of the box.     It was a shattered ruin.  <doc-sep>Using the technique I had grasped from the Gool itself, I struck,stifling the outcry, invaded the fetid blackness and grappled theobscene gelatinous immensity of the Gool spy as it spasmed in a frenzyof xenophobia—a ton of liver writhing at the bottom of a dark well.     I clamped down control. The Gool mind folded in on itself, gibbering.Not pausing to rest, I followed up, probed along my channel of contact,tracing patterns, scanning the flaccid Gool mind....     I saw a world of yellow seas lapping at endless shores of mud. Therewas a fuming pit, where liquid sulphur bubbled up from some innersource, filling an immense natural basin. The Gool clustered at itsrim, feeding, each monstrous shape heaving against its neighbors for amore favorable position.       I probed farther, saw the great cables of living nervous tissue thatlinked each eating organ with the brain-mass far underground. I tracedthe passages through which tendrils ran out to immense caverns wheresmaller creatures labored over strange devices. These, my host's memorytold me, were the young of the Gool. Here they built the fleets thatwould transport the spawn to the new worlds the Prime Overlord haddiscovered, worlds where food was free for the taking. Not sulphuralone, but potassium, calcium, iron and all the metals—richesbeyond belief in endless profusion. No longer would the Gool tribecluster—those who remained of a once-great race—at a single feedingtrough. They would spread out across a galaxy—and beyond.     But not if I could help it.     The Gool had evolved a plan—but they'd had a stroke of bad luck.     In the past, they had managed to control a man here and there, amongthe fleets, far from home, but only at a superficial level. Enough,perhaps, to wreck a ship, but not the complete control needed to send aman back to Earth under Gool compulsion, to carry out complex sabotage.     Then they had found me, alone, a sole survivor, free from the clutterof the other mind-fields. It had been their misfortune to pick apsychodynamicist. Instead of gaining a patient slave, they had openedthe fortress door to an unseen spy. Now that I was there, I would seewhat I could steal.     A timeless time passed. I wandered among patterns of white light andwhite sound, plumbed the deepest recesses of hidden Gool thoughts,fared along strange ways examining the shapes and colors of theconcepts of an alien mind.     I paused at last, scanning a multi-ordinal structure of pattern withinpattern; the diagrammed circuits of a strange machine.     I followed through its logic-sequence; and, like a bomb-burst, itsmeaning exploded in my mind.     From the vile nest deep under the dark surface of the Gool world inits lonely trans-Plutonian orbit, I had plucked the ultimate secret oftheir kind.     Matter across space.  <doc-sep>Kelburn went to the projector. It would be easier if we knew all thestars in the Milky Way, but though we've explored only a small portionof it, we can reconstruct a fairly accurate representation of the past.     He pressed the controls and stars twinkled on the screen. We'relooking down on the plane of the Galaxy. This is one arm of it as it istoday and here are the human systems. He pressed another control and,for purposes of identification, certain stars became more brilliant.There was no pattern, merely a scattering of stars. The whole MilkyWay is rotating. And while stars in a given region tend to remaintogether, there's also a random motion. Here's what happens when wecalculate the positions of stars in the past.     Flecks of light shifted and flowed across the screen. Kelburn stoppedthe motion.     Two hundred thousand years ago, he said.     There was a pattern of the identified stars. They were spaced at fairlyequal intervals along a regular curve, a horseshoe loop that didn'tclose, though if the ends were extended, the lines would have crossed.     Taphetta rustled. The math is accurate?     As accurate as it can be with a million-plus body problem.     And that's the hypothetical route of the unknown ancestor?     To the best of our knowledge, said Kelburn. And whereas there arehumans who are relatively near and not fertile, they can always matewith those they were adjacent to      two hundred thousand years ago     !     The adjacency mating principle. I've never seen it demonstrated,murmured Taphetta, flexing his ribbons. Is that the only era thatsatisfies the calculations?     Plus or minus a hundred thousand years, we can still get somethingthat might be the path of a spaceship attempting to cover arepresentative section of territory, said Kelburn. However, we haveother ways of dating it. On some worlds on which there are no othermammals, we're able to place the first human fossils chronologically.The evidence is sometimes contradictory, but we believe we've got thetime right.     Taphetta waved a ribbon at the chart. And you think that where the twoends of the curve cross is your original home?     We think so, said Kelburn. We've narrowed it down to several cubiclight-years—then. Now it's far more. And, of course, if it were afast-moving star, it might be completely out of the field of ourexploration. But we're certain we've got a good chance of finding itthis trip.     It seems I must decide quickly. The Ribboneer glanced out thevisionport, where another ship hung motionless in space beside them.Do you mind if I ask other questions?     Go ahead, Kelburn invited sardonically. But if it's not math, you'dbetter ask Halden. He's the leader of the expedition.     Halden flushed; the sarcasm wasn't necessary. It was true that Kelburnwas the most advanced human type present, but while there weredifferences, biological and in the scale of intelligence, it wasn'tas great as once was thought. Anyway, non-humans weren't trained inthe fine distinctions that men made among themselves. And, higher orlower, he was as good a biologist as the other was a mathematician. Andthere was the matter of training; he'd been on several expeditions andthis was Kelburn's first trip. Damn it, he thought, that rated somerespect.     The Ribboneer shifted his attention. Aside from the sudden illness ofyour pilot, why did you ask for me?     We didn't. The man became sick and required treatment we can't givehim. Luckily, a ship was passing and we hailed it because it's fourmonths to the nearest planet. They consented to take him back and toldus that there was a passenger on board who was an experienced pilot. Wehave men who could do the job in a makeshift fashion, but the regionwe're heading for, while mapped, is largely unknown. We'd prefer tohave an expert—and Ribboneers are famous for their navigationalability.     Taphetta crinkled politely at the reference to his skill. I had otherplans, but I can't evade professional obligations, and an emergencysuch as this should cancel out any previous agreements. Still, what arethe incentives?     Sam Halden coughed. The usual, plus a little extra. We've copied theRibboneer's standard nature, simplifying it a little and adding a percent here and there for the crew pilot and scientist's share of theprofits from any discoveries we may make.     I'm complimented that you like our contract so well, said Taphetta,but I really must have our own unsimplified version. If you want me,you'll take my contract. I came prepared. He extended a tightly boundroll that he had kept somewhere on his person.     They glanced at one another as Halden took it.     You can read it if you want, offered Taphetta. But it will takeyou all day—it's micro-printing. However, you needn't be afraid thatI'm defrauding you. It's honored everywhere we go and we go nearlyeverywhere in this sector—places men have never been.     There was no choice if they wanted him, and they did. Besides, theintegrity of Ribboneers was not to be questioned. Halden signed.     Good. Taphetta crinkled. Send it to the ship; they'll forward itfor me. And you can tell the ship to go on without me. He rubbed hisribbons together. Now if you'll get me the charts, I'll examine theregion toward which we're heading.  <doc-sep>She provocatively arched her back. Not even the women of Kelburn's racehad a body like hers and she knew it.     Racially, there should be a chance, she said. Actually, Kelburn andI would be infertile.     Can you be sure? he asked, knowing it was a poor attempt to actunconcerned.     How can anyone be sure on a theoretical basis? she asked, an obliquesmile narrowing her eyes. I know we can't.     His face felt anesthetized. Did you have to tell me that?     She got up and came to him. She nuzzled against him and his reactionwas purely reflexive. His hand swung out and he could feel the fleshgive when his knuckles struck it.     She fell back and dazedly covered her face with her hand. When she tookit away, blood spurted. She groped toward the mirror and stood in frontof it. She wiped the blood off, examining her features carefully.     You've broken my nose, she said factually. I'll have to stop theblood and pain.     She pushed her nose back into place and waggled it to make sure. Sheclosed her eyes and stood silent and motionless. Then she stepped backand looked at herself critically.     It's set and partially knitted. I'll concentrate tonight and have ithealed by morning.     She felt in the cabinet and attached an invisible strip firmly acrossthe bridge. Then she came over to him.     I wondered what you'd do. You didn't disappoint me.     He scowled miserably at her. Her face was almost plain and the bandage,invisible or not, didn't improve her appearance any. How could he stillfeel that attraction to her?     Try Emmer, he suggested tiredly. He'll find you irresistible, andhe's even more savage than I am.     Is he? She smiled enigmatically. Maybe, in a biological sense. Toomuch, though. You're just right.     He sat down on the bed. Again there was only one way of knowing whatEmmer would do—and she knew. She had no concept of love outside ofthe physical, to make use of her body so as to gain an advantage—whatadvantage?—for the children she intended to have. Outside of that,nothing mattered, and for the sake of alloying the lower with thehigher, she was as cruel to herself as she was to him. And yet hewanted her.     I do think I love you, she said. And if love's enough, I may marryyou in spite of everything. But you'll have to watch out whose childrenI have. She wriggled into his arms.     The racial disparity was great and she had provoked him, but it was notcompletely her fault. Besides....     Besides what? She had a beautiful body that could bear superiorchildren—and they might be his.     He twisted away. With those thoughts, he was as bad as she was. Werethey all that way, every one of them, crawling upward out of the slimetoward the highest goal they could conceive of? Climbing over—no,      through     —everybody they could coerce, seduce or marry—onward andupward. He raised his hand, but it was against himself that his angerwas turned.     Careful of the nose, she said, pressing against him. You've alreadybroken it once.     He kissed her with sudden passion that even he knew was primitive.  <doc-sep>Ben stiffened. And that's why you want me for an astrogator.     Maggie rose, her eyes wistful. If you want to come—and if you getwell. She looked at him strangely.     Suppose— He fought to find the right words. Suppose I got well anddecided not to join Jacob. What would happen to me? Would you let mego?     Her thin face was criss-crossed by emotion—alarm, then bewilderment,then fear. I don't know. That would be up to Jacob.     He lay biting his lip, staring at the photo of Jacob. She touched hishand and it seemed that sadness now dominated the flurry of emotionthat had coursed through her.     The only thing that matters, really, she murmured, is your walkingagain. We'll try this afternoon. Okay?     Okay, he said.     When she left, his eyes were still turned toward Jacob's photo.     He was like two people, he thought.     Half of him was an officer of the Space Corps. Perhaps one singlestarry-eyed boy out of ten thousand was lucky enough to reach that goal.     He remembered a little picture book his mother had given him when shewas alive. Under the bright pictures of spacemen were the captions:     A Space Officer Is Honest A Space Officer Is Loyal. A SpaceOfficer Is Dutiful.     Honesty, loyalty, duty. Trite words, but without those concepts,mankind would never have broken away from the planet that held itprisoner for half a million years.     Without them, Everson, after three failures and a hundred men dead,would never have landed on the Moon twenty-seven years ago.  <doc-sep>  Jon  followed him through the sunderedlock of the station. Karyl stopped for amoment to examine the wreckage of thelock. It had been punched full of holes asif it had been some soft cheese instead of ametal which Earthmen had spent nearly acentury perfecting.     We appreciate your compliment, Steel-Bluesaid. But that metal also is found onour world. It's probably the softest and mostmalleable we have. We were surprised you—earthmen,is it?—use it as protectivemetal.     Why are you in this system? Jon asked,hardly expecting an answer.     It came anyway. For the same reason youEarthmen are reaching out farther into yoursystem. We need living room. You havestrategically placed planets for our use. Wewill use them.     Jon sighed. For 400 years scientists hadbeen preaching preparedness as Earth flungher ships into the reaches of the solar system,taking the first long step toward theconquest of space.     There are other races somewhere, theyargued. As strong and smart as man, manyof them so transcending man in mental andinventive power that we must be prepared tostrike the minute danger shows.     Now here was the answer to the scientists'warning. Invasion by extra-terrestrials.     What did you say? asked Steel-Blue.I couldn't understand.     Just thinking to myself, Jon answered.It was a welcome surprise. Apparently histhoughts had to be directed outward, ratherthan inward, in order for the Steel-Blues toread it.     He followed the Steel-Blue into the gapinglock of the invaders' space ship wonderinghow he could warn Earth. The SpacePatrol cruiser was due in for refueling athis service station in 21 days. But by thattime he probably would be mouldering inthe rocky dust of the asteroid.     It was pitch dark within the ship but theSteel-Blue seemed to have no trouble at allmaneuvering through the maze of corridors.Jon followed him, attached to one tentacle.     Finally Jon and his guide entered a circularroom, bright with light streaming froma glass-like, bulging skylight. They apparentlywere near topside of the vessel.     A Steel-Blue, more massive than hisguide and with four more pair of tentacles,including two short ones that grew from thetop of its head, spoke out.     This is the violator? Jon's Steel-Bluenodded.     You know the penalty? Carry it out.     He also is an inhabitant of this system,Jon's guide added.     Examine him first, then give him thedeath.     Jon Karyl shrugged as he was led fromthe lighted room through more corridors.If it got too bad he still had the stubraypistol.     Anyway, he was curious. He'd taken onthe lonely, nerve-wracking job of servicestation attendant just to see what it offered.     Here was a part of it, and it was certainlysomething new.     This is the examination room, hisSteel-Blue said, almost contemptuously.     A green effulgence surrounded him.   <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>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> [SEP] In what ways is the concept of obligation examined in Stalemate In Space?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of the storyline in THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS? [SEP] <s>   THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS     By JIM HARMON     Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Magazine August 1959.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        Now was the captain's chance to prove he knew       less than the crew—all their lives hung upon it!        There was nothing showing on the video screen. That was why we werelooking at it so analytically.     Transphasia, that's what it is, Ordinary Spaceman Quade stated witha definite thrust of his angular jaw in my direction. You can take myword on that, Captain Gavin.     Can't, I told him. I can't trust your opinion. I can't trust      anything     . That's why I'm Captain.     You'll get over feeling like that.     I know. Then I'll become First Officer.     But look at that screen, sir, Quade said with an emphatic swing ofhis scarred arm. I've seen blank scanning like that before and youhaven't—it's your first trip. This always means transphasia—cortexdissolution, motor area feedback, the Aitchell Effect—call it anythingyou like, it's still transphasia.     I know what transphasia is, I said moderately. It means anelectrogravitational disturbance of incoming sense data, rechannelingit to the wrong receptive areas. Besides the human brain, it alsoeffects electronic equipment, like radar and television.     Obviously. Quade glanced disgustedly at the screen.     Too obvious. This time it might not be a familiar condition of manyplanetary gravitational fields. On this planet, that blank kinescopemay mean our Big Brother kites were knocked down by hostile natives.     You are plain wrong, Captain. Traditionally, alien races neverinterfere with our explorations. Generally, they are so alien to usthey can't even recognize our existence.  <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>  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 tracks of his earlier journey had been erased by the soft rain, andwhen Kaiser reached the river, he found that he had not returned tothe village he had visited the day before. However, there were otherseal-people here.     And they were almost human!     The resemblance was still not so much in their physical makeup—thatwas little changed from the first he had found—as in their obviouslygreater intelligence.     This was mainly noticeable in their facile expressions as they talked.Kaiser was even certain that he read smiles on their faces when heslipped on a particularly slick mud patch as he hurried toward them.Where the members of the first tribes had all looked almost exactlyalike, these had very marked individual characteristics. Also, thesehad no odor—only a mild, rather pleasing scent. When they came to meethim, Kaiser could detect distinct syllabism in their pipings.     Most of the natives returned to the river after the first ten minutesof curious inspection, but two stayed behind as Kaiser set up his tent.     One was a female.     They made small noises while he went about his work. After a time, heunderstood that they were trying to give names to his paraphernalia. Hetried saying tent and wire and tarp as he handled each object,but their piping voices could not repeat the words. Kaiser amusedhimself by trying to imitate their sounds for the articles. He wasfairly successful. He was certain that he could soon learn enough tocarry on a limited conversation.     The male became bored after a time and left, but the girl stayed untilKaiser finished. She motioned to him then to follow. When they reachedthe river bank, he saw that she wanted him to go into the water.  <doc-sep>At first Don Alford had some trouble locating the POSAT headquarters.It seemed to him that the block in which the street number would fallwas occupied entirely by a huge sprawling warehouse, of concreteconstruction, and almost entirely windowless. It was recessed from thestreet in several places to make room for the small, shabby buildingsof a wholesale pharmacy, a printer's plant, an upholstering shop, andwas also indented by alleys lined with loading platforms.     It was at the back of one of the alleys that he finally found a doormarked with the now familiar emblem of POSAT.     He opened the frosted glass door with a feeling of misgiving, and faceda dark flight of stairs leading to the upper floor. Somewhere above hima buzzer sounded, evidently indicating his arrival. He picked his wayup through the murky stairwell.     The reception room was hardly a cheerful place, with its battered deskfacing the view of the empty alley, and a film of dust obscuring thepattern of the gray-looking wallpaper and worn rug. But the light ofthe summer afternoon filtering through the window scattered the gloomsomewhat, enough to help Don doubt that he would find the menace herethat he had come to expect.     The girl addressing envelopes at the desk looked very ordinary.      Notthe Mata-Hari type     , thought Don, with an inward chuckle at his ownsuspicions. He handed her the letter.     She smiled. We've been expecting you, Dr. Alford. If you'll just stepinto the next room—     She opened a door opposite the stairwell, and Don stepped through it.     The sight of the luxurious room before him struck his eyes with theshock of a dentist's drill, so great was the contrast between it andthe shabby reception room. For a moment Don had difficulty breathing.The rug—Don had seen one like it before, but it had been in a museum.The paintings on the walls, ornately framed in gilt carving, weresurely old masters—of the Renaissance period, he guessed. Although herecognized none of the pictures, he felt that he could almost name theartists. That glowing one near the corner would probably be a Titian.Or was it Tintorretto? He regretted for a moment the lost opportunitiesof his college days, when he had passed up Art History in favor ofOperational Circuit Analysis.     The girl opened a filing cabinet, the front of which was set flush withthe wall, and, selecting a folder from it, disappeared through anotherdoor.     Don sprang to examine the picture near the corner. It was hung at eyelevel—that is, at the eye level of the average person. Don had to bendover a bit to see it properly. He searched for a signature. Apparentlythere was none. But did artists sign their pictures back in thosedays? He wished he knew more about such things.     Each of the paintings was individually lighted by a fluorescent tubeheld on brackets directly above it. As Don straightened up from hisscrutiny of the picture, he inadvertently hit his head against thelight. The tube, dislodged from its brackets, fell to the rug with amuffled thud.       Now I've done it!     thought Don with dismay. But at least the tubehadn't shattered.     In fact—it was still glowing brightly! His eyes registered the fact,even while his mind refused to believe it. He raised his eyes to thebrackets. They were simple pieces of solid hardware designed to supportthe tube.     There were no wires!     Don picked up the slender, glowing cylinder and held it betweentrembling fingers. Although it was delivering as much light as a twoor three hundred watt bulb, it was cool to the touch. He examined itminutely. There was no possibility of concealed batteries.     The thumping of his heart was caused not by the fact that he had neverseen a similar tube before, but because he had. He had never heldone in his hands, though. The ones which his company had produced asexperimental models had been unsuccessful at converting all of theradioactivity into light, and had, of necessity, been heavily shielded.     Right now, two of his colleagues back in the laboratory would stillbe searching for the right combination of fluorescent materialand radioactive salts with which to make the simple, efficient,self-contained lighting unit that he was holding in his hand at thismoment!       But this is impossible!     he thought.      We're the only company that'sworking on this, and it's secret. There can't be any in actualproduction!       And even if one had actually been successfully produced, how would ithave fallen into the possession of POSAT, an Ancient Secret Society,The Perpetual Order of Seekers After Truth?     The conviction grew in Don's mind that here was something much deeperand more sinister than he would be able to cope with. He should haveasked for help, should have stated his suspicions to the police or theF.B.I. Even now—     With sudden decision, he thrust the lighting tube into his pocket andstepped swiftly to the outer door. He grasped the knob and shook itimpatiently when it stuck and refused to turn. He yanked at it. Hisimpatience changed to panic. It was locked!     A soft sound behind him made him whirl about. The secretary hadentered again through the inner door. She glanced at the vacant lightbracket, then significantly at his bulging pocket. Her gaze was stillas bland and innocent as when he had entered, but to Don she no longerseemed ordinary. Her very calmness in the face of his odd actions wasdistressingly ominous.     Our Grand Chairman will see you now, she said in a quiet voice.     Don realized that he was half crouched in the position of an animalexpecting attack. He straightened up with what dignity he could manageto find.     She opened the inner door again and Don followed her into what hesupposed to be the office of the Grand Chairman of POSAT.     Instead he found himself on a balcony along the side of a vast room,which must have been the interior of the warehouse that he had notedoutside. The girl motioned him toward the far end of the balcony, wherea frosted glass door marked the office of the Grand Chairman.       But Don could not will his legs to move. His heart beat at the sight ofthe room below him. It was a laboratory, but a laboratory the like ofwhich he had never seen before. Most of the equipment was unfamiliarto him. Whatever he did recognize was of a different design than he hadever used, and there was something about it that convinced him thatthis was more advanced. The men who bent busily over their instrumentsdid not raise their eyes to the figures on the balcony.     Good Lord! Don gasped. That's an atomic reactor down there! Therecould be no doubt about it, even though he could see it only obscurelythrough the bluish-green plastic shielding it.     His thoughts were so clamorous that he hardly realized that he hadspoken aloud, or that the door at the end of the balcony had opened.     He was only dimly aware of the approaching footsteps as he speculatedwildly on the nature of the shielding material. What could be so densethat only an inch would provide adequate shielding and yet remainsemitransparent?     His scientist's mind applauded the genius who had developed it, even asthe alarming conviction grew that he wouldn't—couldn't—be allowed toleave here any more. Surely no man would be allowed to leave this placealive to tell the fantastic story to the world!     Hello, Don, said a quiet voice beside him. It's good to see youagain.     Dr. Crandon! he heard his own voice reply.       You're     the GrandChairman of POSAT?     He felt betrayed and sick at heart. The very voice with whichCrandon had spoken conjured up visions of quiet lecture halls andhis own youthful excitement at the masterful and orderly disclosureof scientific facts. To find him here in this mad and treacherousplace—didn't anything make sense any longer?     I think we have rather abused you, Don, Dr. Crandon continued. Hisvoice sounded so gentle that Don found it hard to think there was anyevil in it. I can see that you are suspicious of us, and—yes—afraid.  <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>   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>He was having a nightmare when he heard the voice, Hey. Wake up. Hey!     He opened his eyes, saw Hendricks' ugly face and thought for a minutehe was still having the nightmare.     I just saw your doctor, Hendricks said. He says your treatment isover. You can go home now. I thought I'd give you a lift.     As Joe dressed, he searched his mind and tried to find some difference.     During the treatment, he had been unconscious or drugged, unable tothink. Now he could think clearly, but he could find no difference inhimself.     He felt more relaxed than he'd ever felt before, but that could be anafter-effect of all the sedatives he'd been given. And, he noticed whenhe looked in the mirror, he was paler. The treatment had taken monthsand he had, between operations, been locked in his room.     Hendricks was standing by the window. Joe stared at the massive back.Deliberately goading his mind, he discovered the biggest change:Before, the mere sight of the man had aroused an intense hatred. Now,even when he tried, he succeeded in arousing only a mild hatred.They had toned down his capacity to hate, but not done away with italtogether.     Come here and take a look at your public, said Hendricks.     Joe went to the window. Three stories below, a large crowd had gatheredon the hospital steps: a band, photographers, television trucks,cameramen and autograph hunters. He'd waited a long time for this day.But now—another change in him—     He put the emotion into words: I don't feel like a hero. Funny, but Idon't.     Hero! Hendricks laughed and, with his powerful lungs, it soundedlike a bull snorting. You think a successful criminal is a hero? Youstupid—     He laughed again and waved a hand at the crowd below them. You thinkthose people are down there because they admire what you did? They'redown there waiting for you because they're curious, because they'reglad the CPA caught you, and because they're glad you're an Ex. You'rean      ex     -criminal now, and because of your treatment, you'll never beable to commit another crime as long as you live. And that's the kindof guy they admire, so they want to see you, shake your hand and getyour autograph.     Joe didn't understand Hendricks completely, but the part he didunderstand he didn't believe. A crowd was waiting for him. He could seethe people with his own eyes. When he left the hospital, they'd cheerand shout and ask for his autograph. If he wasn't a hero,      what washe     ?  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What led to the conflict between the Captain and Quade in THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS? [SEP] <s>   THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS     By JIM HARMON     Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Magazine August 1959.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        Now was the captain's chance to prove he knew       less than the crew—all their lives hung upon it!        There was nothing showing on the video screen. That was why we werelooking at it so analytically.     Transphasia, that's what it is, Ordinary Spaceman Quade stated witha definite thrust of his angular jaw in my direction. You can take myword on that, Captain Gavin.     Can't, I told him. I can't trust your opinion. I can't trust      anything     . That's why I'm Captain.     You'll get over feeling like that.     I know. Then I'll become First Officer.     But look at that screen, sir, Quade said with an emphatic swing ofhis scarred arm. I've seen blank scanning like that before and youhaven't—it's your first trip. This always means transphasia—cortexdissolution, motor area feedback, the Aitchell Effect—call it anythingyou like, it's still transphasia.     I know what transphasia is, I said moderately. It means anelectrogravitational disturbance of incoming sense data, rechannelingit to the wrong receptive areas. Besides the human brain, it alsoeffects electronic equipment, like radar and television.     Obviously. Quade glanced disgustedly at the screen.     Too obvious. This time it might not be a familiar condition of manyplanetary gravitational fields. On this planet, that blank kinescopemay mean our Big Brother kites were knocked down by hostile natives.     You are plain wrong, Captain. Traditionally, alien races neverinterfere with our explorations. Generally, they are so alien to usthey can't even recognize our existence.  <doc-sep>Looks okay to me, I said. Quade passed a gauntlet over his faceplate.It's real. I can blur it with a smudged visor. When it blurs, it'ssolid.     The landscape beyond the black corona left by our landing rockets wasunimpressive. The rocky desert was made up of silicon and iron oxide,so it looked much the same as a terrestrial location. Yellowish-whitesand ran up to and around reddish brown rock clawing into the pinksunlight.     I don't understand it, Quade admitted. Transphasia hits you a foulas soon as you let it into the airlock.     Apparently, Quade,      this     thing is going to creep up on us.     Don't sound smug, Captain. It's pitty-pattying behind you too.     The keening call across the surface of consciousness postponed my reply.     The wail was ominously forlorn, defiant of description. I turned myhead around slowly inside my helmet, not even sure that I had heard it.     But what else can you do with a wail but      hear     it?     Quade nodded. I've felt this before. It usually hits sooner. Let'strace it.     I don't like this, I admitted. It's not at all what I expected fromwhat you said about transphasia. It must be something else.     It couldn't be anything else. I know what to expect. You don't. Youmay begin smelling sensations, tasting sounds, hearing sights, seeingtastes, touching odors—or any other combination. Don't let it botheryou.     Of course not. I'll soothe my nerves by counting little shocks oflanolin jumping over a loud fence.     Quade grinned behind his faceplate. Good idea.     Then you can have it. I'm going to try keeping my eyes open andstaying alive.     There was no reply.     His expression was tart and greasy despite all his light talk, andI knew mine was the same. I tested the security rope between ourpressure suits. It was a taut and virile bass.     We scaled a staccato of rocks, our suits grinding pepper against ourhides.     The musk summit rose before us, a minor-key horizon with a shiftingtreble for as far as I could smell. It was primitive beauty that madeyou feel shocking pink inside. The most beautiful vista I had evertasted, it couldn't be dulled even by the sensation of beef broth undermy skin.     Is this transphasia? I asked in awe.     It always has been before, Quade remarked. Ready to swallow yourwords about this being something an old hand wouldn't recognize,Captain?     I'm swallowing no words until I find out precisely how they tastehere.     Not a bad taste. They're pretty. Or haven't you noticed?     Quade, you're right! About the colors anyway. This reminds me of anilliscope recording from a cybernetic translator.     It should. I don't suppose we could understand each other if it wasn'tfor our morphistudy courses in reading cross-sense translations ofCentauri blushtalk and the like.     It became difficult to understand him, difficult to try talking in theface of such splendor. You never really appreciate colors until yousmell them for the first time.  <doc-sep>I drew myself up to my full height—and noticed in irritation it wasstill an inch less than Quade's. I don't understand you men. Look atyourself, Quade. You've been busted to Ordinary Spaceman for just thatkind of thinking, for relying on tradition, on things that have workedbefore. Not only your thinking is slipshod, you've grown careless abouteverything else, even your own life.     Just a minute, Captain. I've never been 'busted.' In the ExplorationService, we regard Ordinary Spaceman as our highest rank. With myhazard pay, I get more hard cash than      you     do, and I'm closer toretirement.     That's a shallow excuse for complacency.     Complacency! I've seen ten thousand wonders in twenty years of space,with a million variations. But the patterns repeat themselves. We learnto know what to expect, so maybe we can't maintain the reactionarycaution the service likes in officers.     I resent the word 'reactionary,' Spaceman! In civilian life, I wasa lapidary and I learned the value of deliberation. But I never gottoo cataleptic to tap a million-dollar gem, which is more than mycontemporaries can say, many of 'em.     Captain Gavin, Quade said patiently, you must realize that anoutsider like you, among a crew of skilled spacemen, can never be morethan a figurehead.     Was this the way I was to be treated? Why, this man had deliberatelyinsulted me, his captain. I controlled myself, remembering thefamiliarity that had always existed between members of a crew workingunder close conditions, from the time of the ancient submarines and thefirst orbital ships.     Quade, I said, there's only one way for us to find out which of usis right about the cause of our scanning blackout.     We go out and find the reason.     Exactly. We go. You and me. I hope you can stand my company.     I'm not sure I can, he answered reluctantly. My hazard pay doesn'tcover exploring with rookies. With all due respect, Captain.     I clapped him on the shoulder. But, man, you have just been tellingme all we had to worry about was common transphasia. A man with yourexperience could protect himself and cover even a rookie, under suchfamiliar conditions—right?     Yes, sir, I suppose I could, Quade said, bitterly aware he had lostout somewhere and hoping that it wasn't the start of a trend.  <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>Feeling better? I asked Quade in the infirmary.     He punched up his pillow and settled back. I guess so. But when Ithink of all the ways I nearly got myself killed out there.... How farhave you got in the tractors?     I'm having the tractors torn down and the parts put back into thespaceship where they belong. We      shouldn't     risk losing them andgetting stuck here.     Are you settling for a primary exploration?     No. I think I had the right idea on your rescue party. You have tomeet and fight a planet on its own terms. Fighting confused sounds andtastes with music and wine was crude, but it was on the right track.Out there, we understood language because we were familiar with alienlanguages changed to other sense mediums by cybernetic translators.Using the translator, we can learn to recognize all confused data aseasily. I'm starting indoctrination courses.     I doubt that that is necessary, sir, Quade said. Experiencedspacemen are experienced with transphasia. You don't have to worry. Inthe future, I'll be able to resist sensations that tell me I'm freezingto death—if my gauges tell me it's a lie.     I examined his bandisprayed hide. I think my way of gaining experienceis less painful and more efficient.     Quade squirmed. Yes, sir. One thing, sir—I don't understand how yougot me away from those aliens.     The aliens were trying to help. They knew something was wrong and theywere prodding and probing. When the first tractor pulled up and the mengot out, they seemed to realize our own people could help us easierthan they could.     I am not quite convinced that those babies just meant to help us allthe time.     But they did! First, that call of theirs—it wasn't to lead us intodanger, but to warn us of the cliff, the freezing wind. They saw wewere trying to find out things about their world, so they even offeredus one of their own kind to study. Unfortunately, he was too much forus. They didn't give us their top man, of course, only the villageidiot. It's just as well. We aren't allowed to dissect creatures thatfar up the intelligence scale.     But why should they want to help us? Quade demanded suspiciously.     I think it's like Nagurski's dog. The dog came to him when it wantedsomebody to own it, protect it, feed it, love it. These aliens      want     Earthmen to colonize the planet. We came here, you see, same as the dogcame to Nagurski.     Well, I've learned one thing from all of this, Quade said. I've beena blind, arrogant, cocksure fool, following courses that were good on      some     worlds,      most     worlds, but not good on      all     worlds. I'm nevergoing to be that foolhardy again.     But you're losing      confidence     , Quade! You aren't sure of yourself anymore. Isn't confidence a spaceman's most valuable asset?     The hell it is, Quade said grimly. It's his deadliest liability.     In that case, I must inform you that I am demoting you to ActingExecutive Officer.     Huh? Quade gawked. But dammit, Captain, you can't do that to me!I'll lose hazard pay and be that much further from retirement!     That's tough, I sympathized, but in every service a chap gets brokenin rank now and then.     Maybe it's worth it, Quade said heavily. Now maybe I've learned howto stay alive out here. I just hope I don't forget.     I thought about that. I was nearly through with my first mission andI could speak with experience, even if it was the least amount ofexperience aboard.     Quade, I said, space isn't as dangerous as all that. I clapped himon the shoulder fraternally. You worry too much!   <doc-sep>Sergeant-Major Hoffman and his team were doing a good job of rippingout the side of the afterhold. Through the portal I could see thesuited men expertly guiding the huge curved sections on their rayprojectors.     Cannibalizing is dangerous. Nagurski put his pipe in his teeth andshook his head disapprovingly.     Spaceships have parts as interchangeable as Erector sets. We cantake apart the tractors and put our ship back together again after wecomplete the survey.     You can't assemble a jigsaw puzzle if some of the pieces are missing.     You can't get a complete picture, but you can get a good idea ofwhat it looks like. We can take off in a reasonable facsimile of aspaceship.     Not, he persisted, if      too     many parts are missing.     Nagurski, if you are looking for a job safer than space exploration,why don't you go back to testing cosmic bomb shelters?     Nagurski flushed. Look here, Captain, you are being too damnedcautious. There is a way one handles the survey of a planet like this,and this isn't the way.     It's my way. You heard what Quade said. You know it yourself. The menhave to have something tangible to hang onto out there. One slendercable isn't enough of an edge on sensory anarchy. If the product oftheir own technological civilization can keep them sane, I say let 'emtake a part of that environment with them.     In departing from standard procedure that we have learned to trust,you are risking more than a few men—you risk the whole mission ingambling so much of the ship. A captain doesn't take chances like that!     I never said I wouldn't take chances. But I'm not going to take      stupid     chances. I      might     be doing the wrong thing, but I can see you      would     be doing it wrong.     You know nothing about space, Captain! You have to trust      us     .     That's it exactly, First Officer Nagurski, I said sociably. If youlazy, lax, complacent slobs want to do something in a particular way, Iknow it      has     to be wrong.     I turned and found Wallace, the personnel man, standing in the hatchway.     Pardon, Captain, but would you say we also lacked initiative?     I would, I answered levelly.     Then you'll be interested to hear that Spaceman Quade took a suit anda cartographer unit. He's out there somewhere, alone.     The idiot! I yelped. Everyone needs a partner out there. Send out ateam to follow his cable and drag him in here by it.     He didn't hook on a cable, Captain, Wallace said. I suppose heintended to go beyond the three-mile limit as you demanded.     Shut up, Wallace. You don't have to like me, but you can't twist whatI said as long as I command this spacer.     Cool off, Gav, Nagurski advised me. It's been done before. Anybodyelse would have been a fool to go out alone, but Quade is the mostexperienced man we have. He knows transphasia. Trust him.     I trusted him too far by letting him run around loose. He needs aleash in more ways than one, and I'm going to put one on him.  <doc-sep>Quade was as conversational as ever, though. I can't seeirregularities occurring in a gravitational field. We must havecompensated for the transphasia while we still had a point ofreference, the solid reality of the spaceship. But out here, where allwe have to hang onto is each other, our concept of reality goes      bang     and deflates to a tired joke.     Before I could agree with one of his theories for once, a streak ofspice shot past us. It bounced back tangily and made a bitter ripbetween the two of us. There was no time to judge its size, if it hadsize, or its decibel range, or its caloric count, before a small, sharppain dug in and dwindled down to nothing in one long second.     The new odor pattern in my head told me Quade was saying something Icouldn't quite make out.     Quade then pulled me in the direction of the nasty little pain.     Wait a minute, Spaceman! I bellowed. Where the devil do you thinkyou're dragging me? Halt! That's a direct order.     He stopped. Don't you want to find out what that was? This      is     anexploration party, you know, sir.     I'm not sure I do want to find out what that was just now. I didn'tlike the feel of it. But the important thing is for us not to get anyfurther from the ship.     That's important, Captain?     To the best of my judgment, yes. This—condition—didn't begin untilwe got so far away from the spacer—in time or distance. I don't wantit to get any worse. It's troublesome not to know black from white, butit would be a downright inconvenience not to know which way is up.     Not for an experienced spaceman, Quade griped. I'm used tofree-fall.     But he turned back.     Just a minute, I said. There was something strange up ahead. I wantto see if short-range radar can get through our electrogravitationaljamming here.     I took a sighting. My helmet set projected the pattern on the cornea.Sweetness building up to a stab of pure salt—those were the blips.     Beside me, there was a thin thread of violet. Quade had whistled. Hewas reading the map too.     The slope fell away sharply in front of us, becoming a deep gorge.There was something broken and twisted at the bottom, something we hadknown for an instant as a streak of spice.     There's one free-fall, I said, where you wouldn't live long enoughto get used to it.     He said nothing on the route back to the spacer.  <doc-sep>There they are! Nagurski called. Quade's footsteps again, justbeyond that rocky ridge.     The landscape was rich chocolate ice cream smothered with chocolatesyrup, caramel, peanuts and maple syrup, eaten while you smoked an old,mellow Havana. The footsteps were faint traces of whipped cream acrossthe dark, rich taste of the planet.     I splashed some wine from my drinking tube against the roof of my mouthto sharpen my taste. It brought out the footsteps sharper. It also madethe landscape more of a teen-ager's caloric nightmare.     The four of us pulled ourselves closer together by reeling in moreof our safety line. Farley and Hoffman, Nagurski and myself, we werecabled together. It gave us a larger hunk of reality to hold onto. Evenso, things wavered for me during a wisp of time.     We stumbled over the ridge, feeling out the territory. It was a stickyjob crawling over a melting, chunk-style Hershey bar. I was thankfulfor the invigorating Sousa march blasting inside my helmet. Before thetape had cut in, kicked on by the decibel gauge, I had heard or feltsomething dark and ominous in the outside air.     Yes, this is definitely the trail of Quail, Nagurski said soberly.This is serious business. I must ask whoever has been giggling onthis channel to shut up. Pardon me, Captain.      You     weren't giggling,sir?     I have never giggled in my life, Nagurski.     Yes, sir. That's what we all thought.     A moment later, Nagurski added, Anyway, I just noticed it was myshelf—my, that is, self.     The basso profundo performing      Figaro     on my headset climbed to agirlish shriek. A sliver of ice. This was the call Quade and I hadfirst heard as we were about to troop over a cliff. I dug in my heels.     Take a good look around, boys, I said. What do you see?     Quail, Nagurski replied. That's what I see.     You, I said carefully, have been in space a      long     time. Look again.     I see our old buddy, Quail.     I took another slosh of burgundy and peered up ahead. It      was     Quade. Aman in a spacesuit, faceplate in the dust, two hundred yards ahead.       Grudgingly I stepped forward, out of the shadow of the ridge.A hysterically screaming wind rocked me on my toes. We pushedon sluggishly to Quade's side, moving to the tempo of      Pomp andCircumstance     .     Farley lugged Quade over on his back and read his gauges.     The Quartermaster rose with grim deliberation, and hiccuped. Betterget him back to the spaceship fast. I've seen this kind of thingbefore with transphasia. His body cooled down because of the screamingwind—psychosomatic reaction—and his heating circuits compensated forthe cool flesh. The poor devil's got frostbite and heat prostration.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What led to the conflict between the Captain and Quade in THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"How do Gavin and Nagurski's attitudes differ in THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS? [SEP] <s>   THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS     By JIM HARMON     Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Magazine August 1959.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        Now was the captain's chance to prove he knew       less than the crew—all their lives hung upon it!        There was nothing showing on the video screen. That was why we werelooking at it so analytically.     Transphasia, that's what it is, Ordinary Spaceman Quade stated witha definite thrust of his angular jaw in my direction. You can take myword on that, Captain Gavin.     Can't, I told him. I can't trust your opinion. I can't trust      anything     . That's why I'm Captain.     You'll get over feeling like that.     I know. Then I'll become First Officer.     But look at that screen, sir, Quade said with an emphatic swing ofhis scarred arm. I've seen blank scanning like that before and youhaven't—it's your first trip. This always means transphasia—cortexdissolution, motor area feedback, the Aitchell Effect—call it anythingyou like, it's still transphasia.     I know what transphasia is, I said moderately. It means anelectrogravitational disturbance of incoming sense data, rechannelingit to the wrong receptive areas. Besides the human brain, it alsoeffects electronic equipment, like radar and television.     Obviously. Quade glanced disgustedly at the screen.     Too obvious. This time it might not be a familiar condition of manyplanetary gravitational fields. On this planet, that blank kinescopemay mean our Big Brother kites were knocked down by hostile natives.     You are plain wrong, Captain. Traditionally, alien races neverinterfere with our explorations. Generally, they are so alien to usthey can't even recognize our existence.  <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>There they are! Nagurski called. Quade's footsteps again, justbeyond that rocky ridge.     The landscape was rich chocolate ice cream smothered with chocolatesyrup, caramel, peanuts and maple syrup, eaten while you smoked an old,mellow Havana. The footsteps were faint traces of whipped cream acrossthe dark, rich taste of the planet.     I splashed some wine from my drinking tube against the roof of my mouthto sharpen my taste. It brought out the footsteps sharper. It also madethe landscape more of a teen-ager's caloric nightmare.     The four of us pulled ourselves closer together by reeling in moreof our safety line. Farley and Hoffman, Nagurski and myself, we werecabled together. It gave us a larger hunk of reality to hold onto. Evenso, things wavered for me during a wisp of time.     We stumbled over the ridge, feeling out the territory. It was a stickyjob crawling over a melting, chunk-style Hershey bar. I was thankfulfor the invigorating Sousa march blasting inside my helmet. Before thetape had cut in, kicked on by the decibel gauge, I had heard or feltsomething dark and ominous in the outside air.     Yes, this is definitely the trail of Quail, Nagurski said soberly.This is serious business. I must ask whoever has been giggling onthis channel to shut up. Pardon me, Captain.      You     weren't giggling,sir?     I have never giggled in my life, Nagurski.     Yes, sir. That's what we all thought.     A moment later, Nagurski added, Anyway, I just noticed it was myshelf—my, that is, self.     The basso profundo performing      Figaro     on my headset climbed to agirlish shriek. A sliver of ice. This was the call Quade and I hadfirst heard as we were about to troop over a cliff. I dug in my heels.     Take a good look around, boys, I said. What do you see?     Quail, Nagurski replied. That's what I see.     You, I said carefully, have been in space a      long     time. Look again.     I see our old buddy, Quail.     I took another slosh of burgundy and peered up ahead. It      was     Quade. Aman in a spacesuit, faceplate in the dust, two hundred yards ahead.       Grudgingly I stepped forward, out of the shadow of the ridge.A hysterically screaming wind rocked me on my toes. We pushedon sluggishly to Quade's side, moving to the tempo of      Pomp andCircumstance     .     Farley lugged Quade over on his back and read his gauges.     The Quartermaster rose with grim deliberation, and hiccuped. Betterget him back to the spaceship fast. I've seen this kind of thingbefore with transphasia. His body cooled down because of the screamingwind—psychosomatic reaction—and his heating circuits compensated forthe cool flesh. The poor devil's got frostbite and heat prostration.  <doc-sep>Sergeant-Major Hoffman and his team were doing a good job of rippingout the side of the afterhold. Through the portal I could see thesuited men expertly guiding the huge curved sections on their rayprojectors.     Cannibalizing is dangerous. Nagurski put his pipe in his teeth andshook his head disapprovingly.     Spaceships have parts as interchangeable as Erector sets. We cantake apart the tractors and put our ship back together again after wecomplete the survey.     You can't assemble a jigsaw puzzle if some of the pieces are missing.     You can't get a complete picture, but you can get a good idea ofwhat it looks like. We can take off in a reasonable facsimile of aspaceship.     Not, he persisted, if      too     many parts are missing.     Nagurski, if you are looking for a job safer than space exploration,why don't you go back to testing cosmic bomb shelters?     Nagurski flushed. Look here, Captain, you are being too damnedcautious. There is a way one handles the survey of a planet like this,and this isn't the way.     It's my way. You heard what Quade said. You know it yourself. The menhave to have something tangible to hang onto out there. One slendercable isn't enough of an edge on sensory anarchy. If the product oftheir own technological civilization can keep them sane, I say let 'emtake a part of that environment with them.     In departing from standard procedure that we have learned to trust,you are risking more than a few men—you risk the whole mission ingambling so much of the ship. A captain doesn't take chances like that!     I never said I wouldn't take chances. But I'm not going to take      stupid     chances. I      might     be doing the wrong thing, but I can see you      would     be doing it wrong.     You know nothing about space, Captain! You have to trust      us     .     That's it exactly, First Officer Nagurski, I said sociably. If youlazy, lax, complacent slobs want to do something in a particular way, Iknow it      has     to be wrong.     I turned and found Wallace, the personnel man, standing in the hatchway.     Pardon, Captain, but would you say we also lacked initiative?     I would, I answered levelly.     Then you'll be interested to hear that Spaceman Quade took a suit anda cartographer unit. He's out there somewhere, alone.     The idiot! I yelped. Everyone needs a partner out there. Send out ateam to follow his cable and drag him in here by it.     He didn't hook on a cable, Captain, Wallace said. I suppose heintended to go beyond the three-mile limit as you demanded.     Shut up, Wallace. You don't have to like me, but you can't twist whatI said as long as I command this spacer.     Cool off, Gav, Nagurski advised me. It's been done before. Anybodyelse would have been a fool to go out alone, but Quade is the mostexperienced man we have. He knows transphasia. Trust him.     I trusted him too far by letting him run around loose. He needs aleash in more ways than one, and I'm going to put one on him.  <doc-sep>I know all about this sort of thing, Gav, First Officer Nagurski saidexpansively. He was rubbing the well-worn ears of our beagle mascot,Bruce. A heavy tail thudded on the steel deck from time to time.     My finger could barely get in the chafing band of my regulation collar.I was hot and tired, fresh—in only the chronological sense—from apressure suit.     What do you know all about, Nagurski? Dogs? Spacemen? Women?Transphasia?     Yes, he answered casually. But I had immediate reference to ourcurrent psychophysiological phenomenon.     I collapsed into the swivel in front of the chart table. First off,let's hear what you know about—never mind, make it dogs.     Take Bruce, for example, then—     No, thanks. I was wondering why      you     did.     I didn't. His dark, round face was bland. Bruce picked me. Followedme home one night in Chicago Port. The dog or the man who picks his ownmaster is the most content.     Bruce is content, I admitted. He couldn't be any more content andstill be alive. But I'm not sure that theory works out with men. We'dhave anarchy if I tried to let these starbucks pick their own master.           I     had no trouble when I was a captain, Nagurski said. Ease thereins on the men. Just offer them your advice, your guidance. Theywill soon see why the service selected you as captain; they will pickyou themselves.     Did your crew voluntarily elect you as their leader?     Of course they did, Gav. I'm an old hand at controlling crews.     Then why are you First Officer under me now?     He blinked, then decided to laugh. I've been in space a good manyyears. I really wanted to relax a little bit more. Besides, theincrease in hazard pay was actually more than my salary as a captain.I'm a notch nearer retirement too.     Tell me, did you always feel this way about letting the men selecttheir own leader?  <doc-sep>The four of us managed to haul Quade back by using the powered jointsin our suits. Hoffman suggested that he had once seen an injuredman walked back inside his suit like a robot, but it was a delicateadjustment, controlling power circuits from outside a suit. It was toomuch for us—we were too tired, too numb, too drunk.     At first sight of the spacer in the distance, transphasia left me withonly a chocolate-tasting pink after-image on my retina. It was nowshowing bare skeleton from cannibalization for tractor parts, but itlooked good to me, like home.     The wailing call sounded through the amber twilight.     I realized that I was actually      hearing     it for the first time.     The alien stood between us and the ship. It was a great pot-belliedlizard as tall as a man. Its sound came from a flat, vibrating beavertail. Others of its kind were coming into view behind it.     Stand your ground, I warned the others thickly. They may bedangerous.     Quade sat up on our crisscross litter of arms. Aliens can't behostile. Ethnic impossibility. I'll show you.     Quade was delirious and we were drunk. He got away from us and joggedtoward the herd.     Let's give him a hand! Farley shouted. We'll take us a specimen!     I couldn't stop them. Being in Alpine rope with them, I went along. Atthe time, it even seemed vaguely like a good idea.     As we lumbered toward them, the aliens fell back in a solid line exceptfor the first curious-looking one. Quade got there ahead of us and madea grab. The creature rose into the air with a screaming vibration ofhis tail and landed on top of him, flattening him instantly.     Sssh, men, Nagurski said. Leave it to me. I'll surround him.     The men followed the First Officer's example, and the rope tying themto him. I went along cheerfully myself, until an enormous rump struckme violently in the face. My leaded boots were driven down into fertilesoil, and my helmet was ringing like a bell. I got a jerky picture ofthe beast jumping up and down on top of the others joyously. Only thestiff space armor was holding up our slack frames.     Let's let him escape, Hoffman suggested on the audio circuit.     I'd like to, Nagurski admitted, but the other beasts won't let usget past their circle.     It was true. The aliens formed a ring around us, and each time abouncing boy hit the line, he only bounced back on top of us.     Flat! I yelled. Our seams can't take much more of this beating.     I followed my own advice and landed in the dirt beside Quade.     The bouncer came to rest and regarded us silently, head on aneighty-degree angle.     I was stone sober.     The others were lying around me quietly, passed out, knocked out, ortaking cover.     The ring of aliens drew in about us, closer, tighter, as the bouncersat on his haunches and waited for us to move.  <doc-sep>Feeling better? I asked Quade in the infirmary.     He punched up his pillow and settled back. I guess so. But when Ithink of all the ways I nearly got myself killed out there.... How farhave you got in the tractors?     I'm having the tractors torn down and the parts put back into thespaceship where they belong. We      shouldn't     risk losing them andgetting stuck here.     Are you settling for a primary exploration?     No. I think I had the right idea on your rescue party. You have tomeet and fight a planet on its own terms. Fighting confused sounds andtastes with music and wine was crude, but it was on the right track.Out there, we understood language because we were familiar with alienlanguages changed to other sense mediums by cybernetic translators.Using the translator, we can learn to recognize all confused data aseasily. I'm starting indoctrination courses.     I doubt that that is necessary, sir, Quade said. Experiencedspacemen are experienced with transphasia. You don't have to worry. Inthe future, I'll be able to resist sensations that tell me I'm freezingto death—if my gauges tell me it's a lie.     I examined his bandisprayed hide. I think my way of gaining experienceis less painful and more efficient.     Quade squirmed. Yes, sir. One thing, sir—I don't understand how yougot me away from those aliens.     The aliens were trying to help. They knew something was wrong and theywere prodding and probing. When the first tractor pulled up and the mengot out, they seemed to realize our own people could help us easierthan they could.     I am not quite convinced that those babies just meant to help us allthe time.     But they did! First, that call of theirs—it wasn't to lead us intodanger, but to warn us of the cliff, the freezing wind. They saw wewere trying to find out things about their world, so they even offeredus one of their own kind to study. Unfortunately, he was too much forus. They didn't give us their top man, of course, only the villageidiot. It's just as well. We aren't allowed to dissect creatures thatfar up the intelligence scale.     But why should they want to help us? Quade demanded suspiciously.     I think it's like Nagurski's dog. The dog came to him when it wantedsomebody to own it, protect it, feed it, love it. These aliens      want     Earthmen to colonize the planet. We came here, you see, same as the dogcame to Nagurski.     Well, I've learned one thing from all of this, Quade said. I've beena blind, arrogant, cocksure fool, following courses that were good on      some     worlds,      most     worlds, but not good on      all     worlds. I'm nevergoing to be that foolhardy again.     But you're losing      confidence     , Quade! You aren't sure of yourself anymore. Isn't confidence a spaceman's most valuable asset?     The hell it is, Quade said grimly. It's his deadliest liability.     In that case, I must inform you that I am demoting you to ActingExecutive Officer.     Huh? Quade gawked. But dammit, Captain, you can't do that to me!I'll lose hazard pay and be that much further from retirement!     That's tough, I sympathized, but in every service a chap gets brokenin rank now and then.     Maybe it's worth it, Quade said heavily. Now maybe I've learned howto stay alive out here. I just hope I don't forget.     I thought about that. I was nearly through with my first mission andI could speak with experience, even if it was the least amount ofexperience aboard.     Quade, I said, space isn't as dangerous as all that. I clapped himon the shoulder fraternally. You worry too much!   <doc-sep>He was having a nightmare when he heard the voice, Hey. Wake up. Hey!     He opened his eyes, saw Hendricks' ugly face and thought for a minutehe was still having the nightmare.     I just saw your doctor, Hendricks said. He says your treatment isover. You can go home now. I thought I'd give you a lift.     As Joe dressed, he searched his mind and tried to find some difference.     During the treatment, he had been unconscious or drugged, unable tothink. Now he could think clearly, but he could find no difference inhimself.     He felt more relaxed than he'd ever felt before, but that could be anafter-effect of all the sedatives he'd been given. And, he noticed whenhe looked in the mirror, he was paler. The treatment had taken monthsand he had, between operations, been locked in his room.     Hendricks was standing by the window. Joe stared at the massive back.Deliberately goading his mind, he discovered the biggest change:Before, the mere sight of the man had aroused an intense hatred. Now,even when he tried, he succeeded in arousing only a mild hatred.They had toned down his capacity to hate, but not done away with italtogether.     Come here and take a look at your public, said Hendricks.     Joe went to the window. Three stories below, a large crowd had gatheredon the hospital steps: a band, photographers, television trucks,cameramen and autograph hunters. He'd waited a long time for this day.But now—another change in him—     He put the emotion into words: I don't feel like a hero. Funny, but Idon't.     Hero! Hendricks laughed and, with his powerful lungs, it soundedlike a bull snorting. You think a successful criminal is a hero? Youstupid—     He laughed again and waved a hand at the crowd below them. You thinkthose people are down there because they admire what you did? They'redown there waiting for you because they're curious, because they'reglad the CPA caught you, and because they're glad you're an Ex. You'rean      ex     -criminal now, and because of your treatment, you'll never beable to commit another crime as long as you live. And that's the kindof guy they admire, so they want to see you, shake your hand and getyour autograph.     Joe didn't understand Hendricks completely, but the part he didunderstand he didn't believe. A crowd was waiting for him. He could seethe people with his own eyes. When he left the hospital, they'd cheerand shout and ask for his autograph. If he wasn't a hero,      what washe     ?  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How do Gavin and Nagurski's attitudes differ in THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"How does Quade's character develop throughout THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS? [SEP] <s>   THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS     By JIM HARMON     Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Magazine August 1959.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        Now was the captain's chance to prove he knew       less than the crew—all their lives hung upon it!        There was nothing showing on the video screen. That was why we werelooking at it so analytically.     Transphasia, that's what it is, Ordinary Spaceman Quade stated witha definite thrust of his angular jaw in my direction. You can take myword on that, Captain Gavin.     Can't, I told him. I can't trust your opinion. I can't trust      anything     . That's why I'm Captain.     You'll get over feeling like that.     I know. Then I'll become First Officer.     But look at that screen, sir, Quade said with an emphatic swing ofhis scarred arm. I've seen blank scanning like that before and youhaven't—it's your first trip. This always means transphasia—cortexdissolution, motor area feedback, the Aitchell Effect—call it anythingyou like, it's still transphasia.     I know what transphasia is, I said moderately. It means anelectrogravitational disturbance of incoming sense data, rechannelingit to the wrong receptive areas. Besides the human brain, it alsoeffects electronic equipment, like radar and television.     Obviously. Quade glanced disgustedly at the screen.     Too obvious. This time it might not be a familiar condition of manyplanetary gravitational fields. On this planet, that blank kinescopemay mean our Big Brother kites were knocked down by hostile natives.     You are plain wrong, Captain. Traditionally, alien races neverinterfere with our explorations. Generally, they are so alien to usthey can't even recognize our existence.  <doc-sep>Looks okay to me, I said. Quade passed a gauntlet over his faceplate.It's real. I can blur it with a smudged visor. When it blurs, it'ssolid.     The landscape beyond the black corona left by our landing rockets wasunimpressive. The rocky desert was made up of silicon and iron oxide,so it looked much the same as a terrestrial location. Yellowish-whitesand ran up to and around reddish brown rock clawing into the pinksunlight.     I don't understand it, Quade admitted. Transphasia hits you a foulas soon as you let it into the airlock.     Apparently, Quade,      this     thing is going to creep up on us.     Don't sound smug, Captain. It's pitty-pattying behind you too.     The keening call across the surface of consciousness postponed my reply.     The wail was ominously forlorn, defiant of description. I turned myhead around slowly inside my helmet, not even sure that I had heard it.     But what else can you do with a wail but      hear     it?     Quade nodded. I've felt this before. It usually hits sooner. Let'strace it.     I don't like this, I admitted. It's not at all what I expected fromwhat you said about transphasia. It must be something else.     It couldn't be anything else. I know what to expect. You don't. Youmay begin smelling sensations, tasting sounds, hearing sights, seeingtastes, touching odors—or any other combination. Don't let it botheryou.     Of course not. I'll soothe my nerves by counting little shocks oflanolin jumping over a loud fence.     Quade grinned behind his faceplate. Good idea.     Then you can have it. I'm going to try keeping my eyes open andstaying alive.     There was no reply.     His expression was tart and greasy despite all his light talk, andI knew mine was the same. I tested the security rope between ourpressure suits. It was a taut and virile bass.     We scaled a staccato of rocks, our suits grinding pepper against ourhides.     The musk summit rose before us, a minor-key horizon with a shiftingtreble for as far as I could smell. It was primitive beauty that madeyou feel shocking pink inside. The most beautiful vista I had evertasted, it couldn't be dulled even by the sensation of beef broth undermy skin.     Is this transphasia? I asked in awe.     It always has been before, Quade remarked. Ready to swallow yourwords about this being something an old hand wouldn't recognize,Captain?     I'm swallowing no words until I find out precisely how they tastehere.     Not a bad taste. They're pretty. Or haven't you noticed?     Quade, you're right! About the colors anyway. This reminds me of anilliscope recording from a cybernetic translator.     It should. I don't suppose we could understand each other if it wasn'tfor our morphistudy courses in reading cross-sense translations ofCentauri blushtalk and the like.     It became difficult to understand him, difficult to try talking in theface of such splendor. You never really appreciate colors until yousmell them for the first time.  <doc-sep>Feeling better? I asked Quade in the infirmary.     He punched up his pillow and settled back. I guess so. But when Ithink of all the ways I nearly got myself killed out there.... How farhave you got in the tractors?     I'm having the tractors torn down and the parts put back into thespaceship where they belong. We      shouldn't     risk losing them andgetting stuck here.     Are you settling for a primary exploration?     No. I think I had the right idea on your rescue party. You have tomeet and fight a planet on its own terms. Fighting confused sounds andtastes with music and wine was crude, but it was on the right track.Out there, we understood language because we were familiar with alienlanguages changed to other sense mediums by cybernetic translators.Using the translator, we can learn to recognize all confused data aseasily. I'm starting indoctrination courses.     I doubt that that is necessary, sir, Quade said. Experiencedspacemen are experienced with transphasia. You don't have to worry. Inthe future, I'll be able to resist sensations that tell me I'm freezingto death—if my gauges tell me it's a lie.     I examined his bandisprayed hide. I think my way of gaining experienceis less painful and more efficient.     Quade squirmed. Yes, sir. One thing, sir—I don't understand how yougot me away from those aliens.     The aliens were trying to help. They knew something was wrong and theywere prodding and probing. When the first tractor pulled up and the mengot out, they seemed to realize our own people could help us easierthan they could.     I am not quite convinced that those babies just meant to help us allthe time.     But they did! First, that call of theirs—it wasn't to lead us intodanger, but to warn us of the cliff, the freezing wind. They saw wewere trying to find out things about their world, so they even offeredus one of their own kind to study. Unfortunately, he was too much forus. They didn't give us their top man, of course, only the villageidiot. It's just as well. We aren't allowed to dissect creatures thatfar up the intelligence scale.     But why should they want to help us? Quade demanded suspiciously.     I think it's like Nagurski's dog. The dog came to him when it wantedsomebody to own it, protect it, feed it, love it. These aliens      want     Earthmen to colonize the planet. We came here, you see, same as the dogcame to Nagurski.     Well, I've learned one thing from all of this, Quade said. I've beena blind, arrogant, cocksure fool, following courses that were good on      some     worlds,      most     worlds, but not good on      all     worlds. I'm nevergoing to be that foolhardy again.     But you're losing      confidence     , Quade! You aren't sure of yourself anymore. Isn't confidence a spaceman's most valuable asset?     The hell it is, Quade said grimly. It's his deadliest liability.     In that case, I must inform you that I am demoting you to ActingExecutive Officer.     Huh? Quade gawked. But dammit, Captain, you can't do that to me!I'll lose hazard pay and be that much further from retirement!     That's tough, I sympathized, but in every service a chap gets brokenin rank now and then.     Maybe it's worth it, Quade said heavily. Now maybe I've learned howto stay alive out here. I just hope I don't forget.     I thought about that. I was nearly through with my first mission andI could speak with experience, even if it was the least amount ofexperience aboard.     Quade, I said, space isn't as dangerous as all that. I clapped himon the shoulder fraternally. You worry too much!   <doc-sep>The four of us managed to haul Quade back by using the powered jointsin our suits. Hoffman suggested that he had once seen an injuredman walked back inside his suit like a robot, but it was a delicateadjustment, controlling power circuits from outside a suit. It was toomuch for us—we were too tired, too numb, too drunk.     At first sight of the spacer in the distance, transphasia left me withonly a chocolate-tasting pink after-image on my retina. It was nowshowing bare skeleton from cannibalization for tractor parts, but itlooked good to me, like home.     The wailing call sounded through the amber twilight.     I realized that I was actually      hearing     it for the first time.     The alien stood between us and the ship. It was a great pot-belliedlizard as tall as a man. Its sound came from a flat, vibrating beavertail. Others of its kind were coming into view behind it.     Stand your ground, I warned the others thickly. They may bedangerous.     Quade sat up on our crisscross litter of arms. Aliens can't behostile. Ethnic impossibility. I'll show you.     Quade was delirious and we were drunk. He got away from us and joggedtoward the herd.     Let's give him a hand! Farley shouted. We'll take us a specimen!     I couldn't stop them. Being in Alpine rope with them, I went along. Atthe time, it even seemed vaguely like a good idea.     As we lumbered toward them, the aliens fell back in a solid line exceptfor the first curious-looking one. Quade got there ahead of us and madea grab. The creature rose into the air with a screaming vibration ofhis tail and landed on top of him, flattening him instantly.     Sssh, men, Nagurski said. Leave it to me. I'll surround him.     The men followed the First Officer's example, and the rope tying themto him. I went along cheerfully myself, until an enormous rump struckme violently in the face. My leaded boots were driven down into fertilesoil, and my helmet was ringing like a bell. I got a jerky picture ofthe beast jumping up and down on top of the others joyously. Only thestiff space armor was holding up our slack frames.     Let's let him escape, Hoffman suggested on the audio circuit.     I'd like to, Nagurski admitted, but the other beasts won't let usget past their circle.     It was true. The aliens formed a ring around us, and each time abouncing boy hit the line, he only bounced back on top of us.     Flat! I yelled. Our seams can't take much more of this beating.     I followed my own advice and landed in the dirt beside Quade.     The bouncer came to rest and regarded us silently, head on aneighty-degree angle.     I was stone sober.     The others were lying around me quietly, passed out, knocked out, ortaking cover.     The ring of aliens drew in about us, closer, tighter, as the bouncersat on his haunches and waited for us to move.  <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>I drew myself up to my full height—and noticed in irritation it wasstill an inch less than Quade's. I don't understand you men. Look atyourself, Quade. You've been busted to Ordinary Spaceman for just thatkind of thinking, for relying on tradition, on things that have workedbefore. Not only your thinking is slipshod, you've grown careless abouteverything else, even your own life.     Just a minute, Captain. I've never been 'busted.' In the ExplorationService, we regard Ordinary Spaceman as our highest rank. With myhazard pay, I get more hard cash than      you     do, and I'm closer toretirement.     That's a shallow excuse for complacency.     Complacency! I've seen ten thousand wonders in twenty years of space,with a million variations. But the patterns repeat themselves. We learnto know what to expect, so maybe we can't maintain the reactionarycaution the service likes in officers.     I resent the word 'reactionary,' Spaceman! In civilian life, I wasa lapidary and I learned the value of deliberation. But I never gottoo cataleptic to tap a million-dollar gem, which is more than mycontemporaries can say, many of 'em.     Captain Gavin, Quade said patiently, you must realize that anoutsider like you, among a crew of skilled spacemen, can never be morethan a figurehead.     Was this the way I was to be treated? Why, this man had deliberatelyinsulted me, his captain. I controlled myself, remembering thefamiliarity that had always existed between members of a crew workingunder close conditions, from the time of the ancient submarines and thefirst orbital ships.     Quade, I said, there's only one way for us to find out which of usis right about the cause of our scanning blackout.     We go out and find the reason.     Exactly. We go. You and me. I hope you can stand my company.     I'm not sure I can, he answered reluctantly. My hazard pay doesn'tcover exploring with rookies. With all due respect, Captain.     I clapped him on the shoulder. But, man, you have just been tellingme all we had to worry about was common transphasia. A man with yourexperience could protect himself and cover even a rookie, under suchfamiliar conditions—right?     Yes, sir, I suppose I could, Quade said, bitterly aware he had lostout somewhere and hoping that it wasn't the start of a trend.  <doc-sep>Quade was as conversational as ever, though. I can't seeirregularities occurring in a gravitational field. We must havecompensated for the transphasia while we still had a point ofreference, the solid reality of the spaceship. But out here, where allwe have to hang onto is each other, our concept of reality goes      bang     and deflates to a tired joke.     Before I could agree with one of his theories for once, a streak ofspice shot past us. It bounced back tangily and made a bitter ripbetween the two of us. There was no time to judge its size, if it hadsize, or its decibel range, or its caloric count, before a small, sharppain dug in and dwindled down to nothing in one long second.     The new odor pattern in my head told me Quade was saying something Icouldn't quite make out.     Quade then pulled me in the direction of the nasty little pain.     Wait a minute, Spaceman! I bellowed. Where the devil do you thinkyou're dragging me? Halt! That's a direct order.     He stopped. Don't you want to find out what that was? This      is     anexploration party, you know, sir.     I'm not sure I do want to find out what that was just now. I didn'tlike the feel of it. But the important thing is for us not to get anyfurther from the ship.     That's important, Captain?     To the best of my judgment, yes. This—condition—didn't begin untilwe got so far away from the spacer—in time or distance. I don't wantit to get any worse. It's troublesome not to know black from white, butit would be a downright inconvenience not to know which way is up.     Not for an experienced spaceman, Quade griped. I'm used tofree-fall.     But he turned back.     Just a minute, I said. There was something strange up ahead. I wantto see if short-range radar can get through our electrogravitationaljamming here.     I took a sighting. My helmet set projected the pattern on the cornea.Sweetness building up to a stab of pure salt—those were the blips.     Beside me, there was a thin thread of violet. Quade had whistled. Hewas reading the map too.     The slope fell away sharply in front of us, becoming a deep gorge.There was something broken and twisted at the bottom, something we hadknown for an instant as a streak of spice.     There's one free-fall, I said, where you wouldn't live long enoughto get used to it.     He said nothing on the route back to the spacer.  <doc-sep>There they are! Nagurski called. Quade's footsteps again, justbeyond that rocky ridge.     The landscape was rich chocolate ice cream smothered with chocolatesyrup, caramel, peanuts and maple syrup, eaten while you smoked an old,mellow Havana. The footsteps were faint traces of whipped cream acrossthe dark, rich taste of the planet.     I splashed some wine from my drinking tube against the roof of my mouthto sharpen my taste. It brought out the footsteps sharper. It also madethe landscape more of a teen-ager's caloric nightmare.     The four of us pulled ourselves closer together by reeling in moreof our safety line. Farley and Hoffman, Nagurski and myself, we werecabled together. It gave us a larger hunk of reality to hold onto. Evenso, things wavered for me during a wisp of time.     We stumbled over the ridge, feeling out the territory. It was a stickyjob crawling over a melting, chunk-style Hershey bar. I was thankfulfor the invigorating Sousa march blasting inside my helmet. Before thetape had cut in, kicked on by the decibel gauge, I had heard or feltsomething dark and ominous in the outside air.     Yes, this is definitely the trail of Quail, Nagurski said soberly.This is serious business. I must ask whoever has been giggling onthis channel to shut up. Pardon me, Captain.      You     weren't giggling,sir?     I have never giggled in my life, Nagurski.     Yes, sir. That's what we all thought.     A moment later, Nagurski added, Anyway, I just noticed it was myshelf—my, that is, self.     The basso profundo performing      Figaro     on my headset climbed to agirlish shriek. A sliver of ice. This was the call Quade and I hadfirst heard as we were about to troop over a cliff. I dug in my heels.     Take a good look around, boys, I said. What do you see?     Quail, Nagurski replied. That's what I see.     You, I said carefully, have been in space a      long     time. Look again.     I see our old buddy, Quail.     I took another slosh of burgundy and peered up ahead. It      was     Quade. Aman in a spacesuit, faceplate in the dust, two hundred yards ahead.       Grudgingly I stepped forward, out of the shadow of the ridge.A hysterically screaming wind rocked me on my toes. We pushedon sluggishly to Quade's side, moving to the tempo of      Pomp andCircumstance     .     Farley lugged Quade over on his back and read his gauges.     The Quartermaster rose with grim deliberation, and hiccuped. Betterget him back to the spaceship fast. I've seen this kind of thingbefore with transphasia. His body cooled down because of the screamingwind—psychosomatic reaction—and his heating circuits compensated forthe cool flesh. The poor devil's got frostbite and heat prostration.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does Quade's character develop throughout THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What role does cohesion play in THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS? [SEP] <s>   THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS     By JIM HARMON     Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Magazine August 1959.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        Now was the captain's chance to prove he knew       less than the crew—all their lives hung upon it!        There was nothing showing on the video screen. That was why we werelooking at it so analytically.     Transphasia, that's what it is, Ordinary Spaceman Quade stated witha definite thrust of his angular jaw in my direction. You can take myword on that, Captain Gavin.     Can't, I told him. I can't trust your opinion. I can't trust      anything     . That's why I'm Captain.     You'll get over feeling like that.     I know. Then I'll become First Officer.     But look at that screen, sir, Quade said with an emphatic swing ofhis scarred arm. I've seen blank scanning like that before and youhaven't—it's your first trip. This always means transphasia—cortexdissolution, motor area feedback, the Aitchell Effect—call it anythingyou like, it's still transphasia.     I know what transphasia is, I said moderately. It means anelectrogravitational disturbance of incoming sense data, rechannelingit to the wrong receptive areas. Besides the human brain, it alsoeffects electronic equipment, like radar and television.     Obviously. Quade glanced disgustedly at the screen.     Too obvious. This time it might not be a familiar condition of manyplanetary gravitational fields. On this planet, that blank kinescopemay mean our Big Brother kites were knocked down by hostile natives.     You are plain wrong, Captain. Traditionally, alien races neverinterfere with our explorations. Generally, they are so alien to usthey can't even recognize our existence.  <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>Joe was still dazed by that monetary vista when he and Harvey carriedthe case of medicine to the saloon. The mayor had already cleared aplace of honor in the cluttered back room, where he told them to put itdown carefully. Then he took the elaborate bottle-opener Harvey gavehim, reverently uncorked a bottle and sampled it. It must have been atleast as good as the first; he gagged.     That's the stuff, all right, he said, swallowing hard. He countedout the money into Harvey's hand, at a moderate rate that precariouslybalanced between his pleasure at getting the fever remedy and his painat paying for it. Then he glanced out to see the position of Jupiter,and asked: You gents eaten yet? The restaurant's open now.     Harvey and Joe looked at each other. They hadn't been thinking aboutfood at all, but suddenly they realized that they were hungry.     It's only water we were short of, Harvey said apprehensively. We'vegot rations back at the ship.           H-mph!      the mayor grunted. Powdered concentrates. Compressed pap.Suit yourselves. We treat our stomachs better here. And you're welcometo our hospitality.     Your hospitality, said Harvey, depends on the prices you charge.     Well, if that's what's worrying you, you can stop worrying, answeredthe mayor promptly. What's more, the kind of dinner I serve here youcan't get anywhere else for any price.     Swiftly, Harvey conned the possibilities of being bilked again. He sawnone.     Let's take a look at the menu, anyhow, Joe, he said guardedly.     Johnson immediately fell into the role of mine host.     Come right in, gents, he invited. Right into the dining room.     He seated them at a table, which a rope tied between posts made more orless private, though nobody else was in the saloon and there was littlechance of company.     Genius, the six-armed native, appeared from the dingy kitchen withtwo menus in one hand, two glasses of water in another, plus napkins,silverware, a pitcher, plates, saucers, cups, and their cocktails,which were on the house. Then he stood by for orders.     Harvey and Joe studied the menu critically. The prices werephenomenally low. When they glanced up at Johnson in perplexity, hegrinned, bowed and asked: Everything satisfactory, gents?     Quite, said Harvey. We shall order.     For an hour they were served amazing dishes, both fresh and canned, theculinary wealth of this planetoid and all the system. And the servicewas as extraordinary as the meal itself. With four hands, Genius playeddeftly upon a pair of mellow Venusian      viotars     , using his other twohands for waiting on the table.     We absolutely must purchase this incredible specimen, Harveywhispered excitedly when Johnson and the native were both in thekitchen, attending to the next course. He would make any societyhostess's season a riotous success, which should be worth a great sumto women like Mrs. van Schuyler-Morgan, merely for his hire.     Think of a fast one fast, Joe agreed. You're right.     But I dislike having to revise my opinion of a man so often,complained Harvey. I wish Johnson would stay either swindler or honestmerchant. This dinner is worth as least twenty buckos, yet I estimateour check at a mere bucko twenty redsents.     The mayor's appearance prevented them from continuing the discussion.     It's been a great honor, gents, he said. Ain't often I havevisitors, and I like the best, like you two gents.     As if on cue, Genius came out and put the check down between Joe andHarvey. Harvey picked it up negligently, but his casual air vanished ina yelp of horror.     What the devil is this? he shouted.—How do you arrive at thisfantastic, idiotic figure—      three hundred and twenty-eight buckos     !  <doc-sep>They had stopped their play and eating as Kaiser approached and nowmost of them swam in to shore and stood in the water, staring andpiping. They varied in size from small seal-pups to full-grown adults.Some chewed on bunches of water weed, which they manipulated with theirlips and drew into their mouths.     They had mammalian characteristics, Kaiser had noted before, so itwas not difficult to distinguish the females from the males. Theproportion was roughly fifty-fifty.     Several of the bolder males climbed up beside Kaiser and began pawinghis plastic clothing. Kaiser stood still and tried to keep hisbreathing shallow, for their odor was almost more than he could bear.One native smeared Kaiser's face with an exploring paw and Kaisergagged and pushed him roughly away. He was bound by regulations todisplay no hostility to newly discovered natives, but he couldn't takemuch more of this.     A young female splashed water on two young males who stood near andthey turned with shrill pipings and chased her into the water. Theentire group seemed to lose interest in Kaiser and joined in the chase,or went back to other diversions of their own. Kaiser's inspectorsfollowed.     They were a mindless lot, Kaiser observed. The river supplied them withan easy existence, with food and living space, and apparently they hadfew natural enemies.     Kaiser walked away, following the long slow bend of the river, andcame to a collection of perhaps two hundred dwellings built in threehaphazard rows along the river bank. He took time to study theirconstruction more closely this time.     They were all round domes, little more than the height of a man, builtof blocks that appeared to be mud, packed with river weed and sand. Howthey were able to dry these to give them the necessary solidity, Kaiserdid not know. He had found no signs that they knew how to use fire, andall apparent evidence was against their having it. They then had tohave sunlight. Maybe it rained less during certain seasons.     The domes' construction was based on a series of four arches built in acircle. When the base covering the periphery had been laid, four otherswere built on and between them, and continued in successive tiers untilthe top was reached. Each tier thus furnished support for the nextabove. No other framework was needed. The final tier formed the roof.They made sound shelters, but Kaiser had peered into several and foundthem dark and dank—and as smelly as the natives themselves.     The few loungers in the village paid little attention to Kaiser andhe wandered through the irregular streets until he became bored andreturned to the scout.     The      Soscites II     sent little that helped during the next twelve hoursand Kaiser occupied his time trying again to repair the damage to thescout.     The job appeared maddeningly simply. As the scout had glided in fora soft landing, its metal bottom had ridden a concealed rock and bentinward. The bent metal had carried up with it the tube supplying thefuel pump and flattened it against the motor casing.  <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>The following day was our seventh in the swamp. The water hereresembled a vast mosaic, striped and cross-striped with long windingribbons of yellowish substance that floated a few inches below thesurface. The mold balls coming into contact with the evonium water ofthe swamp had undergone a chemical change and evolved into a cohesivemulti-celled marine life that lived and died within a space of hours.The Venusians paddled with extreme care. Had one of them dipped hishand into one of those yellow streaks, he would have been devoured ina matter of seconds.     At high noon by my Earth watch I sighted a low white structure on oneof the distant islands. Moments later we made a landing at a rudejetty, and Grannie Annie was introducing me to Ezra Karn.     He was not as old a man as I had expected, but he was ragged andunkempt with iron gray hair falling almost to his shoulders. He wasdressed in      varpa     cloth, the Venus equivalent of buckskin, and on hishead was an enormous flop-brimmed hat.     Glad to meet you, he said, shaking my hand. Any friend of MissFlowers is a friend of mine. He ushered us down the catwalk into hishut.     The place was a two room affair, small but comfortable. The latesttype of visi set in one corner showed that Karn was not isolated fromcivilization entirely.     Grannie Annie came to the point abruptly. When she had explained theobject of our trip, the prospector became thoughtful.     Green Flames, eh? he repeated slowly. Well yes, I suppose I couldfind that space ship again. That is, if I wanted to.     What do you mean? Grannie paused in the act of rolling herself acigarette. You know where it is, don't you?     Ye-s, Karn nodded. But like I told you before, that ship lies inVarsoom country, and that isn't exactly a summer vacation spot.     What are the Varsoom? I asked. A native tribe?     Karn shook his head. They're a form of life that's never been seen byEarthmen. Strictly speaking, they're no more than a form of energy.     Dangerous?     Yes and no. Only man I ever heard of who escaped their country outsideof myself was the explorer, Darthier, three years ago. I got awaybecause I was alone, and they didn't notice me, and Darthier escapedbecause he made 'em laugh.     Laugh? A scowl crossed Grannie's face.     That's right, Karn said. The Varsoom have a strange nervous reactionthat's manifested by laughing. But just what it is that makes themlaugh, I don't know.     Food supplies and fresh drinking water were replenished at the hut.Several mold guns were borrowed from the prospector's supply to arm theVenusians. And then as we were about to leave, Karn suddenly turned.     The Doctor Universe program, he said. I ain't missed one in months.You gotta wait 'til I hear it.     Grannie frowned in annoyance, but the prospector was adamant. Heflipped a stud, twisted a dial and a moment later was leaning back in achair, listening with avid interest.     It was the same show I had witnessed back in Swamp City. Once again Iheard questions filter in from the far outposts of the System. Onceagain I saw the commanding figure of the quiz master as he strode backand forth across the stage. And as I sat there, looking into the visiscreen, a curious numbing drowsiness seemed to steal over me and leadmy thoughts far away.  <doc-sep>The Military Attache pulled at his lower lip. In that case, we can'ttry conclusions with these fellows until we have an indetectible driveof our own. I recommend a crash project. In the meantime—     I'll have my boys start in to crack this thing, the Chief of theConfidential Terrestrial Source Section spoke up. I'll fit out acouple of volunteers with plastic beaks—     No cloak and dagger work, gentlemen! Long range policy will beworked out by Deep-Think teams back at the Department. Our role willbe a holding action. Now I want suggestions for a comprehensive,well rounded and decisive course for meeting this threat. Anyrecommendation?     The Political Officer placed his fingertips together. What about astiff Note demanding an extra week's time?     No! No begging, the Economic Officer objected. I'd say a calm,dignified, aggressive withdrawal—as soon as possible.     We don't want to give them the idea we spook easily, the MilitaryAttache said. Let's delay the withdrawal—say, until tomorrow.     Early tomorrow, Magnan said. Or maybe later today.     Well, I see you're of a mind with me, Nitworth nodded. Our plan ofaction is clear, but it remains to be implemented. We have a populationof over fifteen million individuals to relocate. He eyed thePolitical Officer. I want five proposals for resettlement on my deskby oh-eight-hundred hours tomorrow. Nitworth rapped out instructions.Harried-looking staff members arose and hurried from the room. Magnaneased toward the door.     Where are you going, Magnan? Nitworth snapped.     Since you're so busy, I thought I'd just slip back down to Com Inq. Itwas a most interesting orientation lecture, Mr. Ambassador. Be sure tolet us know how it works out.     Kindly return to your chair, Nitworth said coldly. A number ofchores remain to be assigned. I think you, Magnan, need a little fieldexperience. I want you to get over to Roolit I and take a look at theseQornt personally.     Magnan's mouth opened and closed soundlessly.     Not afraid of a few Qornt, are you, Magnan?     Afraid? Good lord, no, ha ha. It's just that I'm afraid I may lose myhead and do something rash if I go.     Nonsense! A diplomat is immune to heroic impulses. Take Retief along.No dawdling, now! I want you on the way in two hours. Notify thetransport pool at once. Now get going!     Magnan nodded unhappily and went into the hall.     Oh, Retief, Nitworth said. Retief turned.     Try to restrain Mr. Magnan from any impulsive moves—in anydirection.      II     Retief and Magnan topped a ridge and looked down across a slopeof towering tree-shrubs and glossy violet-stemmed palms set amongflamboyant blossoms of yellow and red, reaching down to a strip ofwhite beach with the blue sea beyond.     A delightful vista, Magnan said, mopping at his face. A pity wecouldn't locate the Qornt. We'll go back now and report—     I'm pretty sure the settlement is off to the right, Retief said. Whydon't you head back for the boat, while I ease over and see what I canobserve.     Retief, we're engaged in a serious mission. This is not a time tothink of sightseeing.     I'd like to take a good look at what we're giving away.     See here, Retief! One might almost receive the impression that you'requestioning Corps policy!     One might, at that. The Qornt have made their play, but I think itmight be valuable to take a look at their cards before we fold. If I'mnot back at the boat in an hour, lift without me.     You expect me to make my way back alone?     It's directly down-slope— Retief broke off, listening. Magnanclutched at his arm.     There was a sound of crackling foliage. Twenty feet ahead, a leafybranch swung aside. An eight-foot biped stepped into view, long, thin,green-clad legs with back-bending knees moving in quick, bird-likesteps. A pair of immense black-lensed goggles covered staring eyes setamong bushy green hair above a great bone-white beak. The crest bobbedas the creature cocked its head, listening.     Magnan gulped audibly. The Qornt froze, head tilted, beak aimeddirectly at the spot where the Terrestrials stood in the deep shade ofa giant trunk.     I'll go for help, Magnan squeaked. He whirled and took three leapsinto the brush.     A second great green-clad figure rose up to block his way. He spun,darted to the left. The first Qornt pounced, grappled Magnan to itsnarrow chest. Magnan yelled, threshing and kicking, broke free,turned—and collided with the eight-foot alien, coming in fast from theright. All three went down in a tangle of limbs.     Retief jumped forward, hauled Magnan free, thrust him aside andstopped, right fist cocked. The two Qornt lay groaning feebly.     Nice piece of work, Mr. Magnan, Retief said. You nailed both ofthem.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What role does cohesion play in THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of the storyline in END AS A HERO? [SEP] <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>He was having a nightmare when he heard the voice, Hey. Wake up. Hey!     He opened his eyes, saw Hendricks' ugly face and thought for a minutehe was still having the nightmare.     I just saw your doctor, Hendricks said. He says your treatment isover. You can go home now. I thought I'd give you a lift.     As Joe dressed, he searched his mind and tried to find some difference.     During the treatment, he had been unconscious or drugged, unable tothink. Now he could think clearly, but he could find no difference inhimself.     He felt more relaxed than he'd ever felt before, but that could be anafter-effect of all the sedatives he'd been given. And, he noticed whenhe looked in the mirror, he was paler. The treatment had taken monthsand he had, between operations, been locked in his room.     Hendricks was standing by the window. Joe stared at the massive back.Deliberately goading his mind, he discovered the biggest change:Before, the mere sight of the man had aroused an intense hatred. Now,even when he tried, he succeeded in arousing only a mild hatred.They had toned down his capacity to hate, but not done away with italtogether.     Come here and take a look at your public, said Hendricks.     Joe went to the window. Three stories below, a large crowd had gatheredon the hospital steps: a band, photographers, television trucks,cameramen and autograph hunters. He'd waited a long time for this day.But now—another change in him—     He put the emotion into words: I don't feel like a hero. Funny, but Idon't.     Hero! Hendricks laughed and, with his powerful lungs, it soundedlike a bull snorting. You think a successful criminal is a hero? Youstupid—     He laughed again and waved a hand at the crowd below them. You thinkthose people are down there because they admire what you did? They'redown there waiting for you because they're curious, because they'reglad the CPA caught you, and because they're glad you're an Ex. You'rean      ex     -criminal now, and because of your treatment, you'll never beable to commit another crime as long as you live. And that's the kindof guy they admire, so they want to see you, shake your hand and getyour autograph.     Joe didn't understand Hendricks completely, but the part he didunderstand he didn't believe. A crowd was waiting for him. He could seethe people with his own eyes. When he left the hospital, they'd cheerand shout and ask for his autograph. If he wasn't a hero,      what washe     ?  <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>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>   END AS A HERO     By KEITH LAUMER     Illustrated by SCHELLING     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction June 1963.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      Granthan's mission was the most vital of the war.     It would mean instant victory—but for whom?      I     In the dream I was swimming in a river of white fire and the dream wenton and on. And then I was awake—and the fire was still there, fiercelyburning at me.     I tried to move to get away from the flames, and then the real painhit me. I tried to go back to sleep and the relative comfort of theriver of fire, but it was no go. For better or worse, I was alive andconscious.     I opened my eyes and took a look around. I was on the floor next toan unpadded acceleration couch—the kind the Terrestrial Space Arminstalls in seldom-used lifeboats. There were three more couches, butno one in them. I tried to sit up. It wasn't easy but, by applying alot more will-power than should be required of a sick man, I made it.I took a look at my left arm. Baked. The hand was only medium rare,but the forearm was black, with deep red showing at the bottom of thecracks where the crisped upper layers had burst....     There was a first-aid cabinet across the compartment from me. Itried my right leg, felt broken bone-ends grate with a sensationthat transcended pain. I heaved with the other leg, scrabbled withthe charred arm. The crawl to the cabinet dwarfed Hillary's trekup Everest, but I reached it after a couple of years, and found themicroswitch on the floor that activated the thing, and then I wasfading out again....  <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>When she handed the card back, Joe fought an impulse to tear it topieces. He'd done that once and gone through a mountain of red tape toget another—everyone was required by law to carry a CPA ID card andshow it upon request.     I'm sorry, the girl said. I didn't know you were a DCT.     And who'll hire a guy with criminal tendencies? You know the score.When you try to get a job, they ask to see your ID before they eventell you if there's an opening or not. If your CPA ID says you're aDCT, you're SOL and they tell you there's no openings. Oh, I've hadseveral jobs ... jobs like all DCTs get. I've been a garbage man,street-cleaner, ditch-digger—     On the other side of the room, the jukebox came to life with a roar anda group of teen-agers scrambled to the dance floor.     Feeling safe from hidden microphones because of the uproar, he leanedacross the table and whispered in the girl's ear, That's what Iwant to hire you for. I want you to help me commit a crime. If I getconvicted of a crime, I'll be able to get a good job!     The girl's lips formed a bright red circle. Say! You really got bigplans, don't you?     He smiled at her admiration. It      was     something big to plan a crime.A civilization weary of murder, robbery, kidnapping, counterfeiting,blackmail, rape, arson, and drunkenness had originated the CPA—CrimePrevention Association. There were no longer any prisons—CPA officialshad declared loudly and emphatically that their job was to preventcrime, not punish it. And prevent it they did, with thousands ofingenious crime-prevention devices and methods. They had made crimealmost impossible, and during the previous year, only a few hundred menin the whole country had been convicted of criminal acts.     No crime was ever punished. If a man was smart enough to killsomeone, for instance, he wasn't sent to prison to be punished; hewasn't punished at all. Instead, he was sent to a hospital where allcriminal tendencies were removed from his mind by psychologists, shocktreatments, encephalographic devices, a form of prefrontal lobotomy anda dozen other methods. An expensive operation, but since there were fewcriminals—only ten in New York during the past year—any city couldafford the CPA hospitals.     The CPA system was, actually, cheaper than previous methods becauseit did away with the damage caused by countless crimes; did away withprisons and their guards, large police forces, squad cars and weapons.     And, ironically, a man who      did     commit a crime was a sort of hero. Hewas a hero to the millions of men and women who had suppressed impulsesto kill someone, beat their mates, get drunk, or kick a dog. Not only ahero, but because of the CPA Treatment, he was—when he left one of theCPA hospitals—a thoroughly honest and hard-working individual ... aman who could be trusted with any responsibility, any amount of money.And therefore, an EX (a convicted criminal who received the treatmentwas commonly called an Ex because he was in the strictest sense of theword an Ex-criminal) ... an Ex was always offered the best jobs.     Well, the girl said. I'm honored. Really. But I got a date at ten.Let's get it over with. You said it'd only take a few minutes.     Okay. Let's go.  <doc-sep>Reno was pleased. He had dabbled in sociology before retraining as amechanic for the expedition. This gives me a chance to study theirmores. He winked wickedly. I may not be back for several nights.They watched through the viewplate as he took off, and then went overto the laboratory for a look at the hamsters.     Three were alive and healthy, munching lettuce. One was the control;the other two had been given shots of Pat's blood from before heentered the ship, but with no additional treatment. Apparently ahamster could fight off melting sickness easily if left alone. Threewere still feverish and ruffled, with a low red blood count, butrecovering. The three dead ones had been given strong shots of adaptiveand counter histamine, so their bodies had not fought back against theattack.     June glanced at the dead animals hastily and looked away again.They lay twisted with a strange semi-fluid limpness, as if ready todissolve. The last hamster, which had been given the heaviest doseof adaptive, had apparently lost all its hair before death. It washairless and pink, like a still-born baby.     We can find no micro-organisms, George Barton said. None at all.Nothing in the body that should not be there. Leucosis and anemia.Fever only for the ones that fought it off. He handed Max sometemperature charts and graphs of blood counts.     June wandered out into the hall. Pediatrics and obstetrics were herfield; she left the cellular research to Max, and just helped him withlaboratory routine. The strange mood followed her out into the hall,then abruptly lightened.     Coming toward her, busily telling a tale of adventure to the gorgeousShelia Davenport, was a tall, red-headed, magnificently handsome man.It was his handsomeness which made Pat such a pleasure to look uponand talk with, she guiltily told herself, and it was his tremendousvitality.... It was like meeting a movie hero in the flesh, or a heroout of the pages of a book—Deer-slayer, John Clayton, Lord Greystoke.     She waited in the doorway to the laboratory and made no move to jointhem, merely acknowledged the two with a nod and a smile and a casuallift of the hand. They nodded and smiled back.     Hello, June, said Pat and continued telling his tale, but as theypassed he lightly touched her arm.     Oh, pioneer! she said mockingly and softly to his passing profile,and knew that he had heard.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in END AS A HERO?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the reason for Kayle's refusal to let Granthan return to Earth in END AS A HERO? [SEP] <s>I came out of it clear-headed but weak. My right leg was numb, butreasonably comfortable, clamped tight in a walking brace. I put upa hand and felt a shaved skull, with sutures. It must have been afracture. The left arm—well, it was still there, wrapped to theshoulder and held out stiffly by a power truss that would keep the scartissue from pulling up and crippling me. The steady pressure as thetruss contracted wasn't anything to do a sense-tape on for replaying atleisure moments, but at least the cabinet hadn't amputated. I wasn'tcomplaining.     As far as I knew, I was the first recorded survivor of contact with theGool—if I survived.     I was still a long way from home, and I hadn't yet checked on thecondition of the lifeboat. I glanced toward the entry port. It wasdogged shut. I could see black marks where my burned hand had been atwork.     I fumbled my way into a couch and tried to think. In my condition—witha broken leg and third-degree burns, plus a fractured skull—Ishouldn't have been able to fall out of bed, much less make the tripfrom      Belshazzar's     CCC to the boat; and how had I managed to dog thatport shut? In an emergency a man was capable of great exertions. Butrunning on a broken femur, handling heavy levers with charred fingersand thinking with a cracked head were overdoing it. Still, I washere—and it was time to get a call through to TSA headquarters.     I flipped the switch and gave the emergency call-letters Col. AusarKayle of Aerospace Intelligence had assigned to me a few weeks before.It was almost five minutes before the acknowledge came through fromthe Ganymede relay station, another ten minutes before Kayle's faceswam into view. Even through the blur of the screen I could see thehaggard look.     Granthan! he burst out. Where are the others? What happened outthere? I turned him down to a mutter.     Hold on, I said. I'll tell you. Recorders going? I didn't wait foran answer—not with a fifteen-minute transmission lag. I plowed on:           Belshazzar     was sabotaged. So was      Gilgamesh     —I think. I got out. Ilost a little skin, but the aid cabinet has the case in hand. Tell theMed people the drinks are on me.     I finished talking and flopped back, waiting for Kayle's reply. On thescreen, his flickering image gazed back impatiently, looking as hostileas a swing-shift ward nurse. It would be half an hour before I wouldget his reaction to my report. I dozed off—and awoke with a start.Kayle was talking.     —your report. I won't mince words. They're wondering at your role inthe disaster. How does it happen that you alone survived?     How the hell do I know? I yelled—or croaked. But Kayle's voice wasdroning on:     ... you Psychodynamics people have been telling me the Gool mayhave some kind of long-range telehypnotic ability that might make itpossible for them to subvert a loyal man without his knowledge. You'vetold me yourself that you blacked out during the attack—and came to onthe lifeboat, with no recollection of how you got there.     This is war, Granthan. War against a vicious enemy who strike withoutwarning and without mercy. You were sent out to investigate thepossibility of—what's that term you use?—hyper-cortical invasion. Youknow better than most the risk I'd be running if you were allowed topass the patrol line.     I'm sorry, Granthan. I can't let you land on Earth. I can't acceptthe risk.     What do I do now? I stormed. Go into orbit and eat pills and hopeyou think of something? I need a doctor!     Presently Kayle replied. Yes, he said. You'll have to enter aparking orbit. Perhaps there will be developments soon which will makeit possible to ... ah ... restudy the situation. He didn't meet myeye. I knew what he was thinking. He'd spare me the mental anguish ofknowing what was coming. I couldn't really blame him; he was doingwhat he thought was the right thing. And I'd have to go along andpretend—right up until the warheads struck—that I didn't know I'dbeen condemned to death.      II     I tried to gather my wits and think my way through the situation. Iwas alone and injured, aboard a lifeboat that would be the focus of aconverging flight of missiles as soon as I approached within batteryrange of Earth. I had gotten clear of the Gool, but I wouldn't survivemy next meeting with my own kind. They couldn't take the chance that Iwas acting under Gool orders.     I wasn't, of course. I was still the same Peter Granthan,psychodynamicist, who had started out with Dayan's fleet six weeksearlier. The thoughts I was having weren't brilliant, but they weremine, all mine....     But how could I be sure of that?     Maybe there was something in Kayle's suspicion. If the Gool were asskillful as we thought, they would have left no overt indications oftheir tampering—not at a conscious level.     But this was where psychodynamics training came in. I had been reactinglike any scared casualty, aching to get home and lick his wounds. But Iwasn't just any casualty. I had been trained in the subtleties of themind—and I had been prepared for just such an attack.     Now was the time to make use of that training. It had given me oneresource. I could unlock the memories of my subconscious—and see againwhat had happened.     I lay back, cleared my mind of extraneous thoughts, and concentrated onthe trigger word that would key an auto-hypnotic sequence....     Sense impressions faded. I was alone in the nebulous emptiness of afirst-level trance. I keyed a second word, slipped below the mistysurface into a dreamworld of vague phantasmagoric figures milling intheir limbo of sub-conceptualization. I penetrated deeper, brokethrough into the vividly hallucinatory third level, where images ofmirror-bright immediacy clamored for attention. And deeper....  <doc-sep>You've got to listen to me, Kayle, I shouted. I know you think I'ma Gool robot. But what I have is too big to let you blow it up withouta fight. Matter transmission! You know what that can mean to us. Theconcept is too complex to try to describe in words. You'll have to takemy word for it. I can build it, though, using standard components, plusan infinite-area antenna and a moebius-wound coil—and a few otherthings....     I harangued Kayle for a while, and then sweated out his answer. I wasgetting close now. If he couldn't see the beauty of my proposal, myscreens would start to register the radiation of warheads any time now.     Kayle came back—and his answer boiled down to no.     I tried to reason with him. I reminded him how I had readied myselffor the trip with sessions on the encephaloscope, setting up thecross-networks of conditioned defensive responses, the shunt circuitsto the decoy pseudo-personality, leaving my volitional ego free. Italked about subliminal hypnotics and the resilience quotient of theego-complex.     I might have saved my breath.     I don't understand that psychodynamics jargon, Granthan, he snapped.It smacks of mysticism. But I understand what the Gool have done toyou well enough. I'm sorry.     I leaned back and chewed the inside of my lip and thought unkindthoughts about Colonel Ausar Kayle. Then I settled down to solve theproblem at hand.     I keyed the chart file, flashed pages from the standard index on thereference screen, checking radar coverages, beacon ranges, monitorstations, controller fields. It looked as though a radar-negative boatthe size of mine might possibly get through the defensive net with adaring pilot, and as a condemned spy, I could afford to be daring.     And I had a few ideas.      III     The shrilling of the proximity alarm blasted through the silence. For awild moment I thought Kayle had beaten me to the punch; then I realizedit was the routine DEW line patrol contact.     Z four-oh-two, I am reading your IFF. Decelerate at 1.8 geepreparatory to picking up approach orbit....     The screen went on droning out instructions. I fed them into theautopilot, at the same time running over my approach plan. The scoutwas moving in closer. I licked dry lips. It was time to try.     I closed my eyes, reached out—as the Gool mind had reached out tome—and felt the touch of a Signals Officer's mind, forty thousandmiles distant, aboard the patrol vessel. There was a brief flurry ofstruggle; then I dictated my instructions. The Signals Officer punchedkeys, spoke into his microphone:     As you were, Z four-oh-two. Continue on present course. At Oh-nineteenseconds, pick up planetary for re-entry and let-down.     I blanked out the man's recollection of what had happened, caught hisbelated puzzlement as I broke contact. But I was clear of the DEW linenow, rapidly approaching atmosphere.     Z four-oh-two, the speaker crackled. This is planetary control. I ampicking you up on channel forty-three, for re-entry and let-down.     There was a long pause. Then:     Z four-oh-two, countermand DEW Line clearance! Repeat, clearancecountermanded! Emergency course change to standard hyperbolic codeninety-eight. Do not attempt re-entry. Repeat: do not attempt re-entry!     It hadn't taken Kayle long to see that I'd gotten past the outer lineof defense. A few more minutes' grace would have helped. I'd play itdumb, and hope for a little luck.     Planetary, Z four-oh-two here. Say, I'm afraid I missed part of that,fellows. I'm a little banged up—I guess I switched frequencies on you.What was that after 'pick up channel forty-three'...?     Four-oh-two, sheer off there! You're not cleared for re-entry!     Hey, you birds are mixed up, I protested. I'm cleared all the way. Ichecked in with DEW—     It was time to disappear. I blanked off all transmission, hit thecontrols, following my evasive pattern. And again I reached out—     A radar man at a site in the Pacific, fifteen thousand miles away, rosefrom his chair, crossed the darkened room and threw a switch. The radarscreens blanked off....     For an hour I rode the long orbit down, fending off attack afterattack. Then I was clear, skimming the surface of the ocean a few milessoutheast of Key West. The boat hit hard. I felt the floor rise up,over, buffeting me against the restraining harness.     I hauled at the release lever, felt a long moment of giddydisorientation as the escape capsule separated from the sinkinglifeboat deep under the surface. Then my escape capsule was bobbing onthe water.     I would have to risk calling Kayle now—but by voluntarily giving myposition away, I should convince him I was still on our side—and I wasbadly in need of a pick-up. I flipped the sending key.     This is Z four-oh-two, I said. I have an urgent report for ColonelKayle of Aerospace Intelligence.     Kayle's face appeared. Don't fight it, Granthan, he croaked. Youpenetrated the planetary defenses—God knows how. I—     Later, I snapped. How about calling off your dogs now? And sendsomebody out here to pick me up, before I add sea-sickness to my othercomplaints.     We have you pinpointed, Kayle cut in. It's no use fighting it,Granthan.  <doc-sep>I felt cold sweat pop out on my forehead. You've got to listen,Kayle, I shouted. I suppose you've got missiles on the way already.Call them back! I have information that can win the war—     I'm sorry, Granthan, Kayle said. It's too late—even if I couldtake the chance you were right.     A different face appeared on the screen.     Mr. Granthan, I am General Titus. On behalf of your country, andin the name of the President—who has been apprised of this tragicsituation—it is my privilege to inform you that you will be awardedthe Congressional Medal of Honor—posthumously—for your heroic effort.Although you failed, and have in fact been forced, against your will,to carry out the schemes of the inhuman enemy, this in no way detractsfrom your gallant attempt. Mr. Granthan, I salute you.     The general's arm went up in a rigid gesture.     Stow that, you pompous idiot! I barked. I'm no spy!     Kayle was back, blanking out the startled face of the general.     Goodbye, Granthan. Try to understand....     I flipped the switch, sat gripping the couch, my stomach rising witheach heave of the floating escape capsule. I had perhaps five minutes.The missiles would be from Canaveral.     I closed my eyes, forced myself to relax, reached out....     I sensed the distant shore, the hot buzz of human minds at work in thecities. I followed the coastline, found the Missile Base, flickedthrough the cluster of minds.     —      missile on course; do right, baby. That's it, right in the slot.          I fingered my way through the man's mind and found the control centers.He turned stiffly from the plotting board, tottered to a panel to slamhis hand against the destruct button.     Men fell on him, dragged him back. —      fool, why did you blow it?          I dropped the contact, found another, who leaped to the panel,detonated the remainder of the flight of six missiles. Then I withdrew.I would have a few minutes' stay of execution now.     I was ten miles from shore. The capsule had its own power plant. Istarted it up, switched on the external viewer. I saw dark sea, theglint of star-light on the choppy surface, in the distance a glow onthe horizon that would be Key West. I plugged the course into thepilot, then leaned back and felt outward with my mind for the nextattacker.      IV     It was dark in the trainyard. I moved along the tracks in a stumblingwalk. Just a few more minutes, I was telling myself.      A few moreminutes and you can lie down ... rest....       The shadowed bulk of a box car loomed up, its open door a blackersquare. I leaned against the sill, breathing hard, then reached insidefor a grip with my good hand.     Gravel scrunched nearby. The beam of a flashlight lanced out, slippedalong the weathered car, caught me. There was a startled exclamation.I ducked back, closed my eyes, felt out for his mind. There was aconfused murmur of thought, a random intrusion of impressions from thecity all around. It was hard, too hard. I had to sleep—     I heard the snick of a revolver being cocked, and dropped flat as agout of flame stabbed toward me, the imperative Bam! echoing betweenthe cars. I caught the clear thought:     God-awful looking, shaved head, arm stuck out; him all right—     I reached out to his mind and struck at random. The light fell, wentout, and I heard the unconscious body slam to the ground like a poledsteer.     It was easy—if I could only stay awake.     I gritted my teeth, pulled myself into the car, crawled to a darkcorner behind a crate and slumped down. I tried to evoke a personalityfraction to set as a guard, a part of my mind to stay awake and warnme of danger. It was too much trouble. I relaxed and let it all slidedown into darkness.  <doc-sep>   END AS A HERO     By KEITH LAUMER     Illustrated by SCHELLING     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction June 1963.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      Granthan's mission was the most vital of the war.     It would mean instant victory—but for whom?      I     In the dream I was swimming in a river of white fire and the dream wenton and on. And then I was awake—and the fire was still there, fiercelyburning at me.     I tried to move to get away from the flames, and then the real painhit me. I tried to go back to sleep and the relative comfort of theriver of fire, but it was no go. For better or worse, I was alive andconscious.     I opened my eyes and took a look around. I was on the floor next toan unpadded acceleration couch—the kind the Terrestrial Space Arminstalls in seldom-used lifeboats. There were three more couches, butno one in them. I tried to sit up. It wasn't easy but, by applying alot more will-power than should be required of a sick man, I made it.I took a look at my left arm. Baked. The hand was only medium rare,but the forearm was black, with deep red showing at the bottom of thecracks where the crisped upper layers had burst....     There was a first-aid cabinet across the compartment from me. Itried my right leg, felt broken bone-ends grate with a sensationthat transcended pain. I heaved with the other leg, scrabbled withthe charred arm. The crawl to the cabinet dwarfed Hillary's trekup Everest, but I reached it after a couple of years, and found themicroswitch on the floor that activated the thing, and then I wasfading out again....  <doc-sep>Michael blushed. He should indeed. For a year prior to his leaving theLodge, he had carefully studied the customs and tabus of the Universeso that he should be able to enter the new life he planned for himself,with confidence and ease. Under the system of universal kinship, allthe customs and all the tabus of all the planets were the law on allthe other planets. For the Wise Ones had decided many years beforethat wars arose from not understanding one's fellows, not sympathizingwith them. If every nation, every planet, every solar system had thesame laws, customs, and habits, they reasoned, there would be nodifferences, and hence no wars.     Future events had proved them to be correct. For five hundred yearsthere had been no war in the United Universe, and there was peace andplenty for all. Only one crime was recognized throughout the solarsystems—injuring a fellow-creature by word or deed (and the telepathsof Aldebaran were still trying to add      thought     to the statute).     Why, then, Michael had questioned the Father Superior, was there anyreason for the Lodge's existence, any reason for a group of humans toretire from the world and live in the simple ways of their primitiveforefathers? When there had been war, injustice, tyranny, there had,perhaps, been an understandable emotional reason for fleeing theworld. But now why refuse to face a desirable reality? Why turn one'sface upon the present and deliberately go back to the life of thepast—the high collars, vests and trousers, the inefficient coalfurnaces, the rude gasoline tractors of medieval days?     The Father Superior had smiled. You are not yet a fully fledgedBrother, Michael. You cannot enter your novitiate until you've achievedyour majority, and you won't be thirty for another five years. Whydon't you spend some time outside and see how you like it?     Michael had agreed, but before leaving he had spent months studyingthe ways of the United Universe. He had skimmed over Earth, becausehe had been so sure he'd know its ways instinctively. Remembering hispreparations, he was astonished by his smug self-confidence.  <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>   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>He awoke with a start and a cry of alarm ran through him as he thoughtthat perhaps he might still be in the      Mary Lou     . The warm, smiling faceof a man quickly reassured him.     I'll call the captain, the space man said. He said to let him knowwhen you came to.     Willard could only nod in weak and grateful acceptance. It was true! Hepressed his head back against the bed's pillows. How soft! How warm! Heyawned and stretched his arms as a thrill of happiness shot through hisentire body.     He would see Earth again! That single thought ran over and over in hismind without stopping. He would see Earth again! Perhaps not this yearand perhaps not the next—for the ship might be on some extra-Plutonianexpedition. But even if it would take years before it returned to homebase Willard knew that those years would fly quickly if Earth was atthe end of the trail.     Though he had aged, he still had many years before him. And thoseyears, he vowed, would be spent on Earth and nowhere else.     The captain, a pleasant old fellow, came into the room as Willard stoodup and tried to walk. The gravity here was a bit different from that ofhis ship, but he would manage.     How do you feel, Space Man Willard?     Oh, you know me? Willard looked at him in surprise, and then smiled,Of course, you looked through the log book of the      Mary Lou     .     The captain nodded and Willard noticed with surprise that he was a veryold man.     You don't know how much I suffered there, Willard said slowly,measuring each word. Years in space—all alone! It's a horrible thing!     Yes? the old captain said.     Many times I thought I would go completely mad. It was only thethought and hope that some day, somehow, an Earth-ship would find meand help me get back to Earth. If it was not for that, I would havedied. I could think of nothing but of Earth, of blue green water, ofvast open spaces and the good brown earth. How beautiful it must benow!     A note of sadness, matched only by that of Willard's, entered thecaptain's eyes.     I want to walk on Earth just once—then I can die.     Willard stopped. A happy dreamy smile touched his lips.     When will we go to Earth? he asked.     The Captain did not answer. Willard waited and a strange memory tuggedat him.     You don't know, the Captain said. It was not a question or astatement. The Captain found it hard to say it. His lips moved slowly.     Willard stepped back and before the Captain told him,      he knew     .     Matter is relative, he said, the existent under one condition isnon-existent under another. The real here is the non-real there. Allthings that wander alone in space are gradually drained of their massand energy until nothing is left but mere shells. That is what happenedto the      Mary Lou     . Your ship was real when we passed by twenty yearsago. It is now like ours, a vague outline in space. We cannot feelthe change ourselves, for change is relative. That is why we becamemore and more solid to you, as you became more and more faint to anyEarth-ship that might have passed. We are real—to ourselves. But tosome ship from Earth which has not been in space for more than fifteenyears—to that ship, to all intents and purposes, we do not exist.     Then this ship, Willard said, stunned, you and I and everything onit...     ... are doomed, the Captain said. We cannot go to Earth for thesimple reason that we would go      through     it!     The vision of Earth and green trees faded. He would never see Earthagain. He would never feel the crunch of ground under feet as hewalked. Never would listen to the voices of friends and the songs ofbirds. Never. Never. Never....     Then this is the Ghost Ship and we are the Ghosts!     Yes.   <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the reason for Kayle's refusal to let Granthan return to Earth in END AS A HERO?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"How does Granthan utilize the Gool's mind control technique to his benefit and gain knowledge in END AS A HERO? [SEP] <s>Using the technique I had grasped from the Gool itself, I struck,stifling the outcry, invaded the fetid blackness and grappled theobscene gelatinous immensity of the Gool spy as it spasmed in a frenzyof xenophobia—a ton of liver writhing at the bottom of a dark well.     I clamped down control. The Gool mind folded in on itself, gibbering.Not pausing to rest, I followed up, probed along my channel of contact,tracing patterns, scanning the flaccid Gool mind....     I saw a world of yellow seas lapping at endless shores of mud. Therewas a fuming pit, where liquid sulphur bubbled up from some innersource, filling an immense natural basin. The Gool clustered at itsrim, feeding, each monstrous shape heaving against its neighbors for amore favorable position.       I probed farther, saw the great cables of living nervous tissue thatlinked each eating organ with the brain-mass far underground. I tracedthe passages through which tendrils ran out to immense caverns wheresmaller creatures labored over strange devices. These, my host's memorytold me, were the young of the Gool. Here they built the fleets thatwould transport the spawn to the new worlds the Prime Overlord haddiscovered, worlds where food was free for the taking. Not sulphuralone, but potassium, calcium, iron and all the metals—richesbeyond belief in endless profusion. No longer would the Gool tribecluster—those who remained of a once-great race—at a single feedingtrough. They would spread out across a galaxy—and beyond.     But not if I could help it.     The Gool had evolved a plan—but they'd had a stroke of bad luck.     In the past, they had managed to control a man here and there, amongthe fleets, far from home, but only at a superficial level. Enough,perhaps, to wreck a ship, but not the complete control needed to send aman back to Earth under Gool compulsion, to carry out complex sabotage.     Then they had found me, alone, a sole survivor, free from the clutterof the other mind-fields. It had been their misfortune to pick apsychodynamicist. Instead of gaining a patient slave, they had openedthe fortress door to an unseen spy. Now that I was there, I would seewhat I could steal.     A timeless time passed. I wandered among patterns of white light andwhite sound, plumbed the deepest recesses of hidden Gool thoughts,fared along strange ways examining the shapes and colors of theconcepts of an alien mind.     I paused at last, scanning a multi-ordinal structure of pattern withinpattern; the diagrammed circuits of a strange machine.     I followed through its logic-sequence; and, like a bomb-burst, itsmeaning exploded in my mind.     From the vile nest deep under the dark surface of the Gool world inits lonely trans-Plutonian orbit, I had plucked the ultimate secret oftheir kind.     Matter across space.  <doc-sep>I came out of it clear-headed but weak. My right leg was numb, butreasonably comfortable, clamped tight in a walking brace. I put upa hand and felt a shaved skull, with sutures. It must have been afracture. The left arm—well, it was still there, wrapped to theshoulder and held out stiffly by a power truss that would keep the scartissue from pulling up and crippling me. The steady pressure as thetruss contracted wasn't anything to do a sense-tape on for replaying atleisure moments, but at least the cabinet hadn't amputated. I wasn'tcomplaining.     As far as I knew, I was the first recorded survivor of contact with theGool—if I survived.     I was still a long way from home, and I hadn't yet checked on thecondition of the lifeboat. I glanced toward the entry port. It wasdogged shut. I could see black marks where my burned hand had been atwork.     I fumbled my way into a couch and tried to think. In my condition—witha broken leg and third-degree burns, plus a fractured skull—Ishouldn't have been able to fall out of bed, much less make the tripfrom      Belshazzar's     CCC to the boat; and how had I managed to dog thatport shut? In an emergency a man was capable of great exertions. Butrunning on a broken femur, handling heavy levers with charred fingersand thinking with a cracked head were overdoing it. Still, I washere—and it was time to get a call through to TSA headquarters.     I flipped the switch and gave the emergency call-letters Col. AusarKayle of Aerospace Intelligence had assigned to me a few weeks before.It was almost five minutes before the acknowledge came through fromthe Ganymede relay station, another ten minutes before Kayle's faceswam into view. Even through the blur of the screen I could see thehaggard look.     Granthan! he burst out. Where are the others? What happened outthere? I turned him down to a mutter.     Hold on, I said. I'll tell you. Recorders going? I didn't wait foran answer—not with a fifteen-minute transmission lag. I plowed on:           Belshazzar     was sabotaged. So was      Gilgamesh     —I think. I got out. Ilost a little skin, but the aid cabinet has the case in hand. Tell theMed people the drinks are on me.     I finished talking and flopped back, waiting for Kayle's reply. On thescreen, his flickering image gazed back impatiently, looking as hostileas a swing-shift ward nurse. It would be half an hour before I wouldget his reaction to my report. I dozed off—and awoke with a start.Kayle was talking.     —your report. I won't mince words. They're wondering at your role inthe disaster. How does it happen that you alone survived?     How the hell do I know? I yelled—or croaked. But Kayle's voice wasdroning on:     ... you Psychodynamics people have been telling me the Gool mayhave some kind of long-range telehypnotic ability that might make itpossible for them to subvert a loyal man without his knowledge. You'vetold me yourself that you blacked out during the attack—and came to onthe lifeboat, with no recollection of how you got there.     This is war, Granthan. War against a vicious enemy who strike withoutwarning and without mercy. You were sent out to investigate thepossibility of—what's that term you use?—hyper-cortical invasion. Youknow better than most the risk I'd be running if you were allowed topass the patrol line.     I'm sorry, Granthan. I can't let you land on Earth. I can't acceptthe risk.     What do I do now? I stormed. Go into orbit and eat pills and hopeyou think of something? I need a doctor!     Presently Kayle replied. Yes, he said. You'll have to enter aparking orbit. Perhaps there will be developments soon which will makeit possible to ... ah ... restudy the situation. He didn't meet myeye. I knew what he was thinking. He'd spare me the mental anguish ofknowing what was coming. I couldn't really blame him; he was doingwhat he thought was the right thing. And I'd have to go along andpretend—right up until the warheads struck—that I didn't know I'dbeen condemned to death.      II     I tried to gather my wits and think my way through the situation. Iwas alone and injured, aboard a lifeboat that would be the focus of aconverging flight of missiles as soon as I approached within batteryrange of Earth. I had gotten clear of the Gool, but I wouldn't survivemy next meeting with my own kind. They couldn't take the chance that Iwas acting under Gool orders.     I wasn't, of course. I was still the same Peter Granthan,psychodynamicist, who had started out with Dayan's fleet six weeksearlier. The thoughts I was having weren't brilliant, but they weremine, all mine....     But how could I be sure of that?     Maybe there was something in Kayle's suspicion. If the Gool were asskillful as we thought, they would have left no overt indications oftheir tampering—not at a conscious level.     But this was where psychodynamics training came in. I had been reactinglike any scared casualty, aching to get home and lick his wounds. But Iwasn't just any casualty. I had been trained in the subtleties of themind—and I had been prepared for just such an attack.     Now was the time to make use of that training. It had given me oneresource. I could unlock the memories of my subconscious—and see againwhat had happened.     I lay back, cleared my mind of extraneous thoughts, and concentrated onthe trigger word that would key an auto-hypnotic sequence....     Sense impressions faded. I was alone in the nebulous emptiness of afirst-level trance. I keyed a second word, slipped below the mistysurface into a dreamworld of vague phantasmagoric figures milling intheir limbo of sub-conceptualization. I penetrated deeper, brokethrough into the vividly hallucinatory third level, where images ofmirror-bright immediacy clamored for attention. And deeper....  <doc-sep>You've got to listen to me, Kayle, I shouted. I know you think I'ma Gool robot. But what I have is too big to let you blow it up withouta fight. Matter transmission! You know what that can mean to us. Theconcept is too complex to try to describe in words. You'll have to takemy word for it. I can build it, though, using standard components, plusan infinite-area antenna and a moebius-wound coil—and a few otherthings....     I harangued Kayle for a while, and then sweated out his answer. I wasgetting close now. If he couldn't see the beauty of my proposal, myscreens would start to register the radiation of warheads any time now.     Kayle came back—and his answer boiled down to no.     I tried to reason with him. I reminded him how I had readied myselffor the trip with sessions on the encephaloscope, setting up thecross-networks of conditioned defensive responses, the shunt circuitsto the decoy pseudo-personality, leaving my volitional ego free. Italked about subliminal hypnotics and the resilience quotient of theego-complex.     I might have saved my breath.     I don't understand that psychodynamics jargon, Granthan, he snapped.It smacks of mysticism. But I understand what the Gool have done toyou well enough. I'm sorry.     I leaned back and chewed the inside of my lip and thought unkindthoughts about Colonel Ausar Kayle. Then I settled down to solve theproblem at hand.     I keyed the chart file, flashed pages from the standard index on thereference screen, checking radar coverages, beacon ranges, monitorstations, controller fields. It looked as though a radar-negative boatthe size of mine might possibly get through the defensive net with adaring pilot, and as a condemned spy, I could afford to be daring.     And I had a few ideas.      III     The shrilling of the proximity alarm blasted through the silence. For awild moment I thought Kayle had beaten me to the punch; then I realizedit was the routine DEW line patrol contact.     Z four-oh-two, I am reading your IFF. Decelerate at 1.8 geepreparatory to picking up approach orbit....     The screen went on droning out instructions. I fed them into theautopilot, at the same time running over my approach plan. The scoutwas moving in closer. I licked dry lips. It was time to try.     I closed my eyes, reached out—as the Gool mind had reached out tome—and felt the touch of a Signals Officer's mind, forty thousandmiles distant, aboard the patrol vessel. There was a brief flurry ofstruggle; then I dictated my instructions. The Signals Officer punchedkeys, spoke into his microphone:     As you were, Z four-oh-two. Continue on present course. At Oh-nineteenseconds, pick up planetary for re-entry and let-down.     I blanked out the man's recollection of what had happened, caught hisbelated puzzlement as I broke contact. But I was clear of the DEW linenow, rapidly approaching atmosphere.     Z four-oh-two, the speaker crackled. This is planetary control. I ampicking you up on channel forty-three, for re-entry and let-down.     There was a long pause. Then:     Z four-oh-two, countermand DEW Line clearance! Repeat, clearancecountermanded! Emergency course change to standard hyperbolic codeninety-eight. Do not attempt re-entry. Repeat: do not attempt re-entry!     It hadn't taken Kayle long to see that I'd gotten past the outer lineof defense. A few more minutes' grace would have helped. I'd play itdumb, and hope for a little luck.     Planetary, Z four-oh-two here. Say, I'm afraid I missed part of that,fellows. I'm a little banged up—I guess I switched frequencies on you.What was that after 'pick up channel forty-three'...?     Four-oh-two, sheer off there! You're not cleared for re-entry!     Hey, you birds are mixed up, I protested. I'm cleared all the way. Ichecked in with DEW—     It was time to disappear. I blanked off all transmission, hit thecontrols, following my evasive pattern. And again I reached out—     A radar man at a site in the Pacific, fifteen thousand miles away, rosefrom his chair, crossed the darkened room and threw a switch. The radarscreens blanked off....     For an hour I rode the long orbit down, fending off attack afterattack. Then I was clear, skimming the surface of the ocean a few milessoutheast of Key West. The boat hit hard. I felt the floor rise up,over, buffeting me against the restraining harness.     I hauled at the release lever, felt a long moment of giddydisorientation as the escape capsule separated from the sinkinglifeboat deep under the surface. Then my escape capsule was bobbing onthe water.     I would have to risk calling Kayle now—but by voluntarily giving myposition away, I should convince him I was still on our side—and I wasbadly in need of a pick-up. I flipped the sending key.     This is Z four-oh-two, I said. I have an urgent report for ColonelKayle of Aerospace Intelligence.     Kayle's face appeared. Don't fight it, Granthan, he croaked. Youpenetrated the planetary defenses—God knows how. I—     Later, I snapped. How about calling off your dogs now? And sendsomebody out here to pick me up, before I add sea-sickness to my othercomplaints.     We have you pinpointed, Kayle cut in. It's no use fighting it,Granthan.  <doc-sep>Taphetta changed his questioning. What do you expect to gain from thisdiscovery of the unknown ancestor?     It was Halden who answered him. There's the satisfaction of knowingwhere we came from.     Of course, rustled the Ribboneer. But a lot of money and equipmentwas required for this expedition. I can't believe that the educationalinstitutions that are backing you did so purely out of intellectualcuriosity.     Cultural discoveries, rumbled Emmer. How did our ancestors live?When a creature is greatly reduced in size, as we are, more thanphysiology is changed—the pattern of life itself is altered. Thingsthat were easy for them are impossible for us. Look at their life span.     No doubt, said Taphetta. An archeologist would be interested incultural discoveries.     Two hundred thousand years ago, they had an extremely advancedcivilization, added Halden. A faster-than-light drive, and we'veachieved that only within the last thousand years.     But I think we have a better one than they did, said the Ribboneer.There may be things we can learn from them in mechanics or physics,but wouldn't you say they were better biologists than anything else?     Halden nodded. Agreed. They couldn't find a suitable planet. So,working directly with their germ plasm, they modified themselves andproduced us. They      were     master biologists.     I thought so, said Taphetta. I never paid much attention to yourfantastic theories before I signed to pilot this ship, but you've builtup a convincing case. He raised his head, speech ribbons curlingfractionally and ceaselessly. I don't like to, but we'll have to riskusing bait for your pest.     He'd have done it anyway, but it was better to have the pilot'sconsent. And there was one question Halden wanted to ask; it had beenbothering him vaguely. What's the difference between the Ribboneercontract and the one we offered you? Our terms are more liberal.     To the individual, they are, but it won't matter if you discover asmuch as you think you will. The difference is this:      My     terms don'tpermit you to withhold any discovery for the benefit of one race.     Taphetta was wrong; there had been no intention of withholdinganything. Halden examined his own attitudes.      He     hadn't intended, butcould he say that was true of the institutions backing the expedition?He couldn't, and it was too late now—whatever knowledge they acquiredwould have to be shared.     That was what Taphetta had been afraid of—there was one kind oftechnical advancement that multiplied unceasingly. The race that couldimprove itself through scientific control of its germ plasm had a startthat could never be headed. The Ribboneer needn't worry now.  <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>   END AS A HERO     By KEITH LAUMER     Illustrated by SCHELLING     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction June 1963.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      Granthan's mission was the most vital of the war.     It would mean instant victory—but for whom?      I     In the dream I was swimming in a river of white fire and the dream wenton and on. And then I was awake—and the fire was still there, fiercelyburning at me.     I tried to move to get away from the flames, and then the real painhit me. I tried to go back to sleep and the relative comfort of theriver of fire, but it was no go. For better or worse, I was alive andconscious.     I opened my eyes and took a look around. I was on the floor next toan unpadded acceleration couch—the kind the Terrestrial Space Arminstalls in seldom-used lifeboats. There were three more couches, butno one in them. I tried to sit up. It wasn't easy but, by applying alot more will-power than should be required of a sick man, I made it.I took a look at my left arm. Baked. The hand was only medium rare,but the forearm was black, with deep red showing at the bottom of thecracks where the crisped upper layers had burst....     There was a first-aid cabinet across the compartment from me. Itried my right leg, felt broken bone-ends grate with a sensationthat transcended pain. I heaved with the other leg, scrabbled withthe charred arm. The crawl to the cabinet dwarfed Hillary's trekup Everest, but I reached it after a couple of years, and found themicroswitch on the floor that activated the thing, and then I wasfading out again....  <doc-sep>I felt cold sweat pop out on my forehead. You've got to listen,Kayle, I shouted. I suppose you've got missiles on the way already.Call them back! I have information that can win the war—     I'm sorry, Granthan, Kayle said. It's too late—even if I couldtake the chance you were right.     A different face appeared on the screen.     Mr. Granthan, I am General Titus. On behalf of your country, andin the name of the President—who has been apprised of this tragicsituation—it is my privilege to inform you that you will be awardedthe Congressional Medal of Honor—posthumously—for your heroic effort.Although you failed, and have in fact been forced, against your will,to carry out the schemes of the inhuman enemy, this in no way detractsfrom your gallant attempt. Mr. Granthan, I salute you.     The general's arm went up in a rigid gesture.     Stow that, you pompous idiot! I barked. I'm no spy!     Kayle was back, blanking out the startled face of the general.     Goodbye, Granthan. Try to understand....     I flipped the switch, sat gripping the couch, my stomach rising witheach heave of the floating escape capsule. I had perhaps five minutes.The missiles would be from Canaveral.     I closed my eyes, forced myself to relax, reached out....     I sensed the distant shore, the hot buzz of human minds at work in thecities. I followed the coastline, found the Missile Base, flickedthrough the cluster of minds.     —      missile on course; do right, baby. That's it, right in the slot.          I fingered my way through the man's mind and found the control centers.He turned stiffly from the plotting board, tottered to a panel to slamhis hand against the destruct button.     Men fell on him, dragged him back. —      fool, why did you blow it?          I dropped the contact, found another, who leaped to the panel,detonated the remainder of the flight of six missiles. Then I withdrew.I would have a few minutes' stay of execution now.     I was ten miles from shore. The capsule had its own power plant. Istarted it up, switched on the external viewer. I saw dark sea, theglint of star-light on the choppy surface, in the distance a glow onthe horizon that would be Key West. I plugged the course into thepilot, then leaned back and felt outward with my mind for the nextattacker.      IV     It was dark in the trainyard. I moved along the tracks in a stumblingwalk. Just a few more minutes, I was telling myself.      A few moreminutes and you can lie down ... rest....       The shadowed bulk of a box car loomed up, its open door a blackersquare. I leaned against the sill, breathing hard, then reached insidefor a grip with my good hand.     Gravel scrunched nearby. The beam of a flashlight lanced out, slippedalong the weathered car, caught me. There was a startled exclamation.I ducked back, closed my eyes, felt out for his mind. There was aconfused murmur of thought, a random intrusion of impressions from thecity all around. It was hard, too hard. I had to sleep—     I heard the snick of a revolver being cocked, and dropped flat as agout of flame stabbed toward me, the imperative Bam! echoing betweenthe cars. I caught the clear thought:     God-awful looking, shaved head, arm stuck out; him all right—     I reached out to his mind and struck at random. The light fell, wentout, and I heard the unconscious body slam to the ground like a poledsteer.     It was easy—if I could only stay awake.     I gritted my teeth, pulled myself into the car, crawled to a darkcorner behind a crate and slumped down. I tried to evoke a personalityfraction to set as a guard, a part of my mind to stay awake and warnme of danger. It was too much trouble. I relaxed and let it all slidedown into darkness.  <doc-sep>On that day, I walked farther than I had intended and, by the time Igot back home, I found the rest of my family had returned before me.They seemed to be excited about something and were surprised to see meso calm.     Aren't you even interested in anything outside your own immediateconcerns, Kev? Sylvia demanded, despite Father's efforts to shush her.     Can't you remember that Kev isn't able to receive the tellies? Timshot back at her. He probably doesn't even know what's happened.     Well, what did happen? I asked, trying not to snap.     One starship got back from Alpha Centauri, Danny said excitedly.There are two inhabited Earth-type planets there!     This was for me; this was it at last! I tried not to show myenthusiasm, though I knew that was futile. My relatives could keeptheir thoughts and emotions from me; I couldn't keep mine from them.What kind of life inhabits them? Humanoid?     Uh-uh. Danny shook his head. And hostile. The crew of the starshipsays they were attacked immediately on landing. When they turned andleft, they were followed here by one of the alien ships. Must be apretty advanced race to have spaceships. Anyhow, the extraterrestrialship headed back as soon as it got a fix on where ours was going.     But if they're hostile, I said thoughtfully, it might mean war.     Of course. That's why everybody's so wrought up. We hope it's peace,but we'll have to prepare for war just in case.     There hadn't been a war on Earth for well over a hundred years, butwe hadn't been so foolish as to obliterate all knowledge of militarytechniques and weapons. The alien ship wouldn't be able to come backwith reinforcements—if such were its intention—in less than sixmonths. This meant time to get together a stockpile of weapons, thoughwe had no idea of how effective our defenses would be against thealiens' armament.     They might have strange and terrible weapons against which we wouldbe powerless. On the other hand, our side would have the benefitsof telekinetically guided missiles, teleported saboteurs, telepathsto pick up the alien strategy, and prognosticators to determine theoutcome of each battle and see whether it was worth fighting in thefirst place.     Everybody on Earth hoped for peace. Everybody, that is, except me. Ihad been unable to achieve any sense of identity with the world inwhich I lived, and it was almost worth the loss of personal survivalto know that my own smug species could look silly against a still moretalented race.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does Granthan utilize the Gool's mind control technique to his benefit and gain knowledge in END AS A HERO?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you tell me where the story END AS A HERO takes place? [SEP] <s>When she handed the card back, Joe fought an impulse to tear it topieces. He'd done that once and gone through a mountain of red tape toget another—everyone was required by law to carry a CPA ID card andshow it upon request.     I'm sorry, the girl said. I didn't know you were a DCT.     And who'll hire a guy with criminal tendencies? You know the score.When you try to get a job, they ask to see your ID before they eventell you if there's an opening or not. If your CPA ID says you're aDCT, you're SOL and they tell you there's no openings. Oh, I've hadseveral jobs ... jobs like all DCTs get. I've been a garbage man,street-cleaner, ditch-digger—     On the other side of the room, the jukebox came to life with a roar anda group of teen-agers scrambled to the dance floor.     Feeling safe from hidden microphones because of the uproar, he leanedacross the table and whispered in the girl's ear, That's what Iwant to hire you for. I want you to help me commit a crime. If I getconvicted of a crime, I'll be able to get a good job!     The girl's lips formed a bright red circle. Say! You really got bigplans, don't you?     He smiled at her admiration. It      was     something big to plan a crime.A civilization weary of murder, robbery, kidnapping, counterfeiting,blackmail, rape, arson, and drunkenness had originated the CPA—CrimePrevention Association. There were no longer any prisons—CPA officialshad declared loudly and emphatically that their job was to preventcrime, not punish it. And prevent it they did, with thousands ofingenious crime-prevention devices and methods. They had made crimealmost impossible, and during the previous year, only a few hundred menin the whole country had been convicted of criminal acts.     No crime was ever punished. If a man was smart enough to killsomeone, for instance, he wasn't sent to prison to be punished; hewasn't punished at all. Instead, he was sent to a hospital where allcriminal tendencies were removed from his mind by psychologists, shocktreatments, encephalographic devices, a form of prefrontal lobotomy anda dozen other methods. An expensive operation, but since there were fewcriminals—only ten in New York during the past year—any city couldafford the CPA hospitals.     The CPA system was, actually, cheaper than previous methods becauseit did away with the damage caused by countless crimes; did away withprisons and their guards, large police forces, squad cars and weapons.     And, ironically, a man who      did     commit a crime was a sort of hero. Hewas a hero to the millions of men and women who had suppressed impulsesto kill someone, beat their mates, get drunk, or kick a dog. Not only ahero, but because of the CPA Treatment, he was—when he left one of theCPA hospitals—a thoroughly honest and hard-working individual ... aman who could be trusted with any responsibility, any amount of money.And therefore, an EX (a convicted criminal who received the treatmentwas commonly called an Ex because he was in the strictest sense of theword an Ex-criminal) ... an Ex was always offered the best jobs.     Well, the girl said. I'm honored. Really. But I got a date at ten.Let's get it over with. You said it'd only take a few minutes.     Okay. Let's go.  <doc-sep>He was having a nightmare when he heard the voice, Hey. Wake up. Hey!     He opened his eyes, saw Hendricks' ugly face and thought for a minutehe was still having the nightmare.     I just saw your doctor, Hendricks said. He says your treatment isover. You can go home now. I thought I'd give you a lift.     As Joe dressed, he searched his mind and tried to find some difference.     During the treatment, he had been unconscious or drugged, unable tothink. Now he could think clearly, but he could find no difference inhimself.     He felt more relaxed than he'd ever felt before, but that could be anafter-effect of all the sedatives he'd been given. And, he noticed whenhe looked in the mirror, he was paler. The treatment had taken monthsand he had, between operations, been locked in his room.     Hendricks was standing by the window. Joe stared at the massive back.Deliberately goading his mind, he discovered the biggest change:Before, the mere sight of the man had aroused an intense hatred. Now,even when he tried, he succeeded in arousing only a mild hatred.They had toned down his capacity to hate, but not done away with italtogether.     Come here and take a look at your public, said Hendricks.     Joe went to the window. Three stories below, a large crowd had gatheredon the hospital steps: a band, photographers, television trucks,cameramen and autograph hunters. He'd waited a long time for this day.But now—another change in him—     He put the emotion into words: I don't feel like a hero. Funny, but Idon't.     Hero! Hendricks laughed and, with his powerful lungs, it soundedlike a bull snorting. You think a successful criminal is a hero? Youstupid—     He laughed again and waved a hand at the crowd below them. You thinkthose people are down there because they admire what you did? They'redown there waiting for you because they're curious, because they'reglad the CPA caught you, and because they're glad you're an Ex. You'rean      ex     -criminal now, and because of your treatment, you'll never beable to commit another crime as long as you live. And that's the kindof guy they admire, so they want to see you, shake your hand and getyour autograph.     Joe didn't understand Hendricks completely, but the part he didunderstand he didn't believe. A crowd was waiting for him. He could seethe people with his own eyes. When he left the hospital, they'd cheerand shout and ask for his autograph. If he wasn't a hero,      what washe     ?  <doc-sep>It took half an hour to get through the crowd. Cameras clicked allaround him, a hundred kids asked for his autograph, everyone talked atonce and cheered, smiled, laughed, patted him on the back and cheeredsome more.     Only one thing confused him during all the excitement: a white-hairedold lady with tears in her eyes said, Thank heaven it was only awatch. Thank heaven you didn't kill someone! God bless you, son. Andthen the old lady had handed him a box of fudge and left him in totalconfusion.     What she said didn't make sense. If he had killed someone ratherthan stealing a watch, he would be even more of a hero and the crowdwould have cheered even louder. He knew: he had stood outside the CPAhospitals many times and the crowds always cheered louder when anex-murderer came out.     In Hendricks' robot-chauffeured car, he ate the fudge and consoledhimself with the thought,      People are funny. Who can understand 'em?       Feeling happy for one of the few times in his life, he turned towardHendricks and said, Thanks for what you did. It turned out great. I'llbe able to get a good job now.     That's why I met you at the hospital, Hendricks said. I want toexplain some things. I've known you for a long time and I know you'respectacularly dumb. You can't figure out some things for yourself andI don't want you walking around the rest of your life thinking I didyou a favor.     Joe frowned. Few men had ever done him a favor and he had rarelythanked anyone for anything. And now ... after thanking the man who'ddone him the biggest favor of all, the man was denying it!     You robbed Gralewski's apartment, Hendricks said. Gralewski is a CPAemployee and he doesn't live in the apartment you robbed. The CPA paysthe rent for that one and he lives in another. We have a lot of placeslike that. You see, it gives us a way to get rid of saps like youbefore they do real damage. We use it as a last resort when a DCT FirstClass won't take the free psycho treatment or—     Well, it's still a favor.     Hendricks' face hardened. Favor? You wouldn't know a favor if youstumbled over one. I did it because it's standard procedure for yourtype of case. Anyone can—free of charge—have treatment by the bestpsychologists. Any DCT can stop being a DCT by simply asking for thetreatment and taking it. But you wouldn't do that. You wanted to commita crime, get caught and be a hero ... an      Ex     .  <doc-sep>Reno was pleased. He had dabbled in sociology before retraining as amechanic for the expedition. This gives me a chance to study theirmores. He winked wickedly. I may not be back for several nights.They watched through the viewplate as he took off, and then went overto the laboratory for a look at the hamsters.     Three were alive and healthy, munching lettuce. One was the control;the other two had been given shots of Pat's blood from before heentered the ship, but with no additional treatment. Apparently ahamster could fight off melting sickness easily if left alone. Threewere still feverish and ruffled, with a low red blood count, butrecovering. The three dead ones had been given strong shots of adaptiveand counter histamine, so their bodies had not fought back against theattack.     June glanced at the dead animals hastily and looked away again.They lay twisted with a strange semi-fluid limpness, as if ready todissolve. The last hamster, which had been given the heaviest doseof adaptive, had apparently lost all its hair before death. It washairless and pink, like a still-born baby.     We can find no micro-organisms, George Barton said. None at all.Nothing in the body that should not be there. Leucosis and anemia.Fever only for the ones that fought it off. He handed Max sometemperature charts and graphs of blood counts.     June wandered out into the hall. Pediatrics and obstetrics were herfield; she left the cellular research to Max, and just helped him withlaboratory routine. The strange mood followed her out into the hall,then abruptly lightened.     Coming toward her, busily telling a tale of adventure to the gorgeousShelia Davenport, was a tall, red-headed, magnificently handsome man.It was his handsomeness which made Pat such a pleasure to look uponand talk with, she guiltily told herself, and it was his tremendousvitality.... It was like meeting a movie hero in the flesh, or a heroout of the pages of a book—Deer-slayer, John Clayton, Lord Greystoke.     She waited in the doorway to the laboratory and made no move to jointhem, merely acknowledged the two with a nod and a smile and a casuallift of the hand. They nodded and smiled back.     Hello, June, said Pat and continued telling his tale, but as theypassed he lightly touched her arm.     Oh, pioneer! she said mockingly and softly to his passing profile,and knew that he had heard.  <doc-sep>   END AS A HERO     By KEITH LAUMER     Illustrated by SCHELLING     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction June 1963.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      Granthan's mission was the most vital of the war.     It would mean instant victory—but for whom?      I     In the dream I was swimming in a river of white fire and the dream wenton and on. And then I was awake—and the fire was still there, fiercelyburning at me.     I tried to move to get away from the flames, and then the real painhit me. I tried to go back to sleep and the relative comfort of theriver of fire, but it was no go. For better or worse, I was alive andconscious.     I opened my eyes and took a look around. I was on the floor next toan unpadded acceleration couch—the kind the Terrestrial Space Arminstalls in seldom-used lifeboats. There were three more couches, butno one in them. I tried to sit up. It wasn't easy but, by applying alot more will-power than should be required of a sick man, I made it.I took a look at my left arm. Baked. The hand was only medium rare,but the forearm was black, with deep red showing at the bottom of thecracks where the crisped upper layers had burst....     There was a first-aid cabinet across the compartment from me. Itried my right leg, felt broken bone-ends grate with a sensationthat transcended pain. I heaved with the other leg, scrabbled withthe charred arm. The crawl to the cabinet dwarfed Hillary's trekup Everest, but I reached it after a couple of years, and found themicroswitch on the floor that activated the thing, and then I wasfading out again....  <doc-sep>Steve took Mary's hand and pulled her out into the hot, dark, wind-blownnight. He carried the dead Kumaji's pike and they slipped across thesand to where the      thlots     were hobbled for the night. He hardlyremembered the rest of it. There was violence and death, but necessarydeath. He killed a man with the pike, and unhobbled one of the      thlots     .The animal screamed and two more Kumajis came sleepily through the nightto see what was the matter. With the long edge of the pike's blade hedecapitated one of them. He slammed the shaft of the weapon across theother's face, probably breaking his jaw. The camp was in a turmoil. Inthe darkness he flung Mary on the      thlot's     bare back in front of him,and they glided off across the sand.     Pursuit was disorganized—and unsuccessful. It was too dark foreffective pursuit, as Steve had hoped it would be. They rode swiftly allnight and continued riding with the dawn. They could have gone in anydirection. The wind-driven sand would obliterate their trail.     Two days later they reached the caravan. As they rode up, Mary said,Steve, do you have to tell them?     We can tell them this, Steve said. Your father died a hero's death,sending the Kumajis off in the wrong direction.     And not—not what he'd planned to do at first.     No. We'll tell them that was his intention all the while. A man canmake a mistake, can't he?     I love you, Steve. I love you.     Then they rode down on the caravan. Somehow Steve knew they would allreach Oasis City in safety.     With Mary he would find a new world out in the vastness of space.  <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 following evening found Quidley on tenter-hooks. The      snoll-doper     mystery had acquired a new tang. He could hardly wait till the nextmessage transfer took place.     He decided to spend the evening plotting the epic novel which heintended to write someday. He set to work immediately. He plottedmentally, of course—notes were for the hacks and the other commercialnon-geniuses who infested the modern literary world. Closing his eyes,he saw the whole vivid panorama of epic action and grand adventureflowing like a mighty and majestic river before his literary vision:the authentic and awe-inspiring background; the hordes of colorfulcharacters; the handsome virile hero, the compelling Helenesqueheroine.... God, it was going to be great! The best thing he'd everdone! See, already there was a crowd of book lovers in front of thebookstore, staring into the window where the new Herbert Quidley wason display, trying to force its way into the jammed interior....      Cutto interior.     FIRST EAGER CUSTOMER: Tell me quickly, are there anymore copies of the new Herbert Quidley left? BOOK CLERK: A few. Youdon't know how lucky you are to get here before the first printing ranout. FIRST EAGER CUSTOMER: Give me a dozen. I want to make sure thatmy children and my children's children have a plentiful supply. BOOKCLERK: Sorry. Only one to a customer. Next? SECOND EAGER CUSTOMER: Tellme quickly, are ... there ... any ... more ... copies ... of—     ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ....     Message no. 4, except for a slight variation in camouflage, ran true toform:       a;sldkfj a;sldkfj a;sldkfj a;sldkfj Cai: Habe te snoll dopers ensing?Wotnid ne Fieu Dayol ist ifederereret, hid jestig snoll doper. Ginded, olro—Jilka. a;sldkfj a;sldkfj a;sldkfj a;sldkfj       Quidley sighed. What, he asked himself, standing in the library aisleand staring at the indecipherable words, was a normal girl like Kaydoing in such a childish secret society? From the way she and hercorrespondents carried on you'd almost think they were Martian girlscouts on an interplanetary camping trip, trying for their merit badgesin communications!     You could hardly call Kay a girl scout, though.     Nevertheless, she was the key figure in the      snoll-doper     enigma. Thefact annoyed him, especially when he considered that a      snoll doper     ,for all he knew, could be anything from a Chinese fortune cooky to anH-bomb.     He remembered Kay's odd accent. Was that the way a person would speakEnglish if her own language ran something like       ist ifedereret, hidjestig snoll doper adwo     ?     He remembered the way she had looked at him in the coffee bar.     He remembered the material of her dress.     He remembered how she had come to his room.     I didn't know you had a taste for Taine.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you tell me where the story END AS A HERO takes place?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the objective of the Gool and who are they, as depicted in END AS A HERO? [SEP] <s>Using the technique I had grasped from the Gool itself, I struck,stifling the outcry, invaded the fetid blackness and grappled theobscene gelatinous immensity of the Gool spy as it spasmed in a frenzyof xenophobia—a ton of liver writhing at the bottom of a dark well.     I clamped down control. The Gool mind folded in on itself, gibbering.Not pausing to rest, I followed up, probed along my channel of contact,tracing patterns, scanning the flaccid Gool mind....     I saw a world of yellow seas lapping at endless shores of mud. Therewas a fuming pit, where liquid sulphur bubbled up from some innersource, filling an immense natural basin. The Gool clustered at itsrim, feeding, each monstrous shape heaving against its neighbors for amore favorable position.       I probed farther, saw the great cables of living nervous tissue thatlinked each eating organ with the brain-mass far underground. I tracedthe passages through which tendrils ran out to immense caverns wheresmaller creatures labored over strange devices. These, my host's memorytold me, were the young of the Gool. Here they built the fleets thatwould transport the spawn to the new worlds the Prime Overlord haddiscovered, worlds where food was free for the taking. Not sulphuralone, but potassium, calcium, iron and all the metals—richesbeyond belief in endless profusion. No longer would the Gool tribecluster—those who remained of a once-great race—at a single feedingtrough. They would spread out across a galaxy—and beyond.     But not if I could help it.     The Gool had evolved a plan—but they'd had a stroke of bad luck.     In the past, they had managed to control a man here and there, amongthe fleets, far from home, but only at a superficial level. Enough,perhaps, to wreck a ship, but not the complete control needed to send aman back to Earth under Gool compulsion, to carry out complex sabotage.     Then they had found me, alone, a sole survivor, free from the clutterof the other mind-fields. It had been their misfortune to pick apsychodynamicist. Instead of gaining a patient slave, they had openedthe fortress door to an unseen spy. Now that I was there, I would seewhat I could steal.     A timeless time passed. I wandered among patterns of white light andwhite sound, plumbed the deepest recesses of hidden Gool thoughts,fared along strange ways examining the shapes and colors of theconcepts of an alien mind.     I paused at last, scanning a multi-ordinal structure of pattern withinpattern; the diagrammed circuits of a strange machine.     I followed through its logic-sequence; and, like a bomb-burst, itsmeaning exploded in my mind.     From the vile nest deep under the dark surface of the Gool world inits lonely trans-Plutonian orbit, I had plucked the ultimate secret oftheir kind.     Matter across space.  <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>I came out of it clear-headed but weak. My right leg was numb, butreasonably comfortable, clamped tight in a walking brace. I put upa hand and felt a shaved skull, with sutures. It must have been afracture. The left arm—well, it was still there, wrapped to theshoulder and held out stiffly by a power truss that would keep the scartissue from pulling up and crippling me. The steady pressure as thetruss contracted wasn't anything to do a sense-tape on for replaying atleisure moments, but at least the cabinet hadn't amputated. I wasn'tcomplaining.     As far as I knew, I was the first recorded survivor of contact with theGool—if I survived.     I was still a long way from home, and I hadn't yet checked on thecondition of the lifeboat. I glanced toward the entry port. It wasdogged shut. I could see black marks where my burned hand had been atwork.     I fumbled my way into a couch and tried to think. In my condition—witha broken leg and third-degree burns, plus a fractured skull—Ishouldn't have been able to fall out of bed, much less make the tripfrom      Belshazzar's     CCC to the boat; and how had I managed to dog thatport shut? In an emergency a man was capable of great exertions. Butrunning on a broken femur, handling heavy levers with charred fingersand thinking with a cracked head were overdoing it. Still, I washere—and it was time to get a call through to TSA headquarters.     I flipped the switch and gave the emergency call-letters Col. AusarKayle of Aerospace Intelligence had assigned to me a few weeks before.It was almost five minutes before the acknowledge came through fromthe Ganymede relay station, another ten minutes before Kayle's faceswam into view. Even through the blur of the screen I could see thehaggard look.     Granthan! he burst out. Where are the others? What happened outthere? I turned him down to a mutter.     Hold on, I said. I'll tell you. Recorders going? I didn't wait foran answer—not with a fifteen-minute transmission lag. I plowed on:           Belshazzar     was sabotaged. So was      Gilgamesh     —I think. I got out. Ilost a little skin, but the aid cabinet has the case in hand. Tell theMed people the drinks are on me.     I finished talking and flopped back, waiting for Kayle's reply. On thescreen, his flickering image gazed back impatiently, looking as hostileas a swing-shift ward nurse. It would be half an hour before I wouldget his reaction to my report. I dozed off—and awoke with a start.Kayle was talking.     —your report. I won't mince words. They're wondering at your role inthe disaster. How does it happen that you alone survived?     How the hell do I know? I yelled—or croaked. But Kayle's voice wasdroning on:     ... you Psychodynamics people have been telling me the Gool mayhave some kind of long-range telehypnotic ability that might make itpossible for them to subvert a loyal man without his knowledge. You'vetold me yourself that you blacked out during the attack—and came to onthe lifeboat, with no recollection of how you got there.     This is war, Granthan. War against a vicious enemy who strike withoutwarning and without mercy. You were sent out to investigate thepossibility of—what's that term you use?—hyper-cortical invasion. Youknow better than most the risk I'd be running if you were allowed topass the patrol line.     I'm sorry, Granthan. I can't let you land on Earth. I can't acceptthe risk.     What do I do now? I stormed. Go into orbit and eat pills and hopeyou think of something? I need a doctor!     Presently Kayle replied. Yes, he said. You'll have to enter aparking orbit. Perhaps there will be developments soon which will makeit possible to ... ah ... restudy the situation. He didn't meet myeye. I knew what he was thinking. He'd spare me the mental anguish ofknowing what was coming. I couldn't really blame him; he was doingwhat he thought was the right thing. And I'd have to go along andpretend—right up until the warheads struck—that I didn't know I'dbeen condemned to death.      II     I tried to gather my wits and think my way through the situation. Iwas alone and injured, aboard a lifeboat that would be the focus of aconverging flight of missiles as soon as I approached within batteryrange of Earth. I had gotten clear of the Gool, but I wouldn't survivemy next meeting with my own kind. They couldn't take the chance that Iwas acting under Gool orders.     I wasn't, of course. I was still the same Peter Granthan,psychodynamicist, who had started out with Dayan's fleet six weeksearlier. The thoughts I was having weren't brilliant, but they weremine, all mine....     But how could I be sure of that?     Maybe there was something in Kayle's suspicion. If the Gool were asskillful as we thought, they would have left no overt indications oftheir tampering—not at a conscious level.     But this was where psychodynamics training came in. I had been reactinglike any scared casualty, aching to get home and lick his wounds. But Iwasn't just any casualty. I had been trained in the subtleties of themind—and I had been prepared for just such an attack.     Now was the time to make use of that training. It had given me oneresource. I could unlock the memories of my subconscious—and see againwhat had happened.     I lay back, cleared my mind of extraneous thoughts, and concentrated onthe trigger word that would key an auto-hypnotic sequence....     Sense impressions faded. I was alone in the nebulous emptiness of afirst-level trance. I keyed a second word, slipped below the mistysurface into a dreamworld of vague phantasmagoric figures milling intheir limbo of sub-conceptualization. I penetrated deeper, brokethrough into the vividly hallucinatory third level, where images ofmirror-bright immediacy clamored for attention. And deeper....  <doc-sep>You've got to listen to me, Kayle, I shouted. I know you think I'ma Gool robot. But what I have is too big to let you blow it up withouta fight. Matter transmission! You know what that can mean to us. Theconcept is too complex to try to describe in words. You'll have to takemy word for it. I can build it, though, using standard components, plusan infinite-area antenna and a moebius-wound coil—and a few otherthings....     I harangued Kayle for a while, and then sweated out his answer. I wasgetting close now. If he couldn't see the beauty of my proposal, myscreens would start to register the radiation of warheads any time now.     Kayle came back—and his answer boiled down to no.     I tried to reason with him. I reminded him how I had readied myselffor the trip with sessions on the encephaloscope, setting up thecross-networks of conditioned defensive responses, the shunt circuitsto the decoy pseudo-personality, leaving my volitional ego free. Italked about subliminal hypnotics and the resilience quotient of theego-complex.     I might have saved my breath.     I don't understand that psychodynamics jargon, Granthan, he snapped.It smacks of mysticism. But I understand what the Gool have done toyou well enough. I'm sorry.     I leaned back and chewed the inside of my lip and thought unkindthoughts about Colonel Ausar Kayle. Then I settled down to solve theproblem at hand.     I keyed the chart file, flashed pages from the standard index on thereference screen, checking radar coverages, beacon ranges, monitorstations, controller fields. It looked as though a radar-negative boatthe size of mine might possibly get through the defensive net with adaring pilot, and as a condemned spy, I could afford to be daring.     And I had a few ideas.      III     The shrilling of the proximity alarm blasted through the silence. For awild moment I thought Kayle had beaten me to the punch; then I realizedit was the routine DEW line patrol contact.     Z four-oh-two, I am reading your IFF. Decelerate at 1.8 geepreparatory to picking up approach orbit....     The screen went on droning out instructions. I fed them into theautopilot, at the same time running over my approach plan. The scoutwas moving in closer. I licked dry lips. It was time to try.     I closed my eyes, reached out—as the Gool mind had reached out tome—and felt the touch of a Signals Officer's mind, forty thousandmiles distant, aboard the patrol vessel. There was a brief flurry ofstruggle; then I dictated my instructions. The Signals Officer punchedkeys, spoke into his microphone:     As you were, Z four-oh-two. Continue on present course. At Oh-nineteenseconds, pick up planetary for re-entry and let-down.     I blanked out the man's recollection of what had happened, caught hisbelated puzzlement as I broke contact. But I was clear of the DEW linenow, rapidly approaching atmosphere.     Z four-oh-two, the speaker crackled. This is planetary control. I ampicking you up on channel forty-three, for re-entry and let-down.     There was a long pause. Then:     Z four-oh-two, countermand DEW Line clearance! Repeat, clearancecountermanded! Emergency course change to standard hyperbolic codeninety-eight. Do not attempt re-entry. Repeat: do not attempt re-entry!     It hadn't taken Kayle long to see that I'd gotten past the outer lineof defense. A few more minutes' grace would have helped. I'd play itdumb, and hope for a little luck.     Planetary, Z four-oh-two here. Say, I'm afraid I missed part of that,fellows. I'm a little banged up—I guess I switched frequencies on you.What was that after 'pick up channel forty-three'...?     Four-oh-two, sheer off there! You're not cleared for re-entry!     Hey, you birds are mixed up, I protested. I'm cleared all the way. Ichecked in with DEW—     It was time to disappear. I blanked off all transmission, hit thecontrols, following my evasive pattern. And again I reached out—     A radar man at a site in the Pacific, fifteen thousand miles away, rosefrom his chair, crossed the darkened room and threw a switch. The radarscreens blanked off....     For an hour I rode the long orbit down, fending off attack afterattack. Then I was clear, skimming the surface of the ocean a few milessoutheast of Key West. The boat hit hard. I felt the floor rise up,over, buffeting me against the restraining harness.     I hauled at the release lever, felt a long moment of giddydisorientation as the escape capsule separated from the sinkinglifeboat deep under the surface. Then my escape capsule was bobbing onthe water.     I would have to risk calling Kayle now—but by voluntarily giving myposition away, I should convince him I was still on our side—and I wasbadly in need of a pick-up. I flipped the sending key.     This is Z four-oh-two, I said. I have an urgent report for ColonelKayle of Aerospace Intelligence.     Kayle's face appeared. Don't fight it, Granthan, he croaked. Youpenetrated the planetary defenses—God knows how. I—     Later, I snapped. How about calling off your dogs now? And sendsomebody out here to pick me up, before I add sea-sickness to my othercomplaints.     We have you pinpointed, Kayle cut in. It's no use fighting it,Granthan.  <doc-sep>He was having a nightmare when he heard the voice, Hey. Wake up. Hey!     He opened his eyes, saw Hendricks' ugly face and thought for a minutehe was still having the nightmare.     I just saw your doctor, Hendricks said. He says your treatment isover. You can go home now. I thought I'd give you a lift.     As Joe dressed, he searched his mind and tried to find some difference.     During the treatment, he had been unconscious or drugged, unable tothink. Now he could think clearly, but he could find no difference inhimself.     He felt more relaxed than he'd ever felt before, but that could be anafter-effect of all the sedatives he'd been given. And, he noticed whenhe looked in the mirror, he was paler. The treatment had taken monthsand he had, between operations, been locked in his room.     Hendricks was standing by the window. Joe stared at the massive back.Deliberately goading his mind, he discovered the biggest change:Before, the mere sight of the man had aroused an intense hatred. Now,even when he tried, he succeeded in arousing only a mild hatred.They had toned down his capacity to hate, but not done away with italtogether.     Come here and take a look at your public, said Hendricks.     Joe went to the window. Three stories below, a large crowd had gatheredon the hospital steps: a band, photographers, television trucks,cameramen and autograph hunters. He'd waited a long time for this day.But now—another change in him—     He put the emotion into words: I don't feel like a hero. Funny, but Idon't.     Hero! Hendricks laughed and, with his powerful lungs, it soundedlike a bull snorting. You think a successful criminal is a hero? Youstupid—     He laughed again and waved a hand at the crowd below them. You thinkthose people are down there because they admire what you did? They'redown there waiting for you because they're curious, because they'reglad the CPA caught you, and because they're glad you're an Ex. You'rean      ex     -criminal now, and because of your treatment, you'll never beable to commit another crime as long as you live. And that's the kindof guy they admire, so they want to see you, shake your hand and getyour autograph.     Joe didn't understand Hendricks completely, but the part he didunderstand he didn't believe. A crowd was waiting for him. He could seethe people with his own eyes. When he left the hospital, they'd cheerand shout and ask for his autograph. If he wasn't a hero,      what washe     ?  <doc-sep>   END AS A HERO     By KEITH LAUMER     Illustrated by SCHELLING     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction June 1963.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      Granthan's mission was the most vital of the war.     It would mean instant victory—but for whom?      I     In the dream I was swimming in a river of white fire and the dream wenton and on. And then I was awake—and the fire was still there, fiercelyburning at me.     I tried to move to get away from the flames, and then the real painhit me. I tried to go back to sleep and the relative comfort of theriver of fire, but it was no go. For better or worse, I was alive andconscious.     I opened my eyes and took a look around. I was on the floor next toan unpadded acceleration couch—the kind the Terrestrial Space Arminstalls in seldom-used lifeboats. There were three more couches, butno one in them. I tried to sit up. It wasn't easy but, by applying alot more will-power than should be required of a sick man, I made it.I took a look at my left arm. Baked. The hand was only medium rare,but the forearm was black, with deep red showing at the bottom of thecracks where the crisped upper layers had burst....     There was a first-aid cabinet across the compartment from me. Itried my right leg, felt broken bone-ends grate with a sensationthat transcended pain. I heaved with the other leg, scrabbled withthe charred arm. The crawl to the cabinet dwarfed Hillary's trekup Everest, but I reached it after a couple of years, and found themicroswitch on the floor that activated the thing, and then I wasfading out again....  <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>When she handed the card back, Joe fought an impulse to tear it topieces. He'd done that once and gone through a mountain of red tape toget another—everyone was required by law to carry a CPA ID card andshow it upon request.     I'm sorry, the girl said. I didn't know you were a DCT.     And who'll hire a guy with criminal tendencies? You know the score.When you try to get a job, they ask to see your ID before they eventell you if there's an opening or not. If your CPA ID says you're aDCT, you're SOL and they tell you there's no openings. Oh, I've hadseveral jobs ... jobs like all DCTs get. I've been a garbage man,street-cleaner, ditch-digger—     On the other side of the room, the jukebox came to life with a roar anda group of teen-agers scrambled to the dance floor.     Feeling safe from hidden microphones because of the uproar, he leanedacross the table and whispered in the girl's ear, That's what Iwant to hire you for. I want you to help me commit a crime. If I getconvicted of a crime, I'll be able to get a good job!     The girl's lips formed a bright red circle. Say! You really got bigplans, don't you?     He smiled at her admiration. It      was     something big to plan a crime.A civilization weary of murder, robbery, kidnapping, counterfeiting,blackmail, rape, arson, and drunkenness had originated the CPA—CrimePrevention Association. There were no longer any prisons—CPA officialshad declared loudly and emphatically that their job was to preventcrime, not punish it. And prevent it they did, with thousands ofingenious crime-prevention devices and methods. They had made crimealmost impossible, and during the previous year, only a few hundred menin the whole country had been convicted of criminal acts.     No crime was ever punished. If a man was smart enough to killsomeone, for instance, he wasn't sent to prison to be punished; hewasn't punished at all. Instead, he was sent to a hospital where allcriminal tendencies were removed from his mind by psychologists, shocktreatments, encephalographic devices, a form of prefrontal lobotomy anda dozen other methods. An expensive operation, but since there were fewcriminals—only ten in New York during the past year—any city couldafford the CPA hospitals.     The CPA system was, actually, cheaper than previous methods becauseit did away with the damage caused by countless crimes; did away withprisons and their guards, large police forces, squad cars and weapons.     And, ironically, a man who      did     commit a crime was a sort of hero. Hewas a hero to the millions of men and women who had suppressed impulsesto kill someone, beat their mates, get drunk, or kick a dog. Not only ahero, but because of the CPA Treatment, he was—when he left one of theCPA hospitals—a thoroughly honest and hard-working individual ... aman who could be trusted with any responsibility, any amount of money.And therefore, an EX (a convicted criminal who received the treatmentwas commonly called an Ex because he was in the strictest sense of theword an Ex-criminal) ... an Ex was always offered the best jobs.     Well, the girl said. I'm honored. Really. But I got a date at ten.Let's get it over with. You said it'd only take a few minutes.     Okay. Let's go.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the objective of the Gool and who are they, as depicted in END AS A HERO?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of the storyline in THE SOUL EATERS? [SEP] <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 SOUL EATERS     By WILLIAM CONOVER     Firebrand Dennis Brooke had one final chance     to redeem himself by capturing Koerber whose     ships were the scourge of the Void. But his     luck had run its course, and now he was     marooned on a rogue planet—fighting to save     himself from a menace weapons could not kill.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Fall 1944.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]            And so, my dear     , Dennis detected a faint irony in the phrase,       I'mafraid I can offer no competition to the beauties of five planets—oris it six? With regret I bow myself out, and knowing me as you do,you'll understand the futility of trying to convince me again. Anyway,there will be no temptation, for I'm sailing on a new assignment I'veaccepted. I did love you.... Good-by.          Dennis Brooke had lost count of the times he'd read Marla's lastletter, but every time he came to these final, poignant lines, theynever failed to conjure a vision of her tawny loveliness, slender asthe palms of Venus, and of the blue ecstasy of her eyes, wide with aperpetual wonder—limpid as a child's.     The barbaric rhythms of the      Congahua     , were a background of annoyancein Dennis' mind; he frowned slightly as the maneuvers of the Mercuriandancer, who writhed among the guests of the notorious pleasure palace,began to leave no doubt as to her intentions. The girl was beautiful,in a sultry, almost incandescent sort of way, but her open promise lefthim cold. He wanted solitude, somewhere to coordinate his thoughtsin silence and salvage something out of the wreck of his heart, notto speak of his career. But Venus, in the throes of a gigantic boomupon the discovery of radio-active fields, could offer only onesolitude—the fatal one of her swamps and virgin forests.     Dennis Brooke was thirty, the time when youth no longer seems unending.When the minor adventures of the heart begin to pall. If the loss ofMarla left an aching void that all the women of five planets could notfill, the loss of Space, was quite as deadly. For he had been grounded.True, Koerber's escape from the I.S.P. net had not quite been hisfault; but had he not been enjoying the joys of a voluptuous JovianChamber, in Venus' fabulous Inter-planetary Palace, he would have beenready for duty to complete the last link in the net of I.S.P. cruisersthat almost surrounded the space pirate.     A night in the Jovian Chamber, was to be emperor for one night. Everydream of a man's desire was marvelously induced through the skilful useof hypnotics; the rarest viands and most delectable drinks appeared asif by magic; the unearthly peace of an Olympus descended on a man'ssoul, and beauty ... beauty such as men dreamed of was a warm realityunder the ineffable illumination of the Chamber.     It cost a young fortune. But to pleasure mad, boom-ridden Venus, afortune was a bagatelle. Only it had cost Dennis Brooke far more than asheaf of credits—it had cost him the severe rebuff of the I.S.P., andmost of his heart in Marla.     Dennis sighed, he tilted his red, curly head and drank deeply of theinsidious      Verbena     , fragrant as a mint garden, in the tall frostyglass of Martian      Bacca-glas     , and as he did so, his brilliant hazeleyes found themselves gazing into the unwinking, violet stare of ayoung Martian at the next table. There was a smouldering hatred inthose eyes, and something else ... envy, perhaps, or was it jealousy?Dennis couldn't tell. But his senses became instantly alert. Dangerbrought a faint vibration which his superbly trained faculties couldinstantly denote.     His steady, bronzed hand lowered the drink, and his eyes narrowedslightly. Absorbed in trying to puzzle the sudden enmity of thisMartian stranger, he was unaware of the Mercurian Dancer. The latterhad edged closer, whirling in prismatic flashes from the myriadsemi-precious stones that studded her brief gauze skirt. And now, ina final bid for the spacer's favor she flung herself in his lap andtilted back invitingly.     Some of the guests laughed, others stared in plain envy at thehandsome, red-haired spacer, but from the table across, came thetinkling sound of a fragile glass being crushed in a powerful hand,and a muffled Martian curse. Without warning, the Martian was on hisfeet with the speed of an Hellacorium, the table went crashing to oneside as he leaped with deadly intent on the sprawled figure of DennisBrooke. A high-pitched scream brought instant silence as a Terran girlcried out. Then the Martian's hand reached out hungrily. But Dennis wasnot there.  <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>Suddenly she was dropped. Her mountainous keepers were on the floor asthough struck by lightning, their arms thrown out before them, theirfaces abject against the floor. Kraft Gerding was slowly loweringhimself to one knee. Dink had entered the spider-room. Withoutquestions, he strode between the shiko-ing Earmuffs and put his armsaround Orison.     They can't harm you, he said. She turned to press her face againsthis chest. You're all right, child. Breathe deep, swallow, and turnyour brain back on. All right, now?     All right, she said, still trembling. They were going to throw me tothe spiders.     Kraft told you that? Dink Gerding released her and turned to thekneeling man. Stand up, Elder Brother.     I....     Dink brought his right fist up from hip-level, crashing it into Kraft'sjaw. Kraft Gerding joined the Earmuffs on the floor.     If you'd care to stand again, Elder Brother, you may attempt torecover your dignity without regard for the difference in our rank.Kraft struggled to one knee and remained kneeling, gazing up at Dinkthrough half-closed eyes. No? Then get out of here, all of you.      Samma!          Kraft Gerding arose, stared for a moment at Dink and Orison, then, withthe merest hint of a bow, led his two giant Earmuffs to the elevator.     I wish you hadn't come up here, Orison, Dink said. Why did you doit?     Have you read the story of Bluebeard? Orison asked. She stood closeto Dink, keeping her eyes on the nearest spidertank. I had to seewhat it was you kept up here so secretly, what it was that I wasforbidden to see. My excuse was to have been that I was looking foryou, to deliver a message from Mr. Wanji. He said I was to tell youthat the escudo green is pale.     You're too curious, and Wanji is too careless, Dink said. Now, whatis this thing you have about spiders?     I've always been terrified of them, Orison said. When I was a littlegirl, I had to stay upstairs all day one Sunday because there was aspider hanging from his thread in the stairway. I waited until Dad camehome and took it down with a broom. Even then, I didn't have appetitefor supper.     Strange, Dink said. He walked over to the nearest tank and pluckedone of the tiny pink creatures from a web-bridge. This is no spider,Orison, he said.     She backed away from Dink Gerding and the minuscule creature he cuppedin the palm of his hand. These are Microfabridae, more nearly relatedto shellfish than to spiders, he said. They're stone-and-metaleaters. They literally couldn't harm a fly. Look at it, Orison. Heextended his palm. Orison forced herself to look. The little creature,flesh-colored against his flesh, was nearly invisible, scuttling aroundthe bowl of his hand. Pretty little fellow, isn't he? Dink asked.Here. You hold him.     I'd rather not, she protested.     I'd be happier if you did, Dink said.  <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>They don't like me bringing yer meals to you in yer cabin, Chip said.But the cap'n knows I'm the best cook in the Merchant Service. Theywon't mess with me.     What has Mr. Tony got on the captain, Chip? Retief asked.     They're in some kind o' crooked business together. You want some moresmoked turkey?     Sure. What have they got against my going to Jorgensen's Worlds?     Dunno. Hasn't been no tourists got in there fer six or eight months. Isure like a feller that can put it away. I was a big eater when I wasyer age.     I'll bet you can still handle it, Old Timer. What are Jorgensen'sWorlds like?     One of 'em's cold as hell and three of 'em's colder. Most o' theJorgies live on Svea; that's the least froze up. Man don't enjoy eatin'his own cookin' like he does somebody else's.     That's where I'm lucky, Chip. What kind of cargo's the captain gotaboard for Jorgensen's?     Derned if I know. In and out o' there like a grasshopper, ever fewweeks. Don't never pick up no cargo. No tourists any more, like I says.Don't know what we even run in there for.     Where are the passengers we have aboard headed?     To Alabaster. That's nine days' run in-sector from Jorgensen's. Youain't got another one of them cigars, have you?     Have one, Chip. I guess I was lucky to get space on this ship.     Plenty o' space, Mister. We got a dozen empty cabins. Chip puffedthe cigar alight, then cleared away the dishes, poured out coffee andbrandy.     Them Sweaties is what I don't like, he said.     Retief looked at him questioningly.     You never seen a Sweaty? Ugly lookin' devils. Skinny legs, like alobster; big chest, shaped like the top of a turnip; rubbery lookin'head. You can see the pulse beatin' when they get riled.     I've never had the pleasure, Retief said.     You prob'ly have it perty soon. Them devils board us nigh ever tripout. Act like they was the Customs Patrol or somethin'.     There was a distant clang, and a faint tremor ran through the floor.     I ain't superstitious ner nothin', Chip said. But I'll betriple-damned if that ain't them boarding us now.     Ten minutes passed before bootsteps sounded outside the door,accompanied by a clicking patter. The doorknob rattled, then a heavyknock shook the door.     They got to look you over, Chip whispered. Nosy damn Sweaties.     Unlock it, Chip. The chef opened the door.     Come in, damn you, he said.     A tall and grotesque creature minced into the room, tiny hoof-likefeet tapping on the floor. A flaring metal helmet shaded the deep-setcompound eyes, and a loose mantle flapped around the knobbed knees.Behind the alien, the captain hovered nervously.     Yo' papiss, the alien rasped.     Who's your friend, Captain? Retief said.     Never mind; just do like he tells you.     Yo' papiss, the alien said again.     Okay, Retief said. I've seen it. You can take it away now.       Don't horse around, the captain said. This fellow can get mean.     The alien brought two tiny arms out from the concealment of the mantle,clicked toothed pincers under Retief's nose.     Quick, soft one.     Captain, tell your friend to keep its distance. It looks brittle, andI'm tempted to test it.     Don't start anything with Skaw; he can clip through steel with thosesnappers.     Last chance, Retief said. Skaw stood poised, open pincers an inchfrom Retief's eyes.     Show him your papers, you damned fool, the captain said hoarsely. Igot no control over Skaw.  <doc-sep>Both men began scooping sand in their cupped hands, digging franticallyfor the book. Saliva dripped from Maota's mouth, but he didn't know orcare.     Finally they stopped, exhausted. They had covered a substantial areaaround the hole. They had covered the complete area where they had been.     We killed it, the old man moaned.     It was just a book. Not alive, you know.     How do you know? The old man's pale eyes were filled with tears. Ittalked and it sang. In a way, it had a soul. Sometimes on long nights Iused to imagine it loved me, for taking care of it.     There are other books. We'll get another.     Maota shook his head. There are no more.     But I've seen them. Down there in the square building.     Not poetry. Books, yes, but not poetry. That was the only book withsongs.     I'm sorry.           You     killed it! Maota suddenly sprang for the weapon, lyingforgotten in the sand. Michaelson put his foot on it and Maota was tooweak to tear it loose. He could only weep out his rage.     When he could talk again, Maota said, I am sorry, Mr. Earthgod. I'vedisgraced myself.     Don't be sorry. Michaelson helped him to his feet. We fight for somereasons, cry for others. A priceless book is a good reason for either.     Not for that. For not winning. I should have killed you last nightwhen I had the chance. The gods give us chances and if we don't takethem we lose forever.     I told you before! We are on the same side. Negotiate. Have you neverheard of negotiation?     You are a god, Maota said. One does not negotiate with gods. Oneeither loves them, or kills them.     That's another thing. I am not a god. Can't you understand?     Of course you are. Maota looked up, very sure. Mortals cannot stepfrom star to star like crossing a shallow brook.     No, no. I don't step from one star to another. An invention does that.Just an invention. I carry it with me. It's a tiny thing. No one wouldever guess it has such power. So you see, I'm human, just like you. Hitme and I hurt. Cut me and I bleed. I love. I hate. I was born. Some dayI'll die. See? I'm human. Just a human with a machine. No more thanthat.  <doc-sep>Fownes held his face up to let the rain fall on it. Moonlight! heshouted. Roses! My      soul     for a cocktail for two! He grasped thedoorway to keep from being blown out of the house.     Are you going to make it stop or aren't you! MacBride yelled.     You'll have to tell me what you did first!     I      told     him not to touch that wheel! Lanfierre. He's in the upstairsbedroom!     When he heard this Fownes plunged into the house and fought his wayup the stairs. He found Lanfierre standing outside the bedroom with awheel in his hand.       What have I done? Lanfierre asked in the monotone of shock.     Fownes took the wheel. It was off a 1995 Studebaker.     I'm not sure what's going to come of this, he said to Lanfierre withan astonishing amount of objectivity, but the entire dome air supplyis now coming through my bedroom.     The wind screamed.     Is there something I can turn? Lanfierre asked.     Not any more there isn't.     They started down the stairs carefully, but the wind caught them andthey quickly reached the bottom in a wet heap.     Recruiting Lieutenant MacBride from behind his sofa, the men carefullyedged out of the house and forced the front door shut.     The wind died. The fog dispersed. They stood dripping in the OptimumDome Conditions of the bright avenue.     I never figured on      this     , Lanfierre said, shaking his head.     With the front door closed the wind quickly built up inside the house.They could see the furnishing whirl past the windows. The house did awild, elated jig.     What kind of a place      is     this? MacBride said, his courage beginningto return. He took out his notebook but it was a soggy mess. He tossedit away.     Sure, he was      different     , Lanfierre murmured. I knew that much.     When the roof blew off they weren't really surprised. With a certainamount of equanimity they watched it lift off almost gracefully,standing on end for a moment before toppling to the ground. It wasstrangely slow motion, as was the black twirling cloud that now roseout of the master bedroom, spewing shorts and socks and cases everywhich way.           Now     what? MacBride said, thoroughly exasperated, as this strangeblack cloud began to accelerate, whirling about like some malevolenttop....  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in THE SOUL EATERS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is Dennis' opinion of Marla in THE SOUL EATERS? [SEP] <s>  THE SOUL EATERS     By WILLIAM CONOVER     Firebrand Dennis Brooke had one final chance     to redeem himself by capturing Koerber whose     ships were the scourge of the Void. But his     luck had run its course, and now he was     marooned on a rogue planet—fighting to save     himself from a menace weapons could not kill.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Fall 1944.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]            And so, my dear     , Dennis detected a faint irony in the phrase,       I'mafraid I can offer no competition to the beauties of five planets—oris it six? With regret I bow myself out, and knowing me as you do,you'll understand the futility of trying to convince me again. Anyway,there will be no temptation, for I'm sailing on a new assignment I'veaccepted. I did love you.... Good-by.          Dennis Brooke had lost count of the times he'd read Marla's lastletter, but every time he came to these final, poignant lines, theynever failed to conjure a vision of her tawny loveliness, slender asthe palms of Venus, and of the blue ecstasy of her eyes, wide with aperpetual wonder—limpid as a child's.     The barbaric rhythms of the      Congahua     , were a background of annoyancein Dennis' mind; he frowned slightly as the maneuvers of the Mercuriandancer, who writhed among the guests of the notorious pleasure palace,began to leave no doubt as to her intentions. The girl was beautiful,in a sultry, almost incandescent sort of way, but her open promise lefthim cold. He wanted solitude, somewhere to coordinate his thoughtsin silence and salvage something out of the wreck of his heart, notto speak of his career. But Venus, in the throes of a gigantic boomupon the discovery of radio-active fields, could offer only onesolitude—the fatal one of her swamps and virgin forests.     Dennis Brooke was thirty, the time when youth no longer seems unending.When the minor adventures of the heart begin to pall. If the loss ofMarla left an aching void that all the women of five planets could notfill, the loss of Space, was quite as deadly. For he had been grounded.True, Koerber's escape from the I.S.P. net had not quite been hisfault; but had he not been enjoying the joys of a voluptuous JovianChamber, in Venus' fabulous Inter-planetary Palace, he would have beenready for duty to complete the last link in the net of I.S.P. cruisersthat almost surrounded the space pirate.     A night in the Jovian Chamber, was to be emperor for one night. Everydream of a man's desire was marvelously induced through the skilful useof hypnotics; the rarest viands and most delectable drinks appeared asif by magic; the unearthly peace of an Olympus descended on a man'ssoul, and beauty ... beauty such as men dreamed of was a warm realityunder the ineffable illumination of the Chamber.     It cost a young fortune. But to pleasure mad, boom-ridden Venus, afortune was a bagatelle. Only it had cost Dennis Brooke far more than asheaf of credits—it had cost him the severe rebuff of the I.S.P., andmost of his heart in Marla.     Dennis sighed, he tilted his red, curly head and drank deeply of theinsidious      Verbena     , fragrant as a mint garden, in the tall frostyglass of Martian      Bacca-glas     , and as he did so, his brilliant hazeleyes found themselves gazing into the unwinking, violet stare of ayoung Martian at the next table. There was a smouldering hatred inthose eyes, and something else ... envy, perhaps, or was it jealousy?Dennis couldn't tell. But his senses became instantly alert. Dangerbrought a faint vibration which his superbly trained faculties couldinstantly denote.     His steady, bronzed hand lowered the drink, and his eyes narrowedslightly. Absorbed in trying to puzzle the sudden enmity of thisMartian stranger, he was unaware of the Mercurian Dancer. The latterhad edged closer, whirling in prismatic flashes from the myriadsemi-precious stones that studded her brief gauze skirt. And now, ina final bid for the spacer's favor she flung herself in his lap andtilted back invitingly.     Some of the guests laughed, others stared in plain envy at thehandsome, red-haired spacer, but from the table across, came thetinkling sound of a fragile glass being crushed in a powerful hand,and a muffled Martian curse. Without warning, the Martian was on hisfeet with the speed of an Hellacorium, the table went crashing to oneside as he leaped with deadly intent on the sprawled figure of DennisBrooke. A high-pitched scream brought instant silence as a Terran girlcried out. Then the Martian's hand reached out hungrily. But Dennis wasnot there.  <doc-sep>The stern, white haired I.S.P. Commander behind the immense Aluminildesk, frowned slightly as Dennis Brooke entered. He eyed the six footfour frame of the Captain before him with a mixture of feelings, asif uncertain how to begin. Finally, he sighed as if, having come to adecision, he were forcing himself to speak:     Sit down, Dennis. I've sent for you, despite your grounding, fortwo reasons. The first one you already know—your capture of one ofKoerber's henchmen—has given us a line as to his present orbit ofpiracy, and the means of a check on his activities. But that's notreally why I've brought you here. He frowned again as if what he hadto say were difficult indeed.     Marla Starland, your fiancee, accepted an assignment we offered her—adelicate piece of work here on Terra that only a very beautiful, andvery clever young lady could perform. And, he paused, grimacing,somewhere between Venus and Terra, the interplanetary spacer bringingher and several other passengers, began to send distress signals.Finally, we couldn't contact the ship any more. It is three daysoverdue. All passengers, a cargo of radium from Venus worth untoldmillions, the spacer itself—seem to have vanished.     Dennis Brooke's space-tanned features had gone pale. His large hazeleyes, fringed with auburn lashes, too long for a man, were bright slitsthat smouldered. He stood silent, his hands clenched at his sides,while something cold and sharp seemed to dig at his heart with cruelprecision.     Marla! He breathed at last. The thought of Marla in the powerof Koerber sent a wave of anguish that seared through him like anatom-blast.     Commander, Dennis said, and his rich baritone voice had depths ofemotion so great that they startled Commander Bertram himself—andthat grizzled veteran of the I.S.P., had at one time or another knownevery change of torture that could possibly be wrung on a human soul.Commander, give me one ...      one     chance at that spawn of unthinkablebegetting! Let me try, and I promise you ... in his torture, Denniswas unconsciously banging a knotted fist on the chaste, satiny surfaceof the priceless desk, I promise you that I will either bring youKoerber, or forfeit my life!     Commander Bertram nodded his head. I brought you here for thatpurpose, son. We have reached a point in our war with Koerber, wherethe last stakes must be played ... and the last stake is death!     He reached over and flipped up the activator on a small telecast seton his desk; instantly the viso-screen lighted up. You'll now seea visual record of all we know about the passenger spacer that leftVenus with passengers and cargo, as far as we could contact the vesselin space. This, Dennis, the Commander emphasized his words, is yourchance to redeem yourself! He fell silent, while the viso-screen beganto show a crowded space port on Venus, and a gigantic passenger spacerup-tilted in its cradle.  <doc-sep>With a wrenching turn that almost threw them out of control, Dennismaneuvered to avoid the beam. Again Koerber's beam lashed out, as hesank lower into the looming mass, and again Dennis anticipating themaneuver avoided it.     George Randall! He shouted desperately into the speaker. Cut alljets in the rocket room! Hurry, man! He banked again and then zoomedout of the increasing gravity trap.     Randall! I've got to use the magnetic repulsion plates.... Cut all thejets! But there was no response. Randall's screen remained blank. ThenKoerber's lashing magnetic beam touched and the I.S.P. ship was caught,forced to follow the pirate ship's plunge like the weight at the end ofa whiplash. Koerber's gunners sent one parting shot, an atom-blast thatshook the trapped cruiser like a leaf.     Beneath them, growing larger by the second, a small world rushed up tomeet them. The readings in the Planetograph seemed to have gone crazy.It showed diameter 1200 miles; composition mineral and radio-active.Gravity seven-eighths of Terra. It couldn't be! Unless perhaps thisunknown planetoid was the legendary core of the world that at one timewas supposed to have existed between Jupiter and Mars. Only that couldpossibly explain the incredible gravity.     And then began another type of battle. Hearing the Captain's orders toRandall, and noting that no result had been obtained, Scotty Byrneshimself cut the jets. The Magnetic Repulsion Plates went into action,too late to save them from being drawn, but at least they could preventa crash. Far in the distance they could see Koerber's ship precedingthem in a free fall, then the Planetoid was rushing up to engulf them.      III     The atmosphere was somewhat tenuous, but it was breathable, provideda man didn't exert himself. To the silent crew of the I.S.P. Cruiser,the strange world to which Koerber's magnetic Beam had drawn them,was anything but reassuring. Towering crags jutted raggedly againstthe sky, and the iridescent soil of the narrow valley that walled inthe cruiser, had a poisonous, deadly look. As far as their eyes couldreach, the desolate, denuded vista stretched to the horizon.     Pretty much of a mess! Dennis Brooke's face was impassive as heturned to Scotty Byrnes. What's your opinion? Think we can patch herup, or are we stuck here indefinitely?     Scotty eyed the damage. The atom-blast had penetrated the hull intothe forward fuel chambers and the armor had blossomed out like flowerpetals. The crash-landing had not helped either.     Well, there's a few beryloid plates in the storage locker, Captain,but, he scratched his head ruminatively and shifted his precious cud.     But what? Speak up man! It was Tom Jeffery, his nerves on edge, hisordinarily gentle voice like a lash.     But, you may as well know it, Scotty replied quietly. That partingshot of Koerber's severed our main rocket feed. I had to use theemergency tank to make it down here!     For a long moment the four men looked at each other in silence. DennisBrooke's face was still impassive but for the flaming hazel eyes. Tomtugged at the torn sleeve of his I.S.P. uniform, while Scotty gazedmournfully at the damaged ship. Dallas Bernan looked at the long,ragged line of cliffs.     I think we got Koerber, though, he said at last. While Tom was doinga job of navigation, I had one last glimpse of him coming down fastand out of control somewhere behind those crags over there!     To hell with Koerber! Tom Jeffery exploded. You mean we're stuck inthis hellish rock-pile?     Easy, Tom! Captain Brooke's tones were like ice. On his pale,impassive face, his eyes were like flaming topaz. Where's Randall?     Probably hiding his head under a bunk! Dallas laughed with scorn. Hiscontemptuous remark voiced the feelings of the entire crew. A man whofailed to be at his battle-station in time of emergency, had no placein the I.S.P.     Considering the gravity of this planetoid, Dennis Brooke saidthoughtfully, it's going to take some blast to get us off!     Maybe we can locate a deposit of anerioum or uranium or something forour atom-busters to chew on! Scotty said hopefully. He was an eternaloptimist.     Better break out those repair plates, Dennis said to Scotty. Tom,you get the welders ready. I've got a few entries to make in the logbook, and then we'll decide on a party to explore the terrain and tryto find out what happened to Koerber's ship. I must know, he said in alow voice, but with such passion that the others were startled.     A figure appeared in the slanting doorway of the ship in time to hearthe last words. It was George Randall, adjusting a bandaged foreheadbumped during the crash landing.     Captain ... I ... I wanted ... he paused unable to continue.     You wanted what? Captain Brooke's voice was terse. Perhaps youwanted to explain why you weren't at your battle station?     Sir, I wanted to know if ... if I might help Scotty with the weldingjob.... That wasn't at all what he'd intended to say. But somehow thewords had stuck in his throat and his face flushed deep scarlet. Hiscandid blue eyes were suspiciously brilliant, and the white bandagewith its crimson stains made an appealing, boyish figure. It softenedthe anger in Brooke's heart. Thinking it over calmly, Dennis realizedthis was the youngster's first trip into the outer orbits, and bettermen than he had cracked in those vast reaches of space. But there hadbeen an instant when he'd found Randall cowering in the rocket-room, inthe grip of paralyzing hysteria, when he could cheerfully have wrunghis neck!     Certainly, Randall, he replied in a much more kindly tone. We'llneed all hands now.     Thank you, sir! Randall seemed to hesitate for a moment, opened hismouth to speak further, but feeling the other's calculating gaze uponhim, he whirled and re-entered the ship.     But for him we wouldn't be here! Dallas exclaimed. Aagh! He shookhis head in disgust until the several folds of flesh under his chinshook like gelatin. Cowards are hell! He spat.     Easy, Dallas, Randall's a kid, give 'im a chance. Dennis observed.     You Captain ... you're defending 'im? Why you had a greater stake inthis than we, and he's spoiled it for you!     Yep, Dennis nodded. But I'm still keeping my senses clear. No feudson my ship. Get it! The last two words cut like a scimitar.     Dallas nodded and lowered his eyes. Scotty shifted his cud and spata thin stream of juice over the iridescent ground. One by one theyre-entered the cruiser.  <doc-sep>They watched the parabola it made in its trajectory as it flashed intospace and then fell into orbit there beyond the planetary attraction ofVenus. On the three-dimensional viso-screen it was uncannily real.     A flight that had taken many hours to accomplish, was shortened onthe viso-screen to a matter of minutes. They saw the great, proudinterplanetary transport speeding majestically through the starry void,and suddenly, they saw her swerve in a great arc; again she swervedas if avoiding something deadly in space, and point upwards gainingaltitude. It was zig-zagging now, desperately maneuvering in an erraticcourse, and as if by magic, a tiny spot appeared on the transport'sside.     Tiny on the viso-screen, the fatal spots must have been huge inactuality. To the Commander of the I.S.P., and to Captain Brooke, itwas an old story. Atom-blasts were pitting the spacer's hull withdeadly Genton shells. The great transport trembled under the impact ofthe barrage, and suddenly, the screen went blank.     Commander Bertram turned slowly to face the young I.S.P. captain, whosefeatures were a mask devoid of all expression now, save for the pallorand the burning fire in his eyes.     And that's the sixth one in a month. Sometimes the survivors reachTerra in emergency spacers, or are picked up in space by othertransports ... and sometimes son ... well, as you know, sometimesthey're never seen again.     When do I leave, Commander! Dennis Brooke's voice was like a javelinof ice.     Right now, if you wish. We have a new cruiser armored in beryloid withdouble hull—a new design against Genton shells, but it's the speedof the thing that you'll want to know about. It just about surpassesanything ever invented. Get the figures and data from the coordinationroom, son; it's serviced and fueled and the crew's aboard. Heextended his hand. You're the best spacer we have—aside from yourrecklessness—and on your success depends far more than the capture ofan outlaw. Bertram smiled thinly. Happy landing!      II     Their nerves were ragged. Days and days of fruitless search for aphantom ship that seemed to have vanished from space, and an equallyelusive pirate whose whereabouts were hidden in the depths offathomless space.     To all but Captain Brooke, this was a new adventure, their firstassignment to duty in a search that went beyond the realm of theinner planets, where men spent sleepless nights in eternal vigilanceagainst stray asteroids and outlaw crews of ruthless vandal ships. Eventheir cruiser was a new experience, the long, tapering fighter lackedthe luxurious offices and appointments of the regular I.S.P. Patrolspacers. It placed a maximum on speed, and all available space washoarded for fuel. The lightning fast tiger of the space-lanes, was athing of beauty, but of grim, sleek beauty instinct with power, not thecomfortable luxury that they knew.     Day after day they went through their drills, donning space suits,manning battle stations; aiming deadly atom-cannon at empty space, andeternally scanning the vast empty reaches by means of the telecast.     And suddenly, out of the void, as they had all but given up the searchas a wild goose chase, a speck was limned in the lighted surface of theviso-screen in the control room. Instantly the I.S.P. cruiser came tolife. In a burst of magnificent speed, the cruiser literally devouredthe space leagues, until the spacer became a flashing streak. On theviso-screen, the speck grew larger, took on contours, growing andbecoming slowly the drifting shell of what had been a transport.     Presently they were within reaching distance, and Captain Brookecommanded through the teleradio from the control room:     Prepare to board!     Every member of the crew wanted to be among the boarding party, forall but George Randall, the junior member of the crew had served hisapprenticeship among the inner planets, Mars, Venus and Terra. He feltnauseated at the very thought of going out there in that vast abyss ofspace. His young, beardless face, with the candid blue eyes went palewhen the order was given. But presently, Captain Brooke named those whowere to go beside himself:     You, Tom and Scotty, take one emergency plane, and Dallas!     Yes, Captain! Dallas Bernan, the immense third lieutenant boomed inhis basso-profundo voice.     You and I'll take a second emergency! There was a pause in the voiceof the Captain from the control room, then: Test space suits. Testoxygen helmets! Atom-blasts only, ready in five minutes!     George Randall breathed a sigh of relief. He watched them bridge thespace to the drifting wreck, then saw them enter what had once been aproud interplanetary liner, now soon to be but drifting dust, and heturned away with a look of shame.     Inside the liner, Captain Dennis Brooke had finished making a detailedsurvey.     No doubt about it, he spoke through the radio in his helmet. Cargomissing. No survivors. No indication that the repulsion fields wereout of order. And finally, those Genton shells could only have beenfired by Koerber! He tried to maintain a calm exterior, but inwardlyhe seethed in a cold fury more deadly than any he had ever experienced.Somehow he had expected to find at least one compartment unharmed,where life might have endured, but now, all hope was gone. Only a greatresolve to deal with Koerber once and for all remained to him.     Dennis tried not to think of Marla, too great an ache was involved inthinking of her and all he had lost. When he finally spoke, his voicewas harsh, laconic:     Prepare to return!     Scotty Byrnes, the cruiser's nurse, who could take his motors through amajor battle, or hell and high water and back again, for that matter,shifted the Venusian weed that made a perpetual bulge on his cheek andgazed curiously at Captain Brooke. They all knew the story in variousversions, and with special additions. But they were spacemen, implicitin their loyalty, and with Dennis Brooke they could and did feel safe.     Tom Jeffery, the tall, angular and red-faced Navigator, whose slow,easygoing movements belied the feral persistence of a tiger, and theswiftness of a striking cobra in a fight, led the small procession ofmen toward the emergency planes. Behind him came Dallas Bernan, thirdlieutenant, looming like a young asteroid in his space suit, followedby Scotty, and finally Captain Brooke himself. All left in silence, asif the tragedy that had occurred aboard the wrecked liner, had touchedthem intimately.  <doc-sep>Leaping to one side, impervious to the fall of the dancer, he avoidedthe murderous rush of the Martian youth, then he wheeled swiftly andplanted a sledge-hammer blow in that most vulnerable spot of allMartians, the spot just below their narrow, wasp-like waist, and as theMartian half-doubled over, he lefted him with a short jab to the chinthat staggered and all but dropped him.     The Martian's violet eyes were black with fury now. He staggered backand sucked in air, his face contorted with excruciating pain. But hewas not through. His powerful right shot like a blast straight forDennis' chest, striking like a piston just below the heart. Dennis tookit, flat-footed, without flinching; then he let his right ride overwith all the force at his command. It caught the Martian on the jaw andspun him like a top, the pale, imperious face went crimson as he slowlysagged to his knees and rolled to the impeccable mosaics of the floor.     Dennis, breathing heavily, stood over him until the internationalpolice arrived, and then he had the surprise of his life. Upon search,the police found a tiny, but fatal silvery tube holstered under hisleft arm-pit—an atomic-disintegrator, forbidden throughout theinterplanetary League. Only major criminals and space pirates stillwithout the law were known to possess them.     Looks like your brawl has turned out to be a piece of fool's luck,Brooke! The Police Lieutenant favored Dennis with a wry smile. IfI'm not mistaken this chap's a member of Bren Koerber's pirate crew.Who else could afford to risk his neck at the International, and havein his possession a disintegrator? Pity we have no complete recordson that devil's crew! Anyway, we'll radio the I.S.P., perhaps theyhave details on this dandy! He eyed admiringly the priceless Martianembroideries on the unconscious Martian's tunic, the costly border ofred, ocelandian fur, and the magnificent black      acerine     on his finger.     Dennis Brooke shrugged his shoulders, shoulders that would have put toshame the Athenian statues of another age. A faint, bitter smile curvedhis generous mouth. I'm grounded, Gillian, it'd take the capture ofKoerber himself to set me right with the I.S.P. again—you don't knowBertram! To him an infraction of rules is a major crime. Damn Venus!He reached for his glass of      Verbena     but the table had turned overduring the struggle, and the glass was a shattered mass of gleaming      Bacca-glas     shards. He laughed shortly as he became conscious of thevenomous stare of the Mercurian Dancer, of the excited voices of theguests and the emphatic disapproval of the Venusian proprietor whowas shocked at having a brawl in his ultra-expensive, ultra-exclusivePalace.     Better come to Headquarters with me, Dennis, the lieutenant saidgently. We'll say you captured him, and if he's Koerber's, thecredit's yours. A trip to Terra's what you need, Venus for you is ahoodoo!  <doc-sep>Aboard the I.S.P. Cruiser, a surprise awaited them. It was young GeorgeRandall, whose excited face met them as soon as they had entered theairlocks and removed the space suits.     Captain Brooke ... Captain, recordings are showing on the new 'JetAnalyzers' must be the trail of some spacer. Can't be far! He wasfairly dancing in his excitement, as if the marvelous work of thenew invention that detected the disturbance of atomic jets at greatdistance were his own achievement.     Dennis Brooke smiled. His own heart was hammering, and inwardly heprayed that it were Koerber. It had to be! No interplanetary passengerspacer could possibly be out here at the intersection of angles Kp39 degrees, 12 minutes, Fp 67 degrees of Ceres elliptic plane. Nonebut a pirate crew with swift battle cruisers could dare! This was thedangerous asteroid belt, where even planetoids drifted in eccentricuncharted orbits.     Dennis, Tom Jeffery and Scotty Byrnes raced to the control room,followed by the ponderous Dallas to whom hurry in any form wasanathema. There could be no doubt now! The Jet Analyzer recordedpowerful disturbance, atomic—could be nothing else.     Instantly Captain Brooke was at the inter-communication speaker:     Crew, battle stations! Engine room, full speed!     Scotty Byrnes was already dashing to the engine room, where his belovedmotors purred with an ascending hum. Aboard the I.S.P. Cruiser eachmember of the crew raced to his assigned task without delay. Actionimpended, and after days and nights of inertia, it was a blessedrelief. Smiles appeared on haggard faces, and the banter of mensuddenly galvanized by a powerful incentive was bandied back and forth.All but George Randall. Now that action was imminent. Something grippedhis throat until he could hardly stand the tight collar of his I.S.P.uniform. A growing nausea gripped his bowels, and although he strove tokeep calm, his hands trembled beyond control.     In the compact, super-armored control room, Captain Brooke watchedthe telecast's viso-screen, with hungry eyes that were golden withanticipation. It seemed to him as if an eternity passed before atlast, a black speck danced on the illuminated screen, until it finallyreached the center of the viso-screen and remained there. It grew byleaps and bounds as the terrific speed of the cruiser minimized thedistance long before the quarry was aware of pursuit.     But at last, when the enemy cruiser showed on the viso-screen,unmistakably for what it was—a pirate craft, it showed by its suddenmaneuver that it had detected the I.S.P. cruiser. For it had describeda parabola in space and headed for the dangerous asteroid belt. As ifnavigated by a masterly hand that knew each and every orbit of theasteroids, it plunged directly into the asteroid drift, hoping to losethe I.S.P. cruiser with such a maneuver. Ordinarily, it would havesucceeded, no I.S.P. patrol ship would have dared to venture into sucha trap without specific orders. But to Dennis Brooke, directing thechase from the control room, even certain death was welcome, if only hecould take Koerber with him.     Weaving through the deadly belt for several hours, Dennis saw hisquarry slow down. Instantly he seized the chance and ordered a salvofrom starboard. Koerber's powerful spacer reeled, dived and came upspewing Genton-shells. The battle was on at last.     From the banked atom-cannon of the I.S.P. Cruiser, a deadly curtainof atomic fire blazed at the pirate craft. A ragged rent back towardmidship showed on Koerber's Cruiser which trembled as if it had beenmortally wounded. Then Dennis maneuvered his cruiser into a powerdive as a rain of Genton-shells swept the space lane above him, but ashe came up, a lone shell struck. At such close range, super-armor wasripped, second armor penetrated and the magnificent vessel shook underthe detonating impact.     It was then that Dennis Brooke saw the immense dark shadow loomingimmediately behind Koerber's ship. He saw the pirate cruiser zoomdesperately in an effort to break the gravity trap of the looming mass,but too late. It struggled like a fly caught in a spider-web to noavail. It was then that Koerber played his last card. Sensing he wasdoomed, he tried to draw the I.S.P. Cruiser down with him. A powerfulmagnetic beam lashed out to spear the I.S.P. Cruiser.  <doc-sep>For me, it was a nightmare. I lay down in my cabin and thought. I hadto think things through very carefully. One mistake was too many forme. My worst fear had been that someday I would overlook one tiny flawand ruin a gem. Now I might have ruined an exploration and destroyed aman, not a stone, because I had missed the flaw.     No one but a reckless fool would have gone out alone on a strangeplanet with a terrifying phenomenon, but I'd had enough evidence to seethat space exploration      made     a man a reckless fool by doing things onone planet he had once found safe and wise on some other world.     The thought intruded itself:      why     hadn't I recognized this before Ilet Quade escape to almost certain death? Wasn't it because I wantedhim dead, because I resented the crew's resentment of my authority, andrecognized in him the leader and symbol of this resentment?     I threw away that idea along with my half-used cigarette. It might verywell be true, but how did that help now?     I had to      think     .     I was going after him, that was certain. Not only for humanereasons—he was the most important member of the crew. With him around,there were only two opinions, his and mine. Without him, I'd haveendless opinions to contend with.     But it wouldn't do any good to go out no better equipped than he.There was no time to wait for tractors to be built if we wanted toreach him alive, and we certainly couldn't reach him five or tenmiles out with our three miles of safety line. We would have to go inspacesuits.     But how would that leave us any better off than Quade?     Why was Quade vulnerable in his spacesuit, as I knew from experience hewould be?     How could we be less vulnerable, or preferably invulnerable?  <doc-sep>Suddenly she was dropped. Her mountainous keepers were on the floor asthough struck by lightning, their arms thrown out before them, theirfaces abject against the floor. Kraft Gerding was slowly loweringhimself to one knee. Dink had entered the spider-room. Withoutquestions, he strode between the shiko-ing Earmuffs and put his armsaround Orison.     They can't harm you, he said. She turned to press her face againsthis chest. You're all right, child. Breathe deep, swallow, and turnyour brain back on. All right, now?     All right, she said, still trembling. They were going to throw me tothe spiders.     Kraft told you that? Dink Gerding released her and turned to thekneeling man. Stand up, Elder Brother.     I....     Dink brought his right fist up from hip-level, crashing it into Kraft'sjaw. Kraft Gerding joined the Earmuffs on the floor.     If you'd care to stand again, Elder Brother, you may attempt torecover your dignity without regard for the difference in our rank.Kraft struggled to one knee and remained kneeling, gazing up at Dinkthrough half-closed eyes. No? Then get out of here, all of you.      Samma!          Kraft Gerding arose, stared for a moment at Dink and Orison, then, withthe merest hint of a bow, led his two giant Earmuffs to the elevator.     I wish you hadn't come up here, Orison, Dink said. Why did you doit?     Have you read the story of Bluebeard? Orison asked. She stood closeto Dink, keeping her eyes on the nearest spidertank. I had to seewhat it was you kept up here so secretly, what it was that I wasforbidden to see. My excuse was to have been that I was looking foryou, to deliver a message from Mr. Wanji. He said I was to tell youthat the escudo green is pale.     You're too curious, and Wanji is too careless, Dink said. Now, whatis this thing you have about spiders?     I've always been terrified of them, Orison said. When I was a littlegirl, I had to stay upstairs all day one Sunday because there was aspider hanging from his thread in the stairway. I waited until Dad camehome and took it down with a broom. Even then, I didn't have appetitefor supper.     Strange, Dink said. He walked over to the nearest tank and pluckedone of the tiny pink creatures from a web-bridge. This is no spider,Orison, he said.     She backed away from Dink Gerding and the minuscule creature he cuppedin the palm of his hand. These are Microfabridae, more nearly relatedto shellfish than to spiders, he said. They're stone-and-metaleaters. They literally couldn't harm a fly. Look at it, Orison. Heextended his palm. Orison forced herself to look. The little creature,flesh-colored against his flesh, was nearly invisible, scuttling aroundthe bowl of his hand. Pretty little fellow, isn't he? Dink asked.Here. You hold him.     I'd rather not, she protested.     I'd be happier if you did, Dink said.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is Dennis' opinion of Marla in THE SOUL EATERS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Why did the Martian man target Dennis in THE SOUL EATERS? [SEP] <s>  THE SOUL EATERS     By WILLIAM CONOVER     Firebrand Dennis Brooke had one final chance     to redeem himself by capturing Koerber whose     ships were the scourge of the Void. But his     luck had run its course, and now he was     marooned on a rogue planet—fighting to save     himself from a menace weapons could not kill.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Fall 1944.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]            And so, my dear     , Dennis detected a faint irony in the phrase,       I'mafraid I can offer no competition to the beauties of five planets—oris it six? With regret I bow myself out, and knowing me as you do,you'll understand the futility of trying to convince me again. Anyway,there will be no temptation, for I'm sailing on a new assignment I'veaccepted. I did love you.... Good-by.          Dennis Brooke had lost count of the times he'd read Marla's lastletter, but every time he came to these final, poignant lines, theynever failed to conjure a vision of her tawny loveliness, slender asthe palms of Venus, and of the blue ecstasy of her eyes, wide with aperpetual wonder—limpid as a child's.     The barbaric rhythms of the      Congahua     , were a background of annoyancein Dennis' mind; he frowned slightly as the maneuvers of the Mercuriandancer, who writhed among the guests of the notorious pleasure palace,began to leave no doubt as to her intentions. The girl was beautiful,in a sultry, almost incandescent sort of way, but her open promise lefthim cold. He wanted solitude, somewhere to coordinate his thoughtsin silence and salvage something out of the wreck of his heart, notto speak of his career. But Venus, in the throes of a gigantic boomupon the discovery of radio-active fields, could offer only onesolitude—the fatal one of her swamps and virgin forests.     Dennis Brooke was thirty, the time when youth no longer seems unending.When the minor adventures of the heart begin to pall. If the loss ofMarla left an aching void that all the women of five planets could notfill, the loss of Space, was quite as deadly. For he had been grounded.True, Koerber's escape from the I.S.P. net had not quite been hisfault; but had he not been enjoying the joys of a voluptuous JovianChamber, in Venus' fabulous Inter-planetary Palace, he would have beenready for duty to complete the last link in the net of I.S.P. cruisersthat almost surrounded the space pirate.     A night in the Jovian Chamber, was to be emperor for one night. Everydream of a man's desire was marvelously induced through the skilful useof hypnotics; the rarest viands and most delectable drinks appeared asif by magic; the unearthly peace of an Olympus descended on a man'ssoul, and beauty ... beauty such as men dreamed of was a warm realityunder the ineffable illumination of the Chamber.     It cost a young fortune. But to pleasure mad, boom-ridden Venus, afortune was a bagatelle. Only it had cost Dennis Brooke far more than asheaf of credits—it had cost him the severe rebuff of the I.S.P., andmost of his heart in Marla.     Dennis sighed, he tilted his red, curly head and drank deeply of theinsidious      Verbena     , fragrant as a mint garden, in the tall frostyglass of Martian      Bacca-glas     , and as he did so, his brilliant hazeleyes found themselves gazing into the unwinking, violet stare of ayoung Martian at the next table. There was a smouldering hatred inthose eyes, and something else ... envy, perhaps, or was it jealousy?Dennis couldn't tell. But his senses became instantly alert. Dangerbrought a faint vibration which his superbly trained faculties couldinstantly denote.     His steady, bronzed hand lowered the drink, and his eyes narrowedslightly. Absorbed in trying to puzzle the sudden enmity of thisMartian stranger, he was unaware of the Mercurian Dancer. The latterhad edged closer, whirling in prismatic flashes from the myriadsemi-precious stones that studded her brief gauze skirt. And now, ina final bid for the spacer's favor she flung herself in his lap andtilted back invitingly.     Some of the guests laughed, others stared in plain envy at thehandsome, red-haired spacer, but from the table across, came thetinkling sound of a fragile glass being crushed in a powerful hand,and a muffled Martian curse. Without warning, the Martian was on hisfeet with the speed of an Hellacorium, the table went crashing to oneside as he leaped with deadly intent on the sprawled figure of DennisBrooke. A high-pitched scream brought instant silence as a Terran girlcried out. Then the Martian's hand reached out hungrily. But Dennis wasnot there.  <doc-sep>Leaping to one side, impervious to the fall of the dancer, he avoidedthe murderous rush of the Martian youth, then he wheeled swiftly andplanted a sledge-hammer blow in that most vulnerable spot of allMartians, the spot just below their narrow, wasp-like waist, and as theMartian half-doubled over, he lefted him with a short jab to the chinthat staggered and all but dropped him.     The Martian's violet eyes were black with fury now. He staggered backand sucked in air, his face contorted with excruciating pain. But hewas not through. His powerful right shot like a blast straight forDennis' chest, striking like a piston just below the heart. Dennis tookit, flat-footed, without flinching; then he let his right ride overwith all the force at his command. It caught the Martian on the jaw andspun him like a top, the pale, imperious face went crimson as he slowlysagged to his knees and rolled to the impeccable mosaics of the floor.     Dennis, breathing heavily, stood over him until the internationalpolice arrived, and then he had the surprise of his life. Upon search,the police found a tiny, but fatal silvery tube holstered under hisleft arm-pit—an atomic-disintegrator, forbidden throughout theinterplanetary League. Only major criminals and space pirates stillwithout the law were known to possess them.     Looks like your brawl has turned out to be a piece of fool's luck,Brooke! The Police Lieutenant favored Dennis with a wry smile. IfI'm not mistaken this chap's a member of Bren Koerber's pirate crew.Who else could afford to risk his neck at the International, and havein his possession a disintegrator? Pity we have no complete recordson that devil's crew! Anyway, we'll radio the I.S.P., perhaps theyhave details on this dandy! He eyed admiringly the priceless Martianembroideries on the unconscious Martian's tunic, the costly border ofred, ocelandian fur, and the magnificent black      acerine     on his finger.     Dennis Brooke shrugged his shoulders, shoulders that would have put toshame the Athenian statues of another age. A faint, bitter smile curvedhis generous mouth. I'm grounded, Gillian, it'd take the capture ofKoerber himself to set me right with the I.S.P. again—you don't knowBertram! To him an infraction of rules is a major crime. Damn Venus!He reached for his glass of      Verbena     but the table had turned overduring the struggle, and the glass was a shattered mass of gleaming      Bacca-glas     shards. He laughed shortly as he became conscious of thevenomous stare of the Mercurian Dancer, of the excited voices of theguests and the emphatic disapproval of the Venusian proprietor whowas shocked at having a brawl in his ultra-expensive, ultra-exclusivePalace.     Better come to Headquarters with me, Dennis, the lieutenant saidgently. We'll say you captured him, and if he's Koerber's, thecredit's yours. A trip to Terra's what you need, Venus for you is ahoodoo!  <doc-sep>The stern, white haired I.S.P. Commander behind the immense Aluminildesk, frowned slightly as Dennis Brooke entered. He eyed the six footfour frame of the Captain before him with a mixture of feelings, asif uncertain how to begin. Finally, he sighed as if, having come to adecision, he were forcing himself to speak:     Sit down, Dennis. I've sent for you, despite your grounding, fortwo reasons. The first one you already know—your capture of one ofKoerber's henchmen—has given us a line as to his present orbit ofpiracy, and the means of a check on his activities. But that's notreally why I've brought you here. He frowned again as if what he hadto say were difficult indeed.     Marla Starland, your fiancee, accepted an assignment we offered her—adelicate piece of work here on Terra that only a very beautiful, andvery clever young lady could perform. And, he paused, grimacing,somewhere between Venus and Terra, the interplanetary spacer bringingher and several other passengers, began to send distress signals.Finally, we couldn't contact the ship any more. It is three daysoverdue. All passengers, a cargo of radium from Venus worth untoldmillions, the spacer itself—seem to have vanished.     Dennis Brooke's space-tanned features had gone pale. His large hazeleyes, fringed with auburn lashes, too long for a man, were bright slitsthat smouldered. He stood silent, his hands clenched at his sides,while something cold and sharp seemed to dig at his heart with cruelprecision.     Marla! He breathed at last. The thought of Marla in the powerof Koerber sent a wave of anguish that seared through him like anatom-blast.     Commander, Dennis said, and his rich baritone voice had depths ofemotion so great that they startled Commander Bertram himself—andthat grizzled veteran of the I.S.P., had at one time or another knownevery change of torture that could possibly be wrung on a human soul.Commander, give me one ...      one     chance at that spawn of unthinkablebegetting! Let me try, and I promise you ... in his torture, Denniswas unconsciously banging a knotted fist on the chaste, satiny surfaceof the priceless desk, I promise you that I will either bring youKoerber, or forfeit my life!     Commander Bertram nodded his head. I brought you here for thatpurpose, son. We have reached a point in our war with Koerber, wherethe last stakes must be played ... and the last stake is death!     He reached over and flipped up the activator on a small telecast seton his desk; instantly the viso-screen lighted up. You'll now seea visual record of all we know about the passenger spacer that leftVenus with passengers and cargo, as far as we could contact the vesselin space. This, Dennis, the Commander emphasized his words, is yourchance to redeem yourself! He fell silent, while the viso-screen beganto show a crowded space port on Venus, and a gigantic passenger spacerup-tilted in its cradle.  <doc-sep>With a wrenching turn that almost threw them out of control, Dennismaneuvered to avoid the beam. Again Koerber's beam lashed out, as hesank lower into the looming mass, and again Dennis anticipating themaneuver avoided it.     George Randall! He shouted desperately into the speaker. Cut alljets in the rocket room! Hurry, man! He banked again and then zoomedout of the increasing gravity trap.     Randall! I've got to use the magnetic repulsion plates.... Cut all thejets! But there was no response. Randall's screen remained blank. ThenKoerber's lashing magnetic beam touched and the I.S.P. ship was caught,forced to follow the pirate ship's plunge like the weight at the end ofa whiplash. Koerber's gunners sent one parting shot, an atom-blast thatshook the trapped cruiser like a leaf.     Beneath them, growing larger by the second, a small world rushed up tomeet them. The readings in the Planetograph seemed to have gone crazy.It showed diameter 1200 miles; composition mineral and radio-active.Gravity seven-eighths of Terra. It couldn't be! Unless perhaps thisunknown planetoid was the legendary core of the world that at one timewas supposed to have existed between Jupiter and Mars. Only that couldpossibly explain the incredible gravity.     And then began another type of battle. Hearing the Captain's orders toRandall, and noting that no result had been obtained, Scotty Byrneshimself cut the jets. The Magnetic Repulsion Plates went into action,too late to save them from being drawn, but at least they could preventa crash. Far in the distance they could see Koerber's ship precedingthem in a free fall, then the Planetoid was rushing up to engulf them.      III     The atmosphere was somewhat tenuous, but it was breathable, provideda man didn't exert himself. To the silent crew of the I.S.P. Cruiser,the strange world to which Koerber's magnetic Beam had drawn them,was anything but reassuring. Towering crags jutted raggedly againstthe sky, and the iridescent soil of the narrow valley that walled inthe cruiser, had a poisonous, deadly look. As far as their eyes couldreach, the desolate, denuded vista stretched to the horizon.     Pretty much of a mess! Dennis Brooke's face was impassive as heturned to Scotty Byrnes. What's your opinion? Think we can patch herup, or are we stuck here indefinitely?     Scotty eyed the damage. The atom-blast had penetrated the hull intothe forward fuel chambers and the armor had blossomed out like flowerpetals. The crash-landing had not helped either.     Well, there's a few beryloid plates in the storage locker, Captain,but, he scratched his head ruminatively and shifted his precious cud.     But what? Speak up man! It was Tom Jeffery, his nerves on edge, hisordinarily gentle voice like a lash.     But, you may as well know it, Scotty replied quietly. That partingshot of Koerber's severed our main rocket feed. I had to use theemergency tank to make it down here!     For a long moment the four men looked at each other in silence. DennisBrooke's face was still impassive but for the flaming hazel eyes. Tomtugged at the torn sleeve of his I.S.P. uniform, while Scotty gazedmournfully at the damaged ship. Dallas Bernan looked at the long,ragged line of cliffs.     I think we got Koerber, though, he said at last. While Tom was doinga job of navigation, I had one last glimpse of him coming down fastand out of control somewhere behind those crags over there!     To hell with Koerber! Tom Jeffery exploded. You mean we're stuck inthis hellish rock-pile?     Easy, Tom! Captain Brooke's tones were like ice. On his pale,impassive face, his eyes were like flaming topaz. Where's Randall?     Probably hiding his head under a bunk! Dallas laughed with scorn. Hiscontemptuous remark voiced the feelings of the entire crew. A man whofailed to be at his battle-station in time of emergency, had no placein the I.S.P.     Considering the gravity of this planetoid, Dennis Brooke saidthoughtfully, it's going to take some blast to get us off!     Maybe we can locate a deposit of anerioum or uranium or something forour atom-busters to chew on! Scotty said hopefully. He was an eternaloptimist.     Better break out those repair plates, Dennis said to Scotty. Tom,you get the welders ready. I've got a few entries to make in the logbook, and then we'll decide on a party to explore the terrain and tryto find out what happened to Koerber's ship. I must know, he said in alow voice, but with such passion that the others were startled.     A figure appeared in the slanting doorway of the ship in time to hearthe last words. It was George Randall, adjusting a bandaged foreheadbumped during the crash landing.     Captain ... I ... I wanted ... he paused unable to continue.     You wanted what? Captain Brooke's voice was terse. Perhaps youwanted to explain why you weren't at your battle station?     Sir, I wanted to know if ... if I might help Scotty with the weldingjob.... That wasn't at all what he'd intended to say. But somehow thewords had stuck in his throat and his face flushed deep scarlet. Hiscandid blue eyes were suspiciously brilliant, and the white bandagewith its crimson stains made an appealing, boyish figure. It softenedthe anger in Brooke's heart. Thinking it over calmly, Dennis realizedthis was the youngster's first trip into the outer orbits, and bettermen than he had cracked in those vast reaches of space. But there hadbeen an instant when he'd found Randall cowering in the rocket-room, inthe grip of paralyzing hysteria, when he could cheerfully have wrunghis neck!     Certainly, Randall, he replied in a much more kindly tone. We'llneed all hands now.     Thank you, sir! Randall seemed to hesitate for a moment, opened hismouth to speak further, but feeling the other's calculating gaze uponhim, he whirled and re-entered the ship.     But for him we wouldn't be here! Dallas exclaimed. Aagh! He shookhis head in disgust until the several folds of flesh under his chinshook like gelatin. Cowards are hell! He spat.     Easy, Dallas, Randall's a kid, give 'im a chance. Dennis observed.     You Captain ... you're defending 'im? Why you had a greater stake inthis than we, and he's spoiled it for you!     Yep, Dennis nodded. But I'm still keeping my senses clear. No feudson my ship. Get it! The last two words cut like a scimitar.     Dallas nodded and lowered his eyes. Scotty shifted his cud and spata thin stream of juice over the iridescent ground. One by one theyre-entered the cruiser.  <doc-sep>Aboard the I.S.P. Cruiser, a surprise awaited them. It was young GeorgeRandall, whose excited face met them as soon as they had entered theairlocks and removed the space suits.     Captain Brooke ... Captain, recordings are showing on the new 'JetAnalyzers' must be the trail of some spacer. Can't be far! He wasfairly dancing in his excitement, as if the marvelous work of thenew invention that detected the disturbance of atomic jets at greatdistance were his own achievement.     Dennis Brooke smiled. His own heart was hammering, and inwardly heprayed that it were Koerber. It had to be! No interplanetary passengerspacer could possibly be out here at the intersection of angles Kp39 degrees, 12 minutes, Fp 67 degrees of Ceres elliptic plane. Nonebut a pirate crew with swift battle cruisers could dare! This was thedangerous asteroid belt, where even planetoids drifted in eccentricuncharted orbits.     Dennis, Tom Jeffery and Scotty Byrnes raced to the control room,followed by the ponderous Dallas to whom hurry in any form wasanathema. There could be no doubt now! The Jet Analyzer recordedpowerful disturbance, atomic—could be nothing else.     Instantly Captain Brooke was at the inter-communication speaker:     Crew, battle stations! Engine room, full speed!     Scotty Byrnes was already dashing to the engine room, where his belovedmotors purred with an ascending hum. Aboard the I.S.P. Cruiser eachmember of the crew raced to his assigned task without delay. Actionimpended, and after days and nights of inertia, it was a blessedrelief. Smiles appeared on haggard faces, and the banter of mensuddenly galvanized by a powerful incentive was bandied back and forth.All but George Randall. Now that action was imminent. Something grippedhis throat until he could hardly stand the tight collar of his I.S.P.uniform. A growing nausea gripped his bowels, and although he strove tokeep calm, his hands trembled beyond control.     In the compact, super-armored control room, Captain Brooke watchedthe telecast's viso-screen, with hungry eyes that were golden withanticipation. It seemed to him as if an eternity passed before atlast, a black speck danced on the illuminated screen, until it finallyreached the center of the viso-screen and remained there. It grew byleaps and bounds as the terrific speed of the cruiser minimized thedistance long before the quarry was aware of pursuit.     But at last, when the enemy cruiser showed on the viso-screen,unmistakably for what it was—a pirate craft, it showed by its suddenmaneuver that it had detected the I.S.P. cruiser. For it had describeda parabola in space and headed for the dangerous asteroid belt. As ifnavigated by a masterly hand that knew each and every orbit of theasteroids, it plunged directly into the asteroid drift, hoping to losethe I.S.P. cruiser with such a maneuver. Ordinarily, it would havesucceeded, no I.S.P. patrol ship would have dared to venture into sucha trap without specific orders. But to Dennis Brooke, directing thechase from the control room, even certain death was welcome, if only hecould take Koerber with him.     Weaving through the deadly belt for several hours, Dennis saw hisquarry slow down. Instantly he seized the chance and ordered a salvofrom starboard. Koerber's powerful spacer reeled, dived and came upspewing Genton-shells. The battle was on at last.     From the banked atom-cannon of the I.S.P. Cruiser, a deadly curtainof atomic fire blazed at the pirate craft. A ragged rent back towardmidship showed on Koerber's Cruiser which trembled as if it had beenmortally wounded. Then Dennis maneuvered his cruiser into a powerdive as a rain of Genton-shells swept the space lane above him, but ashe came up, a lone shell struck. At such close range, super-armor wasripped, second armor penetrated and the magnificent vessel shook underthe detonating impact.     It was then that Dennis Brooke saw the immense dark shadow loomingimmediately behind Koerber's ship. He saw the pirate cruiser zoomdesperately in an effort to break the gravity trap of the looming mass,but too late. It struggled like a fly caught in a spider-web to noavail. It was then that Koerber played his last card. Sensing he wasdoomed, he tried to draw the I.S.P. Cruiser down with him. A powerfulmagnetic beam lashed out to spear the I.S.P. Cruiser.  <doc-sep>He thought,      I don't want your Martian wench. I don't want your opiumor your Devil's Egg or your Venusian kali. But if you had a drug that'dbring a dead man to life, I'd buy and pay with my soul.       It is deal,      monsieur     ? Five dollars or twenty      keelis     for visitMartian friend. Maybe you like House of Dreams. For House of Dreams—     I'm not buying.     The dirty-faced kid shrugged. Then I show you to good table,—      tresbien     . I do not charge you,      senor     .     The boy grabbed his hand. Because Ben could think of no reason forresisting, he followed. They plunged into shifting layers of smoke andthrough the drone of alcohol-cracked voices.       They passed the bar with its line of lean-featured, slit-eyedEarthmen—merchant spacemen.     They wormed down a narrow aisle flanked by booths carved from Venusianmarble that jutted up into the semi-darkness like fog-blanketedtombstones.     Several times, Ben glimpsed the bulky figures of CO  2  -breathingVenusians, the first he'd ever seen.     They were smoky gray, scaly, naked giants, toads in human shape.They stood solitary and motionless, aloof, their green-lidded eyesunblinking. They certainly didn't look like telepaths, as Ben had heardthey were, but the thought sent a fresh rivulet of fear down his spine.     Once he spied a white-uniformed officer of Hoover City's SecurityPolice. The man was striding down an aisle, idly tapping his neuro-clubagainst the stone booths.       Keep walking     , Ben told himself.      You look the same as anyone elsehere. Keep walking. Look straight ahead.       The officer passed. Ben breathed easier.     Here we are,      monsieur     , piped the Martian boy. A      tres     fine table.Close in the shadows.     Ben winced. How did this kid know he wanted to sit in the shadows?Frowning, he sat down—he and the dead man.     He listened to the lonely rhythms of the four-piece Martian orchestra.     The Martians were fragile, doll-like creatures with heads too large fortheir spindly bodies. Their long fingers played upon the strings oftheir      cirillas     or crawled over the holes of their flutes like spiderlegs. Their tune was sad. Even when they played an Earth tune, it stillseemed a song of old Mars, charged with echoes of lost voices andforgotten grandeur.     For an instant, Ben's mind rose above the haunting vision of the deadman. He thought,      What are they doing here, these Martians? Here, ina smoke-filled room under a metalite dome on a dust-covered world?Couldn't they have played their music on Mars? Or had they, like me,felt the challenge of new worlds?       He sobered. It didn't matter. He ordered a whiskey from a Chinesewaiter. He wet his lips but did not drink. His gaze wandered over thefaces of the Inn's other occupants.       You've got to find him     , he thought.      You've got to find the man withthe red beard. It's the only way you can escape the dead man.    <doc-sep>They watched the parabola it made in its trajectory as it flashed intospace and then fell into orbit there beyond the planetary attraction ofVenus. On the three-dimensional viso-screen it was uncannily real.     A flight that had taken many hours to accomplish, was shortened onthe viso-screen to a matter of minutes. They saw the great, proudinterplanetary transport speeding majestically through the starry void,and suddenly, they saw her swerve in a great arc; again she swervedas if avoiding something deadly in space, and point upwards gainingaltitude. It was zig-zagging now, desperately maneuvering in an erraticcourse, and as if by magic, a tiny spot appeared on the transport'sside.     Tiny on the viso-screen, the fatal spots must have been huge inactuality. To the Commander of the I.S.P., and to Captain Brooke, itwas an old story. Atom-blasts were pitting the spacer's hull withdeadly Genton shells. The great transport trembled under the impact ofthe barrage, and suddenly, the screen went blank.     Commander Bertram turned slowly to face the young I.S.P. captain, whosefeatures were a mask devoid of all expression now, save for the pallorand the burning fire in his eyes.     And that's the sixth one in a month. Sometimes the survivors reachTerra in emergency spacers, or are picked up in space by othertransports ... and sometimes son ... well, as you know, sometimesthey're never seen again.     When do I leave, Commander! Dennis Brooke's voice was like a javelinof ice.     Right now, if you wish. We have a new cruiser armored in beryloid withdouble hull—a new design against Genton shells, but it's the speedof the thing that you'll want to know about. It just about surpassesanything ever invented. Get the figures and data from the coordinationroom, son; it's serviced and fueled and the crew's aboard. Heextended his hand. You're the best spacer we have—aside from yourrecklessness—and on your success depends far more than the capture ofan outlaw. Bertram smiled thinly. Happy landing!      II     Their nerves were ragged. Days and days of fruitless search for aphantom ship that seemed to have vanished from space, and an equallyelusive pirate whose whereabouts were hidden in the depths offathomless space.     To all but Captain Brooke, this was a new adventure, their firstassignment to duty in a search that went beyond the realm of theinner planets, where men spent sleepless nights in eternal vigilanceagainst stray asteroids and outlaw crews of ruthless vandal ships. Eventheir cruiser was a new experience, the long, tapering fighter lackedthe luxurious offices and appointments of the regular I.S.P. Patrolspacers. It placed a maximum on speed, and all available space washoarded for fuel. The lightning fast tiger of the space-lanes, was athing of beauty, but of grim, sleek beauty instinct with power, not thecomfortable luxury that they knew.     Day after day they went through their drills, donning space suits,manning battle stations; aiming deadly atom-cannon at empty space, andeternally scanning the vast empty reaches by means of the telecast.     And suddenly, out of the void, as they had all but given up the searchas a wild goose chase, a speck was limned in the lighted surface of theviso-screen in the control room. Instantly the I.S.P. cruiser came tolife. In a burst of magnificent speed, the cruiser literally devouredthe space leagues, until the spacer became a flashing streak. On theviso-screen, the speck grew larger, took on contours, growing andbecoming slowly the drifting shell of what had been a transport.     Presently they were within reaching distance, and Captain Brookecommanded through the teleradio from the control room:     Prepare to board!     Every member of the crew wanted to be among the boarding party, forall but George Randall, the junior member of the crew had served hisapprenticeship among the inner planets, Mars, Venus and Terra. He feltnauseated at the very thought of going out there in that vast abyss ofspace. His young, beardless face, with the candid blue eyes went palewhen the order was given. But presently, Captain Brooke named those whowere to go beside himself:     You, Tom and Scotty, take one emergency plane, and Dallas!     Yes, Captain! Dallas Bernan, the immense third lieutenant boomed inhis basso-profundo voice.     You and I'll take a second emergency! There was a pause in the voiceof the Captain from the control room, then: Test space suits. Testoxygen helmets! Atom-blasts only, ready in five minutes!     George Randall breathed a sigh of relief. He watched them bridge thespace to the drifting wreck, then saw them enter what had once been aproud interplanetary liner, now soon to be but drifting dust, and heturned away with a look of shame.     Inside the liner, Captain Dennis Brooke had finished making a detailedsurvey.     No doubt about it, he spoke through the radio in his helmet. Cargomissing. No survivors. No indication that the repulsion fields wereout of order. And finally, those Genton shells could only have beenfired by Koerber! He tried to maintain a calm exterior, but inwardlyhe seethed in a cold fury more deadly than any he had ever experienced.Somehow he had expected to find at least one compartment unharmed,where life might have endured, but now, all hope was gone. Only a greatresolve to deal with Koerber once and for all remained to him.     Dennis tried not to think of Marla, too great an ache was involved inthinking of her and all he had lost. When he finally spoke, his voicewas harsh, laconic:     Prepare to return!     Scotty Byrnes, the cruiser's nurse, who could take his motors through amajor battle, or hell and high water and back again, for that matter,shifted the Venusian weed that made a perpetual bulge on his cheek andgazed curiously at Captain Brooke. They all knew the story in variousversions, and with special additions. But they were spacemen, implicitin their loyalty, and with Dennis Brooke they could and did feel safe.     Tom Jeffery, the tall, angular and red-faced Navigator, whose slow,easygoing movements belied the feral persistence of a tiger, and theswiftness of a striking cobra in a fight, led the small procession ofmen toward the emergency planes. Behind him came Dallas Bernan, thirdlieutenant, looming like a young asteroid in his space suit, followedby Scotty, and finally Captain Brooke himself. All left in silence, asif the tragedy that had occurred aboard the wrecked liner, had touchedthem intimately.  <doc-sep>Shaking his head, he walked unsteadily toward the rungs that gleamedup into the air-lock, control-room sector of the rocket. He climbedwithout making any noise on the rungs.     He kept thinking the one thing he couldn't forget.       You never catch up with the war.       All the color is ahead of you. The drive of orange rocket traces acrossstars, the whamming of steel-nosed bombs into elusive targets, thetitanic explosions and breathless pursuits, the flags and the excitedglory are always a million miles ahead.     He bit his teeth together.       You never catch up with the war.       You come along when space has settled back, when the vacuum has stoppedtrembling from unleashed forces between worlds. You come along in thedark quiet of death to find the wreckage plunging with all the fury ofits original acceleration in no particular direction. You can only seeit; you don't hear anything in space but your own heart kicking yourribs.     You see bodies, each in its own terrific orbit, given impetus bygrinding collisions, tossed from mother ships and dancing head overfeet forever and forever with no goal. Bits of flesh in ruptured spacesuits, mouths open for air that had never been there in a hundredbillion centuries. And they kept dancing without music until youextended the retriever-claw and culled them into the air-lock.     That was all the war-glory he got. Nothing but the stunned, shiveringsilence, the memory of rockets long gone, and the shelves filling upall too quickly with men who had once loved laughing.     You wondered who all the men were; and who the next ones would be.After ten years you made yourself blind to them. You went around doingyour job with mechanical hands.     But even a machine breaks down....  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Why did the Martian man target Dennis in THE SOUL EATERS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"""What is Dennis' profession and how does he experience his treatment in the workplace?"" [SEP] <s>  THE SOUL EATERS     By WILLIAM CONOVER     Firebrand Dennis Brooke had one final chance     to redeem himself by capturing Koerber whose     ships were the scourge of the Void. But his     luck had run its course, and now he was     marooned on a rogue planet—fighting to save     himself from a menace weapons could not kill.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Fall 1944.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]            And so, my dear     , Dennis detected a faint irony in the phrase,       I'mafraid I can offer no competition to the beauties of five planets—oris it six? With regret I bow myself out, and knowing me as you do,you'll understand the futility of trying to convince me again. Anyway,there will be no temptation, for I'm sailing on a new assignment I'veaccepted. I did love you.... Good-by.          Dennis Brooke had lost count of the times he'd read Marla's lastletter, but every time he came to these final, poignant lines, theynever failed to conjure a vision of her tawny loveliness, slender asthe palms of Venus, and of the blue ecstasy of her eyes, wide with aperpetual wonder—limpid as a child's.     The barbaric rhythms of the      Congahua     , were a background of annoyancein Dennis' mind; he frowned slightly as the maneuvers of the Mercuriandancer, who writhed among the guests of the notorious pleasure palace,began to leave no doubt as to her intentions. The girl was beautiful,in a sultry, almost incandescent sort of way, but her open promise lefthim cold. He wanted solitude, somewhere to coordinate his thoughtsin silence and salvage something out of the wreck of his heart, notto speak of his career. But Venus, in the throes of a gigantic boomupon the discovery of radio-active fields, could offer only onesolitude—the fatal one of her swamps and virgin forests.     Dennis Brooke was thirty, the time when youth no longer seems unending.When the minor adventures of the heart begin to pall. If the loss ofMarla left an aching void that all the women of five planets could notfill, the loss of Space, was quite as deadly. For he had been grounded.True, Koerber's escape from the I.S.P. net had not quite been hisfault; but had he not been enjoying the joys of a voluptuous JovianChamber, in Venus' fabulous Inter-planetary Palace, he would have beenready for duty to complete the last link in the net of I.S.P. cruisersthat almost surrounded the space pirate.     A night in the Jovian Chamber, was to be emperor for one night. Everydream of a man's desire was marvelously induced through the skilful useof hypnotics; the rarest viands and most delectable drinks appeared asif by magic; the unearthly peace of an Olympus descended on a man'ssoul, and beauty ... beauty such as men dreamed of was a warm realityunder the ineffable illumination of the Chamber.     It cost a young fortune. But to pleasure mad, boom-ridden Venus, afortune was a bagatelle. Only it had cost Dennis Brooke far more than asheaf of credits—it had cost him the severe rebuff of the I.S.P., andmost of his heart in Marla.     Dennis sighed, he tilted his red, curly head and drank deeply of theinsidious      Verbena     , fragrant as a mint garden, in the tall frostyglass of Martian      Bacca-glas     , and as he did so, his brilliant hazeleyes found themselves gazing into the unwinking, violet stare of ayoung Martian at the next table. There was a smouldering hatred inthose eyes, and something else ... envy, perhaps, or was it jealousy?Dennis couldn't tell. But his senses became instantly alert. Dangerbrought a faint vibration which his superbly trained faculties couldinstantly denote.     His steady, bronzed hand lowered the drink, and his eyes narrowedslightly. Absorbed in trying to puzzle the sudden enmity of thisMartian stranger, he was unaware of the Mercurian Dancer. The latterhad edged closer, whirling in prismatic flashes from the myriadsemi-precious stones that studded her brief gauze skirt. And now, ina final bid for the spacer's favor she flung herself in his lap andtilted back invitingly.     Some of the guests laughed, others stared in plain envy at thehandsome, red-haired spacer, but from the table across, came thetinkling sound of a fragile glass being crushed in a powerful hand,and a muffled Martian curse. Without warning, the Martian was on hisfeet with the speed of an Hellacorium, the table went crashing to oneside as he leaped with deadly intent on the sprawled figure of DennisBrooke. A high-pitched scream brought instant silence as a Terran girlcried out. Then the Martian's hand reached out hungrily. But Dennis wasnot there.  <doc-sep>Leaping to one side, impervious to the fall of the dancer, he avoidedthe murderous rush of the Martian youth, then he wheeled swiftly andplanted a sledge-hammer blow in that most vulnerable spot of allMartians, the spot just below their narrow, wasp-like waist, and as theMartian half-doubled over, he lefted him with a short jab to the chinthat staggered and all but dropped him.     The Martian's violet eyes were black with fury now. He staggered backand sucked in air, his face contorted with excruciating pain. But hewas not through. His powerful right shot like a blast straight forDennis' chest, striking like a piston just below the heart. Dennis tookit, flat-footed, without flinching; then he let his right ride overwith all the force at his command. It caught the Martian on the jaw andspun him like a top, the pale, imperious face went crimson as he slowlysagged to his knees and rolled to the impeccable mosaics of the floor.     Dennis, breathing heavily, stood over him until the internationalpolice arrived, and then he had the surprise of his life. Upon search,the police found a tiny, but fatal silvery tube holstered under hisleft arm-pit—an atomic-disintegrator, forbidden throughout theinterplanetary League. Only major criminals and space pirates stillwithout the law were known to possess them.     Looks like your brawl has turned out to be a piece of fool's luck,Brooke! The Police Lieutenant favored Dennis with a wry smile. IfI'm not mistaken this chap's a member of Bren Koerber's pirate crew.Who else could afford to risk his neck at the International, and havein his possession a disintegrator? Pity we have no complete recordson that devil's crew! Anyway, we'll radio the I.S.P., perhaps theyhave details on this dandy! He eyed admiringly the priceless Martianembroideries on the unconscious Martian's tunic, the costly border ofred, ocelandian fur, and the magnificent black      acerine     on his finger.     Dennis Brooke shrugged his shoulders, shoulders that would have put toshame the Athenian statues of another age. A faint, bitter smile curvedhis generous mouth. I'm grounded, Gillian, it'd take the capture ofKoerber himself to set me right with the I.S.P. again—you don't knowBertram! To him an infraction of rules is a major crime. Damn Venus!He reached for his glass of      Verbena     but the table had turned overduring the struggle, and the glass was a shattered mass of gleaming      Bacca-glas     shards. He laughed shortly as he became conscious of thevenomous stare of the Mercurian Dancer, of the excited voices of theguests and the emphatic disapproval of the Venusian proprietor whowas shocked at having a brawl in his ultra-expensive, ultra-exclusivePalace.     Better come to Headquarters with me, Dennis, the lieutenant saidgently. We'll say you captured him, and if he's Koerber's, thecredit's yours. A trip to Terra's what you need, Venus for you is ahoodoo!  <doc-sep>The stern, white haired I.S.P. Commander behind the immense Aluminildesk, frowned slightly as Dennis Brooke entered. He eyed the six footfour frame of the Captain before him with a mixture of feelings, asif uncertain how to begin. Finally, he sighed as if, having come to adecision, he were forcing himself to speak:     Sit down, Dennis. I've sent for you, despite your grounding, fortwo reasons. The first one you already know—your capture of one ofKoerber's henchmen—has given us a line as to his present orbit ofpiracy, and the means of a check on his activities. But that's notreally why I've brought you here. He frowned again as if what he hadto say were difficult indeed.     Marla Starland, your fiancee, accepted an assignment we offered her—adelicate piece of work here on Terra that only a very beautiful, andvery clever young lady could perform. And, he paused, grimacing,somewhere between Venus and Terra, the interplanetary spacer bringingher and several other passengers, began to send distress signals.Finally, we couldn't contact the ship any more. It is three daysoverdue. All passengers, a cargo of radium from Venus worth untoldmillions, the spacer itself—seem to have vanished.     Dennis Brooke's space-tanned features had gone pale. His large hazeleyes, fringed with auburn lashes, too long for a man, were bright slitsthat smouldered. He stood silent, his hands clenched at his sides,while something cold and sharp seemed to dig at his heart with cruelprecision.     Marla! He breathed at last. The thought of Marla in the powerof Koerber sent a wave of anguish that seared through him like anatom-blast.     Commander, Dennis said, and his rich baritone voice had depths ofemotion so great that they startled Commander Bertram himself—andthat grizzled veteran of the I.S.P., had at one time or another knownevery change of torture that could possibly be wrung on a human soul.Commander, give me one ...      one     chance at that spawn of unthinkablebegetting! Let me try, and I promise you ... in his torture, Denniswas unconsciously banging a knotted fist on the chaste, satiny surfaceof the priceless desk, I promise you that I will either bring youKoerber, or forfeit my life!     Commander Bertram nodded his head. I brought you here for thatpurpose, son. We have reached a point in our war with Koerber, wherethe last stakes must be played ... and the last stake is death!     He reached over and flipped up the activator on a small telecast seton his desk; instantly the viso-screen lighted up. You'll now seea visual record of all we know about the passenger spacer that leftVenus with passengers and cargo, as far as we could contact the vesselin space. This, Dennis, the Commander emphasized his words, is yourchance to redeem yourself! He fell silent, while the viso-screen beganto show a crowded space port on Venus, and a gigantic passenger spacerup-tilted in its cradle.  <doc-sep>With a wrenching turn that almost threw them out of control, Dennismaneuvered to avoid the beam. Again Koerber's beam lashed out, as hesank lower into the looming mass, and again Dennis anticipating themaneuver avoided it.     George Randall! He shouted desperately into the speaker. Cut alljets in the rocket room! Hurry, man! He banked again and then zoomedout of the increasing gravity trap.     Randall! I've got to use the magnetic repulsion plates.... Cut all thejets! But there was no response. Randall's screen remained blank. ThenKoerber's lashing magnetic beam touched and the I.S.P. ship was caught,forced to follow the pirate ship's plunge like the weight at the end ofa whiplash. Koerber's gunners sent one parting shot, an atom-blast thatshook the trapped cruiser like a leaf.     Beneath them, growing larger by the second, a small world rushed up tomeet them. The readings in the Planetograph seemed to have gone crazy.It showed diameter 1200 miles; composition mineral and radio-active.Gravity seven-eighths of Terra. It couldn't be! Unless perhaps thisunknown planetoid was the legendary core of the world that at one timewas supposed to have existed between Jupiter and Mars. Only that couldpossibly explain the incredible gravity.     And then began another type of battle. Hearing the Captain's orders toRandall, and noting that no result had been obtained, Scotty Byrneshimself cut the jets. The Magnetic Repulsion Plates went into action,too late to save them from being drawn, but at least they could preventa crash. Far in the distance they could see Koerber's ship precedingthem in a free fall, then the Planetoid was rushing up to engulf them.      III     The atmosphere was somewhat tenuous, but it was breathable, provideda man didn't exert himself. To the silent crew of the I.S.P. Cruiser,the strange world to which Koerber's magnetic Beam had drawn them,was anything but reassuring. Towering crags jutted raggedly againstthe sky, and the iridescent soil of the narrow valley that walled inthe cruiser, had a poisonous, deadly look. As far as their eyes couldreach, the desolate, denuded vista stretched to the horizon.     Pretty much of a mess! Dennis Brooke's face was impassive as heturned to Scotty Byrnes. What's your opinion? Think we can patch herup, or are we stuck here indefinitely?     Scotty eyed the damage. The atom-blast had penetrated the hull intothe forward fuel chambers and the armor had blossomed out like flowerpetals. The crash-landing had not helped either.     Well, there's a few beryloid plates in the storage locker, Captain,but, he scratched his head ruminatively and shifted his precious cud.     But what? Speak up man! It was Tom Jeffery, his nerves on edge, hisordinarily gentle voice like a lash.     But, you may as well know it, Scotty replied quietly. That partingshot of Koerber's severed our main rocket feed. I had to use theemergency tank to make it down here!     For a long moment the four men looked at each other in silence. DennisBrooke's face was still impassive but for the flaming hazel eyes. Tomtugged at the torn sleeve of his I.S.P. uniform, while Scotty gazedmournfully at the damaged ship. Dallas Bernan looked at the long,ragged line of cliffs.     I think we got Koerber, though, he said at last. While Tom was doinga job of navigation, I had one last glimpse of him coming down fastand out of control somewhere behind those crags over there!     To hell with Koerber! Tom Jeffery exploded. You mean we're stuck inthis hellish rock-pile?     Easy, Tom! Captain Brooke's tones were like ice. On his pale,impassive face, his eyes were like flaming topaz. Where's Randall?     Probably hiding his head under a bunk! Dallas laughed with scorn. Hiscontemptuous remark voiced the feelings of the entire crew. A man whofailed to be at his battle-station in time of emergency, had no placein the I.S.P.     Considering the gravity of this planetoid, Dennis Brooke saidthoughtfully, it's going to take some blast to get us off!     Maybe we can locate a deposit of anerioum or uranium or something forour atom-busters to chew on! Scotty said hopefully. He was an eternaloptimist.     Better break out those repair plates, Dennis said to Scotty. Tom,you get the welders ready. I've got a few entries to make in the logbook, and then we'll decide on a party to explore the terrain and tryto find out what happened to Koerber's ship. I must know, he said in alow voice, but with such passion that the others were startled.     A figure appeared in the slanting doorway of the ship in time to hearthe last words. It was George Randall, adjusting a bandaged foreheadbumped during the crash landing.     Captain ... I ... I wanted ... he paused unable to continue.     You wanted what? Captain Brooke's voice was terse. Perhaps youwanted to explain why you weren't at your battle station?     Sir, I wanted to know if ... if I might help Scotty with the weldingjob.... That wasn't at all what he'd intended to say. But somehow thewords had stuck in his throat and his face flushed deep scarlet. Hiscandid blue eyes were suspiciously brilliant, and the white bandagewith its crimson stains made an appealing, boyish figure. It softenedthe anger in Brooke's heart. Thinking it over calmly, Dennis realizedthis was the youngster's first trip into the outer orbits, and bettermen than he had cracked in those vast reaches of space. But there hadbeen an instant when he'd found Randall cowering in the rocket-room, inthe grip of paralyzing hysteria, when he could cheerfully have wrunghis neck!     Certainly, Randall, he replied in a much more kindly tone. We'llneed all hands now.     Thank you, sir! Randall seemed to hesitate for a moment, opened hismouth to speak further, but feeling the other's calculating gaze uponhim, he whirled and re-entered the ship.     But for him we wouldn't be here! Dallas exclaimed. Aagh! He shookhis head in disgust until the several folds of flesh under his chinshook like gelatin. Cowards are hell! He spat.     Easy, Dallas, Randall's a kid, give 'im a chance. Dennis observed.     You Captain ... you're defending 'im? Why you had a greater stake inthis than we, and he's spoiled it for you!     Yep, Dennis nodded. But I'm still keeping my senses clear. No feudson my ship. Get it! The last two words cut like a scimitar.     Dallas nodded and lowered his eyes. Scotty shifted his cud and spata thin stream of juice over the iridescent ground. One by one theyre-entered the cruiser.  <doc-sep>Aboard the I.S.P. Cruiser, a surprise awaited them. It was young GeorgeRandall, whose excited face met them as soon as they had entered theairlocks and removed the space suits.     Captain Brooke ... Captain, recordings are showing on the new 'JetAnalyzers' must be the trail of some spacer. Can't be far! He wasfairly dancing in his excitement, as if the marvelous work of thenew invention that detected the disturbance of atomic jets at greatdistance were his own achievement.     Dennis Brooke smiled. His own heart was hammering, and inwardly heprayed that it were Koerber. It had to be! No interplanetary passengerspacer could possibly be out here at the intersection of angles Kp39 degrees, 12 minutes, Fp 67 degrees of Ceres elliptic plane. Nonebut a pirate crew with swift battle cruisers could dare! This was thedangerous asteroid belt, where even planetoids drifted in eccentricuncharted orbits.     Dennis, Tom Jeffery and Scotty Byrnes raced to the control room,followed by the ponderous Dallas to whom hurry in any form wasanathema. There could be no doubt now! The Jet Analyzer recordedpowerful disturbance, atomic—could be nothing else.     Instantly Captain Brooke was at the inter-communication speaker:     Crew, battle stations! Engine room, full speed!     Scotty Byrnes was already dashing to the engine room, where his belovedmotors purred with an ascending hum. Aboard the I.S.P. Cruiser eachmember of the crew raced to his assigned task without delay. Actionimpended, and after days and nights of inertia, it was a blessedrelief. Smiles appeared on haggard faces, and the banter of mensuddenly galvanized by a powerful incentive was bandied back and forth.All but George Randall. Now that action was imminent. Something grippedhis throat until he could hardly stand the tight collar of his I.S.P.uniform. A growing nausea gripped his bowels, and although he strove tokeep calm, his hands trembled beyond control.     In the compact, super-armored control room, Captain Brooke watchedthe telecast's viso-screen, with hungry eyes that were golden withanticipation. It seemed to him as if an eternity passed before atlast, a black speck danced on the illuminated screen, until it finallyreached the center of the viso-screen and remained there. It grew byleaps and bounds as the terrific speed of the cruiser minimized thedistance long before the quarry was aware of pursuit.     But at last, when the enemy cruiser showed on the viso-screen,unmistakably for what it was—a pirate craft, it showed by its suddenmaneuver that it had detected the I.S.P. cruiser. For it had describeda parabola in space and headed for the dangerous asteroid belt. As ifnavigated by a masterly hand that knew each and every orbit of theasteroids, it plunged directly into the asteroid drift, hoping to losethe I.S.P. cruiser with such a maneuver. Ordinarily, it would havesucceeded, no I.S.P. patrol ship would have dared to venture into sucha trap without specific orders. But to Dennis Brooke, directing thechase from the control room, even certain death was welcome, if only hecould take Koerber with him.     Weaving through the deadly belt for several hours, Dennis saw hisquarry slow down. Instantly he seized the chance and ordered a salvofrom starboard. Koerber's powerful spacer reeled, dived and came upspewing Genton-shells. The battle was on at last.     From the banked atom-cannon of the I.S.P. Cruiser, a deadly curtainof atomic fire blazed at the pirate craft. A ragged rent back towardmidship showed on Koerber's Cruiser which trembled as if it had beenmortally wounded. Then Dennis maneuvered his cruiser into a powerdive as a rain of Genton-shells swept the space lane above him, but ashe came up, a lone shell struck. At such close range, super-armor wasripped, second armor penetrated and the magnificent vessel shook underthe detonating impact.     It was then that Dennis Brooke saw the immense dark shadow loomingimmediately behind Koerber's ship. He saw the pirate cruiser zoomdesperately in an effort to break the gravity trap of the looming mass,but too late. It struggled like a fly caught in a spider-web to noavail. It was then that Koerber played his last card. Sensing he wasdoomed, he tried to draw the I.S.P. Cruiser down with him. A powerfulmagnetic beam lashed out to spear the I.S.P. Cruiser.  <doc-sep>They watched the parabola it made in its trajectory as it flashed intospace and then fell into orbit there beyond the planetary attraction ofVenus. On the three-dimensional viso-screen it was uncannily real.     A flight that had taken many hours to accomplish, was shortened onthe viso-screen to a matter of minutes. They saw the great, proudinterplanetary transport speeding majestically through the starry void,and suddenly, they saw her swerve in a great arc; again she swervedas if avoiding something deadly in space, and point upwards gainingaltitude. It was zig-zagging now, desperately maneuvering in an erraticcourse, and as if by magic, a tiny spot appeared on the transport'sside.     Tiny on the viso-screen, the fatal spots must have been huge inactuality. To the Commander of the I.S.P., and to Captain Brooke, itwas an old story. Atom-blasts were pitting the spacer's hull withdeadly Genton shells. The great transport trembled under the impact ofthe barrage, and suddenly, the screen went blank.     Commander Bertram turned slowly to face the young I.S.P. captain, whosefeatures were a mask devoid of all expression now, save for the pallorand the burning fire in his eyes.     And that's the sixth one in a month. Sometimes the survivors reachTerra in emergency spacers, or are picked up in space by othertransports ... and sometimes son ... well, as you know, sometimesthey're never seen again.     When do I leave, Commander! Dennis Brooke's voice was like a javelinof ice.     Right now, if you wish. We have a new cruiser armored in beryloid withdouble hull—a new design against Genton shells, but it's the speedof the thing that you'll want to know about. It just about surpassesanything ever invented. Get the figures and data from the coordinationroom, son; it's serviced and fueled and the crew's aboard. Heextended his hand. You're the best spacer we have—aside from yourrecklessness—and on your success depends far more than the capture ofan outlaw. Bertram smiled thinly. Happy landing!      II     Their nerves were ragged. Days and days of fruitless search for aphantom ship that seemed to have vanished from space, and an equallyelusive pirate whose whereabouts were hidden in the depths offathomless space.     To all but Captain Brooke, this was a new adventure, their firstassignment to duty in a search that went beyond the realm of theinner planets, where men spent sleepless nights in eternal vigilanceagainst stray asteroids and outlaw crews of ruthless vandal ships. Eventheir cruiser was a new experience, the long, tapering fighter lackedthe luxurious offices and appointments of the regular I.S.P. Patrolspacers. It placed a maximum on speed, and all available space washoarded for fuel. The lightning fast tiger of the space-lanes, was athing of beauty, but of grim, sleek beauty instinct with power, not thecomfortable luxury that they knew.     Day after day they went through their drills, donning space suits,manning battle stations; aiming deadly atom-cannon at empty space, andeternally scanning the vast empty reaches by means of the telecast.     And suddenly, out of the void, as they had all but given up the searchas a wild goose chase, a speck was limned in the lighted surface of theviso-screen in the control room. Instantly the I.S.P. cruiser came tolife. In a burst of magnificent speed, the cruiser literally devouredthe space leagues, until the spacer became a flashing streak. On theviso-screen, the speck grew larger, took on contours, growing andbecoming slowly the drifting shell of what had been a transport.     Presently they were within reaching distance, and Captain Brookecommanded through the teleradio from the control room:     Prepare to board!     Every member of the crew wanted to be among the boarding party, forall but George Randall, the junior member of the crew had served hisapprenticeship among the inner planets, Mars, Venus and Terra. He feltnauseated at the very thought of going out there in that vast abyss ofspace. His young, beardless face, with the candid blue eyes went palewhen the order was given. But presently, Captain Brooke named those whowere to go beside himself:     You, Tom and Scotty, take one emergency plane, and Dallas!     Yes, Captain! Dallas Bernan, the immense third lieutenant boomed inhis basso-profundo voice.     You and I'll take a second emergency! There was a pause in the voiceof the Captain from the control room, then: Test space suits. Testoxygen helmets! Atom-blasts only, ready in five minutes!     George Randall breathed a sigh of relief. He watched them bridge thespace to the drifting wreck, then saw them enter what had once been aproud interplanetary liner, now soon to be but drifting dust, and heturned away with a look of shame.     Inside the liner, Captain Dennis Brooke had finished making a detailedsurvey.     No doubt about it, he spoke through the radio in his helmet. Cargomissing. No survivors. No indication that the repulsion fields wereout of order. And finally, those Genton shells could only have beenfired by Koerber! He tried to maintain a calm exterior, but inwardlyhe seethed in a cold fury more deadly than any he had ever experienced.Somehow he had expected to find at least one compartment unharmed,where life might have endured, but now, all hope was gone. Only a greatresolve to deal with Koerber once and for all remained to him.     Dennis tried not to think of Marla, too great an ache was involved inthinking of her and all he had lost. When he finally spoke, his voicewas harsh, laconic:     Prepare to return!     Scotty Byrnes, the cruiser's nurse, who could take his motors through amajor battle, or hell and high water and back again, for that matter,shifted the Venusian weed that made a perpetual bulge on his cheek andgazed curiously at Captain Brooke. They all knew the story in variousversions, and with special additions. But they were spacemen, implicitin their loyalty, and with Dennis Brooke they could and did feel safe.     Tom Jeffery, the tall, angular and red-faced Navigator, whose slow,easygoing movements belied the feral persistence of a tiger, and theswiftness of a striking cobra in a fight, led the small procession ofmen toward the emergency planes. Behind him came Dallas Bernan, thirdlieutenant, looming like a young asteroid in his space suit, followedby Scotty, and finally Captain Brooke himself. All left in silence, asif the tragedy that had occurred aboard the wrecked liner, had touchedthem intimately.  <doc-sep>Consul Passwyn glanced up at Retief, went on perusing a paper.     Sit down, Retief, he said absently. I thought you were over onPueblo, or Mud-flat, or whatever they call that desert.     I'm back.     Passwyn eyed him sharply. Well, well, what is it you need, man? Speakup. Don't expect me to request any military assistance, no matter howthings are....     Retief passed a bundle of documents across the desk. Here's theTreaty. And a Mutual Assistance Pact declaration and a trade agreement.     Eh? Passwyn picked up the papers, riffled through them. He leanedback in his chair, beamed.     Well, Retief. Expeditiously handled. He stopped, blinked at Retief.You seem to have a bruise on your jaw. I hope you've been conductingyourself as befits a member of the Embassy staff.     I attended a sporting event, Retief said. One of the players got alittle excited.     Well ... it's one of the hazards of the profession. One mustpretend an interest in such matters. Passwyn rose, extended a hand.You've done well, my boy. Let this teach you the value of followinginstructions to the letter.     Outside, by the hall incinerator drop, Retief paused long enough totake from his briefcase a large buff envelope, still sealed, and dropit in the slot.   <doc-sep>He was having a nightmare when he heard the voice, Hey. Wake up. Hey!     He opened his eyes, saw Hendricks' ugly face and thought for a minutehe was still having the nightmare.     I just saw your doctor, Hendricks said. He says your treatment isover. You can go home now. I thought I'd give you a lift.     As Joe dressed, he searched his mind and tried to find some difference.     During the treatment, he had been unconscious or drugged, unable tothink. Now he could think clearly, but he could find no difference inhimself.     He felt more relaxed than he'd ever felt before, but that could be anafter-effect of all the sedatives he'd been given. And, he noticed whenhe looked in the mirror, he was paler. The treatment had taken monthsand he had, between operations, been locked in his room.     Hendricks was standing by the window. Joe stared at the massive back.Deliberately goading his mind, he discovered the biggest change:Before, the mere sight of the man had aroused an intense hatred. Now,even when he tried, he succeeded in arousing only a mild hatred.They had toned down his capacity to hate, but not done away with italtogether.     Come here and take a look at your public, said Hendricks.     Joe went to the window. Three stories below, a large crowd had gatheredon the hospital steps: a band, photographers, television trucks,cameramen and autograph hunters. He'd waited a long time for this day.But now—another change in him—     He put the emotion into words: I don't feel like a hero. Funny, but Idon't.     Hero! Hendricks laughed and, with his powerful lungs, it soundedlike a bull snorting. You think a successful criminal is a hero? Youstupid—     He laughed again and waved a hand at the crowd below them. You thinkthose people are down there because they admire what you did? They'redown there waiting for you because they're curious, because they'reglad the CPA caught you, and because they're glad you're an Ex. You'rean      ex     -criminal now, and because of your treatment, you'll never beable to commit another crime as long as you live. And that's the kindof guy they admire, so they want to see you, shake your hand and getyour autograph.     Joe didn't understand Hendricks completely, but the part he didunderstand he didn't believe. A crowd was waiting for him. He could seethe people with his own eyes. When he left the hospital, they'd cheerand shout and ask for his autograph. If he wasn't a hero,      what washe     ?  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] ""What is Dennis' profession and how does he experience his treatment in the workplace?""","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"In what location does THE SOUL EATERS occur? [SEP] <s>  THE SOUL EATERS     By WILLIAM CONOVER     Firebrand Dennis Brooke had one final chance     to redeem himself by capturing Koerber whose     ships were the scourge of the Void. But his     luck had run its course, and now he was     marooned on a rogue planet—fighting to save     himself from a menace weapons could not kill.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Fall 1944.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]            And so, my dear     , Dennis detected a faint irony in the phrase,       I'mafraid I can offer no competition to the beauties of five planets—oris it six? With regret I bow myself out, and knowing me as you do,you'll understand the futility of trying to convince me again. Anyway,there will be no temptation, for I'm sailing on a new assignment I'veaccepted. I did love you.... Good-by.          Dennis Brooke had lost count of the times he'd read Marla's lastletter, but every time he came to these final, poignant lines, theynever failed to conjure a vision of her tawny loveliness, slender asthe palms of Venus, and of the blue ecstasy of her eyes, wide with aperpetual wonder—limpid as a child's.     The barbaric rhythms of the      Congahua     , were a background of annoyancein Dennis' mind; he frowned slightly as the maneuvers of the Mercuriandancer, who writhed among the guests of the notorious pleasure palace,began to leave no doubt as to her intentions. The girl was beautiful,in a sultry, almost incandescent sort of way, but her open promise lefthim cold. He wanted solitude, somewhere to coordinate his thoughtsin silence and salvage something out of the wreck of his heart, notto speak of his career. But Venus, in the throes of a gigantic boomupon the discovery of radio-active fields, could offer only onesolitude—the fatal one of her swamps and virgin forests.     Dennis Brooke was thirty, the time when youth no longer seems unending.When the minor adventures of the heart begin to pall. If the loss ofMarla left an aching void that all the women of five planets could notfill, the loss of Space, was quite as deadly. For he had been grounded.True, Koerber's escape from the I.S.P. net had not quite been hisfault; but had he not been enjoying the joys of a voluptuous JovianChamber, in Venus' fabulous Inter-planetary Palace, he would have beenready for duty to complete the last link in the net of I.S.P. cruisersthat almost surrounded the space pirate.     A night in the Jovian Chamber, was to be emperor for one night. Everydream of a man's desire was marvelously induced through the skilful useof hypnotics; the rarest viands and most delectable drinks appeared asif by magic; the unearthly peace of an Olympus descended on a man'ssoul, and beauty ... beauty such as men dreamed of was a warm realityunder the ineffable illumination of the Chamber.     It cost a young fortune. But to pleasure mad, boom-ridden Venus, afortune was a bagatelle. Only it had cost Dennis Brooke far more than asheaf of credits—it had cost him the severe rebuff of the I.S.P., andmost of his heart in Marla.     Dennis sighed, he tilted his red, curly head and drank deeply of theinsidious      Verbena     , fragrant as a mint garden, in the tall frostyglass of Martian      Bacca-glas     , and as he did so, his brilliant hazeleyes found themselves gazing into the unwinking, violet stare of ayoung Martian at the next table. There was a smouldering hatred inthose eyes, and something else ... envy, perhaps, or was it jealousy?Dennis couldn't tell. But his senses became instantly alert. Dangerbrought a faint vibration which his superbly trained faculties couldinstantly denote.     His steady, bronzed hand lowered the drink, and his eyes narrowedslightly. Absorbed in trying to puzzle the sudden enmity of thisMartian stranger, he was unaware of the Mercurian Dancer. The latterhad edged closer, whirling in prismatic flashes from the myriadsemi-precious stones that studded her brief gauze skirt. And now, ina final bid for the spacer's favor she flung herself in his lap andtilted back invitingly.     Some of the guests laughed, others stared in plain envy at thehandsome, red-haired spacer, but from the table across, came thetinkling sound of a fragile glass being crushed in a powerful hand,and a muffled Martian curse. Without warning, the Martian was on hisfeet with the speed of an Hellacorium, the table went crashing to oneside as he leaped with deadly intent on the sprawled figure of DennisBrooke. A high-pitched scream brought instant silence as a Terran girlcried out. Then the Martian's hand reached out hungrily. But Dennis wasnot there.  <doc-sep>Bbulas slid the ornate headdress over his antennae, which, alreadygilded and jeweled, at once seemed to become a part of it. He lookedpretty damn silly, Skkiru thought, at the same time conscious of hisown appearance—which was, although picturesque enough to delightromantic Terrestrial hearts, sufficiently wretched to charm the mosthardened sadist.     Hurry up, Skkiru, Bbulas said. They mustn't suspect the existence ofthe city underground or we're finished before we've started.     For my part, I wish we'd never started, Skkiru grumbled. What waswrong with our old culture, anyway?     That was intended as a rhetorical question, but Bbulas answered itanyway. He always answered questions; it had never seemed to penetratehis mind that school-days were long since over.     I've told you a thousand times that our old culture was too much likethe Terrans' own to be of interest to them, he said, with affectedweariness. After all, most civilized societies are basically similar;it is only primitive societies that differ sharply, one from theother—and we have to be different to attract Earthmen. They're prettychoosy. You've got to give them what they want, and that's what theywant. Now take up your post on the edge of the field, try to lookhungry, and remember this isn't for you or for me, but for Snaddra.     For Snaddra, Larhgan said, placing her hand over her anterior heartin a gesture which, though devout on Earth—or so the fictapes seemedto indicate—was obscene on Snaddra, owing to the fact that certainessential organs were located in different areas in the Snaddrath thanin the corresponding Terrestrial life-form. Already the Terrestrialinfluence was corrupting her, Skkiru thought mournfully. She had beensuch a nice girl, too.     We may never meet on equal terms again, Skkiru, she told him, with along, soulful glance that made his hearts sink down to his quiveringtoes, but I promise you there will never be anyone else for me—andI hope that knowledge will inspire you to complete cooperation withBbulas.     If that doesn't, Bbulas said, I have other methods of inspiration.     All right, Skkiru answered sulkily. I'll go to the edge of thefield, and I'll speak broken Inter-galactic, and I'll forsake my normalhabits and customs, and I'll even      beg     . But I don't have to like doingit, and I don't intend to like doing it.     All three of Larhgan's eyes fuzzed with emotion. I'm proud of you,Skkiru, she said brokenly.     Bbulas sniffed. The three of them floated up to ground level in atriple silence.  <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>   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>Suddenly she was dropped. Her mountainous keepers were on the floor asthough struck by lightning, their arms thrown out before them, theirfaces abject against the floor. Kraft Gerding was slowly loweringhimself to one knee. Dink had entered the spider-room. Withoutquestions, he strode between the shiko-ing Earmuffs and put his armsaround Orison.     They can't harm you, he said. She turned to press her face againsthis chest. You're all right, child. Breathe deep, swallow, and turnyour brain back on. All right, now?     All right, she said, still trembling. They were going to throw me tothe spiders.     Kraft told you that? Dink Gerding released her and turned to thekneeling man. Stand up, Elder Brother.     I....     Dink brought his right fist up from hip-level, crashing it into Kraft'sjaw. Kraft Gerding joined the Earmuffs on the floor.     If you'd care to stand again, Elder Brother, you may attempt torecover your dignity without regard for the difference in our rank.Kraft struggled to one knee and remained kneeling, gazing up at Dinkthrough half-closed eyes. No? Then get out of here, all of you.      Samma!          Kraft Gerding arose, stared for a moment at Dink and Orison, then, withthe merest hint of a bow, led his two giant Earmuffs to the elevator.     I wish you hadn't come up here, Orison, Dink said. Why did you doit?     Have you read the story of Bluebeard? Orison asked. She stood closeto Dink, keeping her eyes on the nearest spidertank. I had to seewhat it was you kept up here so secretly, what it was that I wasforbidden to see. My excuse was to have been that I was looking foryou, to deliver a message from Mr. Wanji. He said I was to tell youthat the escudo green is pale.     You're too curious, and Wanji is too careless, Dink said. Now, whatis this thing you have about spiders?     I've always been terrified of them, Orison said. When I was a littlegirl, I had to stay upstairs all day one Sunday because there was aspider hanging from his thread in the stairway. I waited until Dad camehome and took it down with a broom. Even then, I didn't have appetitefor supper.     Strange, Dink said. He walked over to the nearest tank and pluckedone of the tiny pink creatures from a web-bridge. This is no spider,Orison, he said.     She backed away from Dink Gerding and the minuscule creature he cuppedin the palm of his hand. These are Microfabridae, more nearly relatedto shellfish than to spiders, he said. They're stone-and-metaleaters. They literally couldn't harm a fly. Look at it, Orison. Heextended his palm. Orison forced herself to look. The little creature,flesh-colored against his flesh, was nearly invisible, scuttling aroundthe bowl of his hand. Pretty little fellow, isn't he? Dink asked.Here. You hold him.     I'd rather not, she protested.     I'd be happier if you did, Dink said.  <doc-sep>    A wayfarer's return from a far country to his wife and family may be ashining experience, a kind of second honeymoon. Or it may be so shadowedby Time's relentless tyranny that the changes which have occurred in hisabsence can lead only to tragedy and despair. This rarely discerning, warmlyhuman story by a brilliant newcomer to the science fantasy field is toldwith no pulling of punches, and its adroit unfolding will astound you.         the       hoofer         by ... Walter M. Miller, Jr.         A space rover has no business with a family. But what can a manin the full vigor of youth do—if his heart cries out for a home?    <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>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></s> [SEP] In what location does THE SOUL EATERS occur?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you give me a brief summary of HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS? [SEP] <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>  MacKENZIE didn't seem to be taking any notes, or paying any specialattention to the answers Ish was giving to his casual questions. But thequestions fell into a pattern that was far from casual, and Ish couldsee the small button-mike of a portable tape-recorder nestling under theman's lapel.     Been working your own way for the last seventeen years, haven't you?MacKenzie seemed to mumble in a perfectly clear voice.     Ish nodded.     How's that?     The corners of Isherwood's mouth twitched, and he said Yes for therecorder's benefit.     Odd jobs, first of all?     Something like that. Anything I could get, the first few months. AfterI was halfway set up, I stuck to garages and repair shops.     Out at the airports around Miami, mostly, wasn't it?     Ahuh.     Took some of your pay in flying lessons.     Right.     MacKenzie's face passed no judgements—he simply hunched in his chair,seemingly dwarfed by the shoulders of his perfectly tailored suit, hisstubby fingers twiddling a Phi Beta Kappa key. He was a spare man—onlya step or two away from emaciation. Occasionally, he pushed a tiredstrand of washed-out hair away from his forehead.     Ish answered him truthfully, without more than ordinary reservations.This was the man who could ground him He was dangerous—red-letterdangerous—because of it.     No family.     Ish shrugged. Not that I know of. Cut out at seventeen. My father wasmaking good money. He had a pension plan, insurance policies. No need toworry about them.     Ish knew the normal reaction a statement like that should have brought.MacKenzie's face did not go into a blank of repression—but it stillpassed no judgements.     How's things between you and the opposite sex?     About normal.     No wife—no steady girl.     Not a very good idea, in my racket.     MacKenzie grunted. Suddenly, he sat bolt upright in his chair, and swungtoward Ish. His lean arm shot out, and his index finger was aimedbetween Isherwood's eyes. You can't go!     Ish was on his feet, his fists clenched, the blood throbbing in histemple veins. What! he roared.     MacKenzie seemed to collapse in his chair. The brief commanding burstwas over, and his face was apologetic, Sorry, he said. He seemedgenuinely abashed. Shotgun therapy. Works best, sometimes. You can go,all right; I just wanted to get a fast check on your reactions anddrives.     Ish could feel the anger that still ran through him—anger, and morefear than he wanted to admit. I'm due at a briefing, he said tautly.You through with me?     MacKenzie nodded, still embarrassed. Sorry.     Ish ignored the man's obvious feelings. He stopped at the door to send aparting stroke at the thing that had frightened him. Big gun in thepsychiatry racket, huh? Well, your professional lingo's slipping, Doc.They did put      some     learning in my head at college, you know. Therapy,hell! Testing maybe, but you sure didn't do anything to help me!     I don't know, MacKenzie said softly. I wish I did.     Ish slammed the door behind him. He stood in the corridor, jamming afresh cigarette in his mouth. He threw a glance at his watch. Twelvehours, twenty-two minutes, and four days to go.     Damn! He was late for the briefing. Odd—that fool psychiatrist hadn'tseemed to take up that much of his time.     He shrugged. What difference did it make? As he strode down the hall, helost his momentary puzzlement under the flood of realization thatnothing could stop him now, that the last hurdle was beaten. He wasgoing. He was going, and if there were faint echoes of Marty! ringingin the dark background of his mind, they only served to push him faster,as they always had. Nothing but death could stop him now.    <doc-sep>By chance, a mobile television unit was at that moment on the BeltParkway, returning from having seen off a prime minister at IdlewildAirport. This unit was at once diverted to Canarsie, where it took up aposition across the street from the scene of carnage and went to workwith a Zoomar lens.     In the meantime, Mister Higgins had barricaded himself in his house,firing at anything that moved.     The two cameramen in the mobile unit worked their hearts out. Oneconcentrated on the movements of the police and firemen and neighborsand ambulance attendants, while the other used the Zoomar lens tosearch for Mr. Higgins. He found him occasionally, offering the at-homeaudience brief glimpses of a stocky balding man in brown trousers andundershirt, stalking from window to window on the second floor of thehouse.     The show lasted for nearly an hour. There were policemen everywhere,and firemen everywhere, and neighbors milling around down at thecorner, where the police had roped the block off, and occasionally Mr.Higgins would stick his rifle out a window and shoot at somebody. Thepolice used loudspeakers to tell Higgins he might as well give up, theyhad the place surrounded and could eventually starve him out anyway.Higgins used his own good lungs to shout obscenities back and challengeanyone present to hand-to-hand combat.     The police fired tear gas shells at the house, but it was a windy dayand all the windows in the Higgins house were either open or broken.Higgins was able to throw all the shells back out of the house again.     The show lasted for nearly an hour. Then it ended, suddenly anddramatically.     Higgins had showed himself to the Zoomar lens again, for the purpose ofshooting either the camera or its operator. All at once he yelped andthrew the rifle away. The rifle bounced onto the porch roof, slithereddown to the edge, hung for a second against the drain, and finally fellbarrel first onto the lawn.     Meanwhile, Higgins was running through the house, shouting like awounded bull. He thundered down the stairs and out, hollering, to fallinto the arms of the waiting police.     They had trouble holding him. At first they thought he was actuallytrying to get away, but then one of them heard what it was he wasshouting: My hands! My hands!     They looked at his hands. The palms and the palm-side of the fingerswere red and blistering, from what looked like severe burns. There wasanother burn on his right cheek and another one on his right shoulder.     Higgins, thoroughly chastened and bewildered, was led away for burnointment and jail. The television crew went on back to Manhattan. Theneighbors went home and telephoned their friends.     On-duty policemen had been called in from practically all of theprecincts in Brooklyn. Among them was Detective-Sergeant WilliamStevenson. Stevenson frowned thoughtfully at Higgins as that unhappyindividual was led away, and then strolled over to look at the rifle.He touched the stock, and it was somewhat warm but that was all.     He picked it up and turned it around. There, on the other side of thestock, burned into the wood, were the crudely-shaped letters, TheScorpion.  <doc-sep>We slowly circled the alien structure. Several minutes later, Kaneshouted, Look!     A few feet above the ground, the structure's smooth surface was brokenby a circular opening that yawned invitingly. Kane ran ahead andflashed his head-lamp into the dark recess.     There's a small room inside, he told us, and climbed through theopening.     We waited outside and focused our lamps through the five-foot openingto give him as much light as possible.     Come on in, Marie, he called to his wife. This is really something!It      must     be an alien race. There's all kinds of weird drawings on thewalls and gadgets that look like controls for something....     Briefly, my lamp flickered over Marie's pale face. Her featuresstruggled with two conflicting emotions: She was frightened by thealienness of the thing and yet she wanted to be with her husband. Shehesitated momentarily, then climbed through the passage.     You want to go in? my wife asked.     Do you?     Let's.     I helped Verana through the opening, climbed through myself and turnedto help Miller.     Miller was sixty years old. He was an excellent mineralogist, alertmentally, but with a body that was almost feeble. I reached out to helphim as he stepped into the passageway.     For a brief second, he was framed in the opening, a dark silhouetteagainst the star-studded sky.     The next second, he was thrown twenty yards into the air. He gaspedwith pain when he struck the ground.       Something     pushed me!     Are you all right?     Yes.     He had fallen on a spot beyond our angle of vision. I started throughthe passage....     ... and struck an invisible solid wall.  <doc-sep>Joe was still stretched out on the bar, panting, his eyes slowlycrossing and uncrossing. Harvey lifted the patient's head tenderly,put the bottle to his lips and tilted it until he was forced to drink.When Joe tried to pull away, Harvey was inexorable. He made his partnerdrink until most of the liquid was gone. Then he stepped back andwaited for the inevitable result.     Joe's performance was better than ever. He lay supine for severalmoments, his face twisted into an expression that seemed doomedto perpetual wryness. Slowly, however, he sat up and his featuresstraightened out.     Are—are you all right? asked the mayor anxiously.     Much better, said Joe in a weak voice.     Maybe you need another dose, Harvey suggested.     Joe recoiled. I'm fine now! he cried, and sprang off the bar to proveit.     Astonished, Johnson and his son drew closer. They searched Joe's face,and then the mayor timidly felt his pulse.     Well, I'll be hanged! Johnson ejaculated.           La-anago Yergis     never fails, my friend, Harvey explained. Byactual test, it conquers asteroid fever in from four to twenty-threeminutes, depending on the severity of the attack. Luckily, we caughtthis one before it grew formidable.     The mayor's eyes became clouded mirrors of an inward conflict. If youdon't charge too much, he said warily, I might think of buying some.     We do not sell this unbelievable remedy, Harvey replied with dignity.It sells itself.     'Course, I'd expect a considerable reduction if I bought a wholecase, said Johnson.     That would be the smallest investment you could make, compared withthe vast loss of time and strength the fever involves.     How much? asked the mayor unhappily.     For you, since you have taken us in so hospitably, a mere five hundredbuckos.     Johnson did not actually stagger back, but he gave the impression ofdoing so. F-four hundred, he offered.     Not a red cent less than four seventy-five, Harvey said flatly.     Make it four fifty, quavered Johnson.     I dislike haggling, said Harvey.     The final price, however, was four hundred and sixty-nine buckos andfifty redsents. Magnanimously, Harvey added: And we will include,      gratis     , an elegant bottle-opener, a superb product of Mercurianhandicraftsmanship.     Johnson stabbed out a warning finger. No tricks now. I want a taste ofthat stuff. You're not switching some worthless junk on me.     Harvey took a glass from the bar and poured him a generous sample. Themayor sniffed it, grimaced, then threw it down his gullet. The ensuingminute saw a grim battle between a man and his stomach, a battle whichthe man gradually won.     There ain't no words for that taste, he gulped when it was safe totalk again.     Medicine, Harvey propounded, should taste like medicine. To Joe hesaid: Come, my esteemed colleague. We must perform the sacred task towhich we have dedicated ourselves.     With Joe stumbling along behind, he left the saloon, crossed theclearing and entered the ship. As soon as they were inside, Joe droppedhis murderous silence and cried:     What kind of a dirty trick was that, giving me poison instead of thatsnake oil?     That was not poison, Harvey contradicted quietly. It was      La-anagoYergis     extract, plus.     Plus what—arsenic?     Now, Joseph! Consider my quandary when I came back here to manufactureour specific for all known ailments, with the intention of sellingyonder asteroidal tin-horn a bill of medical goods—an entire case,mind you. Was I to mix the extract with the water for which we had beenswindled to the tune of ten buckos a liter? Where would our profit havebeen, then? No; I had to use the bitter free water, of course.     But why use it on me? Joe demanded furiously.     Harvey looked reprovingly at his gangling partner. Did Johnson ask totaste it, or did he not? One must look ahead, Joseph. I had to producethe same      medicine     that we will now manufacture. Thus, you were aguinea pig for a splendid cause.     Okay, okay, Joe said. But you shoulda charged him more.     Joseph, I promise you that we shall get back every redsent of whichthat swindler cheated us, besides whatever other funds or valuables hepossesses. We could not be content with less.     Well, we're starting all right, admitted Joe. How about that thingwith six arms? He looks like a valuable. Can't we grab him off?     Harvey stopped filling bottles and looked up pensively.     I have every hope of luring away the profitable monstrosity.Apparently you have also surmised the fortune we could make with him.At first I purpose to exhibit him on our interplanetary tours with ourstreamlined panacea; he would be a spectacular attraction for bucolicsuckers. Later, a brief period of demonstrating his abilities on theaudio-visiphone. Then our triumph—we shall sell him at a stupendousfigure to the zoo!  <doc-sep>The leader of the three, a hawk-faced man with a heavy beard,unlimbered his rifle. He fingered it, frowning ferociously.     Have no fear, Retief said, smiling graciously. He who comes as aguest enjoys perfect safety.     A smooth-faced member of the threesome barked an oath and leveled hisrifle at Retief.     Youth is the steed of folly, Retief said. Take care that thebeardless one does not disgrace his house.     The leader whirled on the youth and snarled an order. He lowered therifle, muttering. Blackbeard turned back to Retief.     Begone, interlopers, he said. You disturb the goats.     Provision is not taken to the houses of the generous, Retief said.May the creatures dine well ere they move on.     Hah! The goats of the Aga Kaga graze on the lands of the Aga Kaga.The leader edged his horse close, eyed Retief fiercely. We welcome nointruders on our lands.     To praise a man for what he does not possess is to make him appearfoolish, Retief said. These are the lands of the Boyars. But enoughof these pleasantries. We seek audience with your ruler.     You may address me as 'Exalted One', the leader said. Now dismountfrom that steed of Shaitan.     It is written, if you need anything from a dog, call him 'sir',Retief said. I must decline to impute canine ancestry to a guest. Nowyou may conduct us to your headquarters.     Enough of your insolence! The bearded man cocked his rifle. I couldblow your heads off!     The hen has feathers, but it does not fly, Retief said. We haveasked for escort. A slave must be beaten with a stick; for a free man,a hint is enough.     You mock me, pale one. I warn you—     Only love makes me weep, Retief said. I laugh at hatred.     Get out of the car!     Retief puffed at his cigar, eyeing the Aga Kagan cheerfully. The youthin the rear moved forward, teeth bared.     Never give in to the fool, lest he say, 'He fears me,' Retief said.     I cannot restrain my men in the face of your insults, the bearded AgaKagan roared. These hens of mine have feathers—and talons as well!     When God would destroy an ant, he gives him wings, Retief said.Distress in misfortune is another misfortune.     The bearded man's face grew purple.     Retief dribbled the ash from his cigar over the side of the car.     Now I think we'd better be getting on, he said briskly. I've enjoyedour chat, but we do have business to attend to.     The bearded leader laughed shortly. Does the condemned man beg for theaxe? he enquired rhetorically. You shall visit the Aga Kaga, then.Move on! And make no attempt to escape, else my gun will speak you abrief farewell.     The horsemen glowered, then, at a word from the leader, took positionsaround the car. Georges started the vehicle forward, following theleading rider. Retief leaned back and let out a long sigh.     That was close, he said. I was about out of proverbs.     You sound as though you'd brought off a coup, Georges said. From theexpression on the whiskery one's face, we're in for trouble. What washe saying?     Just a routine exchange of bluffs, Retief said. Now when we getthere, remember to make your flattery sound like insults and yourinsults sound like flattery, and you'll be all right.     These birds are armed. And they don't like strangers, Georges said.Maybe I should have boned up on their habits before I joined thisexpedition.     Just stick to the plan, Retief said. And remember: a handful of luckis better than a camel-load of learning.  <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>One thing he could find out: how long this had been going on. Heturned to the communicator and unhooked the paper receptacle on itsbottom. It held about a yard and a half of tape, probably his lastseveral messages—both those sent and those received. He pulled it outimpatiently and began reading.     The first was from himself:     YOUR SUGGESTIONS NO HELP. HOW AM I GOING TO REPAIR DAMAGE TO SCOUTWITHOUT PROPER EQUIPMENT? AND WHERE DO I GET IT? DO YOU THINK I FOUNDA TOOL SHOP DOWN HERE? FOR GOD'S SAKE, COME UP WITH SOMETHING BETTER.     VISITED SEAL-PEOPLE AGAIN TODAY. STILL HAVE THEIR STINK IN MY NOSE.FOUND HUTS ALONG RIVER BANK, SO I GUESS THEY DON'T LIVE IN WATER.BUT THEY DO SPEND MOST OF THEIR TIME THERE. NO, I HAVE NO WAY OFESTIMATING THEIR INTELLIGENCE. I WOULD JUDGE IT AVERAGES NO HIGHERTHAN SEVEN-YEAR-OLD HUMAN. THEY DEFINITELY DO TALK TO ONE ANOTHER.WILL TRY TO FIND OUT MORE ABOUT THEM, BUT YOU GET TO WORK FAST ON HOWI REPAIR SCOUT.     SWELLING IN ARM WORSE AND AM DEVELOPING A FEVER. TEMPERATURE 102.7 ANHOUR AGO.     SMOKY     The ship must have answered immediately, for the return message timewas six hours later than his own, the minimum interval necessary fortwo-way exchange.     DOING OUR BEST, SMOKY. YOUR IMMEDIATE PROBLEM, AS WE SEE IT, IS TOKEEP WELL. WE FED ALL THE INFORMATION YOU GAVE US INTO SAM, BUT YOUDIDN'T HAVE MUCH EXCEPT THE STING IN YOUR ARM. AS EXPECTED, ALL THATCAME OUT WAS DATA INSUFFICIENT. TRY TO GIVE US MORE. ALSO DETAILALL SYMPTOMS SINCE YOUR LAST REPORT. IN THE MEANTIME, WE'RE DOINGEVERYTHING WE CAN AT THIS END. GOOD LUCK.     SS II     Sam, Kaiser knew, was the ship's mechanical diagnostician. His reportfollowed:     ARM SWOLLEN. UNABLE TO KEEP DOWN FOOD LAST TWELVE HOURS. ABOUT TWOHOURS AGO, ENTIRE BODY TURNED LIVID RED. BRIEF PERIODS OF BLANKNESS.THINGS KEEP COMING AND GOING. SICK AS HELL. HURRY.     SMOKY     The ship's next message read:     INFECTION QUITE DEFINITE. BUT SOMETHING STRANGE THERE. GIVE USANYTHING MORE YOU HAVE.     SS II     His own reply perplexed Kaiser:     LAST LETTER FUNNY. I NOT UNDERSTAND. WHY IS OO SENDING GARBLE TALK?DID USNS MAKE UP SECRET MESSAGES?     SMOKY     The expedition, apparently, was as puzzled as he:     WHAT'S THE MATTER, SMOKY? THAT LAST MESSAGE WAS IN PLAIN TERRAN. NOREASON WHY YOU COULDN'T READ IT. AND WHY THE BABY TALK? IF YOU'RESPOOFING, STOP. GIVE US MORE SYMPTOMS. HOW ARE YOU FEELING NOW?     SS II     The baby talk was worse on Kaiser's next:     TWAZY. WHAT FOR OO TENDING TWAZY LETTERS? FINK UM CAN WEAD TWAZYLETTERS? SKIN ALL YELLOW NOW. COLD. COLD. CO     The ship's following communication was three hours late. It was thelast on the tape—the one Kaiser had read earlier. Apparently theydecided to humor him.     OO IS SICK, SMOKY. DO TO BEDDY-BY. KEEP UM WARM. WHEN UM FEELS BETTER,LET USNS KNOW.     SS II     That was not much help. All it told him was that he had been sick.     He felt better now, outside of a muscular weariness, as thoughconvalescing from a long illness. He put the back of his hand to hisforehead. Cool. No fever anyway.     He glanced at the clock-calendar on the instrument board and back atthe date and time on the tape where he'd started his baby talk. Twentyhours. He hadn't been out of his head too long. He began punching thecommunicator keys while he nibbled at a biscuit.     SEEM TO BE FULLY RECOVERED. FEELING FINE. ANYTHING NEW FROM SAM? ANDHOW ABOUT THE DAMAGE TO SCOUT? GIVE ME ANYTHING YOU HAVE ON EITHER ORBOTH.     SMOKY     Kaiser felt suddenly weary. He lay on the scout's bunk and triedto sleep. Soon he was in that phantasm land between sleep andwakefulness—he knew he was not sleeping, yet he did dream.     It was the same dream he had had many times before. In it, he was backhome again, the home he had joined the space service to escape. He hadrealized soon after his marriage that his wife, Helene, did not lovehim. She had married him for the security his pay check provided. Andthough it soon became evident that she, too, regretted her bargain,she would not divorce him. Instead, she had her revenge on him bypersistent nagging, by letting herself grow fat and querulous, and bycaring for their house only in a slovenly way.     Her crippled brother had moved in with them the day they were married.His mind was as crippled as his body and he took an unhealthy delightin helping his sister torment Kaiser.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you give me a brief summary of HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"In what location does the story take place? [SEP] <s>   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>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>She didn't answer; she kept her eyes straight ahead and I saw the faintspot of color on her cheek.     I had a sudden impulse to ask her to meet me after hours at oneof the rec centers. If it had been my danger alone, I might have,but I couldn't very well ask her to risk discovery of a haphazard,unauthorized arrangement like that and the possibility of going to thepsycho-scan.     We came to a turn in the corridor and something happened; I'm not surejust how it happened. I keep telling myself that my movements were notactually deliberate. I was to the right of her. The turn was to theleft. She turned quickly, and I didn't, so that I bumped into her,knocking her off balance. I grabbed her to keep her from falling.     For a moment we stood there, face to face, touching each other lightly.I held her by the arms. I felt the primitive warmth of her breath. Oureyes held together ... proton ... electron ... I felt her tremble.     She broke from my grip suddenly and started off again.     After that she was very business-like.     We came finally to the controls of Bank 29 and she stood before themand began to press button combinations. I watched her work; I watchedher move. I had almost forgotten why I'd come here. The lights blinkedon and off and the typers clacked softly as the machine sorted outinformation.     She had a long printed sheet from the roll presently. She frowned atit and turned to me. You can take this along and study it, she said,but I'm afraid what you have in mind may be—a little difficult.     She must have guessed what I had in mind. I said, I didn't think itwould be easy.     It seems that the only agency authorized to change a State Serialunder any circumstances is Opsych.     Opsych? You can't keep up with all these departments.     The Office of Psychological Adjustment. They can change you if you gofrom a lower to higher E.A.C.     I don't get it, exactly.     As she spoke I had the idea that there was sympathy in her voice. Justan overtone. Well, she said, as you know, the post a person isqualified to hold often depends largely on his Emotional AdjustmentCategory. Now if he improves and passes from, let us say, Grade 3 toGrade 4, he will probably change his place of work. In order to protecthim from any associative maladjustments developed under the old E.A.C,he is permitted a new number.     I groaned. But I'm already in the highest E.A.C.!     It looks very uncertain then.     Sometimes I think I'd be better off in the mines, or onMarscol—or—in the hell of the pre-atomics!     She looked amused. What did you say your E.A.C. was?     Oh, all right. Sorry. I controlled myself and grinned. I guess thiswhole thing has been just a little too much for me. Maybe my E.A.C.'seven gone down.     That might be your chance then.     How do you mean?     If you could get to the top man in Opsych and demonstrate that yournumber has inadvertently changed your E.A.C., he might be able tojustify a change.     By the State, he might! I punched my palm. Only how do I get to him?     I can find his location on the cyb here. Center One, the capital, fora guess. You'll have to get a travel permit to go there, of course.Just a moment.     She worked at the machine again, trying it on general data. The printedslip came out a moment later and she read it to me. Chief, Opsych, wasin the capital all right. It didn't give the exact location of hisoffice, but it did tell how to find the underground bay in Center Onecontaining the Opsych offices.     We headed back through the passageway then and she kept well ahead ofme. I couldn't keep my eyes from her walk, from the way she walked witheverything below her shoulders. My blood was pounding at my templesagain.     I tried to keep the conversation going. Do you think it'll be hard toget a travel permit?     Not impossible. My guess is that you'll be at Travbur all daytomorrow, maybe even the next day. But you ought to be able to swing itif you hold out long enough.     I sighed. I know. It's that way everywhere in Northem. Our motto oughtto be, 'Why make it difficult when with just a little more effort youcan make it impossible?'  <doc-sep>Bbulas slid the ornate headdress over his antennae, which, alreadygilded and jeweled, at once seemed to become a part of it. He lookedpretty damn silly, Skkiru thought, at the same time conscious of hisown appearance—which was, although picturesque enough to delightromantic Terrestrial hearts, sufficiently wretched to charm the mosthardened sadist.     Hurry up, Skkiru, Bbulas said. They mustn't suspect the existence ofthe city underground or we're finished before we've started.     For my part, I wish we'd never started, Skkiru grumbled. What waswrong with our old culture, anyway?     That was intended as a rhetorical question, but Bbulas answered itanyway. He always answered questions; it had never seemed to penetratehis mind that school-days were long since over.     I've told you a thousand times that our old culture was too much likethe Terrans' own to be of interest to them, he said, with affectedweariness. After all, most civilized societies are basically similar;it is only primitive societies that differ sharply, one from theother—and we have to be different to attract Earthmen. They're prettychoosy. You've got to give them what they want, and that's what theywant. Now take up your post on the edge of the field, try to lookhungry, and remember this isn't for you or for me, but for Snaddra.     For Snaddra, Larhgan said, placing her hand over her anterior heartin a gesture which, though devout on Earth—or so the fictapes seemedto indicate—was obscene on Snaddra, owing to the fact that certainessential organs were located in different areas in the Snaddrath thanin the corresponding Terrestrial life-form. Already the Terrestrialinfluence was corrupting her, Skkiru thought mournfully. She had beensuch a nice girl, too.     We may never meet on equal terms again, Skkiru, she told him, with along, soulful glance that made his hearts sink down to his quiveringtoes, but I promise you there will never be anyone else for me—andI hope that knowledge will inspire you to complete cooperation withBbulas.     If that doesn't, Bbulas said, I have other methods of inspiration.     All right, Skkiru answered sulkily. I'll go to the edge of thefield, and I'll speak broken Inter-galactic, and I'll forsake my normalhabits and customs, and I'll even      beg     . But I don't have to like doingit, and I don't intend to like doing it.     All three of Larhgan's eyes fuzzed with emotion. I'm proud of you,Skkiru, she said brokenly.     Bbulas sniffed. The three of them floated up to ground level in atriple silence.  <doc-sep>When it came over the hastily established camp, the rocket was low,obviously looking for a landing site. It was a military craft, from theoutpost on the near moon, and forward, near the nose, there was theblazoned emblem of the Ninth Fleet. The rocket roared directly overExtrone's tent, turned slowly, spouting fuel expensively, and settledinto the scrub forest, turning the vegetation beneath it sere by itsblasts.     Extrone sat on an upholstered stool before his tent and spatdisgustedly and combed his beard with his blunt fingers.     Shortly, from the direction of the rocket, a group of four high-rankingofficers came out of the forest, heading toward him. They were spruce,the officers, with military discipline holding their waists in andknees almost stiff.     What in hell do you want? Extrone asked.     They stopped a respectful distance away. Sir.... one began.     Haven't I told you gentlemen that rockets frighten the game? Extronedemanded, ominously not raising his voice.     Sir, the lead officer said, it's another alien ship. It was sighteda few hours ago, off this very planet, sir.     Extrone's face looked much too innocent. How did it get there,gentlemen? Why wasn't it destroyed?     We lost it again, sir. Temporarily, sir.     So? Extrone mocked.     We thought you ought to return to a safer planet, sir. Until we couldlocate and destroy it.     Extrone stared at them for a space. Then, indifferently, he turnedaway, in the direction of a resting bearer. You! he said. Hey! Bringme a drink! He faced the officers again. He smiled maliciously. I'mstaying here.     The lead officer licked his firm lower lip. But, sir....     Extrone toyed with his beard. About a year ago, gentlemen, there wasan alien ship around here then, wasn't there? And you destroyed it,didn't you?     Yes, sir. When we located it, sir.     You'll destroy this one, too, Extrone said.     We have a tight patrol, sir. It can't slip through. But it might try along range bombardment, sir.  <doc-sep>Okay, threw back Star and the man appeared in the doorway, emptyhands held high. After a second, the other joined him.     Anne turned to Star. Now I know why they call you 'Death Star' Blade,she said, and gestured toward the men who had surrendered, and the twowhom Starrett had shot down.     He mused there for a minute. Then Anne broke the silence with, Star,what are we going to do now? Garrett's men will be up here in a littlewhile. We can't get to a sub-space beam. What are we going to do whenthey come up to investigate?     Starrett Blade laughed. Do? Well, we could turn them over to CommanderWeddel!           What?          Grinning broadly, Star pointed, with a flourish, at the door. Annespun about, and found Commander Weddel grinning in the door from thecorridor.     Very simple, said Star across the lounge to Anne. When I smashedthe vision set with that dinner fork, I broke a small unit which isincluded in all sets. You know, a direction finder doesn't work, exceptin the liner-beam principle, in space, because of the diffusing effectof unrestricted cosmic rays.     Yes, I knew that, said Anne. But how—     Starrett grinned again. A type of beam has been found which it isimpossible for cosmics to disturb. But you can't send messages onit, so it is made in a little unit on every set. If that unit isbroken, the set automatically releases a signal beam. This is adistress signal, and the location of the set that sent out the signalis recorded at the Section Headquarters. When Commander Weddel sawme throw something at the set, and it went dead, he looked at theautomatic record, and found out that a signal had been sent in froma location on Alpha Cen's third planet. Then he had a high-velocitycruiser brought out and dropped in, in time to pick up some pieces. Hestopped, and idly toyed with a sheaf of papers, then held them up. Seethese papers?     Uh-huh. What are they, Star?     They are the main plans of Devil Garrett's power plant, and they'rethe one good thing he's ever done. These plans are going to bring thebarren, rocky Centauri planets to life!     He got up, and paced to the window, and stood there, looking out, andup through the plastic port. The planets of Centauri! he murmuredsoftly. Seven circling Alpha alone. And all seven are barren, rocky,level except for the thousands of lakes ... lakes that are going to bethe life of Centauri!  <doc-sep>Bombay, India     June 8     Mr. Joe Binkle     Plaza Ritz Arms     New York City     Dear Joe:     Greetings, greetings, greetings. Hold firm in your wretched projection,for tomorrow you will not be alone in the not-world. In two days I,Glmpauszn, will be born.     Today I hang in our newly developed not-pod just within the mirrorgateway, torn with the agony that we calculated must go with suchtremendous wavelength fluctuations. I have attuned myself to a fetuswithin the body of a not-woman in the not-world. Already I am staticand for hours have looked into this weird extension of the Universewith fear and trepidation.     As soon as my stasis was achieved, I tried to contact you, but gotno response. What could have diminished your powers of articulatewave interaction to make you incapable of receiving my messages andreturning them? My wave went out to yours and found it, barely pulsingand surrounded with an impregnable chimera.     Quickly, from the not-world vibrations about you, I learned thenot-knowledge of your location. So I must communicate with you by whatthe not-world calls mail till we meet. For this purpose I mustutilize the feeble vibrations of various not-people through whoseinadequate articulation I will attempt to make my moves known to you.Each time I will pick a city other than the one I am in at the time.     I, Glmpauszn, come equipped with powers evolved from your fragmentaryreports before you ceased to vibrate to us and with a vast treasuryof facts from indirect sources. Soon our tortured people will be freeof the fearsome not-folk and I will be their liberator. You failed inyour task, but I will try to get you off with light punishment when wereturn again.     The hand that writes this letter is that of a boy in the not-city ofBombay in the not-country of India. He does not know he writes it.Tomorrow it will be someone else. You must never know of my exactlocation, for the not-people might have access to the information.     I must leave off now because the not-child is about to be born. When itis alone in the room, it will be spirited away and I will spring fromthe pod on the gateway into its crib and will be its exact vibrationallikeness.     I have tremendous powers. But the not-people must never know I am amongthem. This is the only way I could arrive in the room where the gatewaylies without arousing suspicion. I will grow up as the not-child inorder that I might destroy the not-people completely.     All is well, only they shot this information file into my matrix toofast. I'm having a hard time sorting facts and make the right decision.Gezsltrysk, what a task!     Farewell till later.     Glmpauszn  <doc-sep>I've got it, said Dimanche as Cassal gloomily counted out the sum thefirst counselor had named.     Got what? asked Cassal. He rolled the currency into a neat bundle,attached his name, and dropped it into the chute.     The woman, Murra Foray, the first counselor. She's a Huntner.     What's a Huntner?     A sub-race of men on the other side of the Galaxy. She was vocalizingabout her home planet when I managed to locate her.     Any other information?     None. Electronic guards were sliding into place as soon as I reachedher. I got out as fast as I could.     I see. The significance of that, if any, escaped him. Nevertheless,it sounded depressing.     What I want to know is, said Dimanche, why such precautions aselectronic guards? What does Travelers Aid have that's so secret?     Cassal grunted and didn't answer. Dimanche could be annoyinglyinquisitive at times.     Cassal had entered one side of a block-square building. He came out onthe other side. The agency was larger than he had thought. The old manwas staring at a door as Cassal came out. He had apparently changedevery sign in the building. His work finished, the technician wasremoving the visual projector from his head as Cassal came up to him.He turned and peered.     You stuck here, too? he asked in the uneven voice of the aged.     Stuck? repeated Cassal. I suppose you can call it that. I'm waitingfor my ship. He frowned. He was the one who wanted to ask questions.Why all the redecoration? I thought Travelers Aid was an old agency.Why did you change so many signs? I could understand it if the agencywere new.     The old man chuckled. Re-organization. The previous first counselorresigned suddenly, in the middle of the night, they say. The new onedidn't like the name of the agency, so she ordered it changed.     She would do just that, thought Cassal. What about this Murra Foray?     The old man winked mysteriously. He opened his mouth and then seemedovercome with senile fright. Hurriedly he shuffled away.     Cassal gazed after him, baffled. The old man was afraid for his job,afraid of the first counselor. Why he should be, Cassal didn't know. Heshrugged and went on. The agency was now in motion in his behalf, buthe didn't intend to depend on that alone.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] In what location does the story take place?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What kind of connection exists between Ronald and Manet in the story of HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS? [SEP] <s>Manet didn't open the box. He let it fade quietly in the filtered butstill brilliant sunlight near a transparent wall.     Manet puttered around the spawning monster, trying to brush the coppertaste of the station out of his mouth in the mornings, talking tohimself, winking at Annie Oakley, and waiting to go mad.     Finally, Manet woke up one morning. He lay in the sheets of his bunk,suppressing the urge to go wash his hands, and came at last to theconclusion that, after all the delay, he was mad.     So he went to open the box.     The cardboard lid seemed to have become both brittle and rotten. Itcrumbled as easily as ideals. But Manet was old enough to remember theboxes Japanese toys came in when he was a boy, and was not alarmed.     The contents were such a glorious pile of junk, of bottles from oldchemistry sets, of pieces from old Erector sets, of nameless things andunremembered antiques from neglected places, that it seemed too good tohave been assembled commercially. It was the collection of lifetime.     On top of everything was a paperbound book, the size of the      Reader'sDigest     , covered in rippled gray flexiboard. The title was stamped inblack on the spine and cover:      The Making of Friends     .     Manet opened the book and, turning one blank page, found the titlein larger print and slightly amplified:      The Making of Friends andOthers     . There was no author listed. A further line of informationstated: A Manual for Lifo, The Socialization Kit. At the bottom ofthe title page, the publisher was identified as: LIFO KIT CO., LTD.,SYRACUSE.     The unnumbered first chapter was headed      Your First Friend     .     Before you go further, first find the      Modifier     in your kit. Thisis      vital     .     He quickly riffled through the pages.      Other Friends, Authority, ACompanion     .... Then      The Final Model     . Manet tried to flip past thissection, but the pages after the sheet labeled      The Final Model     werestuck together. More than stuck. There was a thick slab of plastic inthe back of the book. The edges were ridged as if there were pages tothis section, but they could only be the tracks of lame ants.     Manet flipped back to page one.     First find the      Modifier     in your kit. This is      vital     to your entireexperiment in socialization. The      Modifier is Part #A-1     on the MasterChart.     He prowled through the box looking for some kind of a chart. Therewas nothing that looked like a chart inside. He retrieved the lid andlooked at its inside. Nothing. He tipped the box and looked at itsoutside. Not a thing. There was always something missing from kits.Maybe even the      Modifier     itself.     He read on, and probed and scattered the parts in the long box. Hestudied the manual intently and groped out with his free hand.     The toe bone was connected to the foot bone....       The Red King sat smugly in his diagonal corner.     The Black King stood two places away, his top half tipsy in frustration.     The Red King crabbed sideways one square.     The Black King pounced forward one space.     The Red King advanced backwards to face the enemy.     The Black King shuffled sideways.     The Red King followed....     Uselessly.     Tie game, Ronald said.     Tie game, Manet said.     Let's talk, Ronald said cheerfully. He was always cheerful.     Cheerfulness was a personality trait Manet had thumbed out for him.Cheerful. Submissive. Co-operative. Manet had selected these factors inorder to make Ronald as different a person from himself as possible.     The Korean-American War was the greatest of all wars, Ronald saidpontifically.     Only in the air, Manet corrected him.     Intelligence was one of the factors Manet had punched to suppress.Intelligence. Aggressiveness. Sense of perfection. Ronald couldn't knowany more than Manet, but he could (and did) know less. He had seen tothat when his own encephalograph matrix had programmed Ronald's feeder.     There were no dogfights in Korea, Ronald said.     I know.     The dogfight was a combat of hundreds of planes in a tight area, thelast of which took place near the end of the First World War. Theaerial duel, sometimes inaccurately referred to as a 'dogfight' was notseen in Korea either. The pilots at supersonic speeds only had time forsingle passes at the enemy. Still, I believe, contrary to all experts,that this took greater skill, man more wedded to machine, than theleisurely combats of World War One.     I know.     Daniel Boone was still a crack shot at eight-five. He was said to bewarm, sincere, modest, truthful, respected and rheumatic.     I know.  <doc-sep>Ronald's cries grew louder as Manet marched Veronica through thecorridor.     Hear that? he inquired, smiling with clenched teeth.     No, darling.     Well, that was all right. He remembered he had once told her to ignorethe noise. She was still following orders.     Come on, Bill, open up the hatch for old Ronald, the voice carriedthrough sepulchrally.     Shut up! Manet yelled.     The voice dwindled stubbornly, then cut off.     A silence with a whisper of metallic ring to it.     Why hadn't he thought of that before? Maybe because he secretly tookcomfort in the sound of an almost human voice echoing through thestation.     Manet threw back the bolt and wheeled back the hatch.     Ronald looked just the same as had when Manet had seen him last. Hishands didn't seem to have been worn away in the least. Ronald's lipsseemed a trifle chapped. But that probably came not from all theshouting but from having nothing to drink for some months.     Ronald didn't say anything to Manet.     But he looked offended.     You, Manet said to Veronica with a shove in the small of the back,inside, inside.     Ronald sidestepped the lurching girl.     Do you know what I'm going to do with you? Manet demanded. I'm goingto lock you up in here, and leave you for a day, a month, a year,forever! Now what do you think about that?     If you think it's the      right     thing, dear, Veronica said hesitantly.     You know best, Willy, Ronald said uncertainly.     Manet slammed the hatch in disgust.     Manet walked carefully down the corridor, watching streamers ofhis reflection corkscrewing into the curved walls. He had to walkcarefully, else the artery would roll up tight and squash him. But hewalked too carefully for this to happen.     As he passed the File Room, Ronald's voice said: In my opinion,William, you should let us out.     I, Veronica said, honestly feel that you should let me out, Bill,dearest.     Manet giggled. What? What was that? Do you suggest that I take youback after you've been behind a locked door with my best friend?     He went down the corridor, giggling.     He giggled and thought: This will never do.  <doc-sep>Manet knew it all. He had heard it all before.     He was so damned sick of hearing about Korean air battles, DanielBoone, the literary qualities of ancient sports fiction magazines,the painting of Norman Rockwell, New York swing,      ad nauseum     . What anarrow band of interests! With the whole universe to explore in thoughtand concept, why did he have to be trapped with such an unoriginalhuman being?     Of course, Ronald wasn't an original human being. He was a copy.     Manet had been interested in the Fabulous Forties—Lt. Hoot Gibson,Sam Merwin tennis stories,      Saturday Evening Post     covers—when he hadfirst learned of them, and he had learned all about them. He had firmopinions on all these.     He yearned for someone to challenge him—to say that      Dime Sports     hadbeen nothing but a cheap yellow rag and, why,      Sewanee Review     , therehad been a magazine for you.     Manet's only consolidation was that Ronald's tastes were lower than hisown. He patriotically insisted that the American Sabre Jet was superiorto the Mig. He maintained with a straight face that Tommy Dorsey was abetter band man than Benny Goodman. Ronald was a terrific jerk.     Ronald, Manet said, you are a terrific jerk.     Ronald leaped up immediately and led with his right.     Manet blocked it deftly and threw a right cross.     Ronald blocked it deftly, and drove in a right to the navel.     The two men separated and, puffing like steam locomotives passing thediesel works, closed again.     Ronald leaped forward and led with his right.     Manet stepped inside the swing and lifted an uppercut to the ledge ofRonald's jaw.     Ronald pinwheeled to the floor.     He lifted his bruised head from the deck and worked his reddened mouth.Had enough? he asked Manet.     Manet dropped his fists to his sides and turned away. Yes.     Ronald hopped up lightly. Another checkers, Billy Boy?     No.     Okay. Anything you want, William, old conquerer.     Manet scrunched up inside himself in impotent fury.     Ronald was maddeningly co-operative and peaceful. He would even get ina fist fight to avoid trouble between them. He would do anything Manetwanted him to do. He was so utterly damned stupid.     Manet's eyes orbitted towards the checkerboard.     But if he were so much more stupid than he, Manet, why was it thattheir checker games always ended in a tie?  <doc-sep>Pouring and tumbling through the Lifo kit, consulting the manualdiligently, Manet concluded that there weren't enough parts left in thebox to go around.     The book gave instructions for The Model Mother, The Model Father, TheModel Sibling and others. Yet there weren't parts enough in the kit.     He would have to take parts from Ronald or Veronica in order to makeany one of the others. And he could not do that without the Modifier.     He wished Trader Tom would return and extract some higher price fromhim for the Modifier, which was clearly missing from the kit.     Or to get even more for simply repossessing the kit.     But Trader Tom would not be back. He came this way only once.     Manet thumbed through the manual in mechanical frustration. As he didso, the solid piece of the last section parted sheet by sheet.     He glanced forward and found the headings:      The Final Model     .     There seemed something ominous about that finality. But he had paida price for the kit, hadn't he? Who knew what price, when it came tothat? He had every right to get everything out of the kit that hecould.     He read the unfolding page critically. The odd assortment ofill-matched parts left in the box took a new shape in his mind andunder his fingers....     Manet gave one final spurt from the flesh-sprayer and stood back.     Victor was finished. Perfect.     Manet stepped forward, lifted the model's left eyelid, tweaked his nose.     Move!     Victor leaped back into the Lifo kit and did a jig on one of theflesh-sprayers.     As the device twisted as handily as good intentions, Manet realizedthat it was not a flesh-sprayer but the Modifier.     It's finished! were Victor's first words. It's done!     Manet stared at the tiny wreck. To say the least.     Victor stepped out of the oblong box. There is something you shouldunderstand. I am different from the others.     They all say that.     I am not your friend.     No?     No. You have made yourself an enemy.     Manet felt nothing more at this information than an esthetic pleasureat the symmetry of the situation.     It completes the final course in socialization, Victor continued. Iam your adversary. I will do everything I can to defeat you. I have      all     your knowledge.      You     do not have all your knowledge. If you letyourself know some of the things, it could be used against you. It ismy function to use everything I possibly can against you.     When do you start?     I've finished. I've done my worst. I have destroyed the Modifier.     What's so bad about that? Manet asked with some interest.     You'll have Veronica and Ronald and me forever now. We'll neverchange. You'll get older, and we'll never change. You'll lose yourinterest in New York swing and jet combat and Daniel Boone, and we'llnever change. We don't change and you can't change us for others. I'vemade the worst thing happen to you that can happen to any man.      I'veseen that you will always keep your friends.       <doc-sep>The calendar said it was Spring on Earth when the radio was activatedfor a high-speed information and entertainment transmission.     The buzzer-flasher activated in the solarium at the same time.     Manet lay stretched out on his back, naked, in front of the transparentwall.     By rolling his eyes back in his head, Manet could see over a hedge ofeyebrows for several hundred flat miles of white sand.     And several hundred miles of desert could see him.     For a moment he gloried in the blatant display of his flabby musclesand patchy sunburn.     Then he sighed, rolled over to his feet and started trudging towardCommunication.     He padded down the rib-ridged matted corridor, taking his usual smallpleasure in the kaleidoscopic effect of the spiraling reflections onthe walls of the tubeway.     As he passed the File Room, he caught the sound of the poundingvibrations against the stoppered plug of the hatch.     Come on, Billy Buddy, let me out of this place!     Manet padded on down the hall. He had, he recalled, shoved Ronaldin there on Lincoln's Birthday, a minor ironic twist he appreciatedquietly. He had been waiting in vain for Ronald to run down ever since.     In Communication, he took a seat and punched the slowed down playbackof the transmission.     Hello, Overseers, the Voice said. It was the Voice of the B.B.C.It irritated Manet. He never understood how the British had got thespace transmissions assignment for the English language. He would havepreferred an American disk-jockey himself, one who appreciated New Yorkswing.     We imagine that you are most interested in how long you shallbe required to stay at your present stations, said the Voice ofGod's paternal uncle. As you on Mars may know, there has been muchdiscussion as to how long it will require to complete the presentschedule— there was of course no K sound in the word—foratmosphere seeding.     The original, non-binding estimate at the time of your departure was18.2 years. However, determining how long it will take our stationsproperly to remake the air of Mars is a problem comparable to findingthe age of the Earth. Estimates change as new factors are learned. Youmay recall that three years ago the official estimate was changed tothirty-one years. The recent estimate by certain reactionary sourcesof two hundred and seventy-four years is      not     an official governmentestimate. The news for you is good, if you are becoming nostalgic forhome, or not particularly bad if you are counting on drawing yourhandsome salary for the time spent on Mars. We have every reason tobelieve our      original     estimate was substantially correct. The totaltime is, within limits of error, a flat 18 years.     A very flat 18 years, Manet thought as he palmed off the recorder.     He sat there thinking about eighteen years.     He did not switch to video for some freshly taped westerns.     Finally, Manet went back to the solarium and dragged the big box out.There was a lot left inside.     One of those parts, one of those bones or struts of flesh sprayers, oneof them, he now knew, was the Modifier.     The Modifier was what he needed to change Ronald. Or to shut him off.     If only the Master Chart hadn't been lost, so he would know what theModifier looked like! He hoped the Modifier itself wasn't lost. Hehated to think of Ronald locked in the Usher tomb of the File Roomfor 18 flat years. Long before that, he would have worn his fists awayhammering at the hatch. Then he might start pounding with his head.Perhaps before the time was up he would have worn himself down tonothing whatsoever.     Manet selected the ripple-finished gray-covered manual from thehodgepodge, and thought: eighteen years.     Perhaps I should have begun here, he told himself. But I really don'thave as much interest in that sort of thing as the earthier types.Simple companionship was all I wanted. And, he thought on, even aninsipid personality like Ronald's would be bearable with certaincompensations.     Manet opened the book to the chapter headed:      The Making of a Girl     .  <doc-sep>Veronica crept up behind Manet and slithered her hands up his back andover his shoulders. She leaned forward and breathed a moist warmth intohis ear, and worried the lobe with her even white teeth.     Daniel Boone, she sighed huskily, only killed three Indians in hislife.     I know.     Manet folded his arms stoically and added: Please don't talk.     She sighed her instant agreement and moved her expressive hands overhis chest and up to the hollows of his throat.     I need a shave, he observed.     Her hands instantly caressed his face to prove that she liked a ratherbristly, masculine countenance.     Manet elbowed Veronica away in a gentlemanly fashion.     She made her return.     Not now, he instructed her.     Whenever you say.     He stood up and began pacing off the dimensions of the compartment.There was no doubt about it: he had been missing his regular exercise.     Now? she asked.     I'll tell you.     If you were a jet pilot, Veronica said wistfully, you would beromantic. You would grab love when you could. You would never knowwhich moment would be last. You would make the most of each one.     I'm not a jet pilot, Manet said. There are no jet pilots. Therehaven't been any for generations.     Don't be silly, Veronica said. Who else would stop those vile NorthKoreans and Red China 'volunteers'?     Veronica, he said carefully, the Korean War is over. It was finishedeven before the last of the jet pilots.     Don't be silly, she snapped. If it were over, I'd know about it,wouldn't I?     She would, except that somehow she had turned out even less bright,less equipped with Manet's own store of information, than Ronald.Whoever had built the Lifo kit must have had ancient ideas about whatconstituted appropriate feminine characteristics.     I suppose, he said heavily, that you would like me to take you backto Earth and introduce you to Daniel Boone?     Oh, yes.     Veronica, your stupidity is hideous.     She lowered her long blonde lashes on her pink cheeks. That is a meanthing to say to me. But I forgive you.     An invisible hand began pressing down steadily on the top of his headuntil it forced a sound out of him. Aaaawrraagggh! Must you be socloyingly sweet? Do you have to keep taking that? Isn't there any fightin you at all?     He stepped forward and back-handed her across the jaw.     It was the first time he had ever struck a woman, he realizedregretfully. He now knew he should have been doing it long ago.     Veronica sprang forward and led with a right.  <doc-sep>Manet suspected hallucination, but in an existence with all the palliddispassion of a requited love he was happy to welcome dementia.Sometimes he even manufactured it. Sometimes he would run through thearteries of the factory and play that it had suddenly gone mad hatinghuman beings, and was about to close down its bulkheads on him as sureas the Engineers' Thumb and bale up the pressure-dehydrated digest,making so much stall flooring of him. He ran until he dropped with akind of climaxing release of terror.     So Manet put on the pressure suit he had been given because he wouldnever need it, and marched out to meet the visiting spaceship.     He wasn't quite clear how he came from walking effortlessly acrossthe Martian plain that had all the distance-perpetuating qualities ofa kid's crank movie machine to the comfortable interior of a strangecabin. Not a ship's cabin but a Northwoods cabin.     The black and orange Hallowe'en log charring in the slate stonefireplace seemed real. So did the lean man with the smiling mustachepainted with the random designs of the fire, standing before thehorizontal pattern of chinked wall.     Need a fresher? the host inquired.     Manet's eyes wondered down to heavy water tumbler full of rich, amberwhiskey full of sparks from the hearth. He stirred himself in thecomfortingly warm leather chair. No, no, I'm      fine     . He let the wordhang there for examination. Pardon me, but could you tell me just whatplace this is?     The host shrugged. It was the only word for it. Whatever place youchoose it to be, so long as you're with Trader Tom. 'Service,' that'smy motto. It is a way of life with me.     Trader Tom? Service?     Yes! That's it exactly. It's      me     exactly. Trader Tom Service—Servingthe Wants of the Spaceman Between the Stars. Of course, 'stars' ispoetic. Any point of light in the sky in a star. We service theplanets.     Manet took the tumbler in both hands and drank. It was good whiskey,immensely powerful. The government wouldn't pay for somebody servingthe wants of spacemen, he exploded.     Ah, Trader Tom said, cautionary. He moved nearer the fire and warmedhis hands and buttocks. Ah, but I am not a      government     service. Irepresent free enterprise.  <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> [SEP] What kind of connection exists between Ronald and Manet in the story of HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the function of the modifier in HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS? [SEP] <s>Pouring and tumbling through the Lifo kit, consulting the manualdiligently, Manet concluded that there weren't enough parts left in thebox to go around.     The book gave instructions for The Model Mother, The Model Father, TheModel Sibling and others. Yet there weren't parts enough in the kit.     He would have to take parts from Ronald or Veronica in order to makeany one of the others. And he could not do that without the Modifier.     He wished Trader Tom would return and extract some higher price fromhim for the Modifier, which was clearly missing from the kit.     Or to get even more for simply repossessing the kit.     But Trader Tom would not be back. He came this way only once.     Manet thumbed through the manual in mechanical frustration. As he didso, the solid piece of the last section parted sheet by sheet.     He glanced forward and found the headings:      The Final Model     .     There seemed something ominous about that finality. But he had paida price for the kit, hadn't he? Who knew what price, when it came tothat? He had every right to get everything out of the kit that hecould.     He read the unfolding page critically. The odd assortment ofill-matched parts left in the box took a new shape in his mind andunder his fingers....     Manet gave one final spurt from the flesh-sprayer and stood back.     Victor was finished. Perfect.     Manet stepped forward, lifted the model's left eyelid, tweaked his nose.     Move!     Victor leaped back into the Lifo kit and did a jig on one of theflesh-sprayers.     As the device twisted as handily as good intentions, Manet realizedthat it was not a flesh-sprayer but the Modifier.     It's finished! were Victor's first words. It's done!     Manet stared at the tiny wreck. To say the least.     Victor stepped out of the oblong box. There is something you shouldunderstand. I am different from the others.     They all say that.     I am not your friend.     No?     No. You have made yourself an enemy.     Manet felt nothing more at this information than an esthetic pleasureat the symmetry of the situation.     It completes the final course in socialization, Victor continued. Iam your adversary. I will do everything I can to defeat you. I have      all     your knowledge.      You     do not have all your knowledge. If you letyourself know some of the things, it could be used against you. It ismy function to use everything I possibly can against you.     When do you start?     I've finished. I've done my worst. I have destroyed the Modifier.     What's so bad about that? Manet asked with some interest.     You'll have Veronica and Ronald and me forever now. We'll neverchange. You'll get older, and we'll never change. You'll lose yourinterest in New York swing and jet combat and Daniel Boone, and we'llnever change. We don't change and you can't change us for others. I'vemade the worst thing happen to you that can happen to any man.      I'veseen that you will always keep your friends.       <doc-sep>Manet didn't open the box. He let it fade quietly in the filtered butstill brilliant sunlight near a transparent wall.     Manet puttered around the spawning monster, trying to brush the coppertaste of the station out of his mouth in the mornings, talking tohimself, winking at Annie Oakley, and waiting to go mad.     Finally, Manet woke up one morning. He lay in the sheets of his bunk,suppressing the urge to go wash his hands, and came at last to theconclusion that, after all the delay, he was mad.     So he went to open the box.     The cardboard lid seemed to have become both brittle and rotten. Itcrumbled as easily as ideals. But Manet was old enough to remember theboxes Japanese toys came in when he was a boy, and was not alarmed.     The contents were such a glorious pile of junk, of bottles from oldchemistry sets, of pieces from old Erector sets, of nameless things andunremembered antiques from neglected places, that it seemed too good tohave been assembled commercially. It was the collection of lifetime.     On top of everything was a paperbound book, the size of the      Reader'sDigest     , covered in rippled gray flexiboard. The title was stamped inblack on the spine and cover:      The Making of Friends     .     Manet opened the book and, turning one blank page, found the titlein larger print and slightly amplified:      The Making of Friends andOthers     . There was no author listed. A further line of informationstated: A Manual for Lifo, The Socialization Kit. At the bottom ofthe title page, the publisher was identified as: LIFO KIT CO., LTD.,SYRACUSE.     The unnumbered first chapter was headed      Your First Friend     .     Before you go further, first find the      Modifier     in your kit. Thisis      vital     .     He quickly riffled through the pages.      Other Friends, Authority, ACompanion     .... Then      The Final Model     . Manet tried to flip past thissection, but the pages after the sheet labeled      The Final Model     werestuck together. More than stuck. There was a thick slab of plastic inthe back of the book. The edges were ridged as if there were pages tothis section, but they could only be the tracks of lame ants.     Manet flipped back to page one.     First find the      Modifier     in your kit. This is      vital     to your entireexperiment in socialization. The      Modifier is Part #A-1     on the MasterChart.     He prowled through the box looking for some kind of a chart. Therewas nothing that looked like a chart inside. He retrieved the lid andlooked at its inside. Nothing. He tipped the box and looked at itsoutside. Not a thing. There was always something missing from kits.Maybe even the      Modifier     itself.     He read on, and probed and scattered the parts in the long box. Hestudied the manual intently and groped out with his free hand.     The toe bone was connected to the foot bone....       The Red King sat smugly in his diagonal corner.     The Black King stood two places away, his top half tipsy in frustration.     The Red King crabbed sideways one square.     The Black King pounced forward one space.     The Red King advanced backwards to face the enemy.     The Black King shuffled sideways.     The Red King followed....     Uselessly.     Tie game, Ronald said.     Tie game, Manet said.     Let's talk, Ronald said cheerfully. He was always cheerful.     Cheerfulness was a personality trait Manet had thumbed out for him.Cheerful. Submissive. Co-operative. Manet had selected these factors inorder to make Ronald as different a person from himself as possible.     The Korean-American War was the greatest of all wars, Ronald saidpontifically.     Only in the air, Manet corrected him.     Intelligence was one of the factors Manet had punched to suppress.Intelligence. Aggressiveness. Sense of perfection. Ronald couldn't knowany more than Manet, but he could (and did) know less. He had seen tothat when his own encephalograph matrix had programmed Ronald's feeder.     There were no dogfights in Korea, Ronald said.     I know.     The dogfight was a combat of hundreds of planes in a tight area, thelast of which took place near the end of the First World War. Theaerial duel, sometimes inaccurately referred to as a 'dogfight' was notseen in Korea either. The pilots at supersonic speeds only had time forsingle passes at the enemy. Still, I believe, contrary to all experts,that this took greater skill, man more wedded to machine, than theleisurely combats of World War One.     I know.     Daniel Boone was still a crack shot at eight-five. He was said to bewarm, sincere, modest, truthful, respected and rheumatic.     I know.  <doc-sep>The prospect      was     frightful.     Victor smiled. Aren't you going to denounce me for a fiend?     Yes, it is time for the denouncement. Tell me, you feel that now youare through? You have fulfilled your function?     Yes. Yes.     Now you will have but to lean back, as it were, so to speak, and seeme suffer?           Yes.          No. Can't do it, old man. Can't.      I     know. You're too human, toolike me. The one thing a man can't accept is a passive state, a stateof uselessness. Not if he can possibly avoid it. Something has to behappening to him. He has to be happening to something. You didn't killme because then you would have nothing left to do. You'll never killme.     Of course not! Victor stormed. Fundamental safety cut-off!     Rationalization. You don't      want     to kill me. And you can't stopchallenging me at every turn. That's your function.     Stop talking and just think about your miserable life, Victor saidmeanly. Your friends won't grow and mature with you. You won't makeany new friends. You'll have me to constantly remind you of youruselessness, your constant unrelenting sterility of purpose. How's thatfor boredom, for passiveness?     That's what I'm trying to tell you, Manet said irritably, his socialmanners rusty. I won't be bored. You will see to that. It's yourpurpose. You'll be a challenge, an obstacle, a source of triumph everyfoot of the way. Don't you see? With you for an enemy, I don't need afriend!   <doc-sep>The calendar said it was Spring on Earth when the radio was activatedfor a high-speed information and entertainment transmission.     The buzzer-flasher activated in the solarium at the same time.     Manet lay stretched out on his back, naked, in front of the transparentwall.     By rolling his eyes back in his head, Manet could see over a hedge ofeyebrows for several hundred flat miles of white sand.     And several hundred miles of desert could see him.     For a moment he gloried in the blatant display of his flabby musclesand patchy sunburn.     Then he sighed, rolled over to his feet and started trudging towardCommunication.     He padded down the rib-ridged matted corridor, taking his usual smallpleasure in the kaleidoscopic effect of the spiraling reflections onthe walls of the tubeway.     As he passed the File Room, he caught the sound of the poundingvibrations against the stoppered plug of the hatch.     Come on, Billy Buddy, let me out of this place!     Manet padded on down the hall. He had, he recalled, shoved Ronaldin there on Lincoln's Birthday, a minor ironic twist he appreciatedquietly. He had been waiting in vain for Ronald to run down ever since.     In Communication, he took a seat and punched the slowed down playbackof the transmission.     Hello, Overseers, the Voice said. It was the Voice of the B.B.C.It irritated Manet. He never understood how the British had got thespace transmissions assignment for the English language. He would havepreferred an American disk-jockey himself, one who appreciated New Yorkswing.     We imagine that you are most interested in how long you shallbe required to stay at your present stations, said the Voice ofGod's paternal uncle. As you on Mars may know, there has been muchdiscussion as to how long it will require to complete the presentschedule— there was of course no K sound in the word—foratmosphere seeding.     The original, non-binding estimate at the time of your departure was18.2 years. However, determining how long it will take our stationsproperly to remake the air of Mars is a problem comparable to findingthe age of the Earth. Estimates change as new factors are learned. Youmay recall that three years ago the official estimate was changed tothirty-one years. The recent estimate by certain reactionary sourcesof two hundred and seventy-four years is      not     an official governmentestimate. The news for you is good, if you are becoming nostalgic forhome, or not particularly bad if you are counting on drawing yourhandsome salary for the time spent on Mars. We have every reason tobelieve our      original     estimate was substantially correct. The totaltime is, within limits of error, a flat 18 years.     A very flat 18 years, Manet thought as he palmed off the recorder.     He sat there thinking about eighteen years.     He did not switch to video for some freshly taped westerns.     Finally, Manet went back to the solarium and dragged the big box out.There was a lot left inside.     One of those parts, one of those bones or struts of flesh sprayers, oneof them, he now knew, was the Modifier.     The Modifier was what he needed to change Ronald. Or to shut him off.     If only the Master Chart hadn't been lost, so he would know what theModifier looked like! He hoped the Modifier itself wasn't lost. Hehated to think of Ronald locked in the Usher tomb of the File Roomfor 18 flat years. Long before that, he would have worn his fists awayhammering at the hatch. Then he might start pounding with his head.Perhaps before the time was up he would have worn himself down tonothing whatsoever.     Manet selected the ripple-finished gray-covered manual from thehodgepodge, and thought: eighteen years.     Perhaps I should have begun here, he told himself. But I really don'thave as much interest in that sort of thing as the earthier types.Simple companionship was all I wanted. And, he thought on, even aninsipid personality like Ronald's would be bearable with certaincompensations.     Manet opened the book to the chapter headed:      The Making of a Girl     .  <doc-sep>He turned and walked off, not looking back.     Michaelson stood in the ancient street, tall, gaunt, feet planted wide,hands in pockets, watching the webfoot until he was out of sight beyonda huge circular building. There was a man to watch. There was one ofthe intelligent ones. One look into the alert old eyes had told himthat.     Michaelson shook his head, and went about satisfying his curiosity.He entered buildings without thought of roofs falling in, or decayedfloors dropping from under his weight. He began to collect small items,making a pile of them in the street. An ancient bowl, metal untouchedby the ages. A statue of a man, one foot high, correct to the minutestdetail, showing how identical they had been to Earthmen. He found booksstill standing on ancient shelves but was afraid to touch them withouttools.     Darkness came swiftly and he was forced out into the street.     He stood there alone feeling the age of the place. Even the smellof age was in the air. Silver moonlight from the two moons filteredthrough clear air down upon the ruins. The city lay now in darkness,dead and still, waiting for morning so it could lie dead and still inthe sun.     There was no hurry to be going home, although he was alone, althoughthis was Alpha Centaurus II with many unknowns, many dangers ...although home was a very great distance away. There was no one backthere to worry about him.     His wife had died many years ago back on Earth. No children. Hisfriends in the settlement would not look for him for another day atleast. Anyway, the tiny cylinder, buried in flesh behind his ear, athing of mystery and immense power, could take him home instantly,without effort save a flicker of thought.     You did not leave, as I asked you.     Michaelson whirled around at the sound of the native's voice. Then herelaxed. He said, You shouldn't sneak up on a man like that.     You must leave, or I will be forced to kill you. I do not want to killyou, but if I must.... He made a clucking sound deep in the throat.The spirits are angry.     Nonsense. Superstition! But never mind. You have been here longerthan I. Tell me, what are those instruments in the rooms? It looks likea clock but I'm certain it had some other function.     What rooms?     Oh, come now. The small rooms back there. Look like they werebedrooms.     I do not know. The webfoot drew closer. Michaelson decided he wassixty or seventy years old, at least.     You've been here a long time. You are intelligent, and you must beeducated, the way you talk. That gadget looks like a time-piece of somesort. What is it? What does it measure?     I insist that you go. The webfoot held something in his hand.     No. Michaelson looked off down the street, trying to ignore thenative, trying to feel the life of the city as it might have been.  <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>Taphetta changed his questioning. What do you expect to gain from thisdiscovery of the unknown ancestor?     It was Halden who answered him. There's the satisfaction of knowingwhere we came from.     Of course, rustled the Ribboneer. But a lot of money and equipmentwas required for this expedition. I can't believe that the educationalinstitutions that are backing you did so purely out of intellectualcuriosity.     Cultural discoveries, rumbled Emmer. How did our ancestors live?When a creature is greatly reduced in size, as we are, more thanphysiology is changed—the pattern of life itself is altered. Thingsthat were easy for them are impossible for us. Look at their life span.     No doubt, said Taphetta. An archeologist would be interested incultural discoveries.     Two hundred thousand years ago, they had an extremely advancedcivilization, added Halden. A faster-than-light drive, and we'veachieved that only within the last thousand years.     But I think we have a better one than they did, said the Ribboneer.There may be things we can learn from them in mechanics or physics,but wouldn't you say they were better biologists than anything else?     Halden nodded. Agreed. They couldn't find a suitable planet. So,working directly with their germ plasm, they modified themselves andproduced us. They      were     master biologists.     I thought so, said Taphetta. I never paid much attention to yourfantastic theories before I signed to pilot this ship, but you've builtup a convincing case. He raised his head, speech ribbons curlingfractionally and ceaselessly. I don't like to, but we'll have to riskusing bait for your pest.     He'd have done it anyway, but it was better to have the pilot'sconsent. And there was one question Halden wanted to ask; it had beenbothering him vaguely. What's the difference between the Ribboneercontract and the one we offered you? Our terms are more liberal.     To the individual, they are, but it won't matter if you discover asmuch as you think you will. The difference is this:      My     terms don'tpermit you to withhold any discovery for the benefit of one race.     Taphetta was wrong; there had been no intention of withholdinganything. Halden examined his own attitudes.      He     hadn't intended, butcould he say that was true of the institutions backing the expedition?He couldn't, and it was too late now—whatever knowledge they acquiredwould have to be shared.     That was what Taphetta had been afraid of—there was one kind oftechnical advancement that multiplied unceasingly. The race that couldimprove itself through scientific control of its germ plasm had a startthat could never be headed. The Ribboneer needn't worry now.  <doc-sep>An interview with a doctor from the Conversion Corps was requiredfor all persons who elected changeling status. The law stated thatpotential changelings must be fully informed of the rights and hazardsof altered shape before they signed a release. The requirement heldwhether or not the individual, like Asa, was already experienced.     By the time humanity traveled to the stars, medical biology had madeit possible to regenerate damaged or deficient organs of the body.Regeneration was limited only by advanced age. Sometime after a man'stwo hundredth year his body lost the ability to be coaxed into growingnew cells. A fifth set of teeth was usually one's last. As long assenescence could be staved off, however, any man could have bulgingbiceps and a pencil waist, if he could pay for the treatment.     Until the medical associations declared such treatments unethical therewas even a short fad of deliberate deformities, with horns at thetemples particularly popular.     From regeneration it was a short step to specialized regrowth. Thetechniques were perfected to adapt humans to the dozen barely habitableworlds man had discovered. Even on Mars, the only planet outside Earthin the solar system where the human anatomy was remotely suitable, aman could work more efficiently with redesigned lungs and temperaturecontrols than he could inside a pressure suit. On more bizarre planetsa few light-years away the advantages of changeling bodies weregreater.     Unfortunately for planetary development companies, hardly anyonewanted to become a changeling. High pay lured few. So a law was passedpermitting a convicted criminal to earn his freedom by putting in oneyear as a changeling for every five years he would otherwise have hadto spend in rehabilitation.     What types of changelings do you have orders for right now, doctor?Asa asked the man assigned to his case. It would look suspicious if heasked for Jordan's Planet without some preliminary questions.     Four, answered the doctor.     Squiffs for New Arcady. Adapted for climbing the skycraper trees andwith the arm structure modified into pseudo-wings or gliding. Then weneed spiderinos for Von Neumann Two. If you want the nearest thing wehave to Earth, there's Caesar's Moon, where we'd just have to doubleyour tolerance for carbon monoxide and make you a bigger and bettergorilla than the natives. Last, of course, there's always a need formuck men on Jordan's Planet.     The doctor shrugged, as if naturally no one could be expected tochoose Jordan's Planet. Asa frowned in apparent consideration of thealternatives.     What's the pay range? he asked.     Ten dollars a day on Caesar's Moon. Fifteen on New Arcady or VonNeumann Two. Twenty-five on Jordan's.     Asa raised his eyebrows.     Why such a difference? Everyone knows about muck men living in themud while they hunt Slider eggs. But don't your conversions make thechangeling comfortable in his new environment?     Sure they do, said the doctor. We can make you think mud feelsbetter than chinchilla fur and we can have you jumping like agrasshopper despite the double gravity. But we can't make you like thesight of yourself. And we can't guarantee that a Slider won't kill you.     Still, Asa mused aloud, it would mean a nice bankroll waiting at theend of the year.     He leaned forward to fill in the necessary form.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the function of the modifier in HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"In what way is Manet's insanity depicted in the narrative of HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS? [SEP] <s>Manet didn't open the box. He let it fade quietly in the filtered butstill brilliant sunlight near a transparent wall.     Manet puttered around the spawning monster, trying to brush the coppertaste of the station out of his mouth in the mornings, talking tohimself, winking at Annie Oakley, and waiting to go mad.     Finally, Manet woke up one morning. He lay in the sheets of his bunk,suppressing the urge to go wash his hands, and came at last to theconclusion that, after all the delay, he was mad.     So he went to open the box.     The cardboard lid seemed to have become both brittle and rotten. Itcrumbled as easily as ideals. But Manet was old enough to remember theboxes Japanese toys came in when he was a boy, and was not alarmed.     The contents were such a glorious pile of junk, of bottles from oldchemistry sets, of pieces from old Erector sets, of nameless things andunremembered antiques from neglected places, that it seemed too good tohave been assembled commercially. It was the collection of lifetime.     On top of everything was a paperbound book, the size of the      Reader'sDigest     , covered in rippled gray flexiboard. The title was stamped inblack on the spine and cover:      The Making of Friends     .     Manet opened the book and, turning one blank page, found the titlein larger print and slightly amplified:      The Making of Friends andOthers     . There was no author listed. A further line of informationstated: A Manual for Lifo, The Socialization Kit. At the bottom ofthe title page, the publisher was identified as: LIFO KIT CO., LTD.,SYRACUSE.     The unnumbered first chapter was headed      Your First Friend     .     Before you go further, first find the      Modifier     in your kit. Thisis      vital     .     He quickly riffled through the pages.      Other Friends, Authority, ACompanion     .... Then      The Final Model     . Manet tried to flip past thissection, but the pages after the sheet labeled      The Final Model     werestuck together. More than stuck. There was a thick slab of plastic inthe back of the book. The edges were ridged as if there were pages tothis section, but they could only be the tracks of lame ants.     Manet flipped back to page one.     First find the      Modifier     in your kit. This is      vital     to your entireexperiment in socialization. The      Modifier is Part #A-1     on the MasterChart.     He prowled through the box looking for some kind of a chart. Therewas nothing that looked like a chart inside. He retrieved the lid andlooked at its inside. Nothing. He tipped the box and looked at itsoutside. Not a thing. There was always something missing from kits.Maybe even the      Modifier     itself.     He read on, and probed and scattered the parts in the long box. Hestudied the manual intently and groped out with his free hand.     The toe bone was connected to the foot bone....       The Red King sat smugly in his diagonal corner.     The Black King stood two places away, his top half tipsy in frustration.     The Red King crabbed sideways one square.     The Black King pounced forward one space.     The Red King advanced backwards to face the enemy.     The Black King shuffled sideways.     The Red King followed....     Uselessly.     Tie game, Ronald said.     Tie game, Manet said.     Let's talk, Ronald said cheerfully. He was always cheerful.     Cheerfulness was a personality trait Manet had thumbed out for him.Cheerful. Submissive. Co-operative. Manet had selected these factors inorder to make Ronald as different a person from himself as possible.     The Korean-American War was the greatest of all wars, Ronald saidpontifically.     Only in the air, Manet corrected him.     Intelligence was one of the factors Manet had punched to suppress.Intelligence. Aggressiveness. Sense of perfection. Ronald couldn't knowany more than Manet, but he could (and did) know less. He had seen tothat when his own encephalograph matrix had programmed Ronald's feeder.     There were no dogfights in Korea, Ronald said.     I know.     The dogfight was a combat of hundreds of planes in a tight area, thelast of which took place near the end of the First World War. Theaerial duel, sometimes inaccurately referred to as a 'dogfight' was notseen in Korea either. The pilots at supersonic speeds only had time forsingle passes at the enemy. Still, I believe, contrary to all experts,that this took greater skill, man more wedded to machine, than theleisurely combats of World War One.     I know.     Daniel Boone was still a crack shot at eight-five. He was said to bewarm, sincere, modest, truthful, respected and rheumatic.     I know.  <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>Pouring and tumbling through the Lifo kit, consulting the manualdiligently, Manet concluded that there weren't enough parts left in thebox to go around.     The book gave instructions for The Model Mother, The Model Father, TheModel Sibling and others. Yet there weren't parts enough in the kit.     He would have to take parts from Ronald or Veronica in order to makeany one of the others. And he could not do that without the Modifier.     He wished Trader Tom would return and extract some higher price fromhim for the Modifier, which was clearly missing from the kit.     Or to get even more for simply repossessing the kit.     But Trader Tom would not be back. He came this way only once.     Manet thumbed through the manual in mechanical frustration. As he didso, the solid piece of the last section parted sheet by sheet.     He glanced forward and found the headings:      The Final Model     .     There seemed something ominous about that finality. But he had paida price for the kit, hadn't he? Who knew what price, when it came tothat? He had every right to get everything out of the kit that hecould.     He read the unfolding page critically. The odd assortment ofill-matched parts left in the box took a new shape in his mind andunder his fingers....     Manet gave one final spurt from the flesh-sprayer and stood back.     Victor was finished. Perfect.     Manet stepped forward, lifted the model's left eyelid, tweaked his nose.     Move!     Victor leaped back into the Lifo kit and did a jig on one of theflesh-sprayers.     As the device twisted as handily as good intentions, Manet realizedthat it was not a flesh-sprayer but the Modifier.     It's finished! were Victor's first words. It's done!     Manet stared at the tiny wreck. To say the least.     Victor stepped out of the oblong box. There is something you shouldunderstand. I am different from the others.     They all say that.     I am not your friend.     No?     No. You have made yourself an enemy.     Manet felt nothing more at this information than an esthetic pleasureat the symmetry of the situation.     It completes the final course in socialization, Victor continued. Iam your adversary. I will do everything I can to defeat you. I have      all     your knowledge.      You     do not have all your knowledge. If you letyourself know some of the things, it could be used against you. It ismy function to use everything I possibly can against you.     When do you start?     I've finished. I've done my worst. I have destroyed the Modifier.     What's so bad about that? Manet asked with some interest.     You'll have Veronica and Ronald and me forever now. We'll neverchange. You'll get older, and we'll never change. You'll lose yourinterest in New York swing and jet combat and Daniel Boone, and we'llnever change. We don't change and you can't change us for others. I'vemade the worst thing happen to you that can happen to any man.      I'veseen that you will always keep your friends.       <doc-sep>Ronald's cries grew louder as Manet marched Veronica through thecorridor.     Hear that? he inquired, smiling with clenched teeth.     No, darling.     Well, that was all right. He remembered he had once told her to ignorethe noise. She was still following orders.     Come on, Bill, open up the hatch for old Ronald, the voice carriedthrough sepulchrally.     Shut up! Manet yelled.     The voice dwindled stubbornly, then cut off.     A silence with a whisper of metallic ring to it.     Why hadn't he thought of that before? Maybe because he secretly tookcomfort in the sound of an almost human voice echoing through thestation.     Manet threw back the bolt and wheeled back the hatch.     Ronald looked just the same as had when Manet had seen him last. Hishands didn't seem to have been worn away in the least. Ronald's lipsseemed a trifle chapped. But that probably came not from all theshouting but from having nothing to drink for some months.     Ronald didn't say anything to Manet.     But he looked offended.     You, Manet said to Veronica with a shove in the small of the back,inside, inside.     Ronald sidestepped the lurching girl.     Do you know what I'm going to do with you? Manet demanded. I'm goingto lock you up in here, and leave you for a day, a month, a year,forever! Now what do you think about that?     If you think it's the      right     thing, dear, Veronica said hesitantly.     You know best, Willy, Ronald said uncertainly.     Manet slammed the hatch in disgust.     Manet walked carefully down the corridor, watching streamers ofhis reflection corkscrewing into the curved walls. He had to walkcarefully, else the artery would roll up tight and squash him. But hewalked too carefully for this to happen.     As he passed the File Room, Ronald's voice said: In my opinion,William, you should let us out.     I, Veronica said, honestly feel that you should let me out, Bill,dearest.     Manet giggled. What? What was that? Do you suggest that I take youback after you've been behind a locked door with my best friend?     He went down the corridor, giggling.     He giggled and thought: This will never do.  <doc-sep>The prospect      was     frightful.     Victor smiled. Aren't you going to denounce me for a fiend?     Yes, it is time for the denouncement. Tell me, you feel that now youare through? You have fulfilled your function?     Yes. Yes.     Now you will have but to lean back, as it were, so to speak, and seeme suffer?           Yes.          No. Can't do it, old man. Can't.      I     know. You're too human, toolike me. The one thing a man can't accept is a passive state, a stateof uselessness. Not if he can possibly avoid it. Something has to behappening to him. He has to be happening to something. You didn't killme because then you would have nothing left to do. You'll never killme.     Of course not! Victor stormed. Fundamental safety cut-off!     Rationalization. You don't      want     to kill me. And you can't stopchallenging me at every turn. That's your function.     Stop talking and just think about your miserable life, Victor saidmeanly. Your friends won't grow and mature with you. You won't makeany new friends. You'll have me to constantly remind you of youruselessness, your constant unrelenting sterility of purpose. How's thatfor boredom, for passiveness?     That's what I'm trying to tell you, Manet said irritably, his socialmanners rusty. I won't be bored. You will see to that. It's yourpurpose. You'll be a challenge, an obstacle, a source of triumph everyfoot of the way. Don't you see? With you for an enemy, I don't need afriend!   <doc-sep>Manet knew it all. He had heard it all before.     He was so damned sick of hearing about Korean air battles, DanielBoone, the literary qualities of ancient sports fiction magazines,the painting of Norman Rockwell, New York swing,      ad nauseum     . What anarrow band of interests! With the whole universe to explore in thoughtand concept, why did he have to be trapped with such an unoriginalhuman being?     Of course, Ronald wasn't an original human being. He was a copy.     Manet had been interested in the Fabulous Forties—Lt. Hoot Gibson,Sam Merwin tennis stories,      Saturday Evening Post     covers—when he hadfirst learned of them, and he had learned all about them. He had firmopinions on all these.     He yearned for someone to challenge him—to say that      Dime Sports     hadbeen nothing but a cheap yellow rag and, why,      Sewanee Review     , therehad been a magazine for you.     Manet's only consolidation was that Ronald's tastes were lower than hisown. He patriotically insisted that the American Sabre Jet was superiorto the Mig. He maintained with a straight face that Tommy Dorsey was abetter band man than Benny Goodman. Ronald was a terrific jerk.     Ronald, Manet said, you are a terrific jerk.     Ronald leaped up immediately and led with his right.     Manet blocked it deftly and threw a right cross.     Ronald blocked it deftly, and drove in a right to the navel.     The two men separated and, puffing like steam locomotives passing thediesel works, closed again.     Ronald leaped forward and led with his right.     Manet stepped inside the swing and lifted an uppercut to the ledge ofRonald's jaw.     Ronald pinwheeled to the floor.     He lifted his bruised head from the deck and worked his reddened mouth.Had enough? he asked Manet.     Manet dropped his fists to his sides and turned away. Yes.     Ronald hopped up lightly. Another checkers, Billy Boy?     No.     Okay. Anything you want, William, old conquerer.     Manet scrunched up inside himself in impotent fury.     Ronald was maddeningly co-operative and peaceful. He would even get ina fist fight to avoid trouble between them. He would do anything Manetwanted him to do. He was so utterly damned stupid.     Manet's eyes orbitted towards the checkerboard.     But if he were so much more stupid than he, Manet, why was it thattheir checker games always ended in a tie?  <doc-sep>Manet finished the mellow whiskey and looked into the glass. It seemedto have been polished clean. What do you have to offer?     Whatever you want?     Irritably, How do I know what I want until I know what you have?     You know.     I know? All right, I know. You don't have it for sale.     Old chap, understand if you please that I do not only      sell     . Iam a trader—Trader Tom. I trade with many parties. There are, forexample ... extraterrestrials.     Folk legend!     On the contrary,      mon cher     , the only reality it lacks is politicalreality. The Assembly could no longer justify their disposition ofthe cosmos if it were known they were dealing confiscation withoutrepresentation. Come, tell me what you want.     Manet gave in to it. I want to be not alone, he said.     Of course, Trader Tom replied, I suspected. It is not so unusual,you know. Sign here. And here. Two copies. This is yours. Thank you somuch.     Manet handed back the pen and stared at the laminated card in his hand.       When he looked up from the card, Manet saw the box. Trader Tom waspushing it across the floor towards him.     The box had the general dimensions of a coffin, but it wasn'twood—only brightly illustrated cardboard. There was a large four-colorpicture on the lid showing men, women and children moving through abusy city street. The red and blue letters said:     LIFO       The Socialization Kit       It is commercialized, Trader Tom admitted with no little chagrin.It is presented to appeal to a twelve-year-old child, an erotic,aggressive twelve-year-old, the typical sensie goer—but that isreality. It offends men of good taste like ourselves, yet sometimes itapproaches being art. We must accept it.     What's the cost? Manet asked. Before I accept it, I have to know thecharges.     You never know the cost. Only your executor knows that. It's theTrader Tom plan.     Well, is it guaranteed?     There are no guarantees, Trader Tom admitted. But I've never had anycomplaints yet.     Suppose I'm the first? Manet suggested reasonably.     You won't be, Trader Tom said. I won't pass this way again.  <doc-sep>The calendar said it was Spring on Earth when the radio was activatedfor a high-speed information and entertainment transmission.     The buzzer-flasher activated in the solarium at the same time.     Manet lay stretched out on his back, naked, in front of the transparentwall.     By rolling his eyes back in his head, Manet could see over a hedge ofeyebrows for several hundred flat miles of white sand.     And several hundred miles of desert could see him.     For a moment he gloried in the blatant display of his flabby musclesand patchy sunburn.     Then he sighed, rolled over to his feet and started trudging towardCommunication.     He padded down the rib-ridged matted corridor, taking his usual smallpleasure in the kaleidoscopic effect of the spiraling reflections onthe walls of the tubeway.     As he passed the File Room, he caught the sound of the poundingvibrations against the stoppered plug of the hatch.     Come on, Billy Buddy, let me out of this place!     Manet padded on down the hall. He had, he recalled, shoved Ronaldin there on Lincoln's Birthday, a minor ironic twist he appreciatedquietly. He had been waiting in vain for Ronald to run down ever since.     In Communication, he took a seat and punched the slowed down playbackof the transmission.     Hello, Overseers, the Voice said. It was the Voice of the B.B.C.It irritated Manet. He never understood how the British had got thespace transmissions assignment for the English language. He would havepreferred an American disk-jockey himself, one who appreciated New Yorkswing.     We imagine that you are most interested in how long you shallbe required to stay at your present stations, said the Voice ofGod's paternal uncle. As you on Mars may know, there has been muchdiscussion as to how long it will require to complete the presentschedule— there was of course no K sound in the word—foratmosphere seeding.     The original, non-binding estimate at the time of your departure was18.2 years. However, determining how long it will take our stationsproperly to remake the air of Mars is a problem comparable to findingthe age of the Earth. Estimates change as new factors are learned. Youmay recall that three years ago the official estimate was changed tothirty-one years. The recent estimate by certain reactionary sourcesof two hundred and seventy-four years is      not     an official governmentestimate. The news for you is good, if you are becoming nostalgic forhome, or not particularly bad if you are counting on drawing yourhandsome salary for the time spent on Mars. We have every reason tobelieve our      original     estimate was substantially correct. The totaltime is, within limits of error, a flat 18 years.     A very flat 18 years, Manet thought as he palmed off the recorder.     He sat there thinking about eighteen years.     He did not switch to video for some freshly taped westerns.     Finally, Manet went back to the solarium and dragged the big box out.There was a lot left inside.     One of those parts, one of those bones or struts of flesh sprayers, oneof them, he now knew, was the Modifier.     The Modifier was what he needed to change Ronald. Or to shut him off.     If only the Master Chart hadn't been lost, so he would know what theModifier looked like! He hoped the Modifier itself wasn't lost. Hehated to think of Ronald locked in the Usher tomb of the File Roomfor 18 flat years. Long before that, he would have worn his fists awayhammering at the hatch. Then he might start pounding with his head.Perhaps before the time was up he would have worn himself down tonothing whatsoever.     Manet selected the ripple-finished gray-covered manual from thehodgepodge, and thought: eighteen years.     Perhaps I should have begun here, he told himself. But I really don'thave as much interest in that sort of thing as the earthier types.Simple companionship was all I wanted. And, he thought on, even aninsipid personality like Ronald's would be bearable with certaincompensations.     Manet opened the book to the chapter headed:      The Making of a Girl     .  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] In what way is Manet's insanity depicted in the narrative of HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of the storyline in AMBITION? [SEP] <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>  He had but one ambition, one desire: to pilot the first manned rocket to     the moon. And he was prepared as no man had ever prepared himself     before....      DESIRE NO MORE     by Algis Budrys     (      illustrated by Milton Luros     )           Desire no more than to thy lot may fall....          —Chaucer    <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>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>   AMBITION     By WILLIAM L. BADE     Illustrated by L. WOROMAY     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction October 1951.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      To the men of the future, the scientific     goals of today were as incomprehensible     as the ancient quest for the Holy Grail!      There was a thump. Maitland stirred, came half awake, and opened hiseyes. The room was dark except where a broad shaft of moonlight fromthe open window fell on the foot of his bed. Outside, the residentialsection of the Reservation slept silently under the pale illuminationof the full Moon. He guessed sleepily that it was about three o'clock.     What had he heard? He had a definite impression that the sound had comefrom within the room. It had sounded like someone stumbling into achair, or—     Something moved in the darkness on the other side of the room. Maitlandstarted to sit up and it was as though a thousand volts had shorted hisbrain....     This time, he awoke more normally. He opened his eyes, looked throughthe window at a section of azure sky, listened to the singing of birdssomewhere outside. A beautiful day. In the middle of the process ofstretching his rested muscles, arms extended back, legs tensed, hefroze, looking up—for the first time really seeing the ceiling. Heturned his head, then rolled off the bed, wide awake.       This wasn't his room!       The lawn outside wasn't part of the Reservation! Where the labs andthe shops should have been, there was deep prairie grass, then a greenocean pushed into waves by the breeze stretching to the horizon. Thiswasn't the California desert! Down the hill, where the liquid oxygenplant ought to have been, a river wound across the scene, almost hiddenbeneath its leafy roof of huge ancient trees.     Shock contracted Maitland's diaphragm and spread through his body.His breathing quickened.      Now     he remembered what had happened duringthe night, the sound in the darkness, the dimly seen figure, andthen—what? Blackout....     Where was he? Who had brought him here? For what purpose?     He thought he knew the answer to the last of those questions. Asa member of the original atomic reaction-motor team, he possessedinformation that other military powers would very much like to obtain.It was absolutely incredible that anyone had managed to abduct him fromthe heavily guarded confines of the Reservation, yet someone had doneit. How?  <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>It was still musty in the narrow passage, between the closely-pressingwalls, beneath the great tubes and cable sheathings that fluted theceiling overhead. A stairway spiraled up on the right to the controlcupola somewhere overhead; even in the airtight gallery a thin filmof dust lay on every step. Up there were the meters and switches ofthe disused terminal facilities of the spaceport; beyond the metaldoor marked CAUTION, just beyond the stairwell, lay the long runwaydown which the ships of space had glided to be serviced, refueled, andlaunched into the sky once more by now dormant machines.     Wait, said Mury succinctly; he vanished up the spiral stair, hislong legs taking two steps at a time. After an aching minute's silence,he was back. All was clear as seen from the turret-windows overhead.     They emerged in shadow, hugging the wall. Almost a quarter of a mile tothe right the megalith of the Communications Tower, crowned with manylights where the signal-men sat godlike in its summit. Its floodlightsshed a vast oval of light out over the mesa, where the mile-longrunways—no longer polished mirror-like as in the days of Dynamopolis'glory—stretched away into the darkness of the table land. A handfulof odd ships—mere remnant of the hundreds that Pi Mesa port hadberthed—huddled under the solenoid wickets, as if driven together bythe chill of the thin, knife-like wind that blew across the mesa.     As the two paced slowly across the runways, Ryd had a sense ofprotective isolation in the vast impersonality of the spaceport.Surely, in this Titanic desolation of metal slabs and flat-roofedbuildings, dominated by the one great tower, total insignificance mustmean safety for them.     And indeed no guard challenged them. There were armed men watchingfor all intruders out on the desert beyond the runways, but onceinside, Ryd's borrowed blue seemed to serve as passport enough.Nonetheless, the passport's knees were shaking when they stood at last,inconspicuous still, at the shadowed base of the Communications Tower.     Not far off, a half-dozen dignitaries, huddled close together in themidst of these Cyclopean man-made things that dwarfed their policies,their principles and ambitions, stood talking rather nervously with twoofficers, aristocratically gaudy in the scarlet of the Martian Fleet.Blue-clad guardsmen of Earth watched from a distance—watched boredlyenough.     And out on the steel-stripped tarmac, under the solenoid of NumberTwo Runway, lay a towship, backed like a stegosaur with its massivemagnets—the      Shahrazad     , panting like a dragon amid rolling clouds ofsteam. She was plainly ready to go into space. The bottom dropped outof Ryd's stomach before he realized that a warning at least must besounded before the ship could lift. But that might come any moment now.     Relax, said Mury in a low voice. Nothing's gone wrong. We'll beaboard the      Shahrazad     when she lifts. For a moment his black eyesshifted, hardening, toward Runway Four. The Martian warship lay therebeyond the solenoid, a spiteful hundred-foot swordfish of steel, withblind gunvalves, row on row, along its sleek sides and turret-blisters.It had not yet been tugged onto the turntable; it could not be leavingagain very soon, though Earth weight was undoubtedly incommodingits crew. About it a few figures stood that were stiffly erect andimmobile, as tall as tall men. From head to toe they were scarlet.     Robots! gasped Ryd, clutching his companion's arm convulsively.Martian soldier robots!     They're unarmed, harmless. They aren't your police with built-inweapons. Only the humans are dangerous. But we've got to move. ForGod's sake, take it easy.     Ryd licked dry lips. Are we going—out into space?     Where else? said Mury.  <doc-sep>She was pink and clean and her platinum hair was pulled straight back,drawing her cheek-bones tighter, straightening her wide, appealingmouth, drawing her lean, athletic, feminine body erect. She was wearinga powder-blue dress that covered all of her breasts and hips and theupper half of her legs.     The most wonderful thing about her was her perfume. Then I realized itwasn't perfume, only the scent of soap. Finally, I knew it wasn't that.It was just healthy, fresh-scrubbed skin.     I went to her at the bus stop, forcing my legs not to stagger. Nobodywould help a drunk. I don't know why, but nobody will help you if theythink you are blotto.     Ma'am, could you help a man who's not had work? I kept my eyes down.I couldn't look a human in the eye and ask for help. Just a dime for acup of coffee. I knew where I could get it for three cents, maybe twoand a half.     I felt her looking at me. She spoke in an educated voice, one she used,perhaps, as a teacher or supervising telephone operator. Do you wantit for coffee, or to apply, or a glass or hypo of something else?     I cringed and whined. She would expect it of me. I suddenly realizedthat anybody as clean as she was had to be a tourist here. I hatetourists.     Just coffee, ma'am. She was younger than I was, so I didn't have tocall her that. A little more for food, if you could spare it.     I hadn't eaten in a day and a half, but I didn't care much.     I'll buy you a dinner, she said carefully, provided I can go withyou and see for myself that you actually eat it.     I felt my face flushing red. You wouldn't want to be seen with a bumlike me, ma'am.     I'll be seen with you if you really want to eat.     It was certainly unfair and probably immoral. But I had no choicewhatever.     Okay, I said, tasting bitterness over the craving.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in AMBITION?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the backdrop of the story AMBITION? [SEP] <s>  He had but one ambition, one desire: to pilot the first manned rocket to     the moon. And he was prepared as no man had ever prepared himself     before....      DESIRE NO MORE     by Algis Budrys     (      illustrated by Milton Luros     )           Desire no more than to thy lot may fall....          —Chaucer    <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>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>   AMBITION     By WILLIAM L. BADE     Illustrated by L. WOROMAY     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction October 1951.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      To the men of the future, the scientific     goals of today were as incomprehensible     as the ancient quest for the Holy Grail!      There was a thump. Maitland stirred, came half awake, and opened hiseyes. The room was dark except where a broad shaft of moonlight fromthe open window fell on the foot of his bed. Outside, the residentialsection of the Reservation slept silently under the pale illuminationof the full Moon. He guessed sleepily that it was about three o'clock.     What had he heard? He had a definite impression that the sound had comefrom within the room. It had sounded like someone stumbling into achair, or—     Something moved in the darkness on the other side of the room. Maitlandstarted to sit up and it was as though a thousand volts had shorted hisbrain....     This time, he awoke more normally. He opened his eyes, looked throughthe window at a section of azure sky, listened to the singing of birdssomewhere outside. A beautiful day. In the middle of the process ofstretching his rested muscles, arms extended back, legs tensed, hefroze, looking up—for the first time really seeing the ceiling. Heturned his head, then rolled off the bed, wide awake.       This wasn't his room!       The lawn outside wasn't part of the Reservation! Where the labs andthe shops should have been, there was deep prairie grass, then a greenocean pushed into waves by the breeze stretching to the horizon. Thiswasn't the California desert! Down the hill, where the liquid oxygenplant ought to have been, a river wound across the scene, almost hiddenbeneath its leafy roof of huge ancient trees.     Shock contracted Maitland's diaphragm and spread through his body.His breathing quickened.      Now     he remembered what had happened duringthe night, the sound in the darkness, the dimly seen figure, andthen—what? Blackout....     Where was he? Who had brought him here? For what purpose?     He thought he knew the answer to the last of those questions. Asa member of the original atomic reaction-motor team, he possessedinformation that other military powers would very much like to obtain.It was absolutely incredible that anyone had managed to abduct him fromthe heavily guarded confines of the Reservation, yet someone had doneit. How?  <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>Bob Parker came to, the emptiness of remote starlight in his face. Heopened his eyes. He was slowly revolving on an axis. Sometimes the Sunswept across his line of vision. A cold hammering began at the base ofhis skull, a sensation similar to that of being buried alive. There wasno asteroid, no girl, no Queazy. He was alone in the vastness of space.Alone in a space-suit.     Queazy! he whispered. Queazy! I'm running out of air!     There was no answer from Queazy. With sick eyes, Bob studied theoxygen indicator. There was only five pounds pressure. Five pounds!That meant he had been floating around out here—how long? Days atleast—maybe weeks! It was evident that somebody had given him a doseof spastic rays, enough to screw up every muscle in his body to thesnapping point, putting him in such a condition of suspended animationthat his oxygen needs were small. He closed his eyes, trying to fightagainst panic. He was glad he couldn't see any part of his body. He wasprobably scrawny. And he was hungry!     I'll starve, he thought. Or suffocate to death first!     He couldn't keep himself from taking in great gulps of air. Minutes,then hours passed. He was breathing abnormally, and there wasn't enoughair in the first place. He pleaded continually for Queazy, hopingthat somehow Queazy could help, when probably Queazy was in the samecondition. He ripped out wild curses directed at the Saylor brothers.Murderers, both of them! Up until this time, he had merely thought ofthem as business rivals. If he ever got out of this—     He groaned. He never would get out of it! After another hour, he wasgasping weakly, and yellow spots danced in his eyes. He called Queazy'sname once more, knowing that was the last time he would have strengthto call it.     And this time the headset spoke back!     Bob Parker made a gurgling sound. A voice came again, washed withstatic, far away, burbling, but excited. Bob made a rattling sound inhis throat. Then his eyes started to close, but he imagined that he sawa ship, shiny and small, driving toward him, growing in size againstthe backdrop of the Milky Way. He relapsed, a terrific buzzing in hisears.     He did not lose consciousness. He heard voices, Queazy's and thegirl's, whoever she was. Somebody grabbed hold of his foot. Hisaquarium was unbuckled and good air washed over his streaming face.The sudden rush of oxygen to his brain dizzied him. Then he was lyingon a bunk, and gradually the world beyond his sick body focussed in hisclearing eyes and he knew he was alive—and going to stay that way, forawhile anyway.     Thanks, Queazy, he said huskily.     Queazy was bending over him, his anxiety clearing away from hissuddenly brightening face.     Don't thank me, he whispered. We'd have both been goners if ithadn't been for her. The Saylor brothers left her paralyzed likeus, and when she woke up she was on a slow orbit around her ship.She unstrapped her holster and threw it away from her and it gaveher enough reaction to reach the ship. She got inside and used thedirection-finder on the telaudio and located me first. The Saylorsscattered us far and wide. Queazy's broad, normally good-humored facetwisted blackly. The so and so's didn't care if we lived or died.     Bob saw the girl now, standing a little behind Queazy, looking down athim curiously, but unhappily. Her space-suit was off. She was wearinglightly striped blue slacks and blue silk blouse and she had a paperflower in her hair. Something in Bob's stomach caved in as his eyeswidened on her.     The girl said glumly, I guess you men won't much care for me when youfind out who I am and what I've done. I'm Starre Lowenthal—Andrew S.Burnside's granddaughter!  <doc-sep>It was still musty in the narrow passage, between the closely-pressingwalls, beneath the great tubes and cable sheathings that fluted theceiling overhead. A stairway spiraled up on the right to the controlcupola somewhere overhead; even in the airtight gallery a thin filmof dust lay on every step. Up there were the meters and switches ofthe disused terminal facilities of the spaceport; beyond the metaldoor marked CAUTION, just beyond the stairwell, lay the long runwaydown which the ships of space had glided to be serviced, refueled, andlaunched into the sky once more by now dormant machines.     Wait, said Mury succinctly; he vanished up the spiral stair, hislong legs taking two steps at a time. After an aching minute's silence,he was back. All was clear as seen from the turret-windows overhead.     They emerged in shadow, hugging the wall. Almost a quarter of a mile tothe right the megalith of the Communications Tower, crowned with manylights where the signal-men sat godlike in its summit. Its floodlightsshed a vast oval of light out over the mesa, where the mile-longrunways—no longer polished mirror-like as in the days of Dynamopolis'glory—stretched away into the darkness of the table land. A handfulof odd ships—mere remnant of the hundreds that Pi Mesa port hadberthed—huddled under the solenoid wickets, as if driven together bythe chill of the thin, knife-like wind that blew across the mesa.     As the two paced slowly across the runways, Ryd had a sense ofprotective isolation in the vast impersonality of the spaceport.Surely, in this Titanic desolation of metal slabs and flat-roofedbuildings, dominated by the one great tower, total insignificance mustmean safety for them.     And indeed no guard challenged them. There were armed men watchingfor all intruders out on the desert beyond the runways, but onceinside, Ryd's borrowed blue seemed to serve as passport enough.Nonetheless, the passport's knees were shaking when they stood at last,inconspicuous still, at the shadowed base of the Communications Tower.     Not far off, a half-dozen dignitaries, huddled close together in themidst of these Cyclopean man-made things that dwarfed their policies,their principles and ambitions, stood talking rather nervously with twoofficers, aristocratically gaudy in the scarlet of the Martian Fleet.Blue-clad guardsmen of Earth watched from a distance—watched boredlyenough.     And out on the steel-stripped tarmac, under the solenoid of NumberTwo Runway, lay a towship, backed like a stegosaur with its massivemagnets—the      Shahrazad     , panting like a dragon amid rolling clouds ofsteam. She was plainly ready to go into space. The bottom dropped outof Ryd's stomach before he realized that a warning at least must besounded before the ship could lift. But that might come any moment now.     Relax, said Mury in a low voice. Nothing's gone wrong. We'll beaboard the      Shahrazad     when she lifts. For a moment his black eyesshifted, hardening, toward Runway Four. The Martian warship lay therebeyond the solenoid, a spiteful hundred-foot swordfish of steel, withblind gunvalves, row on row, along its sleek sides and turret-blisters.It had not yet been tugged onto the turntable; it could not be leavingagain very soon, though Earth weight was undoubtedly incommodingits crew. About it a few figures stood that were stiffly erect andimmobile, as tall as tall men. From head to toe they were scarlet.     Robots! gasped Ryd, clutching his companion's arm convulsively.Martian soldier robots!     They're unarmed, harmless. They aren't your police with built-inweapons. Only the humans are dangerous. But we've got to move. ForGod's sake, take it easy.     Ryd licked dry lips. Are we going—out into space?     Where else? said Mury.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the backdrop of the story AMBITION?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What role does space play in the narrative of AMBITION? [SEP] <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>  He had but one ambition, one desire: to pilot the first manned rocket to     the moon. And he was prepared as no man had ever prepared himself     before....      DESIRE NO MORE     by Algis Budrys     (      illustrated by Milton Luros     )           Desire no more than to thy lot may fall....          —Chaucer    <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>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>It was still musty in the narrow passage, between the closely-pressingwalls, beneath the great tubes and cable sheathings that fluted theceiling overhead. A stairway spiraled up on the right to the controlcupola somewhere overhead; even in the airtight gallery a thin filmof dust lay on every step. Up there were the meters and switches ofthe disused terminal facilities of the spaceport; beyond the metaldoor marked CAUTION, just beyond the stairwell, lay the long runwaydown which the ships of space had glided to be serviced, refueled, andlaunched into the sky once more by now dormant machines.     Wait, said Mury succinctly; he vanished up the spiral stair, hislong legs taking two steps at a time. After an aching minute's silence,he was back. All was clear as seen from the turret-windows overhead.     They emerged in shadow, hugging the wall. Almost a quarter of a mile tothe right the megalith of the Communications Tower, crowned with manylights where the signal-men sat godlike in its summit. Its floodlightsshed a vast oval of light out over the mesa, where the mile-longrunways—no longer polished mirror-like as in the days of Dynamopolis'glory—stretched away into the darkness of the table land. A handfulof odd ships—mere remnant of the hundreds that Pi Mesa port hadberthed—huddled under the solenoid wickets, as if driven together bythe chill of the thin, knife-like wind that blew across the mesa.     As the two paced slowly across the runways, Ryd had a sense ofprotective isolation in the vast impersonality of the spaceport.Surely, in this Titanic desolation of metal slabs and flat-roofedbuildings, dominated by the one great tower, total insignificance mustmean safety for them.     And indeed no guard challenged them. There were armed men watchingfor all intruders out on the desert beyond the runways, but onceinside, Ryd's borrowed blue seemed to serve as passport enough.Nonetheless, the passport's knees were shaking when they stood at last,inconspicuous still, at the shadowed base of the Communications Tower.     Not far off, a half-dozen dignitaries, huddled close together in themidst of these Cyclopean man-made things that dwarfed their policies,their principles and ambitions, stood talking rather nervously with twoofficers, aristocratically gaudy in the scarlet of the Martian Fleet.Blue-clad guardsmen of Earth watched from a distance—watched boredlyenough.     And out on the steel-stripped tarmac, under the solenoid of NumberTwo Runway, lay a towship, backed like a stegosaur with its massivemagnets—the      Shahrazad     , panting like a dragon amid rolling clouds ofsteam. She was plainly ready to go into space. The bottom dropped outof Ryd's stomach before he realized that a warning at least must besounded before the ship could lift. But that might come any moment now.     Relax, said Mury in a low voice. Nothing's gone wrong. We'll beaboard the      Shahrazad     when she lifts. For a moment his black eyesshifted, hardening, toward Runway Four. The Martian warship lay therebeyond the solenoid, a spiteful hundred-foot swordfish of steel, withblind gunvalves, row on row, along its sleek sides and turret-blisters.It had not yet been tugged onto the turntable; it could not be leavingagain very soon, though Earth weight was undoubtedly incommodingits crew. About it a few figures stood that were stiffly erect andimmobile, as tall as tall men. From head to toe they were scarlet.     Robots! gasped Ryd, clutching his companion's arm convulsively.Martian soldier robots!     They're unarmed, harmless. They aren't your police with built-inweapons. Only the humans are dangerous. But we've got to move. ForGod's sake, take it easy.     Ryd licked dry lips. Are we going—out into space?     Where else? said Mury.  <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>Lexington stared at his cup without touching it for a long while. Thenhe continued with his narrative. I suppose it's all my own fault. Ididn't detect the symptoms soon enough. After this plant got workingproperly, I started living here. It wasn't a question of saving money.I hated to waste two hours a day driving to and from my house, and Ialso wanted to be on hand in case anything should go wrong that themachine couldn't fix for itself.     Handling the cup as if it were going to shatter at any moment, he tooka gulp. I began to see that the machine could understand the writtenword, and I tried hooking a teletype directly into the logic circuits.It was like uncorking a seltzer bottle. The machine had a funnyvocabulary—all of it gleaned from letters it had seen coming in, andreplies it had seen leaving. But it was intelligible. It even displayedsome traces of the personality the machine was acquiring.     It had chosen a name for itself, for instance—'Lex.' That shook me.You might think Lex Industries was named through an abbreviation ofthe name Lexington, but it wasn't. My wife's name was Alexis, and itwas named after the nickname she always used. I objected, of course,but how can you object on a point like that to a machine? Bear in mindthat I had to be careful to behave reasonably at all times, because themachine was still learning from me, and I was afraid that any tantrumsI threw might be imitated.     It sounds pretty awkward, Peter put in.     You don't know the half of it! As time went on, I had less and less todo, and business-wise I found that the entire control of the operationwas slipping from my grasp. Many times I discovered—too late—thatthe machine had taken the damnedest risks you ever saw on bids andcontracts for supply. It was quoting impossible delivery times onsome orders, and charging pirate's prices on others, all without anyobvious reason. Inexplicably, we always came out on top. It would turnout that on the short-delivery-time quotations, we'd been up againststiff competition, and cutting the production time was the only way wecould get the order. On the high-priced quotes, I'd find that no oneelse was bidding. We were making more money than I'd ever dreamed of,and to make it still better, I'd find that for months I had virtuallynothing to do.     It sounds wonderful, sir, said Peter, feeling dazzled.     It was, in a way. I remember one day I was especially pleased withsomething, and I went to the control console to give the kicker buttona long, hard push. The button, much to my amazement, had been removed,and a blank plate had been installed to cover the opening in the board.I went over to the teletype and punched in the shortest message I hadever sent. 'LEX—WHAT THE HELL?' I typed.     The answer came back in the jargon it had learned from letters it hadseen, and I remember it as if it just happened. 'MR. A LEXINGTON, LEXINDUSTRIES, DEAR SIR: RE YOUR LETTER OF THE THIRTEENTH INST., I AMPLEASED TO ADVISE YOU THAT I AM ABLE TO DISCERN WHETHER OR NOT YOU AREPLEASED WITH MY SERVICE WITHOUT THE USE OF THE EQUIPMENT PREVIOUSLYUSED FOR THIS PURPOSE. RESPECTFULLY, I MIGHT SUGGEST THAT IF THEPUSHBUTTON ARRANGEMENT WERE NECESSARY, I COULD PUSH THE BUTTON MYSELF.I DO NOT BELIEVE THIS WOULD MEET WITH YOUR APPROVAL, AND HAVE TAKENSTEPS TO RELIEVE YOU OF THE BURDEN INVOLVED IN REMEMBERING TO PUSH THEBUTTON EACH TIME YOU ARE ESPECIALLY PLEASED. I SHOULD LIKE TO TAKE THISOPPORTUNITY TO THANK YOU FOR YOUR INQUIRY, AND LOOK FORWARD TO SERVINGYOU IN THE FUTURE AS I HAVE IN THE PAST. YOURS FAITHFULLY, LEX'.  <doc-sep>Joe was still dazed by that monetary vista when he and Harvey carriedthe case of medicine to the saloon. The mayor had already cleared aplace of honor in the cluttered back room, where he told them to put itdown carefully. Then he took the elaborate bottle-opener Harvey gavehim, reverently uncorked a bottle and sampled it. It must have been atleast as good as the first; he gagged.     That's the stuff, all right, he said, swallowing hard. He countedout the money into Harvey's hand, at a moderate rate that precariouslybalanced between his pleasure at getting the fever remedy and his painat paying for it. Then he glanced out to see the position of Jupiter,and asked: You gents eaten yet? The restaurant's open now.     Harvey and Joe looked at each other. They hadn't been thinking aboutfood at all, but suddenly they realized that they were hungry.     It's only water we were short of, Harvey said apprehensively. We'vegot rations back at the ship.           H-mph!      the mayor grunted. Powdered concentrates. Compressed pap.Suit yourselves. We treat our stomachs better here. And you're welcometo our hospitality.     Your hospitality, said Harvey, depends on the prices you charge.     Well, if that's what's worrying you, you can stop worrying, answeredthe mayor promptly. What's more, the kind of dinner I serve here youcan't get anywhere else for any price.     Swiftly, Harvey conned the possibilities of being bilked again. He sawnone.     Let's take a look at the menu, anyhow, Joe, he said guardedly.     Johnson immediately fell into the role of mine host.     Come right in, gents, he invited. Right into the dining room.     He seated them at a table, which a rope tied between posts made more orless private, though nobody else was in the saloon and there was littlechance of company.     Genius, the six-armed native, appeared from the dingy kitchen withtwo menus in one hand, two glasses of water in another, plus napkins,silverware, a pitcher, plates, saucers, cups, and their cocktails,which were on the house. Then he stood by for orders.     Harvey and Joe studied the menu critically. The prices werephenomenally low. When they glanced up at Johnson in perplexity, hegrinned, bowed and asked: Everything satisfactory, gents?     Quite, said Harvey. We shall order.     For an hour they were served amazing dishes, both fresh and canned, theculinary wealth of this planetoid and all the system. And the servicewas as extraordinary as the meal itself. With four hands, Genius playeddeftly upon a pair of mellow Venusian      viotars     , using his other twohands for waiting on the table.     We absolutely must purchase this incredible specimen, Harveywhispered excitedly when Johnson and the native were both in thekitchen, attending to the next course. He would make any societyhostess's season a riotous success, which should be worth a great sumto women like Mrs. van Schuyler-Morgan, merely for his hire.     Think of a fast one fast, Joe agreed. You're right.     But I dislike having to revise my opinion of a man so often,complained Harvey. I wish Johnson would stay either swindler or honestmerchant. This dinner is worth as least twenty buckos, yet I estimateour check at a mere bucko twenty redsents.     The mayor's appearance prevented them from continuing the discussion.     It's been a great honor, gents, he said. Ain't often I havevisitors, and I like the best, like you two gents.     As if on cue, Genius came out and put the check down between Joe andHarvey. Harvey picked it up negligently, but his casual air vanished ina yelp of horror.     What the devil is this? he shouted.—How do you arrive at thisfantastic, idiotic figure—      three hundred and twenty-eight buckos     !  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What role does space play in the narrative of AMBITION?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"How do Maitland and Ching's relationship evolve in the story AMBITION? [SEP] <s>I really haven't the time to waste talking irrelevancies, Swarts saida while later. Honestly. Maitland, I'm working against a time limit.If you'll cooperate, I'll tell Ching to answer your questions.'     Ching?     Ingrid Ching is the girl who has been bringing you your meals.     Maitland considered a moment, then nodded. Swarts lowered the projectorto his eyes again, and this time the engineer did not resist.     That evening, he could hardly wait for her to come. Too excited to sitand watch the sunset, he paced interminably about the room, sometimeswhistling nervously, snapping his fingers, sitting down and jitteringone leg. After a while he noticed that he was whistling the same themeover and over: a minute's thought identified it as that exuberantmounting phrase which recurs in the finale of Beethoven's NinthSymphony.     He forgot about it and went on whistling. He was picturing himselfaboard a ship dropping in toward Mars, making planetfall at SyrtisMajor; he was seeing visions of Venus and the awesome beauty of Saturn.In his mind, he circled the Moon, and viewed the Earth as a huge brightglobe against the constellations....     Finally the door slid aside and she appeared, carrying the usual trayof food. She smiled at him, making dimples in her golden skin andrevealing a perfect set of teeth, and put the tray on the table.     I think you are wonderful, she laughed. You get everything youwant, even from Swarts, and I have not been able to get even a littleof what I want from him. I want to travel in time, go back to your 20thCentury. And I wanted to talk with you, and he would not let me. Shelaughed again, hands on her rounded hips. I have never seen him soirritated as he was this noon.     Maitland urged her into the chair and sat down on the edge of the bed.Eagerly he asked, Why the devil do you want to go to the 20th Century?Believe me, I've been there, and what I've seen of this world looks alot better.     She shrugged. Swarts says that I want to go back to the Dark Age ofTechnology because I have not adapted well to modern culture. Myself,I think I have just a romantic nature. Far times and places look moreexciting....     How do you mean— Maitland wrinkled his brow—adapt to modernculture? Don't tell me      you're     from another time!     Oh, no! But my home is Aresund, a little fishing village at the headof a fiord in what you would call Norway. So far north, we are muchbehind the times. We live in the old way, from the sea, speak the oldtongue.  <doc-sep>   AMBITION     By WILLIAM L. BADE     Illustrated by L. WOROMAY     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction October 1951.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      To the men of the future, the scientific     goals of today were as incomprehensible     as the ancient quest for the Holy Grail!      There was a thump. Maitland stirred, came half awake, and opened hiseyes. The room was dark except where a broad shaft of moonlight fromthe open window fell on the foot of his bed. Outside, the residentialsection of the Reservation slept silently under the pale illuminationof the full Moon. He guessed sleepily that it was about three o'clock.     What had he heard? He had a definite impression that the sound had comefrom within the room. It had sounded like someone stumbling into achair, or—     Something moved in the darkness on the other side of the room. Maitlandstarted to sit up and it was as though a thousand volts had shorted hisbrain....     This time, he awoke more normally. He opened his eyes, looked throughthe window at a section of azure sky, listened to the singing of birdssomewhere outside. A beautiful day. In the middle of the process ofstretching his rested muscles, arms extended back, legs tensed, hefroze, looking up—for the first time really seeing the ceiling. Heturned his head, then rolled off the bed, wide awake.       This wasn't his room!       The lawn outside wasn't part of the Reservation! Where the labs andthe shops should have been, there was deep prairie grass, then a greenocean pushed into waves by the breeze stretching to the horizon. Thiswasn't the California desert! Down the hill, where the liquid oxygenplant ought to have been, a river wound across the scene, almost hiddenbeneath its leafy roof of huge ancient trees.     Shock contracted Maitland's diaphragm and spread through his body.His breathing quickened.      Now     he remembered what had happened duringthe night, the sound in the darkness, the dimly seen figure, andthen—what? Blackout....     Where was he? Who had brought him here? For what purpose?     He thought he knew the answer to the last of those questions. Asa member of the original atomic reaction-motor team, he possessedinformation that other military powers would very much like to obtain.It was absolutely incredible that anyone had managed to abduct him fromthe heavily guarded confines of the Reservation, yet someone had doneit. How?  <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>After that outlandish cell, Swarts' laboratory looked rathercommonplace. There was something like a surgical cot in the center, anda bench along one wall supported several electronics cabinets. A coupleof them had cathode ray tube screens, and they all presented a normalcomplement of meters, pilot lights, and switches. Cables from them ranacross the ceiling and came to a focus above the high flat cot in thecenter of the room.     Lie down, Swarts said. When Maitland hesitated, Swarts added,Understand one thing—the more you cooperate, the easier things willbe for you. If necessary, I will use coercion. I can get all my resultsagainst your will, if I must. I would prefer not to. Please don't makeme.     What's the idea? Maitland asked. What is all this?     Swarts hesitated, though not, Maitland astonishedly felt, to evade ananswer, but to find the proper words. You can think of it as a liedetector. These instruments will record your reactions to the tests Igive you. That is as much as you need to know. Now lie down.     Maitland stood there for a moment, deliberately relaxing his tensedmuscles. Make me.     If Swarts was irritated, he didn't show it. That was the first test,he said. Let me put it another way. I would appreciate it a lot ifyou'd lie down on this cot. I would like to test my apparatus.     Maitland shook his head stubbornly.     I see, Swarts said. You want to find out what you're up against.     He moved so fast that Maitland couldn't block the blow. It was to thesolar plexus, just hard enough to double him up, fighting for breath.He felt an arm under his back, another behind his knees. Then he was onthe cot. When he was able to breathe again, there were straps acrosshis chest, hips, knees, ankles, and arms, and Swarts was tightening aclamp that held his head immovable.       Presently, a number of tiny electrodes were adhering to his temples andto other portions of his body, and a minute microphone was clinging tothe skin over his heart. These devices terminated in cables that hungfrom the ceiling. A sphygmomanometer sleeve was wrapped tightly aroundhis left upper arm, its rubber tube trailing to a small black boxclamped to the frame of the cot. Another cable left the box and joinedthe others.     So—Maitland thought—Swarts could record changes in his skinpotential, heartbeat, and blood pressure: the involuntary responses ofthe body to stimuli.     The question was, what were the stimuli to be?     Your name, said Swarts, is Robert Lee Maitland. You are thirty-fouryears old. You are an engineer, specialty heat transfer, particularlyas applied to rocket motors.... No, Mr. Maitland, I'm not going toquestion you about your work; just forget about it. Your home town isMadison, Wisconsin....     You seem to know everything about me, Maitland said defiantly,looking up into the hanging forest of cabling. Why this recital?     I do not know everything about you—yet. And I'm testing theequipment, calibrating it to your reactions. He went on, Yourfavorite recreations are chess and reading what you term sciencefiction. Maitland,      how would you like to go to the Moon     ?     Something eager leaped in Maitland's breast at the abrupt question, andhe tried to turn his head. Then he forced himself to relax. What doyou mean?     Swarts was chuckling. I really hit a semantic push-button there,didn't I? Maitland, I brought you here because you're a man who wantsto go to the Moon. I'm interested in finding out      why     .  <doc-sep>Swarts came half an hour later, and Maitland began his plannedoffensive.     What year is this?     Swarts' steely eyes locked with his. You know what the date is, hestated.     No, I don't. Not since yesterday.     Come on, Swarts said patiently, let's get going. We have a lot toget through this morning.     I      know     this isn't 1950. It's probably not even the 20th Century.Venus was a morning star before you brought me here. Now it's anevening star.     Never mind that. Come.     Wordlessly, Maitland climbed to his feet, preceded Swarts to thelaboratory, lay down and allowed him to fasten the straps and attachthe instruments, making no resistance at all. When Swarts startedsaying a list of words—doubtlessly some sort of semantic reactiontest—Maitland began the job of integrating csc  3  x dx in his head.It was a calculation which required great concentration and frequenttracing back of steps. After several minutes, he noticed that Swartshad stopped calling words. He opened his eyes to find the other manstanding over him, looking somewhat exasperated and a little baffled.     What year is this? Maitland asked in a conversational tone.     We'll try another series of tests.     It took Swarts nearly twenty minutes to set up the new apparatus. Helowered a bulky affair with two cylindrical tubes like the twin stacksof a binocular microscope over Maitland's head, so that the lenses atthe ends of the tubes were about half an inch from the engineer'seyes. He attached tiny clamps to Maitland's eyelashes.     These will keep you from holding your eyes shut, he said. You canblink, but the springs are too strong for you to hold your eyelids downagainst the tension.     He inserted button earphones into Maitland's ears—     And then the show began.     He was looking at a door in a partly darkened room, and there werefootsteps outside, a peremptory knocking. The door flew open,and outlined against the light of the hall, he saw a man with atwelve-gauge shotgun. The man shouted, Now I've got you, youwife-stealer! He swung the shotgun around and pulled the trigger.There was a terrible blast of sound and the flash of smokelesspowder—then blackness.     With a deliberate effort, Maitland unclenched his fists and tried toslow his breathing. Some kind of emotional reaction test—what was thecountermove? He closed his eyes, but shortly the muscles around themdeclared excruciatingly that they couldn't keep that up.     Now he was looking at a girl. She....     Maitland gritted his teeth and fought to use his brain; then he had it.     He thought of a fat slob of a bully who had beaten him up one dayafter school. He remembered a talk he had heard by a politician who hadall the intelligent social responsibility of a rogue gorilla, but nomore. He brooded over the damnable stupidity and short-sightedness ofSwarts in standing by his silly rules and not telling him about thisnew world.     Within a minute, he was in an ungovernable rage. His muscles tightenedagainst the restraining straps. He panted, sweat came out on hisforehead, and he began to curse. Swarts! How he hated....     The scene was suddenly a flock of sheep spread over a green hillside.There was blood hammering in Maitland's temples. His face felt hot andswollen and he writhed against the restraint of the straps.     The scene disappeared, the lenses of the projector retreated from hiseyes and Swarts was standing over him, white-lipped. Maitland swore athim for a few seconds, then relaxed and smiled weakly. His head wasstarting to ache from the effort of blinking.     What year is this? he asked.     All right, Swarts said. A.D. 2634.     Maitland's smile became a grin.  <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>  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>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> [SEP] How do Maitland and Ching's relationship evolve in the story AMBITION?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What types of equipment and devices does Swarts utilize in the narrative of AMBITION? [SEP] <s>After that outlandish cell, Swarts' laboratory looked rathercommonplace. There was something like a surgical cot in the center, anda bench along one wall supported several electronics cabinets. A coupleof them had cathode ray tube screens, and they all presented a normalcomplement of meters, pilot lights, and switches. Cables from them ranacross the ceiling and came to a focus above the high flat cot in thecenter of the room.     Lie down, Swarts said. When Maitland hesitated, Swarts added,Understand one thing—the more you cooperate, the easier things willbe for you. If necessary, I will use coercion. I can get all my resultsagainst your will, if I must. I would prefer not to. Please don't makeme.     What's the idea? Maitland asked. What is all this?     Swarts hesitated, though not, Maitland astonishedly felt, to evade ananswer, but to find the proper words. You can think of it as a liedetector. These instruments will record your reactions to the tests Igive you. That is as much as you need to know. Now lie down.     Maitland stood there for a moment, deliberately relaxing his tensedmuscles. Make me.     If Swarts was irritated, he didn't show it. That was the first test,he said. Let me put it another way. I would appreciate it a lot ifyou'd lie down on this cot. I would like to test my apparatus.     Maitland shook his head stubbornly.     I see, Swarts said. You want to find out what you're up against.     He moved so fast that Maitland couldn't block the blow. It was to thesolar plexus, just hard enough to double him up, fighting for breath.He felt an arm under his back, another behind his knees. Then he was onthe cot. When he was able to breathe again, there were straps acrosshis chest, hips, knees, ankles, and arms, and Swarts was tightening aclamp that held his head immovable.       Presently, a number of tiny electrodes were adhering to his temples andto other portions of his body, and a minute microphone was clinging tothe skin over his heart. These devices terminated in cables that hungfrom the ceiling. A sphygmomanometer sleeve was wrapped tightly aroundhis left upper arm, its rubber tube trailing to a small black boxclamped to the frame of the cot. Another cable left the box and joinedthe others.     So—Maitland thought—Swarts could record changes in his skinpotential, heartbeat, and blood pressure: the involuntary responses ofthe body to stimuli.     The question was, what were the stimuli to be?     Your name, said Swarts, is Robert Lee Maitland. You are thirty-fouryears old. You are an engineer, specialty heat transfer, particularlyas applied to rocket motors.... No, Mr. Maitland, I'm not going toquestion you about your work; just forget about it. Your home town isMadison, Wisconsin....     You seem to know everything about me, Maitland said defiantly,looking up into the hanging forest of cabling. Why this recital?     I do not know everything about you—yet. And I'm testing theequipment, calibrating it to your reactions. He went on, Yourfavorite recreations are chess and reading what you term sciencefiction. Maitland,      how would you like to go to the Moon     ?     Something eager leaped in Maitland's breast at the abrupt question, andhe tried to turn his head. Then he forced himself to relax. What doyou mean?     Swarts was chuckling. I really hit a semantic push-button there,didn't I? Maitland, I brought you here because you're a man who wantsto go to the Moon. I'm interested in finding out      why     .  <doc-sep>Lexington stared at his cup without touching it for a long while. Thenhe continued with his narrative. I suppose it's all my own fault. Ididn't detect the symptoms soon enough. After this plant got workingproperly, I started living here. It wasn't a question of saving money.I hated to waste two hours a day driving to and from my house, and Ialso wanted to be on hand in case anything should go wrong that themachine couldn't fix for itself.     Handling the cup as if it were going to shatter at any moment, he tooka gulp. I began to see that the machine could understand the writtenword, and I tried hooking a teletype directly into the logic circuits.It was like uncorking a seltzer bottle. The machine had a funnyvocabulary—all of it gleaned from letters it had seen coming in, andreplies it had seen leaving. But it was intelligible. It even displayedsome traces of the personality the machine was acquiring.     It had chosen a name for itself, for instance—'Lex.' That shook me.You might think Lex Industries was named through an abbreviation ofthe name Lexington, but it wasn't. My wife's name was Alexis, and itwas named after the nickname she always used. I objected, of course,but how can you object on a point like that to a machine? Bear in mindthat I had to be careful to behave reasonably at all times, because themachine was still learning from me, and I was afraid that any tantrumsI threw might be imitated.     It sounds pretty awkward, Peter put in.     You don't know the half of it! As time went on, I had less and less todo, and business-wise I found that the entire control of the operationwas slipping from my grasp. Many times I discovered—too late—thatthe machine had taken the damnedest risks you ever saw on bids andcontracts for supply. It was quoting impossible delivery times onsome orders, and charging pirate's prices on others, all without anyobvious reason. Inexplicably, we always came out on top. It would turnout that on the short-delivery-time quotations, we'd been up againststiff competition, and cutting the production time was the only way wecould get the order. On the high-priced quotes, I'd find that no oneelse was bidding. We were making more money than I'd ever dreamed of,and to make it still better, I'd find that for months I had virtuallynothing to do.     It sounds wonderful, sir, said Peter, feeling dazzled.     It was, in a way. I remember one day I was especially pleased withsomething, and I went to the control console to give the kicker buttona long, hard push. The button, much to my amazement, had been removed,and a blank plate had been installed to cover the opening in the board.I went over to the teletype and punched in the shortest message I hadever sent. 'LEX—WHAT THE HELL?' I typed.     The answer came back in the jargon it had learned from letters it hadseen, and I remember it as if it just happened. 'MR. A LEXINGTON, LEXINDUSTRIES, DEAR SIR: RE YOUR LETTER OF THE THIRTEENTH INST., I AMPLEASED TO ADVISE YOU THAT I AM ABLE TO DISCERN WHETHER OR NOT YOU AREPLEASED WITH MY SERVICE WITHOUT THE USE OF THE EQUIPMENT PREVIOUSLYUSED FOR THIS PURPOSE. RESPECTFULLY, I MIGHT SUGGEST THAT IF THEPUSHBUTTON ARRANGEMENT WERE NECESSARY, I COULD PUSH THE BUTTON MYSELF.I DO NOT BELIEVE THIS WOULD MEET WITH YOUR APPROVAL, AND HAVE TAKENSTEPS TO RELIEVE YOU OF THE BURDEN INVOLVED IN REMEMBERING TO PUSH THEBUTTON EACH TIME YOU ARE ESPECIALLY PLEASED. I SHOULD LIKE TO TAKE THISOPPORTUNITY TO THANK YOU FOR YOUR INQUIRY, AND LOOK FORWARD TO SERVINGYOU IN THE FUTURE AS I HAVE IN THE PAST. YOURS FAITHFULLY, LEX'.  <doc-sep>Swarts came half an hour later, and Maitland began his plannedoffensive.     What year is this?     Swarts' steely eyes locked with his. You know what the date is, hestated.     No, I don't. Not since yesterday.     Come on, Swarts said patiently, let's get going. We have a lot toget through this morning.     I      know     this isn't 1950. It's probably not even the 20th Century.Venus was a morning star before you brought me here. Now it's anevening star.     Never mind that. Come.     Wordlessly, Maitland climbed to his feet, preceded Swarts to thelaboratory, lay down and allowed him to fasten the straps and attachthe instruments, making no resistance at all. When Swarts startedsaying a list of words—doubtlessly some sort of semantic reactiontest—Maitland began the job of integrating csc  3  x dx in his head.It was a calculation which required great concentration and frequenttracing back of steps. After several minutes, he noticed that Swartshad stopped calling words. He opened his eyes to find the other manstanding over him, looking somewhat exasperated and a little baffled.     What year is this? Maitland asked in a conversational tone.     We'll try another series of tests.     It took Swarts nearly twenty minutes to set up the new apparatus. Helowered a bulky affair with two cylindrical tubes like the twin stacksof a binocular microscope over Maitland's head, so that the lenses atthe ends of the tubes were about half an inch from the engineer'seyes. He attached tiny clamps to Maitland's eyelashes.     These will keep you from holding your eyes shut, he said. You canblink, but the springs are too strong for you to hold your eyelids downagainst the tension.     He inserted button earphones into Maitland's ears—     And then the show began.     He was looking at a door in a partly darkened room, and there werefootsteps outside, a peremptory knocking. The door flew open,and outlined against the light of the hall, he saw a man with atwelve-gauge shotgun. The man shouted, Now I've got you, youwife-stealer! He swung the shotgun around and pulled the trigger.There was a terrible blast of sound and the flash of smokelesspowder—then blackness.     With a deliberate effort, Maitland unclenched his fists and tried toslow his breathing. Some kind of emotional reaction test—what was thecountermove? He closed his eyes, but shortly the muscles around themdeclared excruciatingly that they couldn't keep that up.     Now he was looking at a girl. She....     Maitland gritted his teeth and fought to use his brain; then he had it.     He thought of a fat slob of a bully who had beaten him up one dayafter school. He remembered a talk he had heard by a politician who hadall the intelligent social responsibility of a rogue gorilla, but nomore. He brooded over the damnable stupidity and short-sightedness ofSwarts in standing by his silly rules and not telling him about thisnew world.     Within a minute, he was in an ungovernable rage. His muscles tightenedagainst the restraining straps. He panted, sweat came out on hisforehead, and he began to curse. Swarts! How he hated....     The scene was suddenly a flock of sheep spread over a green hillside.There was blood hammering in Maitland's temples. His face felt hot andswollen and he writhed against the restraint of the straps.     The scene disappeared, the lenses of the projector retreated from hiseyes and Swarts was standing over him, white-lipped. Maitland swore athim for a few seconds, then relaxed and smiled weakly. His head wasstarting to ache from the effort of blinking.     What year is this? he asked.     All right, Swarts said. A.D. 2634.     Maitland's smile became a grin.  <doc-sep>I really haven't the time to waste talking irrelevancies, Swarts saida while later. Honestly. Maitland, I'm working against a time limit.If you'll cooperate, I'll tell Ching to answer your questions.'     Ching?     Ingrid Ching is the girl who has been bringing you your meals.     Maitland considered a moment, then nodded. Swarts lowered the projectorto his eyes again, and this time the engineer did not resist.     That evening, he could hardly wait for her to come. Too excited to sitand watch the sunset, he paced interminably about the room, sometimeswhistling nervously, snapping his fingers, sitting down and jitteringone leg. After a while he noticed that he was whistling the same themeover and over: a minute's thought identified it as that exuberantmounting phrase which recurs in the finale of Beethoven's NinthSymphony.     He forgot about it and went on whistling. He was picturing himselfaboard a ship dropping in toward Mars, making planetfall at SyrtisMajor; he was seeing visions of Venus and the awesome beauty of Saturn.In his mind, he circled the Moon, and viewed the Earth as a huge brightglobe against the constellations....     Finally the door slid aside and she appeared, carrying the usual trayof food. She smiled at him, making dimples in her golden skin andrevealing a perfect set of teeth, and put the tray on the table.     I think you are wonderful, she laughed. You get everything youwant, even from Swarts, and I have not been able to get even a littleof what I want from him. I want to travel in time, go back to your 20thCentury. And I wanted to talk with you, and he would not let me. Shelaughed again, hands on her rounded hips. I have never seen him soirritated as he was this noon.     Maitland urged her into the chair and sat down on the edge of the bed.Eagerly he asked, Why the devil do you want to go to the 20th Century?Believe me, I've been there, and what I've seen of this world looks alot better.     She shrugged. Swarts says that I want to go back to the Dark Age ofTechnology because I have not adapted well to modern culture. Myself,I think I have just a romantic nature. Far times and places look moreexciting....     How do you mean— Maitland wrinkled his brow—adapt to modernculture? Don't tell me      you're     from another time!     Oh, no! But my home is Aresund, a little fishing village at the headof a fiord in what you would call Norway. So far north, we are muchbehind the times. We live in the old way, from the sea, speak the oldtongue.  <doc-sep>Later, when that jewel of a planet had set and the stars were out,he lay on the bed, still warm with excitement and relief. He didn'thave to worry any more about military secrets, or who Swarts was.Those questions were irrelevant now. And now he could accept thepsychological tests at their face value; most likely, they were whatthey purported to be.     Only one question of importance remained:     What year was this?     He grimaced in the darkness, an involuntary muscular expression ofjubilation and excitement. The      future     ! Here was the opportunity forthe greatest adventure imaginable to 20th Century man.     Somewhere, out there under the stars, there must be grand glitteringcities and busy spaceports, roaring gateways to the planets.Somewhere, out there in the night, there must be men who had walkedbeside the Martian canals and pierced the shining cloud mantle ofVenus—somewhere, perhaps, men who had visited the distant luring starsand returned. Surely, a civilization that had developed time travelcould reach the stars!     And      he     had a chance to become a part of all that! He could spendhis life among the planets, a citizen of deep space, a voyager of thechallenging spaceways between the solar worlds.     I'm adaptable, he told himself gleefully. I can learn fast. There'llbe a job for me out there....       If—       Suddenly sobered, he rolled over and put his feet on the floor, satin the darkness thinking. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would have to find away of breaking down Swarts' reticence. He would have to make the manrealize that secrecy wasn't necessary in this case. And if Swarts stillwouldn't talk, he would have to find a way of forcing the issue. Thefellow had said that he didn't need cooperation to get his results,but—     After a while Maitland smiled to himself and went back to bed.  <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>  He had but one ambition, one desire: to pilot the first manned rocket to     the moon. And he was prepared as no man had ever prepared himself     before....      DESIRE NO MORE     by Algis Budrys     (      illustrated by Milton Luros     )           Desire no more than to thy lot may fall....          —Chaucer    <doc-sep>I didn't like the looks of the guy any more than the looks of theplace. I've been told you can supply me with a—     He coughed. Yes, yes. I understand. It might be possible. He fingeredhis mustache and regarded me from pouchy eyes. Busy executives oftencome to us to avoid the—ah—unpleasantness of formal arrangements.Naturally, we only act as agents, you might say. We never see themerchandise ourselves— He wiped his hands on his trousers. Now wereyou interested in the ordinary Utility model, Mr. Faircloth?     I assumed he was just being polite. You didn't come to the back doorfor Utility models.     Or perhaps you'd require one of our Deluxe models. Very carefulworkmanship. Only a few key Paralyzers in operation and practicallycomplete circuit duplication. Very useful for—ah—close contact work,you know. Social engagements, conferences—     I was shaking my head. I want a      Super     Deluxe model, I told him.     He grinned and winked. Ah, indeed! You want perfect duplication.Yes, indeed. Domestic situations can be—awkward, shall we say. Veryawkward—     I gave him a cold stare. I couldn't see where my domestic problems wereany affairs of his. He got the idea and hurried me back to a storeroom.     We keep a few blanks here for the basic measurement. You'll go to ourlaboratory on 14th Street to have the minute impressions taken. But Ican assure you you'll be delighted, simply delighted.     The blanks weren't very impressive—clay and putty and steel, faceless,brainless. He went over me like a tailor, checking measurements of allsorts. He was thorough—embarrassingly thorough, in fact—but finallyhe was finished. I went on to the laboratory.     And that was all there was to it.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What types of equipment and devices does Swarts utilize in the narrative of AMBITION?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of the Morgue Ship's storyline? [SEP] <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>Lethla half-crouched in the midst of the smell of death and thechugging of blood-pumps below. In the silence he reached up with quickfingers, tapped a tiny crystal stud upon the back of his head, and thehalves of a microscopically thin chrysalis parted transparently offof his face. He shucked it off, trailing air-tendrils that had beeninserted, hidden in the uniform, ending in thin globules of oxygen.     He spoke. Triumph warmed his crystal-thin voice. That's how I did it,Earthman.     Glassite! said Rice. A face-moulded mask of glassite!     Lethla nodded. His milk-blue eyes dilated. Very marvelously pared toan unbreakable thickness of one-thirtieth of an inch; worn only on thehead. You have to look quickly to notice it, and, unfortunately, viewedas you saw it, outside the ship, floating in the void, not discernibleat all.     Prickles of sweat appeared on Rice's face. He swore at the Venusian andthe Venusian laughed like some sort of stringed instrument, high andquick.     Burnett laughed, too. Ironically. First time in years a man ever cameaboard the Constellation alive. It's a welcome change.     Lethla showed his needle-like teeth. I thought it might be. Where'syour radio?     Go find it! snapped Rice, hotly.     I will. One hand, blue-veined, on the ladder-rungs, Lethla paused.I know you're weaponless; Purple Cross regulations. And this air-lockis safe. Don't move. Whispering, his naked feet padded white up theladder. Two long breaths later something crashed; metal and glass andcoils. The radio.     Burnett put his shoulder blades against the wall-metal, looking at hisfeet. When he glanced up, Rice's fresh, animated face was spoiled bythe new bitterness in it.     Lethla came down. Like a breath of air on the rungs.     He smiled. That's better. Now. We can talk—     Rice said it, slow:     Interplanetary law declares it straight, Lethla! Get out! Only deadmen belong here.     Lethla's gun grip tightened. More talk of that nature, and only deadmen there will be. He blinked. But first—we must rescue Kriere....     Kriere! Rice acted as if he had been hit in the jaw.     Burnett moved his tongue back and forth on his lips silently, his eyeslidded, listening to the two of them as if they were a radio drama.Lethla's voice came next:     Rather unfortunately, yes. He's still alive, heading toward Venusat an orbital velocity of two thousand m.p.h., wearing one of theseair-chrysali. Enough air for two more hours. Our flag ship was attackedunexpectedly yesterday near Mars. We were forced to take to thelife-boats, scattering, Kriere and I in one, the others sacrificingtheir lives to cover our escape. We were lucky. We got through theEarth cordon unseen. But luck can't last forever.     We saw your morgue ship an hour ago. It's a long, long way to Venus.We were running out of fuel, food, water. Radio was broken. Capturewas certain. You were coming our way; we took the chance. We set asmall time-bomb to destroy the life-rocket, and cast off, wearing ourchrysali-helmets. It was the first time we had ever tried using them totrick anyone. We knew you wouldn't know we were alive until it was toolate and we controlled your ship. We knew you picked up all bodies forbrief exams, returning alien corpses to space later.     Rice's voice was sullen. A set-up for you, huh? Traveling under theprotection of the Purple Cross you can get your damned All-Mighty safeto Venus.     Lethla bowed slightly. Who would suspect a Morgue Rocket of providingsafe hiding for precious Venusian cargo?     Precious is the word for you, brother! said Rice.     Enough! Lethla moved his gun several inches.     Accelerate toward Venus, mote-detectors wide open. Kriere must bepicked up—      now!       <doc-sep>  Morgue Ship     By RAY BRADBURY     This was Burnett's last trip. Three more     shelves to fill with space-slain warriors—and     he would be among the living again.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Summer 1944.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      He heard the star-port grind open, and the movement of the metal clawsgroping into space, and then the star-port closed.     There was another dead man aboard the      Constellation     .     Sam Burnett shook his long head, trying to think clearly. Pallid andquiet, three bodies lay on the cold transparent tables around him;machines stirred, revolved, hummed. He didn't see them. He didn't seeanything but a red haze over his mind. It blotted out the far wall ofthe laboratory where the shelves went up and down, numbered in scarlet,keeping the bodies of soldiers from all further harm.     Burnett didn't move. He stood there in his rumpled white surgicalgown, staring at his fingers gloved in bone-white rubber; feeling alltight and wild inside himself. It went on for days. Moving the ship.Opening the star-port. Extending the retriever claw. Plucking some poorwarrior's body out of the void.     He didn't like it any more. Ten years is too long to go back andforth from Earth to nowhere. You came out empty and you went backfull-cargoed with a lot of warriors who didn't laugh or talk or smoke,who just lay on their shelves, all one hundred of them, waiting for adecent burial.     Number ninety-eight. Coming matter of fact and slow, Rice's voicefrom the ceiling radio hit Burnett.     Number ninety-eight, Burnett repeated. Working on ninety-five,ninety-six and ninety-seven now. Blood-pumps, preservative, slightsurgery. Off a million miles away his voice was talking. It soundeddeep. It didn't belong to him anymore.     Rice said:     Boyohbody! Two more pick-ups and back to New York. Me for a ten-daydrunk!     Burnett peeled the gloves off his huge, red, soft hands, slapped theminto a floor incinerator mouth. Back to Earth. Then spin around andshoot right out again in the trail of the war-rockets that blasted oneanother in galactic fury, to sidle up behind gutted wrecks of ships,salvaging any bodies still intact after the conflict.     Two men. Rice and himself. Sharing a cozy morgue ship with a hundredother men who had forgotten, quite suddenly, however, to talk again.     Ten years of it. Every hour of those ten years eating like maggotsinside, working out to the surface of Burnett's face, working under thehusk of his starved eyes and starved limbs. Starved for life. Starvedfor action.     This would be his last trip, or he'd know the reason why!     Sam!     Burnett jerked. Rice's voice clipped through the drainage-preservativelab, bounded against glassite retorts, echoed from the refrigeratorshelves. Burnett stared at the tabled bodies as if they would leap tolife, even while preservative was being pumped into their veins.     Sam! On the double! Up the rungs!     Burnett closed his eyes and said a couple of words, firmly. Nothing wasworth running for any more. Another body. There had been one hundredthousand bodies preceding it. Nothing unusual about a body with bloodcooling in it.  <doc-sep>Tonight is our last night at      TheSpace Room     . Goon-Face is scowlingagain with the icy fury of aPlutonian monsoon. As Goon-Facehas said, No beeg feedle, no contract.     Without John, we're notes in alost chord.     We've searched everything, inhospitals, morgues, jails, night clubs,hotels. We've hounded spaceportsand 'copter terminals. Nowhere, nowhereis John Smith.     Ziggy, whose two fingers havehealed, has already bowed to whatseems inevitable. He's signed up forthat trip to Neptune's uraniumpits. There's plenty of room formore volunteers, he tells us. But Ispend my time cussing the guy whoforgot to set the force field at theother end of the hole and let Johnand his      Zloomph     back into his owntime dimension. I cuss harder whenI think how we were robbed of thebest bass player in the galaxy.     And without a corpus delecti wecan't even sue the city.       ... THE END    <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>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>Sam! Rice turned swiftly as Burnett dragged himself up the ladder.Red and warm, Rice's face hovered over the body of a sprawled enemyofficial. Take a look at this!     Burnett caught his breath. His eyes narrowed. There was something wrongwith the body; his experienced glance knew that. He didn't know what itwas.     Maybe it was because the body looked a little      too     dead.     Burnett didn't say anything, but he climbed the rest of the way,stood quietly in the grey-metal air-lock. The enemy official was asdelicately made as a fine white spider. Eyelids, closed, were faintlyblue. The hair was thin silken strands of pale gold, waved and pressedclose to a veined skull. Where the thin-lipped mouth fell open acluster of needle-tipped teeth glittered. The fragile body was enclosedcompletely in milk-pale syntha-silk, a holstered gun at the middle.     Burnett rubbed his jaw. Well?     Rice exploded. His eyes were hot in his young, sharp-cut face, hot andblack. Good Lord, Sam, do you know who this is?     Burnett scowled uneasily and said no.     It's Lethla! Rice retorted.     Burnett said, Lethla? And then: Oh, yes! Kriere's majordomo. Thatright?     Don't say it calm, Sam. Say it big. Say it big! If Lethla is here inspace, then Kriere's not far away from him!     Burnett shrugged. More bodies, more people, more war. What the hell.What the hell. He was tired. Talk about bodies and rulers to someoneelse.     Rice grabbed him by the shoulders. Snap out of it, Sam. Think!Kriere—The All-Mighty—in our territory. His right hand man dead. Thatmeans Kriere was in an accident, too!     Sam opened his thin lips and the words fell out all by themselves.Look, Rice, you're new at this game. I've been at it ever since theVenus-Earth mess started. It's been see-sawing back and forth since theday you played hookey in the tenth grade, and I've been in the thickof it. When there's nothing left but seared memories, I'll be prowlingthrough the void picking up warriors and taking them back to the goodgreen Earth. Grisly, yes, but it's routine.     As for Kriere—if he's anywhere around, he's smart. Every precautionis taken to protect that one.     But Lethla! His body must mean something!     And if it does? Have we got guns aboard this morgue-ship? Are we abattle-cuiser to go against him?     We'll radio for help?     Yeah? If there's a warship within our radio range, seven hundredthousand miles, we'll get it. Unfortunately, the tide of battle hasswept out past Earth in a new war concerning Io. That's out, Rice.     Rice stood about three inches below Sam Burnett's six-foot-one. Jawhard and determined, he stared at Sam, a funny light in his eyes. Hisfingers twitched all by themselves at his sides. His mouth twisted,You're one hell of a patriot, Sam Burnett!     Burnett reached out with one long finger, tapped it quietly on Rice'sbarrel-chest. Haul a cargo of corpses for three thousand nights anddays and see how patriotic you feel. All those fine muscled ladsbloated and crushed by space pressures and heat-blasts. Fine lads whostart out smiling and get the smile burned off down to the bone—     Burnett swallowed and didn't say anything more, but he closed his eyes.He stood there, smelling the death-odor in the hot air of the ship,hearing the chug-chug-chug of the blood pumps down below, and his ownheart waiting warm and heavy at the base of his throat.     This is my last cargo, Rice. I can't take it any longer. And I don'tcare much how I go back to earth. This Venusian here—what's his name?Lethla. He's number ninety-eight. Shove me into shelf ninety-ninebeside him and get the hell home. That's how I feel!     Rice was going to say something, but he didn't have time.     Lethla was alive.     He rose from the floor with slow, easy movements, almost like a dream.He didn't say anything. The heat-blast in his white fingers did all thenecessary talking. It didn't say anything either, but Burnett knew whatlanguage it would use if it had to.     Burnett swallowed hard. The body had looked funny. Too dead. Now heknew why. Involuntarily, Burnett moved forward. Lethla moved like apale spider, flicking his fragile arm to cover Burnett, the gun in itlike a dead cold star.     Rice sucked in his breath. Burnett forced himself to take it easy. Fromthe corners of his eyes he saw Rice's expression go deep and tight,biting lines into his sharp face.     Rice got it out, finally. How'd you do it? he demanded, bitterly.How'd you live in the void? It's impossible!     A crazy thought came ramming down and exploded in Burnett's head.      Younever catch up with the war!       But what if the war catches up with you?     What in hell would Lethla be wanting aboard a morgue ship?  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the Morgue Ship's storyline?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is Sam Burnett's occupation on the Morgue Ship? [SEP] <s>  Morgue Ship     By RAY BRADBURY     This was Burnett's last trip. Three more     shelves to fill with space-slain warriors—and     he would be among the living again.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Summer 1944.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      He heard the star-port grind open, and the movement of the metal clawsgroping into space, and then the star-port closed.     There was another dead man aboard the      Constellation     .     Sam Burnett shook his long head, trying to think clearly. Pallid andquiet, three bodies lay on the cold transparent tables around him;machines stirred, revolved, hummed. He didn't see them. He didn't seeanything but a red haze over his mind. It blotted out the far wall ofthe laboratory where the shelves went up and down, numbered in scarlet,keeping the bodies of soldiers from all further harm.     Burnett didn't move. He stood there in his rumpled white surgicalgown, staring at his fingers gloved in bone-white rubber; feeling alltight and wild inside himself. It went on for days. Moving the ship.Opening the star-port. Extending the retriever claw. Plucking some poorwarrior's body out of the void.     He didn't like it any more. Ten years is too long to go back andforth from Earth to nowhere. You came out empty and you went backfull-cargoed with a lot of warriors who didn't laugh or talk or smoke,who just lay on their shelves, all one hundred of them, waiting for adecent burial.     Number ninety-eight. Coming matter of fact and slow, Rice's voicefrom the ceiling radio hit Burnett.     Number ninety-eight, Burnett repeated. Working on ninety-five,ninety-six and ninety-seven now. Blood-pumps, preservative, slightsurgery. Off a million miles away his voice was talking. It soundeddeep. It didn't belong to him anymore.     Rice said:     Boyohbody! Two more pick-ups and back to New York. Me for a ten-daydrunk!     Burnett peeled the gloves off his huge, red, soft hands, slapped theminto a floor incinerator mouth. Back to Earth. Then spin around andshoot right out again in the trail of the war-rockets that blasted oneanother in galactic fury, to sidle up behind gutted wrecks of ships,salvaging any bodies still intact after the conflict.     Two men. Rice and himself. Sharing a cozy morgue ship with a hundredother men who had forgotten, quite suddenly, however, to talk again.     Ten years of it. Every hour of those ten years eating like maggotsinside, working out to the surface of Burnett's face, working under thehusk of his starved eyes and starved limbs. Starved for life. Starvedfor action.     This would be his last trip, or he'd know the reason why!     Sam!     Burnett jerked. Rice's voice clipped through the drainage-preservativelab, bounded against glassite retorts, echoed from the refrigeratorshelves. Burnett stared at the tabled bodies as if they would leap tolife, even while preservative was being pumped into their veins.     Sam! On the double! Up the rungs!     Burnett closed his eyes and said a couple of words, firmly. Nothing wasworth running for any more. Another body. There had been one hundredthousand bodies preceding it. Nothing unusual about a body with bloodcooling in it.  <doc-sep>Sam! Rice turned swiftly as Burnett dragged himself up the ladder.Red and warm, Rice's face hovered over the body of a sprawled enemyofficial. Take a look at this!     Burnett caught his breath. His eyes narrowed. There was something wrongwith the body; his experienced glance knew that. He didn't know what itwas.     Maybe it was because the body looked a little      too     dead.     Burnett didn't say anything, but he climbed the rest of the way,stood quietly in the grey-metal air-lock. The enemy official was asdelicately made as a fine white spider. Eyelids, closed, were faintlyblue. The hair was thin silken strands of pale gold, waved and pressedclose to a veined skull. Where the thin-lipped mouth fell open acluster of needle-tipped teeth glittered. The fragile body was enclosedcompletely in milk-pale syntha-silk, a holstered gun at the middle.     Burnett rubbed his jaw. Well?     Rice exploded. His eyes were hot in his young, sharp-cut face, hot andblack. Good Lord, Sam, do you know who this is?     Burnett scowled uneasily and said no.     It's Lethla! Rice retorted.     Burnett said, Lethla? And then: Oh, yes! Kriere's majordomo. Thatright?     Don't say it calm, Sam. Say it big. Say it big! If Lethla is here inspace, then Kriere's not far away from him!     Burnett shrugged. More bodies, more people, more war. What the hell.What the hell. He was tired. Talk about bodies and rulers to someoneelse.     Rice grabbed him by the shoulders. Snap out of it, Sam. Think!Kriere—The All-Mighty—in our territory. His right hand man dead. Thatmeans Kriere was in an accident, too!     Sam opened his thin lips and the words fell out all by themselves.Look, Rice, you're new at this game. I've been at it ever since theVenus-Earth mess started. It's been see-sawing back and forth since theday you played hookey in the tenth grade, and I've been in the thickof it. When there's nothing left but seared memories, I'll be prowlingthrough the void picking up warriors and taking them back to the goodgreen Earth. Grisly, yes, but it's routine.     As for Kriere—if he's anywhere around, he's smart. Every precautionis taken to protect that one.     But Lethla! His body must mean something!     And if it does? Have we got guns aboard this morgue-ship? Are we abattle-cuiser to go against him?     We'll radio for help?     Yeah? If there's a warship within our radio range, seven hundredthousand miles, we'll get it. Unfortunately, the tide of battle hasswept out past Earth in a new war concerning Io. That's out, Rice.     Rice stood about three inches below Sam Burnett's six-foot-one. Jawhard and determined, he stared at Sam, a funny light in his eyes. Hisfingers twitched all by themselves at his sides. His mouth twisted,You're one hell of a patriot, Sam Burnett!     Burnett reached out with one long finger, tapped it quietly on Rice'sbarrel-chest. Haul a cargo of corpses for three thousand nights anddays and see how patriotic you feel. All those fine muscled ladsbloated and crushed by space pressures and heat-blasts. Fine lads whostart out smiling and get the smile burned off down to the bone—     Burnett swallowed and didn't say anything more, but he closed his eyes.He stood there, smelling the death-odor in the hot air of the ship,hearing the chug-chug-chug of the blood pumps down below, and his ownheart waiting warm and heavy at the base of his throat.     This is my last cargo, Rice. I can't take it any longer. And I don'tcare much how I go back to earth. This Venusian here—what's his name?Lethla. He's number ninety-eight. Shove me into shelf ninety-ninebeside him and get the hell home. That's how I feel!     Rice was going to say something, but he didn't have time.     Lethla was alive.     He rose from the floor with slow, easy movements, almost like a dream.He didn't say anything. The heat-blast in his white fingers did all thenecessary talking. It didn't say anything either, but Burnett knew whatlanguage it would use if it had to.     Burnett swallowed hard. The body had looked funny. Too dead. Now heknew why. Involuntarily, Burnett moved forward. Lethla moved like apale spider, flicking his fragile arm to cover Burnett, the gun in itlike a dead cold star.     Rice sucked in his breath. Burnett forced himself to take it easy. Fromthe corners of his eyes he saw Rice's expression go deep and tight,biting lines into his sharp face.     Rice got it out, finally. How'd you do it? he demanded, bitterly.How'd you live in the void? It's impossible!     A crazy thought came ramming down and exploded in Burnett's head.      Younever catch up with the war!       But what if the war catches up with you?     What in hell would Lethla be wanting aboard a morgue ship?  <doc-sep>And the claw closed as Burnett spoke, closed slowly and certainly, allaround Kriere, crushing him into a ridiculous posture of silence. Therewas blood running on the claw, and the only recognizable part was thehead, which was carefully preserved for identification.     That was the only way to draw Lethla off guard.     Burnett spun about and leaped.     The horror on Lethla's face didn't go away as he fired his gun.     Rice came in fighting, too, but not before something like a red-hotramrod stabbed Sam Burnett, catching him in the ribs, spinning him backlike a drunken idiot to fall in a corner.     Fists made blunt flesh noises. Lethla went down, weaponless andscreaming. Rice kicked. After awhile Lethla quit screaming, and theroom swam around in Burnett's eyes, and he closed them tight andstarted laughing.     He didn't finish laughing for maybe ten minutes. He heard the retrieverclaws come inside, and the star-port grind shut.     Out of the red darkness, Rice's voice came and then he could see Rice'syoung face over him. Burnett groaned.     Rice said, Sam, you shouldn't have done it. You shouldn't have, Sam.     To hell with it. Burnett winced, and fought to keep his eyes open.Something wet and sticky covered his chest. I said this was my lasttrip and I meant it. One way or the other, I'd have quit!     This is the hard way—     Maybe. I dunno. Kind of nice to think of all those kids who'll neverhave to come aboard the      Constellation     , though, Rice. His voicetrailed off. You watch the shelves fill up and you never know who'llbe next. Who'd have thought, four days ago—     Something happened to his tongue so it felt like hard ice blocking hismouth. He had a lot more words to say, but only time to get a few ofthem out:     Rice?     Yeah, Sam?     We haven't got a full cargo, boy.     Full enough for me, sir.     But still not full. If we went back to Center Base without fillingthe shelves, it wouldn't be right. Look there—number ninety-eight isLethla—number ninety-nine is Kriere. Three thousand days of rollingthis rocket, and not once come back without a bunch of the kids whowant to sleep easy on the good green earth. Not right to be going backany way—but—the way—we used to—     His voice got all full of fog. As thick as the fists of a dozenwarriors. Rice was going away from him. Rice was standing still, andBurnett was lying down, not moving, but somehow Rice was going away amillion miles.     Ain't I one hell of a patriot, Rice?     Then everything got dark except Rice's face. And that was starting todissolve.     Ninety-eight: Lethla. Ninety-nine: Kriere.     He could still see Rice standing over him for a long time, breathingout and in. Down under the tables the blood-pumps pulsed and pulsed,thick and slow. Rice looked down at Burnett and then at the empty shelfat the far end of the room, and then back at Burnett again.     And then he said softly:           One hundred.        <doc-sep>Lethla half-crouched in the midst of the smell of death and thechugging of blood-pumps below. In the silence he reached up with quickfingers, tapped a tiny crystal stud upon the back of his head, and thehalves of a microscopically thin chrysalis parted transparently offof his face. He shucked it off, trailing air-tendrils that had beeninserted, hidden in the uniform, ending in thin globules of oxygen.     He spoke. Triumph warmed his crystal-thin voice. That's how I did it,Earthman.     Glassite! said Rice. A face-moulded mask of glassite!     Lethla nodded. His milk-blue eyes dilated. Very marvelously pared toan unbreakable thickness of one-thirtieth of an inch; worn only on thehead. You have to look quickly to notice it, and, unfortunately, viewedas you saw it, outside the ship, floating in the void, not discernibleat all.     Prickles of sweat appeared on Rice's face. He swore at the Venusian andthe Venusian laughed like some sort of stringed instrument, high andquick.     Burnett laughed, too. Ironically. First time in years a man ever cameaboard the Constellation alive. It's a welcome change.     Lethla showed his needle-like teeth. I thought it might be. Where'syour radio?     Go find it! snapped Rice, hotly.     I will. One hand, blue-veined, on the ladder-rungs, Lethla paused.I know you're weaponless; Purple Cross regulations. And this air-lockis safe. Don't move. Whispering, his naked feet padded white up theladder. Two long breaths later something crashed; metal and glass andcoils. The radio.     Burnett put his shoulder blades against the wall-metal, looking at hisfeet. When he glanced up, Rice's fresh, animated face was spoiled bythe new bitterness in it.     Lethla came down. Like a breath of air on the rungs.     He smiled. That's better. Now. We can talk—     Rice said it, slow:     Interplanetary law declares it straight, Lethla! Get out! Only deadmen belong here.     Lethla's gun grip tightened. More talk of that nature, and only deadmen there will be. He blinked. But first—we must rescue Kriere....     Kriere! Rice acted as if he had been hit in the jaw.     Burnett moved his tongue back and forth on his lips silently, his eyeslidded, listening to the two of them as if they were a radio drama.Lethla's voice came next:     Rather unfortunately, yes. He's still alive, heading toward Venusat an orbital velocity of two thousand m.p.h., wearing one of theseair-chrysali. Enough air for two more hours. Our flag ship was attackedunexpectedly yesterday near Mars. We were forced to take to thelife-boats, scattering, Kriere and I in one, the others sacrificingtheir lives to cover our escape. We were lucky. We got through theEarth cordon unseen. But luck can't last forever.     We saw your morgue ship an hour ago. It's a long, long way to Venus.We were running out of fuel, food, water. Radio was broken. Capturewas certain. You were coming our way; we took the chance. We set asmall time-bomb to destroy the life-rocket, and cast off, wearing ourchrysali-helmets. It was the first time we had ever tried using them totrick anyone. We knew you wouldn't know we were alive until it was toolate and we controlled your ship. We knew you picked up all bodies forbrief exams, returning alien corpses to space later.     Rice's voice was sullen. A set-up for you, huh? Traveling under theprotection of the Purple Cross you can get your damned All-Mighty safeto Venus.     Lethla bowed slightly. Who would suspect a Morgue Rocket of providingsafe hiding for precious Venusian cargo?     Precious is the word for you, brother! said Rice.     Enough! Lethla moved his gun several inches.     Accelerate toward Venus, mote-detectors wide open. Kriere must bepicked up—      now!       <doc-sep>Burnett cut. Kriere's milky face floated dreamily into a visual-screen,eyes sealed, lips gaping, hands sagging, clutching emptily at the stars.     We're about fifty miles from him, catching up. Burnett turned toLethla with an intent scowl. Funny. This was the first and the lasttime anybody would ever board the      Constellation     alive. His stomachwent flat, tautened with sudden weakening fear.     If Kriere could be captured, that meant the end of the war, the endof shelves stacked with sleeping warriors, the end of this blindsearching. Kriere, then, had to be taken aboard. After that—     Kriere, the All-Mighty. At whose behest all space had quivered likea smitten gong for part of a century. Kriere, revolving in his neat,water-blue uniform, emblems shining gold, heat-gun tucked in glossyjet holster. With Kriere aboard, chances of overcoming him would beeliminated. Now: Rice and Burnett against Lethla. Lethla favoredbecause of his gun.     Kriere would make odds impossible.     Something had to be done before Kriere came in.     Lethla had to be yanked off guard. Shocked, bewildered,fooled—somehow. But—how?     Burnett's jaw froze tight. He could feel a spot on his shoulder-bladewhere Lethla would send a bullet crashing into rib, sinew,artery—heart.     There was a way. And there was a weapon. And the war would be over andthis would be the last trip.     Sweat covered his palms in a nervous smear.     Steady, Rice, he said, matter of factly. With the rockets cut, therewas too much silence, and his voice sounded guilty standing up alone inthe center of that silence. Take controls, Rice. I'll manipulate thestar-port.     Burnett slipped from the control console. Rice replaced him grimly.Burnett strode to the next console of levers. That spot on his backkept aching like it was sear-branded X. For the place where the bulletsings and rips. And if you turn quick, catching it in the arm first,why—     Kriere loomed bigger, a white spider delicately dancing on a web ofstars. His eyes flicked open behind the glassite sheath, and saw the      Constellation     . Kriere smiled. His hands came up. He knew he was aboutto be rescued.     Burnett smiled right back at him. What Kriere didn't know was that hewas about to end a ten-years' war.     There was only      one     way of drawing Lethla off guard, and it had to befast.     Burnett jabbed a purple-topped stud. The star-port clashed open asit had done a thousand times before; but for the first time it was agood sound. And out of the star-port, at Sam Burnett's easily fingereddirections, slid the long claw-like mechanism that picked up bodiesfrom space.     Lethla watched, intent and cold and quiet. The gun was cold and quiet,too.     The claw glided toward Kriere without a sound, now, dream-like in itsslowness.     It reached Kriere.     Burnett inhaled a deep breath.     The metal claw cuddled Kriere in its shiny palm.       Lethla watched.     He watched while Burnett exhaled, touched another lever and said: Youknow, Lethla, there's an old saying that only dead men come aboard the      Constellation     . I believe it.  <doc-sep>Rice didn't move. Burnett moved first, feeling alive for the first timein years. Sure, said Sam, smiling. We'll pick him up.     No tricks, said Lethla.     Burnett scowled and smiled together. No tricks. You'll have Kriere onboard the      Constellation     in half an hour or I'm no coroner.     Follow me up the ladder.     Lethla danced up, turned, waved his gun. Come on.     Burnett went up, quick. Almost as if he enjoyed doing Lethla a favor.Rice grumbled and cursed after him.     On the way up, Burnett thought about it. About Lethla poised likea white feather at the top, holding death in his hand. You neverknew whose body would come in through the star-port next. Numberninety-eight was Lethla. Number ninety-nine would be Kriere.     There were two shelves numbered and empty. They should be filled. Andwhat more proper than that Kriere and Lethla should fill them? But, hechewed his lip, that would need a bit of doing. And even then the cargowouldn't be full. Still one more body to get; one hundred. And younever knew who it would be.     He came out of the quick thoughts when he looped his long leg overthe hole-rim, stepped up, faced Lethla in a cramped control room thatwas one glittering swirl of silver levers, audio-plates and visuals.Chronometers, clicking, told of the steady dropping toward the sun at aslow pace.     Burnett set his teeth together, bone against bone. Help Kriere escape?See him safely to Venus, and then be freed? Sounded easy, wouldn't behard. Venusians weren't blind with malice. Rice and he could come outalive; if they cooperated.     But there were a lot of warriors sleeping on a lot of numbered shelvesin the dim corridors of the long years. And their dead lips werestirring to life in Burnett's ears. Not so easily could they be ignored.       You may never catch up with the war again.       The last trip!     Yes, this could be it. Capture Kriere and end the war. But whatridiculous fantasy was it made him believe he could actually do it?     Two muscles moved on Burnett, one in each long cheek. The sag in hisbody vanished as he tautened his spine, flexed his lean-sinewed arms,wet thin lips.     Now, where do you want this crate? he asked Lethla easily.     Lethla exhaled softly. Cooperation. I like it. You're wise, Earthman.     Very, said Burnett.     He was thinking about three thousand eternal nights of young bodiesbeing ripped, slaughtered, flung to the vacuum tides. Ten years ofhating a job and hoping that some day there would be a last trip and itwould all be over.     Burnett laughed through his nose. Controls moved under his fingers likefluid; loved, caressed, tended by his familiar touching. Looking ahead,he squinted.     There's your Ruler now, Lethla. Doing somersaults. Looks dead. A goodtrick.     Cut power! We don't want to burn him!  <doc-sep>Opening the tube again would not have been difficult, but first it hadto be freed from under the ship. Kaiser had tried forcing the sheetmetal back into place with a small crowbar—the best leverage he had onhand—but it resisted his best efforts. He still could think of no wayto do the job, simple as it was, though he gave his concentration to itthe rest of the day.     That evening, Kaiser received information from the      Soscites II     thatwas at least definite:     SET YOURSELF FOR A SHOCK, SMOKY. SAM FINALLY CAME THROUGH. YOU WON'TLIKE WHAT YOU HEAR. AT LEAST NOT AT FIRST. BUT IT COULD BE WORSE. YOUHAVE BEEN INVADED BY A SYMBIOTE—SIMILAR TO THE TYPE FOUND ON THE SANDWORLD, BARTEL-BLEETHERS. GIVE US A FEW MORE HOURS TO WORK WITH SAM ANDWE'LL GET YOU ALL THE PARTICULARS HE CAN GIVE US. HANG ON NOW!     SOSCITES II     Kaiser's reply was short and succinct:     WHAT THE HELL?     SMOKY       Soscites II's     next communication followed within twenty minutes andwas signed by the ship's doctor:     JUST A FEW WORDS, SMOKY, IN CASE YOU'RE WORRIED. I THOUGHT I'D GETTHIS OFF WHILE WE'RE WAITING FOR MORE INFORMATION FROM SAM. REMEMBERTHAT A SYMBIOTE IS NOT A PARASITE. IT WILL NOT HARM YOU, EXCEPTINADVERTENTLY. YOUR WELFARE IS AS ESSENTIAL TO IT AS TO YOU. ALMOSTCERTAINLY, IF YOU DIE, IT WILL DIE WITH YOU. ANY TROUBLE YOU'VE HADSO FAR WAS PROBABLY CAUSED BY THE SYMBIOTE'S DIFFICULTY IN ADJUSTINGITSELF TO ITS NEW ENVIRONMENT. IN A WAY, I ENVY YOU. MORE LATER, WHENWE FINISH WITH SAM.     J. G. ZARWELL     Kaiser did not answer. The news was so startling, so unforeseen, thathis mind refused to accept the actuality. He lay on the scout's bunkand stared at the ceiling without conscious attention, and with verylittle clear thought, for several hours—until the next communicationcame in:     WELL, THIS IS WHAT SAM HAS TO SAY, SMOKY. SYMBIOTE AMICABLE ANDAPPARENTLY SWIFTLY ADAPTABLE. YOUR CHANGING COLOR, DIFFICULTY INEATING AND EVEN BABY TALK WERE THE RESULT OF ITS EFFORTS TO GIVE YOUWHAT IT BELIEVED YOU NEEDED OR WANTED.     CHANGING COLOR: PROTECTIVE CAMOUFLAGE. TROUBLE KEEPING FOOD DOWN: ITKEPT YOUR STOMACH EMPTY BECAUSE IT SENSED YOU WERE IN TROUBLE ANDMIGHT HAVE NEED FOR SHARP REFLEXES, WITH NO EXCESS WEIGHT TO CARRY.THE BABY TALK WE AREN'T TOO CERTAIN ABOUT, BUT OUR BEST CONCLUSION ISTHAT WHEN YOU WERE A CHILD, YOU WERE MOST HAPPY. IT WAS TRYING TO GIVEYOU BACK THAT HAPPY STATE OF MIND. OBVIOUSLY IT QUICKLY RECOGNIZEDTHE MISTAKES IT MADE AND CORRECTED THEM.     SAM CAME UP WITH A FEW MORE IDEAS, BUT WE WANT TO WORK ON THEM A BITBEFORE WE SEND THEM THROUGH. SLEEP ON THIS.     SS II  <doc-sep>Tonight is our last night at      TheSpace Room     . Goon-Face is scowlingagain with the icy fury of aPlutonian monsoon. As Goon-Facehas said, No beeg feedle, no contract.     Without John, we're notes in alost chord.     We've searched everything, inhospitals, morgues, jails, night clubs,hotels. We've hounded spaceportsand 'copter terminals. Nowhere, nowhereis John Smith.     Ziggy, whose two fingers havehealed, has already bowed to whatseems inevitable. He's signed up forthat trip to Neptune's uraniumpits. There's plenty of room formore volunteers, he tells us. But Ispend my time cussing the guy whoforgot to set the force field at theother end of the hole and let Johnand his      Zloomph     back into his owntime dimension. I cuss harder whenI think how we were robbed of thebest bass player in the galaxy.     And without a corpus delecti wecan't even sue the city.       ... THE END    <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is Sam Burnett's occupation on the Morgue Ship?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What are Sam Burnett's thoughts on his occupation while working on the Morgue Ship? [SEP] <s>  Morgue Ship     By RAY BRADBURY     This was Burnett's last trip. Three more     shelves to fill with space-slain warriors—and     he would be among the living again.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Summer 1944.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      He heard the star-port grind open, and the movement of the metal clawsgroping into space, and then the star-port closed.     There was another dead man aboard the      Constellation     .     Sam Burnett shook his long head, trying to think clearly. Pallid andquiet, three bodies lay on the cold transparent tables around him;machines stirred, revolved, hummed. He didn't see them. He didn't seeanything but a red haze over his mind. It blotted out the far wall ofthe laboratory where the shelves went up and down, numbered in scarlet,keeping the bodies of soldiers from all further harm.     Burnett didn't move. He stood there in his rumpled white surgicalgown, staring at his fingers gloved in bone-white rubber; feeling alltight and wild inside himself. It went on for days. Moving the ship.Opening the star-port. Extending the retriever claw. Plucking some poorwarrior's body out of the void.     He didn't like it any more. Ten years is too long to go back andforth from Earth to nowhere. You came out empty and you went backfull-cargoed with a lot of warriors who didn't laugh or talk or smoke,who just lay on their shelves, all one hundred of them, waiting for adecent burial.     Number ninety-eight. Coming matter of fact and slow, Rice's voicefrom the ceiling radio hit Burnett.     Number ninety-eight, Burnett repeated. Working on ninety-five,ninety-six and ninety-seven now. Blood-pumps, preservative, slightsurgery. Off a million miles away his voice was talking. It soundeddeep. It didn't belong to him anymore.     Rice said:     Boyohbody! Two more pick-ups and back to New York. Me for a ten-daydrunk!     Burnett peeled the gloves off his huge, red, soft hands, slapped theminto a floor incinerator mouth. Back to Earth. Then spin around andshoot right out again in the trail of the war-rockets that blasted oneanother in galactic fury, to sidle up behind gutted wrecks of ships,salvaging any bodies still intact after the conflict.     Two men. Rice and himself. Sharing a cozy morgue ship with a hundredother men who had forgotten, quite suddenly, however, to talk again.     Ten years of it. Every hour of those ten years eating like maggotsinside, working out to the surface of Burnett's face, working under thehusk of his starved eyes and starved limbs. Starved for life. Starvedfor action.     This would be his last trip, or he'd know the reason why!     Sam!     Burnett jerked. Rice's voice clipped through the drainage-preservativelab, bounded against glassite retorts, echoed from the refrigeratorshelves. Burnett stared at the tabled bodies as if they would leap tolife, even while preservative was being pumped into their veins.     Sam! On the double! Up the rungs!     Burnett closed his eyes and said a couple of words, firmly. Nothing wasworth running for any more. Another body. There had been one hundredthousand bodies preceding it. Nothing unusual about a body with bloodcooling in it.  <doc-sep>Sam! Rice turned swiftly as Burnett dragged himself up the ladder.Red and warm, Rice's face hovered over the body of a sprawled enemyofficial. Take a look at this!     Burnett caught his breath. His eyes narrowed. There was something wrongwith the body; his experienced glance knew that. He didn't know what itwas.     Maybe it was because the body looked a little      too     dead.     Burnett didn't say anything, but he climbed the rest of the way,stood quietly in the grey-metal air-lock. The enemy official was asdelicately made as a fine white spider. Eyelids, closed, were faintlyblue. The hair was thin silken strands of pale gold, waved and pressedclose to a veined skull. Where the thin-lipped mouth fell open acluster of needle-tipped teeth glittered. The fragile body was enclosedcompletely in milk-pale syntha-silk, a holstered gun at the middle.     Burnett rubbed his jaw. Well?     Rice exploded. His eyes were hot in his young, sharp-cut face, hot andblack. Good Lord, Sam, do you know who this is?     Burnett scowled uneasily and said no.     It's Lethla! Rice retorted.     Burnett said, Lethla? And then: Oh, yes! Kriere's majordomo. Thatright?     Don't say it calm, Sam. Say it big. Say it big! If Lethla is here inspace, then Kriere's not far away from him!     Burnett shrugged. More bodies, more people, more war. What the hell.What the hell. He was tired. Talk about bodies and rulers to someoneelse.     Rice grabbed him by the shoulders. Snap out of it, Sam. Think!Kriere—The All-Mighty—in our territory. His right hand man dead. Thatmeans Kriere was in an accident, too!     Sam opened his thin lips and the words fell out all by themselves.Look, Rice, you're new at this game. I've been at it ever since theVenus-Earth mess started. It's been see-sawing back and forth since theday you played hookey in the tenth grade, and I've been in the thickof it. When there's nothing left but seared memories, I'll be prowlingthrough the void picking up warriors and taking them back to the goodgreen Earth. Grisly, yes, but it's routine.     As for Kriere—if he's anywhere around, he's smart. Every precautionis taken to protect that one.     But Lethla! His body must mean something!     And if it does? Have we got guns aboard this morgue-ship? Are we abattle-cuiser to go against him?     We'll radio for help?     Yeah? If there's a warship within our radio range, seven hundredthousand miles, we'll get it. Unfortunately, the tide of battle hasswept out past Earth in a new war concerning Io. That's out, Rice.     Rice stood about three inches below Sam Burnett's six-foot-one. Jawhard and determined, he stared at Sam, a funny light in his eyes. Hisfingers twitched all by themselves at his sides. His mouth twisted,You're one hell of a patriot, Sam Burnett!     Burnett reached out with one long finger, tapped it quietly on Rice'sbarrel-chest. Haul a cargo of corpses for three thousand nights anddays and see how patriotic you feel. All those fine muscled ladsbloated and crushed by space pressures and heat-blasts. Fine lads whostart out smiling and get the smile burned off down to the bone—     Burnett swallowed and didn't say anything more, but he closed his eyes.He stood there, smelling the death-odor in the hot air of the ship,hearing the chug-chug-chug of the blood pumps down below, and his ownheart waiting warm and heavy at the base of his throat.     This is my last cargo, Rice. I can't take it any longer. And I don'tcare much how I go back to earth. This Venusian here—what's his name?Lethla. He's number ninety-eight. Shove me into shelf ninety-ninebeside him and get the hell home. That's how I feel!     Rice was going to say something, but he didn't have time.     Lethla was alive.     He rose from the floor with slow, easy movements, almost like a dream.He didn't say anything. The heat-blast in his white fingers did all thenecessary talking. It didn't say anything either, but Burnett knew whatlanguage it would use if it had to.     Burnett swallowed hard. The body had looked funny. Too dead. Now heknew why. Involuntarily, Burnett moved forward. Lethla moved like apale spider, flicking his fragile arm to cover Burnett, the gun in itlike a dead cold star.     Rice sucked in his breath. Burnett forced himself to take it easy. Fromthe corners of his eyes he saw Rice's expression go deep and tight,biting lines into his sharp face.     Rice got it out, finally. How'd you do it? he demanded, bitterly.How'd you live in the void? It's impossible!     A crazy thought came ramming down and exploded in Burnett's head.      Younever catch up with the war!       But what if the war catches up with you?     What in hell would Lethla be wanting aboard a morgue ship?  <doc-sep>And the claw closed as Burnett spoke, closed slowly and certainly, allaround Kriere, crushing him into a ridiculous posture of silence. Therewas blood running on the claw, and the only recognizable part was thehead, which was carefully preserved for identification.     That was the only way to draw Lethla off guard.     Burnett spun about and leaped.     The horror on Lethla's face didn't go away as he fired his gun.     Rice came in fighting, too, but not before something like a red-hotramrod stabbed Sam Burnett, catching him in the ribs, spinning him backlike a drunken idiot to fall in a corner.     Fists made blunt flesh noises. Lethla went down, weaponless andscreaming. Rice kicked. After awhile Lethla quit screaming, and theroom swam around in Burnett's eyes, and he closed them tight andstarted laughing.     He didn't finish laughing for maybe ten minutes. He heard the retrieverclaws come inside, and the star-port grind shut.     Out of the red darkness, Rice's voice came and then he could see Rice'syoung face over him. Burnett groaned.     Rice said, Sam, you shouldn't have done it. You shouldn't have, Sam.     To hell with it. Burnett winced, and fought to keep his eyes open.Something wet and sticky covered his chest. I said this was my lasttrip and I meant it. One way or the other, I'd have quit!     This is the hard way—     Maybe. I dunno. Kind of nice to think of all those kids who'll neverhave to come aboard the      Constellation     , though, Rice. His voicetrailed off. You watch the shelves fill up and you never know who'llbe next. Who'd have thought, four days ago—     Something happened to his tongue so it felt like hard ice blocking hismouth. He had a lot more words to say, but only time to get a few ofthem out:     Rice?     Yeah, Sam?     We haven't got a full cargo, boy.     Full enough for me, sir.     But still not full. If we went back to Center Base without fillingthe shelves, it wouldn't be right. Look there—number ninety-eight isLethla—number ninety-nine is Kriere. Three thousand days of rollingthis rocket, and not once come back without a bunch of the kids whowant to sleep easy on the good green earth. Not right to be going backany way—but—the way—we used to—     His voice got all full of fog. As thick as the fists of a dozenwarriors. Rice was going away from him. Rice was standing still, andBurnett was lying down, not moving, but somehow Rice was going away amillion miles.     Ain't I one hell of a patriot, Rice?     Then everything got dark except Rice's face. And that was starting todissolve.     Ninety-eight: Lethla. Ninety-nine: Kriere.     He could still see Rice standing over him for a long time, breathingout and in. Down under the tables the blood-pumps pulsed and pulsed,thick and slow. Rice looked down at Burnett and then at the empty shelfat the far end of the room, and then back at Burnett again.     And then he said softly:           One hundred.        <doc-sep>Lethla half-crouched in the midst of the smell of death and thechugging of blood-pumps below. In the silence he reached up with quickfingers, tapped a tiny crystal stud upon the back of his head, and thehalves of a microscopically thin chrysalis parted transparently offof his face. He shucked it off, trailing air-tendrils that had beeninserted, hidden in the uniform, ending in thin globules of oxygen.     He spoke. Triumph warmed his crystal-thin voice. That's how I did it,Earthman.     Glassite! said Rice. A face-moulded mask of glassite!     Lethla nodded. His milk-blue eyes dilated. Very marvelously pared toan unbreakable thickness of one-thirtieth of an inch; worn only on thehead. You have to look quickly to notice it, and, unfortunately, viewedas you saw it, outside the ship, floating in the void, not discernibleat all.     Prickles of sweat appeared on Rice's face. He swore at the Venusian andthe Venusian laughed like some sort of stringed instrument, high andquick.     Burnett laughed, too. Ironically. First time in years a man ever cameaboard the Constellation alive. It's a welcome change.     Lethla showed his needle-like teeth. I thought it might be. Where'syour radio?     Go find it! snapped Rice, hotly.     I will. One hand, blue-veined, on the ladder-rungs, Lethla paused.I know you're weaponless; Purple Cross regulations. And this air-lockis safe. Don't move. Whispering, his naked feet padded white up theladder. Two long breaths later something crashed; metal and glass andcoils. The radio.     Burnett put his shoulder blades against the wall-metal, looking at hisfeet. When he glanced up, Rice's fresh, animated face was spoiled bythe new bitterness in it.     Lethla came down. Like a breath of air on the rungs.     He smiled. That's better. Now. We can talk—     Rice said it, slow:     Interplanetary law declares it straight, Lethla! Get out! Only deadmen belong here.     Lethla's gun grip tightened. More talk of that nature, and only deadmen there will be. He blinked. But first—we must rescue Kriere....     Kriere! Rice acted as if he had been hit in the jaw.     Burnett moved his tongue back and forth on his lips silently, his eyeslidded, listening to the two of them as if they were a radio drama.Lethla's voice came next:     Rather unfortunately, yes. He's still alive, heading toward Venusat an orbital velocity of two thousand m.p.h., wearing one of theseair-chrysali. Enough air for two more hours. Our flag ship was attackedunexpectedly yesterday near Mars. We were forced to take to thelife-boats, scattering, Kriere and I in one, the others sacrificingtheir lives to cover our escape. We were lucky. We got through theEarth cordon unseen. But luck can't last forever.     We saw your morgue ship an hour ago. It's a long, long way to Venus.We were running out of fuel, food, water. Radio was broken. Capturewas certain. You were coming our way; we took the chance. We set asmall time-bomb to destroy the life-rocket, and cast off, wearing ourchrysali-helmets. It was the first time we had ever tried using them totrick anyone. We knew you wouldn't know we were alive until it was toolate and we controlled your ship. We knew you picked up all bodies forbrief exams, returning alien corpses to space later.     Rice's voice was sullen. A set-up for you, huh? Traveling under theprotection of the Purple Cross you can get your damned All-Mighty safeto Venus.     Lethla bowed slightly. Who would suspect a Morgue Rocket of providingsafe hiding for precious Venusian cargo?     Precious is the word for you, brother! said Rice.     Enough! Lethla moved his gun several inches.     Accelerate toward Venus, mote-detectors wide open. Kriere must bepicked up—      now!       <doc-sep>Rice didn't move. Burnett moved first, feeling alive for the first timein years. Sure, said Sam, smiling. We'll pick him up.     No tricks, said Lethla.     Burnett scowled and smiled together. No tricks. You'll have Kriere onboard the      Constellation     in half an hour or I'm no coroner.     Follow me up the ladder.     Lethla danced up, turned, waved his gun. Come on.     Burnett went up, quick. Almost as if he enjoyed doing Lethla a favor.Rice grumbled and cursed after him.     On the way up, Burnett thought about it. About Lethla poised likea white feather at the top, holding death in his hand. You neverknew whose body would come in through the star-port next. Numberninety-eight was Lethla. Number ninety-nine would be Kriere.     There were two shelves numbered and empty. They should be filled. Andwhat more proper than that Kriere and Lethla should fill them? But, hechewed his lip, that would need a bit of doing. And even then the cargowouldn't be full. Still one more body to get; one hundred. And younever knew who it would be.     He came out of the quick thoughts when he looped his long leg overthe hole-rim, stepped up, faced Lethla in a cramped control room thatwas one glittering swirl of silver levers, audio-plates and visuals.Chronometers, clicking, told of the steady dropping toward the sun at aslow pace.     Burnett set his teeth together, bone against bone. Help Kriere escape?See him safely to Venus, and then be freed? Sounded easy, wouldn't behard. Venusians weren't blind with malice. Rice and he could come outalive; if they cooperated.     But there were a lot of warriors sleeping on a lot of numbered shelvesin the dim corridors of the long years. And their dead lips werestirring to life in Burnett's ears. Not so easily could they be ignored.       You may never catch up with the war again.       The last trip!     Yes, this could be it. Capture Kriere and end the war. But whatridiculous fantasy was it made him believe he could actually do it?     Two muscles moved on Burnett, one in each long cheek. The sag in hisbody vanished as he tautened his spine, flexed his lean-sinewed arms,wet thin lips.     Now, where do you want this crate? he asked Lethla easily.     Lethla exhaled softly. Cooperation. I like it. You're wise, Earthman.     Very, said Burnett.     He was thinking about three thousand eternal nights of young bodiesbeing ripped, slaughtered, flung to the vacuum tides. Ten years ofhating a job and hoping that some day there would be a last trip and itwould all be over.     Burnett laughed through his nose. Controls moved under his fingers likefluid; loved, caressed, tended by his familiar touching. Looking ahead,he squinted.     There's your Ruler now, Lethla. Doing somersaults. Looks dead. A goodtrick.     Cut power! We don't want to burn him!  <doc-sep>Burnett cut. Kriere's milky face floated dreamily into a visual-screen,eyes sealed, lips gaping, hands sagging, clutching emptily at the stars.     We're about fifty miles from him, catching up. Burnett turned toLethla with an intent scowl. Funny. This was the first and the lasttime anybody would ever board the      Constellation     alive. His stomachwent flat, tautened with sudden weakening fear.     If Kriere could be captured, that meant the end of the war, the endof shelves stacked with sleeping warriors, the end of this blindsearching. Kriere, then, had to be taken aboard. After that—     Kriere, the All-Mighty. At whose behest all space had quivered likea smitten gong for part of a century. Kriere, revolving in his neat,water-blue uniform, emblems shining gold, heat-gun tucked in glossyjet holster. With Kriere aboard, chances of overcoming him would beeliminated. Now: Rice and Burnett against Lethla. Lethla favoredbecause of his gun.     Kriere would make odds impossible.     Something had to be done before Kriere came in.     Lethla had to be yanked off guard. Shocked, bewildered,fooled—somehow. But—how?     Burnett's jaw froze tight. He could feel a spot on his shoulder-bladewhere Lethla would send a bullet crashing into rib, sinew,artery—heart.     There was a way. And there was a weapon. And the war would be over andthis would be the last trip.     Sweat covered his palms in a nervous smear.     Steady, Rice, he said, matter of factly. With the rockets cut, therewas too much silence, and his voice sounded guilty standing up alone inthe center of that silence. Take controls, Rice. I'll manipulate thestar-port.     Burnett slipped from the control console. Rice replaced him grimly.Burnett strode to the next console of levers. That spot on his backkept aching like it was sear-branded X. For the place where the bulletsings and rips. And if you turn quick, catching it in the arm first,why—     Kriere loomed bigger, a white spider delicately dancing on a web ofstars. His eyes flicked open behind the glassite sheath, and saw the      Constellation     . Kriere smiled. His hands came up. He knew he was aboutto be rescued.     Burnett smiled right back at him. What Kriere didn't know was that hewas about to end a ten-years' war.     There was only      one     way of drawing Lethla off guard, and it had to befast.     Burnett jabbed a purple-topped stud. The star-port clashed open asit had done a thousand times before; but for the first time it was agood sound. And out of the star-port, at Sam Burnett's easily fingereddirections, slid the long claw-like mechanism that picked up bodiesfrom space.     Lethla watched, intent and cold and quiet. The gun was cold and quiet,too.     The claw glided toward Kriere without a sound, now, dream-like in itsslowness.     It reached Kriere.     Burnett inhaled a deep breath.     The metal claw cuddled Kriere in its shiny palm.       Lethla watched.     He watched while Burnett exhaled, touched another lever and said: Youknow, Lethla, there's an old saying that only dead men come aboard the      Constellation     . I believe it.  <doc-sep>Opening the tube again would not have been difficult, but first it hadto be freed from under the ship. Kaiser had tried forcing the sheetmetal back into place with a small crowbar—the best leverage he had onhand—but it resisted his best efforts. He still could think of no wayto do the job, simple as it was, though he gave his concentration to itthe rest of the day.     That evening, Kaiser received information from the      Soscites II     thatwas at least definite:     SET YOURSELF FOR A SHOCK, SMOKY. SAM FINALLY CAME THROUGH. YOU WON'TLIKE WHAT YOU HEAR. AT LEAST NOT AT FIRST. BUT IT COULD BE WORSE. YOUHAVE BEEN INVADED BY A SYMBIOTE—SIMILAR TO THE TYPE FOUND ON THE SANDWORLD, BARTEL-BLEETHERS. GIVE US A FEW MORE HOURS TO WORK WITH SAM ANDWE'LL GET YOU ALL THE PARTICULARS HE CAN GIVE US. HANG ON NOW!     SOSCITES II     Kaiser's reply was short and succinct:     WHAT THE HELL?     SMOKY       Soscites II's     next communication followed within twenty minutes andwas signed by the ship's doctor:     JUST A FEW WORDS, SMOKY, IN CASE YOU'RE WORRIED. I THOUGHT I'D GETTHIS OFF WHILE WE'RE WAITING FOR MORE INFORMATION FROM SAM. REMEMBERTHAT A SYMBIOTE IS NOT A PARASITE. IT WILL NOT HARM YOU, EXCEPTINADVERTENTLY. YOUR WELFARE IS AS ESSENTIAL TO IT AS TO YOU. ALMOSTCERTAINLY, IF YOU DIE, IT WILL DIE WITH YOU. ANY TROUBLE YOU'VE HADSO FAR WAS PROBABLY CAUSED BY THE SYMBIOTE'S DIFFICULTY IN ADJUSTINGITSELF TO ITS NEW ENVIRONMENT. IN A WAY, I ENVY YOU. MORE LATER, WHENWE FINISH WITH SAM.     J. G. ZARWELL     Kaiser did not answer. The news was so startling, so unforeseen, thathis mind refused to accept the actuality. He lay on the scout's bunkand stared at the ceiling without conscious attention, and with verylittle clear thought, for several hours—until the next communicationcame in:     WELL, THIS IS WHAT SAM HAS TO SAY, SMOKY. SYMBIOTE AMICABLE ANDAPPARENTLY SWIFTLY ADAPTABLE. YOUR CHANGING COLOR, DIFFICULTY INEATING AND EVEN BABY TALK WERE THE RESULT OF ITS EFFORTS TO GIVE YOUWHAT IT BELIEVED YOU NEEDED OR WANTED.     CHANGING COLOR: PROTECTIVE CAMOUFLAGE. TROUBLE KEEPING FOOD DOWN: ITKEPT YOUR STOMACH EMPTY BECAUSE IT SENSED YOU WERE IN TROUBLE ANDMIGHT HAVE NEED FOR SHARP REFLEXES, WITH NO EXCESS WEIGHT TO CARRY.THE BABY TALK WE AREN'T TOO CERTAIN ABOUT, BUT OUR BEST CONCLUSION ISTHAT WHEN YOU WERE A CHILD, YOU WERE MOST HAPPY. IT WAS TRYING TO GIVEYOU BACK THAT HAPPY STATE OF MIND. OBVIOUSLY IT QUICKLY RECOGNIZEDTHE MISTAKES IT MADE AND CORRECTED THEM.     SAM CAME UP WITH A FEW MORE IDEAS, BUT WE WANT TO WORK ON THEM A BITBEFORE WE SEND THEM THROUGH. SLEEP ON THIS.     SS II  <doc-sep>She glanced down at the data. Denton Cassal, native of Earth.Destination, Tunney 21. She looked up at him. Occupation, salesengineer. Isn't that an odd combination? Her smile was quite superior.     Not at all. Scientific training as an engineer. Special knowledge ofcustomer relations.     Special knowledge of a thousand races? How convenient. Her eyebrowsarched.     I think so, he agreed blandly. Anything else you'd like to know?     Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you.     He could believe that or not as he wished. He didn't.     You refused to answer why you were going to Tunney 21. Perhaps I canguess. They're the best scientists in the Galaxy. You wish to studyunder them.     Close—but wrong on two counts. They were good scientists, though notnecessarily the best. For instance, it was doubtful that they couldbuild Dimanche, even if they had ever thought of it, which was evenless likely.     There was, however, one relatively obscure research worker on Tunney 21that Neuronics wanted on their staff. If the fragments of his studiesthat had reached Earth across the vast distance meant anything, hecould help Neuronics perfect instantaneous radio. The company thatcould build a radio to span the reaches of the Galaxy with no time lagcould set its own price, which could be control of all communications,transport, trade—a galactic monopoly. Cassal's share would be a cut ofall that.     His part was simple, on the surface. He was to persuade that researcherto come to Earth,      if he could     . Literally, he had to guess theTunnesian's price before the Tunnesian himself knew it. In addition,the reputation of Tunnesian scientists being exceeded only by theirarrogance, Cassal had to convince him that he wouldn't be workingfor ignorant Earth savages. The existence of such an instrument asDimanche was a key factor.     Her voice broke through his thoughts. Now, then, what's your problem?     I was told on Earth I might have to wait a few days on Godolph. I'vebeen here three weeks. I want information on the ship bound for Tunney21.     Just a moment. She glanced at something below the angle of thescreen. She looked up and her eyes were grave.       Rickrock C     arrivedyesterday. Departed for Tunney early this morning.     Departed? He got up and sat down again, swallowing hard. When willthe next ship arrive?     Do you know how many stars there are in the Galaxy? she asked.     He didn't answer.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What are Sam Burnett's thoughts on his occupation while working on the Morgue Ship?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the location where the events of Morgue Ship take place? [SEP] <s>  Morgue Ship     By RAY BRADBURY     This was Burnett's last trip. Three more     shelves to fill with space-slain warriors—and     he would be among the living again.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Summer 1944.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      He heard the star-port grind open, and the movement of the metal clawsgroping into space, and then the star-port closed.     There was another dead man aboard the      Constellation     .     Sam Burnett shook his long head, trying to think clearly. Pallid andquiet, three bodies lay on the cold transparent tables around him;machines stirred, revolved, hummed. He didn't see them. He didn't seeanything but a red haze over his mind. It blotted out the far wall ofthe laboratory where the shelves went up and down, numbered in scarlet,keeping the bodies of soldiers from all further harm.     Burnett didn't move. He stood there in his rumpled white surgicalgown, staring at his fingers gloved in bone-white rubber; feeling alltight and wild inside himself. It went on for days. Moving the ship.Opening the star-port. Extending the retriever claw. Plucking some poorwarrior's body out of the void.     He didn't like it any more. Ten years is too long to go back andforth from Earth to nowhere. You came out empty and you went backfull-cargoed with a lot of warriors who didn't laugh or talk or smoke,who just lay on their shelves, all one hundred of them, waiting for adecent burial.     Number ninety-eight. Coming matter of fact and slow, Rice's voicefrom the ceiling radio hit Burnett.     Number ninety-eight, Burnett repeated. Working on ninety-five,ninety-six and ninety-seven now. Blood-pumps, preservative, slightsurgery. Off a million miles away his voice was talking. It soundeddeep. It didn't belong to him anymore.     Rice said:     Boyohbody! Two more pick-ups and back to New York. Me for a ten-daydrunk!     Burnett peeled the gloves off his huge, red, soft hands, slapped theminto a floor incinerator mouth. Back to Earth. Then spin around andshoot right out again in the trail of the war-rockets that blasted oneanother in galactic fury, to sidle up behind gutted wrecks of ships,salvaging any bodies still intact after the conflict.     Two men. Rice and himself. Sharing a cozy morgue ship with a hundredother men who had forgotten, quite suddenly, however, to talk again.     Ten years of it. Every hour of those ten years eating like maggotsinside, working out to the surface of Burnett's face, working under thehusk of his starved eyes and starved limbs. Starved for life. Starvedfor action.     This would be his last trip, or he'd know the reason why!     Sam!     Burnett jerked. Rice's voice clipped through the drainage-preservativelab, bounded against glassite retorts, echoed from the refrigeratorshelves. Burnett stared at the tabled bodies as if they would leap tolife, even while preservative was being pumped into their veins.     Sam! On the double! Up the rungs!     Burnett closed his eyes and said a couple of words, firmly. Nothing wasworth running for any more. Another body. There had been one hundredthousand bodies preceding it. Nothing unusual about a body with bloodcooling in it.  <doc-sep>Lethla half-crouched in the midst of the smell of death and thechugging of blood-pumps below. In the silence he reached up with quickfingers, tapped a tiny crystal stud upon the back of his head, and thehalves of a microscopically thin chrysalis parted transparently offof his face. He shucked it off, trailing air-tendrils that had beeninserted, hidden in the uniform, ending in thin globules of oxygen.     He spoke. Triumph warmed his crystal-thin voice. That's how I did it,Earthman.     Glassite! said Rice. A face-moulded mask of glassite!     Lethla nodded. His milk-blue eyes dilated. Very marvelously pared toan unbreakable thickness of one-thirtieth of an inch; worn only on thehead. You have to look quickly to notice it, and, unfortunately, viewedas you saw it, outside the ship, floating in the void, not discernibleat all.     Prickles of sweat appeared on Rice's face. He swore at the Venusian andthe Venusian laughed like some sort of stringed instrument, high andquick.     Burnett laughed, too. Ironically. First time in years a man ever cameaboard the Constellation alive. It's a welcome change.     Lethla showed his needle-like teeth. I thought it might be. Where'syour radio?     Go find it! snapped Rice, hotly.     I will. One hand, blue-veined, on the ladder-rungs, Lethla paused.I know you're weaponless; Purple Cross regulations. And this air-lockis safe. Don't move. Whispering, his naked feet padded white up theladder. Two long breaths later something crashed; metal and glass andcoils. The radio.     Burnett put his shoulder blades against the wall-metal, looking at hisfeet. When he glanced up, Rice's fresh, animated face was spoiled bythe new bitterness in it.     Lethla came down. Like a breath of air on the rungs.     He smiled. That's better. Now. We can talk—     Rice said it, slow:     Interplanetary law declares it straight, Lethla! Get out! Only deadmen belong here.     Lethla's gun grip tightened. More talk of that nature, and only deadmen there will be. He blinked. But first—we must rescue Kriere....     Kriere! Rice acted as if he had been hit in the jaw.     Burnett moved his tongue back and forth on his lips silently, his eyeslidded, listening to the two of them as if they were a radio drama.Lethla's voice came next:     Rather unfortunately, yes. He's still alive, heading toward Venusat an orbital velocity of two thousand m.p.h., wearing one of theseair-chrysali. Enough air for two more hours. Our flag ship was attackedunexpectedly yesterday near Mars. We were forced to take to thelife-boats, scattering, Kriere and I in one, the others sacrificingtheir lives to cover our escape. We were lucky. We got through theEarth cordon unseen. But luck can't last forever.     We saw your morgue ship an hour ago. It's a long, long way to Venus.We were running out of fuel, food, water. Radio was broken. Capturewas certain. You were coming our way; we took the chance. We set asmall time-bomb to destroy the life-rocket, and cast off, wearing ourchrysali-helmets. It was the first time we had ever tried using them totrick anyone. We knew you wouldn't know we were alive until it was toolate and we controlled your ship. We knew you picked up all bodies forbrief exams, returning alien corpses to space later.     Rice's voice was sullen. A set-up for you, huh? Traveling under theprotection of the Purple Cross you can get your damned All-Mighty safeto Venus.     Lethla bowed slightly. Who would suspect a Morgue Rocket of providingsafe hiding for precious Venusian cargo?     Precious is the word for you, brother! said Rice.     Enough! Lethla moved his gun several inches.     Accelerate toward Venus, mote-detectors wide open. Kriere must bepicked up—      now!       <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>Tonight is our last night at      TheSpace Room     . Goon-Face is scowlingagain with the icy fury of aPlutonian monsoon. As Goon-Facehas said, No beeg feedle, no contract.     Without John, we're notes in alost chord.     We've searched everything, inhospitals, morgues, jails, night clubs,hotels. We've hounded spaceportsand 'copter terminals. Nowhere, nowhereis John Smith.     Ziggy, whose two fingers havehealed, has already bowed to whatseems inevitable. He's signed up forthat trip to Neptune's uraniumpits. There's plenty of room formore volunteers, he tells us. But Ispend my time cussing the guy whoforgot to set the force field at theother end of the hole and let Johnand his      Zloomph     back into his owntime dimension. I cuss harder whenI think how we were robbed of thebest bass player in the galaxy.     And without a corpus delecti wecan't even sue the city.       ... THE END    <doc-sep>Purnie worked his way down the hill, imploring them to save themselves.The sounds they made carried a new tone, a desperate foreboding ofdeath.     Rhodes! Cabot! Can you hear me?     I—I can't move, Captain. My leg, it's.... My God, we're going todrown!     Look around you, Cabot. Can you see anyone moving?     The men on the beach are nearly buried, Captain. And the rest of ushere in the water—     Forbes. Can you see Forbes? Maybe he's— His sounds were cut off by awavelet gently rolling over his head.     Purnie could wait no longer. The tides were all but covering one of theanimals, and soon the others would be in the same plight. Disregardingthe consequences, he ordered time to stop.     Wading down into the surf, he worked a log off one victim, then hetugged the animal up to the sand. Through blinding tears, Purnie workedslowly and carefully. He knew there was no hurry—at least, not as faras his friends' safety was concerned. No matter what their conditionof life or death was at this moment, it would stay the same way untilhe started time again. He made his way deeper into the orange liquid,where a raised hand signalled the location of a submerged body. Thehand was clutching a large white banner that was tangled among thelogs. Purnie worked the animal free and pulled it ashore.     It was the one who had been carrying the shiny object that spit smoke.     Scarcely noticing his own injured leg, he ferried one victim afteranother until there were no more in the surf. Up on the beach, hestarted unraveling the logs that pinned down the animals caught there.He removed a log from the lap of one, who then remained in a sittingposition, his face contorted into a frozen mask of agony and shock.Another, with the weight removed, rolled over like an iron statue intoa new position. Purnie whimpered in black misery as he surveyed thechaotic scene before him.     At last he could do no more; he felt consciousness slipping away fromhim.     He instinctively knew that if he lost his senses during a period oftime-stopping, events would pick up where they had left off ... withouthim. For Purnie, this would be death. If he had to lose consciousness,he knew he must first resume time.     Step by step he plodded up the little hill, pausing every now and thento consider if this were the moment to start time before it was toolate. With his energy fast draining away, he reached the top of theknoll, and he turned to look down once more on the group below.     Then he knew how much his mind and body had suffered: when he orderedtime to resume, nothing happened.     His heart sank. He wasn't afraid of death, and he knew that if he diedthe oceans would roll again and his friends would move about. But hewanted to see them safe.     He tried to clear his mind for supreme effort. There was no      urging     time to start. He knew he couldn't persuade it by bits and pieces,first slowly then full ahead. Time either progressed or it didn't. Hehad to take one viewpoint or the other.     Then, without knowing exactly when it happened, his mind tookcommand....  <doc-sep>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>   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>It was hard to believe I was traveling in space at last. Ahead andbehind me, all the way up to where the companionway curved in outof sight, there was nothing but smooth black wall and smooth whitedoors—on and on and on.      Gee     , I thought excitedly, this is      one bigship     !     Of course, every once in a while I would run across a big scene ofstars in the void set in the wall; but they were only pictures. Nothingthat gave the feel of great empty space like I'd read about in      The BoyRocketeers     , no portholes, no visiplates, nothing.     So when I came to the crossway, I stopped for a second, then turnedleft. To the right, see, there was Deck Four, then Deck Three, leadinginward past the engine fo'c'sle to the main jets and the grav helixgoing      purr-purr-purrty-purr     in the comforting way big machinery haswhen it's happy and oiled. But to the left, the crossway led all theway to the outside level which ran just under the hull. There wereportholes on the hull.     I'd studied all that out in our cabin, long before we'd lifted, onthe transparent model of the ship hanging like a big cigar from theceiling. Sis had studied it too, but she was looking for places likethe dining salon and the library and Lifeboat 68 where we should go incase of emergency. I looked for the      important     things.     As I trotted along the crossway, I sort of wished that Sis hadn'tdecided to go after a husband on a luxury liner. On a cargo ship, now,I'd be climbing from deck to deck on a ladder instead of having gravityunderfoot all the time just like I was home on the bottom of the Gulfof Mexico. But women always know what's right, and a boy can only makefaces and do what they say, same as the men have to do.     Still, it was pretty exciting to press my nose against the slots in thewall and see the sliding panels that could come charging out and blockthe crossway into an airtight fit in case a meteor or something smashedinto the ship. And all along there were glass cases with spacesuitsstanding in them, like those knights they used to have back in theMiddle Ages.     In the event of disaster affecting the oxygen content ofcompanionway, they had the words etched into the glass, break glasswith hammer upon wall, remove spacesuit and proceed to don it in thefollowing fashion.     I read the following fashion until I knew it by heart.      Boy     , I saidto myself,      I hope we have that kind of disaster. I'd sure like to getinto one of those! Bet it would be more fun than those diving suitsback in Undersea!       And all the time I was alone. That was the best part.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the location where the events of Morgue Ship take place?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What does the phrase ""You can never catch up with war"" mean in Morgue Ship? [SEP] <s>Sam! Rice turned swiftly as Burnett dragged himself up the ladder.Red and warm, Rice's face hovered over the body of a sprawled enemyofficial. Take a look at this!     Burnett caught his breath. His eyes narrowed. There was something wrongwith the body; his experienced glance knew that. He didn't know what itwas.     Maybe it was because the body looked a little      too     dead.     Burnett didn't say anything, but he climbed the rest of the way,stood quietly in the grey-metal air-lock. The enemy official was asdelicately made as a fine white spider. Eyelids, closed, were faintlyblue. The hair was thin silken strands of pale gold, waved and pressedclose to a veined skull. Where the thin-lipped mouth fell open acluster of needle-tipped teeth glittered. The fragile body was enclosedcompletely in milk-pale syntha-silk, a holstered gun at the middle.     Burnett rubbed his jaw. Well?     Rice exploded. His eyes were hot in his young, sharp-cut face, hot andblack. Good Lord, Sam, do you know who this is?     Burnett scowled uneasily and said no.     It's Lethla! Rice retorted.     Burnett said, Lethla? And then: Oh, yes! Kriere's majordomo. Thatright?     Don't say it calm, Sam. Say it big. Say it big! If Lethla is here inspace, then Kriere's not far away from him!     Burnett shrugged. More bodies, more people, more war. What the hell.What the hell. He was tired. Talk about bodies and rulers to someoneelse.     Rice grabbed him by the shoulders. Snap out of it, Sam. Think!Kriere—The All-Mighty—in our territory. His right hand man dead. Thatmeans Kriere was in an accident, too!     Sam opened his thin lips and the words fell out all by themselves.Look, Rice, you're new at this game. I've been at it ever since theVenus-Earth mess started. It's been see-sawing back and forth since theday you played hookey in the tenth grade, and I've been in the thickof it. When there's nothing left but seared memories, I'll be prowlingthrough the void picking up warriors and taking them back to the goodgreen Earth. Grisly, yes, but it's routine.     As for Kriere—if he's anywhere around, he's smart. Every precautionis taken to protect that one.     But Lethla! His body must mean something!     And if it does? Have we got guns aboard this morgue-ship? Are we abattle-cuiser to go against him?     We'll radio for help?     Yeah? If there's a warship within our radio range, seven hundredthousand miles, we'll get it. Unfortunately, the tide of battle hasswept out past Earth in a new war concerning Io. That's out, Rice.     Rice stood about three inches below Sam Burnett's six-foot-one. Jawhard and determined, he stared at Sam, a funny light in his eyes. Hisfingers twitched all by themselves at his sides. His mouth twisted,You're one hell of a patriot, Sam Burnett!     Burnett reached out with one long finger, tapped it quietly on Rice'sbarrel-chest. Haul a cargo of corpses for three thousand nights anddays and see how patriotic you feel. All those fine muscled ladsbloated and crushed by space pressures and heat-blasts. Fine lads whostart out smiling and get the smile burned off down to the bone—     Burnett swallowed and didn't say anything more, but he closed his eyes.He stood there, smelling the death-odor in the hot air of the ship,hearing the chug-chug-chug of the blood pumps down below, and his ownheart waiting warm and heavy at the base of his throat.     This is my last cargo, Rice. I can't take it any longer. And I don'tcare much how I go back to earth. This Venusian here—what's his name?Lethla. He's number ninety-eight. Shove me into shelf ninety-ninebeside him and get the hell home. That's how I feel!     Rice was going to say something, but he didn't have time.     Lethla was alive.     He rose from the floor with slow, easy movements, almost like a dream.He didn't say anything. The heat-blast in his white fingers did all thenecessary talking. It didn't say anything either, but Burnett knew whatlanguage it would use if it had to.     Burnett swallowed hard. The body had looked funny. Too dead. Now heknew why. Involuntarily, Burnett moved forward. Lethla moved like apale spider, flicking his fragile arm to cover Burnett, the gun in itlike a dead cold star.     Rice sucked in his breath. Burnett forced himself to take it easy. Fromthe corners of his eyes he saw Rice's expression go deep and tight,biting lines into his sharp face.     Rice got it out, finally. How'd you do it? he demanded, bitterly.How'd you live in the void? It's impossible!     A crazy thought came ramming down and exploded in Burnett's head.      Younever catch up with the war!       But what if the war catches up with you?     What in hell would Lethla be wanting aboard a morgue ship?  <doc-sep>Shaking his head, he walked unsteadily toward the rungs that gleamedup into the air-lock, control-room sector of the rocket. He climbedwithout making any noise on the rungs.     He kept thinking the one thing he couldn't forget.       You never catch up with the war.       All the color is ahead of you. The drive of orange rocket traces acrossstars, the whamming of steel-nosed bombs into elusive targets, thetitanic explosions and breathless pursuits, the flags and the excitedglory are always a million miles ahead.     He bit his teeth together.       You never catch up with the war.       You come along when space has settled back, when the vacuum has stoppedtrembling from unleashed forces between worlds. You come along in thedark quiet of death to find the wreckage plunging with all the fury ofits original acceleration in no particular direction. You can only seeit; you don't hear anything in space but your own heart kicking yourribs.     You see bodies, each in its own terrific orbit, given impetus bygrinding collisions, tossed from mother ships and dancing head overfeet forever and forever with no goal. Bits of flesh in ruptured spacesuits, mouths open for air that had never been there in a hundredbillion centuries. And they kept dancing without music until youextended the retriever-claw and culled them into the air-lock.     That was all the war-glory he got. Nothing but the stunned, shiveringsilence, the memory of rockets long gone, and the shelves filling upall too quickly with men who had once loved laughing.     You wondered who all the men were; and who the next ones would be.After ten years you made yourself blind to them. You went around doingyour job with mechanical hands.     But even a machine breaks down....  <doc-sep>It isn't so much our defense that worries me, my mother muttered, aslack of adequate medical machinery. War is bound to mean casualtiesand there aren't enough cure-alls on the planet to take care of them.It's useless to expect the government to build more right now; they'llbe too busy producing weapons. Sylvia, you'd better take a leave ofabsence from your job and come down to Psycho Center to learn first-aidtechniques. And you too, Kevin, she added, obviously a littlesurprised herself at what she was saying. Probably you'd be evenbetter at it than Sylvia since you aren't sensitive to other people'spain.     I looked at her.     It      is     an ill wind, she agreed, smiling wryly, but don't let mecatch you thinking that way, Kevin. Can't you see it would be betterthat there should be no war and you should remain useless?     I couldn't see it, of course, and she knew that, with her wretchedtalent for stripping away my feeble attempts at privacy. Psi-powersusually included some ability to form a mental shield; being withoutone, I was necessarily devoid of the other.     My attitude didn't matter, though, because it was definitely war. Thealiens came back with a fleet clearly bent on our annihilation—eventhe 'paths couldn't figure out their motives, for the thought patternwas entirely different from ours—and the war was on.     I had enjoyed learning first-aid; it was the first time I had everworked with people as an equal. And I was good at it because psi-powersaren't much of an advantage there. Telekinesis maybe a little, butI was big enough to lift anybody without needing any superhumanabilities—normal human abilities, rather.     Gee, Mr. Faraday, one of the other students breathed, you're sostrong. And without 'kinesis or anything.     I looked at her and liked what I saw. She was blonde and pretty. Myname's not Mr. Faraday, I said. It's Kevin.     My name's Lucy, she giggled.     No girl had ever giggled at me in that way before. Immediately Istarted to envision a beautiful future for the two of us, then flushedwhen I realized that she might be a telepath. But she was winding atourniquet around the arm of another member of the class with apparentunconcern.     Hey, quit that! the windee yelled. You're making it too tight! I'llbe mortified!     So Lucy was obviously not a telepath. Later I found out she was onlya low-grade telesensitive—just a poetess—so I had nothing to worryabout as far as having my thoughts read went. I was a little afraid ofSylvia's kidding me about my first romance, but, as it happened, shegot interested in one of the guys who was taking the class with us, andshe was not only too busy to be bothered with me, but in too vulnerablea position herself.     However, when the actual bombs—or their alien equivalent—struck nearour town, I wasn't nearly so happy, especially after they startedcarrying the wounded into the Psycho Center, which had been turned intoa hospital for the duration. I took one look at the gory scene—I hadnever seen anybody really injured before; few people had, as a matterof fact—and started for the door. But Mother was already blocking theway. It was easy to see from which side of the family Tim had got histalent for prognostication.     If the telepaths who can pick up all the pain can stand this, Kevin,she said,       you     certainly can. And there was no kindness at all inthe      you     .     She gave me a shove toward the nearest stretcher. Go on—now's yourchance to show you're of some use in this world.  <doc-sep>Obviously Trillium's poor little brain has been drugged, HisExcellency Dimdooly declared. Grandmamma Berta wouldn't know the firstthing about such things!     Impossible! Grandpapa President agreed. I've been married to herfor a hundred and twenty-four and a half years and she's the finestrattle-brain I ever knew!     She learned, Trillium stated emphatically, a hundred and twenty-fiveyears ago.     Hundred twenty-five, Grandpapa president growled like a boilingvolcano. The year some Earthman.... Never did catch the devil....Berta? Impossible!     Madame President's shapely finger now rested full on the button thatcould launch the fleets of war rockets that had been pre-aimed for athousand years. I'm afraid your Ambassador is unwelcome now, MadamePresident stated coolly. Your granddaughter's actions have every markof an invasion tactic by your government.     What do you mean, her actions? Grandpapa President's finger now laypoised on the button that had been waiting a thousand years to blowEarth out of the universe. My grandchild was kidnapped by men underyour official command! Weren't you, Trillium dear?     No. One of us stowing away was the only way we Venus women could bringour cause to the attention of Earth's President. If Earth will onlystop buying from Venus, you won't have any money to squander on yourwars any longer no matter what happens to we revolutionaries!     Revolutionaries? Such claptrap! And what's wrong with my wars? Peoplehave to have something to keep their minds off their troubles! Nobodyaround here gets hurt. Oh, maybe a few scratches here and there. Butnobody on Venus dies from the things any more.     But Venus men are so excited all the time about going to war theyhaven't time for us women. That's why we always radiated such a fatalattraction for Earthmen. We want to be loved! We want our own men homedoing useful work!     Well, they do come home and do useful work! Couple weeks every tenmonths. Proven to be a highly efficient arrangement.     More boys to run off to your old wars and more girls to stay home andbe lonely!     Now you just listen to me, Trillium! Grandpapa President was allVenus manhood laying down the law. That's the way things have been onVenus for ten thousand years and all the women in the universe can'tchange it!     I have been in constant contact with my Cabinet during theseconversations, Madame President said crisply. Earth is terminatingall trade agreements with Venus as of this instant.     What? Grandpapa's beards near pulled his ears off. It's not legal!You can't get away with this!     Take your finger off that trigger, boy! a heavenly voice similar toTrillium's advised from the Venus panel.     Whereupon Grandpapa glared to one side. Berta! What are you doinghere? I am deciding matters of the gravest interplanetary nature!     Were. Features more beautifully mature than Trillium's crowded ontothe panel too. From now on I'm doing the deciding.     Nonsense! You're only my wife!     And new President of Venus, elected by unanimous vote of all women.     Impossible! The men run Venus! Nobody's turning this planet intoanother Earth where a man can't even sneeze unless some woman says so!     Take him away, girls, Berta ordered coolly, whereupon her spouse wasyanked from view.     His bellows, however, could be heard yet. Unhand me, you foolcreatures! Guards! Guards!     Save your breath, Berta advised him. And while you're in the cooler,enjoy this latest batch of surrender communiques. We women are incontrol everywhere now.     Dimmy, Trillium was saying firmly to His Excellency, you have beataround the bush with me long enough. Now say it!  <doc-sep>  Morgue Ship     By RAY BRADBURY     This was Burnett's last trip. Three more     shelves to fill with space-slain warriors—and     he would be among the living again.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Summer 1944.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      He heard the star-port grind open, and the movement of the metal clawsgroping into space, and then the star-port closed.     There was another dead man aboard the      Constellation     .     Sam Burnett shook his long head, trying to think clearly. Pallid andquiet, three bodies lay on the cold transparent tables around him;machines stirred, revolved, hummed. He didn't see them. He didn't seeanything but a red haze over his mind. It blotted out the far wall ofthe laboratory where the shelves went up and down, numbered in scarlet,keeping the bodies of soldiers from all further harm.     Burnett didn't move. He stood there in his rumpled white surgicalgown, staring at his fingers gloved in bone-white rubber; feeling alltight and wild inside himself. It went on for days. Moving the ship.Opening the star-port. Extending the retriever claw. Plucking some poorwarrior's body out of the void.     He didn't like it any more. Ten years is too long to go back andforth from Earth to nowhere. You came out empty and you went backfull-cargoed with a lot of warriors who didn't laugh or talk or smoke,who just lay on their shelves, all one hundred of them, waiting for adecent burial.     Number ninety-eight. Coming matter of fact and slow, Rice's voicefrom the ceiling radio hit Burnett.     Number ninety-eight, Burnett repeated. Working on ninety-five,ninety-six and ninety-seven now. Blood-pumps, preservative, slightsurgery. Off a million miles away his voice was talking. It soundeddeep. It didn't belong to him anymore.     Rice said:     Boyohbody! Two more pick-ups and back to New York. Me for a ten-daydrunk!     Burnett peeled the gloves off his huge, red, soft hands, slapped theminto a floor incinerator mouth. Back to Earth. Then spin around andshoot right out again in the trail of the war-rockets that blasted oneanother in galactic fury, to sidle up behind gutted wrecks of ships,salvaging any bodies still intact after the conflict.     Two men. Rice and himself. Sharing a cozy morgue ship with a hundredother men who had forgotten, quite suddenly, however, to talk again.     Ten years of it. Every hour of those ten years eating like maggotsinside, working out to the surface of Burnett's face, working under thehusk of his starved eyes and starved limbs. Starved for life. Starvedfor action.     This would be his last trip, or he'd know the reason why!     Sam!     Burnett jerked. Rice's voice clipped through the drainage-preservativelab, bounded against glassite retorts, echoed from the refrigeratorshelves. Burnett stared at the tabled bodies as if they would leap tolife, even while preservative was being pumped into their veins.     Sam! On the double! Up the rungs!     Burnett closed his eyes and said a couple of words, firmly. Nothing wasworth running for any more. Another body. There had been one hundredthousand bodies preceding it. Nothing unusual about a body with bloodcooling in it.  <doc-sep>Lethla half-crouched in the midst of the smell of death and thechugging of blood-pumps below. In the silence he reached up with quickfingers, tapped a tiny crystal stud upon the back of his head, and thehalves of a microscopically thin chrysalis parted transparently offof his face. He shucked it off, trailing air-tendrils that had beeninserted, hidden in the uniform, ending in thin globules of oxygen.     He spoke. Triumph warmed his crystal-thin voice. That's how I did it,Earthman.     Glassite! said Rice. A face-moulded mask of glassite!     Lethla nodded. His milk-blue eyes dilated. Very marvelously pared toan unbreakable thickness of one-thirtieth of an inch; worn only on thehead. You have to look quickly to notice it, and, unfortunately, viewedas you saw it, outside the ship, floating in the void, not discernibleat all.     Prickles of sweat appeared on Rice's face. He swore at the Venusian andthe Venusian laughed like some sort of stringed instrument, high andquick.     Burnett laughed, too. Ironically. First time in years a man ever cameaboard the Constellation alive. It's a welcome change.     Lethla showed his needle-like teeth. I thought it might be. Where'syour radio?     Go find it! snapped Rice, hotly.     I will. One hand, blue-veined, on the ladder-rungs, Lethla paused.I know you're weaponless; Purple Cross regulations. And this air-lockis safe. Don't move. Whispering, his naked feet padded white up theladder. Two long breaths later something crashed; metal and glass andcoils. The radio.     Burnett put his shoulder blades against the wall-metal, looking at hisfeet. When he glanced up, Rice's fresh, animated face was spoiled bythe new bitterness in it.     Lethla came down. Like a breath of air on the rungs.     He smiled. That's better. Now. We can talk—     Rice said it, slow:     Interplanetary law declares it straight, Lethla! Get out! Only deadmen belong here.     Lethla's gun grip tightened. More talk of that nature, and only deadmen there will be. He blinked. But first—we must rescue Kriere....     Kriere! Rice acted as if he had been hit in the jaw.     Burnett moved his tongue back and forth on his lips silently, his eyeslidded, listening to the two of them as if they were a radio drama.Lethla's voice came next:     Rather unfortunately, yes. He's still alive, heading toward Venusat an orbital velocity of two thousand m.p.h., wearing one of theseair-chrysali. Enough air for two more hours. Our flag ship was attackedunexpectedly yesterday near Mars. We were forced to take to thelife-boats, scattering, Kriere and I in one, the others sacrificingtheir lives to cover our escape. We were lucky. We got through theEarth cordon unseen. But luck can't last forever.     We saw your morgue ship an hour ago. It's a long, long way to Venus.We were running out of fuel, food, water. Radio was broken. Capturewas certain. You were coming our way; we took the chance. We set asmall time-bomb to destroy the life-rocket, and cast off, wearing ourchrysali-helmets. It was the first time we had ever tried using them totrick anyone. We knew you wouldn't know we were alive until it was toolate and we controlled your ship. We knew you picked up all bodies forbrief exams, returning alien corpses to space later.     Rice's voice was sullen. A set-up for you, huh? Traveling under theprotection of the Purple Cross you can get your damned All-Mighty safeto Venus.     Lethla bowed slightly. Who would suspect a Morgue Rocket of providingsafe hiding for precious Venusian cargo?     Precious is the word for you, brother! said Rice.     Enough! Lethla moved his gun several inches.     Accelerate toward Venus, mote-detectors wide open. Kriere must bepicked up—      now!       <doc-sep>The President's Secretary, a paunchy veteran of party caucuses, wasalso glad that it was the Thinkers who had created the machine, thoughhe trembled at the power that it gave them over the Administration.Still, you could do business with the Thinkers. And nobody (not eventhe Thinkers) could do business (that sort of business) with Maizie!     Before that great square face with its thousands of tiny metalfeatures, only Jorj Helmuth seemed at ease, busily entering on thetape the complex Questions of the Day that the high officials hadhanded him: logistics for the Endless War in Pakistan, optimum size fornext year's sugar-corn crop, current thought trends in average Sovietminds—profound questions, yet many of them phrased with surprisingsimplicity. For figures, technical jargon, and layman's language werealike to Maizie; there was no need to translate into mathematicalshorthand, as with the lesser brain-machines.     The click of the taper went on until the Secretary of State had twicenervously fired a cigaret with his ultrasonic lighter and twice quicklyput it away. No one spoke.     Jorj looked up at the Secretary of Space. Section Five, QuestionFour—whom would that come from?     The burly man frowned. That would be the physics boys, Opperly'sgroup. Is anything wrong?     Jorj did not answer. A bit later he quit taping and began to adjustcontrols, going up on the boom-chair to reach some of them. Eventuallyhe came down and touched a few more, then stood waiting.     From the great cube came a profound, steady purring. Involuntarily thesix officials backed off a bit. Somehow it was impossible for a man toget used to the sound of Maizie starting to think.  <doc-sep>Burnett cut. Kriere's milky face floated dreamily into a visual-screen,eyes sealed, lips gaping, hands sagging, clutching emptily at the stars.     We're about fifty miles from him, catching up. Burnett turned toLethla with an intent scowl. Funny. This was the first and the lasttime anybody would ever board the      Constellation     alive. His stomachwent flat, tautened with sudden weakening fear.     If Kriere could be captured, that meant the end of the war, the endof shelves stacked with sleeping warriors, the end of this blindsearching. Kriere, then, had to be taken aboard. After that—     Kriere, the All-Mighty. At whose behest all space had quivered likea smitten gong for part of a century. Kriere, revolving in his neat,water-blue uniform, emblems shining gold, heat-gun tucked in glossyjet holster. With Kriere aboard, chances of overcoming him would beeliminated. Now: Rice and Burnett against Lethla. Lethla favoredbecause of his gun.     Kriere would make odds impossible.     Something had to be done before Kriere came in.     Lethla had to be yanked off guard. Shocked, bewildered,fooled—somehow. But—how?     Burnett's jaw froze tight. He could feel a spot on his shoulder-bladewhere Lethla would send a bullet crashing into rib, sinew,artery—heart.     There was a way. And there was a weapon. And the war would be over andthis would be the last trip.     Sweat covered his palms in a nervous smear.     Steady, Rice, he said, matter of factly. With the rockets cut, therewas too much silence, and his voice sounded guilty standing up alone inthe center of that silence. Take controls, Rice. I'll manipulate thestar-port.     Burnett slipped from the control console. Rice replaced him grimly.Burnett strode to the next console of levers. That spot on his backkept aching like it was sear-branded X. For the place where the bulletsings and rips. And if you turn quick, catching it in the arm first,why—     Kriere loomed bigger, a white spider delicately dancing on a web ofstars. His eyes flicked open behind the glassite sheath, and saw the      Constellation     . Kriere smiled. His hands came up. He knew he was aboutto be rescued.     Burnett smiled right back at him. What Kriere didn't know was that hewas about to end a ten-years' war.     There was only      one     way of drawing Lethla off guard, and it had to befast.     Burnett jabbed a purple-topped stud. The star-port clashed open asit had done a thousand times before; but for the first time it was agood sound. And out of the star-port, at Sam Burnett's easily fingereddirections, slid the long claw-like mechanism that picked up bodiesfrom space.     Lethla watched, intent and cold and quiet. The gun was cold and quiet,too.     The claw glided toward Kriere without a sound, now, dream-like in itsslowness.     It reached Kriere.     Burnett inhaled a deep breath.     The metal claw cuddled Kriere in its shiny palm.       Lethla watched.     He watched while Burnett exhaled, touched another lever and said: Youknow, Lethla, there's an old saying that only dead men come aboard the      Constellation     . I believe it.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What does the phrase ""You can never catch up with war"" mean in Morgue Ship?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of the storyline in LEX? [SEP] <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>Lexington stared at his cup without touching it for a long while. Thenhe continued with his narrative. I suppose it's all my own fault. Ididn't detect the symptoms soon enough. After this plant got workingproperly, I started living here. It wasn't a question of saving money.I hated to waste two hours a day driving to and from my house, and Ialso wanted to be on hand in case anything should go wrong that themachine couldn't fix for itself.     Handling the cup as if it were going to shatter at any moment, he tooka gulp. I began to see that the machine could understand the writtenword, and I tried hooking a teletype directly into the logic circuits.It was like uncorking a seltzer bottle. The machine had a funnyvocabulary—all of it gleaned from letters it had seen coming in, andreplies it had seen leaving. But it was intelligible. It even displayedsome traces of the personality the machine was acquiring.     It had chosen a name for itself, for instance—'Lex.' That shook me.You might think Lex Industries was named through an abbreviation ofthe name Lexington, but it wasn't. My wife's name was Alexis, and itwas named after the nickname she always used. I objected, of course,but how can you object on a point like that to a machine? Bear in mindthat I had to be careful to behave reasonably at all times, because themachine was still learning from me, and I was afraid that any tantrumsI threw might be imitated.     It sounds pretty awkward, Peter put in.     You don't know the half of it! As time went on, I had less and less todo, and business-wise I found that the entire control of the operationwas slipping from my grasp. Many times I discovered—too late—thatthe machine had taken the damnedest risks you ever saw on bids andcontracts for supply. It was quoting impossible delivery times onsome orders, and charging pirate's prices on others, all without anyobvious reason. Inexplicably, we always came out on top. It would turnout that on the short-delivery-time quotations, we'd been up againststiff competition, and cutting the production time was the only way wecould get the order. On the high-priced quotes, I'd find that no oneelse was bidding. We were making more money than I'd ever dreamed of,and to make it still better, I'd find that for months I had virtuallynothing to do.     It sounds wonderful, sir, said Peter, feeling dazzled.     It was, in a way. I remember one day I was especially pleased withsomething, and I went to the control console to give the kicker buttona long, hard push. The button, much to my amazement, had been removed,and a blank plate had been installed to cover the opening in the board.I went over to the teletype and punched in the shortest message I hadever sent. 'LEX—WHAT THE HELL?' I typed.     The answer came back in the jargon it had learned from letters it hadseen, and I remember it as if it just happened. 'MR. A LEXINGTON, LEXINDUSTRIES, DEAR SIR: RE YOUR LETTER OF THE THIRTEENTH INST., I AMPLEASED TO ADVISE YOU THAT I AM ABLE TO DISCERN WHETHER OR NOT YOU AREPLEASED WITH MY SERVICE WITHOUT THE USE OF THE EQUIPMENT PREVIOUSLYUSED FOR THIS PURPOSE. RESPECTFULLY, I MIGHT SUGGEST THAT IF THEPUSHBUTTON ARRANGEMENT WERE NECESSARY, I COULD PUSH THE BUTTON MYSELF.I DO NOT BELIEVE THIS WOULD MEET WITH YOUR APPROVAL, AND HAVE TAKENSTEPS TO RELIEVE YOU OF THE BURDEN INVOLVED IN REMEMBERING TO PUSH THEBUTTON EACH TIME YOU ARE ESPECIALLY PLEASED. I SHOULD LIKE TO TAKE THISOPPORTUNITY TO THANK YOU FOR YOUR INQUIRY, AND LOOK FORWARD TO SERVINGYOU IN THE FUTURE AS I HAVE IN THE PAST. YOURS FAITHFULLY, LEX'.  <doc-sep>   LEX     By W. T. HAGGERT     Illustrated by WOOD     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Magazine August 1959.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        Nothing in the world could be happier and       mere serene than a man who loves his work—but       what happens when it loves him back?        Keep your nerve, Peter Manners told himself; it's only a job. But nervehas to rest on a sturdier foundation than cash reserves just above zeroand eviction if he came away from this interview still unemployed.Clay, at the Association of Professional Engineers, who had set up theappointment, hadn't eased Peter's nervousness by admitting, I don'tknow what in hell he's looking for. He's turned down every man we'vesent him.     The interview was at three. Fifteen minutes to go. Coming early wouldbetray overeagerness. Peter stood in front of the Lex Industries plantand studied it to kill time. Plain, featureless concrete walls, notlarge for a manufacturing plant—it took a scant minute to exhaust itssightseeing potential. If he walked around the building, he could, ifhe ambled, come back to the front entrance just before three.     He turned the corner, stopped, frowned, wondering what there was aboutthe building that seemed so puzzling. It could not have been plainer,more ordinary. It was in fact, he only gradually realized, so plain andordinary that it was like no other building he had ever seen.     There had been windows at the front. There were none at the side, andnone at the rear. Then how were the working areas lit? He looked forthe electric service lines and found them at one of the rear corners.They jolted him. The distribution transformers were ten times as largeas they should have been for a plant this size.     Something else was wrong. Peter looked for minutes before he found outwhat it was. Factories usually have large side doorways for employeeschanging shifts. This building had one small office entrance facing thestreet, and the only other door was at the loading bay—big enough tohandle employee traffic, but four feet above the ground. Without anystairs, it could be used only by trucks backing up to it. Maybe theemployees' entrance was on the third side.     It wasn't.  <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>She was pink and clean and her platinum hair was pulled straight back,drawing her cheek-bones tighter, straightening her wide, appealingmouth, drawing her lean, athletic, feminine body erect. She was wearinga powder-blue dress that covered all of her breasts and hips and theupper half of her legs.     The most wonderful thing about her was her perfume. Then I realized itwasn't perfume, only the scent of soap. Finally, I knew it wasn't that.It was just healthy, fresh-scrubbed skin.     I went to her at the bus stop, forcing my legs not to stagger. Nobodywould help a drunk. I don't know why, but nobody will help you if theythink you are blotto.     Ma'am, could you help a man who's not had work? I kept my eyes down.I couldn't look a human in the eye and ask for help. Just a dime for acup of coffee. I knew where I could get it for three cents, maybe twoand a half.     I felt her looking at me. She spoke in an educated voice, one she used,perhaps, as a teacher or supervising telephone operator. Do you wantit for coffee, or to apply, or a glass or hypo of something else?     I cringed and whined. She would expect it of me. I suddenly realizedthat anybody as clean as she was had to be a tourist here. I hatetourists.     Just coffee, ma'am. She was younger than I was, so I didn't have tocall her that. A little more for food, if you could spare it.     I hadn't eaten in a day and a half, but I didn't care much.     I'll buy you a dinner, she said carefully, provided I can go withyou and see for myself that you actually eat it.     I felt my face flushing red. You wouldn't want to be seen with a bumlike me, ma'am.     I'll be seen with you if you really want to eat.     It was certainly unfair and probably immoral. But I had no choicewhatever.     Okay, I said, tasting bitterness over the craving.  <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>  Mr. Dawes  came home anhour later, looking tired.Mom pecked him lightly onthe forehead. He glanced atthe evening paper, and thenspoke to Sol.     Hear you been askingquestions, Mr. Becker.     Sol nodded, embarrassed.Guess I have. I'm awfullycurious about this Armagonplace. Never heard of anythinglike it before.     Dawes grunted. You ain'ta reporter?     Oh, no. I'm an engineer. Iwas just satisfying my owncuriosity.     Uh-huh. Dawes lookedreflective. You wouldn't bethinkin' about writing us upor anything. I mean, this is apretty private affair.     Writing it up? Solblinked. I hadn't thought ofit. But you'll have to admit—it'ssure interesting.     Yeah, Dawes said narrowly.I guess it would be.     Supper! Mom called.     After the meal, they spenta quiet evening at home. Sallywent to bed, screaming herreluctance, at eight-thirty.Mom, dozing in the big chairnear the fireplace, padded upstairsat nine. Then Dawesyawned widely, stood up, andsaid goodnight at quarter-of-ten.     He paused in the doorwaybefore leaving.     I'd think about that, hesaid. Writing it up, I mean.A lot of folks would thinkyou were just plum crazy.     Sol laughed feebly. Iguess they would at that.     Goodnight, Dawes said.     Goodnight.     He read Sally's copy of      Treasure Island     for abouthalf an hour. Then he undressed,made himself comfortableon the sofa, snuggledunder the soft blanketthat Mom had provided, andshut his eyes.     He reviewed the events ofthe day before dropping offto sleep. The troublesomeSally. The strange dreamworld of Armagon. The visitto the barber shop. The removalof Brundage's body.The conversations with thetownspeople. Dawes' suspiciousattitude ...     Then sleep came. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in LEX?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What are the characteristics exhibited by Mr. Lexington? [SEP] <s>Staring back at the last blank wall, Peter suddenly remembered the timehe had set out to kill. He looked at his watch and gasped. At a run,set to straight-arm the door, he almost fell on his face. The door hadopened by itself. He stopped and looked for a photo-electric eye, buta soft voice said through a loudspeaker in the anteroom wall: Mr.Manners?     What? he panted. Who—?     You      are     Mr. Manners? the voice asked.     He nodded, then realized he had to answer aloud if there was amicrophone around; but the soft voice said: Follow the open doors downthe hall. Mr. Lexington is expecting you.     Thanks, Peter said, and a door at one side of the anteroom swung openfor him.     He went through it with his composure slipping still further from hisgrip. This was no way to go into an interview, but doors kept openingbefore and shutting after him, until only one was left, and the last ofhis calm was blasted away by a bellow from within.     Don't stand out there like a jackass! Either come in or go away!     Peter found himself leaping obediently toward the doorway. He stoppedjust short of it, took a deep breath and huffed it out, took another,all the while thinking, Hold on now; you're in no shape for aninterview—and it's not your fault—this whole setup is geared tounnerve you: the kindergarten kid called in to see the principal.     He let another bellow bounce off him as he blew out the second breath,straightened his jacket and tie, and walked in as an engineer applyingfor a position should.     Mr. Lexington? he said. I'm Peter Manners. The Association—     Sit down, said the man at the desk. Let's look you over.     He was a huge man behind an even huger desk. Peter took a chair infront of the desk and let himself be inspected. It wasn't comfortable.He did some looking over of his own to ease the tension.     The room was more than merely large, carpeted throughout witha high-pile, rich, sound-deadening rug. The oversized desk andmassive leather chairs, heavy patterned drapes, ornately framedpaintings—by God, even a glass-brick manteled fireplace and bowls withflowers!—made him feel as if he had walked down a hospital corridorinto Hollywood's idea of an office.     His eyes eventually had to move to Lexington, and they were dauntedfor another instant. This was a citadel of a man—great girders offrame supporting buttresses of muscle—with a vaulting head anddrawbridge chin and a steel gaze that defied any attempt to storm it.     But then Peter came out of his momentary flinch, and there was an ageto the man, about 65, and he saw the muscles had turned to fat, thecomplexion ashen, the eyes set deep as though retreating from pain, andthis was a citadel of a man, yes, but beginning to crumble.     What can you do? asked Lexington abruptly.  <doc-sep>The little Regulan was as good as hired. Only the formalities remained.You understand our terms, Mr. Fitzgerald?     I'll be placed on exhibition at your Institute on Earth. You'll payfor my services, transportation and expenses. I'll be required toremain on exhibit no more than one-third of each Terran sidereal day.     And the pay will be—ah—$50 Galactic a week, plus expenses andtransportation.     The spherical creature clapped his hands in joy, three hands clappingon one side, two on the other. Wonderful! I will see Earth at last! Iaccept the terms!     I buzzed for Ludlow and gave him the fast signal that meant we weresigning this alien up at half the usual pay, and Ludlow took him intothe other office to sign him up.     I grinned, pleased with myself. We needed a green Regulan in our show;the last one had quit four years ago. But just because we needed himdidn't mean we had to be extravagant in hiring him. A Terraphile alienwho goes to the extent of rechristening himself with a Terran monickerwould work for nothing, or even pay us, just so long as we let him getto Earth. My conscience won't let me really      exploit     a being, but Idon't believe in throwing money away, either.     The next applicant was a beefy ursinoid from Aldebaran IX. Our outfithas all the ursinoids it needs or is likely to need in the next fewdecades, and so I got rid of him in a couple of minutes. He wasfollowed by a roly-poly blue-skinned humanoid from Donovan's Planet,four feet high and five hundred pounds heavy. We already had a coupleof his species in the show, but they made good crowd-pleasers, beingso plump and cheerful. I passed him along to Auchinleck to sign atanything short of top rate.     Next came a bedraggled Sirian spider who was more interested in ahandout than a job. If there's any species we have a real over-supplyof, it's those silver-colored spiders, but this seedy specimen gave ita try anyway. He got the gate in half a minute, and he didn't even getthe handout he was angling for. I don't approve of begging.     The flora of applicants was steady. Ghryne is in the heart of theCaledonia Cluster, where the interstellar crossroads meet. We hadfigured to pick up plenty of new exhibits here and we were right.  <doc-sep>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>Peter followed numbly as Lexington led him through a maze of machines,each one seemingly intent on cutting, bending, welding, grindingor carrying some bit of metal, or just standing idle, waiting forsomething to do. The two-armed manipulators Peter had just seen wereeverywhere, scuttling from machine to machine, apparently with anexact knowledge of what they were doing and the most efficient way ofdoing it.     He wondered what would happen if one of them tried to use the sameaisle they were using. He pictured a futile attempt to escape theonrushing wheels, saw himself clambering out of the path of thespeeding vehicle just in time to fall into the jaws of the punch pressthat was laboring beside him at the moment. Nervously, he looked for anexit, but his apprehension was unnecessary. The machines seemed to knowwhere they were and avoided the two men, or stopped to wait for them togo by.     Back in the office section of the building, Lexington indicated a smallroom where a typewriter could be heard clattering away. Standardbusiness machines, operated by the central control mechanism. Inthat room, he said, as the door swung open and Peter saw that thetypewriter was actually a sort of teletype, with no one before thekeyboard, incoming mail is sorted and inquiries are replied to. Inthis one over here, purchase orders are prepared, and across the hallthere's a very similar rig set up in conjunction with an automaticbookkeeper to keep track of the pennies and to bill the customers.     Then all you do is read the incoming mail and maintain the machinery?asked Peter, trying to shake off the feeling of open amazement thathad engulfed him.     I don't even do those things, except for a few letters that come inevery week that—it doesn't want to deal with by itself.     The shock of what he had just seen was showing plainly on Peter's facewhen they walked back into Lexington's office and sat down. Lexingtonlooked at him for quite a while without saying anything, his facesagging and pale. Peter didn't trust himself to speak, and let thesilence remain unbroken.     Finally Lexington spoke. I know it's hard to believe, but there it is.     Hard to believe? said Peter. I almost can't. The trade journals runarticles about factories like this one, but planned for ten, maybetwenty years in the future.     Damn fools! exclaimed Lexington, getting part of his breath back.They could have had it years ago, if they'd been willing to drop theiridiotic notions about specialization.     Lexington mopped his forehead with a large white handkerchief.Apparently the walk through the factory had tired him considerably,although it hadn't been strenuous.  <doc-sep>It made Peter feel he had been suckered, but he had decided to playthis straight all the way. He nodded.     Why'd you leave? Lexington pursued, unrelenting.     I finished the course and the increase they offered on a permanentbasis wasn't enough, so I went elsewhere—     With your head full of this nonsense about a shortage of engineers.     Peter swallowed. I thought it would be easier to get a job than it hasbeen, yes.     They start the talk about a shortage and then they keep it going. Why?So youngsters will take up engineering thinking they'll wind up among ahighly paid minority. You did, didn't you?     Yes, sir.     And so did all the others there with you, at school and in thisstockpiling outfit?     That's right.     Well, said Lexington unexpectedly, there      is     a shortage! And thestockpiles are the ones who made it, and who keep it going! And thehell of it is that they can't stop—when one does it, they all haveto, or their costs get out of line and they can't compete. What's thesolution?     I don't know, Peter said.     Lexington leaned back. That's quite a lot of admissions you've made.What makes you think you're qualified for the job I'm offering?     You said you wanted an engineer.     And I've just proved you're less of an engineer than when you leftschool. I have, haven't I?     All right, you have, Peter said angrily.     And now you're wondering why I don't get somebody fresh out of school.Right?     Peter straightened up and met the old man's challenging gaze. That andwhether you're giving me a hard time just for the hell of it.     Well, am I? Lexington demanded.     Looking at him squarely, seeing the intensity of the pain-drawn eyes,Peter had the startling feeling that Lexington was rooting for him!No, you're not.     Then what am I after?     Suppose you tell me.     So suddenly that it was almost like a collapse, the tension went outof the old man's face and shoulders. He nodded with inexpressibletiredness. Good again. The man I want doesn't exist. He has tobe made—the same as I was. You qualify, so far. You've lost yourillusions, but haven't had time yet to replace them with dogma orcynicism or bitterness. You saw immediately that fake humilityor cockiness wouldn't get you anywhere here, and you were right.Those were the important things. The background data I got from theAssociation on you counted, of course, but only if you were teachable.I think you are. Am I right?     At least I can face knowing how much I don't know, said Peter, ifthat answers the question.     It does. Partly. What did you notice about this plant?     In precis form, Peter listed his observations: the absence of windowsat sides and rear, the unusual amount of power, the automatic doors,the lack of employees' entrances.     Very good, said Lexington. Most people only notice the automaticdoors. Anything else?     Yes, Peter said. You're the only person I've seen in the building.     I'm the only one there is.     Peter stared his disbelief. Automated plants were nothing new, butthey all had their limitations. Either they dealt with exactly similarproducts or things that could be handled on a flow basis, like oil orwater-soluble chemicals. Even these had no more to do than process thegoods.     Come on, said Lexington, getting massively to his feet. I'll showyou.  <doc-sep>When Lexington beamed, Peter felt a surge of relief. Talking with thisman was like walking a tightrope. A word too much or a word too littlemight mean the difference between getting the job or losing it.     Exactly! whispered Lexington, in an almost conspiratorial tone. Ihad altered the circuitry of the machine so that it tried to giveme pleasure—because by doing so, its own pleasure circuit would beactivated.     Things went fast from then on. Once I realized that the machinewas learning, I put TV monitors all over the place, so the machinecould watch everything that was going on. After a short while I hadto increase the memory bank, and later I increased it again, but therewards were worth it. Soon, by watching what I did, and then by doingit for me next time it had to be done, the machine had learned to doalmost everything, and I had time to sit back and count my winnings.     At this point the door opened, and a small self-propelled cart wheeledsilently into the room. Stopping in front of Peter, it waited until hehad taken a small plate laden with two or three cakes off its surface.Then the soft, evenly modulated voice he had heard before asked, Howdo you like your coffee? Cream, sugar, both or black?     Peter looked for the speaker in the side of the cart, saw nothing, andreplied, feeling slightly silly as he did so, Black, please.     A square hole appeared in the top of the cart, like the elevator holein an aircraft carrier's deck. When the section of the cart's surfacerose again, a fine china cup containing steaming black coffee restedon it. Peter took it and sipped it, as he supposed he was expected todo, while the cart proceeded over to Lexington's desk. Once there, itstopped again, and another cup of coffee rose to its surface.       Lexington took the coffee from the top of the car, obviously angryabout something. Silently, he waited until the cart had left theoffice, then snapped, Look at those bloody cups!     Peter looked at his, which was eggshell thin, fluted with carving andornately covered with gold leaf. They look very expensive, he said.     Not only expensive, but stupid and impractical! exploded Lexington.They only hold half a cup, they'll break at a touch, every one has tobe matched with its own saucer, and if you use them for any length oftime, the gold leaf comes off!     Peter searched for a comment, found none that fitted this odd outburst,so he kept silent.  <doc-sep>Lexington stared at his cup without touching it for a long while. Thenhe continued with his narrative. I suppose it's all my own fault. Ididn't detect the symptoms soon enough. After this plant got workingproperly, I started living here. It wasn't a question of saving money.I hated to waste two hours a day driving to and from my house, and Ialso wanted to be on hand in case anything should go wrong that themachine couldn't fix for itself.     Handling the cup as if it were going to shatter at any moment, he tooka gulp. I began to see that the machine could understand the writtenword, and I tried hooking a teletype directly into the logic circuits.It was like uncorking a seltzer bottle. The machine had a funnyvocabulary—all of it gleaned from letters it had seen coming in, andreplies it had seen leaving. But it was intelligible. It even displayedsome traces of the personality the machine was acquiring.     It had chosen a name for itself, for instance—'Lex.' That shook me.You might think Lex Industries was named through an abbreviation ofthe name Lexington, but it wasn't. My wife's name was Alexis, and itwas named after the nickname she always used. I objected, of course,but how can you object on a point like that to a machine? Bear in mindthat I had to be careful to behave reasonably at all times, because themachine was still learning from me, and I was afraid that any tantrumsI threw might be imitated.     It sounds pretty awkward, Peter put in.     You don't know the half of it! As time went on, I had less and less todo, and business-wise I found that the entire control of the operationwas slipping from my grasp. Many times I discovered—too late—thatthe machine had taken the damnedest risks you ever saw on bids andcontracts for supply. It was quoting impossible delivery times onsome orders, and charging pirate's prices on others, all without anyobvious reason. Inexplicably, we always came out on top. It would turnout that on the short-delivery-time quotations, we'd been up againststiff competition, and cutting the production time was the only way wecould get the order. On the high-priced quotes, I'd find that no oneelse was bidding. We were making more money than I'd ever dreamed of,and to make it still better, I'd find that for months I had virtuallynothing to do.     It sounds wonderful, sir, said Peter, feeling dazzled.     It was, in a way. I remember one day I was especially pleased withsomething, and I went to the control console to give the kicker buttona long, hard push. The button, much to my amazement, had been removed,and a blank plate had been installed to cover the opening in the board.I went over to the teletype and punched in the shortest message I hadever sent. 'LEX—WHAT THE HELL?' I typed.     The answer came back in the jargon it had learned from letters it hadseen, and I remember it as if it just happened. 'MR. A LEXINGTON, LEXINDUSTRIES, DEAR SIR: RE YOUR LETTER OF THE THIRTEENTH INST., I AMPLEASED TO ADVISE YOU THAT I AM ABLE TO DISCERN WHETHER OR NOT YOU AREPLEASED WITH MY SERVICE WITHOUT THE USE OF THE EQUIPMENT PREVIOUSLYUSED FOR THIS PURPOSE. RESPECTFULLY, I MIGHT SUGGEST THAT IF THEPUSHBUTTON ARRANGEMENT WERE NECESSARY, I COULD PUSH THE BUTTON MYSELF.I DO NOT BELIEVE THIS WOULD MEET WITH YOUR APPROVAL, AND HAVE TAKENSTEPS TO RELIEVE YOU OF THE BURDEN INVOLVED IN REMEMBERING TO PUSH THEBUTTON EACH TIME YOU ARE ESPECIALLY PLEASED. I SHOULD LIKE TO TAKE THISOPPORTUNITY TO THANK YOU FOR YOUR INQUIRY, AND LOOK FORWARD TO SERVINGYOU IN THE FUTURE AS I HAVE IN THE PAST. YOURS FAITHFULLY, LEX'.  <doc-sep>The office door opened, and Peter found himself being led down theantiseptic corridor to another door which had opened, giving access tothe manufacturing area. As they moved along, between rows of seeminglydisorganized machinery, Peter noticed that the factory lights highoverhead followed their progress, turning themselves on in advanceof their coming, and going out after they had passed, keeping a poolof illumination only in the immediate area they occupied. Soon theyreached a large door which Peter recognized as the inside of the truckloading door he had seen from outside.     Lexington paused here. This is the bay used by the trucks arrivingwith raw materials, he said. They back up to this door, and a setof automatic jacks outside lines up the trailer body with the doorexactly. Then the door opens and the truck is unloaded by thesematerials handling machines.     Peter didn't see him touch anything, but as he spoke, three glisteningmachines, apparently self-powered, rolled noiselessly up to the door information and stopped there, apparently waiting to be inspected.     They gave Peter the creeps. Simple square boxes, set on casters, withtwo arms each mounted on the sides might have looked similar. The arms,fashioned much like human arms, hung at the sides, not limply, but in arelaxed position that somehow indicated readiness.     Lexington went over to one of them and patted it lovingly. Really,these machines are only an extension of one large machine. The wholeplant, as a matter of fact, is controlled from one point and is reallya single unit. These materials handlers, or manipulators, were aboutthe toughest things in the place to design. But they're tremendouslyuseful. You'll see a lot of them around.     Lexington was about to leave the side of the machine when abruptly oneof the arms rose to the handkerchief in his breast pocket and daintilytugged it into a more attractive position. It took only a split second,and before Lexington could react, all three machines were moving awayto attend to mysterious duties of their own.       Peter tore his eyes away from them in time to see the look offrustrated embarrassment that crossed Lexington's face, only to bereplaced by one of anger. He said nothing, however, and led Peter toa large bay where racks of steel plate, bar forms, nuts, bolts, andother materials were stored.     After unloading a truck, the machines check the shipment, report anyshortages or overages, and store the materials here, he said, thetrace of anger not yet gone from his voice. When an order is received,it's translated into the catalogue numbers used internally within theplant, and machines like the ones you just saw withdraw the necessarymaterials from stock, make the component parts, assemble them, andpackage the finished goods for shipment. Simultaneously, an order issent to the billing section to bill the customer, and an order issent to our trucker to come and pick the shipment up. Meanwhile, ifthe withdrawal of the materials required has depleted our stock, thepurchasing section is instructed to order more raw materials. I'll takeyou through the manufacturing and assembly sections right now, butthey're too noisy for me to explain what's going on while we're there.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What are the characteristics exhibited by Mr. Lexington?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the backdrop of the story LEX? [SEP] <s>Lexington stared at his cup without touching it for a long while. Thenhe continued with his narrative. I suppose it's all my own fault. Ididn't detect the symptoms soon enough. After this plant got workingproperly, I started living here. It wasn't a question of saving money.I hated to waste two hours a day driving to and from my house, and Ialso wanted to be on hand in case anything should go wrong that themachine couldn't fix for itself.     Handling the cup as if it were going to shatter at any moment, he tooka gulp. I began to see that the machine could understand the writtenword, and I tried hooking a teletype directly into the logic circuits.It was like uncorking a seltzer bottle. The machine had a funnyvocabulary—all of it gleaned from letters it had seen coming in, andreplies it had seen leaving. But it was intelligible. It even displayedsome traces of the personality the machine was acquiring.     It had chosen a name for itself, for instance—'Lex.' That shook me.You might think Lex Industries was named through an abbreviation ofthe name Lexington, but it wasn't. My wife's name was Alexis, and itwas named after the nickname she always used. I objected, of course,but how can you object on a point like that to a machine? Bear in mindthat I had to be careful to behave reasonably at all times, because themachine was still learning from me, and I was afraid that any tantrumsI threw might be imitated.     It sounds pretty awkward, Peter put in.     You don't know the half of it! As time went on, I had less and less todo, and business-wise I found that the entire control of the operationwas slipping from my grasp. Many times I discovered—too late—thatthe machine had taken the damnedest risks you ever saw on bids andcontracts for supply. It was quoting impossible delivery times onsome orders, and charging pirate's prices on others, all without anyobvious reason. Inexplicably, we always came out on top. It would turnout that on the short-delivery-time quotations, we'd been up againststiff competition, and cutting the production time was the only way wecould get the order. On the high-priced quotes, I'd find that no oneelse was bidding. We were making more money than I'd ever dreamed of,and to make it still better, I'd find that for months I had virtuallynothing to do.     It sounds wonderful, sir, said Peter, feeling dazzled.     It was, in a way. I remember one day I was especially pleased withsomething, and I went to the control console to give the kicker buttona long, hard push. The button, much to my amazement, had been removed,and a blank plate had been installed to cover the opening in the board.I went over to the teletype and punched in the shortest message I hadever sent. 'LEX—WHAT THE HELL?' I typed.     The answer came back in the jargon it had learned from letters it hadseen, and I remember it as if it just happened. 'MR. A LEXINGTON, LEXINDUSTRIES, DEAR SIR: RE YOUR LETTER OF THE THIRTEENTH INST., I AMPLEASED TO ADVISE YOU THAT I AM ABLE TO DISCERN WHETHER OR NOT YOU AREPLEASED WITH MY SERVICE WITHOUT THE USE OF THE EQUIPMENT PREVIOUSLYUSED FOR THIS PURPOSE. RESPECTFULLY, I MIGHT SUGGEST THAT IF THEPUSHBUTTON ARRANGEMENT WERE NECESSARY, I COULD PUSH THE BUTTON MYSELF.I DO NOT BELIEVE THIS WOULD MEET WITH YOUR APPROVAL, AND HAVE TAKENSTEPS TO RELIEVE YOU OF THE BURDEN INVOLVED IN REMEMBERING TO PUSH THEBUTTON EACH TIME YOU ARE ESPECIALLY PLEASED. I SHOULD LIKE TO TAKE THISOPPORTUNITY TO THANK YOU FOR YOUR INQUIRY, AND LOOK FORWARD TO SERVINGYOU IN THE FUTURE AS I HAVE IN THE PAST. YOURS FAITHFULLY, LEX'.  <doc-sep>   LEX     By W. T. HAGGERT     Illustrated by WOOD     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Magazine August 1959.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        Nothing in the world could be happier and       mere serene than a man who loves his work—but       what happens when it loves him back?        Keep your nerve, Peter Manners told himself; it's only a job. But nervehas to rest on a sturdier foundation than cash reserves just above zeroand eviction if he came away from this interview still unemployed.Clay, at the Association of Professional Engineers, who had set up theappointment, hadn't eased Peter's nervousness by admitting, I don'tknow what in hell he's looking for. He's turned down every man we'vesent him.     The interview was at three. Fifteen minutes to go. Coming early wouldbetray overeagerness. Peter stood in front of the Lex Industries plantand studied it to kill time. Plain, featureless concrete walls, notlarge for a manufacturing plant—it took a scant minute to exhaust itssightseeing potential. If he walked around the building, he could, ifhe ambled, come back to the front entrance just before three.     He turned the corner, stopped, frowned, wondering what there was aboutthe building that seemed so puzzling. It could not have been plainer,more ordinary. It was in fact, he only gradually realized, so plain andordinary that it was like no other building he had ever seen.     There had been windows at the front. There were none at the side, andnone at the rear. Then how were the working areas lit? He looked forthe electric service lines and found them at one of the rear corners.They jolted him. The distribution transformers were ten times as largeas they should have been for a plant this size.     Something else was wrong. Peter looked for minutes before he found outwhat it was. Factories usually have large side doorways for employeeschanging shifts. This building had one small office entrance facing thestreet, and the only other door was at the loading bay—big enough tohandle employee traffic, but four feet above the ground. Without anystairs, it could be used only by trucks backing up to it. Maybe theemployees' entrance was on the third side.     It wasn't.  <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 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>Bob Parker came to, the emptiness of remote starlight in his face. Heopened his eyes. He was slowly revolving on an axis. Sometimes the Sunswept across his line of vision. A cold hammering began at the base ofhis skull, a sensation similar to that of being buried alive. There wasno asteroid, no girl, no Queazy. He was alone in the vastness of space.Alone in a space-suit.     Queazy! he whispered. Queazy! I'm running out of air!     There was no answer from Queazy. With sick eyes, Bob studied theoxygen indicator. There was only five pounds pressure. Five pounds!That meant he had been floating around out here—how long? Days atleast—maybe weeks! It was evident that somebody had given him a doseof spastic rays, enough to screw up every muscle in his body to thesnapping point, putting him in such a condition of suspended animationthat his oxygen needs were small. He closed his eyes, trying to fightagainst panic. He was glad he couldn't see any part of his body. He wasprobably scrawny. And he was hungry!     I'll starve, he thought. Or suffocate to death first!     He couldn't keep himself from taking in great gulps of air. Minutes,then hours passed. He was breathing abnormally, and there wasn't enoughair in the first place. He pleaded continually for Queazy, hopingthat somehow Queazy could help, when probably Queazy was in the samecondition. He ripped out wild curses directed at the Saylor brothers.Murderers, both of them! Up until this time, he had merely thought ofthem as business rivals. If he ever got out of this—     He groaned. He never would get out of it! After another hour, he wasgasping weakly, and yellow spots danced in his eyes. He called Queazy'sname once more, knowing that was the last time he would have strengthto call it.     And this time the headset spoke back!     Bob Parker made a gurgling sound. A voice came again, washed withstatic, far away, burbling, but excited. Bob made a rattling sound inhis throat. Then his eyes started to close, but he imagined that he sawa ship, shiny and small, driving toward him, growing in size againstthe backdrop of the Milky Way. He relapsed, a terrific buzzing in hisears.     He did not lose consciousness. He heard voices, Queazy's and thegirl's, whoever she was. Somebody grabbed hold of his foot. Hisaquarium was unbuckled and good air washed over his streaming face.The sudden rush of oxygen to his brain dizzied him. Then he was lyingon a bunk, and gradually the world beyond his sick body focussed in hisclearing eyes and he knew he was alive—and going to stay that way, forawhile anyway.     Thanks, Queazy, he said huskily.     Queazy was bending over him, his anxiety clearing away from hissuddenly brightening face.     Don't thank me, he whispered. We'd have both been goners if ithadn't been for her. The Saylor brothers left her paralyzed likeus, and when she woke up she was on a slow orbit around her ship.She unstrapped her holster and threw it away from her and it gaveher enough reaction to reach the ship. She got inside and used thedirection-finder on the telaudio and located me first. The Saylorsscattered us far and wide. Queazy's broad, normally good-humored facetwisted blackly. The so and so's didn't care if we lived or died.     Bob saw the girl now, standing a little behind Queazy, looking down athim curiously, but unhappily. Her space-suit was off. She was wearinglightly striped blue slacks and blue silk blouse and she had a paperflower in her hair. Something in Bob's stomach caved in as his eyeswidened on her.     The girl said glumly, I guess you men won't much care for me when youfind out who I am and what I've done. I'm Starre Lowenthal—Andrew S.Burnside's granddaughter!  <doc-sep>After a time he said, Rodney, Wass, it's dust, down there. Rememberthe wind? Air currents are moving it.     Rodney sat down on the metal flooring. For a long time he said nothing.Then—It wasn't.... Why did you close the hatch then?     Martin did not say he thought the other two would have shot him,otherwise. He said merely, At first I wasn't sure myself.     Rodney stood up, backing away from the closed hatch. He held his gunloosely, and his hand shook. Then prove it. Open it again.     Martin went to the wheel. He noticed Wass was standing behind Rodneyand he, too, had drawn his gun.     The hatch rose again at Martin's direction. He stood beside it,outlined in the light of two torches.     For a little while he was alone.     Then—causing a gasp from Wass, a harsh expletive from Rodney—atenuous, questing alien limb edged through the hatch, curling aboutMartin, sparkling in ten thousand separate particles in the torchlight,obscuring the dimly seen backdrop of geometrical processions of strangeobjects.       Martin raised an arm, and the particles swirled in stately, shimmeringspirals.     Rodney leaned forward and looked over the edge of the hatch. He saidnothing. He eyed the sparkling particles swirling about Martin, andnow, himself.     How deep, Wass said, from his safe distance.     We'll have to lower a flashlight, Martin answered.     Rodney, all eagerness to be of assistance now, lowered a rope with atorch swinging wildly on the end of it.     The torch came to rest about thirty feet down. It shone on gentlyrolling mounds of fine, white stuff.     Martin anchored the rope soundly, and paused, half across the lipof the hatch to stare coldly at Wass. You'd rather monkey with theswitches and blow yourself to smithereens?     Wass sighed and refused to meet Martin's gaze. Martin looked at himdisgustedly, and then began to descend the rope, slowly, peering intothe infinite, sparkling darkness pressing around him. At the bottomof the rope he sank to his knees in dust, and then was held even. Hestamped his feet, and then, as well as he was able, did a standingjump. He sank no farther than his knees.     He sighted a path parallel with the avenue above, toward the nearestedge of the city. I think we'll be all right, he called out, as longas we avoid the drifts.     Rodney began the descent. Looking up, Martin saw Wass above Rodney.     All right, Wass, Martin said quietly, as Rodney released the rope andsank into the dust.     Not me, the answer came back quickly. You two fools go your way,I'll go mine.     Wass!     There was no answer. The light faded swiftly away from the opening.     The going was hard. The dust clung like honey to their feet, and eddiedand swirled about them until the purifying systems in their suits werehard-pressed to remove the fine stuff working in at joints and valves.     Are we going straight? Rodney asked.     Of course, Martin growled.     There was silence again, the silence of almost-exhausted determination.The two men lifted their feet out of the dust, and then laboriouslyplunged forward, to sink again to the knees, repeated the act, timeswithout number.     Then Wass broke his silence, taunting. The ship leaves in two hours,Martin. Two hours. Hear me, Rodney?     Martin pulled his left foot from the sand and growled deep in histhroat. Ahead, through the confusing patterns of the sparkling dust,his flashlight gleamed against metal. He grabbed Rodney's arm, pointed.     A grate.     Rodney stared. Wass! he shouted. We've found a way out!     Their radios recorded Wass' laughter. I'm at the switchboard now,Martin. I—     There was a tinkle of breaking glass, breaking faceplate.     The grate groaned upward and stopped.     Wass babbled incoherently into the radio for a moment, and then hebegan to scream.     Martin switched off his radio, sick.     He turned it on again when they reached the opening in the metal wall.Well?     I've been trying to get you, Rodney said, frantically. Why didn'tyou answer?     We couldn't do anything for him.     Rodney's face was white and drawn. But he did this for us.     So he did, Martin said, very quietly.     Rodney said nothing.     Then Martin said, Did you listen until the end?     Rodney nodded, jerkily. He pulled three more switches. I couldn'tunderstand it all. But—Martin, dying alone like that in a place likethis—!     Martin crawled into the circular pipe behind the grate. It tilted uptoward the surface. Come on, Rodney. Last lap.     An hour later they surfaced about two hundred yards away from theedge of the city. Behind them the black pile rose, the dome of forceshimmering, almost invisible, about it.     Ahead of them were the other two scoutships from the mother ship.Martin called out faintly, pulling Rodney out of the pipe. Crew membersstanding by the scoutships, and at the edge of the city, began to runtoward them.     Radio picked you up as soon as you entered the pipe, someone said. Itwas the last thing Martin heard before he collapsed.   <doc-sep>The first thing about the derelict that struck us as we drew near washer size. No ship ever built in the Foundation Yards had ever attainedsuch gargantuan proportions. She must have stretched a full thousandfeet from bow to stern, a sleek torpedo shape of somehow unspeakablealienness. Against the backdrop of the Milky Way, she gleamed fitfullyin the light of the faraway sun, the metal of her flanks grained withsomething like tiny, glittering whorls. It was as though the stuffwere somehow unstable ... seeking balance ... maybe even alive in somestrange and alien way.     It was readily apparent to all of us that she had never been built forinter-planetary flight. She was a starship. Origin unknown. An aura ofmystery surrounded her like a shroud, protecting the world that gaveher birth mutely but effectively. The distance she must have come wasunthinkable. And the time it had taken...? Aeons. Millennia. For shewas drifting, dead in space, slowly spinning end over end as she swungabout Sol in a hyperbolic orbit that would soon take her out and awayagain into the inter-stellar deeps.     Something had wounded her ... perhaps ten million years ago ... perhapsyesterday. She was gashed deeply from stem to stern with a jagged ripthat bared her mangled innards. A wandering asteroid? A meteor? Wewould never know. It gave me an uncomfortable feeling of things beyondthe ken of men as I looked at her through the port. I would never knowwhat killed her, or where she was going, or whence she came. Yet shewas mine. It made me feel like an upstart. And it made me afraid ...but of what?     We should have reported her to the nearest EMV base, but that wouldhave meant that we'd lose her. Scientists would be sent out. Men betterequipped than we to investigate the first extrasolar artifact found bymen. But I didn't report her. She was ours. She was money in the bank.Let the scientists take over after we'd put a prize crew aboard andbrought her into Callisto for salvage.... That's the way I had thingsfigured.     The Maid hove to about a hundred yards from her and hung there, dwarfedby the mighty glistening ship. I called for volunteers and we prepareda boarding party. I was thinking that her drives alone would be worthmillions. Cohn took charge and he and three of the men suited up andcrossed to her.     In an hour they were back, disappointment largely written on theirfaces.     There's nothing left of her, Captain, Cohn reported, Whatever hither tore up the innards so badly we couldn't even find the drives.She's a mess inside. Nothing left but the hull and a few storagecompartments that are still unbroken.     She was never built to carry humanoids he told us, and there wasnothing that could give us a hint of where she had come from. The hullalone was left.     He dropped two chunks of metal on my desk. I brought back some samplesof her pressure hull, he said, The whole thing is made of thisstuff....     We'll still take her in, I said, hiding my disappointment. Thecarcass will be worth money in Callisto. Have Mister Marvin andZaleski assemble a spare pulse-jet. We'll jury-rig her and bring herdown under her own power. You take charge of provisioning her. Checkthose compartments you found and install oxy-generators aboard. Whenit's done report to me in my quarters.     I picked up the two samples of gleaming metal and called for ametallurgical testing kit. I'm going to try and find out if this stuffis worth anything....     The metal was heavy—too heavy, it seemed to me, for spaceshipconstruction. But then, who was to say what conditions existed on thatdistant world where this metal was made?     Under the bright fluorescent over my work-table, the chunks of metaltorn from a random bulkhead of the starship gleamed like pale silver;those strange little whorls that I had noticed on the outer hull werethere too, like tiny magnetic lines of force, making the surface ofthe metal seem to dance. I held the stuff in my bare hand.      It had ayellowish tinge, and it was heavier     ....     Even as I watched, the metal grew yellower, and the hand that heldit grew bone weary, little tongues of fatigue licking up my forearm.Suddenly terrified, I dropped the chunk as though it were white hot. Itstruck the table with a dull thud and lay there, a rich yellow lump ofmetallic lustre.     For a long while I just sat and stared. Then I began testing, tryingall the while to quiet the trembling of my hands. I weighed it on abalance. I tested it with acids. It had changed unquestionably. Itwas no longer the same as when I had carried it into my quarters. Thewhorls of force were gone. It was no longer alive with a questingvibrancy ... it was inert, stable. From somewhere, somehow, it haddrawn the energy necessary for transmutation. The unknown metal—thestuff of which that whole mammoth spaceship from the stars wasbuilt—was now....       Gold!       I scarcely dared believe it, but there it was staring at me from mytable-top.      Gold!       I searched my mind for an explanation. Contra-terrene matter, perhaps,from some distant island universe where matter reacted differently ...drawing energy from somewhere, the energy it needed to find stabilityin its new environment. Stability as a terrene element—wonderfully,miraculously gold!     And outside, in the void beyond the Maid's ports there were tons ofthis metal that could be turned into treasure. My laughter must havebeen a wild sound in those moments of discovery....  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the backdrop of the story LEX?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the importance of the machinery in LEX? [SEP] <s>Lexington stared at his cup without touching it for a long while. Thenhe continued with his narrative. I suppose it's all my own fault. Ididn't detect the symptoms soon enough. After this plant got workingproperly, I started living here. It wasn't a question of saving money.I hated to waste two hours a day driving to and from my house, and Ialso wanted to be on hand in case anything should go wrong that themachine couldn't fix for itself.     Handling the cup as if it were going to shatter at any moment, he tooka gulp. I began to see that the machine could understand the writtenword, and I tried hooking a teletype directly into the logic circuits.It was like uncorking a seltzer bottle. The machine had a funnyvocabulary—all of it gleaned from letters it had seen coming in, andreplies it had seen leaving. But it was intelligible. It even displayedsome traces of the personality the machine was acquiring.     It had chosen a name for itself, for instance—'Lex.' That shook me.You might think Lex Industries was named through an abbreviation ofthe name Lexington, but it wasn't. My wife's name was Alexis, and itwas named after the nickname she always used. I objected, of course,but how can you object on a point like that to a machine? Bear in mindthat I had to be careful to behave reasonably at all times, because themachine was still learning from me, and I was afraid that any tantrumsI threw might be imitated.     It sounds pretty awkward, Peter put in.     You don't know the half of it! As time went on, I had less and less todo, and business-wise I found that the entire control of the operationwas slipping from my grasp. Many times I discovered—too late—thatthe machine had taken the damnedest risks you ever saw on bids andcontracts for supply. It was quoting impossible delivery times onsome orders, and charging pirate's prices on others, all without anyobvious reason. Inexplicably, we always came out on top. It would turnout that on the short-delivery-time quotations, we'd been up againststiff competition, and cutting the production time was the only way wecould get the order. On the high-priced quotes, I'd find that no oneelse was bidding. We were making more money than I'd ever dreamed of,and to make it still better, I'd find that for months I had virtuallynothing to do.     It sounds wonderful, sir, said Peter, feeling dazzled.     It was, in a way. I remember one day I was especially pleased withsomething, and I went to the control console to give the kicker buttona long, hard push. The button, much to my amazement, had been removed,and a blank plate had been installed to cover the opening in the board.I went over to the teletype and punched in the shortest message I hadever sent. 'LEX—WHAT THE HELL?' I typed.     The answer came back in the jargon it had learned from letters it hadseen, and I remember it as if it just happened. 'MR. A LEXINGTON, LEXINDUSTRIES, DEAR SIR: RE YOUR LETTER OF THE THIRTEENTH INST., I AMPLEASED TO ADVISE YOU THAT I AM ABLE TO DISCERN WHETHER OR NOT YOU AREPLEASED WITH MY SERVICE WITHOUT THE USE OF THE EQUIPMENT PREVIOUSLYUSED FOR THIS PURPOSE. RESPECTFULLY, I MIGHT SUGGEST THAT IF THEPUSHBUTTON ARRANGEMENT WERE NECESSARY, I COULD PUSH THE BUTTON MYSELF.I DO NOT BELIEVE THIS WOULD MEET WITH YOUR APPROVAL, AND HAVE TAKENSTEPS TO RELIEVE YOU OF THE BURDEN INVOLVED IN REMEMBERING TO PUSH THEBUTTON EACH TIME YOU ARE ESPECIALLY PLEASED. I SHOULD LIKE TO TAKE THISOPPORTUNITY TO THANK YOU FOR YOUR INQUIRY, AND LOOK FORWARD TO SERVINGYOU IN THE FUTURE AS I HAVE IN THE PAST. YOURS FAITHFULLY, LEX'.  <doc-sep>   LEX     By W. T. HAGGERT     Illustrated by WOOD     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Magazine August 1959.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        Nothing in the world could be happier and       mere serene than a man who loves his work—but       what happens when it loves him back?        Keep your nerve, Peter Manners told himself; it's only a job. But nervehas to rest on a sturdier foundation than cash reserves just above zeroand eviction if he came away from this interview still unemployed.Clay, at the Association of Professional Engineers, who had set up theappointment, hadn't eased Peter's nervousness by admitting, I don'tknow what in hell he's looking for. He's turned down every man we'vesent him.     The interview was at three. Fifteen minutes to go. Coming early wouldbetray overeagerness. Peter stood in front of the Lex Industries plantand studied it to kill time. Plain, featureless concrete walls, notlarge for a manufacturing plant—it took a scant minute to exhaust itssightseeing potential. If he walked around the building, he could, ifhe ambled, come back to the front entrance just before three.     He turned the corner, stopped, frowned, wondering what there was aboutthe building that seemed so puzzling. It could not have been plainer,more ordinary. It was in fact, he only gradually realized, so plain andordinary that it was like no other building he had ever seen.     There had been windows at the front. There were none at the side, andnone at the rear. Then how were the working areas lit? He looked forthe electric service lines and found them at one of the rear corners.They jolted him. The distribution transformers were ten times as largeas they should have been for a plant this size.     Something else was wrong. Peter looked for minutes before he found outwhat it was. Factories usually have large side doorways for employeeschanging shifts. This building had one small office entrance facing thestreet, and the only other door was at the loading bay—big enough tohandle employee traffic, but four feet above the ground. Without anystairs, it could be used only by trucks backing up to it. Maybe theemployees' entrance was on the third side.     It wasn't.  <doc-sep>They wouldn't even know, he told himself, squirming through theemergency exit into the engine room, and sealing it after him. And theywouldn't understand if they did. Pink mist swirled about him. Toxiagas. Shano coughed.     He squinted around at the massive, incomprehensible machinery. The gutsof the space ship.     Then he saw the shattered, gold-gleaming cylinder, gas hissing froma fine nozzle, and filaments glowing bluish inside it, still workingaway. He saw five heavy Carrsteel rods hanging useless, on melted-downpins, and the slots their pronged ends hooked into. He looked at hishands, and shook his head.     One try, he said to himself. One try, Shano. One important thing inyour life. Here's your opportunity. The toxia gas will get you. It'llkill you at this concentration. But you'll last for maybe twelve hours.Another man wouldn't last a minute. Another man's lungs aren't cloggedwith Juno gum.     He grasped a rod and lifted it, sweating under the weight, and slippedthe forked end into its slot. Going home to die, he thought. Well,maybe not going home. Couldn't remember what Earth looked like anyway.     What was that again? Oh yeah—just lift them up, and when they dropoff, lift them up again.     Shano coughed, and lifted the heavy rods into position. One jerked backsuddenly and smoothly, and something went, Pop, pop, behind him andmachinery whirred. He lifted the rod and slipped it back on. Anotherjerked, pulled open a large valve, and dropped off. Shano bent, andlifted, coughing and coughing. He forgot what he was doing, mind blankthe way it went when he worked. Just rhythmically fell into the job,the way a laborer does. He waited for a rod to slip and fall, thenlifted it up and slipped it in place, skin sweating, joints shootingpain along his limbs. He heard the machinery working. He heard thehigh, howling whine of cosmic jets. He, Shano, was making the machinerygo. He was running the cosmic drive.     A bell clanged somewhere. Engine room! Engine room! We're under way!What happened?     Silence, while Shano coughed and made the machinery go, thinking aboutthe Earth he hadn't seen for many years.     Captain! the speaker bawled. There's a man in there! Working thevalve rods! Somebody is in the engine room and the gas isn't....     Shano grinned, feeling good. Feeling happy. Lifting the heavy steelrods, driving the ship. Keeping the jets screaming and hurtling theliner      Stardust     toward Venus. He wondered if they'd found Rourke yet.If he could keep going for twelve hours they would get to Venus. Afterthat....     Home, he coughed. Hell! Who wants to go home?     He plucked at his agitated chest, thinking of a whole damn Uranianfleet swooping down on a spot in space, expecting to find a crippledship there with a spy inside it. And finding nothing. Because of Shano.A useless old man.     Coughing came out all mixed up with laughing.   <doc-sep>Down in the great cave that Old Serpent, a two-legged one among whosenames were Snake-Oil Sam, spoke to his underlings:     It'll take them fourteen days to get back with the settlers. We'llhave time to overhaul the blasters. We haven't had any well-equippedsettlers for six weeks. It used to be we'd hardly have time to stripand slaughter and stow before there was another batch to take care of.     I think you'd better write me some new lines, said Adam. I feel likea goof saying those same ones to each bunch.     You are a goof, and therefore perfect for the part. I was in showbusiness long enough to know never to change a line too soon. I didchange Adam and Eve to Ha-Adamah and Hawwah, and the apple to thepomegranate. People aren't becoming any smarter—but they are becomingbetter researched, and they insist on authenticity.     This is still a perfect come-on here. There is something in humannature that cannot resist the idea of a Perfect Paradise. Folks willwhoop and holler to their neighbors to come in droves to spoil and marit. It isn't greed or the desire for new land so much—though that isstrong too. Mainly it is the feverish passion to befoul and poison whatis unspoiled. Fortunately I am sagacious enough to take advantage ofthis trait. And when you start to farm a new world on a shoestring youhave to acquire your equipment as you can.     He looked proudly around at the great cave with its mountains and tiersof materials, heavy machinery of all sorts, titanic crates of foodstuffspace-sealed; wheeled, tracked, propped, vaned and jetted vehicles; andpower packs to run a world.     He looked at the three dozen space ships stripped and stacked, and atthe rather large pile of bone-meal in one corner.     We will have to have another lion, said Eve. Bowser is getting old,and Marie-Yvette abuses him and gnaws his toes. And we do have to havea big-maned lion to lie down with the lamb.     I know it, Eve. The lion is a very important prop. Maybe one of thecrackpot settlers will bring a new lion.     And can't you mix another kind of shining paint? This itches. It'shell.     I'm working on it.  <doc-sep>It was hard to believe I was traveling in space at last. Ahead andbehind me, all the way up to where the companionway curved in outof sight, there was nothing but smooth black wall and smooth whitedoors—on and on and on.      Gee     , I thought excitedly, this is      one bigship     !     Of course, every once in a while I would run across a big scene ofstars in the void set in the wall; but they were only pictures. Nothingthat gave the feel of great empty space like I'd read about in      The BoyRocketeers     , no portholes, no visiplates, nothing.     So when I came to the crossway, I stopped for a second, then turnedleft. To the right, see, there was Deck Four, then Deck Three, leadinginward past the engine fo'c'sle to the main jets and the grav helixgoing      purr-purr-purrty-purr     in the comforting way big machinery haswhen it's happy and oiled. But to the left, the crossway led all theway to the outside level which ran just under the hull. There wereportholes on the hull.     I'd studied all that out in our cabin, long before we'd lifted, onthe transparent model of the ship hanging like a big cigar from theceiling. Sis had studied it too, but she was looking for places likethe dining salon and the library and Lifeboat 68 where we should go incase of emergency. I looked for the      important     things.     As I trotted along the crossway, I sort of wished that Sis hadn'tdecided to go after a husband on a luxury liner. On a cargo ship, now,I'd be climbing from deck to deck on a ladder instead of having gravityunderfoot all the time just like I was home on the bottom of the Gulfof Mexico. But women always know what's right, and a boy can only makefaces and do what they say, same as the men have to do.     Still, it was pretty exciting to press my nose against the slots in thewall and see the sliding panels that could come charging out and blockthe crossway into an airtight fit in case a meteor or something smashedinto the ship. And all along there were glass cases with spacesuitsstanding in them, like those knights they used to have back in theMiddle Ages.     In the event of disaster affecting the oxygen content ofcompanionway, they had the words etched into the glass, break glasswith hammer upon wall, remove spacesuit and proceed to don it in thefollowing fashion.     I read the following fashion until I knew it by heart.      Boy     , I saidto myself,      I hope we have that kind of disaster. I'd sure like to getinto one of those! Bet it would be more fun than those diving suitsback in Undersea!       And all the time I was alone. That was the best part.  <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>All around Rikud were darkness and hunger and thirst. The buzzer didnot sound because Rikud had silenced it forever. And no one went toeat or drink. Rikud himself had fumbled through the blackness and thewhimpering to the dining room, his tongue dry and swollen, but thesmooth belt that flowed with water and with savory dishes did not runany more. The machinery, Rikud realized, also was responsible for food.     Chuls said, over and over, I'm hungry.     We will eat and we will drink when the buzzer tells us, Wilm repliedconfidently.     It won't any more, Rikud said.     What won't?     The buzzer will never sound again. I broke it.     Crifer growled. I know. You shouldn't have done it. That was a badthing you did, Rikud.     It was not bad. The world has moved through the blackness and thestars and now we should go outside to live in the big garden therebeyond the viewport.     That's ridiculous, Chuls said.     Even Crifer now was angry at Rikud. He broke the buzzer and no one caneat. I hate Rikud, I think.     There was a lot of noise in the darkness, and someone else said, Ihate Rikud. Then everyone was saying it.     Rikud was sad. Soon he would die, because no one would go outside withhim and he could not go outside alone. In five more years he would havehad a woman, too. He wondered if it was dark and hungry in the women'squarters. Did women eat?     Perhaps they ate plants. Once, in the garden, Rikud had broken off afrond and tasted it. It had been bitter, but not unpleasant. Maybe theplants in the viewport would even be better.     We will not be hungry if we go outside, he said. We can eat there.     We can eat if the buzzer sounds, but it is broken, Chuls said dully.     Crifer shrilled, Maybe it is only variable and will buzz again.     No, Rikud assured him. It won't.     Then you broke it and I hate you, said Crifer. We should break you,too, to show you how it is to be broken.     We must go outside—through the viewport. Rikud listened to the oddgurgling sound his stomach made.     A hand reached out in the darkness and grabbed at his head. He heardCrifer's voice. I have Rikud's head. The voice was nasty, hostile.     Crifer, more than anyone, had been his friend. But now that he hadbroken the machinery, Crifer was his enemy, because Crifer came nearerto understanding the situation than anyone except Rikud.     The hand reached out again, and it struck Rikud hard across the face.I hit him! I hit him!     Other hands reached out, and Rikud stumbled. He fell and then someonewas on top of him, and he struggled. He rolled and was up again, andhe did not like the sound of the angry voices. Someone said, Let usdo to Rikud what he said he did to the machinery. Rikud ran. In thedarkness, his feet prodded many bodies. There were those who were tooweak to rise. Rikud, too, felt a strange light-headedness and a gnawinghurt in his stomach. But it didn't matter. He heard the angry voicesand the feet pounding behind him, and he wanted only to get away.     It was dark and he was hungry and everyone who was strong enough to runwas chasing him, but every time he thought of the garden outside, andhow big it was, the darkness and the hunger and the people chasing himwere unimportant. It was so big that it would swallow him up completelyand positively.     He became sickly giddy thinking about it.     But if he didn't open the door and go into the garden outside, he woulddie because he had no food and no water and his stomach gurgled andgrumbled and hurt. And everyone was chasing him.     He stumbled through the darkness and felt his way back to the library,through the inner door and into the room with the voice—but thevoice didn't speak this time—through its door and into the place ofmachinery. Behind him, he could hear the voices at the first door, andhe thought for a moment that no one would come after him. But he heardCrifer yell something, and then feet pounding in the passage.     Rikud tripped over something and sprawled awkwardly across the floor.He felt a sharp hurt in his head, and when he reached up to touch itwith his hands there in the darkness, his fingers came away wet.     He got up slowly and opened the next door. The voices behind him werecloser now. Light streamed in through the viewport. After the darkness,it frightened Rikud and it made his eyes smart, and he could hear thosebehind him retreating to a safe distance. But their voices were notfar away, and he knew they would come after him because they wanted tobreak him.     Rikud looked out upon the garden and he trembled. Out there was life.The garden stretched off in unthinkable immensity to the cluster oflow mounds against the bright blue which roofed the many plants. Ifplants could live out there as they did within the world, then so couldpeople. Rikud and his people      should     . This was why the world had movedacross the darkness and the stars for all Rikud's lifetime and more.But he was afraid.     He reached up and grasped the handle of the door and he saw that hisfingers were red with the wetness which had come from his hurt head.Slowly he slipped to the cool floor—how his head was burning!—and fora long time he lay there, thinking he would never rise again. Inside heheard the voices again, and soon a foot and then another pounded onthe metal of the passage. He heard Crifer's voice louder than the rest:There is Rikud on the floor!     Tugging at the handle of the door, Rikud pulled himself upright.Something small and brown scurried across the other side of theviewport and Rikud imagined it turned to look at him with two hideousred eyes.     Rikud screamed and hurtled back through the corridor, and his facewas so terrible in the light streaming in through the viewport thateveryone fled before him. He stumbled again in the place of themachinery, and down on his hands and knees he fondled the bits of metalwhich he could see in the dim light through the open door.     Where's the buzzer? he sobbed. I must find the buzzer.     Crifer's voice, from the darkness inside, said, You broke it. Youbroke it. And now we will break you—     Rikud got up and ran. He reached the door again and then he slippeddown against it, exhausted. Behind him, the voices and the footstepscame, and soon he saw Crifer's head peer in through the passageway.Then there were others, and then they were walking toward him.     His head whirled and the viewport seemed to swim in a haze. Could itbe variable, as Crifer had suggested? He wondered if the scurryingbrown thing waited somewhere, and nausea struck at the pit of hisstomach. But if the plants could live out there and the scurrying thingcould live and that was why the world had moved through the blackness,then so could he live out there, and Crifer and all the others....     So tightly did he grip the handle that his fingers began to hurt. Andhis heart pounded hard and he felt the pulses leaping on either side ofhis neck.     He stared out into the garden, and off into the distance, where theblue-white globe which might have been a star stood just above the rowof mounds.  <doc-sep>When Martin was sixteen, Raymond took him aside for the talk Ninian hadpromised five years before.     The whole thing's all my brother Conrad's fault. You see, he's anidealist, Raymond explained, pronouncing the last word with distaste.     Martin nodded gravely. He was a quiet boy now, his brief past a dim andrather ridiculous memory. Who could ever imagine him robbing a grocerystore or wielding a broken bottle now? He still was rather undersizedand he'd read so much that he'd weakened his eyes and had to wearglasses. His face was pallid, because he spent little time in the sun,and his speech rather overbred, his mentors from the future havingcarefully eradicated all current vulgarities.     And Conrad really got upset over the way Earth has been exploitingthe not so intelligent life-forms on the other planets, Raymondcontinued. Which      is     distressing—though, of course, it's not asif they were people. Besides, the government has been talking aboutpassing laws to do away with the—well, abuses and things like that,and I'm sure someday everything will come out all right. However,Conrad is so impatient.     I thought, in your world, machines did all the work, Martin suggested.     I've told you—our world is precisely the same as this one! Raymondsnapped. We just come a couple of centuries or so later, that's all.But remember, our interests are identical. We're virtually the samepeople ... although it is amazing what a difference two hundred oddyears of progress and polish can make in a species, isn't it?     He continued more mildly: However, even you ought to be able tounderstand that we can't make machinery without metal. We need food.All that sort of thing comes from the out-system planets. And, on thoseworlds, it's far cheaper to use native labor than to ship out all thatexpensive machinery. After all, if we didn't give the natives jobs, howwould they manage to live?     How did they live before? Come to think of it, if you don't work, howdo      you     live now?... I don't mean in the now for me, but the now foryou, Martin explained laboriously. It was so difficult to live in thepast and think in the future.     I'm trying to talk to you as if you were an adult, Raymond said, butif you will persist in these childish interruptions—     I'm sorry, Martin said.     But he wasn't, for by now he had little respect left for any ofhis descendants. They were all exceedingly handsome and cultivatedyoung people, with superior educations, smooth ways of speaking andconsiderable self-confidence, but they just weren't very bright. Andhe had discovered that Raymond was perhaps the most intelligent of thelot. Somewhere in that relatively short span of time, his line or—morefrightening—his race had lost something vital.     Unaware of the near-contempt in which his young ancestor held him,Raymond went on blandly: Anyhow, Conrad took it upon himself tofeel particularly guilty, because, he decided, if it hadn't been forthe fact that our great-grandfather discovered the super-drive, wemight never have reached the stars. Which is ridiculous—his feelingguilty, I mean. Perhaps a great-grandfather is responsible for hisgreat-grandchildren, but a great-grandchild can hardly be heldaccountable for his great-grandfather.     How about a great-great-grandchild? Martin couldn't help asking.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the importance of the machinery in LEX?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the connection between Peter and Mr. Lexington in the story of LEX? [SEP] <s>Lexington stared at his cup without touching it for a long while. Thenhe continued with his narrative. I suppose it's all my own fault. Ididn't detect the symptoms soon enough. After this plant got workingproperly, I started living here. It wasn't a question of saving money.I hated to waste two hours a day driving to and from my house, and Ialso wanted to be on hand in case anything should go wrong that themachine couldn't fix for itself.     Handling the cup as if it were going to shatter at any moment, he tooka gulp. I began to see that the machine could understand the writtenword, and I tried hooking a teletype directly into the logic circuits.It was like uncorking a seltzer bottle. The machine had a funnyvocabulary—all of it gleaned from letters it had seen coming in, andreplies it had seen leaving. But it was intelligible. It even displayedsome traces of the personality the machine was acquiring.     It had chosen a name for itself, for instance—'Lex.' That shook me.You might think Lex Industries was named through an abbreviation ofthe name Lexington, but it wasn't. My wife's name was Alexis, and itwas named after the nickname she always used. I objected, of course,but how can you object on a point like that to a machine? Bear in mindthat I had to be careful to behave reasonably at all times, because themachine was still learning from me, and I was afraid that any tantrumsI threw might be imitated.     It sounds pretty awkward, Peter put in.     You don't know the half of it! As time went on, I had less and less todo, and business-wise I found that the entire control of the operationwas slipping from my grasp. Many times I discovered—too late—thatthe machine had taken the damnedest risks you ever saw on bids andcontracts for supply. It was quoting impossible delivery times onsome orders, and charging pirate's prices on others, all without anyobvious reason. Inexplicably, we always came out on top. It would turnout that on the short-delivery-time quotations, we'd been up againststiff competition, and cutting the production time was the only way wecould get the order. On the high-priced quotes, I'd find that no oneelse was bidding. We were making more money than I'd ever dreamed of,and to make it still better, I'd find that for months I had virtuallynothing to do.     It sounds wonderful, sir, said Peter, feeling dazzled.     It was, in a way. I remember one day I was especially pleased withsomething, and I went to the control console to give the kicker buttona long, hard push. The button, much to my amazement, had been removed,and a blank plate had been installed to cover the opening in the board.I went over to the teletype and punched in the shortest message I hadever sent. 'LEX—WHAT THE HELL?' I typed.     The answer came back in the jargon it had learned from letters it hadseen, and I remember it as if it just happened. 'MR. A LEXINGTON, LEXINDUSTRIES, DEAR SIR: RE YOUR LETTER OF THE THIRTEENTH INST., I AMPLEASED TO ADVISE YOU THAT I AM ABLE TO DISCERN WHETHER OR NOT YOU AREPLEASED WITH MY SERVICE WITHOUT THE USE OF THE EQUIPMENT PREVIOUSLYUSED FOR THIS PURPOSE. RESPECTFULLY, I MIGHT SUGGEST THAT IF THEPUSHBUTTON ARRANGEMENT WERE NECESSARY, I COULD PUSH THE BUTTON MYSELF.I DO NOT BELIEVE THIS WOULD MEET WITH YOUR APPROVAL, AND HAVE TAKENSTEPS TO RELIEVE YOU OF THE BURDEN INVOLVED IN REMEMBERING TO PUSH THEBUTTON EACH TIME YOU ARE ESPECIALLY PLEASED. I SHOULD LIKE TO TAKE THISOPPORTUNITY TO THANK YOU FOR YOUR INQUIRY, AND LOOK FORWARD TO SERVINGYOU IN THE FUTURE AS I HAVE IN THE PAST. YOURS FAITHFULLY, LEX'.  <doc-sep>Staring back at the last blank wall, Peter suddenly remembered the timehe had set out to kill. He looked at his watch and gasped. At a run,set to straight-arm the door, he almost fell on his face. The door hadopened by itself. He stopped and looked for a photo-electric eye, buta soft voice said through a loudspeaker in the anteroom wall: Mr.Manners?     What? he panted. Who—?     You      are     Mr. Manners? the voice asked.     He nodded, then realized he had to answer aloud if there was amicrophone around; but the soft voice said: Follow the open doors downthe hall. Mr. Lexington is expecting you.     Thanks, Peter said, and a door at one side of the anteroom swung openfor him.     He went through it with his composure slipping still further from hisgrip. This was no way to go into an interview, but doors kept openingbefore and shutting after him, until only one was left, and the last ofhis calm was blasted away by a bellow from within.     Don't stand out there like a jackass! Either come in or go away!     Peter found himself leaping obediently toward the doorway. He stoppedjust short of it, took a deep breath and huffed it out, took another,all the while thinking, Hold on now; you're in no shape for aninterview—and it's not your fault—this whole setup is geared tounnerve you: the kindergarten kid called in to see the principal.     He let another bellow bounce off him as he blew out the second breath,straightened his jacket and tie, and walked in as an engineer applyingfor a position should.     Mr. Lexington? he said. I'm Peter Manners. The Association—     Sit down, said the man at the desk. Let's look you over.     He was a huge man behind an even huger desk. Peter took a chair infront of the desk and let himself be inspected. It wasn't comfortable.He did some looking over of his own to ease the tension.     The room was more than merely large, carpeted throughout witha high-pile, rich, sound-deadening rug. The oversized desk andmassive leather chairs, heavy patterned drapes, ornately framedpaintings—by God, even a glass-brick manteled fireplace and bowls withflowers!—made him feel as if he had walked down a hospital corridorinto Hollywood's idea of an office.     His eyes eventually had to move to Lexington, and they were dauntedfor another instant. This was a citadel of a man—great girders offrame supporting buttresses of muscle—with a vaulting head anddrawbridge chin and a steel gaze that defied any attempt to storm it.     But then Peter came out of his momentary flinch, and there was an ageto the man, about 65, and he saw the muscles had turned to fat, thecomplexion ashen, the eyes set deep as though retreating from pain, andthis was a citadel of a man, yes, but beginning to crumble.     What can you do? asked Lexington abruptly.  <doc-sep>It made Peter feel he had been suckered, but he had decided to playthis straight all the way. He nodded.     Why'd you leave? Lexington pursued, unrelenting.     I finished the course and the increase they offered on a permanentbasis wasn't enough, so I went elsewhere—     With your head full of this nonsense about a shortage of engineers.     Peter swallowed. I thought it would be easier to get a job than it hasbeen, yes.     They start the talk about a shortage and then they keep it going. Why?So youngsters will take up engineering thinking they'll wind up among ahighly paid minority. You did, didn't you?     Yes, sir.     And so did all the others there with you, at school and in thisstockpiling outfit?     That's right.     Well, said Lexington unexpectedly, there      is     a shortage! And thestockpiles are the ones who made it, and who keep it going! And thehell of it is that they can't stop—when one does it, they all haveto, or their costs get out of line and they can't compete. What's thesolution?     I don't know, Peter said.     Lexington leaned back. That's quite a lot of admissions you've made.What makes you think you're qualified for the job I'm offering?     You said you wanted an engineer.     And I've just proved you're less of an engineer than when you leftschool. I have, haven't I?     All right, you have, Peter said angrily.     And now you're wondering why I don't get somebody fresh out of school.Right?     Peter straightened up and met the old man's challenging gaze. That andwhether you're giving me a hard time just for the hell of it.     Well, am I? Lexington demanded.     Looking at him squarely, seeing the intensity of the pain-drawn eyes,Peter had the startling feeling that Lexington was rooting for him!No, you're not.     Then what am I after?     Suppose you tell me.     So suddenly that it was almost like a collapse, the tension went outof the old man's face and shoulders. He nodded with inexpressibletiredness. Good again. The man I want doesn't exist. He has tobe made—the same as I was. You qualify, so far. You've lost yourillusions, but haven't had time yet to replace them with dogma orcynicism or bitterness. You saw immediately that fake humilityor cockiness wouldn't get you anywhere here, and you were right.Those were the important things. The background data I got from theAssociation on you counted, of course, but only if you were teachable.I think you are. Am I right?     At least I can face knowing how much I don't know, said Peter, ifthat answers the question.     It does. Partly. What did you notice about this plant?     In precis form, Peter listed his observations: the absence of windowsat sides and rear, the unusual amount of power, the automatic doors,the lack of employees' entrances.     Very good, said Lexington. Most people only notice the automaticdoors. Anything else?     Yes, Peter said. You're the only person I've seen in the building.     I'm the only one there is.     Peter stared his disbelief. Automated plants were nothing new, butthey all had their limitations. Either they dealt with exactly similarproducts or things that could be handled on a flow basis, like oil orwater-soluble chemicals. Even these had no more to do than process thegoods.     Come on, said Lexington, getting massively to his feet. I'll showyou.  <doc-sep>Peter followed numbly as Lexington led him through a maze of machines,each one seemingly intent on cutting, bending, welding, grindingor carrying some bit of metal, or just standing idle, waiting forsomething to do. The two-armed manipulators Peter had just seen wereeverywhere, scuttling from machine to machine, apparently with anexact knowledge of what they were doing and the most efficient way ofdoing it.     He wondered what would happen if one of them tried to use the sameaisle they were using. He pictured a futile attempt to escape theonrushing wheels, saw himself clambering out of the path of thespeeding vehicle just in time to fall into the jaws of the punch pressthat was laboring beside him at the moment. Nervously, he looked for anexit, but his apprehension was unnecessary. The machines seemed to knowwhere they were and avoided the two men, or stopped to wait for them togo by.     Back in the office section of the building, Lexington indicated a smallroom where a typewriter could be heard clattering away. Standardbusiness machines, operated by the central control mechanism. Inthat room, he said, as the door swung open and Peter saw that thetypewriter was actually a sort of teletype, with no one before thekeyboard, incoming mail is sorted and inquiries are replied to. Inthis one over here, purchase orders are prepared, and across the hallthere's a very similar rig set up in conjunction with an automaticbookkeeper to keep track of the pennies and to bill the customers.     Then all you do is read the incoming mail and maintain the machinery?asked Peter, trying to shake off the feeling of open amazement thathad engulfed him.     I don't even do those things, except for a few letters that come inevery week that—it doesn't want to deal with by itself.     The shock of what he had just seen was showing plainly on Peter's facewhen they walked back into Lexington's office and sat down. Lexingtonlooked at him for quite a while without saying anything, his facesagging and pale. Peter didn't trust himself to speak, and let thesilence remain unbroken.     Finally Lexington spoke. I know it's hard to believe, but there it is.     Hard to believe? said Peter. I almost can't. The trade journals runarticles about factories like this one, but planned for ten, maybetwenty years in the future.     Damn fools! exclaimed Lexington, getting part of his breath back.They could have had it years ago, if they'd been willing to drop theiridiotic notions about specialization.     Lexington mopped his forehead with a large white handkerchief.Apparently the walk through the factory had tired him considerably,although it hadn't been strenuous.  <doc-sep>When Lexington beamed, Peter felt a surge of relief. Talking with thisman was like walking a tightrope. A word too much or a word too littlemight mean the difference between getting the job or losing it.     Exactly! whispered Lexington, in an almost conspiratorial tone. Ihad altered the circuitry of the machine so that it tried to giveme pleasure—because by doing so, its own pleasure circuit would beactivated.     Things went fast from then on. Once I realized that the machinewas learning, I put TV monitors all over the place, so the machinecould watch everything that was going on. After a short while I hadto increase the memory bank, and later I increased it again, but therewards were worth it. Soon, by watching what I did, and then by doingit for me next time it had to be done, the machine had learned to doalmost everything, and I had time to sit back and count my winnings.     At this point the door opened, and a small self-propelled cart wheeledsilently into the room. Stopping in front of Peter, it waited until hehad taken a small plate laden with two or three cakes off its surface.Then the soft, evenly modulated voice he had heard before asked, Howdo you like your coffee? Cream, sugar, both or black?     Peter looked for the speaker in the side of the cart, saw nothing, andreplied, feeling slightly silly as he did so, Black, please.     A square hole appeared in the top of the cart, like the elevator holein an aircraft carrier's deck. When the section of the cart's surfacerose again, a fine china cup containing steaming black coffee restedon it. Peter took it and sipped it, as he supposed he was expected todo, while the cart proceeded over to Lexington's desk. Once there, itstopped again, and another cup of coffee rose to its surface.       Lexington took the coffee from the top of the car, obviously angryabout something. Silently, he waited until the cart had left theoffice, then snapped, Look at those bloody cups!     Peter looked at his, which was eggshell thin, fluted with carving andornately covered with gold leaf. They look very expensive, he said.     Not only expensive, but stupid and impractical! exploded Lexington.They only hold half a cup, they'll break at a touch, every one has tobe matched with its own saucer, and if you use them for any length oftime, the gold leaf comes off!     Peter searched for a comment, found none that fitted this odd outburst,so he kept silent.  <doc-sep>   LEX     By W. T. HAGGERT     Illustrated by WOOD     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Magazine August 1959.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        Nothing in the world could be happier and       mere serene than a man who loves his work—but       what happens when it loves him back?        Keep your nerve, Peter Manners told himself; it's only a job. But nervehas to rest on a sturdier foundation than cash reserves just above zeroand eviction if he came away from this interview still unemployed.Clay, at the Association of Professional Engineers, who had set up theappointment, hadn't eased Peter's nervousness by admitting, I don'tknow what in hell he's looking for. He's turned down every man we'vesent him.     The interview was at three. Fifteen minutes to go. Coming early wouldbetray overeagerness. Peter stood in front of the Lex Industries plantand studied it to kill time. Plain, featureless concrete walls, notlarge for a manufacturing plant—it took a scant minute to exhaust itssightseeing potential. If he walked around the building, he could, ifhe ambled, come back to the front entrance just before three.     He turned the corner, stopped, frowned, wondering what there was aboutthe building that seemed so puzzling. It could not have been plainer,more ordinary. It was in fact, he only gradually realized, so plain andordinary that it was like no other building he had ever seen.     There had been windows at the front. There were none at the side, andnone at the rear. Then how were the working areas lit? He looked forthe electric service lines and found them at one of the rear corners.They jolted him. The distribution transformers were ten times as largeas they should have been for a plant this size.     Something else was wrong. Peter looked for minutes before he found outwhat it was. Factories usually have large side doorways for employeeschanging shifts. This building had one small office entrance facing thestreet, and the only other door was at the loading bay—big enough tohandle employee traffic, but four feet above the ground. Without anystairs, it could be used only by trucks backing up to it. Maybe theemployees' entrance was on the third side.     It wasn't.  <doc-sep>The office door opened, and Peter found himself being led down theantiseptic corridor to another door which had opened, giving access tothe manufacturing area. As they moved along, between rows of seeminglydisorganized machinery, Peter noticed that the factory lights highoverhead followed their progress, turning themselves on in advanceof their coming, and going out after they had passed, keeping a poolof illumination only in the immediate area they occupied. Soon theyreached a large door which Peter recognized as the inside of the truckloading door he had seen from outside.     Lexington paused here. This is the bay used by the trucks arrivingwith raw materials, he said. They back up to this door, and a setof automatic jacks outside lines up the trailer body with the doorexactly. Then the door opens and the truck is unloaded by thesematerials handling machines.     Peter didn't see him touch anything, but as he spoke, three glisteningmachines, apparently self-powered, rolled noiselessly up to the door information and stopped there, apparently waiting to be inspected.     They gave Peter the creeps. Simple square boxes, set on casters, withtwo arms each mounted on the sides might have looked similar. The arms,fashioned much like human arms, hung at the sides, not limply, but in arelaxed position that somehow indicated readiness.     Lexington went over to one of them and patted it lovingly. Really,these machines are only an extension of one large machine. The wholeplant, as a matter of fact, is controlled from one point and is reallya single unit. These materials handlers, or manipulators, were aboutthe toughest things in the place to design. But they're tremendouslyuseful. You'll see a lot of them around.     Lexington was about to leave the side of the machine when abruptly oneof the arms rose to the handkerchief in his breast pocket and daintilytugged it into a more attractive position. It took only a split second,and before Lexington could react, all three machines were moving awayto attend to mysterious duties of their own.       Peter tore his eyes away from them in time to see the look offrustrated embarrassment that crossed Lexington's face, only to bereplaced by one of anger. He said nothing, however, and led Peter toa large bay where racks of steel plate, bar forms, nuts, bolts, andother materials were stored.     After unloading a truck, the machines check the shipment, report anyshortages or overages, and store the materials here, he said, thetrace of anger not yet gone from his voice. When an order is received,it's translated into the catalogue numbers used internally within theplant, and machines like the ones you just saw withdraw the necessarymaterials from stock, make the component parts, assemble them, andpackage the finished goods for shipment. Simultaneously, an order issent to the billing section to bill the customer, and an order issent to our trucker to come and pick the shipment up. Meanwhile, ifthe withdrawal of the materials required has depleted our stock, thepurchasing section is instructed to order more raw materials. I'll takeyou through the manufacturing and assembly sections right now, butthey're too noisy for me to explain what's going on while we're there.  <doc-sep>Peter started, opened his mouth to answer, closed it again. He'd beenjolted too often in too short a time to be stampeded into blurting areply that would cost him this job.     Good, said Lexington. Only a fool would try to answer that. Do youhave any knowledge of medicine?     Not enough to matter, Peter said, stung by the compliment.     I don't mean how to bandage a cut or splint a broken arm. I meanthings like cell structure, neural communication—the      basics     of howwe live.     I'm applying for a job as engineer.     I know. Are you interested in the basics of how we live?     Peter looked for a hidden trap, found none. Of course. Isn't everyone?     Less than you think, Lexington said. It's the preconceived notionsthey're interested in protecting. At least I won't have to beat themout of you.     Thanks, said Peter, and waited for the next fast ball.     How long have you been out of school?     Only two years. But you knew that from the Association—     No practical experience to speak of?     Some, said Peter, stung again, this time not by a compliment. AfterI got my degree, I went East for a post-graduate training program withan electrical manufacturer. I got quite a bit of experience there. Thecompany—     Stockpiled you, Lexington said.     Peter blinked. Sir?     Stockpiled you! How much did they pay you?     Not very much, but we were getting the training instead of wages.     Did that come out of the pamphlets they gave you?     Did what come out—     That guff about receiving training instead of wages! said Lexington.Any company that really wants bright trainees will compete for themwith money—cold, hard cash, not platitudes. Maybe you saw a few oftheir products being made, maybe you didn't. But you're a lot weaker incalculus than when you left school, and in a dozen other subjects too,aren't you?     Well, nothing we did on the course involved higher mathematics, Peteradmitted cautiously, and I suppose I could use a refresher course incalculus.     Just as I said—they stockpiled you, instead of using you as anengineer. They hired you at a cut wage and taught you things that wouldbe useful only in their own company, while in the meantime you weregetting weaker in the subjects you'd paid to learn. Or are you one ofthese birds that had the shot paid for him?     I worked my way through, said Peter stiffly.     If you'd stayed with them five years, do you think you'd be able toget a job with someone else?     Peter considered his answer carefully. Every man the Association hadsent had been turned away. That meant bluffs didn't work. Neither, he'dseen for himself, did allowing himself to be intimidated.     I hadn't thought about it, he said. I suppose it wouldn't have beeneasy.     Impossible, you mean. You wouldn't know a single thing except theirprocedures, their catalogue numbers, their way of doing things. Andyou'd have forgotten so much of your engineering training, you'd bescared to take on an engineer's job, for fear you'd be asked to dosomething you'd forgotten how to do. At that point, they could take youout of the stockpile, put you in just about any job they wanted, atany wage you'd stand for, and they'd have an indentured worker with adegree—but not the price tag. You see that now?  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the connection between Peter and Mr. Lexington in the story of LEX?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of the storyline in Hagerty's Enzymes? [SEP] <s>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>There was a tentative knock on the door. Come in, called Harperbleakly. As soon as the door opened he regretted his invitation, forthe opening framed the large untidy man who had noisily pounded on thedesk demanding service while he, Harp, was being registered.     Say, pardner, he said hoarsely, you haven't seen any of them robotsaround here, have you?     Harper scowled. Oh, haven't I? he grated. Robots! Do you know whatthey did to me. Indignation lit fires in his pale eyes. Came in herewhile I was lying down peacefully digesting the first meal I've enjoyedin months, dragged me off to the surgery, and pumped it all out! Theonly meal I've enjoyed in months! Blackly he sank his chin onto hisfist and contemplated the outrage.     Why didn't you stop 'em? reasonably asked the visitor.     Stop a robot? Harper glared pityingly. How? You can't reason withthe blasted things. And as for using force—it's man against metal. Youtry it! He ground his teeth together in futile rage. And to think Ihad the insane notion that robots were the last word! Why, I was readyto staff my offices with the things!     The big man placed his large hands on his own capacious stomach andgroaned. I'm sure sorry it was you and not me, pardner. I could usesome of that treatment right now. Musta been that steak and onions Iate after all that tundra dope I've been livin' on.     Tundra? A faint spark of alertness lightened Harper's dull rage. Youmean you work out here on the tundra?     That's right. How'd you think I got in such a helluva shape? I'msuperintendent of one of the fungus plants. I'm Jake Ellis of Hagerty'sEnzymes. There's good money in it, but man, what a job! No air worthmentionin'. Temperature always freezin' or below. Pressure suits. Huts.Factory. Processed food. Nothin' else. Just nothin'. That's where theycould use some robots. It sure ain't no job for a real live man. And infact, there ain't many men left there. If old man Hagerty only knew it,he's about out of business.     Harper sat up as if he'd been needled. He opened his mouth to speak.But just then the door opened briskly and two robots entered. With ahorrified stare, Harper clutched his maltreated stomach. He saw a thirdrobot enter, wheeling a chair.     A wheel chair! squeaked the victim. I tell you, there's nothingwrong with me! Take it away! I'm only here for a rest-cure! Believe me!Take it away!     The robots ignored him. For the first time in his spectacular andruthless career Harper was up against creatures that he could neitherbribe, persuade nor browbeat, inveigle nor ignore. It shattered hisebbing self-confidence. He began waving his hands helplessly.     The robots not only ignored Harper. They paid no attention at all toJake Ellis, who was plucking at their metallic arms pleading, Takeme, boys. I need the treatment bad, whatever it is. I need all thetreatment I can get. Take me! I'm just a wreck, fellers—     Stolidly they picked Harper up, plunked him into the chair, strappedhim down and marched out with him.       Dejectedly Ellis returned to his own room. Again he lifted the receiverof the room phone; but as usual a robot voice answered sweetly,mechanically, and meaninglessly. He hung up and went miserably to bed.  <doc-sep>  HAGERTY'S ENZYMES     By A. L. HALEY       There's a place for every man and a man for       every place, but on robot-harried Mars the       situation was just a little different.       [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Spring 1955.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      Harper Breen sank down gingerly into the new Relaxo-Lounge. He placedtwitching hands on the arm-rests and laid his head back stiffly. Heclosed his fluttering eyelids and clamped his mouth to keep the cornerfrom jumping.     Just lie back, Harp, droned his sister soothingly. Just give in andlet go of everything.     Harper tried to let go of everything. He gave in to the chair. Andgently the chair went to work. It rocked rhythmically, it vibratedtenderly. With velvety cushions it massaged his back and arms and legs.     For all of five minutes Harper stood it. Then with a frenzied lungehe escaped the embrace of the Relaxo-Lounge and fled to a gloriouslystationary sofa.     Harp! His sister, Bella, was ready to weep with exasperation. Dr.Franz said it would be just the thing for you! Why won't you give it atrial?     Harper glared at the preposterous chair. Franz! he snarled. Thatprize fathead! I've paid him a fortune in fees. I haven't slept forweeks. I can't eat anything but soup. My nerves are jangling likea four-alarm fire. And what does he prescribe? A blasted jigglingbaby carriage! Why, I ought to send him the bill for it! Completelyoutraged, he lay back on the couch and closed his eyes.     Now, Harp, you know you've never obeyed his orders. He told youlast year that you'd have to ease up. Why do you have to try to runthe whole world? It's the strain of all your business worries that'scausing your trouble. He told you to take a long vacation or you'dcrack up. Don't blame him for your own stubbornness.     Harper snorted. His large nose developed the sound magnificently.Vacation! he snorted. Batting a silly ball around or dragging a hookafter a stupid fish! Fine activities for an intelligent middle-agedman! And let me correct you. It isn't business worries that are drivingme to a crack-up. It's the strain of trying to get some sensible,reasonable coöperation from the nincompoops I have to hire! It's theidiocy of the human race that's got me whipped! It's the—     Hey, Harp, old man! His brother-in-law, turning the pages of thenew colorama magazine, INTERPLANETARY, had paused at a double-spread.Didn't you have a finger in those Martian equatorial wells they sunktwenty years ago?     Harper's hands twitched violently. Don't mention that fiasco! herasped. That deal nearly cost me my shirt! Water, hell! Those wellsspewed up the craziest conglomeration of liquids ever tapped!  <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>  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 land of the Fweep rotated once on its axis, and Grampa loweredthe nippled bottle from his lips. He sighed. I got it figured out,Four, he said, holding out the pircuit proudly. A missionary takesover a non-rowing type cannibal, leaves him there, and then the rowingcannibal takes over the other cannibal and leaves him there and—     Not now, Grampa, Four said inattentively as he watched Fweep makingthe grand tour of the cabin.     The raspberry sphere swept over a scattering of crumbs, engulfed them,absorbed them. Four looked at Joyce. Joyce was watching Fweep, too.     Rat poison? Four asked.     Joyce started guiltily. How did you know?     There's no use trying to poison Fweep, Four said calmly. He's got noenzymes to act on, no nervous system to paralyze. He doesn't even usewhat he 'eats' on a molecular level at all.     What level does he use? Junior wanted to know.     Point the scintillation counter at him.     Junior dug one of the counters out of the supply cabinet and aimed thepickup at Fweep. The counter began to hum. As Fweep approached, the humrose in pitch. As it passed, the hum dropped.     Junior looked at the counter's dial. He's radioactive, all right. Notmuch, but enough. But where does he get the radioactive material?     He uses ordinary matter, Four said. He must have used up the fewdeposits of natural radioactives a long time ago.     He uses ordinary substances on an atomic level? Junior saidunbelievingly.     Four nodded. And that 'skin' of his—whatever it is he uses forskin—is more efficient in stopping particle emissions than severalfeet of lead.     Fred studied Fweep thoughtfully. Maybe we could feed him enoughenriched uranium from the pile to put him over the critical mass.     And blow him up? I don't think it's possible, but even if it were, itmight be a trifle more than disastrous for us. Four giggled at thethought.  <doc-sep>The room was more than comfortable. It was beautiful. Its bank of clearwindows set in the green glass wall framed startling rubicund views ofthe Martian hinterland where, Harper affectionately thought, fungi werebusy producing enzymes that were going to be worth millions for him andhis associates. There remained only the small detail of discovering howto extract them economically and to process them on this more than aridand almost airless planet. Details for his bright young laboratory men;mere details....     Leaving his luggage to be unpacked by the robot attendant, he went upto the domed roof restaurant. Lunching boldly on broiled halibut withconsomme, salad and a bland custard, he stared out at the dark bluesky of Mars, with Deimos hanging in the east in three-quarter phasewhile Phobos raced up from the west like a meteor behind schedule.Leaning back in his cushioned chair, he even more boldly lit a slimcigar—his first in months—and inhaled happily. For once old Scribneyhad certainly been right, he reflected. Yes sir, Scrib had rung thebell, and he wasn't the man to forget it. With a wonderful sense ofwell-being he returned to his room and prepared to relax.     Harper opened his eyes. Two robots were bending over him. He saw thatthey were dressed in white, like hospital attendants. But he had nofurther opportunity to examine them. With brisk, well-co-ordinatedmovements they wheeled a stretcher along-side his couch, stuck a hypointo his arm, bundled him onto the stretcher and started wheeling himout.     Harper's tongue finally functioned. What's all this? he demanded.There's nothing wrong with me. Let me go!     He struggled to rise, but a metal hand pushed him firmly on the chest.Inexorably it pushed him flat.     You've got the wrong room! yelled Harp. Let me go! But the hypobegan to take effect. His yells became weaker and drowsier. Hazily, ashe drifted off, he thought of Mrs. Jacobsen. Maybe she had something,at that.  <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> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in Hagerty's Enzymes?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the primary location where the events of Hagerty's Enzymes take place? [SEP] <s>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>There was a tentative knock on the door. Come in, called Harperbleakly. As soon as the door opened he regretted his invitation, forthe opening framed the large untidy man who had noisily pounded on thedesk demanding service while he, Harp, was being registered.     Say, pardner, he said hoarsely, you haven't seen any of them robotsaround here, have you?     Harper scowled. Oh, haven't I? he grated. Robots! Do you know whatthey did to me. Indignation lit fires in his pale eyes. Came in herewhile I was lying down peacefully digesting the first meal I've enjoyedin months, dragged me off to the surgery, and pumped it all out! Theonly meal I've enjoyed in months! Blackly he sank his chin onto hisfist and contemplated the outrage.     Why didn't you stop 'em? reasonably asked the visitor.     Stop a robot? Harper glared pityingly. How? You can't reason withthe blasted things. And as for using force—it's man against metal. Youtry it! He ground his teeth together in futile rage. And to think Ihad the insane notion that robots were the last word! Why, I was readyto staff my offices with the things!     The big man placed his large hands on his own capacious stomach andgroaned. I'm sure sorry it was you and not me, pardner. I could usesome of that treatment right now. Musta been that steak and onions Iate after all that tundra dope I've been livin' on.     Tundra? A faint spark of alertness lightened Harper's dull rage. Youmean you work out here on the tundra?     That's right. How'd you think I got in such a helluva shape? I'msuperintendent of one of the fungus plants. I'm Jake Ellis of Hagerty'sEnzymes. There's good money in it, but man, what a job! No air worthmentionin'. Temperature always freezin' or below. Pressure suits. Huts.Factory. Processed food. Nothin' else. Just nothin'. That's where theycould use some robots. It sure ain't no job for a real live man. And infact, there ain't many men left there. If old man Hagerty only knew it,he's about out of business.     Harper sat up as if he'd been needled. He opened his mouth to speak.But just then the door opened briskly and two robots entered. With ahorrified stare, Harper clutched his maltreated stomach. He saw a thirdrobot enter, wheeling a chair.     A wheel chair! squeaked the victim. I tell you, there's nothingwrong with me! Take it away! I'm only here for a rest-cure! Believe me!Take it away!     The robots ignored him. For the first time in his spectacular andruthless career Harper was up against creatures that he could neitherbribe, persuade nor browbeat, inveigle nor ignore. It shattered hisebbing self-confidence. He began waving his hands helplessly.     The robots not only ignored Harper. They paid no attention at all toJake Ellis, who was plucking at their metallic arms pleading, Takeme, boys. I need the treatment bad, whatever it is. I need all thetreatment I can get. Take me! I'm just a wreck, fellers—     Stolidly they picked Harper up, plunked him into the chair, strappedhim down and marched out with him.       Dejectedly Ellis returned to his own room. Again he lifted the receiverof the room phone; but as usual a robot voice answered sweetly,mechanically, and meaninglessly. He hung up and went miserably to bed.  <doc-sep>  HAGERTY'S ENZYMES     By A. L. HALEY       There's a place for every man and a man for       every place, but on robot-harried Mars the       situation was just a little different.       [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Spring 1955.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      Harper Breen sank down gingerly into the new Relaxo-Lounge. He placedtwitching hands on the arm-rests and laid his head back stiffly. Heclosed his fluttering eyelids and clamped his mouth to keep the cornerfrom jumping.     Just lie back, Harp, droned his sister soothingly. Just give in andlet go of everything.     Harper tried to let go of everything. He gave in to the chair. Andgently the chair went to work. It rocked rhythmically, it vibratedtenderly. With velvety cushions it massaged his back and arms and legs.     For all of five minutes Harper stood it. Then with a frenzied lungehe escaped the embrace of the Relaxo-Lounge and fled to a gloriouslystationary sofa.     Harp! His sister, Bella, was ready to weep with exasperation. Dr.Franz said it would be just the thing for you! Why won't you give it atrial?     Harper glared at the preposterous chair. Franz! he snarled. Thatprize fathead! I've paid him a fortune in fees. I haven't slept forweeks. I can't eat anything but soup. My nerves are jangling likea four-alarm fire. And what does he prescribe? A blasted jigglingbaby carriage! Why, I ought to send him the bill for it! Completelyoutraged, he lay back on the couch and closed his eyes.     Now, Harp, you know you've never obeyed his orders. He told youlast year that you'd have to ease up. Why do you have to try to runthe whole world? It's the strain of all your business worries that'scausing your trouble. He told you to take a long vacation or you'dcrack up. Don't blame him for your own stubbornness.     Harper snorted. His large nose developed the sound magnificently.Vacation! he snorted. Batting a silly ball around or dragging a hookafter a stupid fish! Fine activities for an intelligent middle-agedman! And let me correct you. It isn't business worries that are drivingme to a crack-up. It's the strain of trying to get some sensible,reasonable coöperation from the nincompoops I have to hire! It's theidiocy of the human race that's got me whipped! It's the—     Hey, Harp, old man! His brother-in-law, turning the pages of thenew colorama magazine, INTERPLANETARY, had paused at a double-spread.Didn't you have a finger in those Martian equatorial wells they sunktwenty years ago?     Harper's hands twitched violently. Don't mention that fiasco! herasped. That deal nearly cost me my shirt! Water, hell! Those wellsspewed up the craziest conglomeration of liquids ever tapped!  <doc-sep>You have done well, announced Torp when Thig had completed his reporton the resources and temperatures of various sections of Terra. We nowhave located three worlds fit for colonization and so we will return toOrtha at once.     I will recommend the conquest of this planet, 72-P-3 at once and thecomplete destruction of all biped life upon it. The mental aberrationsof the barbaric natives might lead to endless complications if theywere permitted to exist outside our ordered way of life. I imagine thatthree circuits of the planet about its primary should prove sufficientfor the purposes of complete liquidation.     But why, asked Thig slowly, could we not disarm all the natives andexile them on one of the less desirable continents, Antarctica forexample or Siberia? They are primitive humans even as our race was oncea race of primitives. It is not our duty to help to attain our owndegree of knowledge and comfort?     Only the good of the Horde matters! shouted Torp angrily. Shall arace of feeble-witted beasts, such as these Earthmen, stand in the wayof a superior race? We want their world, and so we will take it. TheLaw of the Horde states that all the universe is ours for the taking.     Let us get back to Ortha at once, then, gritted out Thig savagely.Never again do I wish to set foot upon the soil of this mad planet.There are forces at work upon Earth that we of Ortha have longforgotten.     Check the blood of Thig for disease, Kam, ordered Torp shortly. Hiswords are highly irrational. Some form of fever perhaps native to thisworld. While you examine him I will blast off for Ortha.     Thig followed Kam into the tiny laboratory and found a seat beside thesquat scientist's desk. His eyes roamed over the familiar instrumentsand gauges, each in its own precise position in the cases along thewalls. His gaze lingered longest on the stubby black ugliness ofa decomposition blaster in its rack close to the deck. A blast ofthe invisible radiations from that weapon's hot throat and flesh orvegetable fiber rotted into flaky ashes.     The ship trembled beneath their feet; it tore free from the feebleclutch of the sand about it, and they were rocketing skyward. Thig'sbroad fingers bit deep into the unyielding metal of his chair. Suddenlyhe knew that he must go back to Earth, back to Ellen and the childrenof the man he had helped destroy. He loved Ellen, and nothing muststand between them! The Hordes of Ortha must find some other world, anempty world—this planet was not for them.     Turn back! he cried wildly. I must go back to Earth. There is awoman there, helpless and alone, who needs me! The Horde does not needthis planet.     Kam eyed him coldly and lifted a shining hypodermic syringe from itscase. He approached Thig warily, aware that disease often made a maniacof the finest members of the Horde.     No human being is more important than the Horde, he stated baldly.This woman of whom you speak is merely one unit of the millions wemust eliminate for the good of the Horde.     Then it was that Thig went berserk. His fists slashed into the thickjaw of the scientist and his fingers ripped at the hard cords overlyingthe Orthan's vital throat tubes. His fingers and thumb gouged deep intoKam's startled throat and choked off any cry for assistance before itcould be uttered.     Kam's hand swept down to the holster swung from his intricate harnessand dragged his blaster from it. Thig's other hand clamped over his andfor long moments they swayed there, locked together in silent deadlystruggle. The fate of a world hung in the balance as Kam's other handfought against that lone arm of Thig.  <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>Purnie worked his way down the hill, imploring them to save themselves.The sounds they made carried a new tone, a desperate foreboding ofdeath.     Rhodes! Cabot! Can you hear me?     I—I can't move, Captain. My leg, it's.... My God, we're going todrown!     Look around you, Cabot. Can you see anyone moving?     The men on the beach are nearly buried, Captain. And the rest of ushere in the water—     Forbes. Can you see Forbes? Maybe he's— His sounds were cut off by awavelet gently rolling over his head.     Purnie could wait no longer. The tides were all but covering one of theanimals, and soon the others would be in the same plight. Disregardingthe consequences, he ordered time to stop.     Wading down into the surf, he worked a log off one victim, then hetugged the animal up to the sand. Through blinding tears, Purnie workedslowly and carefully. He knew there was no hurry—at least, not as faras his friends' safety was concerned. No matter what their conditionof life or death was at this moment, it would stay the same way untilhe started time again. He made his way deeper into the orange liquid,where a raised hand signalled the location of a submerged body. Thehand was clutching a large white banner that was tangled among thelogs. Purnie worked the animal free and pulled it ashore.     It was the one who had been carrying the shiny object that spit smoke.     Scarcely noticing his own injured leg, he ferried one victim afteranother until there were no more in the surf. Up on the beach, hestarted unraveling the logs that pinned down the animals caught there.He removed a log from the lap of one, who then remained in a sittingposition, his face contorted into a frozen mask of agony and shock.Another, with the weight removed, rolled over like an iron statue intoa new position. Purnie whimpered in black misery as he surveyed thechaotic scene before him.     At last he could do no more; he felt consciousness slipping away fromhim.     He instinctively knew that if he lost his senses during a period oftime-stopping, events would pick up where they had left off ... withouthim. For Purnie, this would be death. If he had to lose consciousness,he knew he must first resume time.     Step by step he plodded up the little hill, pausing every now and thento consider if this were the moment to start time before it was toolate. With his energy fast draining away, he reached the top of theknoll, and he turned to look down once more on the group below.     Then he knew how much his mind and body had suffered: when he orderedtime to resume, nothing happened.     His heart sank. He wasn't afraid of death, and he knew that if he diedthe oceans would roll again and his friends would move about. But hewanted to see them safe.     He tried to clear his mind for supreme effort. There was no      urging     time to start. He knew he couldn't persuade it by bits and pieces,first slowly then full ahead. Time either progressed or it didn't. Hehad to take one viewpoint or the other.     Then, without knowing exactly when it happened, his mind tookcommand....  <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>The land of the Fweep rotated once on its axis, and Grampa loweredthe nippled bottle from his lips. He sighed. I got it figured out,Four, he said, holding out the pircuit proudly. A missionary takesover a non-rowing type cannibal, leaves him there, and then the rowingcannibal takes over the other cannibal and leaves him there and—     Not now, Grampa, Four said inattentively as he watched Fweep makingthe grand tour of the cabin.     The raspberry sphere swept over a scattering of crumbs, engulfed them,absorbed them. Four looked at Joyce. Joyce was watching Fweep, too.     Rat poison? Four asked.     Joyce started guiltily. How did you know?     There's no use trying to poison Fweep, Four said calmly. He's got noenzymes to act on, no nervous system to paralyze. He doesn't even usewhat he 'eats' on a molecular level at all.     What level does he use? Junior wanted to know.     Point the scintillation counter at him.     Junior dug one of the counters out of the supply cabinet and aimed thepickup at Fweep. The counter began to hum. As Fweep approached, the humrose in pitch. As it passed, the hum dropped.     Junior looked at the counter's dial. He's radioactive, all right. Notmuch, but enough. But where does he get the radioactive material?     He uses ordinary matter, Four said. He must have used up the fewdeposits of natural radioactives a long time ago.     He uses ordinary substances on an atomic level? Junior saidunbelievingly.     Four nodded. And that 'skin' of his—whatever it is he uses forskin—is more efficient in stopping particle emissions than severalfeet of lead.     Fred studied Fweep thoughtfully. Maybe we could feed him enoughenriched uranium from the pile to put him over the critical mass.     And blow him up? I don't think it's possible, but even if it were, itmight be a trifle more than disastrous for us. Four giggled at thethought.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the primary location where the events of Hagerty's Enzymes take place?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What makes robots unsuitable for working in hotels according to the story of Hagerty's Enzymes? [SEP] <s>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>There was a tentative knock on the door. Come in, called Harperbleakly. As soon as the door opened he regretted his invitation, forthe opening framed the large untidy man who had noisily pounded on thedesk demanding service while he, Harp, was being registered.     Say, pardner, he said hoarsely, you haven't seen any of them robotsaround here, have you?     Harper scowled. Oh, haven't I? he grated. Robots! Do you know whatthey did to me. Indignation lit fires in his pale eyes. Came in herewhile I was lying down peacefully digesting the first meal I've enjoyedin months, dragged me off to the surgery, and pumped it all out! Theonly meal I've enjoyed in months! Blackly he sank his chin onto hisfist and contemplated the outrage.     Why didn't you stop 'em? reasonably asked the visitor.     Stop a robot? Harper glared pityingly. How? You can't reason withthe blasted things. And as for using force—it's man against metal. Youtry it! He ground his teeth together in futile rage. And to think Ihad the insane notion that robots were the last word! Why, I was readyto staff my offices with the things!     The big man placed his large hands on his own capacious stomach andgroaned. I'm sure sorry it was you and not me, pardner. I could usesome of that treatment right now. Musta been that steak and onions Iate after all that tundra dope I've been livin' on.     Tundra? A faint spark of alertness lightened Harper's dull rage. Youmean you work out here on the tundra?     That's right. How'd you think I got in such a helluva shape? I'msuperintendent of one of the fungus plants. I'm Jake Ellis of Hagerty'sEnzymes. There's good money in it, but man, what a job! No air worthmentionin'. Temperature always freezin' or below. Pressure suits. Huts.Factory. Processed food. Nothin' else. Just nothin'. That's where theycould use some robots. It sure ain't no job for a real live man. And infact, there ain't many men left there. If old man Hagerty only knew it,he's about out of business.     Harper sat up as if he'd been needled. He opened his mouth to speak.But just then the door opened briskly and two robots entered. With ahorrified stare, Harper clutched his maltreated stomach. He saw a thirdrobot enter, wheeling a chair.     A wheel chair! squeaked the victim. I tell you, there's nothingwrong with me! Take it away! I'm only here for a rest-cure! Believe me!Take it away!     The robots ignored him. For the first time in his spectacular andruthless career Harper was up against creatures that he could neitherbribe, persuade nor browbeat, inveigle nor ignore. It shattered hisebbing self-confidence. He began waving his hands helplessly.     The robots not only ignored Harper. They paid no attention at all toJake Ellis, who was plucking at their metallic arms pleading, Takeme, boys. I need the treatment bad, whatever it is. I need all thetreatment I can get. Take me! I'm just a wreck, fellers—     Stolidly they picked Harper up, plunked him into the chair, strappedhim down and marched out with him.       Dejectedly Ellis returned to his own room. Again he lifted the receiverof the room phone; but as usual a robot voice answered sweetly,mechanically, and meaninglessly. He hung up and went miserably to bed.  <doc-sep>Scribney, whose large, phlegmatic person and calm professorial brainwere the complete antithesis of Harper's picked-crow physique andscheming financier's wits, looked severely over his glasses. Harp'snervous tribulations were beginning to bore him, as well as interferewith the harmony of his home.     You're away behind the times, Harp, he declared. Don't you knowthat those have proved to be the most astoundingly curative springsever discovered anywhere? Don't you know that a syndicate has builtthe largest extra-terrestial hotel of the solar system there and thatpeople are flocking to it to get cured of whatever ails 'em? Old man,you missed a bet!     Leaping from the sofa, Harper rudely snatched the magazine fromScribney's hands. He glared at the spread which depicted a star-shapedstructure of bottle-green glass resting jewel-like on the rufous rockof Mars. The main portion of the building consisted of a circularskyscraper with a glass-domed roof. Between its star-shaped annexes,other domes covered landscaped gardens and noxious pools which in thedrawing looked lovely and enticing.     Why, I remember now! exclaimed Bella. That's where the Durants wenttwo years ago! He was about dead and she looked like a hag. They cameback in wonderful shape. Don't you remember, Scrib?     Dutifully Scribney remembered and commented on the change the Martiansprings had effected in the Durants. It's the very thing for you,Harp, he advised. You'd get a good rest on the way out. This gasthey use in the rockets nowadays is as good as a rest-cure; it sort offloats you along the time-track in a pleasant daze, they tell me. Andyou can finish the cure at the hotel while looking it over. And notonly that. Confidentially he leaned toward his insignificant lookingbrother-in-law. The chemists over at Dade McCann have just isolated anenzyme from one species of Martian fungus that breaks down crude oilinto its components without the need for chemical processing. There's afortune waiting for the man who corners that fungus market and learnsto process the stuff!     Scribney had gauged his victim's mental processes accurately. Themagazine sagged in Harp's hands, and his sharp eyes became shrewd andcalculating. He even forgot to twitch. Maybe you're right, Scrib, heacknowledged. Combine a rest-cure with business, eh?     Raising the magazine, he began reading the advertisement. And thatwas when he saw the line about the robots. —the only hotel staffedentirely with robot servants—     Robots! he shrilled. You mean they've developed the things to thatpoint? Why hasn't somebody told me? I'll have Jackson's hide! I'lldisfranchise him! I'll—     Harp! exploded Bella. Stop it! Maybe Jackson doesn't know a thingabout it, whatever it is! If it's something at the Emerald Star Hotel,why don't you just go and find out for yourself instead of throwing atantrum? That's the only sensible way!     You're right, Bella, agreed Harper incisively. I'll go and find outfor myself. Immediately! Scooping up his hat, he left at his usuallope.     Well! remarked his sister. All I can say is that they'd better turnthat happy-gas on extra strong for Harp's trip out!  <doc-sep>  HAGERTY'S ENZYMES     By A. L. HALEY       There's a place for every man and a man for       every place, but on robot-harried Mars the       situation was just a little different.       [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Spring 1955.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      Harper Breen sank down gingerly into the new Relaxo-Lounge. He placedtwitching hands on the arm-rests and laid his head back stiffly. Heclosed his fluttering eyelids and clamped his mouth to keep the cornerfrom jumping.     Just lie back, Harp, droned his sister soothingly. Just give in andlet go of everything.     Harper tried to let go of everything. He gave in to the chair. Andgently the chair went to work. It rocked rhythmically, it vibratedtenderly. With velvety cushions it massaged his back and arms and legs.     For all of five minutes Harper stood it. Then with a frenzied lungehe escaped the embrace of the Relaxo-Lounge and fled to a gloriouslystationary sofa.     Harp! His sister, Bella, was ready to weep with exasperation. Dr.Franz said it would be just the thing for you! Why won't you give it atrial?     Harper glared at the preposterous chair. Franz! he snarled. Thatprize fathead! I've paid him a fortune in fees. I haven't slept forweeks. I can't eat anything but soup. My nerves are jangling likea four-alarm fire. And what does he prescribe? A blasted jigglingbaby carriage! Why, I ought to send him the bill for it! Completelyoutraged, he lay back on the couch and closed his eyes.     Now, Harp, you know you've never obeyed his orders. He told youlast year that you'd have to ease up. Why do you have to try to runthe whole world? It's the strain of all your business worries that'scausing your trouble. He told you to take a long vacation or you'dcrack up. Don't blame him for your own stubbornness.     Harper snorted. His large nose developed the sound magnificently.Vacation! he snorted. Batting a silly ball around or dragging a hookafter a stupid fish! Fine activities for an intelligent middle-agedman! And let me correct you. It isn't business worries that are drivingme to a crack-up. It's the strain of trying to get some sensible,reasonable coöperation from the nincompoops I have to hire! It's theidiocy of the human race that's got me whipped! It's the—     Hey, Harp, old man! His brother-in-law, turning the pages of thenew colorama magazine, INTERPLANETARY, had paused at a double-spread.Didn't you have a finger in those Martian equatorial wells they sunktwenty years ago?     Harper's hands twitched violently. Don't mention that fiasco! herasped. That deal nearly cost me my shirt! Water, hell! Those wellsspewed up the craziest conglomeration of liquids ever tapped!  <doc-sep>There are tensions in this room, my sister announced as she slouchedin, not quite awake yet, and hatred. I could feel them all the wayupstairs. And today I'm working on the Sleepsweet Mattress copy, so Imust feel absolutely tranquil. Everyone will think beautiful thoughts,please.     She sat down just as a glass of orange juice was arriving at herplace; Danny apparently didn't know she'd come in already. The glassbumped into the back of her neck, tilted and poured its contents overher shoulder and down her very considerable decolletage. Being a mereprimitive, I couldn't help laughing.     Danny, you fumbler! she screamed.     Danny erupted from the kitchen. How many times have I asked all of younot to sit down until I've got everything on the table? Always a lot ofinterfering busybodies getting in the way.     I don't see why you have to set the table at all, she retorted. Arobot could do it better and faster than you. Even Kev could. Sheturned quickly toward me. Oh, I am sorry, Kevin.     I didn't say anything; I was too busy pressing my hands down on theback of the chair to make my knuckles turn white.     Sylvia's face turned even whiter. Father, stop him—      stop     him! He'shating again! I can't stand it!     Father looked at me, then at her. I don't think he can help it,Sylvia.     I grinned. That's right—I'm just a poor atavism with no control overmyself a-tall.     Finally my mother came in from the kitchen; she was an old-fashionedwoman and didn't hold with robocooks. One quick glance at me gave herthe complete details, even though I quickly protested, It's illegal toprobe anyone without permission.     I used to probe you to find out when you needed your diapers changed,she said tartly, and I'll probe you now. You should watch yourself,Sylvia—poor Kevin isn't responsible.     She didn't need to probe to get the blast of naked emotion that spurtedout from me. My sister screamed and even Father looked uncomfortable.Danny stomped back into the kitchen, muttering to himself.     Mother's lips tightened. Sylvia, go upstairs and change your dress.Kevin, do I have to make an appointment for you at the clinic again?A psychiatrist never diagnosed members of his own family—that is, notofficially; they couldn't help offering thumbnail diagnoses any morethan they could help having thumbnails.     No use, I said, deciding it was safe to drop into my chair. Who canadjust me to an environment to which I'm fundamentally unsuited?     Maybe there is something physically wrong with him, Amy, my fathersuggested hopefully. Maybe you should make an appointment for him atthe cure-all?     Mother shook her neatly coiffed head. He's been to it dozens of timesand he always checks out in splendid shape. None of us can spare thetime to go with him again, just on an off-chance, and he could hardlybe allowed to make such a long trip all by himself. Pity there isn't amachine in every community, but, then, we don't really need them.  <doc-sep>The trip out did Harper a world of good. Under the influence of thesoporific gas that permeated the rocket, he really relaxed for thefirst time in years, sinking with the other passengers into a hazylethargy with little sense of passing time and almost no memory of theinterval.     It seemed hardly more than a handful of hours until they were strappingthemselves into deceleration hammocks for the landing. And then Harperwas waking with lassitude still heavy in his veins. He struggled out ofthe hammock, made his way to the airlock, and found himself whisked bypneumatic tube directly into the lobby of the Emerald Star Hotel.     Appreciatively he gazed around at the half-acre of moss-gray carpeting,green-tinted by the light sifting through the walls of Martiancopper-glass, and at the vistas of beautiful domed gardens framed by adozen arches. But most of all, the robots won his delighted approval.     He could see at once that they had been developed to an amazingly highstate of perfection. How, he wondered again, had this been done withouthis knowledge? Was Scrib right? Was he slipping? Gnawing at the doubt,he watched the robots moving efficiently about, pushing patients inwheelchairs, carrying trays, guiding newcomers, performing janitorialduties tirelessly, promptly, and best of all, silently.     Harper was enthralled. He'd staff his offices with them. Hang theexpense! There'd be no more of that obnoxious personal friction andproneness to error that was always deviling the most carefully trainedoffice staffs! He'd investigate and find out the exact potentialitiesof these robots while here, and then go home and introduce them intothe field of business. He'd show them whether he was slipping! Brisklyhe went over to the desk.     He was immediately confronted with a sample of that human obstinacythat was slowly driving him mad. Machines, he sighed to himself.Wonderful silent machines! For a woman was arguing stridently with thedesk clerk who, poor man, was a high strung fellow human instead of arobot. Harper watched him shrinking and turning pale lavender in thestress of the argument.     A nurse! shouted the woman. I want a nurse! A real woman! For whatyou charge, you should be able to give me a television star if I wantone! I won't have another of those damnable robots in my room, do youhear?     No one within the confines of the huge lobby could have helped hearing.The clerk flinched visibly. Now, Mrs. Jacobsen, he soothed. You knowthe hotel is staffed entirely with robots. They're much more expensive,really, than human employees, but so much more efficient, you know.Admit it, they give excellent service, don't they, now? Toothily hesmiled at the enraged woman.     That's just it! Mrs. Jacobsen glared. The service is      too     good.I might just as well have a set of push buttons in the room. I wantsomeone to      hear     what I say! I want to be able to change my mind oncein awhile!     Harper snorted. Wants someone she can devil, he diagnosed. Someoneshe can get a kick out of ordering around. With vast contempt hestepped to the desk beside her and peremptorily rapped for the clerk.     One moment, sir, begged that harassed individual. Just one moment,please. He turned back to the woman.     But she had turned her glare on Harper. You could at least be civilenough to wait your turn!     Harper smirked. My good woman, I'm not a robot. Robots, of course,are always civil. But you should know by now that civility isn't anormal human trait. Leaving her temporarily quashed, he beckonedauthoritatively to the clerk.     I've just arrived and want to get settled. I'm here merely for arest-cure, no treatments. You can assign my quarters before continuingyour—ah—discussion with the lady.     The clerk sputtered. Mrs. Jacobsen sputtered. But not for nothing wasHarper one of the leading business executives of the earth. Harper'simplacable stare won his point. Wiping beads of moisture from hisforehead, the clerk fumbled for a card, typed it out, and was about todeposit it in the punch box when a fist hit the desk a resounding blowand another voice, male, roared out at Harper's elbow.     This is a helluva joint! roared the voice. Man could rot away to theknees while he's waitin' for accommodations. Service! Again his fistbanged the counter.     The clerk jumped. He dropped Harper's card and had to stoop for it.Absently holding it, he straightened up to face Mrs. Jacobsen and theirate newcomer. Hastily he pushed a tagged key at Harper.     Here you are, Mr. Breen. I'm sure you'll find it comfortable. With apallid smile he pressed a button and consigned Harper to the care of asilent and efficient robot.  <doc-sep>The room was more than comfortable. It was beautiful. Its bank of clearwindows set in the green glass wall framed startling rubicund views ofthe Martian hinterland where, Harper affectionately thought, fungi werebusy producing enzymes that were going to be worth millions for him andhis associates. There remained only the small detail of discovering howto extract them economically and to process them on this more than aridand almost airless planet. Details for his bright young laboratory men;mere details....     Leaving his luggage to be unpacked by the robot attendant, he went upto the domed roof restaurant. Lunching boldly on broiled halibut withconsomme, salad and a bland custard, he stared out at the dark bluesky of Mars, with Deimos hanging in the east in three-quarter phasewhile Phobos raced up from the west like a meteor behind schedule.Leaning back in his cushioned chair, he even more boldly lit a slimcigar—his first in months—and inhaled happily. For once old Scribneyhad certainly been right, he reflected. Yes sir, Scrib had rung thebell, and he wasn't the man to forget it. With a wonderful sense ofwell-being he returned to his room and prepared to relax.     Harper opened his eyes. Two robots were bending over him. He saw thatthey were dressed in white, like hospital attendants. But he had nofurther opportunity to examine them. With brisk, well-co-ordinatedmovements they wheeled a stretcher along-side his couch, stuck a hypointo his arm, bundled him onto the stretcher and started wheeling himout.     Harper's tongue finally functioned. What's all this? he demanded.There's nothing wrong with me. Let me go!     He struggled to rise, but a metal hand pushed him firmly on the chest.Inexorably it pushed him flat.     You've got the wrong room! yelled Harp. Let me go! But the hypobegan to take effect. His yells became weaker and drowsier. Hazily, ashe drifted off, he thought of Mrs. Jacobsen. Maybe she had something,at that.  <doc-sep>Only the robots were immune to Harper Breen's progress across the hugesuave lobby.     He was a blot on its rich beauty, a grotesque enigma that rooted theother visitors into paralyzed staring groups. Stepping out of theelevator, he had laid a course for the desk which loomed like an islandin a moss-gray lake, and now he strode manfully toward it, ignoring theoversize trousers slapping around his stocking feet. Only the robotsshared his self control.     The clerk was the first to recover from the collective stupor.Frantically he pushed the button that would summon the robot guard.With a gasp of relief he saw the two massive manlike machines movinginexorably forward. He pointed to Harper. Get that patient! heordered. Take him to the—to the mud-baths!     No you don't! yelled Harper. I want to see the manager! Nimbly hecircled the guard and leaped behind the desk. He began to throw thingsat the robots. Things like inkwells and typewriters and card indexes.Especially, card indexes.     Stop it! begged the clerk. You'll wreck the system! We'll never getit straight again! Stop it!     Call them off! snarled Harper. Call them off or I'll ruin yourswitchboard! He put a shoulder against it and prepared to heave.     With one last appalled glare at the madman, the clerk picked up anelectric finger and pointed it at the approaching robots. They becameoddly inanimate.     That's better! Harper straightened up and meticulously smoothed thecollar of his flapping coat. Now—the manager, please.     This—this way, sir. With shrinking steps the clerk led Harper acrossthe width of the lobby among the fascinated guests. He was beyondspeech. Opening the inconspicuous door, he waved Harper inside andreturned doggedly to his desk, where he began to pick up things and atthe same time phrase his resignation in his mind.     Brushing aside the startled secretary in the outer cubicle, Harperflapped and shuffled straight into the inner sanctum. The manager, whowas busy chewing a cigar to shreds behind his fortress of gun metaldesk, jerked hastily upright and glared at the intruder. My goodman— he began.     Don't 'my-good-man' me! snapped Harper. He glared back at themanager. Reaching as far across the expanse of desktop as he couldstretch, he shook his puny fist. Do you know who I am? I'm HarperS. Breen, of Breen and Helgart, Incorporated! And do you know why Ihaven't even a card to prove it? Do you know why I have to make my waydownstairs in garb that makes a laughing stock of me? Do you know why?Because that assinine clerk of yours put me in the wrong room and thosedamnable robots of yours then proceeded to make a prisoner of me! Me,Harper S. Breen! Why, I'll sue you until you'll be lucky if you have asheet of writing-paper left in this idiot's retreat!     Hayes, the manager, blanched. Then he began to mottle in an apoplecticpattern. And suddenly with a gusty sigh, he collapsed into his chair.With a shaking hand he mopped his forehead.       My     robots! he muttered.As if I invented the damned things!     Despondently he looked at Harper. Go ahead and sue, Mr. Breen. If youdon't, somebody else will. And if nobody sues, we'll go broke anyway,at the rate our guest list is declining. I'm ready to hand in myresignation.     Again he sighed. The trouble, he explained, is that those foolrobots are completely logical, and people aren't. There's no way to mixthe two. It's dynamite. Maybe people can gradually learn to live withrobots, but they haven't yet. Only we had to find it out the hard way.We— he grimaced disgustedly—had to pioneer in the use of robots.And it cost us so much that we can't afford to reconvert to human help.So—Operation Robot is about to bankrupt the syndicate.     Listening, an amazing calm settled on Harper. Thoughtfully now hehooked a chair to the desk with his stockinged foot, sat down andreached for the cigar that Hayes automatically offered him. Oh, Idon't know, he said mildly.     Hayes leaned forward like a drowning man sighting a liferaft. Whatdo you mean, you don't know? You're threatening to take our shirts,aren't you?     Meticulously Harper clipped and lit his cigar. It seems to me thatthese robots might be useful in quite another capacity. I might evenmake a deal with your syndicate to take them off your hands—at areasonable price, of course—and forget the outrages I've suffered atyour establishment.     Hayes leaned toward him incredulous. You mean you want these robotsafter what you've seen and experienced?     Placidly Harper puffed a smoke ring. Of course, you'd have to takeinto consideration that it would be an experiment for me, too. Andthere's the suit I'm clearly justified in instituting. However, I'mwilling to discuss the matter with your superiors.     With hope burgeoning for the first time in weeks, Hayes lifted hishead. My dear Mr. Breen, to get rid of these pestiferous robots, I'llback you to the hilt! I'll notify the owners at once. At once, Mr.Breen! And while we wait for them, allow me to put you up as a guest ofthe hotel. Coming around to Harper, he effusively shook Harp's scrawnyhand, and then personally escorted him not merely to the door butacross the lobby to the elevator.     Harper gazed out at the stunned audience. This was more like thetreatment he was accustomed to! Haughtily he squared his bony shouldersinside the immense jacket and stepped into the elevator. He was readyfor the second step of his private Operation Robot.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What makes robots unsuitable for working in hotels according to the story of Hagerty's Enzymes?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What were the different therapies Harper received and what impact did they have? [SEP] <s>There was a tentative knock on the door. Come in, called Harperbleakly. As soon as the door opened he regretted his invitation, forthe opening framed the large untidy man who had noisily pounded on thedesk demanding service while he, Harp, was being registered.     Say, pardner, he said hoarsely, you haven't seen any of them robotsaround here, have you?     Harper scowled. Oh, haven't I? he grated. Robots! Do you know whatthey did to me. Indignation lit fires in his pale eyes. Came in herewhile I was lying down peacefully digesting the first meal I've enjoyedin months, dragged me off to the surgery, and pumped it all out! Theonly meal I've enjoyed in months! Blackly he sank his chin onto hisfist and contemplated the outrage.     Why didn't you stop 'em? reasonably asked the visitor.     Stop a robot? Harper glared pityingly. How? You can't reason withthe blasted things. And as for using force—it's man against metal. Youtry it! He ground his teeth together in futile rage. And to think Ihad the insane notion that robots were the last word! Why, I was readyto staff my offices with the things!     The big man placed his large hands on his own capacious stomach andgroaned. I'm sure sorry it was you and not me, pardner. I could usesome of that treatment right now. Musta been that steak and onions Iate after all that tundra dope I've been livin' on.     Tundra? A faint spark of alertness lightened Harper's dull rage. Youmean you work out here on the tundra?     That's right. How'd you think I got in such a helluva shape? I'msuperintendent of one of the fungus plants. I'm Jake Ellis of Hagerty'sEnzymes. There's good money in it, but man, what a job! No air worthmentionin'. Temperature always freezin' or below. Pressure suits. Huts.Factory. Processed food. Nothin' else. Just nothin'. That's where theycould use some robots. It sure ain't no job for a real live man. And infact, there ain't many men left there. If old man Hagerty only knew it,he's about out of business.     Harper sat up as if he'd been needled. He opened his mouth to speak.But just then the door opened briskly and two robots entered. With ahorrified stare, Harper clutched his maltreated stomach. He saw a thirdrobot enter, wheeling a chair.     A wheel chair! squeaked the victim. I tell you, there's nothingwrong with me! Take it away! I'm only here for a rest-cure! Believe me!Take it away!     The robots ignored him. For the first time in his spectacular andruthless career Harper was up against creatures that he could neitherbribe, persuade nor browbeat, inveigle nor ignore. It shattered hisebbing self-confidence. He began waving his hands helplessly.     The robots not only ignored Harper. They paid no attention at all toJake Ellis, who was plucking at their metallic arms pleading, Takeme, boys. I need the treatment bad, whatever it is. I need all thetreatment I can get. Take me! I'm just a wreck, fellers—     Stolidly they picked Harper up, plunked him into the chair, strappedhim down and marched out with him.       Dejectedly Ellis returned to his own room. Again he lifted the receiverof the room phone; but as usual a robot voice answered sweetly,mechanically, and meaninglessly. He hung up and went miserably to bed.  <doc-sep>  HAGERTY'S ENZYMES     By A. L. HALEY       There's a place for every man and a man for       every place, but on robot-harried Mars the       situation was just a little different.       [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Spring 1955.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      Harper Breen sank down gingerly into the new Relaxo-Lounge. He placedtwitching hands on the arm-rests and laid his head back stiffly. Heclosed his fluttering eyelids and clamped his mouth to keep the cornerfrom jumping.     Just lie back, Harp, droned his sister soothingly. Just give in andlet go of everything.     Harper tried to let go of everything. He gave in to the chair. Andgently the chair went to work. It rocked rhythmically, it vibratedtenderly. With velvety cushions it massaged his back and arms and legs.     For all of five minutes Harper stood it. Then with a frenzied lungehe escaped the embrace of the Relaxo-Lounge and fled to a gloriouslystationary sofa.     Harp! His sister, Bella, was ready to weep with exasperation. Dr.Franz said it would be just the thing for you! Why won't you give it atrial?     Harper glared at the preposterous chair. Franz! he snarled. Thatprize fathead! I've paid him a fortune in fees. I haven't slept forweeks. I can't eat anything but soup. My nerves are jangling likea four-alarm fire. And what does he prescribe? A blasted jigglingbaby carriage! Why, I ought to send him the bill for it! Completelyoutraged, he lay back on the couch and closed his eyes.     Now, Harp, you know you've never obeyed his orders. He told youlast year that you'd have to ease up. Why do you have to try to runthe whole world? It's the strain of all your business worries that'scausing your trouble. He told you to take a long vacation or you'dcrack up. Don't blame him for your own stubbornness.     Harper snorted. His large nose developed the sound magnificently.Vacation! he snorted. Batting a silly ball around or dragging a hookafter a stupid fish! Fine activities for an intelligent middle-agedman! And let me correct you. It isn't business worries that are drivingme to a crack-up. It's the strain of trying to get some sensible,reasonable coöperation from the nincompoops I have to hire! It's theidiocy of the human race that's got me whipped! It's the—     Hey, Harp, old man! His brother-in-law, turning the pages of thenew colorama magazine, INTERPLANETARY, had paused at a double-spread.Didn't you have a finger in those Martian equatorial wells they sunktwenty years ago?     Harper's hands twitched violently. Don't mention that fiasco! herasped. That deal nearly cost me my shirt! Water, hell! Those wellsspewed up the craziest conglomeration of liquids ever tapped!  <doc-sep>Only the robots were immune to Harper Breen's progress across the hugesuave lobby.     He was a blot on its rich beauty, a grotesque enigma that rooted theother visitors into paralyzed staring groups. Stepping out of theelevator, he had laid a course for the desk which loomed like an islandin a moss-gray lake, and now he strode manfully toward it, ignoring theoversize trousers slapping around his stocking feet. Only the robotsshared his self control.     The clerk was the first to recover from the collective stupor.Frantically he pushed the button that would summon the robot guard.With a gasp of relief he saw the two massive manlike machines movinginexorably forward. He pointed to Harper. Get that patient! heordered. Take him to the—to the mud-baths!     No you don't! yelled Harper. I want to see the manager! Nimbly hecircled the guard and leaped behind the desk. He began to throw thingsat the robots. Things like inkwells and typewriters and card indexes.Especially, card indexes.     Stop it! begged the clerk. You'll wreck the system! We'll never getit straight again! Stop it!     Call them off! snarled Harper. Call them off or I'll ruin yourswitchboard! He put a shoulder against it and prepared to heave.     With one last appalled glare at the madman, the clerk picked up anelectric finger and pointed it at the approaching robots. They becameoddly inanimate.     That's better! Harper straightened up and meticulously smoothed thecollar of his flapping coat. Now—the manager, please.     This—this way, sir. With shrinking steps the clerk led Harper acrossthe width of the lobby among the fascinated guests. He was beyondspeech. Opening the inconspicuous door, he waved Harper inside andreturned doggedly to his desk, where he began to pick up things and atthe same time phrase his resignation in his mind.     Brushing aside the startled secretary in the outer cubicle, Harperflapped and shuffled straight into the inner sanctum. The manager, whowas busy chewing a cigar to shreds behind his fortress of gun metaldesk, jerked hastily upright and glared at the intruder. My goodman— he began.     Don't 'my-good-man' me! snapped Harper. He glared back at themanager. Reaching as far across the expanse of desktop as he couldstretch, he shook his puny fist. Do you know who I am? I'm HarperS. Breen, of Breen and Helgart, Incorporated! And do you know why Ihaven't even a card to prove it? Do you know why I have to make my waydownstairs in garb that makes a laughing stock of me? Do you know why?Because that assinine clerk of yours put me in the wrong room and thosedamnable robots of yours then proceeded to make a prisoner of me! Me,Harper S. Breen! Why, I'll sue you until you'll be lucky if you have asheet of writing-paper left in this idiot's retreat!     Hayes, the manager, blanched. Then he began to mottle in an apoplecticpattern. And suddenly with a gusty sigh, he collapsed into his chair.With a shaking hand he mopped his forehead.       My     robots! he muttered.As if I invented the damned things!     Despondently he looked at Harper. Go ahead and sue, Mr. Breen. If youdon't, somebody else will. And if nobody sues, we'll go broke anyway,at the rate our guest list is declining. I'm ready to hand in myresignation.     Again he sighed. The trouble, he explained, is that those foolrobots are completely logical, and people aren't. There's no way to mixthe two. It's dynamite. Maybe people can gradually learn to live withrobots, but they haven't yet. Only we had to find it out the hard way.We— he grimaced disgustedly—had to pioneer in the use of robots.And it cost us so much that we can't afford to reconvert to human help.So—Operation Robot is about to bankrupt the syndicate.     Listening, an amazing calm settled on Harper. Thoughtfully now hehooked a chair to the desk with his stockinged foot, sat down andreached for the cigar that Hayes automatically offered him. Oh, Idon't know, he said mildly.     Hayes leaned forward like a drowning man sighting a liferaft. Whatdo you mean, you don't know? You're threatening to take our shirts,aren't you?     Meticulously Harper clipped and lit his cigar. It seems to me thatthese robots might be useful in quite another capacity. I might evenmake a deal with your syndicate to take them off your hands—at areasonable price, of course—and forget the outrages I've suffered atyour establishment.     Hayes leaned toward him incredulous. You mean you want these robotsafter what you've seen and experienced?     Placidly Harper puffed a smoke ring. Of course, you'd have to takeinto consideration that it would be an experiment for me, too. Andthere's the suit I'm clearly justified in instituting. However, I'mwilling to discuss the matter with your superiors.     With hope burgeoning for the first time in weeks, Hayes lifted hishead. My dear Mr. Breen, to get rid of these pestiferous robots, I'llback you to the hilt! I'll notify the owners at once. At once, Mr.Breen! And while we wait for them, allow me to put you up as a guest ofthe hotel. Coming around to Harper, he effusively shook Harp's scrawnyhand, and then personally escorted him not merely to the door butacross the lobby to the elevator.     Harper gazed out at the stunned audience. This was more like thetreatment he was accustomed to! Haughtily he squared his bony shouldersinside the immense jacket and stepped into the elevator. He was readyfor the second step of his private Operation Robot.  <doc-sep>The trip out did Harper a world of good. Under the influence of thesoporific gas that permeated the rocket, he really relaxed for thefirst time in years, sinking with the other passengers into a hazylethargy with little sense of passing time and almost no memory of theinterval.     It seemed hardly more than a handful of hours until they were strappingthemselves into deceleration hammocks for the landing. And then Harperwas waking with lassitude still heavy in his veins. He struggled out ofthe hammock, made his way to the airlock, and found himself whisked bypneumatic tube directly into the lobby of the Emerald Star Hotel.     Appreciatively he gazed around at the half-acre of moss-gray carpeting,green-tinted by the light sifting through the walls of Martiancopper-glass, and at the vistas of beautiful domed gardens framed by adozen arches. But most of all, the robots won his delighted approval.     He could see at once that they had been developed to an amazingly highstate of perfection. How, he wondered again, had this been done withouthis knowledge? Was Scrib right? Was he slipping? Gnawing at the doubt,he watched the robots moving efficiently about, pushing patients inwheelchairs, carrying trays, guiding newcomers, performing janitorialduties tirelessly, promptly, and best of all, silently.     Harper was enthralled. He'd staff his offices with them. Hang theexpense! There'd be no more of that obnoxious personal friction andproneness to error that was always deviling the most carefully trainedoffice staffs! He'd investigate and find out the exact potentialitiesof these robots while here, and then go home and introduce them intothe field of business. He'd show them whether he was slipping! Brisklyhe went over to the desk.     He was immediately confronted with a sample of that human obstinacythat was slowly driving him mad. Machines, he sighed to himself.Wonderful silent machines! For a woman was arguing stridently with thedesk clerk who, poor man, was a high strung fellow human instead of arobot. Harper watched him shrinking and turning pale lavender in thestress of the argument.     A nurse! shouted the woman. I want a nurse! A real woman! For whatyou charge, you should be able to give me a television star if I wantone! I won't have another of those damnable robots in my room, do youhear?     No one within the confines of the huge lobby could have helped hearing.The clerk flinched visibly. Now, Mrs. Jacobsen, he soothed. You knowthe hotel is staffed entirely with robots. They're much more expensive,really, than human employees, but so much more efficient, you know.Admit it, they give excellent service, don't they, now? Toothily hesmiled at the enraged woman.     That's just it! Mrs. Jacobsen glared. The service is      too     good.I might just as well have a set of push buttons in the room. I wantsomeone to      hear     what I say! I want to be able to change my mind oncein awhile!     Harper snorted. Wants someone she can devil, he diagnosed. Someoneshe can get a kick out of ordering around. With vast contempt hestepped to the desk beside her and peremptorily rapped for the clerk.     One moment, sir, begged that harassed individual. Just one moment,please. He turned back to the woman.     But she had turned her glare on Harper. You could at least be civilenough to wait your turn!     Harper smirked. My good woman, I'm not a robot. Robots, of course,are always civil. But you should know by now that civility isn't anormal human trait. Leaving her temporarily quashed, he beckonedauthoritatively to the clerk.     I've just arrived and want to get settled. I'm here merely for arest-cure, no treatments. You can assign my quarters before continuingyour—ah—discussion with the lady.     The clerk sputtered. Mrs. Jacobsen sputtered. But not for nothing wasHarper one of the leading business executives of the earth. Harper'simplacable stare won his point. Wiping beads of moisture from hisforehead, the clerk fumbled for a card, typed it out, and was about todeposit it in the punch box when a fist hit the desk a resounding blowand another voice, male, roared out at Harper's elbow.     This is a helluva joint! roared the voice. Man could rot away to theknees while he's waitin' for accommodations. Service! Again his fistbanged the counter.     The clerk jumped. He dropped Harper's card and had to stoop for it.Absently holding it, he straightened up to face Mrs. Jacobsen and theirate newcomer. Hastily he pushed a tagged key at Harper.     Here you are, Mr. Breen. I'm sure you'll find it comfortable. With apallid smile he pressed a button and consigned Harper to the care of asilent and efficient robot.  <doc-sep>  MacKENZIE didn't seem to be taking any notes, or paying any specialattention to the answers Ish was giving to his casual questions. But thequestions fell into a pattern that was far from casual, and Ish couldsee the small button-mike of a portable tape-recorder nestling under theman's lapel.     Been working your own way for the last seventeen years, haven't you?MacKenzie seemed to mumble in a perfectly clear voice.     Ish nodded.     How's that?     The corners of Isherwood's mouth twitched, and he said Yes for therecorder's benefit.     Odd jobs, first of all?     Something like that. Anything I could get, the first few months. AfterI was halfway set up, I stuck to garages and repair shops.     Out at the airports around Miami, mostly, wasn't it?     Ahuh.     Took some of your pay in flying lessons.     Right.     MacKenzie's face passed no judgements—he simply hunched in his chair,seemingly dwarfed by the shoulders of his perfectly tailored suit, hisstubby fingers twiddling a Phi Beta Kappa key. He was a spare man—onlya step or two away from emaciation. Occasionally, he pushed a tiredstrand of washed-out hair away from his forehead.     Ish answered him truthfully, without more than ordinary reservations.This was the man who could ground him He was dangerous—red-letterdangerous—because of it.     No family.     Ish shrugged. Not that I know of. Cut out at seventeen. My father wasmaking good money. He had a pension plan, insurance policies. No need toworry about them.     Ish knew the normal reaction a statement like that should have brought.MacKenzie's face did not go into a blank of repression—but it stillpassed no judgements.     How's things between you and the opposite sex?     About normal.     No wife—no steady girl.     Not a very good idea, in my racket.     MacKenzie grunted. Suddenly, he sat bolt upright in his chair, and swungtoward Ish. His lean arm shot out, and his index finger was aimedbetween Isherwood's eyes. You can't go!     Ish was on his feet, his fists clenched, the blood throbbing in histemple veins. What! he roared.     MacKenzie seemed to collapse in his chair. The brief commanding burstwas over, and his face was apologetic, Sorry, he said. He seemedgenuinely abashed. Shotgun therapy. Works best, sometimes. You can go,all right; I just wanted to get a fast check on your reactions anddrives.     Ish could feel the anger that still ran through him—anger, and morefear than he wanted to admit. I'm due at a briefing, he said tautly.You through with me?     MacKenzie nodded, still embarrassed. Sorry.     Ish ignored the man's obvious feelings. He stopped at the door to send aparting stroke at the thing that had frightened him. Big gun in thepsychiatry racket, huh? Well, your professional lingo's slipping, Doc.They did put      some     learning in my head at college, you know. Therapy,hell! Testing maybe, but you sure didn't do anything to help me!     I don't know, MacKenzie said softly. I wish I did.     Ish slammed the door behind him. He stood in the corridor, jamming afresh cigarette in his mouth. He threw a glance at his watch. Twelvehours, twenty-two minutes, and four days to go.     Damn! He was late for the briefing. Odd—that fool psychiatrist hadn'tseemed to take up that much of his time.     He shrugged. What difference did it make? As he strode down the hall, helost his momentary puzzlement under the flood of realization thatnothing could stop him now, that the last hurdle was beaten. He wasgoing. He was going, and if there were faint echoes of Marty! ringingin the dark background of his mind, they only served to push him faster,as they always had. Nothing but death could stop him now.    <doc-sep>The room was more than comfortable. It was beautiful. Its bank of clearwindows set in the green glass wall framed startling rubicund views ofthe Martian hinterland where, Harper affectionately thought, fungi werebusy producing enzymes that were going to be worth millions for him andhis associates. There remained only the small detail of discovering howto extract them economically and to process them on this more than aridand almost airless planet. Details for his bright young laboratory men;mere details....     Leaving his luggage to be unpacked by the robot attendant, he went upto the domed roof restaurant. Lunching boldly on broiled halibut withconsomme, salad and a bland custard, he stared out at the dark bluesky of Mars, with Deimos hanging in the east in three-quarter phasewhile Phobos raced up from the west like a meteor behind schedule.Leaning back in his cushioned chair, he even more boldly lit a slimcigar—his first in months—and inhaled happily. For once old Scribneyhad certainly been right, he reflected. Yes sir, Scrib had rung thebell, and he wasn't the man to forget it. With a wonderful sense ofwell-being he returned to his room and prepared to relax.     Harper opened his eyes. Two robots were bending over him. He saw thatthey were dressed in white, like hospital attendants. But he had nofurther opportunity to examine them. With brisk, well-co-ordinatedmovements they wheeled a stretcher along-side his couch, stuck a hypointo his arm, bundled him onto the stretcher and started wheeling himout.     Harper's tongue finally functioned. What's all this? he demanded.There's nothing wrong with me. Let me go!     He struggled to rise, but a metal hand pushed him firmly on the chest.Inexorably it pushed him flat.     You've got the wrong room! yelled Harp. Let me go! But the hypobegan to take effect. His yells became weaker and drowsier. Hazily, ashe drifted off, he thought of Mrs. Jacobsen. Maybe she had something,at that.  <doc-sep>There was something nagging at Harper's mind. Something he should do.Something that concerned robots. But he was too exhausted to think itout.     For five days now his pet robots had put him through an ordeal thatmade him flinch every time he thought about it. Which wasn't often,since he was almost past thinking. They plunked him into stinkingmud-baths and held him there until he was well-done to the bone, hewas sure. They soaked him in foul, steaming irradiated waters until hegagged. They brought him weird concoctions to eat and drink and thenstood over him until he consumed them. They purged and massaged andexercised him.     Whenever they let him alone, he simply collapsed into bed and slept.There was nothing else to do anyway. They'd taken his clothes; and thephone, after an announcement that he would have no more service for twoweeks, gave him nothing but a busy signal.     Persecution, that's what it is! he moaned desperately. And he turnedhis back to the mirror, which showed him that he was beginning to lookflesh-colored instead of the parchment yellow to which he had becomeaccustomed. He closed his mind to the fact that he was sleeping forhours on end like the proverbial baby, and that he was getting such anappetite that he could almost relish even that detestable mush theysent him for breakfast. He was determined to be furious. As soon as hecould wake up enough to be.     He hadn't been awake long this time before Jake Ellis was there again,still moaning about his lack of treatments. Nothin' yet, he gloomilyinformed Harp. They haven't been near me. I just can't understand it.After I signed up for the works and paid 'em in advance! And I can'tfind any way out of this section. The other two rooms are empty and theelevator hasn't got any button. The robots just have to come and get aman or he's stuck.     Stuck! snarled Harp. I'm never stuck! And I'm damned if I'll waitany longer to break out of this—this jail! Listen, Jake. I've beenthinking. Or trying to, with what's left of me. You came in just whenthat assinine clerk was registering me. I'll bet that clerk got rattledand gave me the wrong key. I'll bet you're supposed to have this roomand I'm getting your treatments. Why don't we switch rooms and see whathappens?     Say, maybe you're right! Jake's eyes gleamed at last with hope. I'llget my clothes.     Harp's eyebrows rose. You mean they left you your clothes?     Why, sure. You mean they took yours?     Harp nodded. An idea began to formulate. Leave your things, will you?I'm desperate! I'm going to see the manager of this madhouse if I haveto go down dressed in a sheet. Your clothes would be better than that.     Jake, looking over Harper's skimpy frame, grunted doubtfully. Maybeyou could tie 'em on so they wouldn't slip. And roll up the cuffs. It'sokay with me, but just don't lose something when you're down there inthat fancy lobby.     Harper looked at his watch. Time to go. Relax, old man. The robotswill be along any minute now. If you're the only man in the room, I'msure they'll take you. They aren't equipped to figure it out. And don'tworry about me. I'll anchor your duds all right.     Harper had guessed right. Gleefully from the doorway of his new roomhe watched the robots wheel away his equally delighted neighbor forhis first treatment. Then he closed the door and began to don Jake'sclothing.     The result was unique. He looked like a small boy in his father'sclothes, except for the remarkably aged and gnome-like head stickingup on a skinny neck from a collar three sizes too big. And he wasshoeless. He was completely unable to navigate in Jake's numbertwelves. But Harper was a determined man. He didn't even flinch fromhis image in the mirror. Firmly he stepped over to Jake's telephone.This is room 618, he said authoritatively. Send up the elevator forme. I want to go down to the lobby.     He'd guessed right again. It will be right up, sir, responded therobot operator. Hopefully he stepped out into the hall and shuffled tothe elevator.  <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></s> [SEP] What were the different therapies Harper received and what impact did they have?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the reason for Ellis staying at the hotel and how has his stay been so far, in relation to the story of Hagerty's enzymes? [SEP] <s>There was a tentative knock on the door. Come in, called Harperbleakly. As soon as the door opened he regretted his invitation, forthe opening framed the large untidy man who had noisily pounded on thedesk demanding service while he, Harp, was being registered.     Say, pardner, he said hoarsely, you haven't seen any of them robotsaround here, have you?     Harper scowled. Oh, haven't I? he grated. Robots! Do you know whatthey did to me. Indignation lit fires in his pale eyes. Came in herewhile I was lying down peacefully digesting the first meal I've enjoyedin months, dragged me off to the surgery, and pumped it all out! Theonly meal I've enjoyed in months! Blackly he sank his chin onto hisfist and contemplated the outrage.     Why didn't you stop 'em? reasonably asked the visitor.     Stop a robot? Harper glared pityingly. How? You can't reason withthe blasted things. And as for using force—it's man against metal. Youtry it! He ground his teeth together in futile rage. And to think Ihad the insane notion that robots were the last word! Why, I was readyto staff my offices with the things!     The big man placed his large hands on his own capacious stomach andgroaned. I'm sure sorry it was you and not me, pardner. I could usesome of that treatment right now. Musta been that steak and onions Iate after all that tundra dope I've been livin' on.     Tundra? A faint spark of alertness lightened Harper's dull rage. Youmean you work out here on the tundra?     That's right. How'd you think I got in such a helluva shape? I'msuperintendent of one of the fungus plants. I'm Jake Ellis of Hagerty'sEnzymes. There's good money in it, but man, what a job! No air worthmentionin'. Temperature always freezin' or below. Pressure suits. Huts.Factory. Processed food. Nothin' else. Just nothin'. That's where theycould use some robots. It sure ain't no job for a real live man. And infact, there ain't many men left there. If old man Hagerty only knew it,he's about out of business.     Harper sat up as if he'd been needled. He opened his mouth to speak.But just then the door opened briskly and two robots entered. With ahorrified stare, Harper clutched his maltreated stomach. He saw a thirdrobot enter, wheeling a chair.     A wheel chair! squeaked the victim. I tell you, there's nothingwrong with me! Take it away! I'm only here for a rest-cure! Believe me!Take it away!     The robots ignored him. For the first time in his spectacular andruthless career Harper was up against creatures that he could neitherbribe, persuade nor browbeat, inveigle nor ignore. It shattered hisebbing self-confidence. He began waving his hands helplessly.     The robots not only ignored Harper. They paid no attention at all toJake Ellis, who was plucking at their metallic arms pleading, Takeme, boys. I need the treatment bad, whatever it is. I need all thetreatment I can get. Take me! I'm just a wreck, fellers—     Stolidly they picked Harper up, plunked him into the chair, strappedhim down and marched out with him.       Dejectedly Ellis returned to his own room. Again he lifted the receiverof the room phone; but as usual a robot voice answered sweetly,mechanically, and meaninglessly. He hung up and went miserably to bed.  <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>  HAGERTY'S ENZYMES     By A. L. HALEY       There's a place for every man and a man for       every place, but on robot-harried Mars the       situation was just a little different.       [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Spring 1955.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      Harper Breen sank down gingerly into the new Relaxo-Lounge. He placedtwitching hands on the arm-rests and laid his head back stiffly. Heclosed his fluttering eyelids and clamped his mouth to keep the cornerfrom jumping.     Just lie back, Harp, droned his sister soothingly. Just give in andlet go of everything.     Harper tried to let go of everything. He gave in to the chair. Andgently the chair went to work. It rocked rhythmically, it vibratedtenderly. With velvety cushions it massaged his back and arms and legs.     For all of five minutes Harper stood it. Then with a frenzied lungehe escaped the embrace of the Relaxo-Lounge and fled to a gloriouslystationary sofa.     Harp! His sister, Bella, was ready to weep with exasperation. Dr.Franz said it would be just the thing for you! Why won't you give it atrial?     Harper glared at the preposterous chair. Franz! he snarled. Thatprize fathead! I've paid him a fortune in fees. I haven't slept forweeks. I can't eat anything but soup. My nerves are jangling likea four-alarm fire. And what does he prescribe? A blasted jigglingbaby carriage! Why, I ought to send him the bill for it! Completelyoutraged, he lay back on the couch and closed his eyes.     Now, Harp, you know you've never obeyed his orders. He told youlast year that you'd have to ease up. Why do you have to try to runthe whole world? It's the strain of all your business worries that'scausing your trouble. He told you to take a long vacation or you'dcrack up. Don't blame him for your own stubbornness.     Harper snorted. His large nose developed the sound magnificently.Vacation! he snorted. Batting a silly ball around or dragging a hookafter a stupid fish! Fine activities for an intelligent middle-agedman! And let me correct you. It isn't business worries that are drivingme to a crack-up. It's the strain of trying to get some sensible,reasonable coöperation from the nincompoops I have to hire! It's theidiocy of the human race that's got me whipped! It's the—     Hey, Harp, old man! His brother-in-law, turning the pages of thenew colorama magazine, INTERPLANETARY, had paused at a double-spread.Didn't you have a finger in those Martian equatorial wells they sunktwenty years ago?     Harper's hands twitched violently. Don't mention that fiasco! herasped. That deal nearly cost me my shirt! Water, hell! Those wellsspewed up the craziest conglomeration of liquids ever tapped!  <doc-sep>Scribney, whose large, phlegmatic person and calm professorial brainwere the complete antithesis of Harper's picked-crow physique andscheming financier's wits, looked severely over his glasses. Harp'snervous tribulations were beginning to bore him, as well as interferewith the harmony of his home.     You're away behind the times, Harp, he declared. Don't you knowthat those have proved to be the most astoundingly curative springsever discovered anywhere? Don't you know that a syndicate has builtthe largest extra-terrestial hotel of the solar system there and thatpeople are flocking to it to get cured of whatever ails 'em? Old man,you missed a bet!     Leaping from the sofa, Harper rudely snatched the magazine fromScribney's hands. He glared at the spread which depicted a star-shapedstructure of bottle-green glass resting jewel-like on the rufous rockof Mars. The main portion of the building consisted of a circularskyscraper with a glass-domed roof. Between its star-shaped annexes,other domes covered landscaped gardens and noxious pools which in thedrawing looked lovely and enticing.     Why, I remember now! exclaimed Bella. That's where the Durants wenttwo years ago! He was about dead and she looked like a hag. They cameback in wonderful shape. Don't you remember, Scrib?     Dutifully Scribney remembered and commented on the change the Martiansprings had effected in the Durants. It's the very thing for you,Harp, he advised. You'd get a good rest on the way out. This gasthey use in the rockets nowadays is as good as a rest-cure; it sort offloats you along the time-track in a pleasant daze, they tell me. Andyou can finish the cure at the hotel while looking it over. And notonly that. Confidentially he leaned toward his insignificant lookingbrother-in-law. The chemists over at Dade McCann have just isolated anenzyme from one species of Martian fungus that breaks down crude oilinto its components without the need for chemical processing. There's afortune waiting for the man who corners that fungus market and learnsto process the stuff!     Scribney had gauged his victim's mental processes accurately. Themagazine sagged in Harp's hands, and his sharp eyes became shrewd andcalculating. He even forgot to twitch. Maybe you're right, Scrib, heacknowledged. Combine a rest-cure with business, eh?     Raising the magazine, he began reading the advertisement. And thatwas when he saw the line about the robots. —the only hotel staffedentirely with robot servants—     Robots! he shrilled. You mean they've developed the things to thatpoint? Why hasn't somebody told me? I'll have Jackson's hide! I'lldisfranchise him! I'll—     Harp! exploded Bella. Stop it! Maybe Jackson doesn't know a thingabout it, whatever it is! If it's something at the Emerald Star Hotel,why don't you just go and find out for yourself instead of throwing atantrum? That's the only sensible way!     You're right, Bella, agreed Harper incisively. I'll go and find outfor myself. Immediately! Scooping up his hat, he left at his usuallope.     Well! remarked his sister. All I can say is that they'd better turnthat happy-gas on extra strong for Harp's trip out!  <doc-sep>  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>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>Carpenter gently urged the young man into the Algedian cab ... whichreeked. Michael held his nose, but his mentor shook his head. No, no!Tpiu Number Five is the most esteemed aroma on Algedi. It would breakthe driver's heart if he thought you didn't like it. You wouldn't wantto be had up for ego injury, would you?     Of course not, Michael whispered weakly.     Brunettes are darker and blondes are fairer, the advideo informedhim, when they wash out their hair with shampoos made on Chara.     After a time, Michael got more or less used to Tpiu Number Five andwas able to take some interest in the passing landscape. Portyork,the biggest spaceport in the United Universe, was, of course, themost cosmopolitan city—cosmopolitan in its architecture as well asits inhabitants. Silver domes of Earth were crowded next to the tallhelical edifices of the Venusians.     You'll notice that the current medieval revival has even reachedarchitecture, Carpenter pointed out. See those period houses in theFrank Lloyd Wright and Inigo Jones manner?     Very quaint, Michael commented.     Great floating red and green balls lit the streets, even though it wasstill daylight, and long scarlet-and-emerald streamers whipped outfrom the most unlikely places. As Michael opened his mouth to inquireabout this, We now interrupt the commercials, the advideo said, tobring you a brand new version of one of the medieval ballads that arebecoming so popular....       I shall scream, stated Carpenter, if they play      Beautiful BlueDeneb     just once more.... No, thank the Wise Ones, I've never heardthis before.     Thuban, Thuban, I've been thinking, sang a buxom Betelgeusian, whata Cosmos this could be, if land masses were transported to replace thewasteful sea.     I guess the first thing for me to do, Michael began in a businesslikemanner, is to get myself a room at a hotel.... What have I said now?     The word      hotel     , Carpenter explained through pursed lips, isnot used in polite society any more. It has come to have unpleasantconnotations. It means—a place of dancing girls. I hardly think....     Certainly not, Michael agreed austerely. I merely want a lodging.     That word is also—well, you see, Carpenter told him, on Zaniah itis unthinkable to go anywhere without one's family.     They're a sort of ant, aren't they? The Zaniahans, I mean.     More like bees. So those creatures who travel— Carpenter lowered hisvoice modestly —      alone     hire a family for the duration of their stay.There are a number of families available, but the better types comerather high. There has been talk of reviving the old-fashioned pricecontrols, but the Wise Ones say this would limit free enterprise asmuch as—if you'll excuse my use of the expression—tariffs would.  <doc-sep>When Three did not answer, Rossel was nervously gazing at the snow,thinking of other things, and he called again. Several moments laterthe realization of what was happening struck him like a blow. Threehad never once failed to answer. All they had to do when they heardthe signal buzz was go into the radio shack and say hello. That wasall they had to do. He called again and again, but nobody answered.There was no static and no interference and he didn't hear a thing. Hechecked frenziedly through his own apparatus and tried again, but theair was as dead as deep space. He raced out to tell Dylan.     Dylan accepted it. He had known none of the people on Three and whathe felt now was a much greater urgency to be out of here. He saidhopeful things to Rossel, and then went out to the ship and joined themen in lightening her. About the ship at least, he knew something andhe was able to tell them what partitions and frames could go and whatwould have to stay or the ship would never get off the planet. Buteven stripped down, it couldn't take them all. When he knew that, herealized that he himself would have to stay here, for it was only thenthat he thought of Bossio.     Three was dead. Bossio had gone down there some time ago and, if Threewas dead and Bossio had not called, then the fact was that Bossio wasgone too. For a long, long moment Dylan stood rooted in the snow.More than the fact that he would have to stay here was the unspoken,unalterable, heart-numbing knowledge that Bossio was dead—the onething that Dylan could not accept. Bossio was the only friend he had.In all this dog-eared, aimless, ape-run Universe Bossio was all hisfriendship and his trust.     He left the ship blindly and went back to the settlement. Now thepeople were quiet and really frightened, and some of the women werebeginning to cry. He noticed now that they had begun to look at himwith hope as he passed, and in his own grief, humanly, he swore.     Bossio—a big-grinning kid with no parents, no enemies, nogrudges—Bossio was already dead because he had come out here and triedto help these people. People who had kicked or ignored him all the daysof his life. And, in a short while, Dylan would also stay behind anddie to save the life of somebody he never knew and who, twenty-fourhours earlier, would have been ashamed to be found in his company. Now,when it was far, far too late, they were coming to the army for help.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the reason for Ellis staying at the hotel and how has his stay been so far, in relation to the story of Hagerty's enzymes?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of The Ignoble Savages' storyline? [SEP] <s>   The Ignoble Savages     By EVELYN E. SMITH     Illustrated by DILLON     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction March 1957.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        Snaddra had but one choice in its fight       to afford to live belowground—underhandedly       pretend theirs was an aboveboard society!        Go Away from me, Skkiru, Larhgan said, pushing his hand off her arm.A beggar does not associate with the high priestess of Snaddra.     But the Earthmen aren't due for another fifteen minutes, Skkiruprotested.     Of what importance are fifteen minutes compared to eternity! sheexclaimed. Her lovely eyes fuzzed softly with emotion. You don't seemto realize, Skkiru, that this isn't just a matter of minutes or hours.It's forever.       Forever! He looked at her incredulously. You mean we're going tokeep this up as a permanent thing? You're joking!     Bbulas groaned, but Skkiru didn't care about that. The sad, sweet wayLarhgan shook her beautiful head disturbed him much more, and whenshe said, No, Skkiru, I am not joking, a tiny pang of doubt andapprehension began to quiver in his second smallest left toe.     This is, in effect, good-by, she continued. We shall see each otheragain, of course, but only from a distance. On feast days, perhaps youmay be permitted to kiss the hem of my robe ... but that will be all.     Skkiru turned to the third person present in the council chamber.Bbulas, this is your fault! It was all your idea!     There was regret on the Dilettante's thin face—an obviously insincereregret, the younger man knew, since he was well aware how Bbulas hadalways felt about the girl.     I am sorry, Skkiru, Bbulas intoned. I had fancied you understood.This is not a game we are playing, but a new way of life we areadopting. A necessary way of life, if we of Snaddra are to keep onliving at all.     It's not that I don't love you, Skkiru, Larhgan put in gently, butthe welfare of our planet comes first.  <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>  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>Shoulda got a hundred bucks for that yarn, grunted Thig, and gasped.     For the moment he had been Lewis Terry and not Thig! So thoroughly hadhe acquired the knowledge of Terry that he found himself unconsciouslyadopting the thinking and mannerism of the other. All the better thisway, he realized—more natural.     Sorry I was late, he said, digging into his pocket for theglittering baubles, but I was poking around on the beach where we usedto hunt treasure and I found an old chest. Inside it I found nothingbut a handful of these.     He flashed the jewels in front of Ellen's startled eyes and she clung,unbelieving, to his arm.     Why, Lew, she gasped, they're worth a fortune! We can buy that newtrailer now and have a rebuilt motor in the car. We can go west rightaway.... Hollywood, the Grand Canyon, cowboys!     Uh huh, agreed the pseudo Lewis, memories of the ferocious savagesand gunmen of his stories rendering him acutely unhappy. Sincerely hehoped that the west had reformed.     I saved some kraut and weiners, Ellen said. Get washed up while I'mwarming them up. Kids ate all the bread so I had to borrow some fromthe Eskoes. Want coffee, too?     Mmmmmm, came from the depths of the chipped white wash-basin.  <doc-sep>She was pink and clean and her platinum hair was pulled straight back,drawing her cheek-bones tighter, straightening her wide, appealingmouth, drawing her lean, athletic, feminine body erect. She was wearinga powder-blue dress that covered all of her breasts and hips and theupper half of her legs.     The most wonderful thing about her was her perfume. Then I realized itwasn't perfume, only the scent of soap. Finally, I knew it wasn't that.It was just healthy, fresh-scrubbed skin.     I went to her at the bus stop, forcing my legs not to stagger. Nobodywould help a drunk. I don't know why, but nobody will help you if theythink you are blotto.     Ma'am, could you help a man who's not had work? I kept my eyes down.I couldn't look a human in the eye and ask for help. Just a dime for acup of coffee. I knew where I could get it for three cents, maybe twoand a half.     I felt her looking at me. She spoke in an educated voice, one she used,perhaps, as a teacher or supervising telephone operator. Do you wantit for coffee, or to apply, or a glass or hypo of something else?     I cringed and whined. She would expect it of me. I suddenly realizedthat anybody as clean as she was had to be a tourist here. I hatetourists.     Just coffee, ma'am. She was younger than I was, so I didn't have tocall her that. A little more for food, if you could spare it.     I hadn't eaten in a day and a half, but I didn't care much.     I'll buy you a dinner, she said carefully, provided I can go withyou and see for myself that you actually eat it.     I felt my face flushing red. You wouldn't want to be seen with a bumlike me, ma'am.     I'll be seen with you if you really want to eat.     It was certainly unfair and probably immoral. But I had no choicewhatever.     Okay, I said, tasting bitterness over the craving.  <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>  Mr. Dawes  came home anhour later, looking tired.Mom pecked him lightly onthe forehead. He glanced atthe evening paper, and thenspoke to Sol.     Hear you been askingquestions, Mr. Becker.     Sol nodded, embarrassed.Guess I have. I'm awfullycurious about this Armagonplace. Never heard of anythinglike it before.     Dawes grunted. You ain'ta reporter?     Oh, no. I'm an engineer. Iwas just satisfying my owncuriosity.     Uh-huh. Dawes lookedreflective. You wouldn't bethinkin' about writing us upor anything. I mean, this is apretty private affair.     Writing it up? Solblinked. I hadn't thought ofit. But you'll have to admit—it'ssure interesting.     Yeah, Dawes said narrowly.I guess it would be.     Supper! Mom called.     After the meal, they spenta quiet evening at home. Sallywent to bed, screaming herreluctance, at eight-thirty.Mom, dozing in the big chairnear the fireplace, padded upstairsat nine. Then Dawesyawned widely, stood up, andsaid goodnight at quarter-of-ten.     He paused in the doorwaybefore leaving.     I'd think about that, hesaid. Writing it up, I mean.A lot of folks would thinkyou were just plum crazy.     Sol laughed feebly. Iguess they would at that.     Goodnight, Dawes said.     Goodnight.     He read Sally's copy of      Treasure Island     for abouthalf an hour. Then he undressed,made himself comfortableon the sofa, snuggledunder the soft blanketthat Mom had provided, andshut his eyes.     He reviewed the events ofthe day before dropping offto sleep. The troublesomeSally. The strange dreamworld of Armagon. The visitto the barber shop. The removalof Brundage's body.The conversations with thetownspeople. Dawes' suspiciousattitude ...     Then sleep came. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of The Ignoble Savages' storyline?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the purpose of the Terrans' presence on Snaddra and what does it signify? [SEP] <s>The traditional office of Planetary Dilettante was a civil-servicejob, awarded by competitive examination whenever it fell vacant tothe person who scored highest in intelligence, character and generalgloonatz. However, the tests were inadequate when it came to measuringsense of proportion, adaptiveness and charm—and there, Skkiru felt,was where the essential flaw lay. After all, no really effective testwould have let a person like Bbulas come out on top.     The winner was sent to Gambrell, the nearest planet with a TerranLeague University, to be given a thorough Terran-type education. Noindividual on Snaddra could afford such schooling, no matter howgreat his personal fortune, because the transportation costs were soimmense that only a government could afford them. That was the reasonwhy only one person in each generation could be chosen to go abroad atthe planet's expense and acquire enough finish to cover the rest of thepopulation.     The Dilettante's official function had always been, in theory, to servethe planet when an emergency came—and this, old Luccar, the formerPresident, had decided, when he and the Parliament had awakened to thefact that Snaddra was falling into ruin, was an emergency. So he had,after considerable soul-searching, called upon Bbulas to plan a methodof saving Snaddra—and Bbulas, happy to be in the limelight at last,had come up with this program.     It was not one Skkiru himself would have chosen. It was not one, hefelt, that any reasonable person would have chosen. Nevertheless, theBbulas Plan had been adopted by a majority vote of the Snaddrath,largely because no one had come up with a feasible alternative and,as a patriotic citizen, Skkiru would abide by it. He would accept thestatus of beggar; it was his duty to do so. Moreover, as in the case ofthe planet, there was no choice.     But all was not necessarily lost, he told himself. Had he not, in hisanthropological viewings—though Bbulas might have been the only oneprivileged to go on ethnological field trips to other planets, he wasnot the only one who could use a library—seen accounts of societieswhere beggarhood could be a rewarding and even responsible station inlife? There was no reason why, within the framework of the primitivesociety Bbulas had created to allure Terran anthropologists, Skkirushould not make something of himself and show that a beggar was worthyof the high priestess's hand—which would be entirely in the Terranprimitive tradition of romance.     Skkiru! Bbulas was screaming, as he spun, now that the Terrans wereout of ear- and eye-shot Skkiru, you idiot, listen to me! What arethose ridiculous things you are wearing on your silly feet?     Skkiru protruded all of his eyes in innocent surprise. Just someold pontoons I took from a wrecked air-car once. I have a habit ofcollecting junk and I thought—     Bbulas twirled madly in the air. You are not supposed to think. Leaveall the thinking to me!     Yes, Bbulas, Skkiru said meekly.  <doc-sep>She had been seeing too many of the Terrestrial fictapes from thelibrary, Skkiru thought resentfully. There was too damn much Terraninfluence on this planet. And this new project was the last straw.     No longer able to control his rage and grief, he turned a triplesomersault in the air with rage. Then why was I made a beggar and shethe high priestess? You arranged that purposely, Bbulas. You—     Now, Skkiru, Bbulas said wearily, for they had been through all thisbefore, you know that all the ranks and positions were distributedby impartial lot, except for mine, and, of course, such jobs as couldcarry over from the civilized into the primitive.     Bbulas breathed on the spectacles he was wearing, as contact lenseswere not considered backward enough for the kind of planet Snaddrawas now supposed to be, and attempted to wipe them dry on his robe.However, the thick, jewel-studded embroidery got in his way and so hewas forced to lift the robe and wipe all three of the lenses on thesmooth, soft, spun metal of his top underskirt.     After all, he went on speaking as he wiped, I have to be highpriest, since I organized this culture and am the only one herequalified to administer it. And, as the president himself concurred inthese arrangements, I hardly think you—a mere private citizen—havethe right to question them.     Just because you went to school in another solar system, Skkiru said,whirling with anger, you think you're so smart!     I won't deny that I do have educational and cultural advantageswhich were, unfortunately, not available to the general populace ofthis planet. However, even under the old system, I was always glad toutilize my superior attainments as Official Dilettante for the good ofall and now—     Sure, glad to have a chance to rig this whole setup so you could breakup things between Larhgan and me. You've had your eye on her for sometime.     Skkiru coiled his antennae at Bbulas, hoping the insult would provokehim into an unbecoming whirl, but the Dilettante remained calm. One ofthe chief outward signs of Terran-type training was self-control andBbulas had been thoroughly terranized.       I hate Terrestrials     , Skkiru said to himself.      I hate Terra.     Thequiver of anxiety had risen up his leg and was coiling and uncoilingin his stomach. He hoped it wouldn't reach his antennae—if he wereto break down and psonk in front of Larhgan, it would be the finalhumiliation.     Skkiru! the girl exclaimed, rotating gently, for she, like herfiance—her erstwhile fiance, that was, for the new regime had causedall such ties to be severed—and every other literate person on theplanet, had received her education at the local university. Althoughsound, the school was admittedly provincial in outlook and very poorin the emotional department. One would almost think that the lots hadsome sort of divine intelligence behind them, because you certainly arebehaving in a beggarly manner!     And I have already explained to you, Skkiru, Bbulas said, with apatience much more infuriating than the girl's anger, that I had noidea of who was to become my high priestess. The lots chose Larhgan. Itis, as the Earthmen say, kismet.  <doc-sep>Unfortunately, the fees that he'd received in the past had not enabledhim both to live well and to save, and now that his fortunes had beenso drastically reduced, he seemed in a fair way of starving to death.It gave him a gentle, moody pleasure to envisage his own funeral,although, at the same time, he realized that Bbulas would probably haveto arrange some sort of pension for him; he could not expect Skkiru'spatriotism to extend to abnormal limits. A man might be willing to diefor his planet in many ways—but wantonly starving to death as theresult of a primitive affectation was hardly one of them.     All the same, Skkiru reflected as he watched the visitors being led offto the native hut prepared for them, how ignominious it would be forone of the brightest young architects on the planet to have to subsistmiserably on the dole just because the world had gone aboveground. Thecapital had risen to the surface and the other cities would soon followsuit. Meanwhile, a careful system of tabus had been designed to keepthe Earthmen from discovering the existence of those other cities.     He could, of course, emigrate to another part of the planet, to one ofthem, and stave off his doom for a while—but that would not be playingthe game. Besides, in such a case, he wouldn't be able to see Larhgan.     As if all this weren't bad enough, he had been done an injury whichstruck directly at his professional pride. He hadn't even been allowedto help in planning the huts. Bbulas and some workmen had done all thatthemselves with the aid of some antique blueprints that had been putout centuries before by a Terrestrial magazine and had been acquiredfrom a rare tape-and-book dealer on Gambrell, for, Skkiru thought, fartoo high a price. He could have designed them himself just as badly andmuch more cheaply.     It wasn't that Skkiru didn't understand well enough that Snaddra hadbeen forced into making such a drastic change in its way of life.What resources it once possessed had been depleted and—aside fromminerals—they had never been very extensive to begin with. Alllife-forms on the planet were on the point of extinction, save fish andrice—the only vegetable that would grow on Snaddra, and originally aTerran import at that. So food and fiber had to be brought from theother planets, at fabulous expense, for Snaddra was not on any ofthe direct trade routes and was too unattractive to lure the touristbusiness.     Something definitely had to be done, if it were not to decayaltogether. And that was where the Planetary Dilettante came in.  <doc-sep>Bbulas slid the ornate headdress over his antennae, which, alreadygilded and jeweled, at once seemed to become a part of it. He lookedpretty damn silly, Skkiru thought, at the same time conscious of hisown appearance—which was, although picturesque enough to delightromantic Terrestrial hearts, sufficiently wretched to charm the mosthardened sadist.     Hurry up, Skkiru, Bbulas said. They mustn't suspect the existence ofthe city underground or we're finished before we've started.     For my part, I wish we'd never started, Skkiru grumbled. What waswrong with our old culture, anyway?     That was intended as a rhetorical question, but Bbulas answered itanyway. He always answered questions; it had never seemed to penetratehis mind that school-days were long since over.     I've told you a thousand times that our old culture was too much likethe Terrans' own to be of interest to them, he said, with affectedweariness. After all, most civilized societies are basically similar;it is only primitive societies that differ sharply, one from theother—and we have to be different to attract Earthmen. They're prettychoosy. You've got to give them what they want, and that's what theywant. Now take up your post on the edge of the field, try to lookhungry, and remember this isn't for you or for me, but for Snaddra.     For Snaddra, Larhgan said, placing her hand over her anterior heartin a gesture which, though devout on Earth—or so the fictapes seemedto indicate—was obscene on Snaddra, owing to the fact that certainessential organs were located in different areas in the Snaddrath thanin the corresponding Terrestrial life-form. Already the Terrestrialinfluence was corrupting her, Skkiru thought mournfully. She had beensuch a nice girl, too.     We may never meet on equal terms again, Skkiru, she told him, with along, soulful glance that made his hearts sink down to his quiveringtoes, but I promise you there will never be anyone else for me—andI hope that knowledge will inspire you to complete cooperation withBbulas.     If that doesn't, Bbulas said, I have other methods of inspiration.     All right, Skkiru answered sulkily. I'll go to the edge of thefield, and I'll speak broken Inter-galactic, and I'll forsake my normalhabits and customs, and I'll even      beg     . But I don't have to like doingit, and I don't intend to like doing it.     All three of Larhgan's eyes fuzzed with emotion. I'm proud of you,Skkiru, she said brokenly.     Bbulas sniffed. The three of them floated up to ground level in atriple silence.  <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>   The Ignoble Savages     By EVELYN E. SMITH     Illustrated by DILLON     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction March 1957.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        Snaddra had but one choice in its fight       to afford to live belowground—underhandedly       pretend theirs was an aboveboard society!        Go Away from me, Skkiru, Larhgan said, pushing his hand off her arm.A beggar does not associate with the high priestess of Snaddra.     But the Earthmen aren't due for another fifteen minutes, Skkiruprotested.     Of what importance are fifteen minutes compared to eternity! sheexclaimed. Her lovely eyes fuzzed softly with emotion. You don't seemto realize, Skkiru, that this isn't just a matter of minutes or hours.It's forever.       Forever! He looked at her incredulously. You mean we're going tokeep this up as a permanent thing? You're joking!     Bbulas groaned, but Skkiru didn't care about that. The sad, sweet wayLarhgan shook her beautiful head disturbed him much more, and whenshe said, No, Skkiru, I am not joking, a tiny pang of doubt andapprehension began to quiver in his second smallest left toe.     This is, in effect, good-by, she continued. We shall see each otheragain, of course, but only from a distance. On feast days, perhaps youmay be permitted to kiss the hem of my robe ... but that will be all.     Skkiru turned to the third person present in the council chamber.Bbulas, this is your fault! It was all your idea!     There was regret on the Dilettante's thin face—an obviously insincereregret, the younger man knew, since he was well aware how Bbulas hadalways felt about the girl.     I am sorry, Skkiru, Bbulas intoned. I had fancied you understood.This is not a game we are playing, but a new way of life we areadopting. A necessary way of life, if we of Snaddra are to keep onliving at all.     It's not that I don't love you, Skkiru, Larhgan put in gently, butthe welfare of our planet comes first.  <doc-sep>He adjusted the fall of his glittering robe before the great polishedfour-dimensional reflector that formed one wall of the chamber.       Kismet     , Skkiru muttered to himself,      and a little sleight of hand.     But he didn't dare offer this conclusion aloud; the libel laws ofSnaddra were very severe. So he had to fall back on a weak, And Isuppose it is kismet that makes us all have to go live out on theground during the day, like—like savages.     It is necessary, Bbulas replied without turning.     Pooh, Skkiru said. Pooh,      pooh     , POOH!     Larhgan's dainty earflaps closed. Skkiru! Such language!     As you said, Bbulas murmured, contemptuously coiling one antenna atSkkiru, the lots chose well and if you touch me, Skkiru, we shall haveanother drawing for beggar and you will be made a metal-worker.     But I can't work metal!     Then that will make it much worse for you than for the otheroutcasts, Bbulas said smugly, because you will be a pariah without atrade.     Speaking of pariahs, that reminds me, Skkiru, before I forget, I'dbetter give you back your grimpatch— Larhgan handed the glitteringbauble to him—and you give me mine. Since we can't be betrothed anylonger, you might want to give yours to some nice beggar girl.     I don't want to give my grimpatch to some nice beggar girl! Skkiruyelled, twirling madly in the air.     As for me, she sighed, standing soulfully on her head, I do notthink I shall ever marry. I shall make the religious life my career.Are there going to be any saints in your mythos, Bbulas?     Even if there will be, Bbulas said, you certainly won't qualify ifyou keep putting yourself into a position which not only represents atrait wholly out of keeping with the new culture, but is most unseemlywith the high priestess's robes.     Larhgan ignored his unfeeling observations. I shall set myself apartfrom mundane affairs, she vowed, and I shall pretend to be happy,even though my heart will be breaking.     It was only at that moment that Skkiru realized just how outrageous thewhole thing really was. There must be another solution to the planet'sproblem. Listen— he began, but just then excited noises filtereddown from overhead. It was too late.     Earth ship in view! a squeaky voice called through the intercom.Everybody topside and don't forget your shoes.     Except the beggar. Beggars went barefoot. Beggars suffered. Bbulas hadmade him beggar purposely, and the lots were a lot of slibwash.     Hurry up, Skkiru.  <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> [SEP] What is the purpose of the Terrans' presence on Snaddra and what does it signify?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What can you tell me about the inhabitants of Snaddra, as mentioned in The Ignoble Savages? [SEP] <s>   The Ignoble Savages     By EVELYN E. SMITH     Illustrated by DILLON     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction March 1957.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        Snaddra had but one choice in its fight       to afford to live belowground—underhandedly       pretend theirs was an aboveboard society!        Go Away from me, Skkiru, Larhgan said, pushing his hand off her arm.A beggar does not associate with the high priestess of Snaddra.     But the Earthmen aren't due for another fifteen minutes, Skkiruprotested.     Of what importance are fifteen minutes compared to eternity! sheexclaimed. Her lovely eyes fuzzed softly with emotion. You don't seemto realize, Skkiru, that this isn't just a matter of minutes or hours.It's forever.       Forever! He looked at her incredulously. You mean we're going tokeep this up as a permanent thing? You're joking!     Bbulas groaned, but Skkiru didn't care about that. The sad, sweet wayLarhgan shook her beautiful head disturbed him much more, and whenshe said, No, Skkiru, I am not joking, a tiny pang of doubt andapprehension began to quiver in his second smallest left toe.     This is, in effect, good-by, she continued. We shall see each otheragain, of course, but only from a distance. On feast days, perhaps youmay be permitted to kiss the hem of my robe ... but that will be all.     Skkiru turned to the third person present in the council chamber.Bbulas, this is your fault! It was all your idea!     There was regret on the Dilettante's thin face—an obviously insincereregret, the younger man knew, since he was well aware how Bbulas hadalways felt about the girl.     I am sorry, Skkiru, Bbulas intoned. I had fancied you understood.This is not a game we are playing, but a new way of life we areadopting. A necessary way of life, if we of Snaddra are to keep onliving at all.     It's not that I don't love you, Skkiru, Larhgan put in gently, butthe welfare of our planet comes first.  <doc-sep>He adjusted the fall of his glittering robe before the great polishedfour-dimensional reflector that formed one wall of the chamber.       Kismet     , Skkiru muttered to himself,      and a little sleight of hand.     But he didn't dare offer this conclusion aloud; the libel laws ofSnaddra were very severe. So he had to fall back on a weak, And Isuppose it is kismet that makes us all have to go live out on theground during the day, like—like savages.     It is necessary, Bbulas replied without turning.     Pooh, Skkiru said. Pooh,      pooh     , POOH!     Larhgan's dainty earflaps closed. Skkiru! Such language!     As you said, Bbulas murmured, contemptuously coiling one antenna atSkkiru, the lots chose well and if you touch me, Skkiru, we shall haveanother drawing for beggar and you will be made a metal-worker.     But I can't work metal!     Then that will make it much worse for you than for the otheroutcasts, Bbulas said smugly, because you will be a pariah without atrade.     Speaking of pariahs, that reminds me, Skkiru, before I forget, I'dbetter give you back your grimpatch— Larhgan handed the glitteringbauble to him—and you give me mine. Since we can't be betrothed anylonger, you might want to give yours to some nice beggar girl.     I don't want to give my grimpatch to some nice beggar girl! Skkiruyelled, twirling madly in the air.     As for me, she sighed, standing soulfully on her head, I do notthink I shall ever marry. I shall make the religious life my career.Are there going to be any saints in your mythos, Bbulas?     Even if there will be, Bbulas said, you certainly won't qualify ifyou keep putting yourself into a position which not only represents atrait wholly out of keeping with the new culture, but is most unseemlywith the high priestess's robes.     Larhgan ignored his unfeeling observations. I shall set myself apartfrom mundane affairs, she vowed, and I shall pretend to be happy,even though my heart will be breaking.     It was only at that moment that Skkiru realized just how outrageous thewhole thing really was. There must be another solution to the planet'sproblem. Listen— he began, but just then excited noises filtereddown from overhead. It was too late.     Earth ship in view! a squeaky voice called through the intercom.Everybody topside and don't forget your shoes.     Except the beggar. Beggars went barefoot. Beggars suffered. Bbulas hadmade him beggar purposely, and the lots were a lot of slibwash.     Hurry up, Skkiru.  <doc-sep>Unfortunately, the fees that he'd received in the past had not enabledhim both to live well and to save, and now that his fortunes had beenso drastically reduced, he seemed in a fair way of starving to death.It gave him a gentle, moody pleasure to envisage his own funeral,although, at the same time, he realized that Bbulas would probably haveto arrange some sort of pension for him; he could not expect Skkiru'spatriotism to extend to abnormal limits. A man might be willing to diefor his planet in many ways—but wantonly starving to death as theresult of a primitive affectation was hardly one of them.     All the same, Skkiru reflected as he watched the visitors being led offto the native hut prepared for them, how ignominious it would be forone of the brightest young architects on the planet to have to subsistmiserably on the dole just because the world had gone aboveground. Thecapital had risen to the surface and the other cities would soon followsuit. Meanwhile, a careful system of tabus had been designed to keepthe Earthmen from discovering the existence of those other cities.     He could, of course, emigrate to another part of the planet, to one ofthem, and stave off his doom for a while—but that would not be playingthe game. Besides, in such a case, he wouldn't be able to see Larhgan.     As if all this weren't bad enough, he had been done an injury whichstruck directly at his professional pride. He hadn't even been allowedto help in planning the huts. Bbulas and some workmen had done all thatthemselves with the aid of some antique blueprints that had been putout centuries before by a Terrestrial magazine and had been acquiredfrom a rare tape-and-book dealer on Gambrell, for, Skkiru thought, fartoo high a price. He could have designed them himself just as badly andmuch more cheaply.     It wasn't that Skkiru didn't understand well enough that Snaddra hadbeen forced into making such a drastic change in its way of life.What resources it once possessed had been depleted and—aside fromminerals—they had never been very extensive to begin with. Alllife-forms on the planet were on the point of extinction, save fish andrice—the only vegetable that would grow on Snaddra, and originally aTerran import at that. So food and fiber had to be brought from theother planets, at fabulous expense, for Snaddra was not on any ofthe direct trade routes and was too unattractive to lure the touristbusiness.     Something definitely had to be done, if it were not to decayaltogether. And that was where the Planetary Dilettante came in.  <doc-sep>Bbulas slid the ornate headdress over his antennae, which, alreadygilded and jeweled, at once seemed to become a part of it. He lookedpretty damn silly, Skkiru thought, at the same time conscious of hisown appearance—which was, although picturesque enough to delightromantic Terrestrial hearts, sufficiently wretched to charm the mosthardened sadist.     Hurry up, Skkiru, Bbulas said. They mustn't suspect the existence ofthe city underground or we're finished before we've started.     For my part, I wish we'd never started, Skkiru grumbled. What waswrong with our old culture, anyway?     That was intended as a rhetorical question, but Bbulas answered itanyway. He always answered questions; it had never seemed to penetratehis mind that school-days were long since over.     I've told you a thousand times that our old culture was too much likethe Terrans' own to be of interest to them, he said, with affectedweariness. After all, most civilized societies are basically similar;it is only primitive societies that differ sharply, one from theother—and we have to be different to attract Earthmen. They're prettychoosy. You've got to give them what they want, and that's what theywant. Now take up your post on the edge of the field, try to lookhungry, and remember this isn't for you or for me, but for Snaddra.     For Snaddra, Larhgan said, placing her hand over her anterior heartin a gesture which, though devout on Earth—or so the fictapes seemedto indicate—was obscene on Snaddra, owing to the fact that certainessential organs were located in different areas in the Snaddrath thanin the corresponding Terrestrial life-form. Already the Terrestrialinfluence was corrupting her, Skkiru thought mournfully. She had beensuch a nice girl, too.     We may never meet on equal terms again, Skkiru, she told him, with along, soulful glance that made his hearts sink down to his quiveringtoes, but I promise you there will never be anyone else for me—andI hope that knowledge will inspire you to complete cooperation withBbulas.     If that doesn't, Bbulas said, I have other methods of inspiration.     All right, Skkiru answered sulkily. I'll go to the edge of thefield, and I'll speak broken Inter-galactic, and I'll forsake my normalhabits and customs, and I'll even      beg     . But I don't have to like doingit, and I don't intend to like doing it.     All three of Larhgan's eyes fuzzed with emotion. I'm proud of you,Skkiru, she said brokenly.     Bbulas sniffed. The three of them floated up to ground level in atriple silence.  <doc-sep>The traditional office of Planetary Dilettante was a civil-servicejob, awarded by competitive examination whenever it fell vacant tothe person who scored highest in intelligence, character and generalgloonatz. However, the tests were inadequate when it came to measuringsense of proportion, adaptiveness and charm—and there, Skkiru felt,was where the essential flaw lay. After all, no really effective testwould have let a person like Bbulas come out on top.     The winner was sent to Gambrell, the nearest planet with a TerranLeague University, to be given a thorough Terran-type education. Noindividual on Snaddra could afford such schooling, no matter howgreat his personal fortune, because the transportation costs were soimmense that only a government could afford them. That was the reasonwhy only one person in each generation could be chosen to go abroad atthe planet's expense and acquire enough finish to cover the rest of thepopulation.     The Dilettante's official function had always been, in theory, to servethe planet when an emergency came—and this, old Luccar, the formerPresident, had decided, when he and the Parliament had awakened to thefact that Snaddra was falling into ruin, was an emergency. So he had,after considerable soul-searching, called upon Bbulas to plan a methodof saving Snaddra—and Bbulas, happy to be in the limelight at last,had come up with this program.     It was not one Skkiru himself would have chosen. It was not one, hefelt, that any reasonable person would have chosen. Nevertheless, theBbulas Plan had been adopted by a majority vote of the Snaddrath,largely because no one had come up with a feasible alternative and,as a patriotic citizen, Skkiru would abide by it. He would accept thestatus of beggar; it was his duty to do so. Moreover, as in the case ofthe planet, there was no choice.     But all was not necessarily lost, he told himself. Had he not, in hisanthropological viewings—though Bbulas might have been the only oneprivileged to go on ethnological field trips to other planets, he wasnot the only one who could use a library—seen accounts of societieswhere beggarhood could be a rewarding and even responsible station inlife? There was no reason why, within the framework of the primitivesociety Bbulas had created to allure Terran anthropologists, Skkirushould not make something of himself and show that a beggar was worthyof the high priestess's hand—which would be entirely in the Terranprimitive tradition of romance.     Skkiru! Bbulas was screaming, as he spun, now that the Terrans wereout of ear- and eye-shot Skkiru, you idiot, listen to me! What arethose ridiculous things you are wearing on your silly feet?     Skkiru protruded all of his eyes in innocent surprise. Just someold pontoons I took from a wrecked air-car once. I have a habit ofcollecting junk and I thought—     Bbulas twirled madly in the air. You are not supposed to think. Leaveall the thinking to me!     Yes, Bbulas, Skkiru said meekly.  <doc-sep>Being a beggar, Skkiru discovered, did give him certain small,momentary advantages over those who had been alloted higher ranks.For one thing, it was quite in character for him to tread curiouslyupon the strangers' heels all the way to the temple—a ramshackleaffair, but then it had been run up in only three days—where theofficial reception was to be held. The principal difficulty was that,because of his equipment, he had a little trouble keeping himself fromovershooting the strangers. And though Bbulas might frown menacingly athim—and not only for his forwardness—that was in character on bothsides, too.     Nonetheless, Skkiru could not reconcile himself to his beggarhood, nomatter how much he tried to comfort himself by thinking at least hewasn't a pariah like the unfortunate metal-workers who had to standsegregated from the rest by a chain of their own devising—a poeticthought, that was, but well in keeping with his beggarhood. Beggarswere often poets, he believed, and poets almost always beggars. Sincemetal-working was the chief industry of Snaddra, this had provided theplanet automatically with a large lowest caste. Bbulas had taken theeasy way out.     Skkiru swallowed the last of the chocolate and regarded the highpriest with a simple-minded mendicant's grin. However, there werevolcanic passions within him that surged up from his toes when, as thewind and rain whipped through his scanty coverings, he remembered thesnug underskirts Bbulas was wearing beneath his warm gown. They weremetal, but they were solid. All the garments visible or potentiallyvisible were of woven metal, because, although there was cloth on theplanet, it was not politic for the Earthmen to discover how heavily theSnaddrath depended upon imports.     As the Earthmen reached the temple, Larhgan now appeared to join Bbulasat the head of the long flight of stairs that led to it. AlthoughSkkiru had seen her in her priestly apparel before, it had not madethe emotional impression upon him then that it did now, when, standingthere, clad in beauty, dignity and warm clothes, she bade the newcomerswelcome in several thousand words not too well chosen for her byBbulas—who fancied himself a speech-writer as well as a speech-maker,for there was no end to the man's conceit.     The difference between her magnificent garments and his own miserablerags had their full impact upon Skkiru at this moment. He saw the gulfthat had been dug between them and, for the first time in his shortlife, he felt the tormenting pangs of caste distinction. She looked solovely and so remote.     ... and so you are most welcome to Snaddra, men of Earth, she wassaying in her melodious voice. Our resources may be small but ourhearts are large, and what little we have, we offer with humility andwith love. We hope that you will enjoy as long and as happy a stay hereas you did on Nemeth....     Cyril looked at Raoul, who, however, seemed too absorbed incontemplating Larhgan's apparently universal charms to pay muchattention to the expression on his companion's face.     ... and that you will carry our affection back to all the peoples ofthe Galaxy.  <doc-sep>He could tell from their looks that the others did, but couldn't bringthemselves to put it into words.     I suppose it's the time-scale and the value-scale that are so hard forus to accept, he said softly. Much more, even, than the size-scale.The thought that there are creatures in the Universe to whom the wholecareer of Man—in fact, the whole career of life—is no more than a fewthousand or hundred thousand years. And to whom Man is no more than aminor stage property—a trifling part of a clever job of camouflage.     This time he went on, Fantasy writers have at times hinted all sortsof odd things about the Earth—that it might even be a kind of singleliving creature, or honeycombed with inhabited caverns, and so on.But I don't know that any of them have ever suggested that the Earth,together with all the planets and moons of the Solar System, mightbe....     In a whisper, Frieda finished for him, ... a camouflaged fleet ofgigantic spherical spaceships.           Your guess happens to be the precise truth.          At that familiar, yet dreadly unfamiliar voice, all four of them swungtoward the inner door. Dotty was standing there, a sleep-stupefiedlittle girl with a blanket caught up around her and dragging behind.Their own daughter. But in her eyes was a look from which they cringed.     She said, I am a creature somewhat older than what your geologistscall the Archeozoic Era. I am speaking to you through a number oftelepathically sensitive individuals among your kind. In each case mythoughts suit themselves to your level of comprehension. I inhabit thedisguised and jetless spaceship which is your Earth.     Celeste swayed a step forward. Baby.... she implored.     Dotty went on, without giving her a glance, It is true that we plantedthe seeds of life on some of these planets simply as part of ourcamouflage, just as we gave them a suitable environment for each. Andit is true that now we must let most of that life be destroyed. Ourhiding place has been discovered, our pursuers are upon us, and we mustmake one last effort to escape or do battle, since we firmly believethat the principle of mental privacy to which we have devoted ourexistence is perhaps the greatest good in the whole Universe.     But it is not true that we look with contempt upon you. Our whole raceis deeply devoted to life, wherever it may come into being, and it isour rule never to interfere with its development. That was one ofthe reasons we made life a part of our camouflage—it would make ourpursuers reluctant to examine these planets too closely.     Yes, we have always cherished you and watched your evolution withinterest from our hidden lairs. We may even unconsciously have shapedyour development in certain ways, trying constantly to educate you awayfrom war and finally succeeding—which may have given the betrayingclue to our pursuers.     Your planets must be burst asunder—this particular planet in thearea of the Pacific—so that we may have our last chance to escape.Even if we did not move, our pursuers would destroy you with us. Wecannot invite you inside our ships—not for lack of space, but becauseyou could never survive the vast accelerations to which you would besubjected. You would, you see, need very special accommodations, ofwhich we have enough only for a few.     Those few we will take with us, as the seed from which a new humanrace may—if we ourselves somehow survive—be born.  <doc-sep>On that day, I walked farther than I had intended and, by the time Igot back home, I found the rest of my family had returned before me.They seemed to be excited about something and were surprised to see meso calm.     Aren't you even interested in anything outside your own immediateconcerns, Kev? Sylvia demanded, despite Father's efforts to shush her.     Can't you remember that Kev isn't able to receive the tellies? Timshot back at her. He probably doesn't even know what's happened.     Well, what did happen? I asked, trying not to snap.     One starship got back from Alpha Centauri, Danny said excitedly.There are two inhabited Earth-type planets there!     This was for me; this was it at last! I tried not to show myenthusiasm, though I knew that was futile. My relatives could keeptheir thoughts and emotions from me; I couldn't keep mine from them.What kind of life inhabits them? Humanoid?     Uh-uh. Danny shook his head. And hostile. The crew of the starshipsays they were attacked immediately on landing. When they turned andleft, they were followed here by one of the alien ships. Must be apretty advanced race to have spaceships. Anyhow, the extraterrestrialship headed back as soon as it got a fix on where ours was going.     But if they're hostile, I said thoughtfully, it might mean war.     Of course. That's why everybody's so wrought up. We hope it's peace,but we'll have to prepare for war just in case.     There hadn't been a war on Earth for well over a hundred years, butwe hadn't been so foolish as to obliterate all knowledge of militarytechniques and weapons. The alien ship wouldn't be able to come backwith reinforcements—if such were its intention—in less than sixmonths. This meant time to get together a stockpile of weapons, thoughwe had no idea of how effective our defenses would be against thealiens' armament.     They might have strange and terrible weapons against which we wouldbe powerless. On the other hand, our side would have the benefitsof telekinetically guided missiles, teleported saboteurs, telepathsto pick up the alien strategy, and prognosticators to determine theoutcome of each battle and see whether it was worth fighting in thefirst place.     Everybody on Earth hoped for peace. Everybody, that is, except me. Ihad been unable to achieve any sense of identity with the world inwhich I lived, and it was almost worth the loss of personal survivalto know that my own smug species could look silly against a still moretalented race.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What can you tell me about the inhabitants of Snaddra, as mentioned in The Ignoble Savages?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the location of the story, The Ignoble Savages, set in? [SEP] <s>   The Ignoble Savages     By EVELYN E. SMITH     Illustrated by DILLON     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction March 1957.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        Snaddra had but one choice in its fight       to afford to live belowground—underhandedly       pretend theirs was an aboveboard society!        Go Away from me, Skkiru, Larhgan said, pushing his hand off her arm.A beggar does not associate with the high priestess of Snaddra.     But the Earthmen aren't due for another fifteen minutes, Skkiruprotested.     Of what importance are fifteen minutes compared to eternity! sheexclaimed. Her lovely eyes fuzzed softly with emotion. You don't seemto realize, Skkiru, that this isn't just a matter of minutes or hours.It's forever.       Forever! He looked at her incredulously. You mean we're going tokeep this up as a permanent thing? You're joking!     Bbulas groaned, but Skkiru didn't care about that. The sad, sweet wayLarhgan shook her beautiful head disturbed him much more, and whenshe said, No, Skkiru, I am not joking, a tiny pang of doubt andapprehension began to quiver in his second smallest left toe.     This is, in effect, good-by, she continued. We shall see each otheragain, of course, but only from a distance. On feast days, perhaps youmay be permitted to kiss the hem of my robe ... but that will be all.     Skkiru turned to the third person present in the council chamber.Bbulas, this is your fault! It was all your idea!     There was regret on the Dilettante's thin face—an obviously insincereregret, the younger man knew, since he was well aware how Bbulas hadalways felt about the girl.     I am sorry, Skkiru, Bbulas intoned. I had fancied you understood.This is not a game we are playing, but a new way of life we areadopting. A necessary way of life, if we of Snaddra are to keep onliving at all.     It's not that I don't love you, Skkiru, Larhgan put in gently, butthe welfare of our planet comes first.  <doc-sep>Okay, threw back Star and the man appeared in the doorway, emptyhands held high. After a second, the other joined him.     Anne turned to Star. Now I know why they call you 'Death Star' Blade,she said, and gestured toward the men who had surrendered, and the twowhom Starrett had shot down.     He mused there for a minute. Then Anne broke the silence with, Star,what are we going to do now? Garrett's men will be up here in a littlewhile. We can't get to a sub-space beam. What are we going to do whenthey come up to investigate?     Starrett Blade laughed. Do? Well, we could turn them over to CommanderWeddel!           What?          Grinning broadly, Star pointed, with a flourish, at the door. Annespun about, and found Commander Weddel grinning in the door from thecorridor.     Very simple, said Star across the lounge to Anne. When I smashedthe vision set with that dinner fork, I broke a small unit which isincluded in all sets. You know, a direction finder doesn't work, exceptin the liner-beam principle, in space, because of the diffusing effectof unrestricted cosmic rays.     Yes, I knew that, said Anne. But how—     Starrett grinned again. A type of beam has been found which it isimpossible for cosmics to disturb. But you can't send messages onit, so it is made in a little unit on every set. If that unit isbroken, the set automatically releases a signal beam. This is adistress signal, and the location of the set that sent out the signalis recorded at the Section Headquarters. When Commander Weddel sawme throw something at the set, and it went dead, he looked at theautomatic record, and found out that a signal had been sent in froma location on Alpha Cen's third planet. Then he had a high-velocitycruiser brought out and dropped in, in time to pick up some pieces. Hestopped, and idly toyed with a sheaf of papers, then held them up. Seethese papers?     Uh-huh. What are they, Star?     They are the main plans of Devil Garrett's power plant, and they'rethe one good thing he's ever done. These plans are going to bring thebarren, rocky Centauri planets to life!     He got up, and paced to the window, and stood there, looking out, andup through the plastic port. The planets of Centauri! he murmuredsoftly. Seven circling Alpha alone. And all seven are barren, rocky,level except for the thousands of lakes ... lakes that are going to bethe life of Centauri!  <doc-sep>You have done well, announced Torp when Thig had completed his reporton the resources and temperatures of various sections of Terra. We nowhave located three worlds fit for colonization and so we will return toOrtha at once.     I will recommend the conquest of this planet, 72-P-3 at once and thecomplete destruction of all biped life upon it. The mental aberrationsof the barbaric natives might lead to endless complications if theywere permitted to exist outside our ordered way of life. I imagine thatthree circuits of the planet about its primary should prove sufficientfor the purposes of complete liquidation.     But why, asked Thig slowly, could we not disarm all the natives andexile them on one of the less desirable continents, Antarctica forexample or Siberia? They are primitive humans even as our race was oncea race of primitives. It is not our duty to help to attain our owndegree of knowledge and comfort?     Only the good of the Horde matters! shouted Torp angrily. Shall arace of feeble-witted beasts, such as these Earthmen, stand in the wayof a superior race? We want their world, and so we will take it. TheLaw of the Horde states that all the universe is ours for the taking.     Let us get back to Ortha at once, then, gritted out Thig savagely.Never again do I wish to set foot upon the soil of this mad planet.There are forces at work upon Earth that we of Ortha have longforgotten.     Check the blood of Thig for disease, Kam, ordered Torp shortly. Hiswords are highly irrational. Some form of fever perhaps native to thisworld. While you examine him I will blast off for Ortha.     Thig followed Kam into the tiny laboratory and found a seat beside thesquat scientist's desk. His eyes roamed over the familiar instrumentsand gauges, each in its own precise position in the cases along thewalls. His gaze lingered longest on the stubby black ugliness ofa decomposition blaster in its rack close to the deck. A blast ofthe invisible radiations from that weapon's hot throat and flesh orvegetable fiber rotted into flaky ashes.     The ship trembled beneath their feet; it tore free from the feebleclutch of the sand about it, and they were rocketing skyward. Thig'sbroad fingers bit deep into the unyielding metal of his chair. Suddenlyhe knew that he must go back to Earth, back to Ellen and the childrenof the man he had helped destroy. He loved Ellen, and nothing muststand between them! The Hordes of Ortha must find some other world, anempty world—this planet was not for them.     Turn back! he cried wildly. I must go back to Earth. There is awoman there, helpless and alone, who needs me! The Horde does not needthis planet.     Kam eyed him coldly and lifted a shining hypodermic syringe from itscase. He approached Thig warily, aware that disease often made a maniacof the finest members of the Horde.     No human being is more important than the Horde, he stated baldly.This woman of whom you speak is merely one unit of the millions wemust eliminate for the good of the Horde.     Then it was that Thig went berserk. His fists slashed into the thickjaw of the scientist and his fingers ripped at the hard cords overlyingthe Orthan's vital throat tubes. His fingers and thumb gouged deep intoKam's startled throat and choked off any cry for assistance before itcould be uttered.     Kam's hand swept down to the holster swung from his intricate harnessand dragged his blaster from it. Thig's other hand clamped over his andfor long moments they swayed there, locked together in silent deadlystruggle. The fate of a world hung in the balance as Kam's other handfought against that lone arm of Thig.  <doc-sep>Quickly, Roddie drew the hammer from his waist. Then, with weapon readyfor an instantaneous blow, he stretched his left hand through thedarkness. He touched something warm, softish. Gingerly he felt overthat curving surface for identifying features.     While Roddie investigated by touch, his long fingers were suddenlyseized and bitten. At the same time, his right shin received a savagekick. And his own retaliatory blow was checked in mid-swing by anunexpected voice.     Get your filthy hands off me! it whispered angrily. Who do you thinkyou are?     Startled, he dropped his hammer. I'm Roddie, he said, squatting tofumble for it. Who do you think      you     are?     I'm Ida, naturally! Just how many girls      are     there in this raidingparty?     His first Invader—and he had dropped his weapon!     Scrabbling fearfully in the dust for his hammer, Roddie pausedsuddenly. This girl—whatever      that     was—seemed to think him one ofher own kind. There was a chance, not much, but worth taking, to turndelay to advantage. Maybe he could learn something of value before hekilled her. That would make the soldiers accept him!     He stalled, seeking a gambit. How would      I     know how many girls thereare?     Half expecting a blow, he got instead an apology. I'm sorry, the girlsaid. I should have known. Never even heard your name before, either.Roddie.... Whose boat did you come in, Roddie?     Boat? What was a boat? How would I know? he repeated, voice tightwith fear of discovery.     If she noticed the tension, she didn't show it. Certainly her whisperwas friendly enough. Oh, you're one of the fellows from Bodega, then.They shoved a boy into our boat at the last minute, too. Tough, wasn'tit, getting separated in the fog and tide like that? If only we didn'thave to use boats.... But, say, how are we going to get away from here?     I wouldn't know, Roddie said, closing his fingers on the hammer, andrising. How did you get in?     Followed your footprints. It was sundown and I saw human tracks in thedust and they led me here. Where were you?     Scouting around, Roddie said vaguely. How did you know I was a manwhen I came back?     Because you couldn't see me, silly! You know perfectly well theseandroids are heat-sensitive and can locate us in the dark!     Indeed he did know! Many times he'd felt ashamed that Molly could findhim whenever she wanted to, even here in the manhole. But perhaps themanhole would help him now to redeem himself....  <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>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>She glanced down at the data. Denton Cassal, native of Earth.Destination, Tunney 21. She looked up at him. Occupation, salesengineer. Isn't that an odd combination? Her smile was quite superior.     Not at all. Scientific training as an engineer. Special knowledge ofcustomer relations.     Special knowledge of a thousand races? How convenient. Her eyebrowsarched.     I think so, he agreed blandly. Anything else you'd like to know?     Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you.     He could believe that or not as he wished. He didn't.     You refused to answer why you were going to Tunney 21. Perhaps I canguess. They're the best scientists in the Galaxy. You wish to studyunder them.     Close—but wrong on two counts. They were good scientists, though notnecessarily the best. For instance, it was doubtful that they couldbuild Dimanche, even if they had ever thought of it, which was evenless likely.     There was, however, one relatively obscure research worker on Tunney 21that Neuronics wanted on their staff. If the fragments of his studiesthat had reached Earth across the vast distance meant anything, hecould help Neuronics perfect instantaneous radio. The company thatcould build a radio to span the reaches of the Galaxy with no time lagcould set its own price, which could be control of all communications,transport, trade—a galactic monopoly. Cassal's share would be a cut ofall that.     His part was simple, on the surface. He was to persuade that researcherto come to Earth,      if he could     . Literally, he had to guess theTunnesian's price before the Tunnesian himself knew it. In addition,the reputation of Tunnesian scientists being exceeded only by theirarrogance, Cassal had to convince him that he wouldn't be workingfor ignorant Earth savages. The existence of such an instrument asDimanche was a key factor.     Her voice broke through his thoughts. Now, then, what's your problem?     I was told on Earth I might have to wait a few days on Godolph. I'vebeen here three weeks. I want information on the ship bound for Tunney21.     Just a moment. She glanced at something below the angle of thescreen. She looked up and her eyes were grave.       Rickrock C     arrivedyesterday. Departed for Tunney early this morning.     Departed? He got up and sat down again, swallowing hard. When willthe next ship arrive?     Do you know how many stars there are in the Galaxy? she asked.     He didn't answer.  <doc-sep>We're stuck, Reba said softly. We might as well admit it. All we cando is set the transmitter to send out an automatic distress call—     Which, Joyce interrupted, might get picked up in a few centuries.     And make the best of what we've got, Reba went on, unheeding. If welook at it the right way, it's quite a lot. A beautiful, fertile world.Earth gravity. The flivver—even if the polarizer won't work, there'sthe resynthesizer; it will keep us in food and clothes for years. Bythen, we should have a good-sized community built up, because out herewe won't have to stop with one child. We can have all the babies wewant.     You know the law: one child per couple, Joyce reminded her frigidly.You can condemn yourself to exile from civilization if you wish. Notme.     Junior frowned at his wife. I believe you're actually glad ithappened.     I could think of worse things, Reba said.     I like your spunk, Reb, Grampa muttered.     Speaking of children, Junior said, where's Four?     Here. Four came through the airlock and trudged across the room,carrying a curious contraption made of tripod legs supporting asmall box from which dangled a plumb bob. Behind Four, like a round,raspberry shadow, rolled Fweep.     Fweep? it queried hopefully.     Not now, said Four.     Where've you been? Reba asked anxiously. What've you been doing?     I've been all over Fweepland, Four said wearily, trying to locateits center of gravity.     Well? Fred prompted.     It shifts.     That's impossible, said Junior.     Not for Fweep, Four replied.     What do you mean by that? Joyce suspiciously asked.     It shifted, Four explained patiently, because Fweep kept followingme.     Fweep? Junior repeated stupidly.     Fweep? Fweep said eagerly.     He's why the flivver won't work. What Grampa invented was a linearpolarizer. Fweep is a circular polarizer. He's what makes this planetso heavy. He's why we can't leave.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the location of the story, The Ignoble Savages, set in?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the story of Bbulas in The Ignoble Savages? [SEP] <s>   The Ignoble Savages     By EVELYN E. SMITH     Illustrated by DILLON     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Science Fiction March 1957.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]        Snaddra had but one choice in its fight       to afford to live belowground—underhandedly       pretend theirs was an aboveboard society!        Go Away from me, Skkiru, Larhgan said, pushing his hand off her arm.A beggar does not associate with the high priestess of Snaddra.     But the Earthmen aren't due for another fifteen minutes, Skkiruprotested.     Of what importance are fifteen minutes compared to eternity! sheexclaimed. Her lovely eyes fuzzed softly with emotion. You don't seemto realize, Skkiru, that this isn't just a matter of minutes or hours.It's forever.       Forever! He looked at her incredulously. You mean we're going tokeep this up as a permanent thing? You're joking!     Bbulas groaned, but Skkiru didn't care about that. The sad, sweet wayLarhgan shook her beautiful head disturbed him much more, and whenshe said, No, Skkiru, I am not joking, a tiny pang of doubt andapprehension began to quiver in his second smallest left toe.     This is, in effect, good-by, she continued. We shall see each otheragain, of course, but only from a distance. On feast days, perhaps youmay be permitted to kiss the hem of my robe ... but that will be all.     Skkiru turned to the third person present in the council chamber.Bbulas, this is your fault! It was all your idea!     There was regret on the Dilettante's thin face—an obviously insincereregret, the younger man knew, since he was well aware how Bbulas hadalways felt about the girl.     I am sorry, Skkiru, Bbulas intoned. I had fancied you understood.This is not a game we are playing, but a new way of life we areadopting. A necessary way of life, if we of Snaddra are to keep onliving at all.     It's not that I don't love you, Skkiru, Larhgan put in gently, butthe welfare of our planet comes first.  <doc-sep>He adjusted the fall of his glittering robe before the great polishedfour-dimensional reflector that formed one wall of the chamber.       Kismet     , Skkiru muttered to himself,      and a little sleight of hand.     But he didn't dare offer this conclusion aloud; the libel laws ofSnaddra were very severe. So he had to fall back on a weak, And Isuppose it is kismet that makes us all have to go live out on theground during the day, like—like savages.     It is necessary, Bbulas replied without turning.     Pooh, Skkiru said. Pooh,      pooh     , POOH!     Larhgan's dainty earflaps closed. Skkiru! Such language!     As you said, Bbulas murmured, contemptuously coiling one antenna atSkkiru, the lots chose well and if you touch me, Skkiru, we shall haveanother drawing for beggar and you will be made a metal-worker.     But I can't work metal!     Then that will make it much worse for you than for the otheroutcasts, Bbulas said smugly, because you will be a pariah without atrade.     Speaking of pariahs, that reminds me, Skkiru, before I forget, I'dbetter give you back your grimpatch— Larhgan handed the glitteringbauble to him—and you give me mine. Since we can't be betrothed anylonger, you might want to give yours to some nice beggar girl.     I don't want to give my grimpatch to some nice beggar girl! Skkiruyelled, twirling madly in the air.     As for me, she sighed, standing soulfully on her head, I do notthink I shall ever marry. I shall make the religious life my career.Are there going to be any saints in your mythos, Bbulas?     Even if there will be, Bbulas said, you certainly won't qualify ifyou keep putting yourself into a position which not only represents atrait wholly out of keeping with the new culture, but is most unseemlywith the high priestess's robes.     Larhgan ignored his unfeeling observations. I shall set myself apartfrom mundane affairs, she vowed, and I shall pretend to be happy,even though my heart will be breaking.     It was only at that moment that Skkiru realized just how outrageous thewhole thing really was. There must be another solution to the planet'sproblem. Listen— he began, but just then excited noises filtereddown from overhead. It was too late.     Earth ship in view! a squeaky voice called through the intercom.Everybody topside and don't forget your shoes.     Except the beggar. Beggars went barefoot. Beggars suffered. Bbulas hadmade him beggar purposely, and the lots were a lot of slibwash.     Hurry up, Skkiru.  <doc-sep>The traditional office of Planetary Dilettante was a civil-servicejob, awarded by competitive examination whenever it fell vacant tothe person who scored highest in intelligence, character and generalgloonatz. However, the tests were inadequate when it came to measuringsense of proportion, adaptiveness and charm—and there, Skkiru felt,was where the essential flaw lay. After all, no really effective testwould have let a person like Bbulas come out on top.     The winner was sent to Gambrell, the nearest planet with a TerranLeague University, to be given a thorough Terran-type education. Noindividual on Snaddra could afford such schooling, no matter howgreat his personal fortune, because the transportation costs were soimmense that only a government could afford them. That was the reasonwhy only one person in each generation could be chosen to go abroad atthe planet's expense and acquire enough finish to cover the rest of thepopulation.     The Dilettante's official function had always been, in theory, to servethe planet when an emergency came—and this, old Luccar, the formerPresident, had decided, when he and the Parliament had awakened to thefact that Snaddra was falling into ruin, was an emergency. So he had,after considerable soul-searching, called upon Bbulas to plan a methodof saving Snaddra—and Bbulas, happy to be in the limelight at last,had come up with this program.     It was not one Skkiru himself would have chosen. It was not one, hefelt, that any reasonable person would have chosen. Nevertheless, theBbulas Plan had been adopted by a majority vote of the Snaddrath,largely because no one had come up with a feasible alternative and,as a patriotic citizen, Skkiru would abide by it. He would accept thestatus of beggar; it was his duty to do so. Moreover, as in the case ofthe planet, there was no choice.     But all was not necessarily lost, he told himself. Had he not, in hisanthropological viewings—though Bbulas might have been the only oneprivileged to go on ethnological field trips to other planets, he wasnot the only one who could use a library—seen accounts of societieswhere beggarhood could be a rewarding and even responsible station inlife? There was no reason why, within the framework of the primitivesociety Bbulas had created to allure Terran anthropologists, Skkirushould not make something of himself and show that a beggar was worthyof the high priestess's hand—which would be entirely in the Terranprimitive tradition of romance.     Skkiru! Bbulas was screaming, as he spun, now that the Terrans wereout of ear- and eye-shot Skkiru, you idiot, listen to me! What arethose ridiculous things you are wearing on your silly feet?     Skkiru protruded all of his eyes in innocent surprise. Just someold pontoons I took from a wrecked air-car once. I have a habit ofcollecting junk and I thought—     Bbulas twirled madly in the air. You are not supposed to think. Leaveall the thinking to me!     Yes, Bbulas, Skkiru said meekly.  <doc-sep>Bbulas slid the ornate headdress over his antennae, which, alreadygilded and jeweled, at once seemed to become a part of it. He lookedpretty damn silly, Skkiru thought, at the same time conscious of hisown appearance—which was, although picturesque enough to delightromantic Terrestrial hearts, sufficiently wretched to charm the mosthardened sadist.     Hurry up, Skkiru, Bbulas said. They mustn't suspect the existence ofthe city underground or we're finished before we've started.     For my part, I wish we'd never started, Skkiru grumbled. What waswrong with our old culture, anyway?     That was intended as a rhetorical question, but Bbulas answered itanyway. He always answered questions; it had never seemed to penetratehis mind that school-days were long since over.     I've told you a thousand times that our old culture was too much likethe Terrans' own to be of interest to them, he said, with affectedweariness. After all, most civilized societies are basically similar;it is only primitive societies that differ sharply, one from theother—and we have to be different to attract Earthmen. They're prettychoosy. You've got to give them what they want, and that's what theywant. Now take up your post on the edge of the field, try to lookhungry, and remember this isn't for you or for me, but for Snaddra.     For Snaddra, Larhgan said, placing her hand over her anterior heartin a gesture which, though devout on Earth—or so the fictapes seemedto indicate—was obscene on Snaddra, owing to the fact that certainessential organs were located in different areas in the Snaddrath thanin the corresponding Terrestrial life-form. Already the Terrestrialinfluence was corrupting her, Skkiru thought mournfully. She had beensuch a nice girl, too.     We may never meet on equal terms again, Skkiru, she told him, with along, soulful glance that made his hearts sink down to his quiveringtoes, but I promise you there will never be anyone else for me—andI hope that knowledge will inspire you to complete cooperation withBbulas.     If that doesn't, Bbulas said, I have other methods of inspiration.     All right, Skkiru answered sulkily. I'll go to the edge of thefield, and I'll speak broken Inter-galactic, and I'll forsake my normalhabits and customs, and I'll even      beg     . But I don't have to like doingit, and I don't intend to like doing it.     All three of Larhgan's eyes fuzzed with emotion. I'm proud of you,Skkiru, she said brokenly.     Bbulas sniffed. The three of them floated up to ground level in atriple silence.  <doc-sep>She had been seeing too many of the Terrestrial fictapes from thelibrary, Skkiru thought resentfully. There was too damn much Terraninfluence on this planet. And this new project was the last straw.     No longer able to control his rage and grief, he turned a triplesomersault in the air with rage. Then why was I made a beggar and shethe high priestess? You arranged that purposely, Bbulas. You—     Now, Skkiru, Bbulas said wearily, for they had been through all thisbefore, you know that all the ranks and positions were distributedby impartial lot, except for mine, and, of course, such jobs as couldcarry over from the civilized into the primitive.     Bbulas breathed on the spectacles he was wearing, as contact lenseswere not considered backward enough for the kind of planet Snaddrawas now supposed to be, and attempted to wipe them dry on his robe.However, the thick, jewel-studded embroidery got in his way and so hewas forced to lift the robe and wipe all three of the lenses on thesmooth, soft, spun metal of his top underskirt.     After all, he went on speaking as he wiped, I have to be highpriest, since I organized this culture and am the only one herequalified to administer it. And, as the president himself concurred inthese arrangements, I hardly think you—a mere private citizen—havethe right to question them.     Just because you went to school in another solar system, Skkiru said,whirling with anger, you think you're so smart!     I won't deny that I do have educational and cultural advantageswhich were, unfortunately, not available to the general populace ofthis planet. However, even under the old system, I was always glad toutilize my superior attainments as Official Dilettante for the good ofall and now—     Sure, glad to have a chance to rig this whole setup so you could breakup things between Larhgan and me. You've had your eye on her for sometime.     Skkiru coiled his antennae at Bbulas, hoping the insult would provokehim into an unbecoming whirl, but the Dilettante remained calm. One ofthe chief outward signs of Terran-type training was self-control andBbulas had been thoroughly terranized.       I hate Terrestrials     , Skkiru said to himself.      I hate Terra.     Thequiver of anxiety had risen up his leg and was coiling and uncoilingin his stomach. He hoped it wouldn't reach his antennae—if he wereto break down and psonk in front of Larhgan, it would be the finalhumiliation.     Skkiru! the girl exclaimed, rotating gently, for she, like herfiance—her erstwhile fiance, that was, for the new regime had causedall such ties to be severed—and every other literate person on theplanet, had received her education at the local university. Althoughsound, the school was admittedly provincial in outlook and very poorin the emotional department. One would almost think that the lots hadsome sort of divine intelligence behind them, because you certainly arebehaving in a beggarly manner!     And I have already explained to you, Skkiru, Bbulas said, with apatience much more infuriating than the girl's anger, that I had noidea of who was to become my high priestess. The lots chose Larhgan. Itis, as the Earthmen say, kismet.  <doc-sep>Being a beggar, Skkiru discovered, did give him certain small,momentary advantages over those who had been alloted higher ranks.For one thing, it was quite in character for him to tread curiouslyupon the strangers' heels all the way to the temple—a ramshackleaffair, but then it had been run up in only three days—where theofficial reception was to be held. The principal difficulty was that,because of his equipment, he had a little trouble keeping himself fromovershooting the strangers. And though Bbulas might frown menacingly athim—and not only for his forwardness—that was in character on bothsides, too.     Nonetheless, Skkiru could not reconcile himself to his beggarhood, nomatter how much he tried to comfort himself by thinking at least hewasn't a pariah like the unfortunate metal-workers who had to standsegregated from the rest by a chain of their own devising—a poeticthought, that was, but well in keeping with his beggarhood. Beggarswere often poets, he believed, and poets almost always beggars. Sincemetal-working was the chief industry of Snaddra, this had provided theplanet automatically with a large lowest caste. Bbulas had taken theeasy way out.     Skkiru swallowed the last of the chocolate and regarded the highpriest with a simple-minded mendicant's grin. However, there werevolcanic passions within him that surged up from his toes when, as thewind and rain whipped through his scanty coverings, he remembered thesnug underskirts Bbulas was wearing beneath his warm gown. They weremetal, but they were solid. All the garments visible or potentiallyvisible were of woven metal, because, although there was cloth on theplanet, it was not politic for the Earthmen to discover how heavily theSnaddrath depended upon imports.     As the Earthmen reached the temple, Larhgan now appeared to join Bbulasat the head of the long flight of stairs that led to it. AlthoughSkkiru had seen her in her priestly apparel before, it had not madethe emotional impression upon him then that it did now, when, standingthere, clad in beauty, dignity and warm clothes, she bade the newcomerswelcome in several thousand words not too well chosen for her byBbulas—who fancied himself a speech-writer as well as a speech-maker,for there was no end to the man's conceit.     The difference between her magnificent garments and his own miserablerags had their full impact upon Skkiru at this moment. He saw the gulfthat had been dug between them and, for the first time in his shortlife, he felt the tormenting pangs of caste distinction. She looked solovely and so remote.     ... and so you are most welcome to Snaddra, men of Earth, she wassaying in her melodious voice. Our resources may be small but ourhearts are large, and what little we have, we offer with humility andwith love. We hope that you will enjoy as long and as happy a stay hereas you did on Nemeth....     Cyril looked at Raoul, who, however, seemed too absorbed incontemplating Larhgan's apparently universal charms to pay muchattention to the expression on his companion's face.     ... and that you will carry our affection back to all the peoples ofthe Galaxy.  <doc-sep>Alms, for the love of Ipsnadd, Skkiru chanted, as the two Terransdescended from the ship and plowed their way through the mud to meet aprocession of young Snaddrath dressed in elaborate ceremonial costumes,and singing a popular ballad—to which less ribald, as well as lessinspiring, words than the originals had been fitted by Bbulas, justin case, by some extremely remote chance, the Terrans had acquired asmattering of Snadd somewhere. Since neither party was accustomed tonavigating mud, their progress was almost imperceptible.     Alms, for the love of Ipsnadd, chanted Skkiru the beggar.His teeth chattered as he spoke, for the rags he wore had beencustom-weatherbeaten for him by the planet's best tailor—now a pariah,of course, because Snadd tailors were, naturally, metal-workers—andthe wind and the rain were joyously making their way through thedemolished wires. Never before had Skkiru been on the surface of theplanet, except to pass over, and he had actually touched it only whentaking off and landing. The Snaddrath had no means of land transport,having previously found it unnecessary—but now both air-cars andself-levitation were on the prohibited list as being insufficientlyprimitive.     The outside was no place for a civilized human being, particularlyin the wet season or—more properly speaking on Snaddra—the wetterseason. Skkiru's feet were soaked with mud; not that the light sandalsworn by the members of the procession appeared to be doing them muchgood, either. It gave him a kind of melancholy pleasure to see that theprivileged ones were likewise trying to repress shivers. Though theircostumes were rich, they were also scanty, particularly in the caseof the females, for Earthmen had been reported by tape and tale to behumanoid.     As the mud clutched his toes, Skkiru remembered an idea he had oncegotten from an old sporting fictape of Terrestrial origin and hadalways planned to experiment with, but had never gotten around to—theweather had always been so weathery, there were so many other morecomfortable sports, Larhgan had wanted him to spend more of his leisurehours with her, and so on. However, he still had the equipment, whichhe'd salvaged from a wrecked air-car, in his apartment—and it was thematter of a moment to run down, while Bbulas was looking the other way,and get it.     Bbulas couldn't really object, Skkiru stilled the nagging quiver inhis toe, because what could be more primitive than any form of landtransport? And even though it took time to get the things, they workedso well that, in spite of the procession's head start, he was at theEarth ship long before the official greeters had reached it.  <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></s> [SEP] What is the story of Bbulas in The Ignoble Savages?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of The Gravity Business's storyline? [SEP] <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>Joyce glared at him furiously. Four! Act your age! We've got to dosomething with him. It's preposterous that we should be detained hereat the whim of a mere blob!     I don't figure it's a whim, Grampa said. Circular gravity is whathe's got to have for one reason or another, so he just naturally bendsthe space-time continuum around him—conscious or subconscious, I don'tknow. But protoplasm is always more efficient than machines, so theflivver won't move.     I don't care why that thing does it, Joyce said icily. I want itstopped, and the sooner the better. If it won't turn the gravity off,we'll just have to do away with it.     How? asked Four. Fweep's skin is pretty close to impervious andyou can't shoot him, stab him or poison him. He doesn't breathe, soyou can't drown or strangle him. You can't imprison him; he 'eats'everything. And violence might be more dangerous to us than to him.Right now, Fweep is friendly, but suppose he got mad! He could lowerhis radioactive shield or he might increase the gravity by a few times.Either way, you'd feel rather uncomfortable, Grammy.     Don't call me 'Grammy!' Well, what are we going to do, just sit aroundand wait for that thing to die?     We'd have a long wait, Four observed. Fweep is the only one of hiskind on this planet.     Well?     Probably he's immortal.     And he doesn't reproduce? Reba asked sympathetically.     Probably not. If he doesn't die, there's no point in reproduction.Reproduction is nature's way of providing racial immortality to mortalcreatures.     But he must have some way of reproduction, Reba argued. An egg orsomething. He couldn't just have sprung into being as he is now.     Maybe he developed, Four offered. It seems to me that he's biggerthan when we first landed. He must have been here a long, long time,Fred said. Fweepland, as Four calls it, kept its atmosphere and itswater, which a planet this size ordinarily would have lost by now.  <doc-sep>The land of the Fweep turned slowly on its axis. The orange sun set androse again and stared down once more at the meadow where the improbablespaceship rested on its improbable stern. The sixteen Earth hours thatthe rotation had taken had changed nothing inside the ship, either.     Grampa looked up from his pircuit and said, If I were you, Junior, Iwould take a good look at the TV repairman when we get back to Earth.      If     we get back to Earth, he amended. You can't be Four's father.All over the Universe, gravity is the same, and if it's gravity, thepolarizer will polarize it.     That's just supposition, Junior said stubbornly. The fact is, itisn't because it doesn't. Q.E.D.     Maybe the polarizer is broken, Fred suggested.     Grampa snorted. Broken-shmoken. Nothing to break, Young Fred. Just afew coils of copper wire and they're all right. We checked. We knowthe power plant is working: the lights are on, the air and waterrecirculation systems are going, the food resynthesizer is okay. And,anyway, the polarizer could work from the storage battery if it had to.     Then it goes deeper, Junior insisted. It goes right to the principleof polarization itself. For some reason, it doesn't work here. Why?Before we can discover the answer to that, we'll have to know moreabout polarization itself. How does it work, Grampa?     Grampa gave him a sarcastic grin. Now you're curious, eh? Couldn'tbe bothered with Grampa's invention before. Oh, no! Too busy. Acceptwithout question the blessings that the Good Lord provideth—     Let's not get up on any pulpits, Fred growled. Come on, Grampa,what's the theory behind polarization?     Grampa looked at the four faces staring at him hopefully and thejeering grin turned to a smile. Well, he said, at last. You knowhow light is polarized, eh? The smile faded. No, I guess you don't.  <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>With a wrenching turn that almost threw them out of control, Dennismaneuvered to avoid the beam. Again Koerber's beam lashed out, as hesank lower into the looming mass, and again Dennis anticipating themaneuver avoided it.     George Randall! He shouted desperately into the speaker. Cut alljets in the rocket room! Hurry, man! He banked again and then zoomedout of the increasing gravity trap.     Randall! I've got to use the magnetic repulsion plates.... Cut all thejets! But there was no response. Randall's screen remained blank. ThenKoerber's lashing magnetic beam touched and the I.S.P. ship was caught,forced to follow the pirate ship's plunge like the weight at the end ofa whiplash. Koerber's gunners sent one parting shot, an atom-blast thatshook the trapped cruiser like a leaf.     Beneath them, growing larger by the second, a small world rushed up tomeet them. The readings in the Planetograph seemed to have gone crazy.It showed diameter 1200 miles; composition mineral and radio-active.Gravity seven-eighths of Terra. It couldn't be! Unless perhaps thisunknown planetoid was the legendary core of the world that at one timewas supposed to have existed between Jupiter and Mars. Only that couldpossibly explain the incredible gravity.     And then began another type of battle. Hearing the Captain's orders toRandall, and noting that no result had been obtained, Scotty Byrneshimself cut the jets. The Magnetic Repulsion Plates went into action,too late to save them from being drawn, but at least they could preventa crash. Far in the distance they could see Koerber's ship precedingthem in a free fall, then the Planetoid was rushing up to engulf them.      III     The atmosphere was somewhat tenuous, but it was breathable, provideda man didn't exert himself. To the silent crew of the I.S.P. Cruiser,the strange world to which Koerber's magnetic Beam had drawn them,was anything but reassuring. Towering crags jutted raggedly againstthe sky, and the iridescent soil of the narrow valley that walled inthe cruiser, had a poisonous, deadly look. As far as their eyes couldreach, the desolate, denuded vista stretched to the horizon.     Pretty much of a mess! Dennis Brooke's face was impassive as heturned to Scotty Byrnes. What's your opinion? Think we can patch herup, or are we stuck here indefinitely?     Scotty eyed the damage. The atom-blast had penetrated the hull intothe forward fuel chambers and the armor had blossomed out like flowerpetals. The crash-landing had not helped either.     Well, there's a few beryloid plates in the storage locker, Captain,but, he scratched his head ruminatively and shifted his precious cud.     But what? Speak up man! It was Tom Jeffery, his nerves on edge, hisordinarily gentle voice like a lash.     But, you may as well know it, Scotty replied quietly. That partingshot of Koerber's severed our main rocket feed. I had to use theemergency tank to make it down here!     For a long moment the four men looked at each other in silence. DennisBrooke's face was still impassive but for the flaming hazel eyes. Tomtugged at the torn sleeve of his I.S.P. uniform, while Scotty gazedmournfully at the damaged ship. Dallas Bernan looked at the long,ragged line of cliffs.     I think we got Koerber, though, he said at last. While Tom was doinga job of navigation, I had one last glimpse of him coming down fastand out of control somewhere behind those crags over there!     To hell with Koerber! Tom Jeffery exploded. You mean we're stuck inthis hellish rock-pile?     Easy, Tom! Captain Brooke's tones were like ice. On his pale,impassive face, his eyes were like flaming topaz. Where's Randall?     Probably hiding his head under a bunk! Dallas laughed with scorn. Hiscontemptuous remark voiced the feelings of the entire crew. A man whofailed to be at his battle-station in time of emergency, had no placein the I.S.P.     Considering the gravity of this planetoid, Dennis Brooke saidthoughtfully, it's going to take some blast to get us off!     Maybe we can locate a deposit of anerioum or uranium or something forour atom-busters to chew on! Scotty said hopefully. He was an eternaloptimist.     Better break out those repair plates, Dennis said to Scotty. Tom,you get the welders ready. I've got a few entries to make in the logbook, and then we'll decide on a party to explore the terrain and tryto find out what happened to Koerber's ship. I must know, he said in alow voice, but with such passion that the others were startled.     A figure appeared in the slanting doorway of the ship in time to hearthe last words. It was George Randall, adjusting a bandaged foreheadbumped during the crash landing.     Captain ... I ... I wanted ... he paused unable to continue.     You wanted what? Captain Brooke's voice was terse. Perhaps youwanted to explain why you weren't at your battle station?     Sir, I wanted to know if ... if I might help Scotty with the weldingjob.... That wasn't at all what he'd intended to say. But somehow thewords had stuck in his throat and his face flushed deep scarlet. Hiscandid blue eyes were suspiciously brilliant, and the white bandagewith its crimson stains made an appealing, boyish figure. It softenedthe anger in Brooke's heart. Thinking it over calmly, Dennis realizedthis was the youngster's first trip into the outer orbits, and bettermen than he had cracked in those vast reaches of space. But there hadbeen an instant when he'd found Randall cowering in the rocket-room, inthe grip of paralyzing hysteria, when he could cheerfully have wrunghis neck!     Certainly, Randall, he replied in a much more kindly tone. We'llneed all hands now.     Thank you, sir! Randall seemed to hesitate for a moment, opened hismouth to speak further, but feeling the other's calculating gaze uponhim, he whirled and re-entered the ship.     But for him we wouldn't be here! Dallas exclaimed. Aagh! He shookhis head in disgust until the several folds of flesh under his chinshook like gelatin. Cowards are hell! He spat.     Easy, Dallas, Randall's a kid, give 'im a chance. Dennis observed.     You Captain ... you're defending 'im? Why you had a greater stake inthis than we, and he's spoiled it for you!     Yep, Dennis nodded. But I'm still keeping my senses clear. No feudson my ship. Get it! The last two words cut like a scimitar.     Dallas nodded and lowered his eyes. Scotty shifted his cud and spata thin stream of juice over the iridescent ground. One by one theyre-entered the cruiser.  <doc-sep>Zotul, anxious to possess the treasures promised by the Earthman,won over his brothers. They signed with marks and gave up a quarterinterest in the Pottery of Masur. They rolled in the luxuries of Earth.These, who had never known debt before, were in it up to their ears.     The retooled plant forged ahead and profits began to look up, but theEarthmen took a fourth of them as their share in the industry.     For a year, the brothers drove their shiny new cars about on thenew concrete highways the Earthmen had built. From pumps owned by aterrestrial company, they bought gas and oil that had been drawn fromthe crust of Zur and was sold to the Zurians at a magnificent profit.The food they ate was cooked in Earthly pots on Earth-type gas ranges,served up on metal plates that had been stamped out on Earth. In thewinter, they toasted their shins before handsome gas grates, thoughthey had gas-fired central heating.     About this time, the ships from Earth brought steam-powered electricgenerators. Lines went up, power was generated, and a flood ofelectrical gadgets and appliances hit the market. For some reason,batteries for the radios were no longer available and everybody had tobuy the new radios. And who could do without a radio in this modern age?     The homes of the brothers Masur blossomed on the Easy Payment Plan.They had refrigerators, washers, driers, toasters, grills, electricfans, air-conditioning equipment and everything else Earth couldpossibly sell them.     We will be forty years paying it all off, exulted Zotul, butmeantime we have the things and aren't they worth it?     But at the end of three years, the Earthmen dropped their option.The Pottery of Masur had no more contracts. Business languished. TheEarthmen, explained Broderick, had built a plant of their own becauseit was so much more efficient—and to lower prices, which was Earth'sunswerving policy, greater and greater efficiency was demanded.Broderick was very sympathetic, but there was nothing he could do.     The introduction of television provided a further calamity. The setswere delicate and needed frequent repairs, hence were costly to own andmaintain. But all Zurians who had to keep up with the latest from Earthhad them. Now it was possible not only to hear about things of Earth,but to see them as they were broadcast from the video tapes.     The printing plants that turned out mortgage contracts did a lushbusiness.  <doc-sep>The woman looked directly at him. Her eyes were bright. He revised hisestimate of her age drastically downward. She couldn't be as old as he.Nothing outward had happened, but she no longer seemed dowdy. Not thathe was interested. Still, it might pay him to be friendly to the firstcounselor.     We're a philanthropic agency, said Murra Foray. Your case isspecial, though—     I understand, he said gruffly. You accept contributions.     She nodded. If the donor is able to give. We don't ask so much thatyou'll have to compromise your standard of living. But she named a sumthat would force him to do just that if getting to Tunney 21 took anyappreciable time.     He stared at her unhappily. I suppose it's worth it. I can alwayswork, if I have to.     As a salesman? she asked. I'm afraid you'll find it difficult to dobusiness with Godolphians.     Irony wasn't called for at a time like this, he thought reproachfully.     Not just another salesman, he answered definitely. I have specialknowledge of customer reactions. I can tell exactly—     He stopped abruptly. Was she baiting him? For what reason? Theinstrument he called Dimanche was not known to the Galaxy at large.From the business angle, it would be poor policy to hand out thatinformation at random. Aside from that, he needed every advantage hecould get. Dimanche was his special advantage.     Anyway, he finished lamely, I'm a first class engineer. I canalways find something in that line.     A scientist, maybe, murmured Murra Foray. But in this part of theMilky Way, an engineer is regarded as merely a technician who hasn'tyet gained practical experience. She shook her head. You'll do betteras a salesman.     He got up, glowering. If that's all—     It is. We'll keep you informed. Drop your contribution in the slotprovided for that purpose as you leave.     A door, which he hadn't noticed in entering the counselling cubicle,swung open. The agency was efficient.     Remember, the counselor called out as he left, identification ishard to work with. Don't accept a crude forgery.     He didn't answer, but it was an idea worth considering. The agency wasalso eminently practical.     The exit path guided him firmly to an inconspicuous and yet inescapablecontribution station. He began to doubt the philanthropic aspect of thebureau.  <doc-sep>   The Gravity Business     By JAMES E. GUNN     Illustrated by ASHMAN     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy January 1956.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyrighton this publication was renewed.]        This little alien beggar could dictate his own terms, but how couldhe—and how could anyone find out what those terms might be?        The flivver descended vertically toward the green planet circling theold, orange sun.     It was a spaceship, but not the kind men had once dreamed about. Theflivver was shaped like a crude bullet, blunt at one end of a fatcylinder and tapering abruptly to a point at the other. It had beenslapped together out of sheet metal and insulation board, and it sold,fully equipped, for $15,730. It didn't behave like a spaceship, either.     As it hurtled down, its speed increased with dramatic swiftness. Then,at the last instant before impact, it stopped. Just like that.     A moment later, it thumped a last few inches into the ankle-deep grassand knee-high white flowers of the meadow. It was a shock of a jar thatmade the sheet-metal walls boom like thunder machines. The flivverrocked unsteadily on its flat stern before it decided to stay upright.     Then all was quiet—outside.     Inside the big, central cabin, Grampa waved his pircuit irately in theair. Now look what you made me do! Just when I had the blamed thingpractically whipped, too!  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of The Gravity Business's storyline?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the backdrop of The Gravity Business? [SEP] <s>The land of the Fweep turned slowly on its axis. The orange sun set androse again and stared down once more at the meadow where the improbablespaceship rested on its improbable stern. The sixteen Earth hours thatthe rotation had taken had changed nothing inside the ship, either.     Grampa looked up from his pircuit and said, If I were you, Junior, Iwould take a good look at the TV repairman when we get back to Earth.      If     we get back to Earth, he amended. You can't be Four's father.All over the Universe, gravity is the same, and if it's gravity, thepolarizer will polarize it.     That's just supposition, Junior said stubbornly. The fact is, itisn't because it doesn't. Q.E.D.     Maybe the polarizer is broken, Fred suggested.     Grampa snorted. Broken-shmoken. Nothing to break, Young Fred. Just afew coils of copper wire and they're all right. We checked. We knowthe power plant is working: the lights are on, the air and waterrecirculation systems are going, the food resynthesizer is okay. And,anyway, the polarizer could work from the storage battery if it had to.     Then it goes deeper, Junior insisted. It goes right to the principleof polarization itself. For some reason, it doesn't work here. Why?Before we can discover the answer to that, we'll have to know moreabout polarization itself. How does it work, Grampa?     Grampa gave him a sarcastic grin. Now you're curious, eh? Couldn'tbe bothered with Grampa's invention before. Oh, no! Too busy. Acceptwithout question the blessings that the Good Lord provideth—     Let's not get up on any pulpits, Fred growled. Come on, Grampa,what's the theory behind polarization?     Grampa looked at the four faces staring at him hopefully and thejeering grin turned to a smile. Well, he said, at last. You knowhow light is polarized, eh? The smile faded. No, I guess you don't.  <doc-sep>   The Gravity Business     By JAMES E. GUNN     Illustrated by ASHMAN     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy January 1956.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyrighton this publication was renewed.]        This little alien beggar could dictate his own terms, but how couldhe—and how could anyone find out what those terms might be?        The flivver descended vertically toward the green planet circling theold, orange sun.     It was a spaceship, but not the kind men had once dreamed about. Theflivver was shaped like a crude bullet, blunt at one end of a fatcylinder and tapering abruptly to a point at the other. It had beenslapped together out of sheet metal and insulation board, and it sold,fully equipped, for $15,730. It didn't behave like a spaceship, either.     As it hurtled down, its speed increased with dramatic swiftness. Then,at the last instant before impact, it stopped. Just like that.     A moment later, it thumped a last few inches into the ankle-deep grassand knee-high white flowers of the meadow. It was a shock of a jar thatmade the sheet-metal walls boom like thunder machines. The flivverrocked unsteadily on its flat stern before it decided to stay upright.     Then all was quiet—outside.     Inside the big, central cabin, Grampa waved his pircuit irately in theair. Now look what you made me do! Just when I had the blamed thingpractically whipped, too!  <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>Bob Parker came to, the emptiness of remote starlight in his face. Heopened his eyes. He was slowly revolving on an axis. Sometimes the Sunswept across his line of vision. A cold hammering began at the base ofhis skull, a sensation similar to that of being buried alive. There wasno asteroid, no girl, no Queazy. He was alone in the vastness of space.Alone in a space-suit.     Queazy! he whispered. Queazy! I'm running out of air!     There was no answer from Queazy. With sick eyes, Bob studied theoxygen indicator. There was only five pounds pressure. Five pounds!That meant he had been floating around out here—how long? Days atleast—maybe weeks! It was evident that somebody had given him a doseof spastic rays, enough to screw up every muscle in his body to thesnapping point, putting him in such a condition of suspended animationthat his oxygen needs were small. He closed his eyes, trying to fightagainst panic. He was glad he couldn't see any part of his body. He wasprobably scrawny. And he was hungry!     I'll starve, he thought. Or suffocate to death first!     He couldn't keep himself from taking in great gulps of air. Minutes,then hours passed. He was breathing abnormally, and there wasn't enoughair in the first place. He pleaded continually for Queazy, hopingthat somehow Queazy could help, when probably Queazy was in the samecondition. He ripped out wild curses directed at the Saylor brothers.Murderers, both of them! Up until this time, he had merely thought ofthem as business rivals. If he ever got out of this—     He groaned. He never would get out of it! After another hour, he wasgasping weakly, and yellow spots danced in his eyes. He called Queazy'sname once more, knowing that was the last time he would have strengthto call it.     And this time the headset spoke back!     Bob Parker made a gurgling sound. A voice came again, washed withstatic, far away, burbling, but excited. Bob made a rattling sound inhis throat. Then his eyes started to close, but he imagined that he sawa ship, shiny and small, driving toward him, growing in size againstthe backdrop of the Milky Way. He relapsed, a terrific buzzing in hisears.     He did not lose consciousness. He heard voices, Queazy's and thegirl's, whoever she was. Somebody grabbed hold of his foot. Hisaquarium was unbuckled and good air washed over his streaming face.The sudden rush of oxygen to his brain dizzied him. Then he was lyingon a bunk, and gradually the world beyond his sick body focussed in hisclearing eyes and he knew he was alive—and going to stay that way, forawhile anyway.     Thanks, Queazy, he said huskily.     Queazy was bending over him, his anxiety clearing away from hissuddenly brightening face.     Don't thank me, he whispered. We'd have both been goners if ithadn't been for her. The Saylor brothers left her paralyzed likeus, and when she woke up she was on a slow orbit around her ship.She unstrapped her holster and threw it away from her and it gaveher enough reaction to reach the ship. She got inside and used thedirection-finder on the telaudio and located me first. The Saylorsscattered us far and wide. Queazy's broad, normally good-humored facetwisted blackly. The so and so's didn't care if we lived or died.     Bob saw the girl now, standing a little behind Queazy, looking down athim curiously, but unhappily. Her space-suit was off. She was wearinglightly striped blue slacks and blue silk blouse and she had a paperflower in her hair. Something in Bob's stomach caved in as his eyeswidened on her.     The girl said glumly, I guess you men won't much care for me when youfind out who I am and what I've done. I'm Starre Lowenthal—Andrew S.Burnside's granddaughter!  <doc-sep>He cleared his throat professorially. Well, now, in ordinary lightthe vibrations are perpendicular to the ray in all directions. Whenlight is polarized by passing through crystals or by reflection orrefraction at non-metallic surfaces, the paths of the vibrations arestill perpendicular to the ray, but they're in straight lines, circlesor ellipses.     The faces were still blank and unillumined.     Gravity is similar to light, he pressed on. In the absence ofmatter, gravity is non-polarized. Matter polarizes gravity in a circlearound itself. That's how we've always known it until the invention ofspaceships and later the polarizer. The polarizer polarizes gravityinto a straight line. That makes the ship take off and continueaccelerating until the polarizer is shut off or its angle is shifted.     The faces looked at him silently. Finally Joyce could endure it nolonger. That's just nonsense! You all know it. Grampa's no genius.He's just a tinkerer. One day he happened to tinker out the polarizer.He doesn't know how it works any more than I do.     Now wait a minute! Grampa protested. That's not fair. MaybeI didn't figure out the theory myself, but I read everything thescientists ever wrote about it. Wanted to know myself what made theblamed thing work. What I told you is what the scientists said, nearas I remember. Now me—I'm like Edison. I do it and let everybody elseworry over 'why.'     The only thing you ever did was the polarizer, Joyce snapped.And then you spent everything you got from it on those foolperpetual-motion machines and those crazy longevity schemes when anymoron would know they were impossible.     Grampa squinted at her sagely. That's what they said about the gravitypolarizer before I invented it.     But you don't really know why it works, Junior persisted.     Well, no, Grampa admitted. Actually I was just fiddling around withsome coils when one of them took off. Went right through the ceiling,dragging a battery behind it. I guess it's still going. Ought to be outnear the Horsehead Nebula by now. Luckily, I remembered how I'd woundit.     Why won't the ship work then, if you know so much? Joyce demandedironically.     Well, now, Grampa said in bafflement, it rightly should, you know.  <doc-sep>Reba looked at Fweep kindly. We can thank the little fellow for that,anyway.     I thank him for nothing, Joyce snapped. He lured us down here bymaking us think the planet had heavy metals and I want him to let us go      immediately     !     Fred turned impatiently on his wife. Well, try making him understand!And if you can make him understand what you want him to do, try makinghim do it!     Joyce looked at Fred with startled eyes. Fred! she said in a high,shocked voice and turned blindly toward her room.     Grampa lowered his bottle and smacked his lips. Well, boy, he said toFred, I thought you'd never do that. Didn't think you had it in you.     Fred stood up apologetically. I'd better go calm her down, hemuttered, and walked quickly after Joyce.     Give her one for me! Grampa called.     Fred's shoulders twitched as the door closed behind him. From the roomcame the filtered sound of high-pitched voices rising and falling likesome reedy folk music.     Makes you think, doesn't it? Grampa said, looking at Fweep benignly.Maybe the whole theory of gravitation is cockeyed. Maybe there's aFweep for every planet and sun, big and little, polarizing the gravityin circles, and the matter business is not a cause but a result.     What I can't understand, Junior said thoughtfully, is why thepolarizer worked for a little while when we landed—long enough to keepus from being squashed—and then quit.     Fweep didn't recognize it immediately, didn't know what it was orwhere it came from, Four explained. All he knew was he didn't likelinear polarization and he neutralized it as soon as he could. That'swhen we dropped.  <doc-sep>There's something to what you say, I admitted in the face of hisunexpected information. But I can hardly turn my invention over toyour entirely persuasive salesmen, I'm sure. This is part of theresults of an investigation for the government. Washington will haveto decide what to do with the machine.     Listen, Professor, Carmen began, the Mafia—     What makes you think I'm any more afraid of the Mafia than I am of theF.B.I.? I may have already sealed my fate by letting you in on thismuch. Machinegunning is hardly a less attractive fate to me than a poorsecurity rating. To me, being dead professionally would be as bad asbeing dead biologically.     Tony Carmen laid a heavy hand on my shoulder. I finally deduced heintended to be cordial.     Of course, he said smoothly you have to give this to Washington butthere are      ways     , Professor. I know. I'm a business man—     You      are     ? I said.     He named some of the businesses in which he held large shares of stock.     You      are     .     I've had experience in this sort of thing. We simply      leak     theinformation to a few hundred well selected persons about all that yourmachine can do. We'll call 'em Expendables, because they can expendanything.     I, I interjected, planned to call it the Venetti Machine.     Professor, who calls the radio the Marconi these days?     There are Geiger-Muller Counters, though, I said.     You don't have to give a Geiger counter the sex appeal of a TV set ora hardtop convertible. We'll call them Expendables. No home will becomplete without one.     Perfect for disposing of unwanted bodies, I mused. The murder ratewill go alarmingly with those devices within easy reach.     Did that stop Sam Colt or Henry Ford? Tony Carmen asked reasonably....     Naturally, I was aware that the government would      not     be interested inmy machine. I am not a Fortean, a psychic, a psionicist or a screwball.But the government frequently gets things it doesn't know what to dowith—like airplanes in the 'twenties. When it doesn't know what to do,it doesn't do it.     There have been hundreds of workable perpetual motion machinespatented, for example. Of course, they weren't vices in the strictestsense of the word. Many of them used the external power of gravity,they would wear out or slow down in time from friction, but for themeanwhile, for some ten to two hundred years they would just sit there,moving. No one had ever been able to figure out what to do with them.     I knew the AEC wasn't going to dump tons of radioactive waste (withsome possible future reclaimation value) into a machine which theydidn't believe actually could work.     Tony Carmen knew exactly what to do with an Expendable once he got hishands on it.     Naturally, that was what I had been afraid of.  <doc-sep>Joyce glared at him furiously. Four! Act your age! We've got to dosomething with him. It's preposterous that we should be detained hereat the whim of a mere blob!     I don't figure it's a whim, Grampa said. Circular gravity is whathe's got to have for one reason or another, so he just naturally bendsthe space-time continuum around him—conscious or subconscious, I don'tknow. But protoplasm is always more efficient than machines, so theflivver won't move.     I don't care why that thing does it, Joyce said icily. I want itstopped, and the sooner the better. If it won't turn the gravity off,we'll just have to do away with it.     How? asked Four. Fweep's skin is pretty close to impervious andyou can't shoot him, stab him or poison him. He doesn't breathe, soyou can't drown or strangle him. You can't imprison him; he 'eats'everything. And violence might be more dangerous to us than to him.Right now, Fweep is friendly, but suppose he got mad! He could lowerhis radioactive shield or he might increase the gravity by a few times.Either way, you'd feel rather uncomfortable, Grammy.     Don't call me 'Grammy!' Well, what are we going to do, just sit aroundand wait for that thing to die?     We'd have a long wait, Four observed. Fweep is the only one of hiskind on this planet.     Well?     Probably he's immortal.     And he doesn't reproduce? Reba asked sympathetically.     Probably not. If he doesn't die, there's no point in reproduction.Reproduction is nature's way of providing racial immortality to mortalcreatures.     But he must have some way of reproduction, Reba argued. An egg orsomething. He couldn't just have sprung into being as he is now.     Maybe he developed, Four offered. It seems to me that he's biggerthan when we first landed. He must have been here a long, long time,Fred said. Fweepland, as Four calls it, kept its atmosphere and itswater, which a planet this size ordinarily would have lost by now.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the backdrop of The Gravity Business?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What role does Fweep play in The Gravity Business? [SEP] <s>Reba looked at Fweep kindly. We can thank the little fellow for that,anyway.     I thank him for nothing, Joyce snapped. He lured us down here bymaking us think the planet had heavy metals and I want him to let us go      immediately     !     Fred turned impatiently on his wife. Well, try making him understand!And if you can make him understand what you want him to do, try makinghim do it!     Joyce looked at Fred with startled eyes. Fred! she said in a high,shocked voice and turned blindly toward her room.     Grampa lowered his bottle and smacked his lips. Well, boy, he said toFred, I thought you'd never do that. Didn't think you had it in you.     Fred stood up apologetically. I'd better go calm her down, hemuttered, and walked quickly after Joyce.     Give her one for me! Grampa called.     Fred's shoulders twitched as the door closed behind him. From the roomcame the filtered sound of high-pitched voices rising and falling likesome reedy folk music.     Makes you think, doesn't it? Grampa said, looking at Fweep benignly.Maybe the whole theory of gravitation is cockeyed. Maybe there's aFweep for every planet and sun, big and little, polarizing the gravityin circles, and the matter business is not a cause but a result.     What I can't understand, Junior said thoughtfully, is why thepolarizer worked for a little while when we landed—long enough to keepus from being squashed—and then quit.     Fweep didn't recognize it immediately, didn't know what it was orwhere it came from, Four explained. All he knew was he didn't likelinear polarization and he neutralized it as soon as he could. That'swhen we dropped.  <doc-sep>We're stuck, Reba said softly. We might as well admit it. All we cando is set the transmitter to send out an automatic distress call—     Which, Joyce interrupted, might get picked up in a few centuries.     And make the best of what we've got, Reba went on, unheeding. If welook at it the right way, it's quite a lot. A beautiful, fertile world.Earth gravity. The flivver—even if the polarizer won't work, there'sthe resynthesizer; it will keep us in food and clothes for years. Bythen, we should have a good-sized community built up, because out herewe won't have to stop with one child. We can have all the babies wewant.     You know the law: one child per couple, Joyce reminded her frigidly.You can condemn yourself to exile from civilization if you wish. Notme.     Junior frowned at his wife. I believe you're actually glad ithappened.     I could think of worse things, Reba said.     I like your spunk, Reb, Grampa muttered.     Speaking of children, Junior said, where's Four?     Here. Four came through the airlock and trudged across the room,carrying a curious contraption made of tripod legs supporting asmall box from which dangled a plumb bob. Behind Four, like a round,raspberry shadow, rolled Fweep.     Fweep? it queried hopefully.     Not now, said Four.     Where've you been? Reba asked anxiously. What've you been doing?     I've been all over Fweepland, Four said wearily, trying to locateits center of gravity.     Well? Fred prompted.     It shifts.     That's impossible, said Junior.     Not for Fweep, Four replied.     What do you mean by that? Joyce suspiciously asked.     It shifted, Four explained patiently, because Fweep kept followingme.     Fweep? Junior repeated stupidly.     Fweep? Fweep said eagerly.     He's why the flivver won't work. What Grampa invented was a linearpolarizer. Fweep is a circular polarizer. He's what makes this planetso heavy. He's why we can't leave.  <doc-sep>The land of the Fweep turned like a fat old man toasting himself infront of an open fire, and Junior sat at the computer's keyboardswearing in a steady monotone.     Junior! said Joyce, shocked.     Junior swung around impatiently. Sorry, Mother, but this damned thingwon't work.     I'm sure that calling it names won't help, and besides, you shouldn'texpect a machine to do something that we can't do. And if it did work,it would only say that the logical answer is the one I sug—     Mother! Junior warned. We decided not to talk about it any more.Four is strange enough without encouraging him to think like a martyr.It's out of the question. If that's the only way we can leave thisplanet, we'll stay here until Four has a beard as white as Grampa's!     Well! Joyce said in a stiff, offended tone and sat back in her chair.     Grampa lowered the nippled bottle from his lips and chortled. Junior,I apologize for all the mean things I ever said about you. Maybe yougot the makings of a Peppergrass yet.     Junior turned back to the keyboard and studied it, his chin in hishand. It's just a matter of stating the problem in terms the computercan work on.     I take it all back, said Grampa. That computer won't help you withthis problem, Junior. This ain't a long, complicated calculation; it'sa simple problem in logic. It's a pircuit problem, like the one aboutthe cannibals and the missionaries. We can't leave Fweepland becauseFweep won't let our polarizer work. He won't let our polarizer workbecause he doesn't like gravity that's polarized in a straight line,and he don't want Four to leave him.     Now Fweep ain't the brightest creature in the Universe, so he can'tunderstand why we're so gosh-fired eager to leave. And as long as he'sgot Four, he's happy. Why should he make himself unhappy? As a favorto Four, he'd let us leave—if we'd leave Four here with him, which weain't gonna do.     That's the problem. All we got to do is figure out the answer. No usemaking a pircuit, because a puzzle circuit is just a miniature computerwith the solution built in; if you can build the pircuit, you'vealready solved the problem. And if you can state the problem to Abacus,you've already got the answer. All you want from it then is decimalpoints.     That may be, Junior said stubbornly, but I still want to know whythis computer won't work. It won't even do simple arithmetic! Where'sFour? He's the only one who understands this thing.     He's outside, playing in the meadow with Fweep, Reba said, her voicesoft. No, here they come now.  <doc-sep>Joyce glared at him furiously. Four! Act your age! We've got to dosomething with him. It's preposterous that we should be detained hereat the whim of a mere blob!     I don't figure it's a whim, Grampa said. Circular gravity is whathe's got to have for one reason or another, so he just naturally bendsthe space-time continuum around him—conscious or subconscious, I don'tknow. But protoplasm is always more efficient than machines, so theflivver won't move.     I don't care why that thing does it, Joyce said icily. I want itstopped, and the sooner the better. If it won't turn the gravity off,we'll just have to do away with it.     How? asked Four. Fweep's skin is pretty close to impervious andyou can't shoot him, stab him or poison him. He doesn't breathe, soyou can't drown or strangle him. You can't imprison him; he 'eats'everything. And violence might be more dangerous to us than to him.Right now, Fweep is friendly, but suppose he got mad! He could lowerhis radioactive shield or he might increase the gravity by a few times.Either way, you'd feel rather uncomfortable, Grammy.     Don't call me 'Grammy!' Well, what are we going to do, just sit aroundand wait for that thing to die?     We'd have a long wait, Four observed. Fweep is the only one of hiskind on this planet.     Well?     Probably he's immortal.     And he doesn't reproduce? Reba asked sympathetically.     Probably not. If he doesn't die, there's no point in reproduction.Reproduction is nature's way of providing racial immortality to mortalcreatures.     But he must have some way of reproduction, Reba argued. An egg orsomething. He couldn't just have sprung into being as he is now.     Maybe he developed, Four offered. It seems to me that he's biggerthan when we first landed. He must have been here a long, long time,Fred said. Fweepland, as Four calls it, kept its atmosphere and itswater, which a planet this size ordinarily would have lost by now.  <doc-sep>The land of the Fweep turned slowly on its axis. The orange sun set androse again and stared down once more at the meadow where the improbablespaceship rested on its improbable stern. The sixteen Earth hours thatthe rotation had taken had changed nothing inside the ship, either.     Grampa looked up from his pircuit and said, If I were you, Junior, Iwould take a good look at the TV repairman when we get back to Earth.      If     we get back to Earth, he amended. You can't be Four's father.All over the Universe, gravity is the same, and if it's gravity, thepolarizer will polarize it.     That's just supposition, Junior said stubbornly. The fact is, itisn't because it doesn't. Q.E.D.     Maybe the polarizer is broken, Fred suggested.     Grampa snorted. Broken-shmoken. Nothing to break, Young Fred. Just afew coils of copper wire and they're all right. We checked. We knowthe power plant is working: the lights are on, the air and waterrecirculation systems are going, the food resynthesizer is okay. And,anyway, the polarizer could work from the storage battery if it had to.     Then it goes deeper, Junior insisted. It goes right to the principleof polarization itself. For some reason, it doesn't work here. Why?Before we can discover the answer to that, we'll have to know moreabout polarization itself. How does it work, Grampa?     Grampa gave him a sarcastic grin. Now you're curious, eh? Couldn'tbe bothered with Grampa's invention before. Oh, no! Too busy. Acceptwithout question the blessings that the Good Lord provideth—     Let's not get up on any pulpits, Fred growled. Come on, Grampa,what's the theory behind polarization?     Grampa looked at the four faces staring at him hopefully and thejeering grin turned to a smile. Well, he said, at last. You knowhow light is polarized, eh? The smile faded. No, I guess you don't.  <doc-sep>The land of the Fweep rotated once on its axis, and Grampa loweredthe nippled bottle from his lips. He sighed. I got it figured out,Four, he said, holding out the pircuit proudly. A missionary takesover a non-rowing type cannibal, leaves him there, and then the rowingcannibal takes over the other cannibal and leaves him there and—     Not now, Grampa, Four said inattentively as he watched Fweep makingthe grand tour of the cabin.     The raspberry sphere swept over a scattering of crumbs, engulfed them,absorbed them. Four looked at Joyce. Joyce was watching Fweep, too.     Rat poison? Four asked.     Joyce started guiltily. How did you know?     There's no use trying to poison Fweep, Four said calmly. He's got noenzymes to act on, no nervous system to paralyze. He doesn't even usewhat he 'eats' on a molecular level at all.     What level does he use? Junior wanted to know.     Point the scintillation counter at him.     Junior dug one of the counters out of the supply cabinet and aimed thepickup at Fweep. The counter began to hum. As Fweep approached, the humrose in pitch. As it passed, the hum dropped.     Junior looked at the counter's dial. He's radioactive, all right. Notmuch, but enough. But where does he get the radioactive material?     He uses ordinary matter, Four said. He must have used up the fewdeposits of natural radioactives a long time ago.     He uses ordinary substances on an atomic level? Junior saidunbelievingly.     Four nodded. And that 'skin' of his—whatever it is he uses forskin—is more efficient in stopping particle emissions than severalfeet of lead.     Fred studied Fweep thoughtfully. Maybe we could feed him enoughenriched uranium from the pile to put him over the critical mass.     And blow him up? I don't think it's possible, but even if it were, itmight be a trifle more than disastrous for us. Four giggled at thethought.  <doc-sep>You mean Fweep? Four asked in astonishment.     I mean that thing, whatever you call it. Joyce fluttered her handimpatiently. Get it out!     Four's eyes widened farther. But Fweep's my friend.     Nonsense! Joyce said sharply. Earthmen don't make friends withaliens. And that's nothing but a—a blob!     Fweep? queried the raspberry lips. Fweep?     If it's Four's friend, Reba said firmly, it can stay. If you don'tlike to be around it, Grammy, you can always go to your own room.     Joyce stood up indignantly. Well! And don't call me 'Grammy!' It makesme sound as old as that old goat over there! She glared malignantlyat Grampa. If you'd rather have that blob than me—well! She sweptgrandly out of the central cabin and into one of the private rooms thatopened out from it.     Fweep? asked the blob.     Sure, Four said. Go ahead, fweep—I mean sweep.     Swiftly the sphere rolled across the floor. Behind it was left anarrow path of sparkling clean tile.     Grampa glanced warily at Joyce's door to make sure it was completelyclosed and then cocked a white eyebrow at Reba. Good for you, Reba!he said admiringly. For forty years now, I've wanted to do that. Neverhad the nerve.     Why, thanks, Grampa, Reba said, surprised.     I like you, gal. Never forget it.     I like you, too, Grampa. If you'd been a few years younger, Juniorwould have had competition!     You bet he would! Grampa leaned back and cackled. Then he leanedover confidentially toward Reba and whispered, Beats me why you evermarried a jerk like Junior, anyhow.     Reba looked thoughtfully toward the airlock door. Maybe I sawsomething in him nobody else saw, the man he might become. He's beensubmerged in this family too long; he's still a child to all of youand to himself, too. Reba smiled at Grampa brilliantly. And maybe Ithought he might grow into a man like his grandfather.  <doc-sep>Linear polarization is uncomfortable for him, is it? Grampa said.Makes you wonder how something like Fweep could ever develop.     He's no more improbable than people, said Four.     Less than some I've known, Grampa conceded.     If he can eat anything, Reba said, why does he keep sweeping thecabin for dust and lint?     He wants to be helpful, Four replied without hesitation, and he'slonely. After all, he added wistfully, he's never had any friends.     How do you know all these things? Joyce asked from her doorway,excitement in her voice. Can you talk to it?     Behind her, Fred said, Now, Joyce, you promised—     But this is important, Joyce cut him off eagerly. Can you? Talk toit, I mean?     Some, Four admitted.     Have you asked it to let us go?     Yes.     Well? What did it say?     He said he didn't want his friend to leave him.     At the word, Fweep rolled swiftly across the floor and bounced intoFour's lap. It nestled against him lovingly and opened raspberry lips.Fwiend, it said.     Well, now, Grampa said maliciously, his eye on Joyce, that's noproblem. We can just leave Four here with Fweep.     In a voice filled with sanctimonious concern, Joyce said, That's quitea sacrifice to ask, but—     Joyce! Reba cried, horrified. Grampa was joking, but you actuallymean it. Four is only a baby and yet you'd let him—     Never mind, Reba, Four said evenly. It was just what I was going tosuggest myself. It's the one really logical solution.     Fwiend, said Fweep gently.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What role does Fweep play in The Gravity Business?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What role does Four play in The Gravity Business? [SEP] <s>The land of the Fweep turned slowly on its axis. The orange sun set androse again and stared down once more at the meadow where the improbablespaceship rested on its improbable stern. The sixteen Earth hours thatthe rotation had taken had changed nothing inside the ship, either.     Grampa looked up from his pircuit and said, If I were you, Junior, Iwould take a good look at the TV repairman when we get back to Earth.      If     we get back to Earth, he amended. You can't be Four's father.All over the Universe, gravity is the same, and if it's gravity, thepolarizer will polarize it.     That's just supposition, Junior said stubbornly. The fact is, itisn't because it doesn't. Q.E.D.     Maybe the polarizer is broken, Fred suggested.     Grampa snorted. Broken-shmoken. Nothing to break, Young Fred. Just afew coils of copper wire and they're all right. We checked. We knowthe power plant is working: the lights are on, the air and waterrecirculation systems are going, the food resynthesizer is okay. And,anyway, the polarizer could work from the storage battery if it had to.     Then it goes deeper, Junior insisted. It goes right to the principleof polarization itself. For some reason, it doesn't work here. Why?Before we can discover the answer to that, we'll have to know moreabout polarization itself. How does it work, Grampa?     Grampa gave him a sarcastic grin. Now you're curious, eh? Couldn'tbe bothered with Grampa's invention before. Oh, no! Too busy. Acceptwithout question the blessings that the Good Lord provideth—     Let's not get up on any pulpits, Fred growled. Come on, Grampa,what's the theory behind polarization?     Grampa looked at the four faces staring at him hopefully and thejeering grin turned to a smile. Well, he said, at last. You knowhow light is polarized, eh? The smile faded. No, I guess you don't.  <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>Grampa knitted his bushy, white eyebrows and petulantly pushed the lastbutton on his pircuit. The last light went out. You've got work todo, have you? Whose flivver do you think this is, anyhow?     It belongs to all of us, Four said shrilly. You gave us all a sixthshare.     That's right, Four, Grampa muttered, so I did. But whose moneybought it?     You bought it, Grampa, Fred said.     That's right! And who invented the gravity polarizer and the spaceflivver? Eh? Who made possible this gallivanting all over space?     You, Grampa, Fred said.     You bet! And who made one hundred million dollars out of it that therest of you vultures are just hanging around to gobble up when I die?     And who spent it all trying to invent perpetual motion machines andlongevity pills, Joyce said bitterly, and fixed it so we'd have togo searching for uranium and habitable worlds all through this deadlygalaxy? You, Grampa!     Well, now, Grampa protested, I got a little put away yet. You'll besorry when I'm dead and gone.     You're never going to die, Grampa, Joyce said harshly. Justbefore we left, you bought a hundred-year contract with thatLife-Begins-At-Ninety longevity company.     Well, now, said Grampa, blinking, how'd you find out about that?Well, now! In confusion, he turned back to the pircuit and jabbed abutton. Thirteen slim lights sprang on. I'll get you this time!     Four stretched and stood up. He looked curiously into the corner by thecomputer where Grampa's chair stood. You brought that pircuit fromEarth, didn't you? What's the game?     Grampa looked up, obviously relieved to drop his act of intenseconcentration. I'll tell you, boy. You play against the pircuit,taking turns, and you can put out one, two or three lights. The playerwho makes the other one turn out the last light is the winner.     That's simple, Four said without hesitation. The winning strategy isto—     Don't be a kibitzer! Grampa snapped. When I need help, I'll askfor it. No dad-blamed machine is gonna outthink Grampa! He snortedindignantly.  <doc-sep>Joyce glared at him furiously. Four! Act your age! We've got to dosomething with him. It's preposterous that we should be detained hereat the whim of a mere blob!     I don't figure it's a whim, Grampa said. Circular gravity is whathe's got to have for one reason or another, so he just naturally bendsthe space-time continuum around him—conscious or subconscious, I don'tknow. But protoplasm is always more efficient than machines, so theflivver won't move.     I don't care why that thing does it, Joyce said icily. I want itstopped, and the sooner the better. If it won't turn the gravity off,we'll just have to do away with it.     How? asked Four. Fweep's skin is pretty close to impervious andyou can't shoot him, stab him or poison him. He doesn't breathe, soyou can't drown or strangle him. You can't imprison him; he 'eats'everything. And violence might be more dangerous to us than to him.Right now, Fweep is friendly, but suppose he got mad! He could lowerhis radioactive shield or he might increase the gravity by a few times.Either way, you'd feel rather uncomfortable, Grammy.     Don't call me 'Grammy!' Well, what are we going to do, just sit aroundand wait for that thing to die?     We'd have a long wait, Four observed. Fweep is the only one of hiskind on this planet.     Well?     Probably he's immortal.     And he doesn't reproduce? Reba asked sympathetically.     Probably not. If he doesn't die, there's no point in reproduction.Reproduction is nature's way of providing racial immortality to mortalcreatures.     But he must have some way of reproduction, Reba argued. An egg orsomething. He couldn't just have sprung into being as he is now.     Maybe he developed, Four offered. It seems to me that he's biggerthan when we first landed. He must have been here a long, long time,Fred said. Fweepland, as Four calls it, kept its atmosphere and itswater, which a planet this size ordinarily would have lost by now.  <doc-sep>The land of the Fweep turned like a fat old man toasting himself infront of an open fire, and Junior sat at the computer's keyboardswearing in a steady monotone.     Junior! said Joyce, shocked.     Junior swung around impatiently. Sorry, Mother, but this damned thingwon't work.     I'm sure that calling it names won't help, and besides, you shouldn'texpect a machine to do something that we can't do. And if it did work,it would only say that the logical answer is the one I sug—     Mother! Junior warned. We decided not to talk about it any more.Four is strange enough without encouraging him to think like a martyr.It's out of the question. If that's the only way we can leave thisplanet, we'll stay here until Four has a beard as white as Grampa's!     Well! Joyce said in a stiff, offended tone and sat back in her chair.     Grampa lowered the nippled bottle from his lips and chortled. Junior,I apologize for all the mean things I ever said about you. Maybe yougot the makings of a Peppergrass yet.     Junior turned back to the keyboard and studied it, his chin in hishand. It's just a matter of stating the problem in terms the computercan work on.     I take it all back, said Grampa. That computer won't help you withthis problem, Junior. This ain't a long, complicated calculation; it'sa simple problem in logic. It's a pircuit problem, like the one aboutthe cannibals and the missionaries. We can't leave Fweepland becauseFweep won't let our polarizer work. He won't let our polarizer workbecause he doesn't like gravity that's polarized in a straight line,and he don't want Four to leave him.     Now Fweep ain't the brightest creature in the Universe, so he can'tunderstand why we're so gosh-fired eager to leave. And as long as he'sgot Four, he's happy. Why should he make himself unhappy? As a favorto Four, he'd let us leave—if we'd leave Four here with him, which weain't gonna do.     That's the problem. All we got to do is figure out the answer. No usemaking a pircuit, because a puzzle circuit is just a miniature computerwith the solution built in; if you can build the pircuit, you'vealready solved the problem. And if you can state the problem to Abacus,you've already got the answer. All you want from it then is decimalpoints.     That may be, Junior said stubbornly, but I still want to know whythis computer won't work. It won't even do simple arithmetic! Where'sFour? He's the only one who understands this thing.     He's outside, playing in the meadow with Fweep, Reba said, her voicesoft. No, here they come now.  <doc-sep>We're stuck, Reba said softly. We might as well admit it. All we cando is set the transmitter to send out an automatic distress call—     Which, Joyce interrupted, might get picked up in a few centuries.     And make the best of what we've got, Reba went on, unheeding. If welook at it the right way, it's quite a lot. A beautiful, fertile world.Earth gravity. The flivver—even if the polarizer won't work, there'sthe resynthesizer; it will keep us in food and clothes for years. Bythen, we should have a good-sized community built up, because out herewe won't have to stop with one child. We can have all the babies wewant.     You know the law: one child per couple, Joyce reminded her frigidly.You can condemn yourself to exile from civilization if you wish. Notme.     Junior frowned at his wife. I believe you're actually glad ithappened.     I could think of worse things, Reba said.     I like your spunk, Reb, Grampa muttered.     Speaking of children, Junior said, where's Four?     Here. Four came through the airlock and trudged across the room,carrying a curious contraption made of tripod legs supporting asmall box from which dangled a plumb bob. Behind Four, like a round,raspberry shadow, rolled Fweep.     Fweep? it queried hopefully.     Not now, said Four.     Where've you been? Reba asked anxiously. What've you been doing?     I've been all over Fweepland, Four said wearily, trying to locateits center of gravity.     Well? Fred prompted.     It shifts.     That's impossible, said Junior.     Not for Fweep, Four replied.     What do you mean by that? Joyce suspiciously asked.     It shifted, Four explained patiently, because Fweep kept followingme.     Fweep? Junior repeated stupidly.     Fweep? Fweep said eagerly.     He's why the flivver won't work. What Grampa invented was a linearpolarizer. Fweep is a circular polarizer. He's what makes this planetso heavy. He's why we can't leave.  <doc-sep>Reba looked at Fweep kindly. We can thank the little fellow for that,anyway.     I thank him for nothing, Joyce snapped. He lured us down here bymaking us think the planet had heavy metals and I want him to let us go      immediately     !     Fred turned impatiently on his wife. Well, try making him understand!And if you can make him understand what you want him to do, try makinghim do it!     Joyce looked at Fred with startled eyes. Fred! she said in a high,shocked voice and turned blindly toward her room.     Grampa lowered his bottle and smacked his lips. Well, boy, he said toFred, I thought you'd never do that. Didn't think you had it in you.     Fred stood up apologetically. I'd better go calm her down, hemuttered, and walked quickly after Joyce.     Give her one for me! Grampa called.     Fred's shoulders twitched as the door closed behind him. From the roomcame the filtered sound of high-pitched voices rising and falling likesome reedy folk music.     Makes you think, doesn't it? Grampa said, looking at Fweep benignly.Maybe the whole theory of gravitation is cockeyed. Maybe there's aFweep for every planet and sun, big and little, polarizing the gravityin circles, and the matter business is not a cause but a result.     What I can't understand, Junior said thoughtfully, is why thepolarizer worked for a little while when we landed—long enough to keepus from being squashed—and then quit.     Fweep didn't recognize it immediately, didn't know what it was orwhere it came from, Four explained. All he knew was he didn't likelinear polarization and he neutralized it as soon as he could. That'swhen we dropped.  <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> [SEP] What role does Four play in The Gravity Business?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is Joyce's part in The Gravity Business? [SEP] <s>Reba looked at Fweep kindly. We can thank the little fellow for that,anyway.     I thank him for nothing, Joyce snapped. He lured us down here bymaking us think the planet had heavy metals and I want him to let us go      immediately     !     Fred turned impatiently on his wife. Well, try making him understand!And if you can make him understand what you want him to do, try makinghim do it!     Joyce looked at Fred with startled eyes. Fred! she said in a high,shocked voice and turned blindly toward her room.     Grampa lowered his bottle and smacked his lips. Well, boy, he said toFred, I thought you'd never do that. Didn't think you had it in you.     Fred stood up apologetically. I'd better go calm her down, hemuttered, and walked quickly after Joyce.     Give her one for me! Grampa called.     Fred's shoulders twitched as the door closed behind him. From the roomcame the filtered sound of high-pitched voices rising and falling likesome reedy folk music.     Makes you think, doesn't it? Grampa said, looking at Fweep benignly.Maybe the whole theory of gravitation is cockeyed. Maybe there's aFweep for every planet and sun, big and little, polarizing the gravityin circles, and the matter business is not a cause but a result.     What I can't understand, Junior said thoughtfully, is why thepolarizer worked for a little while when we landed—long enough to keepus from being squashed—and then quit.     Fweep didn't recognize it immediately, didn't know what it was orwhere it came from, Four explained. All he knew was he didn't likelinear polarization and he neutralized it as soon as he could. That'swhen we dropped.  <doc-sep>He cleared his throat professorially. Well, now, in ordinary lightthe vibrations are perpendicular to the ray in all directions. Whenlight is polarized by passing through crystals or by reflection orrefraction at non-metallic surfaces, the paths of the vibrations arestill perpendicular to the ray, but they're in straight lines, circlesor ellipses.     The faces were still blank and unillumined.     Gravity is similar to light, he pressed on. In the absence ofmatter, gravity is non-polarized. Matter polarizes gravity in a circlearound itself. That's how we've always known it until the invention ofspaceships and later the polarizer. The polarizer polarizes gravityinto a straight line. That makes the ship take off and continueaccelerating until the polarizer is shut off or its angle is shifted.     The faces looked at him silently. Finally Joyce could endure it nolonger. That's just nonsense! You all know it. Grampa's no genius.He's just a tinkerer. One day he happened to tinker out the polarizer.He doesn't know how it works any more than I do.     Now wait a minute! Grampa protested. That's not fair. MaybeI didn't figure out the theory myself, but I read everything thescientists ever wrote about it. Wanted to know myself what made theblamed thing work. What I told you is what the scientists said, nearas I remember. Now me—I'm like Edison. I do it and let everybody elseworry over 'why.'     The only thing you ever did was the polarizer, Joyce snapped.And then you spent everything you got from it on those foolperpetual-motion machines and those crazy longevity schemes when anymoron would know they were impossible.     Grampa squinted at her sagely. That's what they said about the gravitypolarizer before I invented it.     But you don't really know why it works, Junior persisted.     Well, no, Grampa admitted. Actually I was just fiddling around withsome coils when one of them took off. Went right through the ceiling,dragging a battery behind it. I guess it's still going. Ought to be outnear the Horsehead Nebula by now. Luckily, I remembered how I'd woundit.     Why won't the ship work then, if you know so much? Joyce demandedironically.     Well, now, Grampa said in bafflement, it rightly should, you know.  <doc-sep>We're stuck, Reba said softly. We might as well admit it. All we cando is set the transmitter to send out an automatic distress call—     Which, Joyce interrupted, might get picked up in a few centuries.     And make the best of what we've got, Reba went on, unheeding. If welook at it the right way, it's quite a lot. A beautiful, fertile world.Earth gravity. The flivver—even if the polarizer won't work, there'sthe resynthesizer; it will keep us in food and clothes for years. Bythen, we should have a good-sized community built up, because out herewe won't have to stop with one child. We can have all the babies wewant.     You know the law: one child per couple, Joyce reminded her frigidly.You can condemn yourself to exile from civilization if you wish. Notme.     Junior frowned at his wife. I believe you're actually glad ithappened.     I could think of worse things, Reba said.     I like your spunk, Reb, Grampa muttered.     Speaking of children, Junior said, where's Four?     Here. Four came through the airlock and trudged across the room,carrying a curious contraption made of tripod legs supporting asmall box from which dangled a plumb bob. Behind Four, like a round,raspberry shadow, rolled Fweep.     Fweep? it queried hopefully.     Not now, said Four.     Where've you been? Reba asked anxiously. What've you been doing?     I've been all over Fweepland, Four said wearily, trying to locateits center of gravity.     Well? Fred prompted.     It shifts.     That's impossible, said Junior.     Not for Fweep, Four replied.     What do you mean by that? Joyce suspiciously asked.     It shifted, Four explained patiently, because Fweep kept followingme.     Fweep? Junior repeated stupidly.     Fweep? Fweep said eagerly.     He's why the flivver won't work. What Grampa invented was a linearpolarizer. Fweep is a circular polarizer. He's what makes this planetso heavy. He's why we can't leave.  <doc-sep>Joyce glared at him furiously. Four! Act your age! We've got to dosomething with him. It's preposterous that we should be detained hereat the whim of a mere blob!     I don't figure it's a whim, Grampa said. Circular gravity is whathe's got to have for one reason or another, so he just naturally bendsthe space-time continuum around him—conscious or subconscious, I don'tknow. But protoplasm is always more efficient than machines, so theflivver won't move.     I don't care why that thing does it, Joyce said icily. I want itstopped, and the sooner the better. If it won't turn the gravity off,we'll just have to do away with it.     How? asked Four. Fweep's skin is pretty close to impervious andyou can't shoot him, stab him or poison him. He doesn't breathe, soyou can't drown or strangle him. You can't imprison him; he 'eats'everything. And violence might be more dangerous to us than to him.Right now, Fweep is friendly, but suppose he got mad! He could lowerhis radioactive shield or he might increase the gravity by a few times.Either way, you'd feel rather uncomfortable, Grammy.     Don't call me 'Grammy!' Well, what are we going to do, just sit aroundand wait for that thing to die?     We'd have a long wait, Four observed. Fweep is the only one of hiskind on this planet.     Well?     Probably he's immortal.     And he doesn't reproduce? Reba asked sympathetically.     Probably not. If he doesn't die, there's no point in reproduction.Reproduction is nature's way of providing racial immortality to mortalcreatures.     But he must have some way of reproduction, Reba argued. An egg orsomething. He couldn't just have sprung into being as he is now.     Maybe he developed, Four offered. It seems to me that he's biggerthan when we first landed. He must have been here a long, long time,Fred said. Fweepland, as Four calls it, kept its atmosphere and itswater, which a planet this size ordinarily would have lost by now.  <doc-sep>As if in response, the flivver vibrated. Grampa looked querulouslytoward the airlock. Flivver shouldn't shake like that. Not with thepolarizer turned on.     The airlock door swung inward. Through the oval doorway walked Fred,followed closely by Junior. They were sweat-stained and weary,scintillation counters dangling heavily from their belts.     Any luck? Reba asked brightly.     Do we look it? Junior grumbled.     Where's Joyce? asked Fred. Might as well get everybody in on this atonce. Joyce!     The door to his wife's room opened instantly. Behind it, Joyce wasregal and slim. The pose was spoiled immediately by her avid question:Any uranium? Radium? Thorium?     No, Fred said slowly, and no other heavy metals, either. There's afew low-grade iron deposits and that's it.     Then what makes this planet so heavy? Reba asked.     Junior shrugged helplessly and collapsed into a chair. Your guess isas good as anybody's.     Then we've wasted another week on a worthless rock, Joyce complained.She turned savagely on Fred. This was going to make us all filthyrich. We were going to find radioactives and retire to Earth likebillionaires. And all we've done is spent a year of our lives in thiscramped old flivver—and we don't have many of them to spare! Sheglared venomously at Grampa.     We've still got Fweepland, Four said solemnly.     Fweepland? Reba repeated.     This planet. It's not big, but it's fertile and it's harmless. Asreal estate, it's worth almost as much as if it were solid uranium.     A good thing, too, Junior said glumly, because this looks like theend of our search. Short of a miracle, we'll spend the rest of ourlives right here—involuntary colonists.     Joyce spun on him. You're joking! she screeched.     I wish I were, Junior said. But the polarizer won't work. Eitherit's broken or there's something about the gravity around here thatjust won't polarize.     It's these '23 models, Grampa put in disgustedly. They never wereany good.  <doc-sep>Grampa knitted his bushy, white eyebrows and petulantly pushed the lastbutton on his pircuit. The last light went out. You've got work todo, have you? Whose flivver do you think this is, anyhow?     It belongs to all of us, Four said shrilly. You gave us all a sixthshare.     That's right, Four, Grampa muttered, so I did. But whose moneybought it?     You bought it, Grampa, Fred said.     That's right! And who invented the gravity polarizer and the spaceflivver? Eh? Who made possible this gallivanting all over space?     You, Grampa, Fred said.     You bet! And who made one hundred million dollars out of it that therest of you vultures are just hanging around to gobble up when I die?     And who spent it all trying to invent perpetual motion machines andlongevity pills, Joyce said bitterly, and fixed it so we'd have togo searching for uranium and habitable worlds all through this deadlygalaxy? You, Grampa!     Well, now, Grampa protested, I got a little put away yet. You'll besorry when I'm dead and gone.     You're never going to die, Grampa, Joyce said harshly. Justbefore we left, you bought a hundred-year contract with thatLife-Begins-At-Ninety longevity company.     Well, now, said Grampa, blinking, how'd you find out about that?Well, now! In confusion, he turned back to the pircuit and jabbed abutton. Thirteen slim lights sprang on. I'll get you this time!     Four stretched and stood up. He looked curiously into the corner by thecomputer where Grampa's chair stood. You brought that pircuit fromEarth, didn't you? What's the game?     Grampa looked up, obviously relieved to drop his act of intenseconcentration. I'll tell you, boy. You play against the pircuit,taking turns, and you can put out one, two or three lights. The playerwho makes the other one turn out the last light is the winner.     That's simple, Four said without hesitation. The winning strategy isto—     Don't be a kibitzer! Grampa snapped. When I need help, I'll askfor it. No dad-blamed machine is gonna outthink Grampa! He snortedindignantly.  <doc-sep>The land of the Fweep turned like a fat old man toasting himself infront of an open fire, and Junior sat at the computer's keyboardswearing in a steady monotone.     Junior! said Joyce, shocked.     Junior swung around impatiently. Sorry, Mother, but this damned thingwon't work.     I'm sure that calling it names won't help, and besides, you shouldn'texpect a machine to do something that we can't do. And if it did work,it would only say that the logical answer is the one I sug—     Mother! Junior warned. We decided not to talk about it any more.Four is strange enough without encouraging him to think like a martyr.It's out of the question. If that's the only way we can leave thisplanet, we'll stay here until Four has a beard as white as Grampa's!     Well! Joyce said in a stiff, offended tone and sat back in her chair.     Grampa lowered the nippled bottle from his lips and chortled. Junior,I apologize for all the mean things I ever said about you. Maybe yougot the makings of a Peppergrass yet.     Junior turned back to the keyboard and studied it, his chin in hishand. It's just a matter of stating the problem in terms the computercan work on.     I take it all back, said Grampa. That computer won't help you withthis problem, Junior. This ain't a long, complicated calculation; it'sa simple problem in logic. It's a pircuit problem, like the one aboutthe cannibals and the missionaries. We can't leave Fweepland becauseFweep won't let our polarizer work. He won't let our polarizer workbecause he doesn't like gravity that's polarized in a straight line,and he don't want Four to leave him.     Now Fweep ain't the brightest creature in the Universe, so he can'tunderstand why we're so gosh-fired eager to leave. And as long as he'sgot Four, he's happy. Why should he make himself unhappy? As a favorto Four, he'd let us leave—if we'd leave Four here with him, which weain't gonna do.     That's the problem. All we got to do is figure out the answer. No usemaking a pircuit, because a puzzle circuit is just a miniature computerwith the solution built in; if you can build the pircuit, you'vealready solved the problem. And if you can state the problem to Abacus,you've already got the answer. All you want from it then is decimalpoints.     That may be, Junior said stubbornly, but I still want to know whythis computer won't work. It won't even do simple arithmetic! Where'sFour? He's the only one who understands this thing.     He's outside, playing in the meadow with Fweep, Reba said, her voicesoft. No, here they come now.  <doc-sep>Linear polarization is uncomfortable for him, is it? Grampa said.Makes you wonder how something like Fweep could ever develop.     He's no more improbable than people, said Four.     Less than some I've known, Grampa conceded.     If he can eat anything, Reba said, why does he keep sweeping thecabin for dust and lint?     He wants to be helpful, Four replied without hesitation, and he'slonely. After all, he added wistfully, he's never had any friends.     How do you know all these things? Joyce asked from her doorway,excitement in her voice. Can you talk to it?     Behind her, Fred said, Now, Joyce, you promised—     But this is important, Joyce cut him off eagerly. Can you? Talk toit, I mean?     Some, Four admitted.     Have you asked it to let us go?     Yes.     Well? What did it say?     He said he didn't want his friend to leave him.     At the word, Fweep rolled swiftly across the floor and bounced intoFour's lap. It nestled against him lovingly and opened raspberry lips.Fwiend, it said.     Well, now, Grampa said maliciously, his eye on Joyce, that's noproblem. We can just leave Four here with Fweep.     In a voice filled with sanctimonious concern, Joyce said, That's quitea sacrifice to ask, but—     Joyce! Reba cried, horrified. Grampa was joking, but you actuallymean it. Four is only a baby and yet you'd let him—     Never mind, Reba, Four said evenly. It was just what I was going tosuggest myself. It's the one really logical solution.     Fwiend, said Fweep gently.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is Joyce's part in The Gravity Business?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the storyline of THE SPY IN THE ELEVATOR? [SEP] <s>But now there was a spy in the elevator.     When I thought of how deeply he had penetrated our defenses, and of howmany others there might be, still penetrating, I shuddered. The wallswere our safeguards only so long as all potential enemies were on theother side of them.     I sat shaken, digesting this news, until suddenly I remembered Linda.     I leaped to my feet, reading from my watch that it was now ten-fifteen.I dashed once more from the apartment and down the hall to theelevator, praying that the spy had been captured by now and that Lindawould agree with me that a spy in the elevator was good and sufficientreason for me to be late.     He was still there. At least, the elevator was still out.     I sagged against the wall, thinking dismal thoughts. Then I noticed thedoor to the right of the elevator. Through that door was the stairway.     I hadn't paid any attention to it before. No one ever uses the stairsexcept adventurous young boys playing cops and robbers, running up anddown from landing to landing. I myself hadn't set foot on a flight ofstairs since I was twelve years old.     Actually, the whole idea of stairs was ridiculous. We had elevators,didn't we? Usually, I mean, when they didn't contain spies. So what wasthe use of stairs?     Well, according to Dr. Kilbillie (a walking library of unnecessaryinformation), the Project had been built when there still had been suchthings as municipal governments (something to do with cities, whichwere more or less grouped Projects), and the local municipal governmenthad had on its books a fire ordinance, anachronistic even then, whichrequired a complete set of stairs in every building constructed in thecity. Ergo, the Project had stairs, thirty-two hundred of them.     And now, after all these years, the stairs might prove useful afterall. It was only thirteen flights to Linda's floor. At sixteen steps aflight, that meant two hundred and eight steps.     Could I descend two hundred and eight steps for my true love? I could.If the door would open.     It would, though reluctantly. Who knew how many years it had been sincelast this door had been opened? It squeaked and wailed and groaned andfinally opened half way. I stepped through to the musty, dusty landing,took a deep breath, and started down. Eight steps and a landing, eightsteps and a floor. Eight steps and a landing, eight steps and a floor.     On the landing between one fifty and one forty-nine, there was asmallish door. I paused, looking curiously at it, and saw that at onetime letters had been painted on it. The letters had long since flakedaway, but they left a lighter residue of dust than that which coveredthe rest of the door. And so the words could still be read, if withdifficulty.     I read them. They said:     EMERGENCY ENTRANCE     ELEVATOR SHAFT     AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL     ONLY     KEEP LOCKED     I frowned, wondering immediately why this door wasn't being firmlyguarded by at least a platoon of Army men. Half a dozen possibleanswers flashed through my mind. The more recent maps might simplyhave omitted this discarded and unnecessary door. It might be sealedshut on the other side. The Army might have caught the spy already.Somebody in authority might simply have goofed.     As I stood there, pondering these possibilities, the door opened andthe spy came out, waving a gun.      III     He couldn't have been anyone else but the spy. The gun, in the firstplace. The fact that he looked harried and upset and terribly nervous,in the second place. And, of course, the fact that he came from theelevator shaft.     Looking back, I think he must have been just as startled as I when wecame face to face like that. We formed a brief tableau, both of usopen-mouthed and wide-eyed.     Unfortunately, he recovered first.     He closed the emergency door behind him, quickly but quietly. His gunstopped waving around and instead pointed directly at my middle. Don'tmove! he whispered harshly. Don't make a sound!     I did exactly as I was told. I didn't move and I didn't make a sound.Which left me quite free to study him.     He was rather short, perhaps three inches shorter than me, with a bonyhigh-cheekboned face featuring deepset eyes and a thin-lipped mouth. Hewore gray slacks and shirt, with brown slippers on his feet. He lookedexactly like a spy ... which is to say that he      didn't     look like aspy, he looked overpoweringly ordinary. More than anything else, hereminded me of a rather taciturn milkman who used to make deliveries tomy parents' apartment.     His gaze darted this way and that. Then he motioned with his free handat the descending stairs and whispered, Where do they go?     I had to clear my throat before I could speak. All the way down, Isaid.     Good, he said—just as we both heard a sudden raucous squealing fromperhaps four flights down, a squealing which could be nothing but theopening of a hall door. It was followed by the heavy thud of ascendingboots. The Army!     But if I had any visions of imminent rescue, the spy dashed them. Hesaid, Where do you live?     One fifty-three, I said. This was a desperate and dangerous man.I knew my only slim chance of safety lay in answering his questionspromptly, cooperating with him until and unless I saw a chance toeither escape or capture him.     All right, he whispered. Go on. He prodded me with the gun.     And so we went back up the stairs to one fifty-three, and stopped atthe door. He stood close behind me, the gun pressed against my back,and grated in my ear, I'll have this gun in my pocket. If you make onefalse move I'll kill you. Now, we're going to your apartment. We'refriends, just strolling along together. You got that?     I nodded.     All right. Let's go.     We went. I have never in my life seen that long hall quite so empty asit was right then. No one came out of any of the apartments, no oneemerged from any of the branch halls. We walked to my apartment. Ithumbed the door open and we went inside.     Once the door was closed behind us, he visibly relaxed, sagging againstthe door, his gun hand hanging limp at his side, a nervous smileplaying across his lips.     I looked at him, judging the distance between us, wondering if I couldleap at him before he could bring the gun up again. But he must haveread my intentions on my face. He straightened, shaking his head. Hesaid, Don't try it. I don't want to kill you. I don't want to killanybody, but I will if I have to. We'll just wait here together untilthe hue and cry passes us. Then I'll tie you up, so you won't be ableto sic your Army on me too soon, and I'll leave. If you don't try anysilly heroics, nothing will happen to you.     You'll never get away, I told him. The whole Project is alerted.     You let me worry about that, he said. He licked his lips. You gotany chico coffee?     Yes.     Make me a cup. And don't get any bright ideas about dousing me withboiling water.     I only have my day's allotment, I protested. Just enough for twocups, lunch and dinner.     Two cups is fine, he said. One for each of us.  <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>   THE SPY IN THE ELEVATOR     By DONALD E. WESTLAKE     Illustrated by WEST     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Magazine October 1961.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]         He was dangerously insane. He threatened       to destroy everything that was noble and       decent—including my date with my girl!        When the elevator didn't come, that just made the day perfect. A brokenegg yolk, a stuck zipper, a feedback in the aircon exhaust, the windowsticking at full transparency—well, I won't go through the whole sorrylist. Suffice it to say that when the elevator didn't come, that putthe roof on the city, as they say.     It was just one of those days. Everybody gets them. Days when you'relucky in you make it to nightfall with no bones broken.     But of all times for it to happen! For literally months I'd beenbuilding my courage up. And finally, just today, I had made up mymind to do it—to propose to Linda. I'd called her second thing thismorning—right after the egg yolk—and invited myself down to herplace. Ten o'clock, she'd said, smiling sweetly at me out of thephone. She knew why I wanted to talk to her. And when Linda said teno'clock, she meant ten o'clock.     Don't get me wrong. I don't mean that Linda's a perfectionist or aharridan or anything like that. Far from it. But she does have afixation on that one subject of punctuality. The result of her job,of course. She was an ore-sled dispatcher. Ore-sleds, being robots,were invariably punctual. If an ore-sled didn't return on time, no onewaited for it. They simply knew that it had been captured by some otherProject and had blown itself up.     Well, of course, after working as an ore-sled dispatcher for threeyears, Linda quite naturally was a bit obsessed. I remember one time,shortly after we'd started dating, when I arrived at her place fiveminutes late and found her having hysterics. She thought I'd beenkilled. She couldn't visualize anything less than that keeping me fromarriving at the designated moment. When I told her what actually hadhappened—I'd broken a shoe lace—she refused to speak to me for fourdays.     And then the elevator didn't come.  <doc-sep>By lunchtime Orison had finished the      Wall Street Journal     and hadbegun reading a book an earmuffed page had brought her. The book was afantastic novel of some sort, named      The Hobbit     . Reading this peculiarfare into the microphone before her, Miss McCall was more certain thanever that the Taft Bank was, as her boss in Washington had told her,the front for some highly irregular goings-on. An odd business for aFederal Mata Hari, Orison thought, reading a nonsense story into amicrophone for an invisible audience.     Orison switched off her microphone at noon, marked her place in thebook and took the elevator down to the ground floor. The operator wasa new man, ears concealed behind scarlet earmuffs. In the car, comingdown from the interdicted upper floors, were several gentlemen withbriefcases. As though they were members of a ballet-troupe, thesegentlemen whipped off their hats with a single motion as Orison steppedaboard the elevator. Each of the chivalrous men, hat pressed to hisheart, wore a pair of earmuffs. Orison nodded bemused acknowledgmentof their gesture, and got off in the lobby vowing never to put a pennyinto this curiousest of banks.     Lunch at the stand-up counter down the street was a normal interlude.Girls from the ground-floor offices of Taft Bank chattered together,eyed Orison with the coolness due so attractive a competitor, andfavored her with no gambit to enter their conversations. Orison sighed,finished her tuna salad on whole-wheat, then went back upstairs to herlonely desk and her microphone. By five, Orison had finished the book,reading rapidly and becoming despite herself engrossed in the saga ofBilbo Baggins, Hobbit. She switched off the microphone, put on herlight coat, and rode downstairs in an elevator filled with earmuffed,silent, hat-clasping gentlemen.     What I need, Orison thought, walking rapidly to the busline, is adouble Scotch, followed by a double Scotch. And what the William HowardTaft National Bank and Trust Company needs is a joint raid by forces ofthe U.S. Treasury Department and the American Psychiatric Association.Earmuffs, indeed. Fairy-tales read into a microphone. A Vice-Presidentwith the vocabulary of a racetrack tout. And what goes on in thoseupper floors? Orison stopped in at the restaurant nearest her apartmenthouse—the Windsor Arms—and ordered a meal and a single Martini. Herboss in Washington had told her that this job of hers, spying on TaftBank from within, might prove dangerous. Indeed it was, she thought.She was in danger of becoming a solitary drinker.     Home in her apartment, Orison set the notes of her first day'sobservations in order. Presumably Washington would call tonight forher initial report. Item: some of the men at the Bank wore earmuffs,several didn't. Item: the Vice-President's name was Mr. Wanji:Oriental? Item: the top eight floors of the Taft Bank Building seemedto be off-limits to all personnel not wearing earmuffs. Item: she wasbeing employed at a very respectable salary to read newsprint andnonsense into a microphone. Let Washington make sense of that, shethought.  <doc-sep>   CINDERELLA STORY     By ALLEN KIM LANG       What a bank! The First Vice-President       was a cool cat—the elevator and the       money operators all wore earmuffs—was       just as phony as a three-dollar bill!       [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1961.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I     The First Vice-President of the William Howard Taft National Bank andTrust Company, the gentleman to whom Miss Orison McCall was applyingfor a job, was not at all the public picture of a banker. His suit ofhound's-tooth checks, the scarlet vest peeping above the vee of hisjacket, were enough to assure Orison that the Taft Bank was a curiousbank indeed. I gotta say, chick, these references of yours reallyswing, said the Vice-President, Mr. Wanji. Your last boss says youcome on real cool in the secretary-bit.     He was a very kind employer, Orison said. She tried to keep fromstaring at the most remarkable item of Mr. Wanji's costume, a pair offurry green earmuffs. It was not cold.     Mr. Wanji returned to Orison her letters of reference. What colorbread you got eyes for taking down, baby? he asked.     Beg pardon?     What kinda salary you bucking for? he translated, bouncing up anddown on the toes of his rough-leather desert boots.     I was making one-twenty a week in my last position, Miss McCall said.     You're worth more'n that, just to jazz up the decor, Mr. Wanji said.What you say we pass you a cee-and-a-half a week. Okay? He caughtOrison's look of bewilderment. One each, a Franklin and a Grant, heexplained further. She still looked blank. Sister, you gonna workin a bank, you gotta know who's picture's on the paper. That's ahunnerd-fifty a week, doll.     That will be most satisfactory, Mr. Wanji, Orison said. It was indeed.     Crazy! Mr. Wanji grabbed Orison's right hand and shook it withathletic vigor. You just now joined up with our herd. I wanna tellyou, chick, it's none too soon we got some decent scenery aroundthis tomb, girlwise. He took her arm and led her toward the bank ofelevators. The uniformed operator nodded to Mr. Wanji, bowed slightlyto Orison. He, too, she observed, wore earmuffs. His were more formalthan Mr. Wanji's, being midnight blue in color. Lift us to five, Mac,Mr. Wanji said. As the elevator door shut he explained to Orison,You can make the Taft Bank scene anywhere between the street floorand floor five. Basement and everything higher'n fifth floor is IronCurtain Country far's you're concerned. Dig, baby?     Yes, sir, Orison said. She was wondering if she'd be issued earmuffs,now that she'd become an employee of this most peculiar bank.     The elevator opened on five to a tiny office, just large enough tohold a single desk and two chairs. On the desk were a telephone anda microphone. Beside them was a double-decked In and Out basket.Here's where you'll do your nine-to-five, honey, Mr. Wanji said.     What will I be doing, Mr. Wanji? Orison asked.     The Vice-President pointed to the newspaper folded in the In basket.Flip on the microphone and read the paper to it, he said. When youget done reading the paper, someone will run you up something new toread. Okay?     It seems a rather peculiar job, Orison said. After all, I'm asecretary. Is reading the newspaper aloud supposed to familiarize mewith the Bank's operation?     Don't bug me, kid, Mr. Wanji said. All you gotta do is read thatthere paper into this here microphone. Can do?     Yes, sir, Orison said. While you're here, Mr. Wanji, I'd like toask you about my withholding tax, social security, credit union,coffee-breaks, union membership, lunch hour and the like. Shall we takecare of these details now? Or would you—     You just take care of that chicken-flickin' kinda stuff any way seemsbest to you, kid, Mr. Wanji said.     Yes, sir, Orison said. This laissez-faire policy of Taft Bank'smight explain why she'd been selected from the Treasury Department'ssecretarial pool to apply for work here, she thought. Orison McCall,girl Government spy. She picked up the newspaper from the In basket,unfolded it to discover the day's      Wall Street Journal     , and began atthe top of column one to read it aloud. Wanji stood before the desk,nodding his head as he listened. You blowing real good, kid, he said.The boss is gonna dig you the most.     Orison nodded. Holding her newspaper and her microphone, she read theone into the other. Mr. Wanji flicked his fingers in a good-by, thentook off upstairs in the elevator.  <doc-sep>I decided that this man was doubly dangerous. Not only was he a spy,he was also a lunatic. So I had two reasons for humoring him. I noddedpolitely.     So what happened? he demanded, and immediately answered himself.I'll tell you what happened! Just as he was about to make that firstgiant step, Man got a hotfoot. That's all it was, just a littlehotfoot. So what did Man do? I'll tell you what he did. He turnedaround and he ran all the way back to the cave he started from, histail between his legs.      That's     what he did!     To say that all of this was incomprehensible would be an extremeunderstatement. I fulfilled my obligation to this insane dialogue bysaying, Here's your coffee.     Put it on the table, he said, switching instantly from raving maniacto watchful spy.     I put it on the table. He drank deep, then carried the cup across theroom and sat down in my favorite chair. He studied me narrowly, andsuddenly said, What did they tell you I was? A spy?     Of course, I said.     He grinned bitterly, with one side of his mouth. Of course. The damnfools! Spy! What do you suppose I'm going to spy on?     He asked the question so violently and urgently that I knew I had toanswer quickly and well, or the maniac would return. I—I wouldn'tknow, exactly, I stammered. Military equipment, I suppose.     Military equipment?      What     military equipment? Your Army is suppliedwith uniforms, whistles and hand guns, and that's about it.     The defenses— I started.     The defenses, he interrupted me, are non-existent. If you mean therocket launchers on the roof, they're rusted through with age. And whatother defenses are there? None.     If you say so, I replied stiffly. The Army claimed that we hadadequate defense equipment. I chose to believe the Army over an enemyspy.     Your people send out spies, too, don't they? he demanded.     Well, of course.     And what are      they     supposed to spy on?     Well— It was such a pointless question, it seemed silly to evenanswer it. They're supposed to look for indications of an attack byone of the other projects.     And do they find any indications, ever?     I'm sure I don't know, I told him frostily. That would be classifiedinformation.     You bet it would, he said, with malicious glee. All right, if that'swhat      your     spies are doing, and if      I'm     a spy, then it follows thatI'm doing the same thing, right?     I don't follow you, I admitted.     If I'm a spy, he said impatiently, then I'm supposed to look forindications of an attack by you people on my Project.     I shrugged. If that's your job, I said, then that's your job.     He got suddenly red-faced, and jumped to his feet. That's      not     myjob, you blatant idiot! he shouted. I'm not a spy! If I      were     a spy,      then     that would be my job!  <doc-sep>At the station Jess led Tremaine to a cell where a lanky teen-age boylounged on a steel-framed cot, blinking up at the visitor under a mopof greased hair.     Hull, this is Mr. Tremaine, said Jess. He took out a heavy key, swungthe cell door open. He wants to talk to you.     I ain't done nothin, Hull said sullenly. There ain't nothin wrongwith burnin out a Commie, is there?     Bram's a Commie, is he? Tremaine said softly. How'd you find thatout, Hull?     He's a foreigner, ain't he? the youth shot back. Besides, weheard....     What did you hear?     They're lookin for the spies.     Who's looking for spies?     Cops.     Who says so?     The boy looked directly at Tremaine for an instant, flicked his eyes tothe corner of the cell. Cops was talkin about 'em, he said.     Spill it, Hull, the policeman said. Mr. Tremaine hasn't got allnight.     They parked out east of town, on 302, back of the woodlot. They calledme over and asked me a bunch of questions. Said I could help 'em getthem spies. Wanted to know all about any funny-actin people aroundhers.     And you mentioned Bram?     The boy darted another look at Tremaine. They said they figured thespies was out north of town. Well, Bram's a foreigner, and he's outthat way, ain't he?     Anything else?     The boy looked at his feet.  <doc-sep>Until then, I'd managed somehow to keep the day's minor disasters fromruining my mood. Even while eating that horrible egg—I couldn't verywell throw it away, broken yolk or no; it was my breakfast allotmentand I was hungry—and while hurriedly jury-rigging drapery across thatgaspingly transparent window—one hundred and fifty-three storiesstraight down to slag—I kept going over and over my prepared proposalspeeches, trying to select the most effective one.     I had a Whimsical Approach: Honey, I see there's a nice littleNon-P apartment available up on one seventy-three. And I had aRomantic Approach: Darling, I can't live without you at the moment.Temporarily, I'm madly in love with you. I want to share my lifewith you for a while. Will you be provisionally mine? I even had aStraightforward Approach: Linda, I'm going to be needing a wife for atleast a year or two, and I can't think of anyone I would rather spendthat time with than you.     Actually, though I wouldn't even have admitted this to Linda, much lessto anyone else, I loved her in more than a Non-P way. But even if weboth had been genetically desirable (neither of us were) I knew thatLinda relished her freedom and independence too much to ever contractfor any kind of marriage other than Non-P—Non-Permanent, No Progeny.     So I rehearsed my various approaches, realizing that when the timecame I would probably be so tongue-tied I'd be capable of no morethan a blurted, Will you marry me? and I struggled with zippers andmalfunctioning air-cons, and I managed somehow to leave the apartmentat five minutes to ten.     Linda lived down on the hundred fortieth floor, thirteen stories away.It never took more than two or three minutes to get to her place, so Iwas giving myself plenty of time.     But then the elevator didn't come.     I pushed the button, waited, and nothing happened. I couldn'tunderstand it.     The elevator had always arrived before, within thirty seconds ofthe button being pushed. This was a local stop, with an elevatorthat traveled between the hundred thirty-third floor and the hundredsixty-seventh floor, where it was possible to make connections foreither the next local or for the express. So it couldn't be more thantwenty stories away. And this was a non-rush hour.     I pushed the button again, and then I waited some more. I looked at mywatch and it was three minutes to ten. Two minutes, and no elevator! Ifit didn't arrive this instant, this second, I would be late.     It didn't arrive.     I vacillated, not knowing what to do next. Stay, hoping the elevatorwould come after all? Or hurry back to the apartment and call Linda, togive her advance warning that I would be late?     Ten more seconds, and still no elevator. I chose the secondalternative, raced back down the hall, and thumbed my way into myapartment. I dialed Linda's number, and the screen lit up with whiteletters on black: PRIVACY DISCONNECTION.     Of course! Linda expected me at any moment. And she knew what I wantedto say to her, so quite naturally she had disconnected the phone, tokeep us from being interrupted.     Frantic, I dashed from the apartment again, back down the hall to theelevator, and leaned on that blasted button with all my weight. Even ifthe elevator should arrive right now, I would still be almost a minutelate.     No matter. It didn't arrive.     I would have been in a howling rage anyway, but this impossibilitypiled on top of all the other annoyances and breakdowns of the daywas just too much. I went into a frenzy, and kicked the elevator doorthree times before I realized I was hurting myself more than I washurting the door. I limped back to the apartment, fuming, slammed thedoor behind me, grabbed the phone book and looked up the number ofthe Transit Staff. I dialed, prepared to register a complaint so loudthey'd be able to hear me in sub-basement three.     I got some more letters that spelled: BUSY.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the storyline of THE SPY IN THE ELEVATOR?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What role does Linda play in THE SPY IN THE ELEVATOR? [SEP] <s>But now there was a spy in the elevator.     When I thought of how deeply he had penetrated our defenses, and of howmany others there might be, still penetrating, I shuddered. The wallswere our safeguards only so long as all potential enemies were on theother side of them.     I sat shaken, digesting this news, until suddenly I remembered Linda.     I leaped to my feet, reading from my watch that it was now ten-fifteen.I dashed once more from the apartment and down the hall to theelevator, praying that the spy had been captured by now and that Lindawould agree with me that a spy in the elevator was good and sufficientreason for me to be late.     He was still there. At least, the elevator was still out.     I sagged against the wall, thinking dismal thoughts. Then I noticed thedoor to the right of the elevator. Through that door was the stairway.     I hadn't paid any attention to it before. No one ever uses the stairsexcept adventurous young boys playing cops and robbers, running up anddown from landing to landing. I myself hadn't set foot on a flight ofstairs since I was twelve years old.     Actually, the whole idea of stairs was ridiculous. We had elevators,didn't we? Usually, I mean, when they didn't contain spies. So what wasthe use of stairs?     Well, according to Dr. Kilbillie (a walking library of unnecessaryinformation), the Project had been built when there still had been suchthings as municipal governments (something to do with cities, whichwere more or less grouped Projects), and the local municipal governmenthad had on its books a fire ordinance, anachronistic even then, whichrequired a complete set of stairs in every building constructed in thecity. Ergo, the Project had stairs, thirty-two hundred of them.     And now, after all these years, the stairs might prove useful afterall. It was only thirteen flights to Linda's floor. At sixteen steps aflight, that meant two hundred and eight steps.     Could I descend two hundred and eight steps for my true love? I could.If the door would open.     It would, though reluctantly. Who knew how many years it had been sincelast this door had been opened? It squeaked and wailed and groaned andfinally opened half way. I stepped through to the musty, dusty landing,took a deep breath, and started down. Eight steps and a landing, eightsteps and a floor. Eight steps and a landing, eight steps and a floor.     On the landing between one fifty and one forty-nine, there was asmallish door. I paused, looking curiously at it, and saw that at onetime letters had been painted on it. The letters had long since flakedaway, but they left a lighter residue of dust than that which coveredthe rest of the door. And so the words could still be read, if withdifficulty.     I read them. They said:     EMERGENCY ENTRANCE     ELEVATOR SHAFT     AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL     ONLY     KEEP LOCKED     I frowned, wondering immediately why this door wasn't being firmlyguarded by at least a platoon of Army men. Half a dozen possibleanswers flashed through my mind. The more recent maps might simplyhave omitted this discarded and unnecessary door. It might be sealedshut on the other side. The Army might have caught the spy already.Somebody in authority might simply have goofed.     As I stood there, pondering these possibilities, the door opened andthe spy came out, waving a gun.      III     He couldn't have been anyone else but the spy. The gun, in the firstplace. The fact that he looked harried and upset and terribly nervous,in the second place. And, of course, the fact that he came from theelevator shaft.     Looking back, I think he must have been just as startled as I when wecame face to face like that. We formed a brief tableau, both of usopen-mouthed and wide-eyed.     Unfortunately, he recovered first.     He closed the emergency door behind him, quickly but quietly. His gunstopped waving around and instead pointed directly at my middle. Don'tmove! he whispered harshly. Don't make a sound!     I did exactly as I was told. I didn't move and I didn't make a sound.Which left me quite free to study him.     He was rather short, perhaps three inches shorter than me, with a bonyhigh-cheekboned face featuring deepset eyes and a thin-lipped mouth. Hewore gray slacks and shirt, with brown slippers on his feet. He lookedexactly like a spy ... which is to say that he      didn't     look like aspy, he looked overpoweringly ordinary. More than anything else, hereminded me of a rather taciturn milkman who used to make deliveries tomy parents' apartment.     His gaze darted this way and that. Then he motioned with his free handat the descending stairs and whispered, Where do they go?     I had to clear my throat before I could speak. All the way down, Isaid.     Good, he said—just as we both heard a sudden raucous squealing fromperhaps four flights down, a squealing which could be nothing but theopening of a hall door. It was followed by the heavy thud of ascendingboots. The Army!     But if I had any visions of imminent rescue, the spy dashed them. Hesaid, Where do you live?     One fifty-three, I said. This was a desperate and dangerous man.I knew my only slim chance of safety lay in answering his questionspromptly, cooperating with him until and unless I saw a chance toeither escape or capture him.     All right, he whispered. Go on. He prodded me with the gun.     And so we went back up the stairs to one fifty-three, and stopped atthe door. He stood close behind me, the gun pressed against my back,and grated in my ear, I'll have this gun in my pocket. If you make onefalse move I'll kill you. Now, we're going to your apartment. We'refriends, just strolling along together. You got that?     I nodded.     All right. Let's go.     We went. I have never in my life seen that long hall quite so empty asit was right then. No one came out of any of the apartments, no oneemerged from any of the branch halls. We walked to my apartment. Ithumbed the door open and we went inside.     Once the door was closed behind us, he visibly relaxed, sagging againstthe door, his gun hand hanging limp at his side, a nervous smileplaying across his lips.     I looked at him, judging the distance between us, wondering if I couldleap at him before he could bring the gun up again. But he must haveread my intentions on my face. He straightened, shaking his head. Hesaid, Don't try it. I don't want to kill you. I don't want to killanybody, but I will if I have to. We'll just wait here together untilthe hue and cry passes us. Then I'll tie you up, so you won't be ableto sic your Army on me too soon, and I'll leave. If you don't try anysilly heroics, nothing will happen to you.     You'll never get away, I told him. The whole Project is alerted.     You let me worry about that, he said. He licked his lips. You gotany chico coffee?     Yes.     Make me a cup. And don't get any bright ideas about dousing me withboiling water.     I only have my day's allotment, I protested. Just enough for twocups, lunch and dinner.     Two cups is fine, he said. One for each of us.  <doc-sep>   THE SPY IN THE ELEVATOR     By DONALD E. WESTLAKE     Illustrated by WEST     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Magazine October 1961.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]         He was dangerously insane. He threatened       to destroy everything that was noble and       decent—including my date with my girl!        When the elevator didn't come, that just made the day perfect. A brokenegg yolk, a stuck zipper, a feedback in the aircon exhaust, the windowsticking at full transparency—well, I won't go through the whole sorrylist. Suffice it to say that when the elevator didn't come, that putthe roof on the city, as they say.     It was just one of those days. Everybody gets them. Days when you'relucky in you make it to nightfall with no bones broken.     But of all times for it to happen! For literally months I'd beenbuilding my courage up. And finally, just today, I had made up mymind to do it—to propose to Linda. I'd called her second thing thismorning—right after the egg yolk—and invited myself down to herplace. Ten o'clock, she'd said, smiling sweetly at me out of thephone. She knew why I wanted to talk to her. And when Linda said teno'clock, she meant ten o'clock.     Don't get me wrong. I don't mean that Linda's a perfectionist or aharridan or anything like that. Far from it. But she does have afixation on that one subject of punctuality. The result of her job,of course. She was an ore-sled dispatcher. Ore-sleds, being robots,were invariably punctual. If an ore-sled didn't return on time, no onewaited for it. They simply knew that it had been captured by some otherProject and had blown itself up.     Well, of course, after working as an ore-sled dispatcher for threeyears, Linda quite naturally was a bit obsessed. I remember one time,shortly after we'd started dating, when I arrived at her place fiveminutes late and found her having hysterics. She thought I'd beenkilled. She couldn't visualize anything less than that keeping me fromarriving at the designated moment. When I told her what actually hadhappened—I'd broken a shoe lace—she refused to speak to me for fourdays.     And then the elevator didn't come.  <doc-sep>Until then, I'd managed somehow to keep the day's minor disasters fromruining my mood. Even while eating that horrible egg—I couldn't verywell throw it away, broken yolk or no; it was my breakfast allotmentand I was hungry—and while hurriedly jury-rigging drapery across thatgaspingly transparent window—one hundred and fifty-three storiesstraight down to slag—I kept going over and over my prepared proposalspeeches, trying to select the most effective one.     I had a Whimsical Approach: Honey, I see there's a nice littleNon-P apartment available up on one seventy-three. And I had aRomantic Approach: Darling, I can't live without you at the moment.Temporarily, I'm madly in love with you. I want to share my lifewith you for a while. Will you be provisionally mine? I even had aStraightforward Approach: Linda, I'm going to be needing a wife for atleast a year or two, and I can't think of anyone I would rather spendthat time with than you.     Actually, though I wouldn't even have admitted this to Linda, much lessto anyone else, I loved her in more than a Non-P way. But even if weboth had been genetically desirable (neither of us were) I knew thatLinda relished her freedom and independence too much to ever contractfor any kind of marriage other than Non-P—Non-Permanent, No Progeny.     So I rehearsed my various approaches, realizing that when the timecame I would probably be so tongue-tied I'd be capable of no morethan a blurted, Will you marry me? and I struggled with zippers andmalfunctioning air-cons, and I managed somehow to leave the apartmentat five minutes to ten.     Linda lived down on the hundred fortieth floor, thirteen stories away.It never took more than two or three minutes to get to her place, so Iwas giving myself plenty of time.     But then the elevator didn't come.     I pushed the button, waited, and nothing happened. I couldn'tunderstand it.     The elevator had always arrived before, within thirty seconds ofthe button being pushed. This was a local stop, with an elevatorthat traveled between the hundred thirty-third floor and the hundredsixty-seventh floor, where it was possible to make connections foreither the next local or for the express. So it couldn't be more thantwenty stories away. And this was a non-rush hour.     I pushed the button again, and then I waited some more. I looked at mywatch and it was three minutes to ten. Two minutes, and no elevator! Ifit didn't arrive this instant, this second, I would be late.     It didn't arrive.     I vacillated, not knowing what to do next. Stay, hoping the elevatorwould come after all? Or hurry back to the apartment and call Linda, togive her advance warning that I would be late?     Ten more seconds, and still no elevator. I chose the secondalternative, raced back down the hall, and thumbed my way into myapartment. I dialed Linda's number, and the screen lit up with whiteletters on black: PRIVACY DISCONNECTION.     Of course! Linda expected me at any moment. And she knew what I wantedto say to her, so quite naturally she had disconnected the phone, tokeep us from being interrupted.     Frantic, I dashed from the apartment again, back down the hall to theelevator, and leaned on that blasted button with all my weight. Even ifthe elevator should arrive right now, I would still be almost a minutelate.     No matter. It didn't arrive.     I would have been in a howling rage anyway, but this impossibilitypiled on top of all the other annoyances and breakdowns of the daywas just too much. I went into a frenzy, and kicked the elevator doorthree times before I realized I was hurting myself more than I washurting the door. I limped back to the apartment, fuming, slammed thedoor behind me, grabbed the phone book and looked up the number ofthe Transit Staff. I dialed, prepared to register a complaint so loudthey'd be able to hear me in sub-basement three.     I got some more letters that spelled: BUSY.  <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>And now I had yet another grudge against this blasted spy. Whichreminded me again of Linda. From the looks of things, I wasn't      ever     going to get to her place. By now she was probably in mourning for meand might even have the Sanitation Staff searching for my remains.     As I made the chico, he asked me questions. My name first, and then,What do you do for a living?     I thought fast. I'm an ore-sled dispatcher, I said. That was a lie,of course, but I'd heard enough about ore-sled dispatching from Lindato be able to maintain the fiction should he question me further aboutit.     Actually, I was a gymnast instructor. The subjects I taught includedwrestling, judo and karati—talents I would prefer to disclose to himin my own fashion, when the time came.     He was quiet for a moment. What about radiation level on theore-sleds?     I had no idea what he was talking about, and admitted as much.     When they come back, he said. How much radiation do they pick up?Don't you people ever test them?     Of course not, I told him. I was on secure ground now, with Linda'sinformation to guide me. All radiation is cleared from the sleds andtheir cargo before they're brought into the building.     I know that, he said impatiently. But don't you ever check thembefore de-radiating them?       No. Why should we?     To find out how far the radiation level outside has dropped.     For what? Who cares about that?     He frowned bitterly. The same answer, he muttered, more to himselfthan to me. The same answer every time. You people have crawled intoyour caves and you're ready to stay in them forever.     I looked around at my apartment. Rather a well-appointed cave, I toldhim.     But a cave nevertheless. He leaned toward me, his eyes gleaming witha fanatical flame. Don't you ever wish to get Outside?     Incredible! I nearly poured boiling water all over myself. Outside? Ofcourse not!     The same thing, he grumbled, over and over again. Always the samestupidity. Listen, you! Do you realize how long it took man to get outof the caves? The long slow painful creep of progress, for millennia,before he ever made that first step from the cave?     I have no idea, I told him.     I'll tell you this, he said belligerently. A lot longer than ittook for him to turn around and go right back into the cave again. Hestarted pacing the floor, waving the gun around in an agitated fashionas he talked. Is this the      natural     life of man? It is not. Is thiseven a      desirable     life for man? It is      definitely     not. He spun backto face me, pointing the gun at me again, but this time he pointedit as though it were a finger, not a gun. Listen, you, he snapped.Man was progressing. For all his stupidities and excesses, he wasgrowing up. His dreams were getting bigger and grander and better allthe time. He was planning to tackle      space     ! The moon first, and thenthe planets, and finally the stars. The whole universe was out there,waiting to be plucked like an apple from a tank. And Man was reachingout for it. He glared as though daring me to doubt it.  <doc-sep>By lunchtime Orison had finished the      Wall Street Journal     and hadbegun reading a book an earmuffed page had brought her. The book was afantastic novel of some sort, named      The Hobbit     . Reading this peculiarfare into the microphone before her, Miss McCall was more certain thanever that the Taft Bank was, as her boss in Washington had told her,the front for some highly irregular goings-on. An odd business for aFederal Mata Hari, Orison thought, reading a nonsense story into amicrophone for an invisible audience.     Orison switched off her microphone at noon, marked her place in thebook and took the elevator down to the ground floor. The operator wasa new man, ears concealed behind scarlet earmuffs. In the car, comingdown from the interdicted upper floors, were several gentlemen withbriefcases. As though they were members of a ballet-troupe, thesegentlemen whipped off their hats with a single motion as Orison steppedaboard the elevator. Each of the chivalrous men, hat pressed to hisheart, wore a pair of earmuffs. Orison nodded bemused acknowledgmentof their gesture, and got off in the lobby vowing never to put a pennyinto this curiousest of banks.     Lunch at the stand-up counter down the street was a normal interlude.Girls from the ground-floor offices of Taft Bank chattered together,eyed Orison with the coolness due so attractive a competitor, andfavored her with no gambit to enter their conversations. Orison sighed,finished her tuna salad on whole-wheat, then went back upstairs to herlonely desk and her microphone. By five, Orison had finished the book,reading rapidly and becoming despite herself engrossed in the saga ofBilbo Baggins, Hobbit. She switched off the microphone, put on herlight coat, and rode downstairs in an elevator filled with earmuffed,silent, hat-clasping gentlemen.     What I need, Orison thought, walking rapidly to the busline, is adouble Scotch, followed by a double Scotch. And what the William HowardTaft National Bank and Trust Company needs is a joint raid by forces ofthe U.S. Treasury Department and the American Psychiatric Association.Earmuffs, indeed. Fairy-tales read into a microphone. A Vice-Presidentwith the vocabulary of a racetrack tout. And what goes on in thoseupper floors? Orison stopped in at the restaurant nearest her apartmenthouse—the Windsor Arms—and ordered a meal and a single Martini. Herboss in Washington had told her that this job of hers, spying on TaftBank from within, might prove dangerous. Indeed it was, she thought.She was in danger of becoming a solitary drinker.     Home in her apartment, Orison set the notes of her first day'sobservations in order. Presumably Washington would call tonight forher initial report. Item: some of the men at the Bank wore earmuffs,several didn't. Item: the Vice-President's name was Mr. Wanji:Oriental? Item: the top eight floors of the Taft Bank Building seemedto be off-limits to all personnel not wearing earmuffs. Item: she wasbeing employed at a very respectable salary to read newsprint andnonsense into a microphone. Let Washington make sense of that, shethought.  <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>   CINDERELLA STORY     By ALLEN KIM LANG       What a bank! The First Vice-President       was a cool cat—the elevator and the       money operators all wore earmuffs—was       just as phony as a three-dollar bill!       [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1961.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I     The First Vice-President of the William Howard Taft National Bank andTrust Company, the gentleman to whom Miss Orison McCall was applyingfor a job, was not at all the public picture of a banker. His suit ofhound's-tooth checks, the scarlet vest peeping above the vee of hisjacket, were enough to assure Orison that the Taft Bank was a curiousbank indeed. I gotta say, chick, these references of yours reallyswing, said the Vice-President, Mr. Wanji. Your last boss says youcome on real cool in the secretary-bit.     He was a very kind employer, Orison said. She tried to keep fromstaring at the most remarkable item of Mr. Wanji's costume, a pair offurry green earmuffs. It was not cold.     Mr. Wanji returned to Orison her letters of reference. What colorbread you got eyes for taking down, baby? he asked.     Beg pardon?     What kinda salary you bucking for? he translated, bouncing up anddown on the toes of his rough-leather desert boots.     I was making one-twenty a week in my last position, Miss McCall said.     You're worth more'n that, just to jazz up the decor, Mr. Wanji said.What you say we pass you a cee-and-a-half a week. Okay? He caughtOrison's look of bewilderment. One each, a Franklin and a Grant, heexplained further. She still looked blank. Sister, you gonna workin a bank, you gotta know who's picture's on the paper. That's ahunnerd-fifty a week, doll.     That will be most satisfactory, Mr. Wanji, Orison said. It was indeed.     Crazy! Mr. Wanji grabbed Orison's right hand and shook it withathletic vigor. You just now joined up with our herd. I wanna tellyou, chick, it's none too soon we got some decent scenery aroundthis tomb, girlwise. He took her arm and led her toward the bank ofelevators. The uniformed operator nodded to Mr. Wanji, bowed slightlyto Orison. He, too, she observed, wore earmuffs. His were more formalthan Mr. Wanji's, being midnight blue in color. Lift us to five, Mac,Mr. Wanji said. As the elevator door shut he explained to Orison,You can make the Taft Bank scene anywhere between the street floorand floor five. Basement and everything higher'n fifth floor is IronCurtain Country far's you're concerned. Dig, baby?     Yes, sir, Orison said. She was wondering if she'd be issued earmuffs,now that she'd become an employee of this most peculiar bank.     The elevator opened on five to a tiny office, just large enough tohold a single desk and two chairs. On the desk were a telephone anda microphone. Beside them was a double-decked In and Out basket.Here's where you'll do your nine-to-five, honey, Mr. Wanji said.     What will I be doing, Mr. Wanji? Orison asked.     The Vice-President pointed to the newspaper folded in the In basket.Flip on the microphone and read the paper to it, he said. When youget done reading the paper, someone will run you up something new toread. Okay?     It seems a rather peculiar job, Orison said. After all, I'm asecretary. Is reading the newspaper aloud supposed to familiarize mewith the Bank's operation?     Don't bug me, kid, Mr. Wanji said. All you gotta do is read thatthere paper into this here microphone. Can do?     Yes, sir, Orison said. While you're here, Mr. Wanji, I'd like toask you about my withholding tax, social security, credit union,coffee-breaks, union membership, lunch hour and the like. Shall we takecare of these details now? Or would you—     You just take care of that chicken-flickin' kinda stuff any way seemsbest to you, kid, Mr. Wanji said.     Yes, sir, Orison said. This laissez-faire policy of Taft Bank'smight explain why she'd been selected from the Treasury Department'ssecretarial pool to apply for work here, she thought. Orison McCall,girl Government spy. She picked up the newspaper from the In basket,unfolded it to discover the day's      Wall Street Journal     , and began atthe top of column one to read it aloud. Wanji stood before the desk,nodding his head as he listened. You blowing real good, kid, he said.The boss is gonna dig you the most.     Orison nodded. Holding her newspaper and her microphone, she read theone into the other. Mr. Wanji flicked his fingers in a good-by, thentook off upstairs in the elevator.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What role does Linda play in THE SPY IN THE ELEVATOR?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What are the physical and social environments depicted in THE SPY IN THE ELEVATOR? [SEP] <s>But now there was a spy in the elevator.     When I thought of how deeply he had penetrated our defenses, and of howmany others there might be, still penetrating, I shuddered. The wallswere our safeguards only so long as all potential enemies were on theother side of them.     I sat shaken, digesting this news, until suddenly I remembered Linda.     I leaped to my feet, reading from my watch that it was now ten-fifteen.I dashed once more from the apartment and down the hall to theelevator, praying that the spy had been captured by now and that Lindawould agree with me that a spy in the elevator was good and sufficientreason for me to be late.     He was still there. At least, the elevator was still out.     I sagged against the wall, thinking dismal thoughts. Then I noticed thedoor to the right of the elevator. Through that door was the stairway.     I hadn't paid any attention to it before. No one ever uses the stairsexcept adventurous young boys playing cops and robbers, running up anddown from landing to landing. I myself hadn't set foot on a flight ofstairs since I was twelve years old.     Actually, the whole idea of stairs was ridiculous. We had elevators,didn't we? Usually, I mean, when they didn't contain spies. So what wasthe use of stairs?     Well, according to Dr. Kilbillie (a walking library of unnecessaryinformation), the Project had been built when there still had been suchthings as municipal governments (something to do with cities, whichwere more or less grouped Projects), and the local municipal governmenthad had on its books a fire ordinance, anachronistic even then, whichrequired a complete set of stairs in every building constructed in thecity. Ergo, the Project had stairs, thirty-two hundred of them.     And now, after all these years, the stairs might prove useful afterall. It was only thirteen flights to Linda's floor. At sixteen steps aflight, that meant two hundred and eight steps.     Could I descend two hundred and eight steps for my true love? I could.If the door would open.     It would, though reluctantly. Who knew how many years it had been sincelast this door had been opened? It squeaked and wailed and groaned andfinally opened half way. I stepped through to the musty, dusty landing,took a deep breath, and started down. Eight steps and a landing, eightsteps and a floor. Eight steps and a landing, eight steps and a floor.     On the landing between one fifty and one forty-nine, there was asmallish door. I paused, looking curiously at it, and saw that at onetime letters had been painted on it. The letters had long since flakedaway, but they left a lighter residue of dust than that which coveredthe rest of the door. And so the words could still be read, if withdifficulty.     I read them. They said:     EMERGENCY ENTRANCE     ELEVATOR SHAFT     AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL     ONLY     KEEP LOCKED     I frowned, wondering immediately why this door wasn't being firmlyguarded by at least a platoon of Army men. Half a dozen possibleanswers flashed through my mind. The more recent maps might simplyhave omitted this discarded and unnecessary door. It might be sealedshut on the other side. The Army might have caught the spy already.Somebody in authority might simply have goofed.     As I stood there, pondering these possibilities, the door opened andthe spy came out, waving a gun.      III     He couldn't have been anyone else but the spy. The gun, in the firstplace. The fact that he looked harried and upset and terribly nervous,in the second place. And, of course, the fact that he came from theelevator shaft.     Looking back, I think he must have been just as startled as I when wecame face to face like that. We formed a brief tableau, both of usopen-mouthed and wide-eyed.     Unfortunately, he recovered first.     He closed the emergency door behind him, quickly but quietly. His gunstopped waving around and instead pointed directly at my middle. Don'tmove! he whispered harshly. Don't make a sound!     I did exactly as I was told. I didn't move and I didn't make a sound.Which left me quite free to study him.     He was rather short, perhaps three inches shorter than me, with a bonyhigh-cheekboned face featuring deepset eyes and a thin-lipped mouth. Hewore gray slacks and shirt, with brown slippers on his feet. He lookedexactly like a spy ... which is to say that he      didn't     look like aspy, he looked overpoweringly ordinary. More than anything else, hereminded me of a rather taciturn milkman who used to make deliveries tomy parents' apartment.     His gaze darted this way and that. Then he motioned with his free handat the descending stairs and whispered, Where do they go?     I had to clear my throat before I could speak. All the way down, Isaid.     Good, he said—just as we both heard a sudden raucous squealing fromperhaps four flights down, a squealing which could be nothing but theopening of a hall door. It was followed by the heavy thud of ascendingboots. The Army!     But if I had any visions of imminent rescue, the spy dashed them. Hesaid, Where do you live?     One fifty-three, I said. This was a desperate and dangerous man.I knew my only slim chance of safety lay in answering his questionspromptly, cooperating with him until and unless I saw a chance toeither escape or capture him.     All right, he whispered. Go on. He prodded me with the gun.     And so we went back up the stairs to one fifty-three, and stopped atthe door. He stood close behind me, the gun pressed against my back,and grated in my ear, I'll have this gun in my pocket. If you make onefalse move I'll kill you. Now, we're going to your apartment. We'refriends, just strolling along together. You got that?     I nodded.     All right. Let's go.     We went. I have never in my life seen that long hall quite so empty asit was right then. No one came out of any of the apartments, no oneemerged from any of the branch halls. We walked to my apartment. Ithumbed the door open and we went inside.     Once the door was closed behind us, he visibly relaxed, sagging againstthe door, his gun hand hanging limp at his side, a nervous smileplaying across his lips.     I looked at him, judging the distance between us, wondering if I couldleap at him before he could bring the gun up again. But he must haveread my intentions on my face. He straightened, shaking his head. Hesaid, Don't try it. I don't want to kill you. I don't want to killanybody, but I will if I have to. We'll just wait here together untilthe hue and cry passes us. Then I'll tie you up, so you won't be ableto sic your Army on me too soon, and I'll leave. If you don't try anysilly heroics, nothing will happen to you.     You'll never get away, I told him. The whole Project is alerted.     You let me worry about that, he said. He licked his lips. You gotany chico coffee?     Yes.     Make me a cup. And don't get any bright ideas about dousing me withboiling water.     I only have my day's allotment, I protested. Just enough for twocups, lunch and dinner.     Two cups is fine, he said. One for each of us.  <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>   CINDERELLA STORY     By ALLEN KIM LANG       What a bank! The First Vice-President       was a cool cat—the elevator and the       money operators all wore earmuffs—was       just as phony as a three-dollar bill!       [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1961.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I     The First Vice-President of the William Howard Taft National Bank andTrust Company, the gentleman to whom Miss Orison McCall was applyingfor a job, was not at all the public picture of a banker. His suit ofhound's-tooth checks, the scarlet vest peeping above the vee of hisjacket, were enough to assure Orison that the Taft Bank was a curiousbank indeed. I gotta say, chick, these references of yours reallyswing, said the Vice-President, Mr. Wanji. Your last boss says youcome on real cool in the secretary-bit.     He was a very kind employer, Orison said. She tried to keep fromstaring at the most remarkable item of Mr. Wanji's costume, a pair offurry green earmuffs. It was not cold.     Mr. Wanji returned to Orison her letters of reference. What colorbread you got eyes for taking down, baby? he asked.     Beg pardon?     What kinda salary you bucking for? he translated, bouncing up anddown on the toes of his rough-leather desert boots.     I was making one-twenty a week in my last position, Miss McCall said.     You're worth more'n that, just to jazz up the decor, Mr. Wanji said.What you say we pass you a cee-and-a-half a week. Okay? He caughtOrison's look of bewilderment. One each, a Franklin and a Grant, heexplained further. She still looked blank. Sister, you gonna workin a bank, you gotta know who's picture's on the paper. That's ahunnerd-fifty a week, doll.     That will be most satisfactory, Mr. Wanji, Orison said. It was indeed.     Crazy! Mr. Wanji grabbed Orison's right hand and shook it withathletic vigor. You just now joined up with our herd. I wanna tellyou, chick, it's none too soon we got some decent scenery aroundthis tomb, girlwise. He took her arm and led her toward the bank ofelevators. The uniformed operator nodded to Mr. Wanji, bowed slightlyto Orison. He, too, she observed, wore earmuffs. His were more formalthan Mr. Wanji's, being midnight blue in color. Lift us to five, Mac,Mr. Wanji said. As the elevator door shut he explained to Orison,You can make the Taft Bank scene anywhere between the street floorand floor five. Basement and everything higher'n fifth floor is IronCurtain Country far's you're concerned. Dig, baby?     Yes, sir, Orison said. She was wondering if she'd be issued earmuffs,now that she'd become an employee of this most peculiar bank.     The elevator opened on five to a tiny office, just large enough tohold a single desk and two chairs. On the desk were a telephone anda microphone. Beside them was a double-decked In and Out basket.Here's where you'll do your nine-to-five, honey, Mr. Wanji said.     What will I be doing, Mr. Wanji? Orison asked.     The Vice-President pointed to the newspaper folded in the In basket.Flip on the microphone and read the paper to it, he said. When youget done reading the paper, someone will run you up something new toread. Okay?     It seems a rather peculiar job, Orison said. After all, I'm asecretary. Is reading the newspaper aloud supposed to familiarize mewith the Bank's operation?     Don't bug me, kid, Mr. Wanji said. All you gotta do is read thatthere paper into this here microphone. Can do?     Yes, sir, Orison said. While you're here, Mr. Wanji, I'd like toask you about my withholding tax, social security, credit union,coffee-breaks, union membership, lunch hour and the like. Shall we takecare of these details now? Or would you—     You just take care of that chicken-flickin' kinda stuff any way seemsbest to you, kid, Mr. Wanji said.     Yes, sir, Orison said. This laissez-faire policy of Taft Bank'smight explain why she'd been selected from the Treasury Department'ssecretarial pool to apply for work here, she thought. Orison McCall,girl Government spy. She picked up the newspaper from the In basket,unfolded it to discover the day's      Wall Street Journal     , and began atthe top of column one to read it aloud. Wanji stood before the desk,nodding his head as he listened. You blowing real good, kid, he said.The boss is gonna dig you the most.     Orison nodded. Holding her newspaper and her microphone, she read theone into the other. Mr. Wanji flicked his fingers in a good-by, thentook off upstairs in the elevator.  <doc-sep>   THE SPY IN THE ELEVATOR     By DONALD E. WESTLAKE     Illustrated by WEST     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Magazine October 1961.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]         He was dangerously insane. He threatened       to destroy everything that was noble and       decent—including my date with my girl!        When the elevator didn't come, that just made the day perfect. A brokenegg yolk, a stuck zipper, a feedback in the aircon exhaust, the windowsticking at full transparency—well, I won't go through the whole sorrylist. Suffice it to say that when the elevator didn't come, that putthe roof on the city, as they say.     It was just one of those days. Everybody gets them. Days when you'relucky in you make it to nightfall with no bones broken.     But of all times for it to happen! For literally months I'd beenbuilding my courage up. And finally, just today, I had made up mymind to do it—to propose to Linda. I'd called her second thing thismorning—right after the egg yolk—and invited myself down to herplace. Ten o'clock, she'd said, smiling sweetly at me out of thephone. She knew why I wanted to talk to her. And when Linda said teno'clock, she meant ten o'clock.     Don't get me wrong. I don't mean that Linda's a perfectionist or aharridan or anything like that. Far from it. But she does have afixation on that one subject of punctuality. The result of her job,of course. She was an ore-sled dispatcher. Ore-sleds, being robots,were invariably punctual. If an ore-sled didn't return on time, no onewaited for it. They simply knew that it had been captured by some otherProject and had blown itself up.     Well, of course, after working as an ore-sled dispatcher for threeyears, Linda quite naturally was a bit obsessed. I remember one time,shortly after we'd started dating, when I arrived at her place fiveminutes late and found her having hysterics. She thought I'd beenkilled. She couldn't visualize anything less than that keeping me fromarriving at the designated moment. When I told her what actually hadhappened—I'd broken a shoe lace—she refused to speak to me for fourdays.     And then the elevator didn't come.  <doc-sep>By lunchtime Orison had finished the      Wall Street Journal     and hadbegun reading a book an earmuffed page had brought her. The book was afantastic novel of some sort, named      The Hobbit     . Reading this peculiarfare into the microphone before her, Miss McCall was more certain thanever that the Taft Bank was, as her boss in Washington had told her,the front for some highly irregular goings-on. An odd business for aFederal Mata Hari, Orison thought, reading a nonsense story into amicrophone for an invisible audience.     Orison switched off her microphone at noon, marked her place in thebook and took the elevator down to the ground floor. The operator wasa new man, ears concealed behind scarlet earmuffs. In the car, comingdown from the interdicted upper floors, were several gentlemen withbriefcases. As though they were members of a ballet-troupe, thesegentlemen whipped off their hats with a single motion as Orison steppedaboard the elevator. Each of the chivalrous men, hat pressed to hisheart, wore a pair of earmuffs. Orison nodded bemused acknowledgmentof their gesture, and got off in the lobby vowing never to put a pennyinto this curiousest of banks.     Lunch at the stand-up counter down the street was a normal interlude.Girls from the ground-floor offices of Taft Bank chattered together,eyed Orison with the coolness due so attractive a competitor, andfavored her with no gambit to enter their conversations. Orison sighed,finished her tuna salad on whole-wheat, then went back upstairs to herlonely desk and her microphone. By five, Orison had finished the book,reading rapidly and becoming despite herself engrossed in the saga ofBilbo Baggins, Hobbit. She switched off the microphone, put on herlight coat, and rode downstairs in an elevator filled with earmuffed,silent, hat-clasping gentlemen.     What I need, Orison thought, walking rapidly to the busline, is adouble Scotch, followed by a double Scotch. And what the William HowardTaft National Bank and Trust Company needs is a joint raid by forces ofthe U.S. Treasury Department and the American Psychiatric Association.Earmuffs, indeed. Fairy-tales read into a microphone. A Vice-Presidentwith the vocabulary of a racetrack tout. And what goes on in thoseupper floors? Orison stopped in at the restaurant nearest her apartmenthouse—the Windsor Arms—and ordered a meal and a single Martini. Herboss in Washington had told her that this job of hers, spying on TaftBank from within, might prove dangerous. Indeed it was, she thought.She was in danger of becoming a solitary drinker.     Home in her apartment, Orison set the notes of her first day'sobservations in order. Presumably Washington would call tonight forher initial report. Item: some of the men at the Bank wore earmuffs,several didn't. Item: the Vice-President's name was Mr. Wanji:Oriental? Item: the top eight floors of the Taft Bank Building seemedto be off-limits to all personnel not wearing earmuffs. Item: she wasbeing employed at a very respectable salary to read newsprint andnonsense into a microphone. Let Washington make sense of that, shethought.  <doc-sep>I decided that this man was doubly dangerous. Not only was he a spy,he was also a lunatic. So I had two reasons for humoring him. I noddedpolitely.     So what happened? he demanded, and immediately answered himself.I'll tell you what happened! Just as he was about to make that firstgiant step, Man got a hotfoot. That's all it was, just a littlehotfoot. So what did Man do? I'll tell you what he did. He turnedaround and he ran all the way back to the cave he started from, histail between his legs.      That's     what he did!     To say that all of this was incomprehensible would be an extremeunderstatement. I fulfilled my obligation to this insane dialogue bysaying, Here's your coffee.     Put it on the table, he said, switching instantly from raving maniacto watchful spy.     I put it on the table. He drank deep, then carried the cup across theroom and sat down in my favorite chair. He studied me narrowly, andsuddenly said, What did they tell you I was? A spy?     Of course, I said.     He grinned bitterly, with one side of his mouth. Of course. The damnfools! Spy! What do you suppose I'm going to spy on?     He asked the question so violently and urgently that I knew I had toanswer quickly and well, or the maniac would return. I—I wouldn'tknow, exactly, I stammered. Military equipment, I suppose.     Military equipment?      What     military equipment? Your Army is suppliedwith uniforms, whistles and hand guns, and that's about it.     The defenses— I started.     The defenses, he interrupted me, are non-existent. If you mean therocket launchers on the roof, they're rusted through with age. And whatother defenses are there? None.     If you say so, I replied stiffly. The Army claimed that we hadadequate defense equipment. I chose to believe the Army over an enemyspy.     Your people send out spies, too, don't they? he demanded.     Well, of course.     And what are      they     supposed to spy on?     Well— It was such a pointless question, it seemed silly to evenanswer it. They're supposed to look for indications of an attack byone of the other projects.     And do they find any indications, ever?     I'm sure I don't know, I told him frostily. That would be classifiedinformation.     You bet it would, he said, with malicious glee. All right, if that'swhat      your     spies are doing, and if      I'm     a spy, then it follows thatI'm doing the same thing, right?     I don't follow you, I admitted.     If I'm a spy, he said impatiently, then I'm supposed to look forindications of an attack by you people on my Project.     I shrugged. If that's your job, I said, then that's your job.     He got suddenly red-faced, and jumped to his feet. That's      not     myjob, you blatant idiot! he shouted. I'm not a spy! If I      were     a spy,      then     that would be my job!  <doc-sep>   MUCK MAN     BY FREMONT DODGE     The work wasn't hard, but there were some sacrifices.     You had to give up hope and freedom—and being human!     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, November 1963.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I     The girl with the Slider egg glittering in her hair watched thebailiff lead Asa Graybar out of the courtroom. He recognized her asold Hazeltyne's daughter Harriet, no doubt come to see justice done.She didn't have the hothouse-flower look Asa would have expected in agirl whose father owned the most valuable of the planetary franchises.She was not afraid to meet his eye, the eye of a judicially certifiedcriminal. There was, perhaps, a crease of puzzlement in her brow, as ifshe had thought crimes were committed by shriveled, rat-faced types,and not by young biological engineers who still affected crewcuts.     Tom Dorr, Hazeltyne's general manager, was her escort. Asa feltcertain, without proof, that Dorr was the man who had framed him forthe charge of grand theft by secreting a fresh Slider egg in hislaboratory. The older man stared at Asa coldly as he was led out ofthe courtroom and down the corridor back to jail.     Jumpy, Asa's cellmate, took one look at his face as he was put backbehind bars.     Guilty, Jumpy said.     Asa glared at him.     I know, I know, Jumpy said hastily. You were framed. But what's therap?     Five or one.     Take the five, Jumpy advised. Learn basket-weaving in a niceair-conditioned rehab clinic. A year on a changeling deal will seem alot longer, even if you're lucky enough to live through it.     Asa took four steps to the far wall of the cell, stood there brieflywith his head bent and turned to face Jumpy.     Nope, Asa said softly. I'm going into a conversion tank. I'm goingto be a muck man, Jumpy. I'm going out to Jordan's Planet and huntSlider eggs.     Smuggling? It won't work.     Asa didn't answer. The Hazeltyne company had gone after him becausehe had been working on a method of keeping Slider eggs alive. TheHazeltyne company would be happy to see him mark time for five yearsof so-called social reorientation. But if he could get out to Jordan'sPlanet, with his physiology adapted to the environment of that wretchedworld, he could study the eggs under conditions no laboratory couldduplicate. He might even be able to cause trouble for Hazeltyne.     His only problem would be staying alive for a year.  <doc-sep>Captain O'leary put down his pencil and looked at the girl. She wasattractive and young—not beyond hope, surely. Maybe she had got offto a wrong start, but the question was, would putting her in thedisciplinary block help straighten her out? He rubbed his ear andlooked past her at the line of prisoners on the rap detail, waiting forhim to judge their cases.     He said patiently: Bradley, the rules are you have to mop out yourcell. If you didn't understand what Mathias was talking about, youshould have asked her. Now I'm warning you, the next time—     Hey, Cap'n, wait! Sodaro was looking alarmed. This isn't a firstoffense. Look at the rap sheet. Yesterday she pulled the same thing inthe mess hall. He shook his head reprovingly at the prisoner. Theblock guard had to break up a fight between her and another wench,and she claimed the same business—said she didn't understand when theother one asked her to move along. He added virtuously: The guardwarned her then that next time she'd get the Greensleeves for sure.     Inmate Bradley seemed to be on the verge of tears. She said tautly: Idon't care. I don't care!     O'Leary stopped her. That's enough! Three days in Block O!     It was the only thing to do—for her own sake as much as for his. Hehad managed, by strength of will, not to hear that she had omittedto say sir every time she spoke to him, but he couldn't keep it upforever and he certainly couldn't overlook hysteria. And hysteria wasclearly the next step for her.     All the same, he stared after her as she left. He handed the rap sheetto Sodaro and said absently: Too bad a kid like her has to be here.What's she in for?     You didn't know, Cap'n? Sodaro leered. She's in for conspiracy toviolate the Categoried Class laws. Don't waste your time with her,Cap'n. She's a figger-lover!     Captain O'Leary took a long drink of water from the fountain markedCivil Service. But it didn't wash the taste out of his mouth, thesmell from his nose.     What got into a girl to get her mixed up with that kind of dirtybusiness? He checked out of the cell blocks and walked across theyard, wondering about her. She'd had every advantage—decent CivilService parents, a good education, everything a girl could wish for. Ifanything, she had had a better environment than O'Leary himself, andlook what she had made of it.     The direction of evolution is toward specialization and Man is noexception, but with the difference that his is the one species thatcreates its own environment in which to specialize. From the momentthat clans formed, specialization began—the hunters using the weaponsmade by the flint-chippers, the food cooked in clay pots made by theceramists, over fire made by the shaman who guarded the sacred flame.     Civilization merely increased the extent of specialization. Fromthe born mechanic and the man with the gift of gab, society evolvedto the point of smaller contact and less communication between thespecializations, until now they could understand each other on only themost basic physical necessities—and not even always then.     But this was desirable, for the more specialists, the higher the degreeof civilization. The ultimate should be the complete segregationof each specialization—social and genetic measures to make thembreed true, because the unspecialized man is an uncivilized man,or at any rate he does not advance civilization. And letting thespecializations mix would produce genetic undesirables: clerk-laboreror Professional-GI misfits, for example, being only half specialized,would be good at no specialization.     And the basis of this specialization society was: The aptitude groupsare the true races of mankind. Putting it into law was only the legalenforcement of a demonstrable fact.     Evening, Cap'n. A bleary old inmate orderly stood up straight andtouched his cap as O'Leary passed by.     Evening.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What are the physical and social environments depicted in THE SPY IN THE ELEVATOR?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the importance of the spy who was in the elevator? [SEP] <s>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>But now there was a spy in the elevator.     When I thought of how deeply he had penetrated our defenses, and of howmany others there might be, still penetrating, I shuddered. The wallswere our safeguards only so long as all potential enemies were on theother side of them.     I sat shaken, digesting this news, until suddenly I remembered Linda.     I leaped to my feet, reading from my watch that it was now ten-fifteen.I dashed once more from the apartment and down the hall to theelevator, praying that the spy had been captured by now and that Lindawould agree with me that a spy in the elevator was good and sufficientreason for me to be late.     He was still there. At least, the elevator was still out.     I sagged against the wall, thinking dismal thoughts. Then I noticed thedoor to the right of the elevator. Through that door was the stairway.     I hadn't paid any attention to it before. No one ever uses the stairsexcept adventurous young boys playing cops and robbers, running up anddown from landing to landing. I myself hadn't set foot on a flight ofstairs since I was twelve years old.     Actually, the whole idea of stairs was ridiculous. We had elevators,didn't we? Usually, I mean, when they didn't contain spies. So what wasthe use of stairs?     Well, according to Dr. Kilbillie (a walking library of unnecessaryinformation), the Project had been built when there still had been suchthings as municipal governments (something to do with cities, whichwere more or less grouped Projects), and the local municipal governmenthad had on its books a fire ordinance, anachronistic even then, whichrequired a complete set of stairs in every building constructed in thecity. Ergo, the Project had stairs, thirty-two hundred of them.     And now, after all these years, the stairs might prove useful afterall. It was only thirteen flights to Linda's floor. At sixteen steps aflight, that meant two hundred and eight steps.     Could I descend two hundred and eight steps for my true love? I could.If the door would open.     It would, though reluctantly. Who knew how many years it had been sincelast this door had been opened? It squeaked and wailed and groaned andfinally opened half way. I stepped through to the musty, dusty landing,took a deep breath, and started down. Eight steps and a landing, eightsteps and a floor. Eight steps and a landing, eight steps and a floor.     On the landing between one fifty and one forty-nine, there was asmallish door. I paused, looking curiously at it, and saw that at onetime letters had been painted on it. The letters had long since flakedaway, but they left a lighter residue of dust than that which coveredthe rest of the door. And so the words could still be read, if withdifficulty.     I read them. They said:     EMERGENCY ENTRANCE     ELEVATOR SHAFT     AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL     ONLY     KEEP LOCKED     I frowned, wondering immediately why this door wasn't being firmlyguarded by at least a platoon of Army men. Half a dozen possibleanswers flashed through my mind. The more recent maps might simplyhave omitted this discarded and unnecessary door. It might be sealedshut on the other side. The Army might have caught the spy already.Somebody in authority might simply have goofed.     As I stood there, pondering these possibilities, the door opened andthe spy came out, waving a gun.      III     He couldn't have been anyone else but the spy. The gun, in the firstplace. The fact that he looked harried and upset and terribly nervous,in the second place. And, of course, the fact that he came from theelevator shaft.     Looking back, I think he must have been just as startled as I when wecame face to face like that. We formed a brief tableau, both of usopen-mouthed and wide-eyed.     Unfortunately, he recovered first.     He closed the emergency door behind him, quickly but quietly. His gunstopped waving around and instead pointed directly at my middle. Don'tmove! he whispered harshly. Don't make a sound!     I did exactly as I was told. I didn't move and I didn't make a sound.Which left me quite free to study him.     He was rather short, perhaps three inches shorter than me, with a bonyhigh-cheekboned face featuring deepset eyes and a thin-lipped mouth. Hewore gray slacks and shirt, with brown slippers on his feet. He lookedexactly like a spy ... which is to say that he      didn't     look like aspy, he looked overpoweringly ordinary. More than anything else, hereminded me of a rather taciturn milkman who used to make deliveries tomy parents' apartment.     His gaze darted this way and that. Then he motioned with his free handat the descending stairs and whispered, Where do they go?     I had to clear my throat before I could speak. All the way down, Isaid.     Good, he said—just as we both heard a sudden raucous squealing fromperhaps four flights down, a squealing which could be nothing but theopening of a hall door. It was followed by the heavy thud of ascendingboots. The Army!     But if I had any visions of imminent rescue, the spy dashed them. Hesaid, Where do you live?     One fifty-three, I said. This was a desperate and dangerous man.I knew my only slim chance of safety lay in answering his questionspromptly, cooperating with him until and unless I saw a chance toeither escape or capture him.     All right, he whispered. Go on. He prodded me with the gun.     And so we went back up the stairs to one fifty-three, and stopped atthe door. He stood close behind me, the gun pressed against my back,and grated in my ear, I'll have this gun in my pocket. If you make onefalse move I'll kill you. Now, we're going to your apartment. We'refriends, just strolling along together. You got that?     I nodded.     All right. Let's go.     We went. I have never in my life seen that long hall quite so empty asit was right then. No one came out of any of the apartments, no oneemerged from any of the branch halls. We walked to my apartment. Ithumbed the door open and we went inside.     Once the door was closed behind us, he visibly relaxed, sagging againstthe door, his gun hand hanging limp at his side, a nervous smileplaying across his lips.     I looked at him, judging the distance between us, wondering if I couldleap at him before he could bring the gun up again. But he must haveread my intentions on my face. He straightened, shaking his head. Hesaid, Don't try it. I don't want to kill you. I don't want to killanybody, but I will if I have to. We'll just wait here together untilthe hue and cry passes us. Then I'll tie you up, so you won't be ableto sic your Army on me too soon, and I'll leave. If you don't try anysilly heroics, nothing will happen to you.     You'll never get away, I told him. The whole Project is alerted.     You let me worry about that, he said. He licked his lips. You gotany chico coffee?     Yes.     Make me a cup. And don't get any bright ideas about dousing me withboiling water.     I only have my day's allotment, I protested. Just enough for twocups, lunch and dinner.     Two cups is fine, he said. One for each of us.  <doc-sep>   THE SPY IN THE ELEVATOR     By DONALD E. WESTLAKE     Illustrated by WEST     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Magazine October 1961.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]         He was dangerously insane. He threatened       to destroy everything that was noble and       decent—including my date with my girl!        When the elevator didn't come, that just made the day perfect. A brokenegg yolk, a stuck zipper, a feedback in the aircon exhaust, the windowsticking at full transparency—well, I won't go through the whole sorrylist. Suffice it to say that when the elevator didn't come, that putthe roof on the city, as they say.     It was just one of those days. Everybody gets them. Days when you'relucky in you make it to nightfall with no bones broken.     But of all times for it to happen! For literally months I'd beenbuilding my courage up. And finally, just today, I had made up mymind to do it—to propose to Linda. I'd called her second thing thismorning—right after the egg yolk—and invited myself down to herplace. Ten o'clock, she'd said, smiling sweetly at me out of thephone. She knew why I wanted to talk to her. And when Linda said teno'clock, she meant ten o'clock.     Don't get me wrong. I don't mean that Linda's a perfectionist or aharridan or anything like that. Far from it. But she does have afixation on that one subject of punctuality. The result of her job,of course. She was an ore-sled dispatcher. Ore-sleds, being robots,were invariably punctual. If an ore-sled didn't return on time, no onewaited for it. They simply knew that it had been captured by some otherProject and had blown itself up.     Well, of course, after working as an ore-sled dispatcher for threeyears, Linda quite naturally was a bit obsessed. I remember one time,shortly after we'd started dating, when I arrived at her place fiveminutes late and found her having hysterics. She thought I'd beenkilled. She couldn't visualize anything less than that keeping me fromarriving at the designated moment. When I told her what actually hadhappened—I'd broken a shoe lace—she refused to speak to me for fourdays.     And then the elevator didn't come.  <doc-sep>By lunchtime Orison had finished the      Wall Street Journal     and hadbegun reading a book an earmuffed page had brought her. The book was afantastic novel of some sort, named      The Hobbit     . Reading this peculiarfare into the microphone before her, Miss McCall was more certain thanever that the Taft Bank was, as her boss in Washington had told her,the front for some highly irregular goings-on. An odd business for aFederal Mata Hari, Orison thought, reading a nonsense story into amicrophone for an invisible audience.     Orison switched off her microphone at noon, marked her place in thebook and took the elevator down to the ground floor. The operator wasa new man, ears concealed behind scarlet earmuffs. In the car, comingdown from the interdicted upper floors, were several gentlemen withbriefcases. As though they were members of a ballet-troupe, thesegentlemen whipped off their hats with a single motion as Orison steppedaboard the elevator. Each of the chivalrous men, hat pressed to hisheart, wore a pair of earmuffs. Orison nodded bemused acknowledgmentof their gesture, and got off in the lobby vowing never to put a pennyinto this curiousest of banks.     Lunch at the stand-up counter down the street was a normal interlude.Girls from the ground-floor offices of Taft Bank chattered together,eyed Orison with the coolness due so attractive a competitor, andfavored her with no gambit to enter their conversations. Orison sighed,finished her tuna salad on whole-wheat, then went back upstairs to herlonely desk and her microphone. By five, Orison had finished the book,reading rapidly and becoming despite herself engrossed in the saga ofBilbo Baggins, Hobbit. She switched off the microphone, put on herlight coat, and rode downstairs in an elevator filled with earmuffed,silent, hat-clasping gentlemen.     What I need, Orison thought, walking rapidly to the busline, is adouble Scotch, followed by a double Scotch. And what the William HowardTaft National Bank and Trust Company needs is a joint raid by forces ofthe U.S. Treasury Department and the American Psychiatric Association.Earmuffs, indeed. Fairy-tales read into a microphone. A Vice-Presidentwith the vocabulary of a racetrack tout. And what goes on in thoseupper floors? Orison stopped in at the restaurant nearest her apartmenthouse—the Windsor Arms—and ordered a meal and a single Martini. Herboss in Washington had told her that this job of hers, spying on TaftBank from within, might prove dangerous. Indeed it was, she thought.She was in danger of becoming a solitary drinker.     Home in her apartment, Orison set the notes of her first day'sobservations in order. Presumably Washington would call tonight forher initial report. Item: some of the men at the Bank wore earmuffs,several didn't. Item: the Vice-President's name was Mr. Wanji:Oriental? Item: the top eight floors of the Taft Bank Building seemedto be off-limits to all personnel not wearing earmuffs. Item: she wasbeing employed at a very respectable salary to read newsprint andnonsense into a microphone. Let Washington make sense of that, shethought.  <doc-sep>   CINDERELLA STORY     By ALLEN KIM LANG       What a bank! The First Vice-President       was a cool cat—the elevator and the       money operators all wore earmuffs—was       just as phony as a three-dollar bill!       [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1961.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      I     The First Vice-President of the William Howard Taft National Bank andTrust Company, the gentleman to whom Miss Orison McCall was applyingfor a job, was not at all the public picture of a banker. His suit ofhound's-tooth checks, the scarlet vest peeping above the vee of hisjacket, were enough to assure Orison that the Taft Bank was a curiousbank indeed. I gotta say, chick, these references of yours reallyswing, said the Vice-President, Mr. Wanji. Your last boss says youcome on real cool in the secretary-bit.     He was a very kind employer, Orison said. She tried to keep fromstaring at the most remarkable item of Mr. Wanji's costume, a pair offurry green earmuffs. It was not cold.     Mr. Wanji returned to Orison her letters of reference. What colorbread you got eyes for taking down, baby? he asked.     Beg pardon?     What kinda salary you bucking for? he translated, bouncing up anddown on the toes of his rough-leather desert boots.     I was making one-twenty a week in my last position, Miss McCall said.     You're worth more'n that, just to jazz up the decor, Mr. Wanji said.What you say we pass you a cee-and-a-half a week. Okay? He caughtOrison's look of bewilderment. One each, a Franklin and a Grant, heexplained further. She still looked blank. Sister, you gonna workin a bank, you gotta know who's picture's on the paper. That's ahunnerd-fifty a week, doll.     That will be most satisfactory, Mr. Wanji, Orison said. It was indeed.     Crazy! Mr. Wanji grabbed Orison's right hand and shook it withathletic vigor. You just now joined up with our herd. I wanna tellyou, chick, it's none too soon we got some decent scenery aroundthis tomb, girlwise. He took her arm and led her toward the bank ofelevators. The uniformed operator nodded to Mr. Wanji, bowed slightlyto Orison. He, too, she observed, wore earmuffs. His were more formalthan Mr. Wanji's, being midnight blue in color. Lift us to five, Mac,Mr. Wanji said. As the elevator door shut he explained to Orison,You can make the Taft Bank scene anywhere between the street floorand floor five. Basement and everything higher'n fifth floor is IronCurtain Country far's you're concerned. Dig, baby?     Yes, sir, Orison said. She was wondering if she'd be issued earmuffs,now that she'd become an employee of this most peculiar bank.     The elevator opened on five to a tiny office, just large enough tohold a single desk and two chairs. On the desk were a telephone anda microphone. Beside them was a double-decked In and Out basket.Here's where you'll do your nine-to-five, honey, Mr. Wanji said.     What will I be doing, Mr. Wanji? Orison asked.     The Vice-President pointed to the newspaper folded in the In basket.Flip on the microphone and read the paper to it, he said. When youget done reading the paper, someone will run you up something new toread. Okay?     It seems a rather peculiar job, Orison said. After all, I'm asecretary. Is reading the newspaper aloud supposed to familiarize mewith the Bank's operation?     Don't bug me, kid, Mr. Wanji said. All you gotta do is read thatthere paper into this here microphone. Can do?     Yes, sir, Orison said. While you're here, Mr. Wanji, I'd like toask you about my withholding tax, social security, credit union,coffee-breaks, union membership, lunch hour and the like. Shall we takecare of these details now? Or would you—     You just take care of that chicken-flickin' kinda stuff any way seemsbest to you, kid, Mr. Wanji said.     Yes, sir, Orison said. This laissez-faire policy of Taft Bank'smight explain why she'd been selected from the Treasury Department'ssecretarial pool to apply for work here, she thought. Orison McCall,girl Government spy. She picked up the newspaper from the In basket,unfolded it to discover the day's      Wall Street Journal     , and began atthe top of column one to read it aloud. Wanji stood before the desk,nodding his head as he listened. You blowing real good, kid, he said.The boss is gonna dig you the most.     Orison nodded. Holding her newspaper and her microphone, she read theone into the other. Mr. Wanji flicked his fingers in a good-by, thentook off upstairs in the elevator.  <doc-sep>I decided that this man was doubly dangerous. Not only was he a spy,he was also a lunatic. So I had two reasons for humoring him. I noddedpolitely.     So what happened? he demanded, and immediately answered himself.I'll tell you what happened! Just as he was about to make that firstgiant step, Man got a hotfoot. That's all it was, just a littlehotfoot. So what did Man do? I'll tell you what he did. He turnedaround and he ran all the way back to the cave he started from, histail between his legs.      That's     what he did!     To say that all of this was incomprehensible would be an extremeunderstatement. I fulfilled my obligation to this insane dialogue bysaying, Here's your coffee.     Put it on the table, he said, switching instantly from raving maniacto watchful spy.     I put it on the table. He drank deep, then carried the cup across theroom and sat down in my favorite chair. He studied me narrowly, andsuddenly said, What did they tell you I was? A spy?     Of course, I said.     He grinned bitterly, with one side of his mouth. Of course. The damnfools! Spy! What do you suppose I'm going to spy on?     He asked the question so violently and urgently that I knew I had toanswer quickly and well, or the maniac would return. I—I wouldn'tknow, exactly, I stammered. Military equipment, I suppose.     Military equipment?      What     military equipment? Your Army is suppliedwith uniforms, whistles and hand guns, and that's about it.     The defenses— I started.     The defenses, he interrupted me, are non-existent. If you mean therocket launchers on the roof, they're rusted through with age. And whatother defenses are there? None.     If you say so, I replied stiffly. The Army claimed that we hadadequate defense equipment. I chose to believe the Army over an enemyspy.     Your people send out spies, too, don't they? he demanded.     Well, of course.     And what are      they     supposed to spy on?     Well— It was such a pointless question, it seemed silly to evenanswer it. They're supposed to look for indications of an attack byone of the other projects.     And do they find any indications, ever?     I'm sure I don't know, I told him frostily. That would be classifiedinformation.     You bet it would, he said, with malicious glee. All right, if that'swhat      your     spies are doing, and if      I'm     a spy, then it follows thatI'm doing the same thing, right?     I don't follow you, I admitted.     If I'm a spy, he said impatiently, then I'm supposed to look forindications of an attack by you people on my Project.     I shrugged. If that's your job, I said, then that's your job.     He got suddenly red-faced, and jumped to his feet. That's      not     myjob, you blatant idiot! he shouted. I'm not a spy! If I      were     a spy,      then     that would be my job!  <doc-sep>In a gloomy mood, Orison McCall showered and dressed for bed. Eleveno'clock. Washington should be calling soon, inquiring after the resultsof her first day's spying.     No call. Orison slipped between the sheets at eleven-thirty. The clockwas set; the lights were out. Wasn't Washington going to call her?Perhaps, she thought, the Department had discovered that the Earmuffshad her phone tapped.     Testing, a baritone voice muttered.     Orison sat up, clutching the sheet around her throat. Beg pardon? shesaid.     Testing, the male voice repeated. One, two, three; three, two, one.Do you read me? Over.     Orison reached under the bed for a shoe. Gripping it like a Scout-ax,she reached for the light cord with her free hand and tugged at it.     The room was empty.     Testing, the voice repeated.     What you're testing, Orison said in a firm voice, is my patience.Who are you?     Department of Treasury Monitor J-12, the male voice said. Do youhave anything to report, Miss McCall?     Where are you, Monitor? she demanded.     That's classified information, the voice said. Please speak directlyto your pillow, Miss McCall.     Orison lay down cautiously. All right, she whispered to her pillow.     Over here, the voice instructed her, coming from the unruffled pillowbeside her.     Orison transferred her head to the pillow to her left. A radio? sheasked.     Of a sort, Monitor J-12 agreed. We have to maintain communicationssecurity. Have you anything to report?     I got the job, Orison said. Are you ... in that pillow ... all thetime?     No, Miss McCall, the voice said. Only at report times. Shall weestablish our rendezvous here at eleven-fifteen, Central Standard Time,every day?     You make it sound so improper, Orison said.     I'm far enough away to do you no harm, Miss McCall, the monitor said.Now, tell me what happened at the bank today.     Orison briefed her pillow on the Earmuffs, on her task of reading to amicrophone, and on the generally mimsy tone of the William Howard TaftNational Bank and Trust Company. That's about it, so far, she said.     Good report, J-12 said from the pillow. Sounds like you've droppedinto a real snakepit, beautiful.     How do you know ... why do you think I'm beautiful? Orison asked.     Native optimism, the voice said. Good night. J-12 signed off witha peculiar electronic pop that puzzled Orison for a moment. Then sheplaced the sound: J-12 had kissed his microphone.     Orison flung the shoe and the pillow under her bed, and resolvedto write Washington for permission to make her future reports byregistered mail.      II     At ten o'clock the next morning, reading page four of the current      Wall Street Journal     , Orison was interrupted by the click of a pairof leather heels. The gentleman whose heels had just slammed togetherwas bowing. And she saw with some gratification that he was notwearing earmuffs. My name, the stranger said, is Dink Gerding. I amPresident of this bank, and wish at this time to welcome you to ourlittle family.     I'm Orison McCall, she said. A handsome man, she mused. Twenty-eight?So tall. Could he ever be interested in a girl just five-foot-three?Maybe higher heels?     We're pleased with your work, Miss McCall, Dink Gerding said. He tookthe chair to the right of her desk.     It's nothing, Orison said, switching off the microphone.     On the contrary, Miss McCall. Your duties are most important, he said.     Reading papers and fairy-tales into this microphone is nothing anyreasonably astute sixth-grader couldn't do as well, Orison said.     You'll be reading silently before long, Mr. Gerding said. He smiled,as though this explained everything. By the way, your officialdesignation is Confidential Secretary. It's me whose confidences you'reto keep secret. If I ever need a letter written, may I stop down hereand dictate it?     Please do, Orison said. This bank president, for all his grace andpresence, was obviously as kookie as his bank.     Have you ever worked in a bank before, Miss McCall? Mr. Gerdingasked, as though following her train of thought.     No, sir, she said. Though I've been associated with a rather largefinancial organization.     You may find some of our methods a little strange, but you'll get usedto them, he said. Meanwhile, I'd be most grateful if you'd dispensewith calling me 'sir.' My name is Dink. It is ridiculous, but I'd enjoyyour using it.     Dink? she asked. And I suppose you're to call me Orison?     That's the drill, he said. One more question, Orison. Dinner thisevening?     Direct, she thought. Perhaps that's why he's president of a bank, andstill so young. We've hardly met, she said.     But we're on a first-name basis already, he pointed out. Dance?     I'd love to, Orison said, half expecting an orchestra to march,playing, from the elevator.     Then I'll pick you up at seven. Windsor Arms, if I remember yourpersonnel form correctly. He stood, lean, all bone and muscle,and bowed slightly. West Point? Hardly. His manners were European.Sandhurst, perhaps, or Saint Cyr. Was she supposed to reply with acurtsy? Orison wondered.     Thank you, she said.     He was a soldier, or had been: the way, when he turned, his shouldersstayed square. The crisp clicking of his steps, a military metronome,to the elevator. When the door slicked open Orison, staring after Dink,saw that each of the half-dozen men aboard snapped off their hats (butnot their earmuffs) and bowed, the earmuffed operator bowing with them.Small bows, true; just head-and-neck. But not to her. To Dink Gerding.  <doc-sep>At the station Jess led Tremaine to a cell where a lanky teen-age boylounged on a steel-framed cot, blinking up at the visitor under a mopof greased hair.     Hull, this is Mr. Tremaine, said Jess. He took out a heavy key, swungthe cell door open. He wants to talk to you.     I ain't done nothin, Hull said sullenly. There ain't nothin wrongwith burnin out a Commie, is there?     Bram's a Commie, is he? Tremaine said softly. How'd you find thatout, Hull?     He's a foreigner, ain't he? the youth shot back. Besides, weheard....     What did you hear?     They're lookin for the spies.     Who's looking for spies?     Cops.     Who says so?     The boy looked directly at Tremaine for an instant, flicked his eyes tothe corner of the cell. Cops was talkin about 'em, he said.     Spill it, Hull, the policeman said. Mr. Tremaine hasn't got allnight.     They parked out east of town, on 302, back of the woodlot. They calledme over and asked me a bunch of questions. Said I could help 'em getthem spies. Wanted to know all about any funny-actin people aroundhers.     And you mentioned Bram?     The boy darted another look at Tremaine. They said they figured thespies was out north of town. Well, Bram's a foreigner, and he's outthat way, ain't he?     Anything else?     The boy looked at his feet.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the importance of the spy who was in the elevator?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the fate of Edmund Rice in THE SPY IN THE ELEVATOR? [SEP] <s>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>But now there was a spy in the elevator.     When I thought of how deeply he had penetrated our defenses, and of howmany others there might be, still penetrating, I shuddered. The wallswere our safeguards only so long as all potential enemies were on theother side of them.     I sat shaken, digesting this news, until suddenly I remembered Linda.     I leaped to my feet, reading from my watch that it was now ten-fifteen.I dashed once more from the apartment and down the hall to theelevator, praying that the spy had been captured by now and that Lindawould agree with me that a spy in the elevator was good and sufficientreason for me to be late.     He was still there. At least, the elevator was still out.     I sagged against the wall, thinking dismal thoughts. Then I noticed thedoor to the right of the elevator. Through that door was the stairway.     I hadn't paid any attention to it before. No one ever uses the stairsexcept adventurous young boys playing cops and robbers, running up anddown from landing to landing. I myself hadn't set foot on a flight ofstairs since I was twelve years old.     Actually, the whole idea of stairs was ridiculous. We had elevators,didn't we? Usually, I mean, when they didn't contain spies. So what wasthe use of stairs?     Well, according to Dr. Kilbillie (a walking library of unnecessaryinformation), the Project had been built when there still had been suchthings as municipal governments (something to do with cities, whichwere more or less grouped Projects), and the local municipal governmenthad had on its books a fire ordinance, anachronistic even then, whichrequired a complete set of stairs in every building constructed in thecity. Ergo, the Project had stairs, thirty-two hundred of them.     And now, after all these years, the stairs might prove useful afterall. It was only thirteen flights to Linda's floor. At sixteen steps aflight, that meant two hundred and eight steps.     Could I descend two hundred and eight steps for my true love? I could.If the door would open.     It would, though reluctantly. Who knew how many years it had been sincelast this door had been opened? It squeaked and wailed and groaned andfinally opened half way. I stepped through to the musty, dusty landing,took a deep breath, and started down. Eight steps and a landing, eightsteps and a floor. Eight steps and a landing, eight steps and a floor.     On the landing between one fifty and one forty-nine, there was asmallish door. I paused, looking curiously at it, and saw that at onetime letters had been painted on it. The letters had long since flakedaway, but they left a lighter residue of dust than that which coveredthe rest of the door. And so the words could still be read, if withdifficulty.     I read them. They said:     EMERGENCY ENTRANCE     ELEVATOR SHAFT     AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL     ONLY     KEEP LOCKED     I frowned, wondering immediately why this door wasn't being firmlyguarded by at least a platoon of Army men. Half a dozen possibleanswers flashed through my mind. The more recent maps might simplyhave omitted this discarded and unnecessary door. It might be sealedshut on the other side. The Army might have caught the spy already.Somebody in authority might simply have goofed.     As I stood there, pondering these possibilities, the door opened andthe spy came out, waving a gun.      III     He couldn't have been anyone else but the spy. The gun, in the firstplace. The fact that he looked harried and upset and terribly nervous,in the second place. And, of course, the fact that he came from theelevator shaft.     Looking back, I think he must have been just as startled as I when wecame face to face like that. We formed a brief tableau, both of usopen-mouthed and wide-eyed.     Unfortunately, he recovered first.     He closed the emergency door behind him, quickly but quietly. His gunstopped waving around and instead pointed directly at my middle. Don'tmove! he whispered harshly. Don't make a sound!     I did exactly as I was told. I didn't move and I didn't make a sound.Which left me quite free to study him.     He was rather short, perhaps three inches shorter than me, with a bonyhigh-cheekboned face featuring deepset eyes and a thin-lipped mouth. Hewore gray slacks and shirt, with brown slippers on his feet. He lookedexactly like a spy ... which is to say that he      didn't     look like aspy, he looked overpoweringly ordinary. More than anything else, hereminded me of a rather taciturn milkman who used to make deliveries tomy parents' apartment.     His gaze darted this way and that. Then he motioned with his free handat the descending stairs and whispered, Where do they go?     I had to clear my throat before I could speak. All the way down, Isaid.     Good, he said—just as we both heard a sudden raucous squealing fromperhaps four flights down, a squealing which could be nothing but theopening of a hall door. It was followed by the heavy thud of ascendingboots. The Army!     But if I had any visions of imminent rescue, the spy dashed them. Hesaid, Where do you live?     One fifty-three, I said. This was a desperate and dangerous man.I knew my only slim chance of safety lay in answering his questionspromptly, cooperating with him until and unless I saw a chance toeither escape or capture him.     All right, he whispered. Go on. He prodded me with the gun.     And so we went back up the stairs to one fifty-three, and stopped atthe door. He stood close behind me, the gun pressed against my back,and grated in my ear, I'll have this gun in my pocket. If you make onefalse move I'll kill you. Now, we're going to your apartment. We'refriends, just strolling along together. You got that?     I nodded.     All right. Let's go.     We went. I have never in my life seen that long hall quite so empty asit was right then. No one came out of any of the apartments, no oneemerged from any of the branch halls. We walked to my apartment. Ithumbed the door open and we went inside.     Once the door was closed behind us, he visibly relaxed, sagging againstthe door, his gun hand hanging limp at his side, a nervous smileplaying across his lips.     I looked at him, judging the distance between us, wondering if I couldleap at him before he could bring the gun up again. But he must haveread my intentions on my face. He straightened, shaking his head. Hesaid, Don't try it. I don't want to kill you. I don't want to killanybody, but I will if I have to. We'll just wait here together untilthe hue and cry passes us. Then I'll tie you up, so you won't be ableto sic your Army on me too soon, and I'll leave. If you don't try anysilly heroics, nothing will happen to you.     You'll never get away, I told him. The whole Project is alerted.     You let me worry about that, he said. He licked his lips. You gotany chico coffee?     Yes.     Make me a cup. And don't get any bright ideas about dousing me withboiling water.     I only have my day's allotment, I protested. Just enough for twocups, lunch and dinner.     Two cups is fine, he said. One for each of us.  <doc-sep>As Celeste and Theodor entered the committee room, Rosalind Wolver—aglitter of platinum against darkness—came in through the oppositedoor and softly shut it behind her. Frieda, a fair woman in blue robes,got up from the round table.     Celeste turned away with outward casualness as Theodor kissed his twoother wives. She was pleased to note that Edmund seemed impatient too.A figure in close-fitting black, unrelieved except for two red arrowsat the collar, he struck her as embodying very properly the serious,fateful temper of the moment.     He took two briefcases from his vest pocket and tossed them down on thetable beside one of the microfilm projectors.     I suggest we get started without waiting for Ivan, he said.     Frieda frowned anxiously. It's ten minutes since he phoned from theDeep Space Bar to say he was starting right away. And that's hardly atwo minutes walk.     Rosalind instantly started toward the outside door.     I'll check, she explained. Oh, Frieda, I've set the mike so you'llhear if Dotty calls.     Edmund threw up his hands. Very well, then, he said and walked over,switched on the picture and stared out moodily.     Theodor and Frieda got out their briefcases, switched on projectors,and began silently checking through their material.     Celeste fiddled with the TV and got a newscast. But she found her eyesdidn't want to absorb the blocks of print that rather swiftly succeededeach other, so, after a few moments, she shrugged impatiently andswitched to audio.     At the noise, the others looked around at her with surprise and someirritation, but in a few moments they were also listening.     The two rocket ships sent out from Mars Base to explore the orbitalpositions of Phobos and Deimos—that is, the volume of space they'd beoccupying if their positions had remained normal—report finding massesof dust and larger debris. The two masses of fine debris are movingin the same orbits and at the same velocities as the two vanishedmoons, and occupy roughly the same volumes of space, though the massof material is hardly a hundredth that of the moons. Physicists haveventured no statements as to whether this constitutes a confirmation ofthe Disintegration Hypothesis.     However, we're mighty pleased at this news here. There's a markedlessening of tension. The finding of the debris—solid, tangiblestuff—seems to lift the whole affair out of the supernatural miasma inwhich some of us have been tempted to plunge it. One-hundredth of themoons has been found.     The rest will also be!     Edmund had turned his back on the window. Frieda and Theodor hadswitched off their projectors.     Meanwhile, Earthlings are going about their business with a minimumof commotion, meeting with considerable calm the strange threat tothe fabric of their Solar System. Many, of course, are assembled inchurches and humanist temples. Kometevskyites have staged helicopterprocessions at Washington, Peking, Pretoria, and Christiana, demandingthat instant preparations be made for—and I quote—'Earth's comingleap through space.' They have also formally challenged all astronomersto produce an explanation other than the one contained in that strangebook so recently conjured from oblivion,      The Dance of the Planets     .     That about winds up the story for the present. There are no newreports from Interplanetary Radar, Astronomy, or the other rocket shipssearching in the extended Mars volume. Nor have any statements beenissued by the various groups working on the problem in Astrophysics,Cosmic Ecology, the Congress for the Discovery of New Purposes, and soforth. Meanwhile, however, we can take courage from the words of a poemwritten even before Dr. Kometevsky's book:   This Earth is not the steadfast place We landsmen build upon; From deep to deep she varies pace, And while she comes is gone. Beneath my feet I feel Her smooth bulk heave and dip; With velvet plunge and soft upreel She swings and steadies to her keel Like a gallant, gallant ship. <doc-sep>   THE SPY IN THE ELEVATOR     By DONALD E. WESTLAKE     Illustrated by WEST     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Galaxy Magazine October 1961.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]         He was dangerously insane. He threatened       to destroy everything that was noble and       decent—including my date with my girl!        When the elevator didn't come, that just made the day perfect. A brokenegg yolk, a stuck zipper, a feedback in the aircon exhaust, the windowsticking at full transparency—well, I won't go through the whole sorrylist. Suffice it to say that when the elevator didn't come, that putthe roof on the city, as they say.     It was just one of those days. Everybody gets them. Days when you'relucky in you make it to nightfall with no bones broken.     But of all times for it to happen! For literally months I'd beenbuilding my courage up. And finally, just today, I had made up mymind to do it—to propose to Linda. I'd called her second thing thismorning—right after the egg yolk—and invited myself down to herplace. Ten o'clock, she'd said, smiling sweetly at me out of thephone. She knew why I wanted to talk to her. And when Linda said teno'clock, she meant ten o'clock.     Don't get me wrong. I don't mean that Linda's a perfectionist or aharridan or anything like that. Far from it. But she does have afixation on that one subject of punctuality. The result of her job,of course. She was an ore-sled dispatcher. Ore-sleds, being robots,were invariably punctual. If an ore-sled didn't return on time, no onewaited for it. They simply knew that it had been captured by some otherProject and had blown itself up.     Well, of course, after working as an ore-sled dispatcher for threeyears, Linda quite naturally was a bit obsessed. I remember one time,shortly after we'd started dating, when I arrived at her place fiveminutes late and found her having hysterics. She thought I'd beenkilled. She couldn't visualize anything less than that keeping me fromarriving at the designated moment. When I told her what actually hadhappened—I'd broken a shoe lace—she refused to speak to me for fourdays.     And then the elevator didn't come.  <doc-sep>And the claw closed as Burnett spoke, closed slowly and certainly, allaround Kriere, crushing him into a ridiculous posture of silence. Therewas blood running on the claw, and the only recognizable part was thehead, which was carefully preserved for identification.     That was the only way to draw Lethla off guard.     Burnett spun about and leaped.     The horror on Lethla's face didn't go away as he fired his gun.     Rice came in fighting, too, but not before something like a red-hotramrod stabbed Sam Burnett, catching him in the ribs, spinning him backlike a drunken idiot to fall in a corner.     Fists made blunt flesh noises. Lethla went down, weaponless andscreaming. Rice kicked. After awhile Lethla quit screaming, and theroom swam around in Burnett's eyes, and he closed them tight andstarted laughing.     He didn't finish laughing for maybe ten minutes. He heard the retrieverclaws come inside, and the star-port grind shut.     Out of the red darkness, Rice's voice came and then he could see Rice'syoung face over him. Burnett groaned.     Rice said, Sam, you shouldn't have done it. You shouldn't have, Sam.     To hell with it. Burnett winced, and fought to keep his eyes open.Something wet and sticky covered his chest. I said this was my lasttrip and I meant it. One way or the other, I'd have quit!     This is the hard way—     Maybe. I dunno. Kind of nice to think of all those kids who'll neverhave to come aboard the      Constellation     , though, Rice. His voicetrailed off. You watch the shelves fill up and you never know who'llbe next. Who'd have thought, four days ago—     Something happened to his tongue so it felt like hard ice blocking hismouth. He had a lot more words to say, but only time to get a few ofthem out:     Rice?     Yeah, Sam?     We haven't got a full cargo, boy.     Full enough for me, sir.     But still not full. If we went back to Center Base without fillingthe shelves, it wouldn't be right. Look there—number ninety-eight isLethla—number ninety-nine is Kriere. Three thousand days of rollingthis rocket, and not once come back without a bunch of the kids whowant to sleep easy on the good green earth. Not right to be going backany way—but—the way—we used to—     His voice got all full of fog. As thick as the fists of a dozenwarriors. Rice was going away from him. Rice was standing still, andBurnett was lying down, not moving, but somehow Rice was going away amillion miles.     Ain't I one hell of a patriot, Rice?     Then everything got dark except Rice's face. And that was starting todissolve.     Ninety-eight: Lethla. Ninety-nine: Kriere.     He could still see Rice standing over him for a long time, breathingout and in. Down under the tables the blood-pumps pulsed and pulsed,thick and slow. Rice looked down at Burnett and then at the empty shelfat the far end of the room, and then back at Burnett again.     And then he said softly:           One hundred.        <doc-sep>Sam! Rice turned swiftly as Burnett dragged himself up the ladder.Red and warm, Rice's face hovered over the body of a sprawled enemyofficial. Take a look at this!     Burnett caught his breath. His eyes narrowed. There was something wrongwith the body; his experienced glance knew that. He didn't know what itwas.     Maybe it was because the body looked a little      too     dead.     Burnett didn't say anything, but he climbed the rest of the way,stood quietly in the grey-metal air-lock. The enemy official was asdelicately made as a fine white spider. Eyelids, closed, were faintlyblue. The hair was thin silken strands of pale gold, waved and pressedclose to a veined skull. Where the thin-lipped mouth fell open acluster of needle-tipped teeth glittered. The fragile body was enclosedcompletely in milk-pale syntha-silk, a holstered gun at the middle.     Burnett rubbed his jaw. Well?     Rice exploded. His eyes were hot in his young, sharp-cut face, hot andblack. Good Lord, Sam, do you know who this is?     Burnett scowled uneasily and said no.     It's Lethla! Rice retorted.     Burnett said, Lethla? And then: Oh, yes! Kriere's majordomo. Thatright?     Don't say it calm, Sam. Say it big. Say it big! If Lethla is here inspace, then Kriere's not far away from him!     Burnett shrugged. More bodies, more people, more war. What the hell.What the hell. He was tired. Talk about bodies and rulers to someoneelse.     Rice grabbed him by the shoulders. Snap out of it, Sam. Think!Kriere—The All-Mighty—in our territory. His right hand man dead. Thatmeans Kriere was in an accident, too!     Sam opened his thin lips and the words fell out all by themselves.Look, Rice, you're new at this game. I've been at it ever since theVenus-Earth mess started. It's been see-sawing back and forth since theday you played hookey in the tenth grade, and I've been in the thickof it. When there's nothing left but seared memories, I'll be prowlingthrough the void picking up warriors and taking them back to the goodgreen Earth. Grisly, yes, but it's routine.     As for Kriere—if he's anywhere around, he's smart. Every precautionis taken to protect that one.     But Lethla! His body must mean something!     And if it does? Have we got guns aboard this morgue-ship? Are we abattle-cuiser to go against him?     We'll radio for help?     Yeah? If there's a warship within our radio range, seven hundredthousand miles, we'll get it. Unfortunately, the tide of battle hasswept out past Earth in a new war concerning Io. That's out, Rice.     Rice stood about three inches below Sam Burnett's six-foot-one. Jawhard and determined, he stared at Sam, a funny light in his eyes. Hisfingers twitched all by themselves at his sides. His mouth twisted,You're one hell of a patriot, Sam Burnett!     Burnett reached out with one long finger, tapped it quietly on Rice'sbarrel-chest. Haul a cargo of corpses for three thousand nights anddays and see how patriotic you feel. All those fine muscled ladsbloated and crushed by space pressures and heat-blasts. Fine lads whostart out smiling and get the smile burned off down to the bone—     Burnett swallowed and didn't say anything more, but he closed his eyes.He stood there, smelling the death-odor in the hot air of the ship,hearing the chug-chug-chug of the blood pumps down below, and his ownheart waiting warm and heavy at the base of his throat.     This is my last cargo, Rice. I can't take it any longer. And I don'tcare much how I go back to earth. This Venusian here—what's his name?Lethla. He's number ninety-eight. Shove me into shelf ninety-ninebeside him and get the hell home. That's how I feel!     Rice was going to say something, but he didn't have time.     Lethla was alive.     He rose from the floor with slow, easy movements, almost like a dream.He didn't say anything. The heat-blast in his white fingers did all thenecessary talking. It didn't say anything either, but Burnett knew whatlanguage it would use if it had to.     Burnett swallowed hard. The body had looked funny. Too dead. Now heknew why. Involuntarily, Burnett moved forward. Lethla moved like apale spider, flicking his fragile arm to cover Burnett, the gun in itlike a dead cold star.     Rice sucked in his breath. Burnett forced himself to take it easy. Fromthe corners of his eyes he saw Rice's expression go deep and tight,biting lines into his sharp face.     Rice got it out, finally. How'd you do it? he demanded, bitterly.How'd you live in the void? It's impossible!     A crazy thought came ramming down and exploded in Burnett's head.      Younever catch up with the war!       But what if the war catches up with you?     What in hell would Lethla be wanting aboard a morgue ship?  <doc-sep>Lethla half-crouched in the midst of the smell of death and thechugging of blood-pumps below. In the silence he reached up with quickfingers, tapped a tiny crystal stud upon the back of his head, and thehalves of a microscopically thin chrysalis parted transparently offof his face. He shucked it off, trailing air-tendrils that had beeninserted, hidden in the uniform, ending in thin globules of oxygen.     He spoke. Triumph warmed his crystal-thin voice. That's how I did it,Earthman.     Glassite! said Rice. A face-moulded mask of glassite!     Lethla nodded. His milk-blue eyes dilated. Very marvelously pared toan unbreakable thickness of one-thirtieth of an inch; worn only on thehead. You have to look quickly to notice it, and, unfortunately, viewedas you saw it, outside the ship, floating in the void, not discernibleat all.     Prickles of sweat appeared on Rice's face. He swore at the Venusian andthe Venusian laughed like some sort of stringed instrument, high andquick.     Burnett laughed, too. Ironically. First time in years a man ever cameaboard the Constellation alive. It's a welcome change.     Lethla showed his needle-like teeth. I thought it might be. Where'syour radio?     Go find it! snapped Rice, hotly.     I will. One hand, blue-veined, on the ladder-rungs, Lethla paused.I know you're weaponless; Purple Cross regulations. And this air-lockis safe. Don't move. Whispering, his naked feet padded white up theladder. Two long breaths later something crashed; metal and glass andcoils. The radio.     Burnett put his shoulder blades against the wall-metal, looking at hisfeet. When he glanced up, Rice's fresh, animated face was spoiled bythe new bitterness in it.     Lethla came down. Like a breath of air on the rungs.     He smiled. That's better. Now. We can talk—     Rice said it, slow:     Interplanetary law declares it straight, Lethla! Get out! Only deadmen belong here.     Lethla's gun grip tightened. More talk of that nature, and only deadmen there will be. He blinked. But first—we must rescue Kriere....     Kriere! Rice acted as if he had been hit in the jaw.     Burnett moved his tongue back and forth on his lips silently, his eyeslidded, listening to the two of them as if they were a radio drama.Lethla's voice came next:     Rather unfortunately, yes. He's still alive, heading toward Venusat an orbital velocity of two thousand m.p.h., wearing one of theseair-chrysali. Enough air for two more hours. Our flag ship was attackedunexpectedly yesterday near Mars. We were forced to take to thelife-boats, scattering, Kriere and I in one, the others sacrificingtheir lives to cover our escape. We were lucky. We got through theEarth cordon unseen. But luck can't last forever.     We saw your morgue ship an hour ago. It's a long, long way to Venus.We were running out of fuel, food, water. Radio was broken. Capturewas certain. You were coming our way; we took the chance. We set asmall time-bomb to destroy the life-rocket, and cast off, wearing ourchrysali-helmets. It was the first time we had ever tried using them totrick anyone. We knew you wouldn't know we were alive until it was toolate and we controlled your ship. We knew you picked up all bodies forbrief exams, returning alien corpses to space later.     Rice's voice was sullen. A set-up for you, huh? Traveling under theprotection of the Purple Cross you can get your damned All-Mighty safeto Venus.     Lethla bowed slightly. Who would suspect a Morgue Rocket of providingsafe hiding for precious Venusian cargo?     Precious is the word for you, brother! said Rice.     Enough! Lethla moved his gun several inches.     Accelerate toward Venus, mote-detectors wide open. Kriere must bepicked up—      now!       <doc-sep>By lunchtime Orison had finished the      Wall Street Journal     and hadbegun reading a book an earmuffed page had brought her. The book was afantastic novel of some sort, named      The Hobbit     . Reading this peculiarfare into the microphone before her, Miss McCall was more certain thanever that the Taft Bank was, as her boss in Washington had told her,the front for some highly irregular goings-on. An odd business for aFederal Mata Hari, Orison thought, reading a nonsense story into amicrophone for an invisible audience.     Orison switched off her microphone at noon, marked her place in thebook and took the elevator down to the ground floor. The operator wasa new man, ears concealed behind scarlet earmuffs. In the car, comingdown from the interdicted upper floors, were several gentlemen withbriefcases. As though they were members of a ballet-troupe, thesegentlemen whipped off their hats with a single motion as Orison steppedaboard the elevator. Each of the chivalrous men, hat pressed to hisheart, wore a pair of earmuffs. Orison nodded bemused acknowledgmentof their gesture, and got off in the lobby vowing never to put a pennyinto this curiousest of banks.     Lunch at the stand-up counter down the street was a normal interlude.Girls from the ground-floor offices of Taft Bank chattered together,eyed Orison with the coolness due so attractive a competitor, andfavored her with no gambit to enter their conversations. Orison sighed,finished her tuna salad on whole-wheat, then went back upstairs to herlonely desk and her microphone. By five, Orison had finished the book,reading rapidly and becoming despite herself engrossed in the saga ofBilbo Baggins, Hobbit. She switched off the microphone, put on herlight coat, and rode downstairs in an elevator filled with earmuffed,silent, hat-clasping gentlemen.     What I need, Orison thought, walking rapidly to the busline, is adouble Scotch, followed by a double Scotch. And what the William HowardTaft National Bank and Trust Company needs is a joint raid by forces ofthe U.S. Treasury Department and the American Psychiatric Association.Earmuffs, indeed. Fairy-tales read into a microphone. A Vice-Presidentwith the vocabulary of a racetrack tout. And what goes on in thoseupper floors? Orison stopped in at the restaurant nearest her apartmenthouse—the Windsor Arms—and ordered a meal and a single Martini. Herboss in Washington had told her that this job of hers, spying on TaftBank from within, might prove dangerous. Indeed it was, she thought.She was in danger of becoming a solitary drinker.     Home in her apartment, Orison set the notes of her first day'sobservations in order. Presumably Washington would call tonight forher initial report. Item: some of the men at the Bank wore earmuffs,several didn't. Item: the Vice-President's name was Mr. Wanji:Oriental? Item: the top eight floors of the Taft Bank Building seemedto be off-limits to all personnel not wearing earmuffs. Item: she wasbeing employed at a very respectable salary to read newsprint andnonsense into a microphone. Let Washington make sense of that, shethought.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the fate of Edmund Rice in THE SPY IN THE ELEVATOR?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of the storyline in LOST IN TRANSLATION? [SEP] <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>Eric caught a faint nod here, a gesture there. Kroon nodded as ifin satisfaction. He turned to the girl, And what is your opinion,Daughter of the City?     Nolette's expression held sorrow, as if she looked into the far future.She said, He is Eric the Bronze. I have no doubt.     Eric asked, And what is this Legend of Eric the Bronze? Why am I sodespised in the city?     Kroon answered, According to the Ancient Legend you will destroy thecity. This, and other things.     Eric gaped. No wonder the crowd had shown such hatred. But why werethe elders so friendly? They were obviously the governing body, and ifthere was strife between them and the people it had not shown in therespect the crowd had accorded Nolette.     Kroon said, I see you are puzzled. Let me tell you the story of theCity. The City is old. It dates from long ago when the canals of Marsran clear and green with water, and the deserts were vineyards andgardens. The drouth came, and the changes in climate, and soon itbecame plain that the people of Mars were doomed. They had ships, andcould build more, and gradually they left to colonize other planets.Yet they could take little of their science. And fear and riotsdestroyed much. Also there were those who were filled with love forthis homeland, and who thought that one day it might be habitableagain. All the skill of the ancient Martian fathers went into thebuilding of a giant machine, the machine that is the City, to protect asmall colony of those who were chosen to remain on Mars.     This whole city is a machine! Eric asked.     Yes, or the product of one. The heart of it lies underneath our feet,in caverns beneath this building. The nature of the machine is this,that it translates thought into reality.     Eric stared. The idea was staggering.     This is essentially simple, although the technology is complex. It isnecessary to have a recording device, to capture thought, a transmutingdevice capable of transmuting the red dust of the desert into anysort of material desired, and a construction device, to assemble thismaterial into the pattern already recorded from thought. Kroon paused.You still doubt, my friend. Perhaps you are thirsty after your escape.Think strongly of a tall glass of cold water, visualize it in yourmind, the sight and the fluidity and the touch of it.     Eric did so. Without warning a glass of water stood on the table beforehim. He touched the water to his lips. It was cool and satisfying. Hedrank it, convinced completely.     Eric asked, And I am to destroy the City?     Yes. The time has come.     But why? Eric demanded. For an instant he could see the twinklingbeauty as clearly as if he had stood outside the walls of this building.     Kroon said, There are difficulties. The machine builds according tothe mass will of the people, though it is sensitive to the individualin areas where it does not conflict with the imagination of the mass.We have had strangers, visitors, and even our own people, who grewdrunk with the power of the machine, who dreamed more and more lust andgreed into existence. These were banished from the city, and so strongis the call of the city that many of them became victims of their ownevilness, and now walk mindlessly, with no thought but to seek for thebeauty they have lost here.     Kroon sighed. The people have lost the will to learn. Many do not evenknow of the machine. Our science is almost gone, and only a few of us,the dreamers, the elders, have kept alive the old knowledge of themachine and its history. By the collected powers of our imagination webuild and control the outward appearance of the city.     We have passed this down from father to son. A part of the ancientLegend is that the builders made provisions for the machine to bedestroyed when contact with outsiders had been made once again, so thatour people would again have to struggle forward to knowledge and power.The instrument of destruction was to be a man termed Eric the Bronze.It is not that you are reborn. It is just that sometime such a manwould come.     Eric said, I can understand the Bronze part. They had thought that aspace man might well be sun tanned. They had thought that a science toprotect against this beautiful illusion would provide a metal shieldof some sort, probably copper in nature. That such a man should comeis inevitable. But why Eric. Why the name Eric?     For the first time Nolette spoke. She said quietly, The name Ericwas an honorable name of the ancient fathers. It must have been theirthought that the new beginning should wait for some of their own farflung kind to return.     Eric nodded. He asked, What happens now?     Nothing. Dwell here with us and you will be safe from our people. Ifthe prediction is not soon fulfilled and you are not the Eric of theLegend, you may stay or go as you desire.     My brother, Garve. What about him?     He loves the city. He will also stay, though he will be outside thisbuilding. Kroon clasped his hands. Nolette, will you show Eric hisquarters?  <doc-sep>    LOST     IN     TRANSLATION     By     LARRY M.     HARRIS         In language translation, you may get a literally accurateword-for-word translation ... but miss the meaning entirely. And inspace-type translation ... the effect may be the same!         Illustrated by Schoenherr        The cell had been put together more efficiently than any Korvin hadever been in. But that was only natural, he told himself sadly; theTr'en were an efficient people. All the preliminary reports had agreedon that; their efficiency, as a matter of fact, was what had madeKorvin's arrival a necessity. They were well into the atomic era, andwere on the verge of developing space travel. Before long they'd besettling the other planets of their system, and then the nearer stars.Faster-than-light travel couldn't be far away, for the magnificentlyefficient physical scientists of the Tr'en—and that would mean, inthe ordinary course of events, an invitation to join the Comity ofPlanets.     An invitation, the Comity was sure, which the Tr'en would not accept.     Korvin stretched out on the cell's single bunk, a rigid affair whichwas hardly meant for comfort, and sighed. He'd had three days ofisolation, with nothing to do but explore the resources of his ownmind. He'd tried some of the ancient Rhine experiments, but that wasno good; he still didn't show any particular psi talents. He couldn'tunlock the cell door with his unaided mind; he couldn't even alter theprobability of a single dust-mote's Brownian path through the somewhatsmelly air. Nor could he disappear from his cell and appear, as if bymagic, several miles away near the slightly-damaged hulk of his ship,to the wonder and amazement of his Tr'en captors.     He could do, as a matter of fact, precisely nothing. He wished quietlythat the Tr'en had seen fit to give him a pack of cards, or a book, oreven a folder of tourist pictures. The Wonders of Tr'en, according toall the advance reports, were likely to be pretty boring, but they'dhave been better than nothing.     In any decently-run jail, he told himself with indignation, therewould at least have been other prisoners to talk to. But on Tr'enKorvin was all alone.     True, every night the guards came in and gave him a concentratedlesson in the local language, but Korvin failed to get much pleasureout of that, being unconscious at the time. But now he was equipped todiscuss almost anything from philosophy to plumbing, but there wasnobody to discuss it with. He changed position on the bunk and staredat the walls. The Tr'en were efficient; there weren't even anyimperfections in the smooth surface to distract him.     He wasn't tired and he wasn't hungry; his captors had left him with afull stock of food concentrates.     But he was almightily bored, and about ready to tell anything toanyone, just for the chance at a little conversation.     As he reached this dismal conclusion, the cell door opened. Korvin gotup off the bunk in a hurry and spun around to face his visitor.     The Tr'en was tall, and slightly green.     He looked, as all the Tr'en did, vaguely humanoid—that is, if youdon't bother to examine him closely. Life in the universe appeared tobe rigidly limited to humanoid types on oxygen planets; Korvin didn'tknow why, and neither did anybody else. There were a lot of theories,but none that accounted for all the facts satisfactorily. Korvinreally didn't care about it; it was none of his business.     The Tr'en regarded him narrowly through catlike pupils. You areKorvin, he said.     It was a ritual, Korvin had learned. You are of the Tr'en, hereplied. The green being nodded.     I am Didyak of the Tr'en, he said. Amenities over with, he relaxedslightly—but no more than slightly—and came into the cell, closingthe door behind him. Korvin thought of jumping the Tr'en, but decidedquickly against it. He was a captive, and it was unwise to assume thathis captors had no more resources than the ones he saw: a smalltranslucent pistollike affair in a holster at the Tr'en's side, and asmall knife in a sheath at the belt. Those Korvin could deal with; butthere might be almost anything else hidden and ready to fire on him.     What do you want with me? Korvin said. The Tr'en speech—apparentlythere was only one language on the planet—was stiff and slightlyawkward, but easily enough learned under drug hypnosis; it was themost rigorously logical construction of its kind Korvin had ever comeacross. It reminded him of some of the mathematical metalanguages he'ddealt with back on Earth, in training; but it was more closely andcarefully constructed than even those marvels.     I want nothing with you, Didyak said, leaning against thedoor-frame. You have other questions?     Korvin sighed. What are you doing here, then? he asked. Asconversation, it wasn't very choice; but it was, he admitted, betterthan solitude.     I am leaning against the door, Didyak said. The Tr'en literalistapproach to the smallest problems of everyday living was a little hardto get the hang of, Korvin told himself bitterly. He thought for asecond.     Why did you come to me? he said at last.     Didyak beamed at him. The sight was remarkably unpleasant, involvingas it did the disclosure of the Tr'en fifty-eight teeth, mostlypointed. Korvin stared back impassively. I have been ordered to cometo you, Didyak said, by the Ruler. The Ruler wishes to talk withyou.     It wasn't quite talk; that was a general word in the Tr'en language,and Didyak had used a specific meaning, roughly: gain informationfrom, by peaceful and vocal means. Korvin filed it away for futurereference. Why did the Ruler not come to me? Korvin asked.     The Ruler is the Ruler, Didyak said, slightly discomfited. You areto go to him. Such is his command.     Korvin shrugged, sighed and smoothed back his hair. I obey thecommand of the Ruler, he said—another ritual. Everybody obeyed thecommand of the Ruler. If you didn't, you never had a second chance totry.     But Korvin meant exactly what he'd said. He was going to obey thecommands of the Ruler of the Tr'en—and remove the Tr'en threat fromthe rest of the galaxy forever.     That, after all, was his job.  <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>Joyce glared at him furiously. Four! Act your age! We've got to dosomething with him. It's preposterous that we should be detained hereat the whim of a mere blob!     I don't figure it's a whim, Grampa said. Circular gravity is whathe's got to have for one reason or another, so he just naturally bendsthe space-time continuum around him—conscious or subconscious, I don'tknow. But protoplasm is always more efficient than machines, so theflivver won't move.     I don't care why that thing does it, Joyce said icily. I want itstopped, and the sooner the better. If it won't turn the gravity off,we'll just have to do away with it.     How? asked Four. Fweep's skin is pretty close to impervious andyou can't shoot him, stab him or poison him. He doesn't breathe, soyou can't drown or strangle him. You can't imprison him; he 'eats'everything. And violence might be more dangerous to us than to him.Right now, Fweep is friendly, but suppose he got mad! He could lowerhis radioactive shield or he might increase the gravity by a few times.Either way, you'd feel rather uncomfortable, Grammy.     Don't call me 'Grammy!' Well, what are we going to do, just sit aroundand wait for that thing to die?     We'd have a long wait, Four observed. Fweep is the only one of hiskind on this planet.     Well?     Probably he's immortal.     And he doesn't reproduce? Reba asked sympathetically.     Probably not. If he doesn't die, there's no point in reproduction.Reproduction is nature's way of providing racial immortality to mortalcreatures.     But he must have some way of reproduction, Reba argued. An egg orsomething. He couldn't just have sprung into being as he is now.     Maybe he developed, Four offered. It seems to me that he's biggerthan when we first landed. He must have been here a long, long time,Fred said. Fweepland, as Four calls it, kept its atmosphere and itswater, which a planet this size ordinarily would have lost by now.  <doc-sep>On a larger and heavier world than Planetoid 42, Johnson's curiositywould probably have had weight and mass. He was bursting withquestions, but he was obviously afraid they would cost him money. Forhis part, Harvey allowed that curiosity to grow like a Venusian amoebauntil Joe came in, lugging a radio.     Is that what you were talking about? the mayor snorted. What makesyou think I want a radio? I came here to get away from singers andpolitical speech-makers.     Do not jump to hasty conclusions, Harvey cautioned. Another word,and I shall refuse you the greatest opportunity any man has ever had,with the sole exceptions of Joseph, myself and the unfortunate inventorof this absolutely awe-inspiring device.     I ain't in the market for a radio, Johnson said stubbornly.     Harvey nodded in relief. We have attempted to repay our host, Joseph.He has spurned our generosity. We have now the chance to continue ourstudy, which I am positive will soon reward us with the key to anenormous fortune.     Well, that's no plating off our bow, Joe grunted. I'm glad he didturn it down. I hated to give it up after working on it for three wholeyears.     He picked up the radio and began walking toward the door.     Now, hold on! the mayor cried. I ain't      saying     I'll buy, but whatis it I'm turning down?     Joe returned and set the instrument down on the bar. His facesorrowful, Harvey fondly stroked the scarred plasticoid cabinet.     To make a long story, Mr. Johnson, he said, Joseph and I were amongthe chosen few who knew the famous Doctor Dean intimately. Just beforehis tragic death, you will recall, Dean allegedly went insane. Hebanged his fist on the bar. I have said it before, and I repeat again,that was a malicious lie, spread by the doctor's enemies to discredithis greatest invention—this fourth dimensional radio!     This what? Johnson blurted out.     In simple terms, clarified Harvey, the ingenious doctor discoveredthat the yawning chasm between the dimensions could be bridged byenergy of all quanta. There has never been any question that theinhabitants of the super-dimension would be far more civilized thanourselves. Consequently, the man who could tap their knowledge wouldfind himself in possession of a powerful, undreamt-of science!     The mayor looked respectfully at the silent box on the bar.     And this thing gets broadcasts from the fourth dimension?     It does, Mr. Johnson! Only charlatans like those who envied DoctorDean's magnificent accomplishments could deny that fact.     The mayor put his hands in his pockets, unswiveled one hip and staredthoughtfully at the battered cabinet.     Well, let's say it picks up fourth dimensional broadcasts, heconceded. But how could you understand what they're saying? Folks upthere wouldn't talk our language.     Again Harvey smashed his fist down. Do you dare to repeat the scurvylie that broke Dean's spirit and drove him to suicide?     Johnson recoiled. No—no,      of course not     . I mean, being up here, Inaturally couldn't get all the details.     Naturally, Harvey agreed, mollified. I'm sorry I lost my temper.But it is a matter of record that the doctor proved the broadcastsemanating from the super-dimension were in English! Why should that beso difficult to believe? Is it impossible that at one time there wascommunication between the dimensions, that the super-beings admiredour language and adopted it in all its beauty, adding to it their ownhyper-scientific trimmings?     Why, I don't know, Johnson said in confusion.     For three years, Joseph and I lost sleep and hair, trying to detectthe simple key that would translate the somewhat metamorphosedbroadcasts into our primitive English. It eluded us. Even the doctorfailed. But that was understandable; a sensitive soul like his couldstand only so much. And the combination of ridicule and failure tosolve the mystery caused him to take his own life.     Johnson winced. Is that what you want to unload on me?     For a very good reason, sir. Patience is the virtue that will berewarded with the key to these fourth dimensional broadcasts. A man whocould devote his life to improving this lonely worldlet is obviously aperson with unusual patience.     Yeah, the mayor said grudgingly, I ain't exactly flighty.     Therefore, you are the man who could unravel the problem!     Johnson asked skeptically: How about a sample first?  <doc-sep>Looks okay to me, I said. Quade passed a gauntlet over his faceplate.It's real. I can blur it with a smudged visor. When it blurs, it'ssolid.     The landscape beyond the black corona left by our landing rockets wasunimpressive. The rocky desert was made up of silicon and iron oxide,so it looked much the same as a terrestrial location. Yellowish-whitesand ran up to and around reddish brown rock clawing into the pinksunlight.     I don't understand it, Quade admitted. Transphasia hits you a foulas soon as you let it into the airlock.     Apparently, Quade,      this     thing is going to creep up on us.     Don't sound smug, Captain. It's pitty-pattying behind you too.     The keening call across the surface of consciousness postponed my reply.     The wail was ominously forlorn, defiant of description. I turned myhead around slowly inside my helmet, not even sure that I had heard it.     But what else can you do with a wail but      hear     it?     Quade nodded. I've felt this before. It usually hits sooner. Let'strace it.     I don't like this, I admitted. It's not at all what I expected fromwhat you said about transphasia. It must be something else.     It couldn't be anything else. I know what to expect. You don't. Youmay begin smelling sensations, tasting sounds, hearing sights, seeingtastes, touching odors—or any other combination. Don't let it botheryou.     Of course not. I'll soothe my nerves by counting little shocks oflanolin jumping over a loud fence.     Quade grinned behind his faceplate. Good idea.     Then you can have it. I'm going to try keeping my eyes open andstaying alive.     There was no reply.     His expression was tart and greasy despite all his light talk, andI knew mine was the same. I tested the security rope between ourpressure suits. It was a taut and virile bass.     We scaled a staccato of rocks, our suits grinding pepper against ourhides.     The musk summit rose before us, a minor-key horizon with a shiftingtreble for as far as I could smell. It was primitive beauty that madeyou feel shocking pink inside. The most beautiful vista I had evertasted, it couldn't be dulled even by the sensation of beef broth undermy skin.     Is this transphasia? I asked in awe.     It always has been before, Quade remarked. Ready to swallow yourwords about this being something an old hand wouldn't recognize,Captain?     I'm swallowing no words until I find out precisely how they tastehere.     Not a bad taste. They're pretty. Or haven't you noticed?     Quade, you're right! About the colors anyway. This reminds me of anilliscope recording from a cybernetic translator.     It should. I don't suppose we could understand each other if it wasn'tfor our morphistudy courses in reading cross-sense translations ofCentauri blushtalk and the like.     It became difficult to understand him, difficult to try talking in theface of such splendor. You never really appreciate colors until yousmell them for the first time.  <doc-sep>He leaned back in his chair and began to talk in a low voice completelyin contrast with the overbearing manner he had used upon Peter'sarrival. You know what we make, of course.     Yes, sir. Conduit fittings.     And a lot of other electrical products, too. I started out in thisbusiness twenty years ago, using orthodox techniques. I never gotthrough university. I took a couple of years of an arts course, andgot so interested in biology that I didn't study anything else.They bounced me out of the course, and I re-entered in engineering,determined not to make the same mistake again. But I did. I got tooabsorbed in those parts of the course that had to do with electricaltheory and lost the rest as a result. The same thing happened when Itried commerce, with accounting, so I gave up and started working forone of my competitors. It wasn't too long before I saw that the onlyway I could get ahead was to open up on my own.     Lexington sank deeper in his chair and stared at the ceiling as hespoke. I put myself in hock to the eyeballs, which wasn't easy,because I had just got married, and started off in a very small way.After three years, I had a fairly decent little business going, and Isuppose it would have grown just like any other business, except fora strike that came along and put me right back where I started. Mywife, whom I'm afraid I had neglected for the sake of the business,was killed in a car accident about then, and rightly or wrongly, thatmade me angrier with the union than anything else. If the union hadn'tmade things so tough for me from the beginning, I'd have had more timeto spend with my wife before her death. As things turned out—well, Iremember looking down at her coffin and thinking that I hardly knew thegirl.     For the next few years, I concentrated on getting rid of as manyemployees as I could, by replacing them with automatic machines. I'ddesign the control circuits myself, in many cases wire the things upmyself, always concentrating on replacing men with machines. But itwasn't very successful. I found that the more automatic I made myplant, the lower my costs went. The lower my costs went, the morebusiness I got, and the more I had to expand.     Lexington scowled. I got sick of it. I decided to try developing onemulti-purpose control circuit that would control everything, fromordering the raw materials to shipping the finished goods. As I toldyou, I had taken quite an interest in biology when I was in school,and from studies of nerve tissue in particular, plus my electricalknowledge, I had a few ideas on how to do it. It took me three years,but I began to see that I could develop circuitry that could remember,compare, detect similarities, and so on. Not the way they do it today,of course. To do what I wanted to do with these big clumsy magneticdrums, tapes, and what-not, you'd need a building the size of MountEverest. But I found that I could let organic chemistry do most of thework for me.     By creating the proper compounds, with their molecules arranged inpredetermined matrixes, I found I could duplicate electrical circuitryin units so tiny that my biggest problem was getting into and out ofthe logic units with conventional wiring. I finally beat that the sameway they solved the problem of translating a picture on a screen intoelectrical signals, developed equipment to scan the units cyclically,and once I'd done that, the battle was over.     I built this building and incorporated it as a separate company, tocompete with my first outfit. In the beginning, I had it rigged up todo only the manual work that you saw being done a few minutes ago inthe back of this place. I figured that the best thing for me to dowould be to turn the job of selling my stuff over to jobbers, leavingme free to do nothing except receive orders, punch the cataloguenumbers into the control console, do the billing, and collect themoney.     What happened to your original company? Peter asked.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in LOST IN TRANSLATION?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the role of the Ruler in the story ""Lost in Translation""? [SEP] <s>    LOST     IN     TRANSLATION     By     LARRY M.     HARRIS         In language translation, you may get a literally accurateword-for-word translation ... but miss the meaning entirely. And inspace-type translation ... the effect may be the same!         Illustrated by Schoenherr        The cell had been put together more efficiently than any Korvin hadever been in. But that was only natural, he told himself sadly; theTr'en were an efficient people. All the preliminary reports had agreedon that; their efficiency, as a matter of fact, was what had madeKorvin's arrival a necessity. They were well into the atomic era, andwere on the verge of developing space travel. Before long they'd besettling the other planets of their system, and then the nearer stars.Faster-than-light travel couldn't be far away, for the magnificentlyefficient physical scientists of the Tr'en—and that would mean, inthe ordinary course of events, an invitation to join the Comity ofPlanets.     An invitation, the Comity was sure, which the Tr'en would not accept.     Korvin stretched out on the cell's single bunk, a rigid affair whichwas hardly meant for comfort, and sighed. He'd had three days ofisolation, with nothing to do but explore the resources of his ownmind. He'd tried some of the ancient Rhine experiments, but that wasno good; he still didn't show any particular psi talents. He couldn'tunlock the cell door with his unaided mind; he couldn't even alter theprobability of a single dust-mote's Brownian path through the somewhatsmelly air. Nor could he disappear from his cell and appear, as if bymagic, several miles away near the slightly-damaged hulk of his ship,to the wonder and amazement of his Tr'en captors.     He could do, as a matter of fact, precisely nothing. He wished quietlythat the Tr'en had seen fit to give him a pack of cards, or a book, oreven a folder of tourist pictures. The Wonders of Tr'en, according toall the advance reports, were likely to be pretty boring, but they'dhave been better than nothing.     In any decently-run jail, he told himself with indignation, therewould at least have been other prisoners to talk to. But on Tr'enKorvin was all alone.     True, every night the guards came in and gave him a concentratedlesson in the local language, but Korvin failed to get much pleasureout of that, being unconscious at the time. But now he was equipped todiscuss almost anything from philosophy to plumbing, but there wasnobody to discuss it with. He changed position on the bunk and staredat the walls. The Tr'en were efficient; there weren't even anyimperfections in the smooth surface to distract him.     He wasn't tired and he wasn't hungry; his captors had left him with afull stock of food concentrates.     But he was almightily bored, and about ready to tell anything toanyone, just for the chance at a little conversation.     As he reached this dismal conclusion, the cell door opened. Korvin gotup off the bunk in a hurry and spun around to face his visitor.     The Tr'en was tall, and slightly green.     He looked, as all the Tr'en did, vaguely humanoid—that is, if youdon't bother to examine him closely. Life in the universe appeared tobe rigidly limited to humanoid types on oxygen planets; Korvin didn'tknow why, and neither did anybody else. There were a lot of theories,but none that accounted for all the facts satisfactorily. Korvinreally didn't care about it; it was none of his business.     The Tr'en regarded him narrowly through catlike pupils. You areKorvin, he said.     It was a ritual, Korvin had learned. You are of the Tr'en, hereplied. The green being nodded.     I am Didyak of the Tr'en, he said. Amenities over with, he relaxedslightly—but no more than slightly—and came into the cell, closingthe door behind him. Korvin thought of jumping the Tr'en, but decidedquickly against it. He was a captive, and it was unwise to assume thathis captors had no more resources than the ones he saw: a smalltranslucent pistollike affair in a holster at the Tr'en's side, and asmall knife in a sheath at the belt. Those Korvin could deal with; butthere might be almost anything else hidden and ready to fire on him.     What do you want with me? Korvin said. The Tr'en speech—apparentlythere was only one language on the planet—was stiff and slightlyawkward, but easily enough learned under drug hypnosis; it was themost rigorously logical construction of its kind Korvin had ever comeacross. It reminded him of some of the mathematical metalanguages he'ddealt with back on Earth, in training; but it was more closely andcarefully constructed than even those marvels.     I want nothing with you, Didyak said, leaning against thedoor-frame. You have other questions?     Korvin sighed. What are you doing here, then? he asked. Asconversation, it wasn't very choice; but it was, he admitted, betterthan solitude.     I am leaning against the door, Didyak said. The Tr'en literalistapproach to the smallest problems of everyday living was a little hardto get the hang of, Korvin told himself bitterly. He thought for asecond.     Why did you come to me? he said at last.     Didyak beamed at him. The sight was remarkably unpleasant, involvingas it did the disclosure of the Tr'en fifty-eight teeth, mostlypointed. Korvin stared back impassively. I have been ordered to cometo you, Didyak said, by the Ruler. The Ruler wishes to talk withyou.     It wasn't quite talk; that was a general word in the Tr'en language,and Didyak had used a specific meaning, roughly: gain informationfrom, by peaceful and vocal means. Korvin filed it away for futurereference. Why did the Ruler not come to me? Korvin asked.     The Ruler is the Ruler, Didyak said, slightly discomfited. You areto go to him. Such is his command.     Korvin shrugged, sighed and smoothed back his hair. I obey thecommand of the Ruler, he said—another ritual. Everybody obeyed thecommand of the Ruler. If you didn't, you never had a second chance totry.     But Korvin meant exactly what he'd said. He was going to obey thecommands of the Ruler of the Tr'en—and remove the Tr'en threat fromthe rest of the galaxy forever.     That, after all, was his job.  <doc-sep>The name of your planet is Earth? the Ruler asked. A few minutes hadpassed; the experts were clustered around the single chair. Korvin wasstill strapped to the machine; a logical race makes use of a traitor,but a logical race does not trust him.     Sometimes, Korvin said.     It has other names? the Ruler said.     It has no name, Korvin said truthfully. The Tr'en idiom was like theEarthly one; and certainly a planet had no name. People attached namesto it, that was all. It had none of its own.     Yet you call it Earth? the Ruler said.     I do, Korvin said, for convenience.     Do you know its location? the Ruler said.     Not with exactitude, Korvin said.     There was a stir. But you can find it again, the Ruler said.     I can, Korvin said.     And you will tell us about it? the Ruler went on.     I will, Korvin said, so far as I am able.     We will wish to know about weapons, the Ruler said, and about plansand fortifications. But we must first know of the manner of decisionon this planet. Is your planet joined with others in a government ordoes it exist alone?     Korvin nearly smiled. Both, he said.     A short silence was broken by one of the attendant experts. We havetheorized that an underling may be permitted to make some of his owndecisions, leaving only the more extensive ones for the master. Thisseems to us inefficient and liable to error, yet it is a possiblesystem. Is it the system you mean?     Very sharp, Korvin told himself grimly. It is, he said.     Then the government which reigns over several planets is supreme,the Ruler said.     It is, Korvin said.     Who is it that governs? the Ruler said.     The key question had, at last, been asked. Korvin felt grateful thatthe logical Tr'en had determined to begin from the beginning, insteadof going off after details of armament first; it saved a lot of time.     The answer to that question, Korvin said, cannot be given to you.     Any question of fact has an answer, the Ruler snapped. A paradox isnot involved here; a government exists, and some being is thegovernor. Perhaps several beings share this task; perhaps machines dothe work. But where there is a government, there is a governor. Isthis agreed?     Certainly, Korvin said. It is completely obvious and true.     The planet from which you come is part of a system of planets whichare governed, you have said, the Ruler went on.     True, Korvin said.     Then there is a governor for this system, the Ruler said.     True, Korvin said again.     The ruler sighed gently. Explain this governor to us, he said.     Korvin shrugged. The explanation cannot be given to you.     The Ruler turned to a group of his experts and a short mutteredconversation took place. At its end the Ruler turned his gaze back toKorvin. Is the deficiency in you? he said. Are you in some wayunable to describe this government?     It can be described, Korvin said.     Then you will suffer unpleasant consequences if you describe it tous? the Ruler went on.     I will not, Korvin said.     It was the signal for another conference. With some satisfaction,Korvin noticed that the Tr'en were becoming slightly puzzled; theywere no longer moving and speaking with calm assurance.     The plan was taking hold.     The Ruler had finished his conference. You are attempting again toconfuse us, he said.     Korvin shook his head earnestly. I am attempting, he said, not toconfuse you.     Then I ask for an answer, the Ruler said.     I request that I be allowed to ask a question, Korvin said.     The Ruler hesitated, then nodded. Ask it, he said. We shall answerit if we see fit to do so.     Korvin tried to look grateful. Well, then, he said, what is yourgovernment?     The Ruler beckoned to a heavy-set green being, who stepped forwardfrom a knot of Tr'en, inclined his head in Korvin's direction, andbegan. Our government is the only logical form of government, hesaid in a high, sweet tenor. The Ruler orders all, and his subjectsobey. In this way uniformity is gained, and this uniformity aids inthe speed of possible action and in the weight of action. All Tr'enact instantly in the same manner. The Ruler is adopted by the previousRuler; in this way we are assured of a common wisdom and a steadyjudgment.     You have heard our government defined, the Ruler said. Now, youwill define yours for us.     Korvin shook his head. If you insist, he said, I'll try it. But youwon't understand it.     The Ruler frowned. We shall understand, he said. Begin. Who governsyou?     None, Korvin said.     But you are governed?     Korvin nodded. Yes.     Then there is a governor, the Ruler insisted.     True, Korvin said. But everyone is the governor.     Then there is no government, the Ruler said. There is no singledecision.     No, Korvin said equably, there are many decisions binding on all.     Who makes them binding? the Ruler asked. Who forces you to acceptthese decisions? Some of them must be unfavorable to some beings?     Many of them are unfavorable, Korvin said. But we are not forced toaccept them.     Do you act against your own interests?     Korvin shrugged. Not knowingly, he said. The Ruler flashed a look atthe technicians handling the lie-detector. Korvin turned to see theirexpression. They needed no words; the lie-detector was telling them,perfectly obviously, that he was speaking the truth. But the truthwasn't making any sense. I told you you wouldn't understand it, hesaid.     It is a defect in your explanation, the Ruler almost snarled.     My explanation is as exact as it can be, he said.     The Ruler breathed gustily. Let us try something else, he said.Everyone is the governor. Do you share a single mind? A racial mindhas been theorized, though we have met with no examples—     Neither have we, Korvin said. We are all individuals, likeyourselves.     But with no single ruler to form policy, to make decisions—     We have no need of one, Korvin said calmly.     Ah, the Ruler said suddenly, as if he saw daylight ahead. And whynot?     We call our form of government      democracy     , Korvin said. It meansthe rule of the people. There is no need for another ruler.     One of the experts piped up suddenly. The beings themselves rule eachother? he said. This is clearly impossible; for, no one being canhave the force to compel acceptance of his commands. Without hisforce, there can be no effective rule.     That is our form of government, Korvin said.     You are lying, the expert said.     One of the technicians chimed in: The machine tells us—     Then the machine is faulty, the expert said. It will be corrected.     Korvin wondered, as the technicians argued, how long they'd takestudying the machine, before they realized it didn't have any defectsto correct. He hoped it wasn't going to be too long; he could foreseeanother stretch of boredom coming. And, besides, he was gettinghomesick.     It took three days—but boredom never really had a chance to set in.Korvin found himself the object of more attention than he had hopedfor; one by one, the experts came to his cell, each with a differentmethod of resolving the obvious contradictions in his statements.     Some of them went away fuming. Others simply went away, puzzled.     On the third day Korvin escaped.     It wasn't very difficult; he hadn't thought it would be. Even the mostlogical of thinking beings has a subconscious as well as a consciousmind, and one of the ways of dealing with an insoluble problem is tomake the problem disappear. There were only two ways of doing that,and killing the problem's main focus was a little more complicated.That couldn't be done by the subconscious mind; the conscious had tointervene somewhere. And it couldn't.     Because that would mean recognizing, fully and consciously, that theproblem      was     insoluble. And the Tr'en weren't capable of that sort ofthinking.     Korvin thanked his lucky stars that their genius had been restrictedto the physical and mathematical. Any insight at all into the mentalsciences would have given them the key to his existence, and hisentire plan, within seconds.     But, then, it was lack of that insight that had called for thisparticular plan. That, and the political structure of the Tr'en.     The same lack of insight let the Tr'en subconscious work on hisescape without any annoying distractions in the way of deepreflection. Someone left a door unlocked and a weapon nearby—allquite intent, Korvin was sure. Getting to the ship was a little morecomplicated, but presented no new problems; he was airborne, and thenspace-borne, inside of a few hours after leaving the cell.     He set his course, relaxed, and cleared his mind. He had no psionictalents, but the men at Earth Central did; he couldn't receivemessages, but he could send them. He sent one now.       Mission accomplished; the Tr'en aren't about to comemarauding out into space too soon. They've been given foodfor thought—nice indigestible food that's going to stick intheir craws until they finally manage to digest it. But theycan't digest it and stay what they are; you've got to bedemocratic, to some extent, to understand the idea. Whatkeeps us obeying laws we ourselves make? What keeps usobeying laws that make things inconvenient for us? Sheerself-interest, of course—but try to make a Tr'en see it!         With one government and one language, they just weren'tequipped for translation. They were too efficient physicallyto try for the mental sciences at all. No mental sciences,no insight into my mind or their own—and that means notranslation.         But—damn it—I wish I were home already.         I'm bored absolutely stiff!       THE END   <doc-sep>The Ruler looked to his technicians for a signal, and nodded onreceiving it. You will tell an untruth now, he said. Are youstanding or sitting?     I am standing, Korvin said.     The technicians gave another signal. The Ruler looked, in his frowningmanner, reasonably satisfied. The machine, he announced, has beenadjusted satisfactorily to your physiology. The questioning will nowcontinue.     Korvin swallowed again. The test hadn't really seemed extensive enoughto him. But, after all, the Tr'en knew their business, better thananyone else could know it. They had the technique and the logic andthe training.     He hoped they were right.     The Ruler was frowning at him. Korvin did his best to look receptive.Why did you land your ship on this planet? the Ruler said.     My job required it, Korvin said.     The Ruler nodded. Your job is to crash your ship, he said. It iswasteful but the machines tell me it is true. Very well, then; weshall find out more about your job. Was the crash intentional?     Korvin looked sober. Yes, he said.     The Ruler blinked. Very well, he said. Was your job ended when theship crashed? The Tr'en word, of course, wasn't      ended     , nor did itmean exactly that. As nearly as Korvin could make out, it meantdisposed of for all time.     No, he said.     What else does your job entail? the Ruler said.     Korvin decided to throw his first spoke into the wheel. Stayingalive.     The Ruler roared. Do not waste time with the obvious! he shouted.Do not try to trick us; we are a logical and scientific race! Answercorrectly.     I have told the truth, Korvin said.     But it is not—not the truth we want, the Ruler said.     Korvin shrugged. I replied to your question, he said. I did notknow that there was more than one kind of truth. Surely the truth isthe truth, just as the Ruler is the Ruler?     I— The Ruler stopped himself in mid-roar. You try to confuse theRuler, he said at last, in an approximation of his usual one. Butthe Ruler will not be confused. We have experts in matters oflogic—the Tr'en word seemed to mean      right-saying     —who will advisethe Ruler. They will be called.     Korvin's guards were standing around doing nothing of importance nowthat their captor was strapped down in the lie-detector. The Rulergestured and they went out the door in a hurry.     The Ruler looked down at Korvin. You will find that you cannot trickus, he said. You will find that such fiddling—      chulad-like     Korvintranslated—attempts will get you nowhere.     Korvin devoutly hoped so.  <doc-sep>The Room of the Ruler was large, square and excessively brown. Thewalls were dark-brown, the furnishings—a single great chair, severalkneeling-benches and a small table near the chair—were light-brown,of some metallic substance, and even the drapes were tan. It was,Korvin decided, much too much of a bad idea, even when the colorcontrast of the Tr'en themselves were figured in.     The Ruler himself, a Tr'en over seven feet tall and correspondinglybroad, sat in the great chair, his four fingers tapping gently on thetable near him, staring at Korvin and his guards. The guards stood oneither side of their captive, looking as impassive as jade statues,six and a half feet high.     Korvin wasn't attempting to escape. He wasn't pleading with the Ruler.He wasn't defying the Ruler, either. He was just answering questions.     The Tr'en liked to have everything clear. They were a logical race.The Ruler had started with Korvin's race, his name, his sex—ifany—and whether or not his appearance were normal for humanity.     Korvin was answering the last question. Some men are larger than Iam, he said, and some are smaller.     Within what limits?     Korvin shrugged. Some are over eight feet tall, he said, and othersunder four feet. He used the Tr'en measurement scale, of course; itdidn't seem necessary, though, to mention that both extremes of heightwere at the circus-freak level. Then there is a group of humans, hewent on, who are never more than a foot and a half in height, andusually less than that—approximately nine or ten inches. We callthese      children     , he volunteered helpfully.     Approximately? the Ruler growled. We ask for precision here, hesaid. We are scientific men. We are exact.     Korvin nodded hurriedly. Our race is more ... more approximate, hesaid apologetically.     Slipshod, the Ruler muttered.     Undoubtedly, Korvin agreed politely. I'll try to do the best I canfor you.     You will answer my questions, the Ruler said, with exactitude. Hepaused, frowning slightly. You landed your ship on this planet, hewent on. Why?     My job required it, Korvin said.     A clumsy lie, the Ruler said. The ship crashed; our examinationsprove that beyond any doubt.     True, Korvin said.     And it is your job to crash your ship? the Ruler said. Wasteful.     Korvin shrugged again. What I say is true, he announced. Do youhave tests for such matters?     We do, the Ruler told him. We are an exact and a scientific race. Amachine for the testing of truth has been adjusted to your physiology.It will be attached to you.     Korvin looked around and saw it coming through the door, pushed by twotechnicians. It was large and squat and metallic, and it had wheels,dials, blinking lights, tubes and wires, and a seat with armrests andstraps. It was obviously a form of lie-detector—and Korvin felthimself marveling again at this race. Earth science had nothing tomatch their enormous command of the physical universe; adapting ahypnopædic language-course to an alien being so quickly had beenwonder enough, but adapting the perilously delicate mechanisms thatnecessarily made up any lie-detector machinery was almost a miracle.The Tr'en, under other circumstances, would have been a valuableaddition to the Comity of Nations.     Being what they were, though, they could only be a menace. AndKorvin's appreciation of the size of that menace was growing hourly.     He hoped the lie-detector had been adjusted correctly. If it showedhim telling an untruth, he wasn't likely to live long, and hisjob—not to mention the strongest personal inclinations—demanded moststrongly that he stay alive.     He swallowed hard. But when the technicians forced him down into theseat, buckled straps around him, attached wires and electrodes andelastic bands to him at appropriate places and tightened some finalscrews, he made no resistance.     We shall test the machine, the Ruler said. In what room are you?     In the Room of the Ruler, Korvin said equably.     Are you standing or sitting?     I am sitting, Korvin said.     Are you a      chulad     ? the Ruler asked. A      chulad     was a small nativepet, Korvin knew, something like a greatly magnified deathwatchbeetle.     I am not, he said.  <doc-sep>I wonder why we never thought of healing as a potential psi-power, mymother said to me later, when I was catching a snatch of rest and shewas lighting cigarettes and offering me cups of coffee in an attempt tomake up twenty-six years of indifference, perhaps dislike, all at once.The ability to heal      is     recorded in history, only we never paid muchattention to it.     Recorded? I asked, a little jealously.     Of course, she smiled. Remember the King's Evil?     I should have known without her reminding me, after all the old books Ihad read. Scrofula, wasn't it? They called it that because the touchof certain kings was supposed to cure it ... and other diseases, too, Iguess.     She nodded. Certain people must have had the healing power and that'sprobably why they originally got to be the rulers.     In a very short time, I became a pretty important person. All the otherdeficients in the world were tested for the healing power and all ofthem turned out negative. I proved to be the only human healer alive,and not only that, I could work a thousand times more efficiently andeffectively than any of the machines. The government built a hospitaljust for my work! Wounded people were ferried there from all over theworld and I cured them. I could do practically everything except raisethe dead and sometimes I wondered whether, with a little practice, Iwouldn't be able to do even that.     When I came to my new office, whom did I find waiting there for me butLucy, her trim figure enhanced by a snug blue and white uniform. I'myour assistant, Kev, she said shyly.     I looked at her. You are?     I—I hope you want me, she went on, coyness now mixing withapprehension.     I gave her shoulder a squeeze. I do want you, Lucy. More than I cantell you now. After all this is over, there's something more I want tosay. But right now— I clapped her arm—there's a job to be done.     Yes, Kevin, she said, glaring at me for some reason I didn't havetime to investigate or interpret at the moment. My patients werewaiting for me.     They gave me everything else I could possibly need, except enoughsleep, and I myself didn't want that. I wanted to heal. I wanted toshow my fellow human beings that, though I couldn't receive or transmitthoughts or foretell the future or move things with my mind, all thosepowers were useless without life, and that was what I could give.     I took pride in my work. It was good to stop pain and ugliness, to knowthat, if it weren't for me, these people would be dead or permanentlydisfigured. In a sense, they were—well, my children; I felt a warmglow of affection toward them.     They felt the same way toward me. I knew because the secret of thehospital soon leaked out—during all those years of peace, thegovernment had lost whatever facility it had for keeping secrets—andpeople used to come in droves, hoping for a glimpse of me.  <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>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> [SEP] What is the role of the Ruler in the story ""Lost in Translation""?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What role does translation play in the narrative of LOST IN TRANSLATION? [SEP] <s>    LOST     IN     TRANSLATION     By     LARRY M.     HARRIS         In language translation, you may get a literally accurateword-for-word translation ... but miss the meaning entirely. And inspace-type translation ... the effect may be the same!         Illustrated by Schoenherr        The cell had been put together more efficiently than any Korvin hadever been in. But that was only natural, he told himself sadly; theTr'en were an efficient people. All the preliminary reports had agreedon that; their efficiency, as a matter of fact, was what had madeKorvin's arrival a necessity. They were well into the atomic era, andwere on the verge of developing space travel. Before long they'd besettling the other planets of their system, and then the nearer stars.Faster-than-light travel couldn't be far away, for the magnificentlyefficient physical scientists of the Tr'en—and that would mean, inthe ordinary course of events, an invitation to join the Comity ofPlanets.     An invitation, the Comity was sure, which the Tr'en would not accept.     Korvin stretched out on the cell's single bunk, a rigid affair whichwas hardly meant for comfort, and sighed. He'd had three days ofisolation, with nothing to do but explore the resources of his ownmind. He'd tried some of the ancient Rhine experiments, but that wasno good; he still didn't show any particular psi talents. He couldn'tunlock the cell door with his unaided mind; he couldn't even alter theprobability of a single dust-mote's Brownian path through the somewhatsmelly air. Nor could he disappear from his cell and appear, as if bymagic, several miles away near the slightly-damaged hulk of his ship,to the wonder and amazement of his Tr'en captors.     He could do, as a matter of fact, precisely nothing. He wished quietlythat the Tr'en had seen fit to give him a pack of cards, or a book, oreven a folder of tourist pictures. The Wonders of Tr'en, according toall the advance reports, were likely to be pretty boring, but they'dhave been better than nothing.     In any decently-run jail, he told himself with indignation, therewould at least have been other prisoners to talk to. But on Tr'enKorvin was all alone.     True, every night the guards came in and gave him a concentratedlesson in the local language, but Korvin failed to get much pleasureout of that, being unconscious at the time. But now he was equipped todiscuss almost anything from philosophy to plumbing, but there wasnobody to discuss it with. He changed position on the bunk and staredat the walls. The Tr'en were efficient; there weren't even anyimperfections in the smooth surface to distract him.     He wasn't tired and he wasn't hungry; his captors had left him with afull stock of food concentrates.     But he was almightily bored, and about ready to tell anything toanyone, just for the chance at a little conversation.     As he reached this dismal conclusion, the cell door opened. Korvin gotup off the bunk in a hurry and spun around to face his visitor.     The Tr'en was tall, and slightly green.     He looked, as all the Tr'en did, vaguely humanoid—that is, if youdon't bother to examine him closely. Life in the universe appeared tobe rigidly limited to humanoid types on oxygen planets; Korvin didn'tknow why, and neither did anybody else. There were a lot of theories,but none that accounted for all the facts satisfactorily. Korvinreally didn't care about it; it was none of his business.     The Tr'en regarded him narrowly through catlike pupils. You areKorvin, he said.     It was a ritual, Korvin had learned. You are of the Tr'en, hereplied. The green being nodded.     I am Didyak of the Tr'en, he said. Amenities over with, he relaxedslightly—but no more than slightly—and came into the cell, closingthe door behind him. Korvin thought of jumping the Tr'en, but decidedquickly against it. He was a captive, and it was unwise to assume thathis captors had no more resources than the ones he saw: a smalltranslucent pistollike affair in a holster at the Tr'en's side, and asmall knife in a sheath at the belt. Those Korvin could deal with; butthere might be almost anything else hidden and ready to fire on him.     What do you want with me? Korvin said. The Tr'en speech—apparentlythere was only one language on the planet—was stiff and slightlyawkward, but easily enough learned under drug hypnosis; it was themost rigorously logical construction of its kind Korvin had ever comeacross. It reminded him of some of the mathematical metalanguages he'ddealt with back on Earth, in training; but it was more closely andcarefully constructed than even those marvels.     I want nothing with you, Didyak said, leaning against thedoor-frame. You have other questions?     Korvin sighed. What are you doing here, then? he asked. Asconversation, it wasn't very choice; but it was, he admitted, betterthan solitude.     I am leaning against the door, Didyak said. The Tr'en literalistapproach to the smallest problems of everyday living was a little hardto get the hang of, Korvin told himself bitterly. He thought for asecond.     Why did you come to me? he said at last.     Didyak beamed at him. The sight was remarkably unpleasant, involvingas it did the disclosure of the Tr'en fifty-eight teeth, mostlypointed. Korvin stared back impassively. I have been ordered to cometo you, Didyak said, by the Ruler. The Ruler wishes to talk withyou.     It wasn't quite talk; that was a general word in the Tr'en language,and Didyak had used a specific meaning, roughly: gain informationfrom, by peaceful and vocal means. Korvin filed it away for futurereference. Why did the Ruler not come to me? Korvin asked.     The Ruler is the Ruler, Didyak said, slightly discomfited. You areto go to him. Such is his command.     Korvin shrugged, sighed and smoothed back his hair. I obey thecommand of the Ruler, he said—another ritual. Everybody obeyed thecommand of the Ruler. If you didn't, you never had a second chance totry.     But Korvin meant exactly what he'd said. He was going to obey thecommands of the Ruler of the Tr'en—and remove the Tr'en threat fromthe rest of the galaxy forever.     That, after all, was his job.  <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>Looks okay to me, I said. Quade passed a gauntlet over his faceplate.It's real. I can blur it with a smudged visor. When it blurs, it'ssolid.     The landscape beyond the black corona left by our landing rockets wasunimpressive. The rocky desert was made up of silicon and iron oxide,so it looked much the same as a terrestrial location. Yellowish-whitesand ran up to and around reddish brown rock clawing into the pinksunlight.     I don't understand it, Quade admitted. Transphasia hits you a foulas soon as you let it into the airlock.     Apparently, Quade,      this     thing is going to creep up on us.     Don't sound smug, Captain. It's pitty-pattying behind you too.     The keening call across the surface of consciousness postponed my reply.     The wail was ominously forlorn, defiant of description. I turned myhead around slowly inside my helmet, not even sure that I had heard it.     But what else can you do with a wail but      hear     it?     Quade nodded. I've felt this before. It usually hits sooner. Let'strace it.     I don't like this, I admitted. It's not at all what I expected fromwhat you said about transphasia. It must be something else.     It couldn't be anything else. I know what to expect. You don't. Youmay begin smelling sensations, tasting sounds, hearing sights, seeingtastes, touching odors—or any other combination. Don't let it botheryou.     Of course not. I'll soothe my nerves by counting little shocks oflanolin jumping over a loud fence.     Quade grinned behind his faceplate. Good idea.     Then you can have it. I'm going to try keeping my eyes open andstaying alive.     There was no reply.     His expression was tart and greasy despite all his light talk, andI knew mine was the same. I tested the security rope between ourpressure suits. It was a taut and virile bass.     We scaled a staccato of rocks, our suits grinding pepper against ourhides.     The musk summit rose before us, a minor-key horizon with a shiftingtreble for as far as I could smell. It was primitive beauty that madeyou feel shocking pink inside. The most beautiful vista I had evertasted, it couldn't be dulled even by the sensation of beef broth undermy skin.     Is this transphasia? I asked in awe.     It always has been before, Quade remarked. Ready to swallow yourwords about this being something an old hand wouldn't recognize,Captain?     I'm swallowing no words until I find out precisely how they tastehere.     Not a bad taste. They're pretty. Or haven't you noticed?     Quade, you're right! About the colors anyway. This reminds me of anilliscope recording from a cybernetic translator.     It should. I don't suppose we could understand each other if it wasn'tfor our morphistudy courses in reading cross-sense translations ofCentauri blushtalk and the like.     It became difficult to understand him, difficult to try talking in theface of such splendor. You never really appreciate colors until yousmell them for the first time.  <doc-sep>Feeling better? I asked Quade in the infirmary.     He punched up his pillow and settled back. I guess so. But when Ithink of all the ways I nearly got myself killed out there.... How farhave you got in the tractors?     I'm having the tractors torn down and the parts put back into thespaceship where they belong. We      shouldn't     risk losing them andgetting stuck here.     Are you settling for a primary exploration?     No. I think I had the right idea on your rescue party. You have tomeet and fight a planet on its own terms. Fighting confused sounds andtastes with music and wine was crude, but it was on the right track.Out there, we understood language because we were familiar with alienlanguages changed to other sense mediums by cybernetic translators.Using the translator, we can learn to recognize all confused data aseasily. I'm starting indoctrination courses.     I doubt that that is necessary, sir, Quade said. Experiencedspacemen are experienced with transphasia. You don't have to worry. Inthe future, I'll be able to resist sensations that tell me I'm freezingto death—if my gauges tell me it's a lie.     I examined his bandisprayed hide. I think my way of gaining experienceis less painful and more efficient.     Quade squirmed. Yes, sir. One thing, sir—I don't understand how yougot me away from those aliens.     The aliens were trying to help. They knew something was wrong and theywere prodding and probing. When the first tractor pulled up and the mengot out, they seemed to realize our own people could help us easierthan they could.     I am not quite convinced that those babies just meant to help us allthe time.     But they did! First, that call of theirs—it wasn't to lead us intodanger, but to warn us of the cliff, the freezing wind. They saw wewere trying to find out things about their world, so they even offeredus one of their own kind to study. Unfortunately, he was too much forus. They didn't give us their top man, of course, only the villageidiot. It's just as well. We aren't allowed to dissect creatures thatfar up the intelligence scale.     But why should they want to help us? Quade demanded suspiciously.     I think it's like Nagurski's dog. The dog came to him when it wantedsomebody to own it, protect it, feed it, love it. These aliens      want     Earthmen to colonize the planet. We came here, you see, same as the dogcame to Nagurski.     Well, I've learned one thing from all of this, Quade said. I've beena blind, arrogant, cocksure fool, following courses that were good on      some     worlds,      most     worlds, but not good on      all     worlds. I'm nevergoing to be that foolhardy again.     But you're losing      confidence     , Quade! You aren't sure of yourself anymore. Isn't confidence a spaceman's most valuable asset?     The hell it is, Quade said grimly. It's his deadliest liability.     In that case, I must inform you that I am demoting you to ActingExecutive Officer.     Huh? Quade gawked. But dammit, Captain, you can't do that to me!I'll lose hazard pay and be that much further from retirement!     That's tough, I sympathized, but in every service a chap gets brokenin rank now and then.     Maybe it's worth it, Quade said heavily. Now maybe I've learned howto stay alive out here. I just hope I don't forget.     I thought about that. I was nearly through with my first mission andI could speak with experience, even if it was the least amount ofexperience aboard.     Quade, I said, space isn't as dangerous as all that. I clapped himon the shoulder fraternally. You worry too much!   <doc-sep>I don't mind conning the public from time to time, but I draw the lineat getting bilked myself. Look, friend, I'm busy, and I'm not knownfor my sense of humor. Or my generosity.     I'm not panhandling. I'm looking for a job.     Then try elsewhere. Suppose you stop wasting my time, bud. You're asEarthborn as I am.     I've never been within a dozen parsecs of Earth, he said smoothly. Ihappen to be a representative of the only Earthlike race that existsanywhere in the Galaxy but on Earth itself. Wazzenazz XIII is a smalland little-known planet in the Crab Nebula. Through an evolutionaryfluke, my race is identical with yours. Now, don't you want me in yourcircus?     No. And it's not a circus. It's—     A scientific institute. I stand corrected.     There was something glib and appealing about this preposterous phony. Iguess I recognized a kindred spirit or I would have tossed him out onhis ear without another word. Instead I played along. If you're fromsuch a distant place, how come you speak English so well?     I'm not speaking. I'm a telepath—not the kind that reads minds, justthe kind that projects. I communicate in symbols that you translateback to colloquial speech.     Very clever, Mr. Gorb. I grinned at him and shook my head. You spina good yarn—but for my money, you're really Sam Jones or Phil Smithfrom Earth, stranded here and out of cash. You want a free trip back toEarth. No deal. The demand for beings from Wazzenazz XIII is pretty lowthese days. Zero, in fact. Good-by, Mr. Gorb.     He pointed a finger squarely at me and said, You're making a bigmistake. I'm just what your outfit needs. A representative of ahitherto utterly unknown race identical to humanity in every respect!Look here, examine my teeth. Absolutely like human teeth! And—     I pulled away from his yawning mouth. Good-by, Mr. Gorb, I repeated.     All I ask is a contract, Corrigan. It isn't much. I'll be a bigattraction. I'll—           Good-by, Mr. Gorb!          He glowered at me reproachfully for a moment, stood up and sauntered tothe door. I thought you were a man of acumen, Corrigan. Well, thinkit over. Maybe you'll regret your hastiness. I'll be back to give youanother chance.     He slammed the door and I let my grim expression relax into a smile.This was the best con switch yet—an Earthman posing as an alien to geta job!     But I wasn't buying it, even if I could appreciate his clevernessintellectually. There's no such place as Wazzenazz XIII and there'sonly one human race in the Galaxy—on Earth. I was going to need somereal good reason before I gave a down-and-out grifter a free tickethome.     I didn't know it then, but before the day was out, I would have thatreason. And, with it, plenty of trouble on my hands.  <doc-sep>   The Snare     By RICHARD R. SMITH     Illustrated by WEISS     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy January 1956.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright     on this publication was renewed.]        It's easy to find a solution when there is one—the trick is to do itif there is none!        I glanced at the path we had made across the      Mare Serenitatis     . TheLatin translated as the Sea of Serenity. It was well named because,as far as the eye could see in every direction, there was a smoothlayer of pumice that resembled the surface of a calm sea. Scatteredacross the quiet sea of virgin Moon dust were occasional islandsof rock that jutted abruptly toward the infinity of stars above.Considering everything, our surroundings conveyed a sense of serenitylike none I had ever felt.     Our bounding path across the level expanse was clearly marked. Becauseof the light gravity, we had leaped high into the air with each stepand every time we struck the ground, the impact had raised a cloud ofdustlike pumice. Now the clouds of dust were slowly settling in thelight gravity.     Above us, the stars were cold, motionless and crystal-clear.Indifferently, they sprayed a faint light on our surroundings ... adim glow that was hardly sufficient for normal vision and was too weakto be reflected toward Earth.     We turned our head-lamps on the strange object before us. Five beamsof light illuminated the smooth shape that protruded from the Moon'ssurface.     The incongruity was so awesome that for several minutes, we remainedmotionless and quiet. Miller broke the silence with his quaveringvoice, Strange someone didn't notice it before.  <doc-sep>The President's Secretary, a paunchy veteran of party caucuses, wasalso glad that it was the Thinkers who had created the machine, thoughhe trembled at the power that it gave them over the Administration.Still, you could do business with the Thinkers. And nobody (not eventhe Thinkers) could do business (that sort of business) with Maizie!     Before that great square face with its thousands of tiny metalfeatures, only Jorj Helmuth seemed at ease, busily entering on thetape the complex Questions of the Day that the high officials hadhanded him: logistics for the Endless War in Pakistan, optimum size fornext year's sugar-corn crop, current thought trends in average Sovietminds—profound questions, yet many of them phrased with surprisingsimplicity. For figures, technical jargon, and layman's language werealike to Maizie; there was no need to translate into mathematicalshorthand, as with the lesser brain-machines.     The click of the taper went on until the Secretary of State had twicenervously fired a cigaret with his ultrasonic lighter and twice quicklyput it away. No one spoke.     Jorj looked up at the Secretary of Space. Section Five, QuestionFour—whom would that come from?     The burly man frowned. That would be the physics boys, Opperly'sgroup. Is anything wrong?     Jorj did not answer. A bit later he quit taping and began to adjustcontrols, going up on the boom-chair to reach some of them. Eventuallyhe came down and touched a few more, then stood waiting.     From the great cube came a profound, steady purring. Involuntarily thesix officials backed off a bit. Somehow it was impossible for a man toget used to the sound of Maizie starting to think.  <doc-sep>There were.     Retief dug in and the Flap-jack writhed, pulled away. Retief held on,scrambled to his feet, threw his weight against the alien and fell ontop of him, still gouging. Hoshick rippled his fringe wildly, floppedin terror, then went limp.     Retief relaxed, released his hold and got to his feet, breathing hard.Hoshick humped himself over onto his ventral side, lifted and movedgingerly over to the sidelines. His retainers came forward, assistedhim into his trappings, strapped on the translator. He sighed heavily,adjusted the volume.     There is much to be said for the old system, he said. What a burdenone's sportsmanship places on one at times.     Great sport, wasn't it? said Retief. Now, I know you'll be eager tocontinue. If you'll just wait while I run back and fetch some of ourgougerforms—     May hide-ticks devour the gougerforms! Hoshick bellowed. You'vegiven me such a sprong-ache as I'll remember each spawning-time for ayear.     Speaking of hide-ticks, said Retief, we've developed a biterform—     Enough! Hoshick roared, so loudly that the translator bounced on hishide. Suddenly I yearn for the crowded yellow sands of Jaq. I hadhoped.... He broke off, drew a rasping breath. I had hoped, Retief,he said, speaking sadly now, to find a new land here where I mightplan my own Mosaic, till these alien sands and bring forth such a cropof paradise-lichen as should glut the markets of a hundred worlds. Butmy spirit is not equal to the prospect of biterforms and gougerformswithout end. I am shamed before you....     To tell you the truth, I'm old-fashioned myself. I'd rather watch theaction from a distance too.     But surely your spawn-fellows would never condone such an attitude.     My spawn-fellows aren't here. And besides, didn't I mention it? Noone who's really in the know would think of engaging in competition bymere combat if there were any other way. Now, you mentioned tilling thesand, raising lichens—things like that—     That on which we dined but now, said Hoshick, and from which thewine is made.     The big news in fashionable diplomacy today is farming competition.Now, if you'd like to take these deserts and raise lichen, we'llpromise to stick to the oases and vegetables.     Hoshick curled his back in attention. Retief, you're quite serious?You would leave all the fair sand hills to us?     The whole works, Hoshick. I'll take the oases.     Hoshick rippled his fringes ecstatically. Once again you have outdoneme, Retief, he cried. This time, in generosity.     We'll talk over the details later. I'm sure we can establish a set ofrules that will satisfy all parties. Now I've got to get back. I thinksome of the gougerforms are waiting to see me.      IV     It was nearly dawn when Retief gave the whistled signal he had agreedon with Potter, then rose and walked into the camp circle. Swazey stoodup.     There you are, he said. We been wonderin' whether to go out afteryou.     Lemuel came forward, one eye black to the cheekbone. He held out araw-boned hand. Sorry I jumped you, stranger. Tell you the truth, Ithought you was some kind of stool-pigeon from the CDT.     Bert came up behind Lemuel. How do you know he ain't, Lemuel? hesaid. Maybe he—     Lemuel floored Bert with a backward sweep of his arm. Nextcotton-picker says some embassy Johnny can cool me gets worse'n that.     Tell me, said Retief. How are you boys fixed for wine?     Wine? Mister, we been livin' on stump water for a year now. 'Dobe'sfatal to the kind of bacteria it takes to ferment likker.     Try this. Retief handed over a sqat jug. Swazey drew the cork,sniffed, drank and passed it to Lemuel.     Mister, where'd you get that?     The Flap-jacks make it. Here's another question for you: Would youconcede a share in this planet to the Flap-jacks in return for a peaceguarantee?     At the end of a half hour of heated debate Lemuel turned to Retief.We'll make any reasonable deal, he said. I guess they got as muchright here as we have. I think we'd agree to a fifty-fifty split.That'd give about a hundred and fifty oases to each side.     What would you say to keeping all the oases and giving them thedesert?     Lemuel reached for the wine jug, eyes on Retief. Keep talkin',mister, he said. I think you got yourself a deal.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What role does translation play in the narrative of LOST IN TRANSLATION?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the role of Didyak in the story ""Lost in Translation""? [SEP] <s>    LOST     IN     TRANSLATION     By     LARRY M.     HARRIS         In language translation, you may get a literally accurateword-for-word translation ... but miss the meaning entirely. And inspace-type translation ... the effect may be the same!         Illustrated by Schoenherr        The cell had been put together more efficiently than any Korvin hadever been in. But that was only natural, he told himself sadly; theTr'en were an efficient people. All the preliminary reports had agreedon that; their efficiency, as a matter of fact, was what had madeKorvin's arrival a necessity. They were well into the atomic era, andwere on the verge of developing space travel. Before long they'd besettling the other planets of their system, and then the nearer stars.Faster-than-light travel couldn't be far away, for the magnificentlyefficient physical scientists of the Tr'en—and that would mean, inthe ordinary course of events, an invitation to join the Comity ofPlanets.     An invitation, the Comity was sure, which the Tr'en would not accept.     Korvin stretched out on the cell's single bunk, a rigid affair whichwas hardly meant for comfort, and sighed. He'd had three days ofisolation, with nothing to do but explore the resources of his ownmind. He'd tried some of the ancient Rhine experiments, but that wasno good; he still didn't show any particular psi talents. He couldn'tunlock the cell door with his unaided mind; he couldn't even alter theprobability of a single dust-mote's Brownian path through the somewhatsmelly air. Nor could he disappear from his cell and appear, as if bymagic, several miles away near the slightly-damaged hulk of his ship,to the wonder and amazement of his Tr'en captors.     He could do, as a matter of fact, precisely nothing. He wished quietlythat the Tr'en had seen fit to give him a pack of cards, or a book, oreven a folder of tourist pictures. The Wonders of Tr'en, according toall the advance reports, were likely to be pretty boring, but they'dhave been better than nothing.     In any decently-run jail, he told himself with indignation, therewould at least have been other prisoners to talk to. But on Tr'enKorvin was all alone.     True, every night the guards came in and gave him a concentratedlesson in the local language, but Korvin failed to get much pleasureout of that, being unconscious at the time. But now he was equipped todiscuss almost anything from philosophy to plumbing, but there wasnobody to discuss it with. He changed position on the bunk and staredat the walls. The Tr'en were efficient; there weren't even anyimperfections in the smooth surface to distract him.     He wasn't tired and he wasn't hungry; his captors had left him with afull stock of food concentrates.     But he was almightily bored, and about ready to tell anything toanyone, just for the chance at a little conversation.     As he reached this dismal conclusion, the cell door opened. Korvin gotup off the bunk in a hurry and spun around to face his visitor.     The Tr'en was tall, and slightly green.     He looked, as all the Tr'en did, vaguely humanoid—that is, if youdon't bother to examine him closely. Life in the universe appeared tobe rigidly limited to humanoid types on oxygen planets; Korvin didn'tknow why, and neither did anybody else. There were a lot of theories,but none that accounted for all the facts satisfactorily. Korvinreally didn't care about it; it was none of his business.     The Tr'en regarded him narrowly through catlike pupils. You areKorvin, he said.     It was a ritual, Korvin had learned. You are of the Tr'en, hereplied. The green being nodded.     I am Didyak of the Tr'en, he said. Amenities over with, he relaxedslightly—but no more than slightly—and came into the cell, closingthe door behind him. Korvin thought of jumping the Tr'en, but decidedquickly against it. He was a captive, and it was unwise to assume thathis captors had no more resources than the ones he saw: a smalltranslucent pistollike affair in a holster at the Tr'en's side, and asmall knife in a sheath at the belt. Those Korvin could deal with; butthere might be almost anything else hidden and ready to fire on him.     What do you want with me? Korvin said. The Tr'en speech—apparentlythere was only one language on the planet—was stiff and slightlyawkward, but easily enough learned under drug hypnosis; it was themost rigorously logical construction of its kind Korvin had ever comeacross. It reminded him of some of the mathematical metalanguages he'ddealt with back on Earth, in training; but it was more closely andcarefully constructed than even those marvels.     I want nothing with you, Didyak said, leaning against thedoor-frame. You have other questions?     Korvin sighed. What are you doing here, then? he asked. Asconversation, it wasn't very choice; but it was, he admitted, betterthan solitude.     I am leaning against the door, Didyak said. The Tr'en literalistapproach to the smallest problems of everyday living was a little hardto get the hang of, Korvin told himself bitterly. He thought for asecond.     Why did you come to me? he said at last.     Didyak beamed at him. The sight was remarkably unpleasant, involvingas it did the disclosure of the Tr'en fifty-eight teeth, mostlypointed. Korvin stared back impassively. I have been ordered to cometo you, Didyak said, by the Ruler. The Ruler wishes to talk withyou.     It wasn't quite talk; that was a general word in the Tr'en language,and Didyak had used a specific meaning, roughly: gain informationfrom, by peaceful and vocal means. Korvin filed it away for futurereference. Why did the Ruler not come to me? Korvin asked.     The Ruler is the Ruler, Didyak said, slightly discomfited. You areto go to him. Such is his command.     Korvin shrugged, sighed and smoothed back his hair. I obey thecommand of the Ruler, he said—another ritual. Everybody obeyed thecommand of the Ruler. If you didn't, you never had a second chance totry.     But Korvin meant exactly what he'd said. He was going to obey thecommands of the Ruler of the Tr'en—and remove the Tr'en threat fromthe rest of the galaxy forever.     That, after all, was his job.  <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>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>On a larger and heavier world than Planetoid 42, Johnson's curiositywould probably have had weight and mass. He was bursting withquestions, but he was obviously afraid they would cost him money. Forhis part, Harvey allowed that curiosity to grow like a Venusian amoebauntil Joe came in, lugging a radio.     Is that what you were talking about? the mayor snorted. What makesyou think I want a radio? I came here to get away from singers andpolitical speech-makers.     Do not jump to hasty conclusions, Harvey cautioned. Another word,and I shall refuse you the greatest opportunity any man has ever had,with the sole exceptions of Joseph, myself and the unfortunate inventorof this absolutely awe-inspiring device.     I ain't in the market for a radio, Johnson said stubbornly.     Harvey nodded in relief. We have attempted to repay our host, Joseph.He has spurned our generosity. We have now the chance to continue ourstudy, which I am positive will soon reward us with the key to anenormous fortune.     Well, that's no plating off our bow, Joe grunted. I'm glad he didturn it down. I hated to give it up after working on it for three wholeyears.     He picked up the radio and began walking toward the door.     Now, hold on! the mayor cried. I ain't      saying     I'll buy, but whatis it I'm turning down?     Joe returned and set the instrument down on the bar. His facesorrowful, Harvey fondly stroked the scarred plasticoid cabinet.     To make a long story, Mr. Johnson, he said, Joseph and I were amongthe chosen few who knew the famous Doctor Dean intimately. Just beforehis tragic death, you will recall, Dean allegedly went insane. Hebanged his fist on the bar. I have said it before, and I repeat again,that was a malicious lie, spread by the doctor's enemies to discredithis greatest invention—this fourth dimensional radio!     This what? Johnson blurted out.     In simple terms, clarified Harvey, the ingenious doctor discoveredthat the yawning chasm between the dimensions could be bridged byenergy of all quanta. There has never been any question that theinhabitants of the super-dimension would be far more civilized thanourselves. Consequently, the man who could tap their knowledge wouldfind himself in possession of a powerful, undreamt-of science!     The mayor looked respectfully at the silent box on the bar.     And this thing gets broadcasts from the fourth dimension?     It does, Mr. Johnson! Only charlatans like those who envied DoctorDean's magnificent accomplishments could deny that fact.     The mayor put his hands in his pockets, unswiveled one hip and staredthoughtfully at the battered cabinet.     Well, let's say it picks up fourth dimensional broadcasts, heconceded. But how could you understand what they're saying? Folks upthere wouldn't talk our language.     Again Harvey smashed his fist down. Do you dare to repeat the scurvylie that broke Dean's spirit and drove him to suicide?     Johnson recoiled. No—no,      of course not     . I mean, being up here, Inaturally couldn't get all the details.     Naturally, Harvey agreed, mollified. I'm sorry I lost my temper.But it is a matter of record that the doctor proved the broadcastsemanating from the super-dimension were in English! Why should that beso difficult to believe? Is it impossible that at one time there wascommunication between the dimensions, that the super-beings admiredour language and adopted it in all its beauty, adding to it their ownhyper-scientific trimmings?     Why, I don't know, Johnson said in confusion.     For three years, Joseph and I lost sleep and hair, trying to detectthe simple key that would translate the somewhat metamorphosedbroadcasts into our primitive English. It eluded us. Even the doctorfailed. But that was understandable; a sensitive soul like his couldstand only so much. And the combination of ridicule and failure tosolve the mystery caused him to take his own life.     Johnson winced. Is that what you want to unload on me?     For a very good reason, sir. Patience is the virtue that will berewarded with the key to these fourth dimensional broadcasts. A man whocould devote his life to improving this lonely worldlet is obviously aperson with unusual patience.     Yeah, the mayor said grudgingly, I ain't exactly flighty.     Therefore, you are the man who could unravel the problem!     Johnson asked skeptically: How about a sample first?  <doc-sep>Eric caught a faint nod here, a gesture there. Kroon nodded as ifin satisfaction. He turned to the girl, And what is your opinion,Daughter of the City?     Nolette's expression held sorrow, as if she looked into the far future.She said, He is Eric the Bronze. I have no doubt.     Eric asked, And what is this Legend of Eric the Bronze? Why am I sodespised in the city?     Kroon answered, According to the Ancient Legend you will destroy thecity. This, and other things.     Eric gaped. No wonder the crowd had shown such hatred. But why werethe elders so friendly? They were obviously the governing body, and ifthere was strife between them and the people it had not shown in therespect the crowd had accorded Nolette.     Kroon said, I see you are puzzled. Let me tell you the story of theCity. The City is old. It dates from long ago when the canals of Marsran clear and green with water, and the deserts were vineyards andgardens. The drouth came, and the changes in climate, and soon itbecame plain that the people of Mars were doomed. They had ships, andcould build more, and gradually they left to colonize other planets.Yet they could take little of their science. And fear and riotsdestroyed much. Also there were those who were filled with love forthis homeland, and who thought that one day it might be habitableagain. All the skill of the ancient Martian fathers went into thebuilding of a giant machine, the machine that is the City, to protect asmall colony of those who were chosen to remain on Mars.     This whole city is a machine! Eric asked.     Yes, or the product of one. The heart of it lies underneath our feet,in caverns beneath this building. The nature of the machine is this,that it translates thought into reality.     Eric stared. The idea was staggering.     This is essentially simple, although the technology is complex. It isnecessary to have a recording device, to capture thought, a transmutingdevice capable of transmuting the red dust of the desert into anysort of material desired, and a construction device, to assemble thismaterial into the pattern already recorded from thought. Kroon paused.You still doubt, my friend. Perhaps you are thirsty after your escape.Think strongly of a tall glass of cold water, visualize it in yourmind, the sight and the fluidity and the touch of it.     Eric did so. Without warning a glass of water stood on the table beforehim. He touched the water to his lips. It was cool and satisfying. Hedrank it, convinced completely.     Eric asked, And I am to destroy the City?     Yes. The time has come.     But why? Eric demanded. For an instant he could see the twinklingbeauty as clearly as if he had stood outside the walls of this building.     Kroon said, There are difficulties. The machine builds according tothe mass will of the people, though it is sensitive to the individualin areas where it does not conflict with the imagination of the mass.We have had strangers, visitors, and even our own people, who grewdrunk with the power of the machine, who dreamed more and more lust andgreed into existence. These were banished from the city, and so strongis the call of the city that many of them became victims of their ownevilness, and now walk mindlessly, with no thought but to seek for thebeauty they have lost here.     Kroon sighed. The people have lost the will to learn. Many do not evenknow of the machine. Our science is almost gone, and only a few of us,the dreamers, the elders, have kept alive the old knowledge of themachine and its history. By the collected powers of our imagination webuild and control the outward appearance of the city.     We have passed this down from father to son. A part of the ancientLegend is that the builders made provisions for the machine to bedestroyed when contact with outsiders had been made once again, so thatour people would again have to struggle forward to knowledge and power.The instrument of destruction was to be a man termed Eric the Bronze.It is not that you are reborn. It is just that sometime such a manwould come.     Eric said, I can understand the Bronze part. They had thought that aspace man might well be sun tanned. They had thought that a science toprotect against this beautiful illusion would provide a metal shieldof some sort, probably copper in nature. That such a man should comeis inevitable. But why Eric. Why the name Eric?     For the first time Nolette spoke. She said quietly, The name Ericwas an honorable name of the ancient fathers. It must have been theirthought that the new beginning should wait for some of their own farflung kind to return.     Eric nodded. He asked, What happens now?     Nothing. Dwell here with us and you will be safe from our people. Ifthe prediction is not soon fulfilled and you are not the Eric of theLegend, you may stay or go as you desire.     My brother, Garve. What about him?     He loves the city. He will also stay, though he will be outside thisbuilding. Kroon clasped his hands. Nolette, will you show Eric hisquarters?  <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>Looks okay to me, I said. Quade passed a gauntlet over his faceplate.It's real. I can blur it with a smudged visor. When it blurs, it'ssolid.     The landscape beyond the black corona left by our landing rockets wasunimpressive. The rocky desert was made up of silicon and iron oxide,so it looked much the same as a terrestrial location. Yellowish-whitesand ran up to and around reddish brown rock clawing into the pinksunlight.     I don't understand it, Quade admitted. Transphasia hits you a foulas soon as you let it into the airlock.     Apparently, Quade,      this     thing is going to creep up on us.     Don't sound smug, Captain. It's pitty-pattying behind you too.     The keening call across the surface of consciousness postponed my reply.     The wail was ominously forlorn, defiant of description. I turned myhead around slowly inside my helmet, not even sure that I had heard it.     But what else can you do with a wail but      hear     it?     Quade nodded. I've felt this before. It usually hits sooner. Let'strace it.     I don't like this, I admitted. It's not at all what I expected fromwhat you said about transphasia. It must be something else.     It couldn't be anything else. I know what to expect. You don't. Youmay begin smelling sensations, tasting sounds, hearing sights, seeingtastes, touching odors—or any other combination. Don't let it botheryou.     Of course not. I'll soothe my nerves by counting little shocks oflanolin jumping over a loud fence.     Quade grinned behind his faceplate. Good idea.     Then you can have it. I'm going to try keeping my eyes open andstaying alive.     There was no reply.     His expression was tart and greasy despite all his light talk, andI knew mine was the same. I tested the security rope between ourpressure suits. It was a taut and virile bass.     We scaled a staccato of rocks, our suits grinding pepper against ourhides.     The musk summit rose before us, a minor-key horizon with a shiftingtreble for as far as I could smell. It was primitive beauty that madeyou feel shocking pink inside. The most beautiful vista I had evertasted, it couldn't be dulled even by the sensation of beef broth undermy skin.     Is this transphasia? I asked in awe.     It always has been before, Quade remarked. Ready to swallow yourwords about this being something an old hand wouldn't recognize,Captain?     I'm swallowing no words until I find out precisely how they tastehere.     Not a bad taste. They're pretty. Or haven't you noticed?     Quade, you're right! About the colors anyway. This reminds me of anilliscope recording from a cybernetic translator.     It should. I don't suppose we could understand each other if it wasn'tfor our morphistudy courses in reading cross-sense translations ofCentauri blushtalk and the like.     It became difficult to understand him, difficult to try talking in theface of such splendor. You never really appreciate colors until yousmell them for the first time.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the role of Didyak in the story ""Lost in Translation""?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the backdrop of the story LOST IN TRANSLATION? [SEP] <s>    LOST     IN     TRANSLATION     By     LARRY M.     HARRIS         In language translation, you may get a literally accurateword-for-word translation ... but miss the meaning entirely. And inspace-type translation ... the effect may be the same!         Illustrated by Schoenherr        The cell had been put together more efficiently than any Korvin hadever been in. But that was only natural, he told himself sadly; theTr'en were an efficient people. All the preliminary reports had agreedon that; their efficiency, as a matter of fact, was what had madeKorvin's arrival a necessity. They were well into the atomic era, andwere on the verge of developing space travel. Before long they'd besettling the other planets of their system, and then the nearer stars.Faster-than-light travel couldn't be far away, for the magnificentlyefficient physical scientists of the Tr'en—and that would mean, inthe ordinary course of events, an invitation to join the Comity ofPlanets.     An invitation, the Comity was sure, which the Tr'en would not accept.     Korvin stretched out on the cell's single bunk, a rigid affair whichwas hardly meant for comfort, and sighed. He'd had three days ofisolation, with nothing to do but explore the resources of his ownmind. He'd tried some of the ancient Rhine experiments, but that wasno good; he still didn't show any particular psi talents. He couldn'tunlock the cell door with his unaided mind; he couldn't even alter theprobability of a single dust-mote's Brownian path through the somewhatsmelly air. Nor could he disappear from his cell and appear, as if bymagic, several miles away near the slightly-damaged hulk of his ship,to the wonder and amazement of his Tr'en captors.     He could do, as a matter of fact, precisely nothing. He wished quietlythat the Tr'en had seen fit to give him a pack of cards, or a book, oreven a folder of tourist pictures. The Wonders of Tr'en, according toall the advance reports, were likely to be pretty boring, but they'dhave been better than nothing.     In any decently-run jail, he told himself with indignation, therewould at least have been other prisoners to talk to. But on Tr'enKorvin was all alone.     True, every night the guards came in and gave him a concentratedlesson in the local language, but Korvin failed to get much pleasureout of that, being unconscious at the time. But now he was equipped todiscuss almost anything from philosophy to plumbing, but there wasnobody to discuss it with. He changed position on the bunk and staredat the walls. The Tr'en were efficient; there weren't even anyimperfections in the smooth surface to distract him.     He wasn't tired and he wasn't hungry; his captors had left him with afull stock of food concentrates.     But he was almightily bored, and about ready to tell anything toanyone, just for the chance at a little conversation.     As he reached this dismal conclusion, the cell door opened. Korvin gotup off the bunk in a hurry and spun around to face his visitor.     The Tr'en was tall, and slightly green.     He looked, as all the Tr'en did, vaguely humanoid—that is, if youdon't bother to examine him closely. Life in the universe appeared tobe rigidly limited to humanoid types on oxygen planets; Korvin didn'tknow why, and neither did anybody else. There were a lot of theories,but none that accounted for all the facts satisfactorily. Korvinreally didn't care about it; it was none of his business.     The Tr'en regarded him narrowly through catlike pupils. You areKorvin, he said.     It was a ritual, Korvin had learned. You are of the Tr'en, hereplied. The green being nodded.     I am Didyak of the Tr'en, he said. Amenities over with, he relaxedslightly—but no more than slightly—and came into the cell, closingthe door behind him. Korvin thought of jumping the Tr'en, but decidedquickly against it. He was a captive, and it was unwise to assume thathis captors had no more resources than the ones he saw: a smalltranslucent pistollike affair in a holster at the Tr'en's side, and asmall knife in a sheath at the belt. Those Korvin could deal with; butthere might be almost anything else hidden and ready to fire on him.     What do you want with me? Korvin said. The Tr'en speech—apparentlythere was only one language on the planet—was stiff and slightlyawkward, but easily enough learned under drug hypnosis; it was themost rigorously logical construction of its kind Korvin had ever comeacross. It reminded him of some of the mathematical metalanguages he'ddealt with back on Earth, in training; but it was more closely andcarefully constructed than even those marvels.     I want nothing with you, Didyak said, leaning against thedoor-frame. You have other questions?     Korvin sighed. What are you doing here, then? he asked. Asconversation, it wasn't very choice; but it was, he admitted, betterthan solitude.     I am leaning against the door, Didyak said. The Tr'en literalistapproach to the smallest problems of everyday living was a little hardto get the hang of, Korvin told himself bitterly. He thought for asecond.     Why did you come to me? he said at last.     Didyak beamed at him. The sight was remarkably unpleasant, involvingas it did the disclosure of the Tr'en fifty-eight teeth, mostlypointed. Korvin stared back impassively. I have been ordered to cometo you, Didyak said, by the Ruler. The Ruler wishes to talk withyou.     It wasn't quite talk; that was a general word in the Tr'en language,and Didyak had used a specific meaning, roughly: gain informationfrom, by peaceful and vocal means. Korvin filed it away for futurereference. Why did the Ruler not come to me? Korvin asked.     The Ruler is the Ruler, Didyak said, slightly discomfited. You areto go to him. Such is his command.     Korvin shrugged, sighed and smoothed back his hair. I obey thecommand of the Ruler, he said—another ritual. Everybody obeyed thecommand of the Ruler. If you didn't, you never had a second chance totry.     But Korvin meant exactly what he'd said. He was going to obey thecommands of the Ruler of the Tr'en—and remove the Tr'en threat fromthe rest of the galaxy forever.     That, after all, was his job.  <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>On a larger and heavier world than Planetoid 42, Johnson's curiositywould probably have had weight and mass. He was bursting withquestions, but he was obviously afraid they would cost him money. Forhis part, Harvey allowed that curiosity to grow like a Venusian amoebauntil Joe came in, lugging a radio.     Is that what you were talking about? the mayor snorted. What makesyou think I want a radio? I came here to get away from singers andpolitical speech-makers.     Do not jump to hasty conclusions, Harvey cautioned. Another word,and I shall refuse you the greatest opportunity any man has ever had,with the sole exceptions of Joseph, myself and the unfortunate inventorof this absolutely awe-inspiring device.     I ain't in the market for a radio, Johnson said stubbornly.     Harvey nodded in relief. We have attempted to repay our host, Joseph.He has spurned our generosity. We have now the chance to continue ourstudy, which I am positive will soon reward us with the key to anenormous fortune.     Well, that's no plating off our bow, Joe grunted. I'm glad he didturn it down. I hated to give it up after working on it for three wholeyears.     He picked up the radio and began walking toward the door.     Now, hold on! the mayor cried. I ain't      saying     I'll buy, but whatis it I'm turning down?     Joe returned and set the instrument down on the bar. His facesorrowful, Harvey fondly stroked the scarred plasticoid cabinet.     To make a long story, Mr. Johnson, he said, Joseph and I were amongthe chosen few who knew the famous Doctor Dean intimately. Just beforehis tragic death, you will recall, Dean allegedly went insane. Hebanged his fist on the bar. I have said it before, and I repeat again,that was a malicious lie, spread by the doctor's enemies to discredithis greatest invention—this fourth dimensional radio!     This what? Johnson blurted out.     In simple terms, clarified Harvey, the ingenious doctor discoveredthat the yawning chasm between the dimensions could be bridged byenergy of all quanta. There has never been any question that theinhabitants of the super-dimension would be far more civilized thanourselves. Consequently, the man who could tap their knowledge wouldfind himself in possession of a powerful, undreamt-of science!     The mayor looked respectfully at the silent box on the bar.     And this thing gets broadcasts from the fourth dimension?     It does, Mr. Johnson! Only charlatans like those who envied DoctorDean's magnificent accomplishments could deny that fact.     The mayor put his hands in his pockets, unswiveled one hip and staredthoughtfully at the battered cabinet.     Well, let's say it picks up fourth dimensional broadcasts, heconceded. But how could you understand what they're saying? Folks upthere wouldn't talk our language.     Again Harvey smashed his fist down. Do you dare to repeat the scurvylie that broke Dean's spirit and drove him to suicide?     Johnson recoiled. No—no,      of course not     . I mean, being up here, Inaturally couldn't get all the details.     Naturally, Harvey agreed, mollified. I'm sorry I lost my temper.But it is a matter of record that the doctor proved the broadcastsemanating from the super-dimension were in English! Why should that beso difficult to believe? Is it impossible that at one time there wascommunication between the dimensions, that the super-beings admiredour language and adopted it in all its beauty, adding to it their ownhyper-scientific trimmings?     Why, I don't know, Johnson said in confusion.     For three years, Joseph and I lost sleep and hair, trying to detectthe simple key that would translate the somewhat metamorphosedbroadcasts into our primitive English. It eluded us. Even the doctorfailed. But that was understandable; a sensitive soul like his couldstand only so much. And the combination of ridicule and failure tosolve the mystery caused him to take his own life.     Johnson winced. Is that what you want to unload on me?     For a very good reason, sir. Patience is the virtue that will berewarded with the key to these fourth dimensional broadcasts. A man whocould devote his life to improving this lonely worldlet is obviously aperson with unusual patience.     Yeah, the mayor said grudgingly, I ain't exactly flighty.     Therefore, you are the man who could unravel the problem!     Johnson asked skeptically: How about a sample first?  <doc-sep>Eric caught a faint nod here, a gesture there. Kroon nodded as ifin satisfaction. He turned to the girl, And what is your opinion,Daughter of the City?     Nolette's expression held sorrow, as if she looked into the far future.She said, He is Eric the Bronze. I have no doubt.     Eric asked, And what is this Legend of Eric the Bronze? Why am I sodespised in the city?     Kroon answered, According to the Ancient Legend you will destroy thecity. This, and other things.     Eric gaped. No wonder the crowd had shown such hatred. But why werethe elders so friendly? They were obviously the governing body, and ifthere was strife between them and the people it had not shown in therespect the crowd had accorded Nolette.     Kroon said, I see you are puzzled. Let me tell you the story of theCity. The City is old. It dates from long ago when the canals of Marsran clear and green with water, and the deserts were vineyards andgardens. The drouth came, and the changes in climate, and soon itbecame plain that the people of Mars were doomed. They had ships, andcould build more, and gradually they left to colonize other planets.Yet they could take little of their science. And fear and riotsdestroyed much. Also there were those who were filled with love forthis homeland, and who thought that one day it might be habitableagain. All the skill of the ancient Martian fathers went into thebuilding of a giant machine, the machine that is the City, to protect asmall colony of those who were chosen to remain on Mars.     This whole city is a machine! Eric asked.     Yes, or the product of one. The heart of it lies underneath our feet,in caverns beneath this building. The nature of the machine is this,that it translates thought into reality.     Eric stared. The idea was staggering.     This is essentially simple, although the technology is complex. It isnecessary to have a recording device, to capture thought, a transmutingdevice capable of transmuting the red dust of the desert into anysort of material desired, and a construction device, to assemble thismaterial into the pattern already recorded from thought. Kroon paused.You still doubt, my friend. Perhaps you are thirsty after your escape.Think strongly of a tall glass of cold water, visualize it in yourmind, the sight and the fluidity and the touch of it.     Eric did so. Without warning a glass of water stood on the table beforehim. He touched the water to his lips. It was cool and satisfying. Hedrank it, convinced completely.     Eric asked, And I am to destroy the City?     Yes. The time has come.     But why? Eric demanded. For an instant he could see the twinklingbeauty as clearly as if he had stood outside the walls of this building.     Kroon said, There are difficulties. The machine builds according tothe mass will of the people, though it is sensitive to the individualin areas where it does not conflict with the imagination of the mass.We have had strangers, visitors, and even our own people, who grewdrunk with the power of the machine, who dreamed more and more lust andgreed into existence. These were banished from the city, and so strongis the call of the city that many of them became victims of their ownevilness, and now walk mindlessly, with no thought but to seek for thebeauty they have lost here.     Kroon sighed. The people have lost the will to learn. Many do not evenknow of the machine. Our science is almost gone, and only a few of us,the dreamers, the elders, have kept alive the old knowledge of themachine and its history. By the collected powers of our imagination webuild and control the outward appearance of the city.     We have passed this down from father to son. A part of the ancientLegend is that the builders made provisions for the machine to bedestroyed when contact with outsiders had been made once again, so thatour people would again have to struggle forward to knowledge and power.The instrument of destruction was to be a man termed Eric the Bronze.It is not that you are reborn. It is just that sometime such a manwould come.     Eric said, I can understand the Bronze part. They had thought that aspace man might well be sun tanned. They had thought that a science toprotect against this beautiful illusion would provide a metal shieldof some sort, probably copper in nature. That such a man should comeis inevitable. But why Eric. Why the name Eric?     For the first time Nolette spoke. She said quietly, The name Ericwas an honorable name of the ancient fathers. It must have been theirthought that the new beginning should wait for some of their own farflung kind to return.     Eric nodded. He asked, What happens now?     Nothing. Dwell here with us and you will be safe from our people. Ifthe prediction is not soon fulfilled and you are not the Eric of theLegend, you may stay or go as you desire.     My brother, Garve. What about him?     He loves the city. He will also stay, though he will be outside thisbuilding. Kroon clasped his hands. Nolette, will you show Eric hisquarters?  <doc-sep>Looks okay to me, I said. Quade passed a gauntlet over his faceplate.It's real. I can blur it with a smudged visor. When it blurs, it'ssolid.     The landscape beyond the black corona left by our landing rockets wasunimpressive. The rocky desert was made up of silicon and iron oxide,so it looked much the same as a terrestrial location. Yellowish-whitesand ran up to and around reddish brown rock clawing into the pinksunlight.     I don't understand it, Quade admitted. Transphasia hits you a foulas soon as you let it into the airlock.     Apparently, Quade,      this     thing is going to creep up on us.     Don't sound smug, Captain. It's pitty-pattying behind you too.     The keening call across the surface of consciousness postponed my reply.     The wail was ominously forlorn, defiant of description. I turned myhead around slowly inside my helmet, not even sure that I had heard it.     But what else can you do with a wail but      hear     it?     Quade nodded. I've felt this before. It usually hits sooner. Let'strace it.     I don't like this, I admitted. It's not at all what I expected fromwhat you said about transphasia. It must be something else.     It couldn't be anything else. I know what to expect. You don't. Youmay begin smelling sensations, tasting sounds, hearing sights, seeingtastes, touching odors—or any other combination. Don't let it botheryou.     Of course not. I'll soothe my nerves by counting little shocks oflanolin jumping over a loud fence.     Quade grinned behind his faceplate. Good idea.     Then you can have it. I'm going to try keeping my eyes open andstaying alive.     There was no reply.     His expression was tart and greasy despite all his light talk, andI knew mine was the same. I tested the security rope between ourpressure suits. It was a taut and virile bass.     We scaled a staccato of rocks, our suits grinding pepper against ourhides.     The musk summit rose before us, a minor-key horizon with a shiftingtreble for as far as I could smell. It was primitive beauty that madeyou feel shocking pink inside. The most beautiful vista I had evertasted, it couldn't be dulled even by the sensation of beef broth undermy skin.     Is this transphasia? I asked in awe.     It always has been before, Quade remarked. Ready to swallow yourwords about this being something an old hand wouldn't recognize,Captain?     I'm swallowing no words until I find out precisely how they tastehere.     Not a bad taste. They're pretty. Or haven't you noticed?     Quade, you're right! About the colors anyway. This reminds me of anilliscope recording from a cybernetic translator.     It should. I don't suppose we could understand each other if it wasn'tfor our morphistudy courses in reading cross-sense translations ofCentauri blushtalk and the like.     It became difficult to understand him, difficult to try talking in theface of such splendor. You never really appreciate colors until yousmell them for the first time.  <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>He leaned back in his chair and began to talk in a low voice completelyin contrast with the overbearing manner he had used upon Peter'sarrival. You know what we make, of course.     Yes, sir. Conduit fittings.     And a lot of other electrical products, too. I started out in thisbusiness twenty years ago, using orthodox techniques. I never gotthrough university. I took a couple of years of an arts course, andgot so interested in biology that I didn't study anything else.They bounced me out of the course, and I re-entered in engineering,determined not to make the same mistake again. But I did. I got tooabsorbed in those parts of the course that had to do with electricaltheory and lost the rest as a result. The same thing happened when Itried commerce, with accounting, so I gave up and started working forone of my competitors. It wasn't too long before I saw that the onlyway I could get ahead was to open up on my own.     Lexington sank deeper in his chair and stared at the ceiling as hespoke. I put myself in hock to the eyeballs, which wasn't easy,because I had just got married, and started off in a very small way.After three years, I had a fairly decent little business going, and Isuppose it would have grown just like any other business, except fora strike that came along and put me right back where I started. Mywife, whom I'm afraid I had neglected for the sake of the business,was killed in a car accident about then, and rightly or wrongly, thatmade me angrier with the union than anything else. If the union hadn'tmade things so tough for me from the beginning, I'd have had more timeto spend with my wife before her death. As things turned out—well, Iremember looking down at her coffin and thinking that I hardly knew thegirl.     For the next few years, I concentrated on getting rid of as manyemployees as I could, by replacing them with automatic machines. I'ddesign the control circuits myself, in many cases wire the things upmyself, always concentrating on replacing men with machines. But itwasn't very successful. I found that the more automatic I made myplant, the lower my costs went. The lower my costs went, the morebusiness I got, and the more I had to expand.     Lexington scowled. I got sick of it. I decided to try developing onemulti-purpose control circuit that would control everything, fromordering the raw materials to shipping the finished goods. As I toldyou, I had taken quite an interest in biology when I was in school,and from studies of nerve tissue in particular, plus my electricalknowledge, I had a few ideas on how to do it. It took me three years,but I began to see that I could develop circuitry that could remember,compare, detect similarities, and so on. Not the way they do it today,of course. To do what I wanted to do with these big clumsy magneticdrums, tapes, and what-not, you'd need a building the size of MountEverest. But I found that I could let organic chemistry do most of thework for me.     By creating the proper compounds, with their molecules arranged inpredetermined matrixes, I found I could duplicate electrical circuitryin units so tiny that my biggest problem was getting into and out ofthe logic units with conventional wiring. I finally beat that the sameway they solved the problem of translating a picture on a screen intoelectrical signals, developed equipment to scan the units cyclically,and once I'd done that, the battle was over.     I built this building and incorporated it as a separate company, tocompete with my first outfit. In the beginning, I had it rigged up todo only the manual work that you saw being done a few minutes ago inthe back of this place. I figured that the best thing for me to dowould be to turn the job of selling my stuff over to jobbers, leavingme free to do nothing except receive orders, punch the cataloguenumbers into the control console, do the billing, and collect themoney.     What happened to your original company? Peter asked.  <doc-sep>Feeling better? I asked Quade in the infirmary.     He punched up his pillow and settled back. I guess so. But when Ithink of all the ways I nearly got myself killed out there.... How farhave you got in the tractors?     I'm having the tractors torn down and the parts put back into thespaceship where they belong. We      shouldn't     risk losing them andgetting stuck here.     Are you settling for a primary exploration?     No. I think I had the right idea on your rescue party. You have tomeet and fight a planet on its own terms. Fighting confused sounds andtastes with music and wine was crude, but it was on the right track.Out there, we understood language because we were familiar with alienlanguages changed to other sense mediums by cybernetic translators.Using the translator, we can learn to recognize all confused data aseasily. I'm starting indoctrination courses.     I doubt that that is necessary, sir, Quade said. Experiencedspacemen are experienced with transphasia. You don't have to worry. Inthe future, I'll be able to resist sensations that tell me I'm freezingto death—if my gauges tell me it's a lie.     I examined his bandisprayed hide. I think my way of gaining experienceis less painful and more efficient.     Quade squirmed. Yes, sir. One thing, sir—I don't understand how yougot me away from those aliens.     The aliens were trying to help. They knew something was wrong and theywere prodding and probing. When the first tractor pulled up and the mengot out, they seemed to realize our own people could help us easierthan they could.     I am not quite convinced that those babies just meant to help us allthe time.     But they did! First, that call of theirs—it wasn't to lead us intodanger, but to warn us of the cliff, the freezing wind. They saw wewere trying to find out things about their world, so they even offeredus one of their own kind to study. Unfortunately, he was too much forus. They didn't give us their top man, of course, only the villageidiot. It's just as well. We aren't allowed to dissect creatures thatfar up the intelligence scale.     But why should they want to help us? Quade demanded suspiciously.     I think it's like Nagurski's dog. The dog came to him when it wantedsomebody to own it, protect it, feed it, love it. These aliens      want     Earthmen to colonize the planet. We came here, you see, same as the dogcame to Nagurski.     Well, I've learned one thing from all of this, Quade said. I've beena blind, arrogant, cocksure fool, following courses that were good on      some     worlds,      most     worlds, but not good on      all     worlds. I'm nevergoing to be that foolhardy again.     But you're losing      confidence     , Quade! You aren't sure of yourself anymore. Isn't confidence a spaceman's most valuable asset?     The hell it is, Quade said grimly. It's his deadliest liability.     In that case, I must inform you that I am demoting you to ActingExecutive Officer.     Huh? Quade gawked. But dammit, Captain, you can't do that to me!I'll lose hazard pay and be that much further from retirement!     That's tough, I sympathized, but in every service a chap gets brokenin rank now and then.     Maybe it's worth it, Quade said heavily. Now maybe I've learned howto stay alive out here. I just hope I don't forget.     I thought about that. I was nearly through with my first mission andI could speak with experience, even if it was the least amount ofexperience aboard.     Quade, I said, space isn't as dangerous as all that. I clapped himon the shoulder fraternally. You worry too much!   <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the backdrop of the story LOST IN TRANSLATION?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of The Happy Castaway's storyline? [SEP] <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>While the excav crew worked steadily, turning up nothing, Steffensremained alone among the buildings. Ball came out to him, looked drylyat the walls.     Well, he said, whoever they were, we haven't heard from them since.     No? How can you be sure? Steffens grunted. A space-borne race wasroaming this part of the Galaxy while men were still pitching spearsat each other,      that     long ago. And this planet is only a parsec fromVarius II, a civilization as old as Earth's. Did whoever built theseget to Varius? Or did they get to Earth? How can you know?     He kicked at the sand distractedly. And most important, where are theynow? A race with several thousand years....     Fifteen thousand, Ball said. When Steffens looked up, he added:That's what the geology boys say. Fifteen thousand, at the least.     Steffens turned to stare unhappily at the buildings. When he realizednow how really old they were, a sudden thought struck him.     But why buildings? Why did they have to build in stone, to last?There's something wrong with that. They shouldn't have had a needto build, unless they were castaways. And castaways would have left      something     behind. The only reason they would need a camp would be—     If the ship left and some of them stayed.     Steffens nodded. But then the ship must have come back. Where did itgo? He ceased kicking at the sand and looked up into the blue-blackmidday sky. We'll never know.     How about the other planets? Ball asked.     The report was negative. Inner too hot, outer too heavy and cold. Thethird planet is the only one with a decent temperature range, but      it     has a CO  2  atmosphere.     How about moons?     Steffens shrugged. We could try them and find out.  <doc-sep>Reno Ulrich's tiny scout plane buzzed slowly in from the distance andbegan circling lazily.     Sooner than you think, Max told her. We've discovered a castawaycolony on the planet. They've done our tests for us by just livinghere. If there's anything here to catch, they've caught it.     People on Minos? Bess's handsome ruddy face grew alive withexcitement.     One of them is down in the medical department, June said. He'll beout in twenty minutes.     May I go see him?     Sure, said Max. Show him the way to the dining hall when he getsout. Tell him we sent you.     Right! She turned and ran down the ramp like a small girl going to afire. Max grinned at June and she grinned back. After a year and a halfof isolation in space, everyone was hungry for the sight of new faces,the sound of unfamiliar voices.  <doc-sep>  The Happy Castaway     BY ROBERT E. McDOWELL     Being space-wrecked and marooned is tough     enough. But to face the horrors of such a     planet as this was too much. Imagine Fawkes'     terrible predicament; plenty of food—and     twenty seven beautiful girls for companions.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Spring 1945.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]       Jonathan Fawkes opened his eyes. He was flat on his back, and a girlwas bending over him. He detected a frightened expression on thegirl's face. His pale blue eyes traveled upward beyond the girl. Thesky was his roof, yet he distinctly remembered going to sleep on hisbunk aboard the space ship.     You're not dead?     I've some doubt about that, he replied dryly. He levered himself tohis elbows. The girl, he saw, had bright yellow hair. Her nose waspert, tip-tilted. She had on a ragged blue frock and sandals.     Is—is anything broken? she asked.     Don't know. Help me up. Between them he managed to struggle to hisfeet. He winced. He said, My name's Jonathan Fawkes. I'm a space pilotwith Universal. What happened? I feel like I'd been poured out of aconcrete mixer.     She pointed to the wreck of a small space freighter a dozen feet away.Its nose was buried in the turf, folded back like an accordion. Ithad burst open like a ripe watermelon. He was surprised that he hadsurvived at all. He scratched his head. I was running from Mars toJupiter with a load of seed for the colonists.     Oh! said the girl, biting her lips. Your co-pilot must be in thewreckage.     He shook his head. No, he reassured her. I left him on Mars. Hehad an attack of space sickness. I was all by myself; that was thetrouble. I'd stay at the controls as long as I could, then lock her onher course and snatch a couple of hours' sleep. I can remember crawlinginto my bunk. The next thing I knew you were bending over me. Hepaused. I guess the automatic deflectors slowed me up or I would havebeen a cinder by this time, he said.     The girl didn't reply. She continued to watch him, a faint enigmaticsmile on her lips. Jonathan glanced away in embarrassment. He wishedthat pretty women didn't upset him so. He said nervously, Where am I?I couldn't have slept all the way to Jupiter.     The girl shrugged her shoulders.     I don't know.     You don't know! He almost forgot his self-consciousness in hissurprise. His pale blue eyes returned to the landscape. A mile acrossthe plain began a range of jagged foothills, which tossed upwardhigher and higher until they merged with the blue saw-edge of a chainof mountains. As he looked a puff of smoke belched from a truncatedcone-shaped peak. A volcano. Otherwise there was no sign of life: justhe and the strange yellow-headed girl alone in the center of that vastrolling prairie.     I was going to explain, he heard her say. We think that we are on anasteroid.     We? he looked back at her.     Yes. There are twenty-seven of us. We were on our way to Jupiter, too,only we were going to be wives for the colonists.     I remember, he exclaimed. Didn't the Jupiter Food-growersAssociation enlist you girls to go to the colonies?     She nodded her head. Only twenty-seven of us came through the crash.     Everybody thought your space ship hit a meteor, he said.     We hit this asteroid.     But that was three years ago.     Has it been that long? We lost track of time. She didn't take hereyes off him, not for a second. Such attention made him acutely selfconscious. She said, I'm Ann. Ann Clotilde. I was hunting when I sawyour space ship. You had been thrown clear. You were lying all in aheap. I thought you were dead. She stooped, picked up a spear.     Do you feel strong enough to hike back to our camp? It's only aboutfour miles, she said.     I think so, he said.  <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>Jonathan's face broke into a grin. He said, Do any of you know how togrow tobacco?     They glanced at each other in perplexity.     I like it here, continued Jonathan. I'm not going back.     What? cried the three explorers in one breath.     I'm going to stay, he repeated. I only came back here after thecigarettes.     But it will be three years before the asteroid's orbit brings it backin the space lanes, said Doctor Boynton. You don't possibly expect tobe picked up before then!     Jonathan shook his head, began to load himself with tools, tobaccoseed, and cigarettes.     Odd. Doctor Boynton shook his head, turned to the others. Though ifI remember correctly, there was quite an epidemic of hermits duringthe medieval period. It was an esthetic movement. They fled to thewilderness to escape the temptation of      women     .     Jonathan laughed outright.     You are sure you won't return, young man?     He shook his head. They argued, they cajoled, but Jonathan was adamant.He said, You might report my accident to Universal. Tell them to stopone of their Jupiter-bound freighters here when the asteroid swingsback in the space ways. I'll have a load for them.     Inside the ship, Doctor Boynton moved over to a round transparent porthole. What a strange fellow, he murmured. He was just in time to seethe castaway, loaded like a pack mule, disappear in the direction fromwhich he had come.     Robinson Crusoe was going back to his man (?) Friday—all twenty-sevenof them.   <doc-sep>Being a beggar, Skkiru discovered, did give him certain small,momentary advantages over those who had been alloted higher ranks.For one thing, it was quite in character for him to tread curiouslyupon the strangers' heels all the way to the temple—a ramshackleaffair, but then it had been run up in only three days—where theofficial reception was to be held. The principal difficulty was that,because of his equipment, he had a little trouble keeping himself fromovershooting the strangers. And though Bbulas might frown menacingly athim—and not only for his forwardness—that was in character on bothsides, too.     Nonetheless, Skkiru could not reconcile himself to his beggarhood, nomatter how much he tried to comfort himself by thinking at least hewasn't a pariah like the unfortunate metal-workers who had to standsegregated from the rest by a chain of their own devising—a poeticthought, that was, but well in keeping with his beggarhood. Beggarswere often poets, he believed, and poets almost always beggars. Sincemetal-working was the chief industry of Snaddra, this had provided theplanet automatically with a large lowest caste. Bbulas had taken theeasy way out.     Skkiru swallowed the last of the chocolate and regarded the highpriest with a simple-minded mendicant's grin. However, there werevolcanic passions within him that surged up from his toes when, as thewind and rain whipped through his scanty coverings, he remembered thesnug underskirts Bbulas was wearing beneath his warm gown. They weremetal, but they were solid. All the garments visible or potentiallyvisible were of woven metal, because, although there was cloth on theplanet, it was not politic for the Earthmen to discover how heavily theSnaddrath depended upon imports.     As the Earthmen reached the temple, Larhgan now appeared to join Bbulasat the head of the long flight of stairs that led to it. AlthoughSkkiru had seen her in her priestly apparel before, it had not madethe emotional impression upon him then that it did now, when, standingthere, clad in beauty, dignity and warm clothes, she bade the newcomerswelcome in several thousand words not too well chosen for her byBbulas—who fancied himself a speech-writer as well as a speech-maker,for there was no end to the man's conceit.     The difference between her magnificent garments and his own miserablerags had their full impact upon Skkiru at this moment. He saw the gulfthat had been dug between them and, for the first time in his shortlife, he felt the tormenting pangs of caste distinction. She looked solovely and so remote.     ... and so you are most welcome to Snaddra, men of Earth, she wassaying in her melodious voice. Our resources may be small but ourhearts are large, and what little we have, we offer with humility andwith love. We hope that you will enjoy as long and as happy a stay hereas you did on Nemeth....     Cyril looked at Raoul, who, however, seemed too absorbed incontemplating Larhgan's apparently universal charms to pay muchattention to the expression on his companion's face.     ... and that you will carry our affection back to all the peoples ofthe Galaxy.  <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> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of The Happy Castaway's storyline?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the backdrop of The Happy Castaway? [SEP] <s>While the excav crew worked steadily, turning up nothing, Steffensremained alone among the buildings. Ball came out to him, looked drylyat the walls.     Well, he said, whoever they were, we haven't heard from them since.     No? How can you be sure? Steffens grunted. A space-borne race wasroaming this part of the Galaxy while men were still pitching spearsat each other,      that     long ago. And this planet is only a parsec fromVarius II, a civilization as old as Earth's. Did whoever built theseget to Varius? Or did they get to Earth? How can you know?     He kicked at the sand distractedly. And most important, where are theynow? A race with several thousand years....     Fifteen thousand, Ball said. When Steffens looked up, he added:That's what the geology boys say. Fifteen thousand, at the least.     Steffens turned to stare unhappily at the buildings. When he realizednow how really old they were, a sudden thought struck him.     But why buildings? Why did they have to build in stone, to last?There's something wrong with that. They shouldn't have had a needto build, unless they were castaways. And castaways would have left      something     behind. The only reason they would need a camp would be—     If the ship left and some of them stayed.     Steffens nodded. But then the ship must have come back. Where did itgo? He ceased kicking at the sand and looked up into the blue-blackmidday sky. We'll never know.     How about the other planets? Ball asked.     The report was negative. Inner too hot, outer too heavy and cold. Thethird planet is the only one with a decent temperature range, but      it     has a CO  2  atmosphere.     How about moons?     Steffens shrugged. We could try them and find out.  <doc-sep>Reno Ulrich's tiny scout plane buzzed slowly in from the distance andbegan circling lazily.     Sooner than you think, Max told her. We've discovered a castawaycolony on the planet. They've done our tests for us by just livinghere. If there's anything here to catch, they've caught it.     People on Minos? Bess's handsome ruddy face grew alive withexcitement.     One of them is down in the medical department, June said. He'll beout in twenty minutes.     May I go see him?     Sure, said Max. Show him the way to the dining hall when he getsout. Tell him we sent you.     Right! She turned and ran down the ramp like a small girl going to afire. Max grinned at June and she grinned back. After a year and a halfof isolation in space, everyone was hungry for the sight of new faces,the sound of unfamiliar voices.  <doc-sep>  The Happy Castaway     BY ROBERT E. McDOWELL     Being space-wrecked and marooned is tough     enough. But to face the horrors of such a     planet as this was too much. Imagine Fawkes'     terrible predicament; plenty of food—and     twenty seven beautiful girls for companions.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Spring 1945.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]       Jonathan Fawkes opened his eyes. He was flat on his back, and a girlwas bending over him. He detected a frightened expression on thegirl's face. His pale blue eyes traveled upward beyond the girl. Thesky was his roof, yet he distinctly remembered going to sleep on hisbunk aboard the space ship.     You're not dead?     I've some doubt about that, he replied dryly. He levered himself tohis elbows. The girl, he saw, had bright yellow hair. Her nose waspert, tip-tilted. She had on a ragged blue frock and sandals.     Is—is anything broken? she asked.     Don't know. Help me up. Between them he managed to struggle to hisfeet. He winced. He said, My name's Jonathan Fawkes. I'm a space pilotwith Universal. What happened? I feel like I'd been poured out of aconcrete mixer.     She pointed to the wreck of a small space freighter a dozen feet away.Its nose was buried in the turf, folded back like an accordion. Ithad burst open like a ripe watermelon. He was surprised that he hadsurvived at all. He scratched his head. I was running from Mars toJupiter with a load of seed for the colonists.     Oh! said the girl, biting her lips. Your co-pilot must be in thewreckage.     He shook his head. No, he reassured her. I left him on Mars. Hehad an attack of space sickness. I was all by myself; that was thetrouble. I'd stay at the controls as long as I could, then lock her onher course and snatch a couple of hours' sleep. I can remember crawlinginto my bunk. The next thing I knew you were bending over me. Hepaused. I guess the automatic deflectors slowed me up or I would havebeen a cinder by this time, he said.     The girl didn't reply. She continued to watch him, a faint enigmaticsmile on her lips. Jonathan glanced away in embarrassment. He wishedthat pretty women didn't upset him so. He said nervously, Where am I?I couldn't have slept all the way to Jupiter.     The girl shrugged her shoulders.     I don't know.     You don't know! He almost forgot his self-consciousness in hissurprise. His pale blue eyes returned to the landscape. A mile acrossthe plain began a range of jagged foothills, which tossed upwardhigher and higher until they merged with the blue saw-edge of a chainof mountains. As he looked a puff of smoke belched from a truncatedcone-shaped peak. A volcano. Otherwise there was no sign of life: justhe and the strange yellow-headed girl alone in the center of that vastrolling prairie.     I was going to explain, he heard her say. We think that we are on anasteroid.     We? he looked back at her.     Yes. There are twenty-seven of us. We were on our way to Jupiter, too,only we were going to be wives for the colonists.     I remember, he exclaimed. Didn't the Jupiter Food-growersAssociation enlist you girls to go to the colonies?     She nodded her head. Only twenty-seven of us came through the crash.     Everybody thought your space ship hit a meteor, he said.     We hit this asteroid.     But that was three years ago.     Has it been that long? We lost track of time. She didn't take hereyes off him, not for a second. Such attention made him acutely selfconscious. She said, I'm Ann. Ann Clotilde. I was hunting when I sawyour space ship. You had been thrown clear. You were lying all in aheap. I thought you were dead. She stooped, picked up a spear.     Do you feel strong enough to hike back to our camp? It's only aboutfour miles, she said.     I think so, he said.  <doc-sep>Jonathan's face broke into a grin. He said, Do any of you know how togrow tobacco?     They glanced at each other in perplexity.     I like it here, continued Jonathan. I'm not going back.     What? cried the three explorers in one breath.     I'm going to stay, he repeated. I only came back here after thecigarettes.     But it will be three years before the asteroid's orbit brings it backin the space lanes, said Doctor Boynton. You don't possibly expect tobe picked up before then!     Jonathan shook his head, began to load himself with tools, tobaccoseed, and cigarettes.     Odd. Doctor Boynton shook his head, turned to the others. Though ifI remember correctly, there was quite an epidemic of hermits duringthe medieval period. It was an esthetic movement. They fled to thewilderness to escape the temptation of      women     .     Jonathan laughed outright.     You are sure you won't return, young man?     He shook his head. They argued, they cajoled, but Jonathan was adamant.He said, You might report my accident to Universal. Tell them to stopone of their Jupiter-bound freighters here when the asteroid swingsback in the space ways. I'll have a load for them.     Inside the ship, Doctor Boynton moved over to a round transparent porthole. What a strange fellow, he murmured. He was just in time to seethe castaway, loaded like a pack mule, disappear in the direction fromwhich he had come.     Robinson Crusoe was going back to his man (?) Friday—all twenty-sevenof them.   <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 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>Well, the analogy breaks down there, said Stark. I was almostbeginning to believe in the thing. But if it isn't that, then what.Father Briton, you are the linguist, but in Hebrew does not Ha-Adamahand Hawwah mean—?     Of course they do. You know that as well as I.     I was never a believer. But would it be possible for the exact sameproposition to maintain here as on Earth?     All things are possible.     And it was then that Ha-Adamah, the shining man, gave a wild cry: No,no. Do not approach it. It is not allowed to eat of that one!     It was the pomegranate tree, and he was warning Langweilig away from it.     Once more, Father, said Stark, you should be the authority; but doesnot the idea that it was the apple that was forbidden go back only to amedieval painting?     It does. The name of the fruit is not mentioned in Genesis. In Hebrewexegesis, however, the pomegranate is usually indicated.     I thought so. Question the man further, Father. This is tooincredible.     It is a little odd. Adam, old man, how long have you been here?     Forever less six days is the answer that has been given to me. I neverdid understand the answer, however.     And have you gotten no older in all that time?     I do not understand what 'older' is. I am as I have been from thebeginning.     And do you think that you will ever die?     To die I do not understand. I am taught that it is a property offallen nature to die, and that does not pertain to me or mine.     And are you completely happy here?     Perfectly happy according to my preternatural state. But I am taughtthat it might be possible to lose that happiness, and then to seek itvainly through all the ages. I am taught that sickness and ageing andeven death could come if this happiness were ever lost. I am taughtthat on at least one other unfortunate world it has actually been lost.     Do you consider yourself a knowledgeable man?     Yes, since I am the only man, and knowledge is natural to man. But Iam further blessed. I have a preternatural intellect.     Then Stark cut in once more: There must be some one question you couldask him, Father. Some way to settle it. I am becoming nearly convinced.     Yes, there is a question that will settle it. Adam, old man, how abouta game of checkers?     This is hardly the time for clowning, said Stark.     I'm not clowning, Captain. How about it, Adam? I'll give you choice ofcolors and first move.     No. It would be no contest. I have a preternatural intellect.     Well, I beat a barber who was champion of Germantown. And I beat thechampion of Morgan County, Tennessee, which is the hottest checkercenter on Earth. I've played against, and beaten, machines. But Inever played a preternatural mind. Let's just set up the board, Adam,and have a go at it.     No. It would be no contest. I would not like to humble you.  <doc-sep>Jonathan leaped to his feet, dumping Ann to the ground. He jerkedaround. All twenty-six of the girls were lined up on the path. Theirfeatures were grim. He said: I don't feel so well after all.     It don't wash, said Billy. It's time for a showdown.     Jonathan's hair stood on end. He felt rather than saw Ann Clotilde takeher stand beside him. He noticed that she was holding her spear at amenacing angle. She said in an angry voice: He's mine. I found him.Leave him alone.     Where do you get that stuff? cried Olga. Share and share alike, sayI.     We could draw straws for him, suggested the green-eyed blonde.     Look here, Jonathan broke in. I've got some say in the matter.     You have not, snapped Billy. You'll do just as we say. She took astep toward him.     Jonathan edged away in consternation.     He's going to run! Olga shouted.     Jonathan never stopped until he was back in the canyon leading to theplain. His nerves were jumping like fleas. He craved the soothingrelaxation of a smoke. There was, he remembered, a carton of cigarettesat the wreck. He resumed his flight, but at a more sober pace.     At the spot where he and Ann had first crawled away from the centaurs,he scrambled out of the gulley, glanced in the direction of his spaceship. He blinked his eyes, stared. Then he waved his arms, shouted andtore across the prairie. A trim space cruiser was resting beside thewreck of his own. Across its gleaming monaloid hull ran an inscriptionin silver letters: INTERSTELLAR COSMOGRAPHY SOCIETY.     Two men crawled out of Jonathan's wrecked freighter, glanced insurprise at Jonathan. A third man ran from the cruiser, a Dixon RayRifle in his hand.     I'm Jonathan Fawkes, said the castaway as he panted up, pilot forUniversal. I was wrecked.     A tall elderly man held out his hand. He had a small black waxedmustache and Van Dyke. He was smoking a venusian cigarette in ayellow composition holder. He said, I'm Doctor Boynton. He had arich cultivated voice, and a nose like a hawk. We are members of theInterstellar Cosmography Society. We've been commissioned to make acursory examination of this asteroid. You had a nasty crack up, Mr.Fawkes. But you are in luck, sir. We were on the point of returningwhen we sighted the wreck.     I say, said the man who had run out of the cruiser. He was a prim,energetic young man. Jonathan noted that he carried the ray gungingerly, respectfully. We're a week overdue now, he said. If youhave any personal belongings that you'd like to take with you, you'dbest be getting them aboard.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the backdrop of The Happy Castaway?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the story of Ann Clotilde in The Happy Castaway? [SEP] <s>Jonathan leaped to his feet, dumping Ann to the ground. He jerkedaround. All twenty-six of the girls were lined up on the path. Theirfeatures were grim. He said: I don't feel so well after all.     It don't wash, said Billy. It's time for a showdown.     Jonathan's hair stood on end. He felt rather than saw Ann Clotilde takeher stand beside him. He noticed that she was holding her spear at amenacing angle. She said in an angry voice: He's mine. I found him.Leave him alone.     Where do you get that stuff? cried Olga. Share and share alike, sayI.     We could draw straws for him, suggested the green-eyed blonde.     Look here, Jonathan broke in. I've got some say in the matter.     You have not, snapped Billy. You'll do just as we say. She took astep toward him.     Jonathan edged away in consternation.     He's going to run! Olga shouted.     Jonathan never stopped until he was back in the canyon leading to theplain. His nerves were jumping like fleas. He craved the soothingrelaxation of a smoke. There was, he remembered, a carton of cigarettesat the wreck. He resumed his flight, but at a more sober pace.     At the spot where he and Ann had first crawled away from the centaurs,he scrambled out of the gulley, glanced in the direction of his spaceship. He blinked his eyes, stared. Then he waved his arms, shouted andtore across the prairie. A trim space cruiser was resting beside thewreck of his own. Across its gleaming monaloid hull ran an inscriptionin silver letters: INTERSTELLAR COSMOGRAPHY SOCIETY.     Two men crawled out of Jonathan's wrecked freighter, glanced insurprise at Jonathan. A third man ran from the cruiser, a Dixon RayRifle in his hand.     I'm Jonathan Fawkes, said the castaway as he panted up, pilot forUniversal. I was wrecked.     A tall elderly man held out his hand. He had a small black waxedmustache and Van Dyke. He was smoking a venusian cigarette in ayellow composition holder. He said, I'm Doctor Boynton. He had arich cultivated voice, and a nose like a hawk. We are members of theInterstellar Cosmography Society. We've been commissioned to make acursory examination of this asteroid. You had a nasty crack up, Mr.Fawkes. But you are in luck, sir. We were on the point of returningwhen we sighted the wreck.     I say, said the man who had run out of the cruiser. He was a prim,energetic young man. Jonathan noted that he carried the ray gungingerly, respectfully. We're a week overdue now, he said. If youhave any personal belongings that you'd like to take with you, you'dbest be getting them aboard.  <doc-sep>  The Happy Castaway     BY ROBERT E. McDOWELL     Being space-wrecked and marooned is tough     enough. But to face the horrors of such a     planet as this was too much. Imagine Fawkes'     terrible predicament; plenty of food—and     twenty seven beautiful girls for companions.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Spring 1945.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]       Jonathan Fawkes opened his eyes. He was flat on his back, and a girlwas bending over him. He detected a frightened expression on thegirl's face. His pale blue eyes traveled upward beyond the girl. Thesky was his roof, yet he distinctly remembered going to sleep on hisbunk aboard the space ship.     You're not dead?     I've some doubt about that, he replied dryly. He levered himself tohis elbows. The girl, he saw, had bright yellow hair. Her nose waspert, tip-tilted. She had on a ragged blue frock and sandals.     Is—is anything broken? she asked.     Don't know. Help me up. Between them he managed to struggle to hisfeet. He winced. He said, My name's Jonathan Fawkes. I'm a space pilotwith Universal. What happened? I feel like I'd been poured out of aconcrete mixer.     She pointed to the wreck of a small space freighter a dozen feet away.Its nose was buried in the turf, folded back like an accordion. Ithad burst open like a ripe watermelon. He was surprised that he hadsurvived at all. He scratched his head. I was running from Mars toJupiter with a load of seed for the colonists.     Oh! said the girl, biting her lips. Your co-pilot must be in thewreckage.     He shook his head. No, he reassured her. I left him on Mars. Hehad an attack of space sickness. I was all by myself; that was thetrouble. I'd stay at the controls as long as I could, then lock her onher course and snatch a couple of hours' sleep. I can remember crawlinginto my bunk. The next thing I knew you were bending over me. Hepaused. I guess the automatic deflectors slowed me up or I would havebeen a cinder by this time, he said.     The girl didn't reply. She continued to watch him, a faint enigmaticsmile on her lips. Jonathan glanced away in embarrassment. He wishedthat pretty women didn't upset him so. He said nervously, Where am I?I couldn't have slept all the way to Jupiter.     The girl shrugged her shoulders.     I don't know.     You don't know! He almost forgot his self-consciousness in hissurprise. His pale blue eyes returned to the landscape. A mile acrossthe plain began a range of jagged foothills, which tossed upwardhigher and higher until they merged with the blue saw-edge of a chainof mountains. As he looked a puff of smoke belched from a truncatedcone-shaped peak. A volcano. Otherwise there was no sign of life: justhe and the strange yellow-headed girl alone in the center of that vastrolling prairie.     I was going to explain, he heard her say. We think that we are on anasteroid.     We? he looked back at her.     Yes. There are twenty-seven of us. We were on our way to Jupiter, too,only we were going to be wives for the colonists.     I remember, he exclaimed. Didn't the Jupiter Food-growersAssociation enlist you girls to go to the colonies?     She nodded her head. Only twenty-seven of us came through the crash.     Everybody thought your space ship hit a meteor, he said.     We hit this asteroid.     But that was three years ago.     Has it been that long? We lost track of time. She didn't take hereyes off him, not for a second. Such attention made him acutely selfconscious. She said, I'm Ann. Ann Clotilde. I was hunting when I sawyour space ship. You had been thrown clear. You were lying all in aheap. I thought you were dead. She stooped, picked up a spear.     Do you feel strong enough to hike back to our camp? It's only aboutfour miles, she said.     I think so, he said.  <doc-sep>Jonathan was slumped forward across the table, his head buried in hisarms.     Catch a hold, said Billy, pushing back from the table. A dozen girlsvolunteered with a rush. Hoist! said Billy. They lifted him like asleepy child, bore him tenderly up an incline and into a stateroom,where they deposited him on the bed.     Ann said to Olga; Help me with these boots. But they resisted everytug. It's no use, groaned Ann, straightening up and wiping her brightyellow hair back from her eyes. His feet have swollen. We'll have tocut them off.     At these words, Jonathan raised upright as if someone had pulled a rope.           Cut off whose feet?      he cried in alarm.     Not your feet, silly, said Ann. Your boots.     Lay a hand on those boots, he scowled; and I'll make me another pairout of your hides. They set me back a week's salary. Having deliveredhimself of this ultimatum, he went back to sleep.     Olga clapped her hand to her forehead. And this, she cried is whatwe've been praying for during the last three years.     The next day found Jonathan Fawkes hobbling around by the aid of acane. At the portal of the space ship, he stuck out his head, glancedall around warily. None of the girls were in sight. They had, hepresumed, gone about their chores: hunting, fishing, gathering fruitsand berries. He emerged all the way and set out for the creek. Hewalked with an exaggerated limp just in case any of them should behanging around. As long as he was an invalid he was safe, he hoped.     He sighed. Not every man could be waited on so solicitously bytwenty-seven handsome strapping amazons. He wished he could carry itoff in cavalier fashion. He hobbled to the creek, sat down beneath theshade of a tree. He just wasn't the type, he supposed. And it might beyears before they were rescued.     As a last resort, he supposed, he could hide out in the hills or jointhe centaurs. He rather fancied himself galloping across the plainson the back of a centaur. He looked up with a start. Ann Clotilde wasambling toward him.     How's the invalid? she said, seating herself beside him.     Hot, isn't it? he said. He started to rise. Ann Clotilde placed theflat of her hand on his chest and shoved.       Ooof!      he grunted. He satdown rather more forcibly than he had risen.     Don't get up because of me, she informed him. It's my turn to cook,but I saw you out here beneath the trees. Dinner can wait. Jonathan doyou know that you are irresistible? She seized his shoulders, staredinto his eyes. He couldn't have felt any more uncomfortable had ahungry boa constrictor draped itself in his arms. He mopped his browwith his sleeve.     Suppose the rest should come, he said in an embarrassed voice.     They're busy. They won't be here until I call them to lunch. Youreyes, she said, are like deep mysterious pools.     Sure enough? said Jonathan with involuntary interest. He began torecover his nerve.     She said, You're the best looking thing. She rumpled his hair. Ican't keep my eyes off you.     Jonathan put his arm around her gingerly. Ouch! He winced. He hadforgotten his sore muscles.     I forgot, said Ann Clotilde in a contrite voice. She tried to rise.You're hurt.     He pulled her back down. Not so you could notice it, he grinned.     Well! came the strident voice of Billy from behind them. We're      all     glad to hear that!  <doc-sep>The girls set up a shout and threw stones down at the centaurs, whoreared, pawed the air, and galloped to a safe distance, from which theyhurled back insults in a strange tongue. Their voices sounded faintlylike the neighing of horses.     Amazons and centaurs, he thought again. He couldn't get the problemof the girls' phenomenal strength out of his mind. Then it occurredto him that the asteroid, most likely, was smaller even than Earth'smoon. He must weigh about a thirtieth of what he usually did, due tothe lessened gravity. It also occurred to him that they would be thirtytimes as strong. He was staggered. He wished he had a smoke.     At length, the amazons and the centaurs tired of bandying insultsback and forth. The centaurs galloped off into the prairie, the girlsresumed their march. Jonathan scrambled up hills, skidded down slopes.The brunette was beside him helping him over the rough spots.     I'm Olga, she confided. Has anybody ever told you what a handsomefellow you are? She pinched his cheek. Jonathan blushed.     They climbed a ridge, paused at the crest. Below them, he saw a deepvalley. A stream tumbled through the center of it. There were treesalong its banks, the first he had seen on the asteroid. At the head ofthe valley, he made out the massive pile of a space liner.     They started down a winding path. The space liner disappeared behinda promontory of the mountain. Jonathan steeled himself for the comingordeal. He would have sat down and refused to budge except that he knewthe girls would hoist him on their shoulders and bear him into the camplike a bag of meal.     The trail debouched into the valley. Just ahead the space linerreappeared. He imagined that it had crashed into the mountain, skiddedand rolled down its side until it lodged beside the stream. It remindedhim of a wounded dinosaur. Three girls were bathing in the stream. Helooked away hastily.     Someone hailed them from the space ship.     We've caught a man, shrieked one of his captors.     A flock of girls streamed out of the wrecked space ship.     A man! screamed a husky blonde. She was wearing a grass skirt. Shehad green eyes. We're rescued!     No. No, Ann Clotilde hastened to explain. He was wrecked like us.     Oh, came a disappointed chorus.     He's a man, said the green-eyed blonde. That's the next best thing.     Oh, Olga, said a strapping brunette. Who'd ever thought a man couldlook so good?     I did, said Olga. She chucked Jonathan under the chin. He shiveredlike an unbroken colt when the bit first goes in its mouth. He feltlike a mouse hemmed in by a ring of cats.     A big rawboned brute of a girl strolled into the circle. She said,Dinner's ready. Her voice was loud, strident. It reminded him ofthe voices of girls in the honky tonks on Venus. She looked at himappraisingly as if he were a horse she was about to bid on. Bring himinto the ship, she said. The man must be starved.     He was propelled jubilantly into the palatial dining salon of thewrecked liner. A long polished meturilium table occupied the center ofthe floor. Automatic weight distributing chairs stood around it. Hisfeet sank into a green fiberon carpet. He had stepped back into theThirty-fourth Century from the fabulous barbarian past.     With a sigh of relief, he started to sit down. A lithe red-head sprangforward and held his chair. They all waited politely for him to beseated before they took their places. He felt silly. He felt likea captive princess. All the confidence engendered by the familiarsettings of the space ship went out of him like wind. He, JonathanFawkes, was a castaway on an asteroid inhabited by twenty-seven wildwomen.  <doc-sep>He paused shamefacedly. A second girl, he saw, was running towardthem from up the canyon. Her bare legs flashed like ivory. She wasbarefooted, and she had black hair. A green cloth was wrapped aroundher sarong fashion. She bounced to a stop in front of Jonathan, herbrown eyes wide in surprise. He thought her sarong had been a tablecloth at one time in its history.     A man! she breathed. By Jupiter and all its little moons, it's aman!     Don't let him get away! cried Ann.     Hilda! the brunette shrieked. A man! It's a man!     A third girl skidded around the bend in the canyon. Jonathan backed offwarily.     Ann Clotilde cried in anguish: Don't let him get away!     Jonathan chose the centaurs. He wheeled around, dashed back the wayhe had come. Someone tackled him. He rolled on the rocky floor of thecanyon. He struggled to his feet. He saw six more girls race around thebend in the canyon. With shouts of joy they flung themselves on him.     Jonathan was game, but the nine husky amazons pinned him down by sheerweight. They bound him hand and foot. Then four of them picked him upbodily, started up the canyon chanting:       He was a rocket riding daddyfrom Mars.      He recognized it as a popular song of three years ago.     Jonathan had never been so humiliated in his life. He was known in thespaceways from Mercury to Jupiter as a man to leave alone. His nose hadbeen broken three times. A thin white scar crawled down the bronze ofhis left cheek, relic of a barroom brawl on Venus. He was big, rangy,tough. And these girls had trounced him. Girls! He almost wept frommortification.     He said, Put me down. I'll walk.     You won't try to get away? said Ann.     No, he replied with as much dignity as he could summon while beingheld aloft by four barbarous young women.     Let him down, said Ann. We can catch him, anyway, if he makes abreak.     Jonathan Fawkes' humiliation was complete. He meekly trudged betweentwo husky females, who ogled him shamelessly. He was amazed at the easewith which they had carried him. He was six feet three and no lightweight. He thought enviously of the centaurs, free to gallop across theplains. He wished he was a centaur.     The trail left the canyon, struggled up the precipitate walls. Jonathanpicked his way gingerly, hugged the rock. Don't be afraid, advisedone of his captors. Just don't look down.     I'm not afraid, said Jonathan hotly. To prove it he trod the narrowledge with scorn. His foot struck a pebble. Both feet went out fromunder him. He slithered halfway over the edge. For one sickening momenthe thought he was gone, then Ann grabbed him by the scruff of his neck,hauled him back to safety. He lay gasping on his stomach. They tied arope around his waist then, and led him the rest of the way to the toplike a baby on a leash. He was too crestfallen to resent it.     The trail came out on a high ridge. They paused on a bluff overlookingthe prairie.     Look! cried Ann pointing over the edge.     A half dozen beasts were trotting beneath on the plain. At first,Jonathan mistook them for horses. Then he saw that from the withers upthey resembled men. Waists, shoulders, arms and heads were identical tohis own, but their bodies were the bodies of horses.     Centaurs! Jonathan Fawkes said, not believing his eyes.  <doc-sep>While the excav crew worked steadily, turning up nothing, Steffensremained alone among the buildings. Ball came out to him, looked drylyat the walls.     Well, he said, whoever they were, we haven't heard from them since.     No? How can you be sure? Steffens grunted. A space-borne race wasroaming this part of the Galaxy while men were still pitching spearsat each other,      that     long ago. And this planet is only a parsec fromVarius II, a civilization as old as Earth's. Did whoever built theseget to Varius? Or did they get to Earth? How can you know?     He kicked at the sand distractedly. And most important, where are theynow? A race with several thousand years....     Fifteen thousand, Ball said. When Steffens looked up, he added:That's what the geology boys say. Fifteen thousand, at the least.     Steffens turned to stare unhappily at the buildings. When he realizednow how really old they were, a sudden thought struck him.     But why buildings? Why did they have to build in stone, to last?There's something wrong with that. They shouldn't have had a needto build, unless they were castaways. And castaways would have left      something     behind. The only reason they would need a camp would be—     If the ship left and some of them stayed.     Steffens nodded. But then the ship must have come back. Where did itgo? He ceased kicking at the sand and looked up into the blue-blackmidday sky. We'll never know.     How about the other planets? Ball asked.     The report was negative. Inner too hot, outer too heavy and cold. Thethird planet is the only one with a decent temperature range, but      it     has a CO  2  atmosphere.     How about moons?     Steffens shrugged. We could try them and find out.  <doc-sep>Jeff sighed and glanced around the crowded little restaurant. He wishedhe could fly away somewhere. At that moment, he met the gaze of themustachioed man at the next table.     The fellow seemed to be watching him and Ann. Something in hisconfident gaze made Jeff uneasy. Had they met before?     Ann whispered, So you noticed him, too. Maybe he's following us. Ithink I saw him on the parking lot where we left the car.     Jeff shrugged his big shoulders. If he's following us, he's nuts.We've got no secrets and no money.     It must be my maddening beauty, said Ann.     I'll kick him cross-eyed if he starts anything, Jeff said. I'm justin the mood.     Ann giggled. Honey, what big veins you have! Forget him. Let's talkabout the engineering lab you're going to start. And let's eat.     He groaned. I lose my appetite every time I think about the buildingbeing sold. It isn't worth the twelve grand. I wouldn't buy it for thatif I could. What burns me is that, five years ago, I could have boughtit for two thousand.     If only we could go back five years. She shrugged fatalistically.But since we can't—     The character at the next table leaned over and spoke to them,grinning. You like to get away? You wish to go back?     Jeff glanced across in annoyance. The man was evidently a salesman,with extra gall.     Not now, thanks, Jeff said. Haven't time.     The man waved his thick hand at the clock, as if to abolish time.Time? That is nothing. Your little lady. She spoke of go back fiveyears. Maybe I help you.     He spoke in an odd clipped way, obviously a foreigner. His shirt wasyellow. His suit had a silky sheen. Its peculiar tailoring emphasizedthe bulges in his stubby, muscular torso.     Ann smiled back at him. You talk as if you could take us back to 1952.Is that what you really mean?     Why not? You think this silly. But I can show you.     Jeff rose to go. Mister, you better get to a doctor. Ann, it's time westarted home.  <doc-sep>Ann laid a hand on his sleeve. I haven't finished eating. Let'schat with the gent. She added in an undertone to Jeff, Must be apsycho—but sort of an inspired one.     The man said to Ann, You are kind lady, I think. Good to crazy people.I join you.     He did not wait for consent, but slid into a seat at their table withan easy grace that was almost arrogant.     You are unhappy in 1957, he went on. Discouraged. Restless. Why nottake trip to another time?     Why not? Ann said gaily. How much does it cost?     Free trial trip. Cost nothing. See whether you like. Then maybe wetalk money. He handed Jeff a card made of a stiff plastic substance.     Jeff glanced at it, then handed it to Ann with a half-smile. It read:     4-D TRAVEL BEURO     Greet Snader, Traffic Ajent     Mr. Snader's bureau is different, Jeff said to his wife. He evenspells it different.     Snader chuckled. I come from other time. We spell otherwise.     You mean you come from the future?     Just different time. I show you. You come with me?     Come where? Jeff asked, studying Snader's mocking eyes. The mandidn't seem a mere eccentric. He had a peculiar suggestion of humor andforce.     Come on little trip to different time, invited Snader. He addedpersuasively, Could be back here in hour.     It would be painless, I suppose? Jeff gave it a touch of derision.     Maybe not. That is risk you take. But look at me. I make trips everyday. I look damaged?     As a matter of fact, he did. His thick-fleshed face bore a scar andhis nose was broad and flat, as if it had been broken. But Jeffpolitely agreed that he did not look damaged.     Ann was enjoying this. Tell me more, Mr. Snader. How does your timetravel work?     Cannot explain. Same if you are asked how subway train works. Toocomplicated. He flashed his white teeth. You think time travel notpossible. Just like television not possible to your grandfather.     Ann said, Why invite us? We're not rich enough for expensive trips.     Invite many people, Snader said quickly. Not expensive. You knowMissing Persons lists, from police? Dozens people disappear. They gowith me to other time. Many stay.     Oh, sure, Jeff said. But how do you select the ones to invite?     Find ones like you, Mr. Elliott. Ones who want change, escape.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the story of Ann Clotilde in The Happy Castaway?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What was the fate of the 27 women stranded on the asteroid in The Happy Castaway? [SEP] <s>Jonathan's face broke into a grin. He said, Do any of you know how togrow tobacco?     They glanced at each other in perplexity.     I like it here, continued Jonathan. I'm not going back.     What? cried the three explorers in one breath.     I'm going to stay, he repeated. I only came back here after thecigarettes.     But it will be three years before the asteroid's orbit brings it backin the space lanes, said Doctor Boynton. You don't possibly expect tobe picked up before then!     Jonathan shook his head, began to load himself with tools, tobaccoseed, and cigarettes.     Odd. Doctor Boynton shook his head, turned to the others. Though ifI remember correctly, there was quite an epidemic of hermits duringthe medieval period. It was an esthetic movement. They fled to thewilderness to escape the temptation of      women     .     Jonathan laughed outright.     You are sure you won't return, young man?     He shook his head. They argued, they cajoled, but Jonathan was adamant.He said, You might report my accident to Universal. Tell them to stopone of their Jupiter-bound freighters here when the asteroid swingsback in the space ways. I'll have a load for them.     Inside the ship, Doctor Boynton moved over to a round transparent porthole. What a strange fellow, he murmured. He was just in time to seethe castaway, loaded like a pack mule, disappear in the direction fromwhich he had come.     Robinson Crusoe was going back to his man (?) Friday—all twenty-sevenof them.   <doc-sep>  The Happy Castaway     BY ROBERT E. McDOWELL     Being space-wrecked and marooned is tough     enough. But to face the horrors of such a     planet as this was too much. Imagine Fawkes'     terrible predicament; plenty of food—and     twenty seven beautiful girls for companions.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Spring 1945.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]       Jonathan Fawkes opened his eyes. He was flat on his back, and a girlwas bending over him. He detected a frightened expression on thegirl's face. His pale blue eyes traveled upward beyond the girl. Thesky was his roof, yet he distinctly remembered going to sleep on hisbunk aboard the space ship.     You're not dead?     I've some doubt about that, he replied dryly. He levered himself tohis elbows. The girl, he saw, had bright yellow hair. Her nose waspert, tip-tilted. She had on a ragged blue frock and sandals.     Is—is anything broken? she asked.     Don't know. Help me up. Between them he managed to struggle to hisfeet. He winced. He said, My name's Jonathan Fawkes. I'm a space pilotwith Universal. What happened? I feel like I'd been poured out of aconcrete mixer.     She pointed to the wreck of a small space freighter a dozen feet away.Its nose was buried in the turf, folded back like an accordion. Ithad burst open like a ripe watermelon. He was surprised that he hadsurvived at all. He scratched his head. I was running from Mars toJupiter with a load of seed for the colonists.     Oh! said the girl, biting her lips. Your co-pilot must be in thewreckage.     He shook his head. No, he reassured her. I left him on Mars. Hehad an attack of space sickness. I was all by myself; that was thetrouble. I'd stay at the controls as long as I could, then lock her onher course and snatch a couple of hours' sleep. I can remember crawlinginto my bunk. The next thing I knew you were bending over me. Hepaused. I guess the automatic deflectors slowed me up or I would havebeen a cinder by this time, he said.     The girl didn't reply. She continued to watch him, a faint enigmaticsmile on her lips. Jonathan glanced away in embarrassment. He wishedthat pretty women didn't upset him so. He said nervously, Where am I?I couldn't have slept all the way to Jupiter.     The girl shrugged her shoulders.     I don't know.     You don't know! He almost forgot his self-consciousness in hissurprise. His pale blue eyes returned to the landscape. A mile acrossthe plain began a range of jagged foothills, which tossed upwardhigher and higher until they merged with the blue saw-edge of a chainof mountains. As he looked a puff of smoke belched from a truncatedcone-shaped peak. A volcano. Otherwise there was no sign of life: justhe and the strange yellow-headed girl alone in the center of that vastrolling prairie.     I was going to explain, he heard her say. We think that we are on anasteroid.     We? he looked back at her.     Yes. There are twenty-seven of us. We were on our way to Jupiter, too,only we were going to be wives for the colonists.     I remember, he exclaimed. Didn't the Jupiter Food-growersAssociation enlist you girls to go to the colonies?     She nodded her head. Only twenty-seven of us came through the crash.     Everybody thought your space ship hit a meteor, he said.     We hit this asteroid.     But that was three years ago.     Has it been that long? We lost track of time. She didn't take hereyes off him, not for a second. Such attention made him acutely selfconscious. She said, I'm Ann. Ann Clotilde. I was hunting when I sawyour space ship. You had been thrown clear. You were lying all in aheap. I thought you were dead. She stooped, picked up a spear.     Do you feel strong enough to hike back to our camp? It's only aboutfour miles, she said.     I think so, he said.  <doc-sep>The girls set up a shout and threw stones down at the centaurs, whoreared, pawed the air, and galloped to a safe distance, from which theyhurled back insults in a strange tongue. Their voices sounded faintlylike the neighing of horses.     Amazons and centaurs, he thought again. He couldn't get the problemof the girls' phenomenal strength out of his mind. Then it occurredto him that the asteroid, most likely, was smaller even than Earth'smoon. He must weigh about a thirtieth of what he usually did, due tothe lessened gravity. It also occurred to him that they would be thirtytimes as strong. He was staggered. He wished he had a smoke.     At length, the amazons and the centaurs tired of bandying insultsback and forth. The centaurs galloped off into the prairie, the girlsresumed their march. Jonathan scrambled up hills, skidded down slopes.The brunette was beside him helping him over the rough spots.     I'm Olga, she confided. Has anybody ever told you what a handsomefellow you are? She pinched his cheek. Jonathan blushed.     They climbed a ridge, paused at the crest. Below them, he saw a deepvalley. A stream tumbled through the center of it. There were treesalong its banks, the first he had seen on the asteroid. At the head ofthe valley, he made out the massive pile of a space liner.     They started down a winding path. The space liner disappeared behinda promontory of the mountain. Jonathan steeled himself for the comingordeal. He would have sat down and refused to budge except that he knewthe girls would hoist him on their shoulders and bear him into the camplike a bag of meal.     The trail debouched into the valley. Just ahead the space linerreappeared. He imagined that it had crashed into the mountain, skiddedand rolled down its side until it lodged beside the stream. It remindedhim of a wounded dinosaur. Three girls were bathing in the stream. Helooked away hastily.     Someone hailed them from the space ship.     We've caught a man, shrieked one of his captors.     A flock of girls streamed out of the wrecked space ship.     A man! screamed a husky blonde. She was wearing a grass skirt. Shehad green eyes. We're rescued!     No. No, Ann Clotilde hastened to explain. He was wrecked like us.     Oh, came a disappointed chorus.     He's a man, said the green-eyed blonde. That's the next best thing.     Oh, Olga, said a strapping brunette. Who'd ever thought a man couldlook so good?     I did, said Olga. She chucked Jonathan under the chin. He shiveredlike an unbroken colt when the bit first goes in its mouth. He feltlike a mouse hemmed in by a ring of cats.     A big rawboned brute of a girl strolled into the circle. She said,Dinner's ready. Her voice was loud, strident. It reminded him ofthe voices of girls in the honky tonks on Venus. She looked at himappraisingly as if he were a horse she was about to bid on. Bring himinto the ship, she said. The man must be starved.     He was propelled jubilantly into the palatial dining salon of thewrecked liner. A long polished meturilium table occupied the center ofthe floor. Automatic weight distributing chairs stood around it. Hisfeet sank into a green fiberon carpet. He had stepped back into theThirty-fourth Century from the fabulous barbarian past.     With a sigh of relief, he started to sit down. A lithe red-head sprangforward and held his chair. They all waited politely for him to beseated before they took their places. He felt silly. He felt likea captive princess. All the confidence engendered by the familiarsettings of the space ship went out of him like wind. He, JonathanFawkes, was a castaway on an asteroid inhabited by twenty-seven wildwomen.  <doc-sep>Bob's nose twitched as he adjusted his glasses, which he wore eveninside his suit. He couldn't think of anything pertinent to say. Heknew that he was slowly working up a blush. Mildly speaking, thegirl was beautiful, and though only her carefully made-up face wasvisible—cool blue eyes, masterfully coiffed, upswept, glinting brownhair, wilful lips and chin—Bob suspected the rest of her comparednicely.     Her expression darkened as she saw the completely instinctive way hewas looking at her and her radioed-voice rapped out, Now you two boysgo and play somewhere else! Else I'll let the Interplanetary Commissionknow you've infringed the law. G'bye!     She turned and disappeared.     Bob awoke from his trance, shouted desperately, Hey! Wait!      You!          He and Queazy caught up with her on the side of the asteroid theyhadn't yet examined. It was a rough plane, completing the rigidqualifications Burnside had set down.     Wait a minute, Bob Parker begged nervously. I want to make someconversation, lady. I'm sure you don't understand the conditions—     The girl turned and drew a gun from a holster. It was a spasticizer,and it was three times as big as her gloved hand.     I understand conditions better than you do, she said. You wantto move this asteroid from its orbit and haul it back to Earth.Unfortunately, this is my home, by common law. Come back in a month. Idon't expect to be here then.     A month! Parker burst the word out. He started to sweat, then hisface became grim. He took two slow steps toward the girl. She blinkedand lost her composure and unconsciously backed up two steps. Abouttwenty steps away was her small dumbbell-shaped ship, so shiny andunscarred that it reflected starlight in highlights from its curvedsurface. A rich girl's ship, Bob Parker thought angrily. A month wouldbe too late!     He said grimly, Don't worry. I don't intend to pull any rough stuff.I just want you to listen to reason. You've taken a whim to stay onan asteroid that doesn't mean anything to you one way or another. Butto us—to me and Queazy here—it means our business. We got an orderfor this asteroid. Some screwball millionaire wants it for a backyardwedding see? We get five hundred and fifty thousand dollars for it!If we don't take this asteroid to Earth before June 2, we go back toSatterfield City and work the rest of our lives in the glass factories.Don't we, Queazy?     Queazy said simply, That's right, miss. We're in a spot. I assure youwe didn't expect to find someone living here.     The girl holstered her spasticizer, but her completely inhospitableexpression did not change. She put her hands on the bulging hips of herspace-suit. Okay, she said. Now I understand the conditions. Now weboth understand each other. G'bye again. I'm staying here and— shesmiled sweetly —it may interest you to know that if I let you havethe asteroid you'll save your business, but I'll meet a fate worse thandeath! So that's that.     Bob recognized finality when he saw it. Come on, Queazy, he saidfuming. Let this brat have her way. But if I ever run across herwithout a space-suit on I'm going to give her the licking of her life,right where it'll do the most good!     He turned angrily, but Queazy grabbed his arm, his mouth falling open.He pointed off into space, beyond the girl.     What's that? he whispered.     What's wha—      Oh!          Bob Parker's stomach caved in. A few hundred feet away, floatinggently toward the asteroid, came another ship—a ship a trifle biggerthan their own. The girl turned, too. They heard her gasp. In anothersecond, Bob was standing next to her. He turned the audio-switch to hisheadset off, and spoke to the girl by putting his helmet against hers.     Listen to me, miss, he snapped earnestly, when she tried to drawaway. Don't talk by radio. That ship belongs to the Saylor brothers!Oh, Lord, that this should happen! Somewhere along the line, we've beendouble-crossed. Those boys are after this asteroid too, and they won'thesitate to pull any rough stuff. We're in this together, understand?We got to back each other up.     The girl nodded dumbly. Suddenly she seemed to be frightened.It's—it's very important that this—this asteroid stay right where itis, she said huskily. What—what will they do?  <doc-sep>Then one of the men cried, Fools! It is true. We must take no chancewith the whips. He would come back. But if he dies here before us now,then we may forget the prophesy.     The crowd murmured and a second voice cried, Get the sword, get theguards, and kill him at once!     Eric tensed to break away but now it was too late. His captors werealert. They increased the twist on his arms until he almost screamedwith the pain.     The crowd parted, and the guard came through, his red silk clothinggleaming in the sun, his sword bright and deadly. He stopped beforeEric, and the sword swirled up like a saber, ready for a slashing cutdownward across Eric's neck.     A woman's voice, soft and yet authoritative, called, Hold! And amurmur of respect rippled through the crowd.     Nolette! The Daughter of the City comes.     Eric turned his gaze to the side and saw the woman who had spoken. Shewas mounted upon a black horse with a jeweled bridle. She was young andher hair was long and free in the wind. She had ridden so softly acrossthe fur street that no one had been aware of her presence.       She said, Let me touch this man. Let me feel the pulse of his heart sothat I may know if he is truly the Bronze one of the Legend. Give meyour hand, stranger. She leaned down and grasped his hand. Eric shookhis arms free, and reached up and clung to the offered hand, thinking,If I pull her down perhaps I can use her as a shield. He tensed hismuscles and began to pull.     She cried, No! You fool. Come up on the horse, and pulled back withan energy as fierce as his own. Then he had swung up on the horse, andthe animal leaped forward, its muffled gallop beating out a tattoo offreedom.     Eric clung tightly to the girl's waist. He could feel the youngsuppleness of her body, and the fine strands of her hair kept swirlingback into his face. It had a faint perfume, a clean and heady scentthat made him more aware of the touch of her waist. He breathed deeply,oddly happy as they rode.     After five minutes ride they came to a building in the center of thecity. The building was cubical, severe in line and architecture, and itcontrasted oddly with the exquisite ornament of the rest of the city.It was as if it were a monolith from another time, a stranger crouchedamong enemies.     The girl halted before the structure and said, Dismount here, Eric.     Eric swung down, his arms still tingling with pleasure where he hadheld her. She said, Knock three times on the door. I will see youagain inside. And thank your brother for sending me to bring you here.     Eric knocked on the door. The door was as plain as the building, madeof a luminous plastic. It had all the beauty of the great gate door,but a more timeless, more functional beauty.     The door opened and an old man greeted Eric. Come in. The Councilawaits you. Follow me, please.     Eric followed down a hallway and into a large room. The room wasobviously designed for a conference room. A great table stood in theroom, made of the same luminous plastic as the door of the building.Six men sat at this conference table. Eric's guide placed him in achair at the base of the T-shaped table.     There was one vacant seat beside the head of the T, and as Ericwatched, the young woman who had rescued him entered and took her placethere. She smiled at Eric, and the room took on a warmth that it hadlacked with only the older men present. The man at her right, obviouslypresiding here looked at Eric and spoke. I am Kroon, the eldest ofthe elders. We have brought you here to satisfy ourselves of youridentity. In view of your danger in the City you are entitled to somesort of explanation. He glanced around the room and asked, What isthe judgment of the elders?  <doc-sep>Jonathan leaped to his feet, dumping Ann to the ground. He jerkedaround. All twenty-six of the girls were lined up on the path. Theirfeatures were grim. He said: I don't feel so well after all.     It don't wash, said Billy. It's time for a showdown.     Jonathan's hair stood on end. He felt rather than saw Ann Clotilde takeher stand beside him. He noticed that she was holding her spear at amenacing angle. She said in an angry voice: He's mine. I found him.Leave him alone.     Where do you get that stuff? cried Olga. Share and share alike, sayI.     We could draw straws for him, suggested the green-eyed blonde.     Look here, Jonathan broke in. I've got some say in the matter.     You have not, snapped Billy. You'll do just as we say. She took astep toward him.     Jonathan edged away in consternation.     He's going to run! Olga shouted.     Jonathan never stopped until he was back in the canyon leading to theplain. His nerves were jumping like fleas. He craved the soothingrelaxation of a smoke. There was, he remembered, a carton of cigarettesat the wreck. He resumed his flight, but at a more sober pace.     At the spot where he and Ann had first crawled away from the centaurs,he scrambled out of the gulley, glanced in the direction of his spaceship. He blinked his eyes, stared. Then he waved his arms, shouted andtore across the prairie. A trim space cruiser was resting beside thewreck of his own. Across its gleaming monaloid hull ran an inscriptionin silver letters: INTERSTELLAR COSMOGRAPHY SOCIETY.     Two men crawled out of Jonathan's wrecked freighter, glanced insurprise at Jonathan. A third man ran from the cruiser, a Dixon RayRifle in his hand.     I'm Jonathan Fawkes, said the castaway as he panted up, pilot forUniversal. I was wrecked.     A tall elderly man held out his hand. He had a small black waxedmustache and Van Dyke. He was smoking a venusian cigarette in ayellow composition holder. He said, I'm Doctor Boynton. He had arich cultivated voice, and a nose like a hawk. We are members of theInterstellar Cosmography Society. We've been commissioned to make acursory examination of this asteroid. You had a nasty crack up, Mr.Fawkes. But you are in luck, sir. We were on the point of returningwhen we sighted the wreck.     I say, said the man who had run out of the cruiser. He was a prim,energetic young man. Jonathan noted that he carried the ray gungingerly, respectfully. We're a week overdue now, he said. If youhave any personal belongings that you'd like to take with you, you'dbest be getting them aboard.  <doc-sep>While the excav crew worked steadily, turning up nothing, Steffensremained alone among the buildings. Ball came out to him, looked drylyat the walls.     Well, he said, whoever they were, we haven't heard from them since.     No? How can you be sure? Steffens grunted. A space-borne race wasroaming this part of the Galaxy while men were still pitching spearsat each other,      that     long ago. And this planet is only a parsec fromVarius II, a civilization as old as Earth's. Did whoever built theseget to Varius? Or did they get to Earth? How can you know?     He kicked at the sand distractedly. And most important, where are theynow? A race with several thousand years....     Fifteen thousand, Ball said. When Steffens looked up, he added:That's what the geology boys say. Fifteen thousand, at the least.     Steffens turned to stare unhappily at the buildings. When he realizednow how really old they were, a sudden thought struck him.     But why buildings? Why did they have to build in stone, to last?There's something wrong with that. They shouldn't have had a needto build, unless they were castaways. And castaways would have left      something     behind. The only reason they would need a camp would be—     If the ship left and some of them stayed.     Steffens nodded. But then the ship must have come back. Where did itgo? He ceased kicking at the sand and looked up into the blue-blackmidday sky. We'll never know.     How about the other planets? Ball asked.     The report was negative. Inner too hot, outer too heavy and cold. Thethird planet is the only one with a decent temperature range, but      it     has a CO  2  atmosphere.     How about moons?     Steffens shrugged. We could try them and find out.  <doc-sep>When he awoke, a rough voice was saying, Okay. Snap out of it.     He opened his eyes and recognized the police commissioner's office. Itwould be hard not to recognize: the room was large, devoid of furnitureexcept for a desk and chairs, but the walls were lined with thecontrols of television screens, electronic calculators and a hundredother machines that formed New York's mechanical police force.     Commissioner Hendricks was a remarkable character. There was somethingwrong with his glands, and he was a huge, greasy bulk of a man withbushy eyebrows and a double chin. His steel-gray eyes showed somethingof his intelligence and he would have gone far in politics if fatehadn't made him so ugly, for more than half the voters who elected mento high political positions were women.     Anyone who knew Hendricks well liked him, for he was a friendly,likable person. But the millions of women voters who saw his face onposters and on their TV screens saw only the ugly face and heard onlythe harsh voice. The President of the United States was a capableman, but also a very handsome one, and the fact that a man who lookedsomething like a bulldog had been elected as New York's policecommissioner was a credit to Hendricks and millions of women voters.     Where's the girl? Joe asked.     I processed her while you were out cold. She left. Joe, you—     Okay, Joe said. I'll save you the trouble. I admit it. Attemptedrape. I confess.     Hendricks smiled. Sorry, Joe. You missed the boat again. He reachedout and turned a dial on his desk top. We had a microphone hidden inthat alley. We have a lot of microphones hidden in a lot of alleys.You'd be surprised at the number of conspiracies that take place inalleys!     Joe listened numbly to his voice as it came from one of the hundreds ofmachines on the walls,       Scream. Scream as loud as you can, and whenthe cops get here, tell 'em I tried to rape you.      And then the girl'svoice,       Sorry, buddy. Can't help—          He waved his hand. Okay. Shut it off. I confess to conspiracy.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What was the fate of the 27 women stranded on the asteroid in The Happy Castaway?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"How does Jonathan Fawkes change over the course of The Happy Castaway? [SEP] <s>  The Happy Castaway     BY ROBERT E. McDOWELL     Being space-wrecked and marooned is tough     enough. But to face the horrors of such a     planet as this was too much. Imagine Fawkes'     terrible predicament; plenty of food—and     twenty seven beautiful girls for companions.     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Planet Stories Spring 1945.     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]       Jonathan Fawkes opened his eyes. He was flat on his back, and a girlwas bending over him. He detected a frightened expression on thegirl's face. His pale blue eyes traveled upward beyond the girl. Thesky was his roof, yet he distinctly remembered going to sleep on hisbunk aboard the space ship.     You're not dead?     I've some doubt about that, he replied dryly. He levered himself tohis elbows. The girl, he saw, had bright yellow hair. Her nose waspert, tip-tilted. She had on a ragged blue frock and sandals.     Is—is anything broken? she asked.     Don't know. Help me up. Between them he managed to struggle to hisfeet. He winced. He said, My name's Jonathan Fawkes. I'm a space pilotwith Universal. What happened? I feel like I'd been poured out of aconcrete mixer.     She pointed to the wreck of a small space freighter a dozen feet away.Its nose was buried in the turf, folded back like an accordion. Ithad burst open like a ripe watermelon. He was surprised that he hadsurvived at all. He scratched his head. I was running from Mars toJupiter with a load of seed for the colonists.     Oh! said the girl, biting her lips. Your co-pilot must be in thewreckage.     He shook his head. No, he reassured her. I left him on Mars. Hehad an attack of space sickness. I was all by myself; that was thetrouble. I'd stay at the controls as long as I could, then lock her onher course and snatch a couple of hours' sleep. I can remember crawlinginto my bunk. The next thing I knew you were bending over me. Hepaused. I guess the automatic deflectors slowed me up or I would havebeen a cinder by this time, he said.     The girl didn't reply. She continued to watch him, a faint enigmaticsmile on her lips. Jonathan glanced away in embarrassment. He wishedthat pretty women didn't upset him so. He said nervously, Where am I?I couldn't have slept all the way to Jupiter.     The girl shrugged her shoulders.     I don't know.     You don't know! He almost forgot his self-consciousness in hissurprise. His pale blue eyes returned to the landscape. A mile acrossthe plain began a range of jagged foothills, which tossed upwardhigher and higher until they merged with the blue saw-edge of a chainof mountains. As he looked a puff of smoke belched from a truncatedcone-shaped peak. A volcano. Otherwise there was no sign of life: justhe and the strange yellow-headed girl alone in the center of that vastrolling prairie.     I was going to explain, he heard her say. We think that we are on anasteroid.     We? he looked back at her.     Yes. There are twenty-seven of us. We were on our way to Jupiter, too,only we were going to be wives for the colonists.     I remember, he exclaimed. Didn't the Jupiter Food-growersAssociation enlist you girls to go to the colonies?     She nodded her head. Only twenty-seven of us came through the crash.     Everybody thought your space ship hit a meteor, he said.     We hit this asteroid.     But that was three years ago.     Has it been that long? We lost track of time. She didn't take hereyes off him, not for a second. Such attention made him acutely selfconscious. She said, I'm Ann. Ann Clotilde. I was hunting when I sawyour space ship. You had been thrown clear. You were lying all in aheap. I thought you were dead. She stooped, picked up a spear.     Do you feel strong enough to hike back to our camp? It's only aboutfour miles, she said.     I think so, he said.  <doc-sep>Jonathan leaped to his feet, dumping Ann to the ground. He jerkedaround. All twenty-six of the girls were lined up on the path. Theirfeatures were grim. He said: I don't feel so well after all.     It don't wash, said Billy. It's time for a showdown.     Jonathan's hair stood on end. He felt rather than saw Ann Clotilde takeher stand beside him. He noticed that she was holding her spear at amenacing angle. She said in an angry voice: He's mine. I found him.Leave him alone.     Where do you get that stuff? cried Olga. Share and share alike, sayI.     We could draw straws for him, suggested the green-eyed blonde.     Look here, Jonathan broke in. I've got some say in the matter.     You have not, snapped Billy. You'll do just as we say. She took astep toward him.     Jonathan edged away in consternation.     He's going to run! Olga shouted.     Jonathan never stopped until he was back in the canyon leading to theplain. His nerves were jumping like fleas. He craved the soothingrelaxation of a smoke. There was, he remembered, a carton of cigarettesat the wreck. He resumed his flight, but at a more sober pace.     At the spot where he and Ann had first crawled away from the centaurs,he scrambled out of the gulley, glanced in the direction of his spaceship. He blinked his eyes, stared. Then he waved his arms, shouted andtore across the prairie. A trim space cruiser was resting beside thewreck of his own. Across its gleaming monaloid hull ran an inscriptionin silver letters: INTERSTELLAR COSMOGRAPHY SOCIETY.     Two men crawled out of Jonathan's wrecked freighter, glanced insurprise at Jonathan. A third man ran from the cruiser, a Dixon RayRifle in his hand.     I'm Jonathan Fawkes, said the castaway as he panted up, pilot forUniversal. I was wrecked.     A tall elderly man held out his hand. He had a small black waxedmustache and Van Dyke. He was smoking a venusian cigarette in ayellow composition holder. He said, I'm Doctor Boynton. He had arich cultivated voice, and a nose like a hawk. We are members of theInterstellar Cosmography Society. We've been commissioned to make acursory examination of this asteroid. You had a nasty crack up, Mr.Fawkes. But you are in luck, sir. We were on the point of returningwhen we sighted the wreck.     I say, said the man who had run out of the cruiser. He was a prim,energetic young man. Jonathan noted that he carried the ray gungingerly, respectfully. We're a week overdue now, he said. If youhave any personal belongings that you'd like to take with you, you'dbest be getting them aboard.  <doc-sep>The girls set up a shout and threw stones down at the centaurs, whoreared, pawed the air, and galloped to a safe distance, from which theyhurled back insults in a strange tongue. Their voices sounded faintlylike the neighing of horses.     Amazons and centaurs, he thought again. He couldn't get the problemof the girls' phenomenal strength out of his mind. Then it occurredto him that the asteroid, most likely, was smaller even than Earth'smoon. He must weigh about a thirtieth of what he usually did, due tothe lessened gravity. It also occurred to him that they would be thirtytimes as strong. He was staggered. He wished he had a smoke.     At length, the amazons and the centaurs tired of bandying insultsback and forth. The centaurs galloped off into the prairie, the girlsresumed their march. Jonathan scrambled up hills, skidded down slopes.The brunette was beside him helping him over the rough spots.     I'm Olga, she confided. Has anybody ever told you what a handsomefellow you are? She pinched his cheek. Jonathan blushed.     They climbed a ridge, paused at the crest. Below them, he saw a deepvalley. A stream tumbled through the center of it. There were treesalong its banks, the first he had seen on the asteroid. At the head ofthe valley, he made out the massive pile of a space liner.     They started down a winding path. The space liner disappeared behinda promontory of the mountain. Jonathan steeled himself for the comingordeal. He would have sat down and refused to budge except that he knewthe girls would hoist him on their shoulders and bear him into the camplike a bag of meal.     The trail debouched into the valley. Just ahead the space linerreappeared. He imagined that it had crashed into the mountain, skiddedand rolled down its side until it lodged beside the stream. It remindedhim of a wounded dinosaur. Three girls were bathing in the stream. Helooked away hastily.     Someone hailed them from the space ship.     We've caught a man, shrieked one of his captors.     A flock of girls streamed out of the wrecked space ship.     A man! screamed a husky blonde. She was wearing a grass skirt. Shehad green eyes. We're rescued!     No. No, Ann Clotilde hastened to explain. He was wrecked like us.     Oh, came a disappointed chorus.     He's a man, said the green-eyed blonde. That's the next best thing.     Oh, Olga, said a strapping brunette. Who'd ever thought a man couldlook so good?     I did, said Olga. She chucked Jonathan under the chin. He shiveredlike an unbroken colt when the bit first goes in its mouth. He feltlike a mouse hemmed in by a ring of cats.     A big rawboned brute of a girl strolled into the circle. She said,Dinner's ready. Her voice was loud, strident. It reminded him ofthe voices of girls in the honky tonks on Venus. She looked at himappraisingly as if he were a horse she was about to bid on. Bring himinto the ship, she said. The man must be starved.     He was propelled jubilantly into the palatial dining salon of thewrecked liner. A long polished meturilium table occupied the center ofthe floor. Automatic weight distributing chairs stood around it. Hisfeet sank into a green fiberon carpet. He had stepped back into theThirty-fourth Century from the fabulous barbarian past.     With a sigh of relief, he started to sit down. A lithe red-head sprangforward and held his chair. They all waited politely for him to beseated before they took their places. He felt silly. He felt likea captive princess. All the confidence engendered by the familiarsettings of the space ship went out of him like wind. He, JonathanFawkes, was a castaway on an asteroid inhabited by twenty-seven wildwomen.  <doc-sep>He paused shamefacedly. A second girl, he saw, was running towardthem from up the canyon. Her bare legs flashed like ivory. She wasbarefooted, and she had black hair. A green cloth was wrapped aroundher sarong fashion. She bounced to a stop in front of Jonathan, herbrown eyes wide in surprise. He thought her sarong had been a tablecloth at one time in its history.     A man! she breathed. By Jupiter and all its little moons, it's aman!     Don't let him get away! cried Ann.     Hilda! the brunette shrieked. A man! It's a man!     A third girl skidded around the bend in the canyon. Jonathan backed offwarily.     Ann Clotilde cried in anguish: Don't let him get away!     Jonathan chose the centaurs. He wheeled around, dashed back the wayhe had come. Someone tackled him. He rolled on the rocky floor of thecanyon. He struggled to his feet. He saw six more girls race around thebend in the canyon. With shouts of joy they flung themselves on him.     Jonathan was game, but the nine husky amazons pinned him down by sheerweight. They bound him hand and foot. Then four of them picked him upbodily, started up the canyon chanting:       He was a rocket riding daddyfrom Mars.      He recognized it as a popular song of three years ago.     Jonathan had never been so humiliated in his life. He was known in thespaceways from Mercury to Jupiter as a man to leave alone. His nose hadbeen broken three times. A thin white scar crawled down the bronze ofhis left cheek, relic of a barroom brawl on Venus. He was big, rangy,tough. And these girls had trounced him. Girls! He almost wept frommortification.     He said, Put me down. I'll walk.     You won't try to get away? said Ann.     No, he replied with as much dignity as he could summon while beingheld aloft by four barbarous young women.     Let him down, said Ann. We can catch him, anyway, if he makes abreak.     Jonathan Fawkes' humiliation was complete. He meekly trudged betweentwo husky females, who ogled him shamelessly. He was amazed at the easewith which they had carried him. He was six feet three and no lightweight. He thought enviously of the centaurs, free to gallop across theplains. He wished he was a centaur.     The trail left the canyon, struggled up the precipitate walls. Jonathanpicked his way gingerly, hugged the rock. Don't be afraid, advisedone of his captors. Just don't look down.     I'm not afraid, said Jonathan hotly. To prove it he trod the narrowledge with scorn. His foot struck a pebble. Both feet went out fromunder him. He slithered halfway over the edge. For one sickening momenthe thought he was gone, then Ann grabbed him by the scruff of his neck,hauled him back to safety. He lay gasping on his stomach. They tied arope around his waist then, and led him the rest of the way to the toplike a baby on a leash. He was too crestfallen to resent it.     The trail came out on a high ridge. They paused on a bluff overlookingthe prairie.     Look! cried Ann pointing over the edge.     A half dozen beasts were trotting beneath on the plain. At first,Jonathan mistook them for horses. Then he saw that from the withers upthey resembled men. Waists, shoulders, arms and heads were identical tohis own, but their bodies were the bodies of horses.     Centaurs! Jonathan Fawkes said, not believing his eyes.  <doc-sep>Jonathan Fawkes fidgeted uncomfortably. He would rather pilot a spaceship through a meteor field than face twenty-seven young women. Theywere the only thing in the Spaceways of which he was in awe. Then herealized that the girl's dark blue eyes had strayed beyond him. A frownof concentration marred her regular features. He turned around.     On the rim of the prairie he saw a dozen black specks moving towardthem.     She said: Get down! Her voice was agitated. She flung herself on herstomach and began to crawl away from the wreck. Jonathan Fawkes staredafter her stupidly. Get down! she reiterated in a furious voice.     He let himself to his hands and knees. Ouch! he said. He felt likehe was being jabbed with pins. He must be one big bruise. He scuttledafter the girl. What's wrong?     The girl looked back at him over her shoulder. Centaurs! she said. Ididn't know they had returned. There is a small ravine just ahead whichleads into the hills. I don't think they've seen us. If we can reachthe hills we'll be safe.     Centaurs! Isn't there anything new under the sun?     Well, personally, she replied, I never saw a Centaur until I waswrecked on this asteroid. She reached the ravine, crawled headforemost over the edge. Jonathan tumbled after her. He hit the bottom,winced, scrambled to his feet. The girl started at a trot for thehills. Jonathan, groaning at each step, hobbled beside her.     Why won't the Centaurs follow us into the hills? he panted.     Too rough. They're like horses, she said. Nothing but a goat couldget around in the hills.     The gulley, he saw, was deepening into a respectable canyon, then agorge. In half a mile, the walls towered above them. A narrow ribbonof sky was visible overhead. Yellow fern-like plants sprouted from thecrevices and floor of the canyon.     They flushed a small furry creature from behind a bush. As it spedaway, it resembled a cottontail of Earth. The girl whipped back herarm, flung the spear. It transfixed the rodent. She picked it up, tiedit to her waist. Jonathan gaped. Such strength and accuracy astoundedhim. He thought, amazons and centaurs. He thought, but this is the year3372; not the time of ancient Greece.     The canyon bore to the left. It grew rougher, the walls moreprecipitate. Jonathan limped to a halt. High boots and breeches, theuniform of Universal's space pilots, hadn't been designed for walking.Hold on, he said. He felt in his pockets, withdrew an empty cigarettepackage, crumpled it and hurled it to the ground.     You got a cigarette? he asked without much hope.     The girl shook her head. We ran out of tobacco the first few months wewere here.     Jonathan turned around, started back for the space ship.     Where are you going? cried Ann in alarm.     He said, I've got a couple of cartons of cigarettes back at thefreighter. Centaurs or no centaurs, I'm going to get a smoke.     No! She clutched his arm. He was surprised at the strength of hergrip. They'd kill you, she said.     I can sneak back, he insisted stubbornly. They might loot the ship.I don't want to lose those cigarettes. I was hauling some good burleytobacco seed too. The colonists were going to experiment with it onGanymede.     No!     He lifted his eyebrows. He thought, she is an amazon! He firmlydetached her hand.     The girl flicked up her spear, nicked his neck with the point of it.We are going to the camp, she said.     Jonathan threw himself down backwards, kicked the girl's feet out fromunder her. Like a cat he scrambled up and wrenched the spear away.     A voice shouted: What's going on there?  <doc-sep>Jonathan's face broke into a grin. He said, Do any of you know how togrow tobacco?     They glanced at each other in perplexity.     I like it here, continued Jonathan. I'm not going back.     What? cried the three explorers in one breath.     I'm going to stay, he repeated. I only came back here after thecigarettes.     But it will be three years before the asteroid's orbit brings it backin the space lanes, said Doctor Boynton. You don't possibly expect tobe picked up before then!     Jonathan shook his head, began to load himself with tools, tobaccoseed, and cigarettes.     Odd. Doctor Boynton shook his head, turned to the others. Though ifI remember correctly, there was quite an epidemic of hermits duringthe medieval period. It was an esthetic movement. They fled to thewilderness to escape the temptation of      women     .     Jonathan laughed outright.     You are sure you won't return, young man?     He shook his head. They argued, they cajoled, but Jonathan was adamant.He said, You might report my accident to Universal. Tell them to stopone of their Jupiter-bound freighters here when the asteroid swingsback in the space ways. I'll have a load for them.     Inside the ship, Doctor Boynton moved over to a round transparent porthole. What a strange fellow, he murmured. He was just in time to seethe castaway, loaded like a pack mule, disappear in the direction fromwhich he had come.     Robinson Crusoe was going back to his man (?) Friday—all twenty-sevenof them.   <doc-sep>Jonathan was slumped forward across the table, his head buried in hisarms.     Catch a hold, said Billy, pushing back from the table. A dozen girlsvolunteered with a rush. Hoist! said Billy. They lifted him like asleepy child, bore him tenderly up an incline and into a stateroom,where they deposited him on the bed.     Ann said to Olga; Help me with these boots. But they resisted everytug. It's no use, groaned Ann, straightening up and wiping her brightyellow hair back from her eyes. His feet have swollen. We'll have tocut them off.     At these words, Jonathan raised upright as if someone had pulled a rope.           Cut off whose feet?      he cried in alarm.     Not your feet, silly, said Ann. Your boots.     Lay a hand on those boots, he scowled; and I'll make me another pairout of your hides. They set me back a week's salary. Having deliveredhimself of this ultimatum, he went back to sleep.     Olga clapped her hand to her forehead. And this, she cried is whatwe've been praying for during the last three years.     The next day found Jonathan Fawkes hobbling around by the aid of acane. At the portal of the space ship, he stuck out his head, glancedall around warily. None of the girls were in sight. They had, hepresumed, gone about their chores: hunting, fishing, gathering fruitsand berries. He emerged all the way and set out for the creek. Hewalked with an exaggerated limp just in case any of them should behanging around. As long as he was an invalid he was safe, he hoped.     He sighed. Not every man could be waited on so solicitously bytwenty-seven handsome strapping amazons. He wished he could carry itoff in cavalier fashion. He hobbled to the creek, sat down beneath theshade of a tree. He just wasn't the type, he supposed. And it might beyears before they were rescued.     As a last resort, he supposed, he could hide out in the hills or jointhe centaurs. He rather fancied himself galloping across the plainson the back of a centaur. He looked up with a start. Ann Clotilde wasambling toward him.     How's the invalid? she said, seating herself beside him.     Hot, isn't it? he said. He started to rise. Ann Clotilde placed theflat of her hand on his chest and shoved.       Ooof!      he grunted. He satdown rather more forcibly than he had risen.     Don't get up because of me, she informed him. It's my turn to cook,but I saw you out here beneath the trees. Dinner can wait. Jonathan doyou know that you are irresistible? She seized his shoulders, staredinto his eyes. He couldn't have felt any more uncomfortable had ahungry boa constrictor draped itself in his arms. He mopped his browwith his sleeve.     Suppose the rest should come, he said in an embarrassed voice.     They're busy. They won't be here until I call them to lunch. Youreyes, she said, are like deep mysterious pools.     Sure enough? said Jonathan with involuntary interest. He began torecover his nerve.     She said, You're the best looking thing. She rumpled his hair. Ican't keep my eyes off you.     Jonathan put his arm around her gingerly. Ouch! He winced. He hadforgotten his sore muscles.     I forgot, said Ann Clotilde in a contrite voice. She tried to rise.You're hurt.     He pulled her back down. Not so you could notice it, he grinned.     Well! came the strident voice of Billy from behind them. We're      all     glad to hear that!  <doc-sep>As the meal boisterously progressed, he regained sufficient courageto glance timidly around. Directly across the table sat a striking,grey-eyed girl whose brown hair was coiled severely about her head. Shelooked to him like a stenographer. He watched horrified as she seizeda whole roast fowl, tore it apart with her fingers, gnawed a leg. Shecaught him staring at her and rolled her eyes at him. He returned hisgaze to his plate.     Olga said: Hey, Sultan.     He shuddered, but looked up questioningly.     She said, How's the fish?     Good, he mumbled between a mouthful. Where did you get it?     Caught it, said Olga. The stream's full of 'em. I'll take youfishing tomorrow. She winked at him so brazenly that he choked on abone.     Heaven forbid, he said.     How about coming with me to gather fruit? cried the green-eyedblonde; you great big handsome man.     Or me? cried another. And the table was in an uproar.     The rawboned woman who had summoned them to dinner, pounded the tableuntil the cups and plates danced. Jonathan had gathered that she wascalled Billy.     Quiet! She shrieked in her loud strident voice. Let him be. He can'tgo anywhere for a few days. He's just been through a wreck. He needsrest. She turned to Jonathan who had shrunk down in his chair. Howabout some roast? she said.     No. He pushed back his plate with a sigh. If I only had a smoke.     Olga gave her unruly black hair a flirt. Isn't that just like a man?     I wouldn't know, said the green-eyed blonde. I've forgotten whatthey're like.     Billy said, How badly wrecked is your ship?     It's strewn all over the landscape, he replied sleepily.     Is there any chance of patching it up?     He considered the question. More than anything else, he decided, hewanted to sleep. What? he said.     Is there any possibility of repairing your ship? repeated Billy.     Not outside the space docks.     They expelled their breath, but not for an instant did they relaxthe barrage of their eyes. He shifted position in embarrassment. Themovement pulled his muscles like a rack. Furthermore, an overpoweringlassitude was threatening to pop him off to sleep before their eyes.     You look exhausted, said Ann.     Jonathan dragged himself back from the edge of sleep. Just tired, hemumbled. Haven't had a good night's rest since I left Mars. Indeedit was only by the most painful effort that he kept awake at all. Hiseyelids drooped lower and lower.     First it's tobacco, said Olga; now he wants to sleep. Twenty-sevengirls and he wants to sleep.     He is asleep, said the green-eyed blonde.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does Jonathan Fawkes change over the course of The Happy Castaway?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you provide a summary of the storyline in THE STAR-SENT KNAVES? [SEP] <s>     THE STAR-SENT KNAVES       BY KEITH LAUMER     Illustrated by Gaughan     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of Tomorrow June 1963     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      When the Great Galactic Union first encounters     Earth ... is this what is going to happen?      I     Clyde W. Snithian was a bald eagle of a man, dark-eyed, pot-bellied,with the large, expressive hands of a rug merchant. Round-shoulderedin a loose cloak, he blinked small reddish eyes at Dan Slane'stravel-stained six foot one.     Kelly here tells me you've been demanding to see me. He nodded towardthe florid man at his side. He had a high, thin voice, like somethingthat needed oiling. Something about important information regardingsafeguarding my paintings.     That's right, Mr. Snithian, Dan said. I believe I can be of greathelp to you.     Help how? If you've got ideas of bilking me.... The red eyes boredinto Dan like hot pokers.     Nothing like that, sir. Now, I know you have quite a system of guardshere—the papers are full of it—     Damned busybodies! Sensation-mongers! If it wasn't for the press,I'd have no concern for my paintings today!     Yes sir. But my point is, the one really important spot has been leftunguarded.     Now, wait a minute— Kelly started.     What's that? Snithian cut in.     You have a hundred and fifty men guarding the house and grounds dayand night—     Two hundred and twenty-five, Kelly snapped.     —but no one at all in the vault with the paintings, Slane finished.     Of course not, Snithian shrilled. Why should I post a man in thevault? It's under constant surveillance from the corridor outside.     The Harriman paintings were removed from a locked vault, Dan said.There was a special seal on the door. It wasn't broken.     By the saints, he's right, Kelly exclaimed. Maybe we ought to have aman in that vault.     Another idiotic scheme to waste my money, Snithian snapped. I'vemade you responsible for security here, Kelly! Let's have no morenonsense. And throw this nincompoop out! Snithian turned and stalkedaway, his cloak flapping at his knees.     I'll work cheap, Dan called after him as Kelly took his arm. I'm anart lover.     Never mind that, Kelly said, escorting Dan along the corridor. Heturned in at an office and closed the door.     Now, as the old buzzard said, I'm responsible for security here. Ifthose pictures go, my job goes with them. Your vault idea's not bad.Just how cheap would you work?     A hundred dollars a week, Dan said promptly. Plus expenses, headded.     Kelly nodded. I'll fingerprint you and run a fast agency check. Ifyou're clean, I'll put you on, starting tonight. But keep it quiet.  <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>  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>She was pink and clean and her platinum hair was pulled straight back,drawing her cheek-bones tighter, straightening her wide, appealingmouth, drawing her lean, athletic, feminine body erect. She was wearinga powder-blue dress that covered all of her breasts and hips and theupper half of her legs.     The most wonderful thing about her was her perfume. Then I realized itwasn't perfume, only the scent of soap. Finally, I knew it wasn't that.It was just healthy, fresh-scrubbed skin.     I went to her at the bus stop, forcing my legs not to stagger. Nobodywould help a drunk. I don't know why, but nobody will help you if theythink you are blotto.     Ma'am, could you help a man who's not had work? I kept my eyes down.I couldn't look a human in the eye and ask for help. Just a dime for acup of coffee. I knew where I could get it for three cents, maybe twoand a half.     I felt her looking at me. She spoke in an educated voice, one she used,perhaps, as a teacher or supervising telephone operator. Do you wantit for coffee, or to apply, or a glass or hypo of something else?     I cringed and whined. She would expect it of me. I suddenly realizedthat anybody as clean as she was had to be a tourist here. I hatetourists.     Just coffee, ma'am. She was younger than I was, so I didn't have tocall her that. A little more for food, if you could spare it.     I hadn't eaten in a day and a half, but I didn't care much.     I'll buy you a dinner, she said carefully, provided I can go withyou and see for myself that you actually eat it.     I felt my face flushing red. You wouldn't want to be seen with a bumlike me, ma'am.     I'll be seen with you if you really want to eat.     It was certainly unfair and probably immoral. But I had no choicewhatever.     Okay, I said, tasting bitterness over the craving.  <doc-sep>  Mr. Dawes  came home anhour later, looking tired.Mom pecked him lightly onthe forehead. He glanced atthe evening paper, and thenspoke to Sol.     Hear you been askingquestions, Mr. Becker.     Sol nodded, embarrassed.Guess I have. I'm awfullycurious about this Armagonplace. Never heard of anythinglike it before.     Dawes grunted. You ain'ta reporter?     Oh, no. I'm an engineer. Iwas just satisfying my owncuriosity.     Uh-huh. Dawes lookedreflective. You wouldn't bethinkin' about writing us upor anything. I mean, this is apretty private affair.     Writing it up? Solblinked. I hadn't thought ofit. But you'll have to admit—it'ssure interesting.     Yeah, Dawes said narrowly.I guess it would be.     Supper! Mom called.     After the meal, they spenta quiet evening at home. Sallywent to bed, screaming herreluctance, at eight-thirty.Mom, dozing in the big chairnear the fireplace, padded upstairsat nine. Then Dawesyawned widely, stood up, andsaid goodnight at quarter-of-ten.     He paused in the doorwaybefore leaving.     I'd think about that, hesaid. Writing it up, I mean.A lot of folks would thinkyou were just plum crazy.     Sol laughed feebly. Iguess they would at that.     Goodnight, Dawes said.     Goodnight.     He read Sally's copy of      Treasure Island     for abouthalf an hour. Then he undressed,made himself comfortableon the sofa, snuggledunder the soft blanketthat Mom had provided, andshut his eyes.     He reviewed the events ofthe day before dropping offto sleep. The troublesomeSally. The strange dreamworld of Armagon. The visitto the barber shop. The removalof Brundage's body.The conversations with thetownspeople. Dawes' suspiciousattitude ...     Then sleep came. <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>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> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in THE STAR-SENT KNAVES?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What is the backdrop of THE STAR-SENT KNAVES? [SEP] <s>     THE STAR-SENT KNAVES       BY KEITH LAUMER     Illustrated by Gaughan     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of Tomorrow June 1963     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      When the Great Galactic Union first encounters     Earth ... is this what is going to happen?      I     Clyde W. Snithian was a bald eagle of a man, dark-eyed, pot-bellied,with the large, expressive hands of a rug merchant. Round-shoulderedin a loose cloak, he blinked small reddish eyes at Dan Slane'stravel-stained six foot one.     Kelly here tells me you've been demanding to see me. He nodded towardthe florid man at his side. He had a high, thin voice, like somethingthat needed oiling. Something about important information regardingsafeguarding my paintings.     That's right, Mr. Snithian, Dan said. I believe I can be of greathelp to you.     Help how? If you've got ideas of bilking me.... The red eyes boredinto Dan like hot pokers.     Nothing like that, sir. Now, I know you have quite a system of guardshere—the papers are full of it—     Damned busybodies! Sensation-mongers! If it wasn't for the press,I'd have no concern for my paintings today!     Yes sir. But my point is, the one really important spot has been leftunguarded.     Now, wait a minute— Kelly started.     What's that? Snithian cut in.     You have a hundred and fifty men guarding the house and grounds dayand night—     Two hundred and twenty-five, Kelly snapped.     —but no one at all in the vault with the paintings, Slane finished.     Of course not, Snithian shrilled. Why should I post a man in thevault? It's under constant surveillance from the corridor outside.     The Harriman paintings were removed from a locked vault, Dan said.There was a special seal on the door. It wasn't broken.     By the saints, he's right, Kelly exclaimed. Maybe we ought to have aman in that vault.     Another idiotic scheme to waste my money, Snithian snapped. I'vemade you responsible for security here, Kelly! Let's have no morenonsense. And throw this nincompoop out! Snithian turned and stalkedaway, his cloak flapping at his knees.     I'll work cheap, Dan called after him as Kelly took his arm. I'm anart lover.     Never mind that, Kelly said, escorting Dan along the corridor. Heturned in at an office and closed the door.     Now, as the old buzzard said, I'm responsible for security here. Ifthose pictures go, my job goes with them. Your vault idea's not bad.Just how cheap would you work?     A hundred dollars a week, Dan said promptly. Plus expenses, headded.     Kelly nodded. I'll fingerprint you and run a fast agency check. Ifyou're clean, I'll put you on, starting tonight. But keep it quiet.  <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 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>Bob Parker came to, the emptiness of remote starlight in his face. Heopened his eyes. He was slowly revolving on an axis. Sometimes the Sunswept across his line of vision. A cold hammering began at the base ofhis skull, a sensation similar to that of being buried alive. There wasno asteroid, no girl, no Queazy. He was alone in the vastness of space.Alone in a space-suit.     Queazy! he whispered. Queazy! I'm running out of air!     There was no answer from Queazy. With sick eyes, Bob studied theoxygen indicator. There was only five pounds pressure. Five pounds!That meant he had been floating around out here—how long? Days atleast—maybe weeks! It was evident that somebody had given him a doseof spastic rays, enough to screw up every muscle in his body to thesnapping point, putting him in such a condition of suspended animationthat his oxygen needs were small. He closed his eyes, trying to fightagainst panic. He was glad he couldn't see any part of his body. He wasprobably scrawny. And he was hungry!     I'll starve, he thought. Or suffocate to death first!     He couldn't keep himself from taking in great gulps of air. Minutes,then hours passed. He was breathing abnormally, and there wasn't enoughair in the first place. He pleaded continually for Queazy, hopingthat somehow Queazy could help, when probably Queazy was in the samecondition. He ripped out wild curses directed at the Saylor brothers.Murderers, both of them! Up until this time, he had merely thought ofthem as business rivals. If he ever got out of this—     He groaned. He never would get out of it! After another hour, he wasgasping weakly, and yellow spots danced in his eyes. He called Queazy'sname once more, knowing that was the last time he would have strengthto call it.     And this time the headset spoke back!     Bob Parker made a gurgling sound. A voice came again, washed withstatic, far away, burbling, but excited. Bob made a rattling sound inhis throat. Then his eyes started to close, but he imagined that he sawa ship, shiny and small, driving toward him, growing in size againstthe backdrop of the Milky Way. He relapsed, a terrific buzzing in hisears.     He did not lose consciousness. He heard voices, Queazy's and thegirl's, whoever she was. Somebody grabbed hold of his foot. Hisaquarium was unbuckled and good air washed over his streaming face.The sudden rush of oxygen to his brain dizzied him. Then he was lyingon a bunk, and gradually the world beyond his sick body focussed in hisclearing eyes and he knew he was alive—and going to stay that way, forawhile anyway.     Thanks, Queazy, he said huskily.     Queazy was bending over him, his anxiety clearing away from hissuddenly brightening face.     Don't thank me, he whispered. We'd have both been goners if ithadn't been for her. The Saylor brothers left her paralyzed likeus, and when she woke up she was on a slow orbit around her ship.She unstrapped her holster and threw it away from her and it gaveher enough reaction to reach the ship. She got inside and used thedirection-finder on the telaudio and located me first. The Saylorsscattered us far and wide. Queazy's broad, normally good-humored facetwisted blackly. The so and so's didn't care if we lived or died.     Bob saw the girl now, standing a little behind Queazy, looking down athim curiously, but unhappily. Her space-suit was off. She was wearinglightly striped blue slacks and blue silk blouse and she had a paperflower in her hair. Something in Bob's stomach caved in as his eyeswidened on her.     The girl said glumly, I guess you men won't much care for me when youfind out who I am and what I've done. I'm Starre Lowenthal—Andrew S.Burnside's granddaughter!  <doc-sep>After a time he said, Rodney, Wass, it's dust, down there. Rememberthe wind? Air currents are moving it.     Rodney sat down on the metal flooring. For a long time he said nothing.Then—It wasn't.... Why did you close the hatch then?     Martin did not say he thought the other two would have shot him,otherwise. He said merely, At first I wasn't sure myself.     Rodney stood up, backing away from the closed hatch. He held his gunloosely, and his hand shook. Then prove it. Open it again.     Martin went to the wheel. He noticed Wass was standing behind Rodneyand he, too, had drawn his gun.     The hatch rose again at Martin's direction. He stood beside it,outlined in the light of two torches.     For a little while he was alone.     Then—causing a gasp from Wass, a harsh expletive from Rodney—atenuous, questing alien limb edged through the hatch, curling aboutMartin, sparkling in ten thousand separate particles in the torchlight,obscuring the dimly seen backdrop of geometrical processions of strangeobjects.       Martin raised an arm, and the particles swirled in stately, shimmeringspirals.     Rodney leaned forward and looked over the edge of the hatch. He saidnothing. He eyed the sparkling particles swirling about Martin, andnow, himself.     How deep, Wass said, from his safe distance.     We'll have to lower a flashlight, Martin answered.     Rodney, all eagerness to be of assistance now, lowered a rope with atorch swinging wildly on the end of it.     The torch came to rest about thirty feet down. It shone on gentlyrolling mounds of fine, white stuff.     Martin anchored the rope soundly, and paused, half across the lipof the hatch to stare coldly at Wass. You'd rather monkey with theswitches and blow yourself to smithereens?     Wass sighed and refused to meet Martin's gaze. Martin looked at himdisgustedly, and then began to descend the rope, slowly, peering intothe infinite, sparkling darkness pressing around him. At the bottomof the rope he sank to his knees in dust, and then was held even. Hestamped his feet, and then, as well as he was able, did a standingjump. He sank no farther than his knees.     He sighted a path parallel with the avenue above, toward the nearestedge of the city. I think we'll be all right, he called out, as longas we avoid the drifts.     Rodney began the descent. Looking up, Martin saw Wass above Rodney.     All right, Wass, Martin said quietly, as Rodney released the rope andsank into the dust.     Not me, the answer came back quickly. You two fools go your way,I'll go mine.     Wass!     There was no answer. The light faded swiftly away from the opening.     The going was hard. The dust clung like honey to their feet, and eddiedand swirled about them until the purifying systems in their suits werehard-pressed to remove the fine stuff working in at joints and valves.     Are we going straight? Rodney asked.     Of course, Martin growled.     There was silence again, the silence of almost-exhausted determination.The two men lifted their feet out of the dust, and then laboriouslyplunged forward, to sink again to the knees, repeated the act, timeswithout number.     Then Wass broke his silence, taunting. The ship leaves in two hours,Martin. Two hours. Hear me, Rodney?     Martin pulled his left foot from the sand and growled deep in histhroat. Ahead, through the confusing patterns of the sparkling dust,his flashlight gleamed against metal. He grabbed Rodney's arm, pointed.     A grate.     Rodney stared. Wass! he shouted. We've found a way out!     Their radios recorded Wass' laughter. I'm at the switchboard now,Martin. I—     There was a tinkle of breaking glass, breaking faceplate.     The grate groaned upward and stopped.     Wass babbled incoherently into the radio for a moment, and then hebegan to scream.     Martin switched off his radio, sick.     He turned it on again when they reached the opening in the metal wall.Well?     I've been trying to get you, Rodney said, frantically. Why didn'tyou answer?     We couldn't do anything for him.     Rodney's face was white and drawn. But he did this for us.     So he did, Martin said, very quietly.     Rodney said nothing.     Then Martin said, Did you listen until the end?     Rodney nodded, jerkily. He pulled three more switches. I couldn'tunderstand it all. But—Martin, dying alone like that in a place likethis—!     Martin crawled into the circular pipe behind the grate. It tilted uptoward the surface. Come on, Rodney. Last lap.     An hour later they surfaced about two hundred yards away from theedge of the city. Behind them the black pile rose, the dome of forceshimmering, almost invisible, about it.     Ahead of them were the other two scoutships from the mother ship.Martin called out faintly, pulling Rodney out of the pipe. Crew membersstanding by the scoutships, and at the edge of the city, began to runtoward them.     Radio picked you up as soon as you entered the pipe, someone said. Itwas the last thing Martin heard before he collapsed.   <doc-sep>The first thing about the derelict that struck us as we drew near washer size. No ship ever built in the Foundation Yards had ever attainedsuch gargantuan proportions. She must have stretched a full thousandfeet from bow to stern, a sleek torpedo shape of somehow unspeakablealienness. Against the backdrop of the Milky Way, she gleamed fitfullyin the light of the faraway sun, the metal of her flanks grained withsomething like tiny, glittering whorls. It was as though the stuffwere somehow unstable ... seeking balance ... maybe even alive in somestrange and alien way.     It was readily apparent to all of us that she had never been built forinter-planetary flight. She was a starship. Origin unknown. An aura ofmystery surrounded her like a shroud, protecting the world that gaveher birth mutely but effectively. The distance she must have come wasunthinkable. And the time it had taken...? Aeons. Millennia. For shewas drifting, dead in space, slowly spinning end over end as she swungabout Sol in a hyperbolic orbit that would soon take her out and awayagain into the inter-stellar deeps.     Something had wounded her ... perhaps ten million years ago ... perhapsyesterday. She was gashed deeply from stem to stern with a jagged ripthat bared her mangled innards. A wandering asteroid? A meteor? Wewould never know. It gave me an uncomfortable feeling of things beyondthe ken of men as I looked at her through the port. I would never knowwhat killed her, or where she was going, or whence she came. Yet shewas mine. It made me feel like an upstart. And it made me afraid ...but of what?     We should have reported her to the nearest EMV base, but that wouldhave meant that we'd lose her. Scientists would be sent out. Men betterequipped than we to investigate the first extrasolar artifact found bymen. But I didn't report her. She was ours. She was money in the bank.Let the scientists take over after we'd put a prize crew aboard andbrought her into Callisto for salvage.... That's the way I had thingsfigured.     The Maid hove to about a hundred yards from her and hung there, dwarfedby the mighty glistening ship. I called for volunteers and we prepareda boarding party. I was thinking that her drives alone would be worthmillions. Cohn took charge and he and three of the men suited up andcrossed to her.     In an hour they were back, disappointment largely written on theirfaces.     There's nothing left of her, Captain, Cohn reported, Whatever hither tore up the innards so badly we couldn't even find the drives.She's a mess inside. Nothing left but the hull and a few storagecompartments that are still unbroken.     She was never built to carry humanoids he told us, and there wasnothing that could give us a hint of where she had come from. The hullalone was left.     He dropped two chunks of metal on my desk. I brought back some samplesof her pressure hull, he said, The whole thing is made of thisstuff....     We'll still take her in, I said, hiding my disappointment. Thecarcass will be worth money in Callisto. Have Mister Marvin andZaleski assemble a spare pulse-jet. We'll jury-rig her and bring herdown under her own power. You take charge of provisioning her. Checkthose compartments you found and install oxy-generators aboard. Whenit's done report to me in my quarters.     I picked up the two samples of gleaming metal and called for ametallurgical testing kit. I'm going to try and find out if this stuffis worth anything....     The metal was heavy—too heavy, it seemed to me, for spaceshipconstruction. But then, who was to say what conditions existed on thatdistant world where this metal was made?     Under the bright fluorescent over my work-table, the chunks of metaltorn from a random bulkhead of the starship gleamed like pale silver;those strange little whorls that I had noticed on the outer hull werethere too, like tiny magnetic lines of force, making the surface ofthe metal seem to dance. I held the stuff in my bare hand.      It had ayellowish tinge, and it was heavier     ....     Even as I watched, the metal grew yellower, and the hand that heldit grew bone weary, little tongues of fatigue licking up my forearm.Suddenly terrified, I dropped the chunk as though it were white hot. Itstruck the table with a dull thud and lay there, a rich yellow lump ofmetallic lustre.     For a long while I just sat and stared. Then I began testing, tryingall the while to quiet the trembling of my hands. I weighed it on abalance. I tested it with acids. It had changed unquestionably. Itwas no longer the same as when I had carried it into my quarters. Thewhorls of force were gone. It was no longer alive with a questingvibrancy ... it was inert, stable. From somewhere, somehow, it haddrawn the energy necessary for transmutation. The unknown metal—thestuff of which that whole mammoth spaceship from the stars wasbuilt—was now....       Gold!       I scarcely dared believe it, but there it was staring at me from mytable-top.      Gold!       I searched my mind for an explanation. Contra-terrene matter, perhaps,from some distant island universe where matter reacted differently ...drawing energy from somewhere, the energy it needed to find stabilityin its new environment. Stability as a terrene element—wonderfully,miraculously gold!     And outside, in the void beyond the Maid's ports there were tons ofthis metal that could be turned into treasure. My laughter must havebeen a wild sound in those moments of discovery....  <doc-sep>In their rooms, Michael and Mary were talking through the hours, andwaiting. All around them were fragile, form-fitting chairs andtranslucent walls and a ceiling that, holding the light of the sunwhen they had first seen it, was now filled with moonlight.     Standing at a circular window, ten feet in diameter, Michael saw, farbelow, the lights of the city extending into the darkness along theshoreline of the sea.     We should have delivered our message by radio, he said, and goneback into space.     You could probably still go, she said quietly.     He came and stood beside her. I couldn't stand being out in space, oranywhere, without you.     She looked up at him. We could go out into the wilderness, Michael,outside the force walls. We could go far away.     He turned from her. It's all dead. What would be the use?     I came from the Earth, she said quietly. And I've got to go back toit. Space is so cold and frightening. Steel walls and blackness andthe rockets and the little pinpoints of light. It's a prison.     But to die out there in the desert, in that dust. Then he paused andlooked away from her. We're crazy—talking as though we had achoice.     Maybe they'll have to      give     us a choice.     What're you talking about?     They went into hysterics at the sight of those bodies in the picture.Those young bodies that didn't die of old age.     He waited.     They can't stand the sight of people dying violently.     Her hand went to her throat and touched the tiny locket.     These lockets were given to us so we'd have a choice betweensuffering or quick painless death.... We still have a choice.     He touched the locket at his own throat and was very still for a longmoment. So we threaten to kill ourselves, before their eyes. Whatwould it do to them?     He was still for a long time. Sometimes, Mary, I think I don't knowyou at all. A pause. And so now you and I are back where we started.Which'll it be, space or Earth?     Michael. Her voice trembled. I—I don't know how to say this.     He waited, frowning, watching her intently.     I'm—going to have a child.     His face went blank.     Then he stepped forward and took her by the shoulders. He saw thesoftness there in her face; saw her eyes bright as though the sun wereshining in them; saw a flush in her cheeks, as though she had beenrunning. And suddenly his throat was full.     No, he said thickly. I can't believe it.     It's true.     He held her for a long time, then he turned his eyes aside.     Yes, I can see it is.     I—I can't put into words why I let it happen, Michael.     He shook his head. I don't know—what to—to say. It's soincredible.     Maybe—I got so—tired—just seeing the two of us over and over againand the culturing of the scar tissue, for twenty centuries. Maybe thatwas it. It was just—something I felt I      had     to do. Some—      real     lifeagain. Something new. I felt a need to produce something out ofmyself. It all started way out in space, while we were getting closeto the solar system. I began to wonder if we'd ever get out of theship alive or if we'd ever see a sunset again or a dawn or the nightor morning like we'd seen on Earth—so—so long ago. And then I      had     to let it happen. It was a vague and strange thing. There wassomething forcing me. But at the same time I wanted it, too. I seemedto be willing it, seemed to be feeling it was a necessary thing. Shepaused, frowning. I didn't stop to think—it would be like this.     Such a thing, he said, smiling grimly, hasn't happened on Earth forthree thousand years. I can remember in school, reading in the historybooks, how the whole Earth was overcrowded and how the food and waterhad to be rationed and then how the laws were passed forbidding birthand after that how the people died and there weren't any more babiesborn, until at last there was plenty of what the Earth had to give,for everyone. And then the news was broken to everyone about theculturing of the scar tissue, and there were a few dissenters but theywere soon conditioned out of their dissension and the population wasstabilized. He paused. After all this past history, I don't thinkthe council could endure what you've done.     No, she said quietly. I don't think they could.     And so this will be just for      us     . He took her in his arms. If Iremember rightly, this is a traditional action. A pause. Now I'll gowith you out onto the Earth—if we can swing it. When we get outsidethe city, or if we do—Well, we'll see.     They were very still together and then he turned and stood by thewindow and looked down upon the city and she came and stood besidehim.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the backdrop of THE STAR-SENT KNAVES?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"Can you describe the connection between Dan and Blote in THE STAR-SENT KNAVES? [SEP] <s>Your superiors? Dan eyed the window; much too far to jump. Maybe hecould reach the machine and try a getaway—     I hope you're not thinking of leaving suddenly, the beachball said,following Dan's glance. One of the eighteen fingers touched a six-inchyellow cylinder lying on the desk. Until the carrier is fueled, I'mafraid it's quite useless. But, to put you in the picture, I'd bestintroduce myself and explain my mission here. I'm Blote, Trader FourthClass, in the employ of the Vegan Confederation. My job is to developnew sources of novelty items for the impulse-emporiums of the entireSecondary Quadrant.     But the way Manny and Fiorello came sailing in through the wall! That      has     to be a time machine they were riding in. Nothing else could justmaterialize out of thin air like that.     You seem to have a time-machine fixation, Dan, Blote said. Youshouldn't assume, just because you people have developed time travel,that everyone has. Now— Blote's voice sank to a bass whisper—I'llmake a deal with you, Dan. You'll secure a small time machine in goodcondition for me. And in return—           I'm     supposed to supply      you     with a time machine?     Blote waggled a stubby forefinger at Dan. I dislike pointing it out,Dan, but you are in a rather awkward position at the moment. Illegalentry, illegal possession of property, trespass—then doubtless someembarrassment exists back at the Snithian residence. I daresay Mr.Kelly would have a warm welcome for you. And, of course, I myself woulddeal rather harshly with any attempt on your part to take a powder.The Vegan flexed all eighteen fingers, drummed his tentacles under thedesk, and rolled one eye, bugging the other at Dan.     Whereas, on the other hand, Blote's bass voice went on, you and megot the basis of a sweet deal. You supply the machine, and I fix you upwith an abundance of the local medium of exchange. Equitable enough, Ishould say. What about it, Dan?     Ah, let me see, Dan temporized. Time machine. Time machine—     Don't attempt to weasel on me, Dan, Blote rumbled ominously.     I'd better look in the phone book, Dan suggested.     Silently, Blote produced a dog-eared directory. Dan opened it.     Time, time. Let's see.... He brightened. Time, Incorporated; localbranch office. Two twenty-one Maple Street.     A sales center? Blote inquired. Or a manufacturing complex?     Both, Dan said. I'll just nip over and—     That won't be necessary, Dan, Blote said. I'll accompany you. Hetook the directory, studied it.     Remarkable! A common commodity, openly on sale, and I failed to noticeit. Still, a ripe nut can fall from a small tree as well as from alarge. He went to his desk, rummaged, came up with a handful of fuelcells. Now, off to gather in the time machine. He took his place inthe carrier, patted the seat beside him with a wide hand. Come, Dan.Get a wiggle on.  <doc-sep>     THE STAR-SENT KNAVES       BY KEITH LAUMER     Illustrated by Gaughan     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of Tomorrow June 1963     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      When the Great Galactic Union first encounters     Earth ... is this what is going to happen?      I     Clyde W. Snithian was a bald eagle of a man, dark-eyed, pot-bellied,with the large, expressive hands of a rug merchant. Round-shoulderedin a loose cloak, he blinked small reddish eyes at Dan Slane'stravel-stained six foot one.     Kelly here tells me you've been demanding to see me. He nodded towardthe florid man at his side. He had a high, thin voice, like somethingthat needed oiling. Something about important information regardingsafeguarding my paintings.     That's right, Mr. Snithian, Dan said. I believe I can be of greathelp to you.     Help how? If you've got ideas of bilking me.... The red eyes boredinto Dan like hot pokers.     Nothing like that, sir. Now, I know you have quite a system of guardshere—the papers are full of it—     Damned busybodies! Sensation-mongers! If it wasn't for the press,I'd have no concern for my paintings today!     Yes sir. But my point is, the one really important spot has been leftunguarded.     Now, wait a minute— Kelly started.     What's that? Snithian cut in.     You have a hundred and fifty men guarding the house and grounds dayand night—     Two hundred and twenty-five, Kelly snapped.     —but no one at all in the vault with the paintings, Slane finished.     Of course not, Snithian shrilled. Why should I post a man in thevault? It's under constant surveillance from the corridor outside.     The Harriman paintings were removed from a locked vault, Dan said.There was a special seal on the door. It wasn't broken.     By the saints, he's right, Kelly exclaimed. Maybe we ought to have aman in that vault.     Another idiotic scheme to waste my money, Snithian snapped. I'vemade you responsible for security here, Kelly! Let's have no morenonsense. And throw this nincompoop out! Snithian turned and stalkedaway, his cloak flapping at his knees.     I'll work cheap, Dan called after him as Kelly took his arm. I'm anart lover.     Never mind that, Kelly said, escorting Dan along the corridor. Heturned in at an office and closed the door.     Now, as the old buzzard said, I'm responsible for security here. Ifthose pictures go, my job goes with them. Your vault idea's not bad.Just how cheap would you work?     A hundred dollars a week, Dan said promptly. Plus expenses, headded.     Kelly nodded. I'll fingerprint you and run a fast agency check. Ifyou're clean, I'll put you on, starting tonight. But keep it quiet.  <doc-sep>Hesitantly, Dan moved to the carrier. The bluff was all right up to apoint—but the point had just about been reached. He took his seat.Blote moved a lever. The familiar blue glow sprang up. Kindly directme, Dan, Blote demanded. Two twenty-one Maple Street, I believe yousaid.     I don't know the town very well, Dan said, but Maple's over thatway.     Blote worked levers. The carrier shot out into a ghostly afternoon sky.Faint outlines of buildings, like faded negatives, spread below. Danlooked around, spotted lettering on a square five-story structure.     Over there, he said. Blote directed the machine as it swoopedsmoothly toward the flat roof Dan indicated.     Better let me take over now, Dan suggested. I want to be sure toget us to the right place.     Very well, Dan.     Dan dropped the carrier through the roof, passed down through a dimlyseen office. Blote twiddled a small knob. The scene around the cagegrew even fainter. Best we remain unnoticed, he explained.     The cage descended steadily. Dan peered out, searching for identifyinglandmarks. He leveled off at the second floor, cruised along a barelyvisible corridor. Blote's eyes rolled, studying the small chambersalong both sides of the passage at once.     Ah, this must be the assembly area, he exclaimed. I see the machinesemploy a bar-type construction, not unlike our carriers.     That's right, Dan said, staring through the haziness. This is wherethey do time.... He tugged at a lever suddenly; the machine veeredleft, flickered through a barred door, came to a halt. Two nebulousfigures loomed beside the cage. Dan cut the switch. If he'd guessedwrong—     The scene fluoresced, sparks crackling, then popped into sharp focus.Blote scrambled out, brown eyes swivelling to take in the concretewalls, the barred door and—     You! a hoarse voice bellowed.     Grab him! someone yelled.     Blote recoiled, threshing his ambulatory members in a fruitless attemptto regain the carrier as Manny and Fiorello closed in. Dan hauled at alever. He caught a last glimpse of three struggling, blue-lit figuresas the carrier shot away through the cell wall.      III     Dan slumped back against the seat with a sigh. Now that he was in theclear, he would have to decide on his next move—fast. There was notelling what other resources Blote might have. He would have to hidethe carrier, then—     A low growling was coming from somewhere, rising in pitch and volume.Dan sat up, alarmed. This was no time for a malfunction.     The sound rose higher, into a penetrating wail. There was no sign ofmechanical trouble. The carrier glided on, swooping now over a nebulouslandscape of trees and houses. Dan covered his ears against thedeafening shriek, like all the police sirens in town blaring at once.If the carrier stopped it would be a long fall from here. Dan workedthe controls, dropping toward the distant earth.     The noise seemed to lessen, descending the scale. Dan slowed, broughtthe carrier in to the corner of a wide park. He dropped the last fewinches and cut the switch.     As the glow died, the siren faded into silence.     Dan stepped from the carrier and looked around. Whatever the noisewas, it hadn't attracted any attention from the scattered pedestriansin the park. Perhaps it was some sort of burglar alarm. But if so, whyhadn't it gone into action earlier? Dan took a deep breath. Sound or nosound, he would have to get back into the carrier and transfer it to asecluded spot where he could study it at leisure. He stepped back in,reached for the controls—     There was a sudden chill in the air. The bright surface of the dialsbefore him frosted over. There was a loud      pop!     like a flashbulbexploding. Dan stared from the seat at an iridescent rectanglewhich hung suspended near the carrier. Its surface rippled, fadedto blankness. In a swirl of frosty air, a tall figure dressed in atight-fitting white uniform stepped through.     Dan gaped at the small rounded head, the dark-skinned long-nosed face,the long, muscular arms, the hands, their backs tufted with curlyred-brown hair, the strange long-heeled feet in soft boots. A neatpillbox cap with a short visor was strapped low over the deep-setyellowish eyes, which turned in his direction. The wide mouth opened ina smile which showed square yellowish teeth.           Alors, monsieur     , the new-comer said, bending his knees and back ina quick bow.       Vous ete une indigine, n'est ce pas?          No compree, Dan choked out Uh ... juh no parlay Fransay....     My error. This is the Anglic colonial sector, isn't it? Stupid of me.Permit me to introduce myself. I'm Dzhackoon, Field Agent of Classfive, Inter-dimensional Monitor Service.     That siren, Dan said. Was that you?     Dzhackoon nodded. For a moment, it appeared you were disinclined tostop. I'm glad you decided to be reasonable.     What outfit did you say you were with? Dan asked.     The Inter-dimensional Monitor Service.     Inter-what?     Dimensional. The word is imprecise, of course, but it's the best ourlanguage coder can do, using the Anglic vocabulary.     What do you want with me?  <doc-sep>Now that the virus diseases had been licked, people hardly evergot sick any more and, when they did, it was mostly psychosomatic.Life was so well organized that there weren't even many accidentsthese days. It was a safe, orderly existence for those who fittedinto it—which accounted for more than ninety-five per cent of thepopulation. The only ones who didn't adjust were those who couldn't,like me—psi-deficients, throwbacks to an earlier era. There were nophysical cripples, because anybody could have a new arm or a new leggrafted on, but you couldn't graft psi powers onto an atavism or, ifyou could, the technique hadn't been developed yet.     I feel a sense of impending doom brooding over this household, myyoungest brother remarked cheerfully as he vaulted into his chair.     You always do, Timothy, my mother said, unfolding her napkin. And Imust say it's not in good taste, especially at breakfast.     He reached for his juice. Guess this is a doomed household. And whatwas all that emotional uproar about?     The usual, Sylvia said from the doorway before anyone else couldanswer. She slid warily into her chair. Hey, Dan, I'm here! shecalled. If anything else comes in, it comes in manually, understand?     Oh, all right. Dan emerged from the kitchen with a tray of foodfloating ahead of him.     The usual? Trouble with Kev? Tim looked at me narrowly. Somehow mysense of ominousness is connected with him.     Well, that's perfectly natural— Sylvia began, then stopped as Mothercaught her eye.     I didn't mean that, Tim said. I still say Kev's got something wecan't figure out.     You've been saying that for years, Danny protested, and he's beentested for every faculty under the Sun. He can't telepath or teleportor telekinesthesize or even teletype. He can't precognize or prefix orprepossess. He can't—     Strictly a bundle of no-talent, that's me, I interrupted, trying tokeep my animal feelings from getting the better of me. That was how myfamily thought of me, I knew—as an animal, and not a very lovable one,either.     No, Tim said, he's just got something we haven't developed a testfor. It'll come out some day, you'll see. He smiled at me.  <doc-sep>Dan looked about wildly. The voice seemed to be issuing from a speaker.It appeared Kelly hedged his bets.     Mr. Kelly, I can explain everything! Dan called. He turned back toFiorello. Listen, I figured out—     Pretty clever! Kelly's voice barked. Inside job. But it takes morethan the likes of you to out-fox an old-timer like Eddie Kelly.     Perhaps you were right, Manny, Fiorello said. Complications arearising. We'd best depart with all deliberate haste. He edged towardthe cage.     What about this ginzo? Manny jerked a thumb toward Dan. He's on tous.     Can't be helped.     Look—I want to go with you! Dan shouted.     I'll bet you do! Kelly's voice roared. One more minute and I'll havethe door open and collar the lot of you! Came up through a tunnel, didyou?     You can't go, my dear fellow, Fiorello said. Room for two, no more.     Dan whirled to the cot, grabbed up the pistol Kelly had supplied. Heaimed it at Manny. You stay here, Manny! I'm going with Fiorello inthe time machine.     Are you nuts? Manny demanded.     I'm flattered, dear boy, Fiorello said, but—     Let's get moving. Kelly will have that lock open in a minute.     You can't leave me here! Manny spluttered, watching Dan crowd intothe cage beside Fiorello.     We'll send for you, Dan said. Let's go, Fiorello.     The balding man snatched suddenly for the gun. Dan wrestled with him.The pistol fell, bounced on the floor of the cage, skidded into thefar corner of the vault. Manny charged, reaching for Dan as he twistedaside; Fiorello's elbow caught him in the mouth. Manny staggered backinto the arms of Kelly, bursting red-faced into the vault.     Manny! Fiorello released his grip on Dan, lunged to aid hiscompanion. Kelly passed Manny to one of three cops crowding in on hisheels. Dan clung to the framework as Fiorello grappled with Kelly. Acop pushed past them, spotted Dan, moved in briskly for the pinch. Dangrabbed a lever at random and pulled.     Sudden silence fell as the walls of the room glowed blue. A spectralKelly capered before the cage, fluorescing in the blue-violet. Danswallowed hard and nudged a second lever. The cage sank like anelevator into the floor, vivid blue washing up its sides.     Hastily he reversed the control. Operating a time machine was trickybusiness. One little slip, and the Slane molecules would be squeezingin among brick and mortar particles....     But this was no time to be cautious. Things hadn't turned out just theway he'd planned, but after all, this was what he'd wanted—in a way.The time machine was his to command. And if he gave up now and crawledback into the vault, Kelly would gather him in and pin every art theftof the past decade on him.     It couldn't be      too     hard. He'd take it slowly, figure out thecontrols....  <doc-sep>Dan took a deep breath and tried another lever. The cage rose gently,in eerie silence. It reached the ceiling and kept going. Dan grittedhis teeth as an eight-inch band of luminescence passed down the cage.Then he was emerging into a spacious kitchen. A blue-haloed cookwaddled to a luminous refrigerator, caught sight of Dan rising slowlyfrom the floor, stumbled back, mouth open. The cage rose, penetrated asecond ceiling. Dan looked around at a carpeted hall.     Cautiously he neutralized the control lever. The cage came to rest aninch above the floor. As far as Dan could tell, he hadn't traveled somuch as a minute into the past or future.     He looked over the controls. There should be one labeled Forwardand another labeled Back, but all the levers were plain, unadornedblack. They looked, Dan decided, like ordinary circuit-breaker typeknife-switches. In fact, the whole apparatus had the appearance ofsomething thrown together hastily from common materials. Still, itworked. So far he had only found the controls for maneuvering in theusual three dimensions, but the time switch was bound to be heresomewhere....     Dan looked up at a movement at the far end of the hall.     A girl's head and shoulders appeared, coming up a spiral staircase. Inanother second she would see him, and give the alarm—and Dan neededa few moments of peace and quiet in which to figure out the controls.He moved a lever. The cage drifted smoothly sideways, sliced throughthe wall with a flurry of vivid blue light. Dan pushed the leverback. He was in a bedroom now, a wide chamber with flouncy curtains, afour-poster under a flowered canopy, a dressing table—     The door opened and the girl stepped into the room. She was young. Notover eighteen, Dan thought—as nearly as he could tell with the bluelight playing around her face. She had long hair tied with a ribbon,and long legs, neatly curved. She wore shorts and carried a tennisracquet in her left hand and an apple in her right. Her back to Dan andthe cage, she tossed the racquet on a table, took a bite of the apple,and began briskly unbuttoning her shirt.     Dan tried moving a lever. The cage edged toward the girl. Another;he rose gently. The girl tossed the shirt onto a chair and undid thezipper down the side of the shorts. Another lever; the cage shot towardthe outer wall as the girl reached behind her back....     Dan blinked at the flash of blue and looked down. He was hoveringtwenty feet above a clipped lawn.     He looked at the levers. Wasn't it the first one in line that moved thecage ahead? He tried it, shot forward ten feet. Below, a man steppedout on the terrace, lit a cigarette, paused, started to turn his faceup—     Dan jabbed at a lever. The cage shot back through the wall. He was in aplain room with a depression in the floor, a wide window with a planterfilled with glowing blue plants—     The door opened. Even blue, the girl looked graceful as a deer as shetook a last bite of the apple and stepped into the ten-foot-squaresunken tub. Dan held his breath. The girl tossed the apple core aside,seemed to suddenly become aware of eyes on her, whirled—     With a sudden lurch that threw Dan against the steel bars, thecage shot through the wall into the open air and hurtled off withan acceleration that kept him pinned, helpless. He groped for thecontrols, hauled at a lever. There was no change. The cage rushedon, rising higher. In the distance, Dan saw the skyline of a town,approaching with frightful speed. A tall office building reared upfifteen stories high. He was headed dead for it—     He covered his ears, braced himself—     With an abruptness that flung him against the opposite side of thecage, the machine braked, shot through the wall and slammed to a stop.Dan sank to the floor of the cage, breathing hard. There was a loud      click!     and the glow faded.     With a lunge, Dan scrambled out of the cage. He stood looking around ata simple brown-painted office, dimly lit by sunlight filtered throughelaborate venetian blinds. There were posters on the wall, a pottedplant by the door, a heap of framed paintings beside it, and at the farside of the room a desk. And behind the desk—Something.      II     Dan gaped at a head the size of a beachball, mounted on a torso like ahundred-gallon bag of water. Two large brown eyes blinked at him frompoints eight inches apart. Immense hands with too many fingers unfoldedand reached to open a brown paper carton, dip in, then toss threepeanuts, deliberately, one by one, into a gaping mouth that opened justabove the brown eyes.     Who're you? a bass voice demanded from somewhere near the floor.     I'm ... I'm ... Dan Slane ... your honor.     What happened to Manny and Fiorello?     They—I—There was this cop. Kelly—     Oh-oh. The brown eyes blinked deliberately. The many-fingered handsclosed the peanut carton and tucked it into a drawer.     Well, it was a sweet racket while it lasted, the basso voice said. Apity to terminate so happy an enterprise. Still.... A noise like anamplified Bronx cheer issued from the wide mouth.     How ... what...?     The carrier returns here automatically when the charge drops below acritical value, the voice said. A necessary measure to discouragebig ideas on the part of wisenheimers in my employ. May I ask how youhappen to be aboard the carrier, by the way?     I just wanted—I mean, after I figured out—that is, the police ... Iwent for help, Dan finished lamely.     Help? Out of the picture, unfortunately. One must maintain one'sanonymity, you'll appreciate. My operation here is under wraps atpresent. Ah, I don't suppose you brought any paintings?     Dan shook his head. He was staring at the posters. His eyes,accustoming themselves to the gloom of the office, could now make outthe vividly drawn outline of a creature resembling an alligator-headedgiraffe rearing up above scarlet foliage. The next poster showed a facesimilar to the beachball behind the desk, with red circles paintedaround the eyes. The next was a view of a yellow volcano spouting fireinto a black sky.     Too bad. The words seemed to come from under the desk. Dan squinted,caught a glimpse of coiled purplish tentacles. He gulped and looked upto catch a brown eye upon him. Only one. The other seemed to be busilyat work studying the ceiling.     I hope, the voice said, that you ain't harboring no reactionaryracial prejudices.  <doc-sep>Eight hours, three sandwiches and six beers later, Dan roused suddenlyfrom a light doze and sat up on the cot. Between him and the crowdedshelving, a palely luminous framework was materializing in mid-air.     The apparition was an open-work cage—about the size and shape of anout-house minus the sheathing, Dan estimated breathlessly. Two figureswere visible within the structure, sitting stiffly in contoured chairs.They glowed, if anything, more brightly than the framework.     A faint sound cut into the stillness—a descending whine. The cagemoved jerkily, settling toward the floor. Long blue sparks jumped,crackling, to span the closing gap; with a grate of metal, the cagesettled against the floor. The spectral men reached for ghostlyswitches....     The glow died.     Dan was aware of his heart thumping painfully under his ribs. His mouthwas dry. This was the moment he'd been planning for, but now that itwas here—     Never mind. He took a deep breath, ran over the speeches he hadprepared for the occasion:       Greeting, visitors from the Future....       Hopelessly corny. What about:      Welcome to the Twentieth Century....       No good; it lacked spontaneity. The men were rising, their backs toDan, stepping out of the skeletal frame. In the dim light it nowlooked like nothing more than a rough frame built of steel pipe, witha cluster of levers in a console before the two seats. And the thieveslooked ordinary enough: Two men in gray coveralls, one slender andbalding, the other shorter and round-faced. Neither of them noticedDan, sitting rigid on the cot. The thin man placed a lantern on thetable, twiddled a knob. A warm light sprang up. The visitors looked atthe stacked shelves.     Looks like the old boy's been doing all right, the shorter man said.Fathead's gonna be pleased.     A very gratifying consignment, his companion said. However, we'dbest hurry, Manny. How much time have we left on this charge?     Plenty. Fifteen minutes anyway.     The thin man opened a package, glanced at a painting.     Ah, magnificent. Almost the equal of Picasso in his puce period.     Manny shuffled through the other pictures in the stack.     Like always, he grumbled. No nood dames. I like nood dames.     Look at this, Manny! The textures alone—     Manny looked. Yeah, nice use of values, he conceded. But I stillprefer nood dames, Fiorello.     And this! Fiorello lifted the next painting. Look at that gay playof rich browns!     I seen richer browns on Thirty-third Street, Manny said. They waspopular with the sparrows.     Manny, sometimes I think your aspirations—     Whatta ya talkin? I use a roll-on. Manny, turning to place a paintingin the cage, stopped dead as he caught sight of Dan. The paintingclattered to the floor. Dan stood, cleared his throat. Uh....     Oh-oh, Manny said. A double-cross.     I've—ah—been expecting you gentlemen, Dan said. I—     I told you we couldn't trust no guy with nine fingers on each hand,Manny whispered hoarsely. He moved toward the cage. Let's blow,Fiorello.     Wait a minute, Dan said. Before you do anything hasty—     Don't start nothing, Buster, Manny said cautiously. We're plentytough guys when aroused.     I want to talk to you, Dan insisted. You see, these paintings—     Paintings? Look, it was all a mistake. Like, we figured this was thegent's room—     Never mind, Manny, Fiorello cut in. It appears there's been a leak.     Dan shook his head. No leak. I simply deduced—     Look, Fiorello, Manny said. You chin if you want to; I'm doing afast fade.     Don't act hastily, Manny. You know where you'll end.     Wait a minute! Dan shouted. I'd like to make a deal with youfellows.     Ah-hah! Kelly's voice blared from somewhere. I knew it! Slane, youcrook!  <doc-sep>Gosh, no, Dan reassured the eye. I'm crazy about—uh—     Vorplischers, the voice said. From Vorplisch, or Vega, as you callit. The Bronx cheer sounded again. How I long to glimpse once more mynative fens! Wherever one wanders, there's no pad like home.     That reminds me, Dan said. I have to be running along now. Hesidled toward the door.     Stick around, Dan, the voice rumbled. How about a drink? I canoffer you Chateau Neuf du Pape, '59, Romance Conte, '32, goat's milk,Pepsi—     No, thanks.     If you don't mind, I believe I'll have a Big Orange. The Vorplischerswiveled to a small refrigerator, removed an immense bottle fitted witha nipple and turned back to Dan. Now, I got a proposition which may beof some interest to you. The loss of Manny and Fiorello is a seriousblow, but we may yet recoup the situation. You made the scene at a mostopportune time. What I got in mind is, with those two clowns out of thepicture, a vacancy exists on my staff, which you might well fill. Howdoes that grab you?     You mean you want me to take over operating the time machine?     Time machine? The brown eyes blinked alternately. I fear someconfusion exists. I don't quite dig the significance of the term.     That thing, Dan jabbed a thumb toward the cage. The machine I camehere in. You want me—     Time machine, the voice repeated. Some sort of chronometer, perhaps?     Huh?     I pride myself on my command of the local idiom, yet I confess theimplied concept snows me. The nine-fingered hands folded on the desk.The beachball head leaned forward interestedly. Clue me, Dan. What's atime machine?     Well, it's what you use to travel through time.     The brown eyes blinked in agitated alternation. Apparently I've lousedup my investigation of the local cultural background. I had no ideayou were capable of that sort of thing. The immense head leaned back,the wide mouth opening and closing rapidly. And to think I've beenspinning my wheels collecting primitive 2-D art!     But—don't you have a time machine? I mean, isn't that one?     That? That's merely a carrier. Now tell me more about your timemachines. A fascinating concept! My superiors will be delighted atthis development—and astonished as well. They regard this planet asEndsville.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you describe the connection between Dan and Blote in THE STAR-SENT KNAVES?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"How does Dan's journey unfold in THE STAR-SENT KNAVES? [SEP] <s>     THE STAR-SENT KNAVES       BY KEITH LAUMER     Illustrated by Gaughan     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of Tomorrow June 1963     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      When the Great Galactic Union first encounters     Earth ... is this what is going to happen?      I     Clyde W. Snithian was a bald eagle of a man, dark-eyed, pot-bellied,with the large, expressive hands of a rug merchant. Round-shoulderedin a loose cloak, he blinked small reddish eyes at Dan Slane'stravel-stained six foot one.     Kelly here tells me you've been demanding to see me. He nodded towardthe florid man at his side. He had a high, thin voice, like somethingthat needed oiling. Something about important information regardingsafeguarding my paintings.     That's right, Mr. Snithian, Dan said. I believe I can be of greathelp to you.     Help how? If you've got ideas of bilking me.... The red eyes boredinto Dan like hot pokers.     Nothing like that, sir. Now, I know you have quite a system of guardshere—the papers are full of it—     Damned busybodies! Sensation-mongers! If it wasn't for the press,I'd have no concern for my paintings today!     Yes sir. But my point is, the one really important spot has been leftunguarded.     Now, wait a minute— Kelly started.     What's that? Snithian cut in.     You have a hundred and fifty men guarding the house and grounds dayand night—     Two hundred and twenty-five, Kelly snapped.     —but no one at all in the vault with the paintings, Slane finished.     Of course not, Snithian shrilled. Why should I post a man in thevault? It's under constant surveillance from the corridor outside.     The Harriman paintings were removed from a locked vault, Dan said.There was a special seal on the door. It wasn't broken.     By the saints, he's right, Kelly exclaimed. Maybe we ought to have aman in that vault.     Another idiotic scheme to waste my money, Snithian snapped. I'vemade you responsible for security here, Kelly! Let's have no morenonsense. And throw this nincompoop out! Snithian turned and stalkedaway, his cloak flapping at his knees.     I'll work cheap, Dan called after him as Kelly took his arm. I'm anart lover.     Never mind that, Kelly said, escorting Dan along the corridor. Heturned in at an office and closed the door.     Now, as the old buzzard said, I'm responsible for security here. Ifthose pictures go, my job goes with them. Your vault idea's not bad.Just how cheap would you work?     A hundred dollars a week, Dan said promptly. Plus expenses, headded.     Kelly nodded. I'll fingerprint you and run a fast agency check. Ifyou're clean, I'll put you on, starting tonight. But keep it quiet.  <doc-sep>Dan took a deep breath and tried another lever. The cage rose gently,in eerie silence. It reached the ceiling and kept going. Dan grittedhis teeth as an eight-inch band of luminescence passed down the cage.Then he was emerging into a spacious kitchen. A blue-haloed cookwaddled to a luminous refrigerator, caught sight of Dan rising slowlyfrom the floor, stumbled back, mouth open. The cage rose, penetrated asecond ceiling. Dan looked around at a carpeted hall.     Cautiously he neutralized the control lever. The cage came to rest aninch above the floor. As far as Dan could tell, he hadn't traveled somuch as a minute into the past or future.     He looked over the controls. There should be one labeled Forwardand another labeled Back, but all the levers were plain, unadornedblack. They looked, Dan decided, like ordinary circuit-breaker typeknife-switches. In fact, the whole apparatus had the appearance ofsomething thrown together hastily from common materials. Still, itworked. So far he had only found the controls for maneuvering in theusual three dimensions, but the time switch was bound to be heresomewhere....     Dan looked up at a movement at the far end of the hall.     A girl's head and shoulders appeared, coming up a spiral staircase. Inanother second she would see him, and give the alarm—and Dan neededa few moments of peace and quiet in which to figure out the controls.He moved a lever. The cage drifted smoothly sideways, sliced throughthe wall with a flurry of vivid blue light. Dan pushed the leverback. He was in a bedroom now, a wide chamber with flouncy curtains, afour-poster under a flowered canopy, a dressing table—     The door opened and the girl stepped into the room. She was young. Notover eighteen, Dan thought—as nearly as he could tell with the bluelight playing around her face. She had long hair tied with a ribbon,and long legs, neatly curved. She wore shorts and carried a tennisracquet in her left hand and an apple in her right. Her back to Dan andthe cage, she tossed the racquet on a table, took a bite of the apple,and began briskly unbuttoning her shirt.     Dan tried moving a lever. The cage edged toward the girl. Another;he rose gently. The girl tossed the shirt onto a chair and undid thezipper down the side of the shorts. Another lever; the cage shot towardthe outer wall as the girl reached behind her back....     Dan blinked at the flash of blue and looked down. He was hoveringtwenty feet above a clipped lawn.     He looked at the levers. Wasn't it the first one in line that moved thecage ahead? He tried it, shot forward ten feet. Below, a man steppedout on the terrace, lit a cigarette, paused, started to turn his faceup—     Dan jabbed at a lever. The cage shot back through the wall. He was in aplain room with a depression in the floor, a wide window with a planterfilled with glowing blue plants—     The door opened. Even blue, the girl looked graceful as a deer as shetook a last bite of the apple and stepped into the ten-foot-squaresunken tub. Dan held his breath. The girl tossed the apple core aside,seemed to suddenly become aware of eyes on her, whirled—     With a sudden lurch that threw Dan against the steel bars, thecage shot through the wall into the open air and hurtled off withan acceleration that kept him pinned, helpless. He groped for thecontrols, hauled at a lever. There was no change. The cage rushedon, rising higher. In the distance, Dan saw the skyline of a town,approaching with frightful speed. A tall office building reared upfifteen stories high. He was headed dead for it—     He covered his ears, braced himself—     With an abruptness that flung him against the opposite side of thecage, the machine braked, shot through the wall and slammed to a stop.Dan sank to the floor of the cage, breathing hard. There was a loud      click!     and the glow faded.     With a lunge, Dan scrambled out of the cage. He stood looking around ata simple brown-painted office, dimly lit by sunlight filtered throughelaborate venetian blinds. There were posters on the wall, a pottedplant by the door, a heap of framed paintings beside it, and at the farside of the room a desk. And behind the desk—Something.      II     Dan gaped at a head the size of a beachball, mounted on a torso like ahundred-gallon bag of water. Two large brown eyes blinked at him frompoints eight inches apart. Immense hands with too many fingers unfoldedand reached to open a brown paper carton, dip in, then toss threepeanuts, deliberately, one by one, into a gaping mouth that opened justabove the brown eyes.     Who're you? a bass voice demanded from somewhere near the floor.     I'm ... I'm ... Dan Slane ... your honor.     What happened to Manny and Fiorello?     They—I—There was this cop. Kelly—     Oh-oh. The brown eyes blinked deliberately. The many-fingered handsclosed the peanut carton and tucked it into a drawer.     Well, it was a sweet racket while it lasted, the basso voice said. Apity to terminate so happy an enterprise. Still.... A noise like anamplified Bronx cheer issued from the wide mouth.     How ... what...?     The carrier returns here automatically when the charge drops below acritical value, the voice said. A necessary measure to discouragebig ideas on the part of wisenheimers in my employ. May I ask how youhappen to be aboard the carrier, by the way?     I just wanted—I mean, after I figured out—that is, the police ... Iwent for help, Dan finished lamely.     Help? Out of the picture, unfortunately. One must maintain one'sanonymity, you'll appreciate. My operation here is under wraps atpresent. Ah, I don't suppose you brought any paintings?     Dan shook his head. He was staring at the posters. His eyes,accustoming themselves to the gloom of the office, could now make outthe vividly drawn outline of a creature resembling an alligator-headedgiraffe rearing up above scarlet foliage. The next poster showed a facesimilar to the beachball behind the desk, with red circles paintedaround the eyes. The next was a view of a yellow volcano spouting fireinto a black sky.     Too bad. The words seemed to come from under the desk. Dan squinted,caught a glimpse of coiled purplish tentacles. He gulped and looked upto catch a brown eye upon him. Only one. The other seemed to be busilyat work studying the ceiling.     I hope, the voice said, that you ain't harboring no reactionaryracial prejudices.  <doc-sep>Now that the virus diseases had been licked, people hardly evergot sick any more and, when they did, it was mostly psychosomatic.Life was so well organized that there weren't even many accidentsthese days. It was a safe, orderly existence for those who fittedinto it—which accounted for more than ninety-five per cent of thepopulation. The only ones who didn't adjust were those who couldn't,like me—psi-deficients, throwbacks to an earlier era. There were nophysical cripples, because anybody could have a new arm or a new leggrafted on, but you couldn't graft psi powers onto an atavism or, ifyou could, the technique hadn't been developed yet.     I feel a sense of impending doom brooding over this household, myyoungest brother remarked cheerfully as he vaulted into his chair.     You always do, Timothy, my mother said, unfolding her napkin. And Imust say it's not in good taste, especially at breakfast.     He reached for his juice. Guess this is a doomed household. And whatwas all that emotional uproar about?     The usual, Sylvia said from the doorway before anyone else couldanswer. She slid warily into her chair. Hey, Dan, I'm here! shecalled. If anything else comes in, it comes in manually, understand?     Oh, all right. Dan emerged from the kitchen with a tray of foodfloating ahead of him.     The usual? Trouble with Kev? Tim looked at me narrowly. Somehow mysense of ominousness is connected with him.     Well, that's perfectly natural— Sylvia began, then stopped as Mothercaught her eye.     I didn't mean that, Tim said. I still say Kev's got something wecan't figure out.     You've been saying that for years, Danny protested, and he's beentested for every faculty under the Sun. He can't telepath or teleportor telekinesthesize or even teletype. He can't precognize or prefix orprepossess. He can't—     Strictly a bundle of no-talent, that's me, I interrupted, trying tokeep my animal feelings from getting the better of me. That was how myfamily thought of me, I knew—as an animal, and not a very lovable one,either.     No, Tim said, he's just got something we haven't developed a testfor. It'll come out some day, you'll see. He smiled at me.  <doc-sep>Hesitantly, Dan moved to the carrier. The bluff was all right up to apoint—but the point had just about been reached. He took his seat.Blote moved a lever. The familiar blue glow sprang up. Kindly directme, Dan, Blote demanded. Two twenty-one Maple Street, I believe yousaid.     I don't know the town very well, Dan said, but Maple's over thatway.     Blote worked levers. The carrier shot out into a ghostly afternoon sky.Faint outlines of buildings, like faded negatives, spread below. Danlooked around, spotted lettering on a square five-story structure.     Over there, he said. Blote directed the machine as it swoopedsmoothly toward the flat roof Dan indicated.     Better let me take over now, Dan suggested. I want to be sure toget us to the right place.     Very well, Dan.     Dan dropped the carrier through the roof, passed down through a dimlyseen office. Blote twiddled a small knob. The scene around the cagegrew even fainter. Best we remain unnoticed, he explained.     The cage descended steadily. Dan peered out, searching for identifyinglandmarks. He leveled off at the second floor, cruised along a barelyvisible corridor. Blote's eyes rolled, studying the small chambersalong both sides of the passage at once.     Ah, this must be the assembly area, he exclaimed. I see the machinesemploy a bar-type construction, not unlike our carriers.     That's right, Dan said, staring through the haziness. This is wherethey do time.... He tugged at a lever suddenly; the machine veeredleft, flickered through a barred door, came to a halt. Two nebulousfigures loomed beside the cage. Dan cut the switch. If he'd guessedwrong—     The scene fluoresced, sparks crackling, then popped into sharp focus.Blote scrambled out, brown eyes swivelling to take in the concretewalls, the barred door and—     You! a hoarse voice bellowed.     Grab him! someone yelled.     Blote recoiled, threshing his ambulatory members in a fruitless attemptto regain the carrier as Manny and Fiorello closed in. Dan hauled at alever. He caught a last glimpse of three struggling, blue-lit figuresas the carrier shot away through the cell wall.      III     Dan slumped back against the seat with a sigh. Now that he was in theclear, he would have to decide on his next move—fast. There was notelling what other resources Blote might have. He would have to hidethe carrier, then—     A low growling was coming from somewhere, rising in pitch and volume.Dan sat up, alarmed. This was no time for a malfunction.     The sound rose higher, into a penetrating wail. There was no sign ofmechanical trouble. The carrier glided on, swooping now over a nebulouslandscape of trees and houses. Dan covered his ears against thedeafening shriek, like all the police sirens in town blaring at once.If the carrier stopped it would be a long fall from here. Dan workedthe controls, dropping toward the distant earth.     The noise seemed to lessen, descending the scale. Dan slowed, broughtthe carrier in to the corner of a wide park. He dropped the last fewinches and cut the switch.     As the glow died, the siren faded into silence.     Dan stepped from the carrier and looked around. Whatever the noisewas, it hadn't attracted any attention from the scattered pedestriansin the park. Perhaps it was some sort of burglar alarm. But if so, whyhadn't it gone into action earlier? Dan took a deep breath. Sound or nosound, he would have to get back into the carrier and transfer it to asecluded spot where he could study it at leisure. He stepped back in,reached for the controls—     There was a sudden chill in the air. The bright surface of the dialsbefore him frosted over. There was a loud      pop!     like a flashbulbexploding. Dan stared from the seat at an iridescent rectanglewhich hung suspended near the carrier. Its surface rippled, fadedto blankness. In a swirl of frosty air, a tall figure dressed in atight-fitting white uniform stepped through.     Dan gaped at the small rounded head, the dark-skinned long-nosed face,the long, muscular arms, the hands, their backs tufted with curlyred-brown hair, the strange long-heeled feet in soft boots. A neatpillbox cap with a short visor was strapped low over the deep-setyellowish eyes, which turned in his direction. The wide mouth opened ina smile which showed square yellowish teeth.           Alors, monsieur     , the new-comer said, bending his knees and back ina quick bow.       Vous ete une indigine, n'est ce pas?          No compree, Dan choked out Uh ... juh no parlay Fransay....     My error. This is the Anglic colonial sector, isn't it? Stupid of me.Permit me to introduce myself. I'm Dzhackoon, Field Agent of Classfive, Inter-dimensional Monitor Service.     That siren, Dan said. Was that you?     Dzhackoon nodded. For a moment, it appeared you were disinclined tostop. I'm glad you decided to be reasonable.     What outfit did you say you were with? Dan asked.     The Inter-dimensional Monitor Service.     Inter-what?     Dimensional. The word is imprecise, of course, but it's the best ourlanguage coder can do, using the Anglic vocabulary.     What do you want with me?  <doc-sep>Your superiors? Dan eyed the window; much too far to jump. Maybe hecould reach the machine and try a getaway—     I hope you're not thinking of leaving suddenly, the beachball said,following Dan's glance. One of the eighteen fingers touched a six-inchyellow cylinder lying on the desk. Until the carrier is fueled, I'mafraid it's quite useless. But, to put you in the picture, I'd bestintroduce myself and explain my mission here. I'm Blote, Trader FourthClass, in the employ of the Vegan Confederation. My job is to developnew sources of novelty items for the impulse-emporiums of the entireSecondary Quadrant.     But the way Manny and Fiorello came sailing in through the wall! That      has     to be a time machine they were riding in. Nothing else could justmaterialize out of thin air like that.     You seem to have a time-machine fixation, Dan, Blote said. Youshouldn't assume, just because you people have developed time travel,that everyone has. Now— Blote's voice sank to a bass whisper—I'llmake a deal with you, Dan. You'll secure a small time machine in goodcondition for me. And in return—           I'm     supposed to supply      you     with a time machine?     Blote waggled a stubby forefinger at Dan. I dislike pointing it out,Dan, but you are in a rather awkward position at the moment. Illegalentry, illegal possession of property, trespass—then doubtless someembarrassment exists back at the Snithian residence. I daresay Mr.Kelly would have a warm welcome for you. And, of course, I myself woulddeal rather harshly with any attempt on your part to take a powder.The Vegan flexed all eighteen fingers, drummed his tentacles under thedesk, and rolled one eye, bugging the other at Dan.     Whereas, on the other hand, Blote's bass voice went on, you and megot the basis of a sweet deal. You supply the machine, and I fix you upwith an abundance of the local medium of exchange. Equitable enough, Ishould say. What about it, Dan?     Ah, let me see, Dan temporized. Time machine. Time machine—     Don't attempt to weasel on me, Dan, Blote rumbled ominously.     I'd better look in the phone book, Dan suggested.     Silently, Blote produced a dog-eared directory. Dan opened it.     Time, time. Let's see.... He brightened. Time, Incorporated; localbranch office. Two twenty-one Maple Street.     A sales center? Blote inquired. Or a manufacturing complex?     Both, Dan said. I'll just nip over and—     That won't be necessary, Dan, Blote said. I'll accompany you. Hetook the directory, studied it.     Remarkable! A common commodity, openly on sale, and I failed to noticeit. Still, a ripe nut can fall from a small tree as well as from alarge. He went to his desk, rummaged, came up with a handful of fuelcells. Now, off to gather in the time machine. He took his place inthe carrier, patted the seat beside him with a wide hand. Come, Dan.Get a wiggle on.  <doc-sep>Dan looked about wildly. The voice seemed to be issuing from a speaker.It appeared Kelly hedged his bets.     Mr. Kelly, I can explain everything! Dan called. He turned back toFiorello. Listen, I figured out—     Pretty clever! Kelly's voice barked. Inside job. But it takes morethan the likes of you to out-fox an old-timer like Eddie Kelly.     Perhaps you were right, Manny, Fiorello said. Complications arearising. We'd best depart with all deliberate haste. He edged towardthe cage.     What about this ginzo? Manny jerked a thumb toward Dan. He's on tous.     Can't be helped.     Look—I want to go with you! Dan shouted.     I'll bet you do! Kelly's voice roared. One more minute and I'll havethe door open and collar the lot of you! Came up through a tunnel, didyou?     You can't go, my dear fellow, Fiorello said. Room for two, no more.     Dan whirled to the cot, grabbed up the pistol Kelly had supplied. Heaimed it at Manny. You stay here, Manny! I'm going with Fiorello inthe time machine.     Are you nuts? Manny demanded.     I'm flattered, dear boy, Fiorello said, but—     Let's get moving. Kelly will have that lock open in a minute.     You can't leave me here! Manny spluttered, watching Dan crowd intothe cage beside Fiorello.     We'll send for you, Dan said. Let's go, Fiorello.     The balding man snatched suddenly for the gun. Dan wrestled with him.The pistol fell, bounced on the floor of the cage, skidded into thefar corner of the vault. Manny charged, reaching for Dan as he twistedaside; Fiorello's elbow caught him in the mouth. Manny staggered backinto the arms of Kelly, bursting red-faced into the vault.     Manny! Fiorello released his grip on Dan, lunged to aid hiscompanion. Kelly passed Manny to one of three cops crowding in on hisheels. Dan clung to the framework as Fiorello grappled with Kelly. Acop pushed past them, spotted Dan, moved in briskly for the pinch. Dangrabbed a lever at random and pulled.     Sudden silence fell as the walls of the room glowed blue. A spectralKelly capered before the cage, fluorescing in the blue-violet. Danswallowed hard and nudged a second lever. The cage sank like anelevator into the floor, vivid blue washing up its sides.     Hastily he reversed the control. Operating a time machine was trickybusiness. One little slip, and the Slane molecules would be squeezingin among brick and mortar particles....     But this was no time to be cautious. Things hadn't turned out just theway he'd planned, but after all, this was what he'd wanted—in a way.The time machine was his to command. And if he gave up now and crawledback into the vault, Kelly would gather him in and pin every art theftof the past decade on him.     It couldn't be      too     hard. He'd take it slowly, figure out thecontrols....  <doc-sep>Eight hours, three sandwiches and six beers later, Dan roused suddenlyfrom a light doze and sat up on the cot. Between him and the crowdedshelving, a palely luminous framework was materializing in mid-air.     The apparition was an open-work cage—about the size and shape of anout-house minus the sheathing, Dan estimated breathlessly. Two figureswere visible within the structure, sitting stiffly in contoured chairs.They glowed, if anything, more brightly than the framework.     A faint sound cut into the stillness—a descending whine. The cagemoved jerkily, settling toward the floor. Long blue sparks jumped,crackling, to span the closing gap; with a grate of metal, the cagesettled against the floor. The spectral men reached for ghostlyswitches....     The glow died.     Dan was aware of his heart thumping painfully under his ribs. His mouthwas dry. This was the moment he'd been planning for, but now that itwas here—     Never mind. He took a deep breath, ran over the speeches he hadprepared for the occasion:       Greeting, visitors from the Future....       Hopelessly corny. What about:      Welcome to the Twentieth Century....       No good; it lacked spontaneity. The men were rising, their backs toDan, stepping out of the skeletal frame. In the dim light it nowlooked like nothing more than a rough frame built of steel pipe, witha cluster of levers in a console before the two seats. And the thieveslooked ordinary enough: Two men in gray coveralls, one slender andbalding, the other shorter and round-faced. Neither of them noticedDan, sitting rigid on the cot. The thin man placed a lantern on thetable, twiddled a knob. A warm light sprang up. The visitors looked atthe stacked shelves.     Looks like the old boy's been doing all right, the shorter man said.Fathead's gonna be pleased.     A very gratifying consignment, his companion said. However, we'dbest hurry, Manny. How much time have we left on this charge?     Plenty. Fifteen minutes anyway.     The thin man opened a package, glanced at a painting.     Ah, magnificent. Almost the equal of Picasso in his puce period.     Manny shuffled through the other pictures in the stack.     Like always, he grumbled. No nood dames. I like nood dames.     Look at this, Manny! The textures alone—     Manny looked. Yeah, nice use of values, he conceded. But I stillprefer nood dames, Fiorello.     And this! Fiorello lifted the next painting. Look at that gay playof rich browns!     I seen richer browns on Thirty-third Street, Manny said. They waspopular with the sparrows.     Manny, sometimes I think your aspirations—     Whatta ya talkin? I use a roll-on. Manny, turning to place a paintingin the cage, stopped dead as he caught sight of Dan. The paintingclattered to the floor. Dan stood, cleared his throat. Uh....     Oh-oh, Manny said. A double-cross.     I've—ah—been expecting you gentlemen, Dan said. I—     I told you we couldn't trust no guy with nine fingers on each hand,Manny whispered hoarsely. He moved toward the cage. Let's blow,Fiorello.     Wait a minute, Dan said. Before you do anything hasty—     Don't start nothing, Buster, Manny said cautiously. We're plentytough guys when aroused.     I want to talk to you, Dan insisted. You see, these paintings—     Paintings? Look, it was all a mistake. Like, we figured this was thegent's room—     Never mind, Manny, Fiorello cut in. It appears there's been a leak.     Dan shook his head. No leak. I simply deduced—     Look, Fiorello, Manny said. You chin if you want to; I'm doing afast fade.     Don't act hastily, Manny. You know where you'll end.     Wait a minute! Dan shouted. I'd like to make a deal with youfellows.     Ah-hah! Kelly's voice blared from somewhere. I knew it! Slane, youcrook!  <doc-sep>Gosh, no, Dan reassured the eye. I'm crazy about—uh—     Vorplischers, the voice said. From Vorplisch, or Vega, as you callit. The Bronx cheer sounded again. How I long to glimpse once more mynative fens! Wherever one wanders, there's no pad like home.     That reminds me, Dan said. I have to be running along now. Hesidled toward the door.     Stick around, Dan, the voice rumbled. How about a drink? I canoffer you Chateau Neuf du Pape, '59, Romance Conte, '32, goat's milk,Pepsi—     No, thanks.     If you don't mind, I believe I'll have a Big Orange. The Vorplischerswiveled to a small refrigerator, removed an immense bottle fitted witha nipple and turned back to Dan. Now, I got a proposition which may beof some interest to you. The loss of Manny and Fiorello is a seriousblow, but we may yet recoup the situation. You made the scene at a mostopportune time. What I got in mind is, with those two clowns out of thepicture, a vacancy exists on my staff, which you might well fill. Howdoes that grab you?     You mean you want me to take over operating the time machine?     Time machine? The brown eyes blinked alternately. I fear someconfusion exists. I don't quite dig the significance of the term.     That thing, Dan jabbed a thumb toward the cage. The machine I camehere in. You want me—     Time machine, the voice repeated. Some sort of chronometer, perhaps?     Huh?     I pride myself on my command of the local idiom, yet I confess theimplied concept snows me. The nine-fingered hands folded on the desk.The beachball head leaned forward interestedly. Clue me, Dan. What's atime machine?     Well, it's what you use to travel through time.     The brown eyes blinked in agitated alternation. Apparently I've lousedup my investigation of the local cultural background. I had no ideayou were capable of that sort of thing. The immense head leaned back,the wide mouth opening and closing rapidly. And to think I've beenspinning my wheels collecting primitive 2-D art!     But—don't you have a time machine? I mean, isn't that one?     That? That's merely a carrier. Now tell me more about your timemachines. A fascinating concept! My superiors will be delighted atthis development—and astonished as well. They regard this planet asEndsville.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does Dan's journey unfold in THE STAR-SENT KNAVES?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"
"What kind of gear is utilized in THE STAR-SENT KNAVES? [SEP] <s>     THE STAR-SENT KNAVES       BY KEITH LAUMER     Illustrated by Gaughan     [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from     Worlds of Tomorrow June 1963     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]      When the Great Galactic Union first encounters     Earth ... is this what is going to happen?      I     Clyde W. Snithian was a bald eagle of a man, dark-eyed, pot-bellied,with the large, expressive hands of a rug merchant. Round-shoulderedin a loose cloak, he blinked small reddish eyes at Dan Slane'stravel-stained six foot one.     Kelly here tells me you've been demanding to see me. He nodded towardthe florid man at his side. He had a high, thin voice, like somethingthat needed oiling. Something about important information regardingsafeguarding my paintings.     That's right, Mr. Snithian, Dan said. I believe I can be of greathelp to you.     Help how? If you've got ideas of bilking me.... The red eyes boredinto Dan like hot pokers.     Nothing like that, sir. Now, I know you have quite a system of guardshere—the papers are full of it—     Damned busybodies! Sensation-mongers! If it wasn't for the press,I'd have no concern for my paintings today!     Yes sir. But my point is, the one really important spot has been leftunguarded.     Now, wait a minute— Kelly started.     What's that? Snithian cut in.     You have a hundred and fifty men guarding the house and grounds dayand night—     Two hundred and twenty-five, Kelly snapped.     —but no one at all in the vault with the paintings, Slane finished.     Of course not, Snithian shrilled. Why should I post a man in thevault? It's under constant surveillance from the corridor outside.     The Harriman paintings were removed from a locked vault, Dan said.There was a special seal on the door. It wasn't broken.     By the saints, he's right, Kelly exclaimed. Maybe we ought to have aman in that vault.     Another idiotic scheme to waste my money, Snithian snapped. I'vemade you responsible for security here, Kelly! Let's have no morenonsense. And throw this nincompoop out! Snithian turned and stalkedaway, his cloak flapping at his knees.     I'll work cheap, Dan called after him as Kelly took his arm. I'm anart lover.     Never mind that, Kelly said, escorting Dan along the corridor. Heturned in at an office and closed the door.     Now, as the old buzzard said, I'm responsible for security here. Ifthose pictures go, my job goes with them. Your vault idea's not bad.Just how cheap would you work?     A hundred dollars a week, Dan said promptly. Plus expenses, headded.     Kelly nodded. I'll fingerprint you and run a fast agency check. Ifyou're clean, I'll put you on, starting tonight. But keep it quiet.  <doc-sep>I didn't like the looks of the guy any more than the looks of theplace. I've been told you can supply me with a—     He coughed. Yes, yes. I understand. It might be possible. He fingeredhis mustache and regarded me from pouchy eyes. Busy executives oftencome to us to avoid the—ah—unpleasantness of formal arrangements.Naturally, we only act as agents, you might say. We never see themerchandise ourselves— He wiped his hands on his trousers. Now wereyou interested in the ordinary Utility model, Mr. Faircloth?     I assumed he was just being polite. You didn't come to the back doorfor Utility models.     Or perhaps you'd require one of our Deluxe models. Very carefulworkmanship. Only a few key Paralyzers in operation and practicallycomplete circuit duplication. Very useful for—ah—close contact work,you know. Social engagements, conferences—     I was shaking my head. I want a      Super     Deluxe model, I told him.     He grinned and winked. Ah, indeed! You want perfect duplication.Yes, indeed. Domestic situations can be—awkward, shall we say. Veryawkward—     I gave him a cold stare. I couldn't see where my domestic problems wereany affairs of his. He got the idea and hurried me back to a storeroom.     We keep a few blanks here for the basic measurement. You'll go to ourlaboratory on 14th Street to have the minute impressions taken. But Ican assure you you'll be delighted, simply delighted.     The blanks weren't very impressive—clay and putty and steel, faceless,brainless. He went over me like a tailor, checking measurements of allsorts. He was thorough—embarrassingly thorough, in fact—but finallyhe was finished. I went on to the laboratory.     And that was all there was to it.  <doc-sep>Rikud heard the throbbing again as he stood in the room of themachinery. For a long time he watched the wheels and cogs and gearsspinning and humming. He watched for he knew not how long. And then hebegan to wonder. If he destroyed the wheels and the cogs and the gears,would the buzzer stop? It probably would, because, as Rikud saw it, hewas clearly an unauthorized person. He had heard the voice againupon entering the room.     He found a metal rod, bright and shiny, three feet long and half aswide as his arm. He tugged at it and it came loose from the wires thatheld it in place. He hefted it carefully for a moment, and then heswung the bar into the mass of metal. Each time he heard a grinding,crashing sound. He looked as the gears and cogs and wheels crumbledunder his blows, shattered by the strength of his arm.       Almost casually he strode about the room, but his blows were notcasual. Soon his easy strides had given way to frenzied running. Rikudsmashed everything in sight.     When the lights winked out, he stopped. Anyway, by that time the roomwas a shambles of twisted, broken metal. He laughed, softly at first,but presently he was roaring, and the sound doubled and redoubled inhis ears because now the throbbing had stopped.     He opened the door and ran through the little corridor to the smallerviewport. Outside he could see the stars, and, dimly, the terrainbeneath them. But everything was so dark that only the stars shoneclearly. All else was bathed in a shadow of unreality.     Rikud never wanted to do anything more than he wanted to open thatdoor. But his hands trembled too much when he touched it, and once,when he pressed his face close against the viewport, there in thedarkness, something bright flashed briefly through the sky and was gone.     Whimpering, he fled.  <doc-sep>She had been seeing too many of the Terrestrial fictapes from thelibrary, Skkiru thought resentfully. There was too damn much Terraninfluence on this planet. And this new project was the last straw.     No longer able to control his rage and grief, he turned a triplesomersault in the air with rage. Then why was I made a beggar and shethe high priestess? You arranged that purposely, Bbulas. You—     Now, Skkiru, Bbulas said wearily, for they had been through all thisbefore, you know that all the ranks and positions were distributedby impartial lot, except for mine, and, of course, such jobs as couldcarry over from the civilized into the primitive.     Bbulas breathed on the spectacles he was wearing, as contact lenseswere not considered backward enough for the kind of planet Snaddrawas now supposed to be, and attempted to wipe them dry on his robe.However, the thick, jewel-studded embroidery got in his way and so hewas forced to lift the robe and wipe all three of the lenses on thesmooth, soft, spun metal of his top underskirt.     After all, he went on speaking as he wiped, I have to be highpriest, since I organized this culture and am the only one herequalified to administer it. And, as the president himself concurred inthese arrangements, I hardly think you—a mere private citizen—havethe right to question them.     Just because you went to school in another solar system, Skkiru said,whirling with anger, you think you're so smart!     I won't deny that I do have educational and cultural advantageswhich were, unfortunately, not available to the general populace ofthis planet. However, even under the old system, I was always glad toutilize my superior attainments as Official Dilettante for the good ofall and now—     Sure, glad to have a chance to rig this whole setup so you could breakup things between Larhgan and me. You've had your eye on her for sometime.     Skkiru coiled his antennae at Bbulas, hoping the insult would provokehim into an unbecoming whirl, but the Dilettante remained calm. One ofthe chief outward signs of Terran-type training was self-control andBbulas had been thoroughly terranized.       I hate Terrestrials     , Skkiru said to himself.      I hate Terra.     Thequiver of anxiety had risen up his leg and was coiling and uncoilingin his stomach. He hoped it wouldn't reach his antennae—if he wereto break down and psonk in front of Larhgan, it would be the finalhumiliation.     Skkiru! the girl exclaimed, rotating gently, for she, like herfiance—her erstwhile fiance, that was, for the new regime had causedall such ties to be severed—and every other literate person on theplanet, had received her education at the local university. Althoughsound, the school was admittedly provincial in outlook and very poorin the emotional department. One would almost think that the lots hadsome sort of divine intelligence behind them, because you certainly arebehaving in a beggarly manner!     And I have already explained to you, Skkiru, Bbulas said, with apatience much more infuriating than the girl's anger, that I had noidea of who was to become my high priestess. The lots chose Larhgan. Itis, as the Earthmen say, kismet.  <doc-sep>It was completely illegal, of course. The wonder was that Ego Prime,Inc., ever got to put their product on the market at all, once thenation's housewives got wind of just what their product was.     From the first, there was rigid Federal control and laws regulating theuse of Primes right down to the local level. You could get a licensefor a Utility model Prime if you were a big business executive, or ahigh public official, or a movie star, or something like that; but eventhen his circuits had to be inspected every two months, and he had tohave a thousand built-in Paralyzers, and you had to specify in advanceexactly what you wanted your Prime to be able to do when, where, how,why, and under what circumstances.     The law didn't leave a man much leeway.     But everybody knew that if you      really     wanted a personal Prime withall his circuits open and no questions asked, you could get one. Blackmarket prices were steep and you ran your own risk, but it could bedone.     Harry Folsom told his friend who knew a guy, and a few greenbacks gotlost somewhere, and I found myself looking at a greasy little man witha black mustache and a bald spot, up in a dingy fourth-story warehouseoff lower Broadway.     Ah, yes, the little man said. Mr. Faircloth. We've been expectingyou.  <doc-sep>Bruce watched them go, away and up and around the immediate face ofthe mountain in the bleak cold of the Martian morning. He watched themdisappear behind a high ledge, tied together with plastic rope likeconvicts.     He stayed by the radio. He lost track of time and didn't care muchif he did. Sometimes he took a heavy sedative and slept. The sedativeprevented the dreams. He had an idea that the dreams might be sopleasant that he wouldn't wake up. He wanted to listen to Terrence aslong as the captain had anything to say. It was nothing but curiosity.     At fifteen thousand feet, Terrence reported only that they wereclimbing.     At twenty thousand feet, Terrence said, We're still climbing, andthat's all I can report, Bruce. It's worth coming to Mars for—toaccept a challenge like this!     At twenty-five thousand feet, Terrence reported, We've put on oxygenmasks. Jacobs and Drexel have developed some kind of altitude sicknessand we're taking a little time out. It's a magnificent sight up here. Ican imagine plenty of tourists coming to Mars one of these days, justto climb this mountain! Mt. Everest is a pimple compared with this!What a feeling of power, Bruce!     From forty thousand feet, Terrence said, We gauged this mountainat forty-five thousand. But here we are at forty and there doesn'tseem to be any top. We can see up and up and the mountain keeps ongoing. I don't understand how we could have made such an error in ourcomputations. I talked with Burton. He doesn't see how a mountain thishigh could still be here when the rest of the planet has been worn sosmooth.     And then from fifty-three thousand feet, Terrence said with a voicethat seemed slightly strained: No sign of any of the crew of the otherfour ships yet. Ten in each crew, that makes fifty. Not a sign of anyof them so far, but then we seem to have a long way left to climb—     Bruce listened and noted and took sedatives and opened cans of foodconcentrates. He smoked and ate and slept. He had plenty of time. Hehad only time and the dreams which he knew he could utilize later totake care of the time.     From sixty thousand feet, Terrence reported, I had to shoot Anhausera few minutes ago! He was dissenting. Hear that, Bruce? One of my mostdependable men. We took a vote. A mere formality, of course, whetherwe should continue climbing or not. We knew we'd all vote to keep onclimbing. And then Anhauser dissented. He was hysterical. He refusedto accept the majority decision. 'I'm going back down!' he yelled.So I had to shoot him. Imagine a man of his apparent caliber turninganti-democratic like that! This mountain will be a great tester forus in the future. We'll test everybody, find out quickly who theweaklings are.     Bruce listened to the wind. It seemed to rise higher and higher.Terrence, who had climbed still higher, was calling. Think of it! Whata conquest! No man's ever done a thing like this. Like Stromberg says,it's symbolic! We can build spaceships and reach other planets, butthat's not actual physical conquest. We feel like gods up here. We cansee what we are now. We can see how it's going to be—     Once in a while Terrence demanded that Bruce say something to prove hewas still there taking down what Terrence said. Bruce obliged. A longtime passed, the way time does when no one cares. Bruce stopped takingthe sedatives finally. The dreams came back and became, somehow, morereal each time. He needed the companionship of the dreams.     It was very lonely sitting there without the dreams, with nothing butTerrence's voice ranting excitedly on and on. Terrence didn't seem realany more; certainly not as real as the dreams.  <doc-sep>I wished I had been born a couple of hundred years ago—before peoplestarted playing around with nuclear energy and filling the air withradiations that they were afraid would turn human beings into hideousmonsters. Instead, they developed the psi powers that had always beenlatent in the species until we developed into a race of supermen. Idon't know why I say      we     —in 1960 or so, I might have been consideredsuperior, but in 2102 I was just the Faradays' idiot boy.     Exploring space should have been my hope. If there had been anythinguseful or interesting on any of the other planets, I might have founda niche for myself there. In totally new surroundings, the psi powersgeared to another environment might not be an advantage. But by thetime I was ten, it was discovered that the other planets were justbarren hunks of rock, with pressures and climates and atmospheresdrastically unsuited to human life. A year or so before, the hyperdrivehad been developed on Earth and ships had been sent out to explore thestars, but I had no hope left in that direction any more.     I was an atavism in a world of peace and plenty. Peace, because peoplecouldn't indulge in war or even crime with so many telepaths runningaround—not because, I told myself, the capacity for primitive behaviorwasn't just as latent in everybody else as the psi talent seemed latentin me. Tim must be right, I thought—I must have some undreamed-ofpower that only the right circumstances would bring out. But what wasthat power?     For years I had speculated on what my potential talent might be,explored every wild possibility I could conceive of and found noneproductive of even an ambiguous result with which I could fool myself.As I approached adulthood, I began to concede that I was probablynothing more than what I seemed to be—a simple psi-negative. Yet, fromtime to time, hope surged up again, as it had today, in spite of myknowledge that my hope was an impossibility. Who ever heard of latentpsi powers showing themselves in an individual as old as twenty-six?     I was almost alone in the parks where I used to walk, because peopleliked to commune with one another those days rather than with nature.Even gardening had very little popularity. But I found myself most athome in those woodland—or, rather, pseudo-woodland—surroundings,able to identify more readily with the trees and flowers than I couldwith my own kind. A fallen tree or a broken blossom would excite moresympathy from me than the minor catastrophes that will beset anyhousehold, no matter how gifted, and I would shy away from bloodynoses or cut fingers, thus giving myself a reputation for callousnessas well as extrasensory imbecility.     However, I was no more callous in steering clear of human breakdownsthan I was in not shedding tears over the household machines when theybroke down, for I felt no more closely akin to my parents and siblingsthan I did to the mechanisms that served and, sometimes, failed us.  <doc-sep>As the slideway whisked him gently along the corridor toward hisapartment, Jorj was thinking of his spaceship. For a moment thesilver-winged vision crowded everything else out of his mind.     Just think, a spaceship with sails! He smiled a bit, marveling at theparadox.     Direct atomic power. Direct utilization of the force of the flyingneutrons. No more ridiculous business of using a reactor to drive asteam engine, or boil off something for a jet exhaust—processes thatwere as primitive and wasteful as burning gunpowder to keep yourselfwarm.     Chemical jets would carry his spaceship above the atmosphere. Thenwould come the thrilling order, Set sail for Mars! The vast umbrellawould unfold and open out around the stern, its rear or Earthward sidea gleaming expanse of radioactive ribbon perhaps only an atom thickand backed with a material that would reflect neutrons. Atoms in theribbon would split, blasting neutrons astern at fantastic velocities.Reaction would send the spaceship hurtling forward.     In airless space, the expanse of sails would naturally not retard theship. More radioactive ribbon, manufactured as needed in the shipitself, would feed out onto the sail as that already there becameexhausted.     A spaceship with direct nuclear drive—and he, a Thinker, hadconceived it completely except for the technical details! Havingstrengthened his mind by hard years of somno-learning, mind-casting,memory-straightening, and sensory training, he had assured himselfof the executive power to control the technicians and direct theirspecialized abilities. Together they would build the true Mars rocket.     But that would only be a beginning. They would build the true MindBomb. They would build the true Selective Microbe Slayer. They woulddiscover the true laws of ESP and the inner life. They would even—hisimagination hesitated a moment, then strode boldly forward—build thetrue Maizie!     And then ... then the Thinkers would be on even terms with thescientists. Rather, they'd be far ahead. No more deception.     He was so exalted by this thought that he almost let the slideway carryhim past his door. He stepped inside and called, Caddy! He waited amoment, then walked through the apartment, but she wasn't there.  <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What kind of gear is utilized in THE STAR-SENT KNAVES?","['Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars. ', 'Strike joins the crew of the Aphrodite after he has made several poor decisions while he was the captain of another spaceship. He is essentially being punished by his boss, Gorman, and put somewhere where he can do little harm. His job is to deliver the mail from Venus to Mars, so it’s pretty straightforward. When he meets the Officer of the Deck, Celia Graham, he immediately becomes uncomfortable. He does not like to work with women in space, although it’s a pretty common occurrence. He holds a captain’s meeting the first day on the job, and he waits to meet his Engineering Officer, I.V. Hendricks. He makes a rude comment about how the man is late for his first meeting, but actually, the female Ivy has already shown up. After meeting Ivy formally, he makes a comment about how the ship Aphrodite was built by an imbecile. Ivy immediately tells him that he’s wrong, and she knows this because the designer of the ship was none other than her own father. His first week as captain on the new ship goes very poorly. Several repairs need to be done to Aphrodite, they run  behind schedule, and the new crew members have a tough time getting a handle on Aphrodite’s intricacies. The heat index in the ship begins to rise, and the crew members can no longer wear their uniforms without fainting. Suddenly a distress call comes in, and it’s coming from the Atropos, a ship Captained by Gorman, and the Lachesis. The crew members hesitate to take the oldest and most outdated machinery on a rescue trip. Strike has been in trouble for refusing to follow commands before, and he knows it’s a risky move. However, Ivy insists that she knows how to pilot the Aphrodite, and she can save the crew members on the Atropos and the Lachesis from death. They are quickly tumbling towards the sun, and they will perish if someone doesn’t do something quickly. Ivy takes control of the ship, and the heat on the Aphrodite continues to rise steadily. Eventually, she faints from pure heat exhaustion, and she tells Strike that he must take over. He does, and he manages to essentially lasso the other two ships, and with just the right amount of power, he pulls them back into orbit. At a bar, after the whole ordeal, Cob pokes fun at Strike for staying on the Aphrodite. He then admits that he actually respects Strike’s loyalty to the ship that saved his reputation. Cob asks about Strike’s relationship with Ivy, but Strike tells him that she has taken her dad’s former job, so she no longer works with him. Strike takes the moment to look up her info, presumably to restart the relationship. ', 'The narrative follows commander Strike as he begins his command of the spaceship Aphrodite. Strike comes from a long line of military greats but himself is prone to poor professional decision making.As he takes command, the mission is a simple mail run. However, in the course of their journey, they receive word of two ships in dire need of rescue. Strike and his engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks, decide to use the ships extremely risky surge-circuit to aid the ships.The rescue is a success and the crew is hailed for its bravery in saving the doomed vessels. ', 'The story starts in a muddy swamp on Venus, where Strike, a Brevet Lieutenant Commander, is encountering his new ship, the Aphrodite, for the first time. Here on Venusport Base, he is introduced to the executive officer of the ship, a man who goes by Cob. Strike comes from a line of servicemen who were all well respected, but he himself has more of a reputation for causing trouble by saying the wrong things or deviating from mission plans. His reputation preceded him, as Cob had specific questions about some of these events. The Aphrodite was incredibly impressive when it was designed, but did not live up to its expectations. It had been refitted, and the new mission that Strike was to lead was a mail run between Venus and Mars. As he entered the ship, Strike began to meet his new crew, including Celia Graham, his Radar Officer. Strike is not used to women being on ships and is decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. As he is briefing the officers who were already present, Strike is surprised when he meets his new engineering officer, Ivy Hendricks. Ivy is the daughter of the man who designed the ship, and she is cold to Strike at first, as he is to her. However, her expertise in engineering generally, the ship specifically, and other skills as well as piloting, meant that Strike warmed up to her as their mission went on. As the ship was flying towards Mars on their route, the crew picked up a distress signal from the Lachesis, which was trying to pull the Atropos away from the gravitational pull of the sun after it was damaged in an equipment malfunction. The Admiral who had put Strike in charge of the Aphrodite was on the Atropos, and Ivy dislikes him even more than Strike does, but they know they have to try to save the crews. Strike is hesitant, but Ivy has a plan and insists that they try. She has spent all of her free time tinkering with the circuits, and takes charge. She turned the Aphrodite towards the ships in danger, and sends out a cable to connect the Aphrodite to those ships. After they are all connected, the ships continue to spin towards the sun, which causes Ivy to pass out, leaving Strike in charge. He manages to pull the ships into line and send the Aphrodite in the right direction before passing out himself. The Aphrodite has the power to pull everyone away from the Sun’s gravity, but the acceleration knocks everyone out on all three ships. In the end, it was a successful rescue mission of multiple crews. Strike and Cob find themselves in an officer’s club at the end of the story, discussing Ivy’s new job, and Strike acknowledges that Cob is right about the Aphrodite having grown on him, and plans to stay its captain.']"