This Earth of Hours
THE ADVANCE squadron was coming into line as Master
Sergeant Oberholzer came onto the bridge of the Novae
Washingtongrad, saluted, and stood stiffly to the left of Lieu-
tenant Campion, the exec, to wait for orders. The bridge
was crowded and crackling with tension, but after twenty
years in the Marines it was all old stuff to Oberholzer. The
Hobo (as most of the enlisted men called her, out of earshot
of the brass) was at the point of the formation, as befitted
a virtually indestructible battleship  already surfeited with
these petty conquests. The rest of the cone was sweeping
on ahead, in the swift enveloping maneuver which had
reduced so many previous planets before they had been able
to understand what was happening to them.
This time, the planet at the focus of all those shifting
conic sections of raw naval power was a place called Calle.
It was showing now on a screen that Oberholzer could see,
turning as placidly as any planet turned when you were too far
away from it to see what guns it might be pointing at you.
Lieutenant Campion was watching it too, though he had to
look out of the very corners of his eyes to see it at all.
If the exec were caught watching the screen instead of
the meter board assigned to him, Captain Hammer would
probably reduce him to an ensign. Nevertheless, Campion
never took his eyes off the image of Calle. This one was
going to be rough.
Captain Hammer was watching, too. After a moment he
said, "Sound!" in a voice like sandpaper.
"By the pulse six, sir," Lieutenant Spring's voice murmured
from the direction of the 'scope. His junior, a very raw
youngster named Rover, passed him a chit from the plotting
table.  "For that read:  By the birefs five eight nine, sir,"
the invisible navigator corrected.
Oberholzer listened without moving while Captain Ham-
mer muttered under his breath to Flo-Mar 12-Upjohn, the
only civilian allowed on the bridgeand small wonder,
since he was the Consort of State of the Matriarchy itself.
Hammer had long ago become accustomed enough to his
own bridge to be able to control who overheard him, but
12-Upjohn's answering whisper must have been audible to
every man there.
'The briefing said nothing about a second inhabited
planet,"  the  Consort  said,  a  little  peevishly.  "But  then
there's  very  little  we  do  know about  this  systemthat's
part of our trouble. What makes you think it's a colony?"
"A colony from Calle, not one of ours," Hammer said,
in more or less normal tones; evidently he had decided
against trying to keep only half of the discussion private.
"The electromagnetic 'noise' from both planets has the same
spectrumthe energy level, the output, is higher on Calle,
that's all. That means similar machines being used in similar
ways. And let me point out, Your Excellency, that the outer
planet is in opposition to Calle now, which will put it
precisely in our rear if we complete this maneuver."
"When we complete this maneuver," 12-Upjohn said
firmly.  "Is there any evidence of communication between
the two planets?"
Hammer frowned. "No," he admitted.
"Then we'll regard the colonization hypothesis as unproved
and stand ready to strike back hard if events prove us
wrong. I think we have a sufficient force here to reduce
three planets like Calle if we're driven to that pitch."
Hammer grunted and resigned the argument. Of course it
was quite possible that 12-Upjohn was right; he did not lack
for experiencein fact, he wore the Silver Barring, as the
most-traveled Consort of State ever to ride the Standing
Wave. Nevertheless Oberholzer repressed a sniff with difficulty.
Like all the military, he was a colonial; he had never seen
the Earth, and never expected to; and, both as a colonial
and as a Marine who had been fighting the Matriarchy's
battles all his adult life, he was more than a little contemp-
tuous of Earthmen, with their tandem names and all that
they implied. Of course it was not the Consort of State's fault
that he had been born on Earth, and so had been named
only Marvin 12 out of the misfortune of being a male; nor
that he had married into Florence Upjohn's cabinet, that
being the only way one could become a cabinet member,
and Marvin 12 having been taught from birth to believe
such a post the highest honor a man might covet. All the
same, neither 12-Upjohn nor his entourage of drones filled
Oberholzer with confidence.
Nobody, however, had asked M. Sgt. Richard Oberholzer
what he thought, and nobody was likely to. As the chief
of all the non-Navy enlisted personnel on board the Hobo,
he was expected to be on the bridge when matters were
ripening toward criticality; but his duty there was to listen,
not to proffer advice. He could not in fact remember any
occasion when an officer had asked his opinion, though he
had receivedand executedhis fair share of near-suicidal
orders from bridges long demolished.
"By the pulse five point five," Lieutenant Spring's voice
sang.
"Sergeant Oberholzer," Hammer said.
"Aye, sir."
"We are proceeding as per orders. You may now brief
your men and put them into full battle gear."
Oberholzer saluted and went below. There was little enough
he could tell the squadas 12-Upjohn had said, Calle's
system was nearly unknownbut even that little would
improve the total ignorance in which they had been kept
till now. Luckily, they were not much given to asking ques-
tions of a strategic sort; like impressed spacehands every-
where, the huge mass of the Matriarchy's interstellar holdings
meant nothing to them but endlessly riding the Standing
Wave, with battle and death lurking at the end of every
jump. Luckily also, they were inclined to trust Oberholzer,
if only for the low cunning he had shown in keeping most
of them alive, especially in the face of unusually Crimean
orders from the bridge.
This time Oberholzer would need every ounce of trust and
erg of obedience they would give him. Though he never ex-
pected anything but the worst, he had a queer cold feeling
that this time he was going to get it. There were hardly
any data to go on yet, but there had been something about
Calle that looked persuasively like the end of the line.
Very few of the forty men in the wardroom even looked
up as Oberholzer entered. They were checking their gear
in the dismal light of the fluorescents, with the single-mind-
edness of men to whom a properly wound gun-tube coil, a
properly set face-shield gasket, a properly fueled and focused
vaulting jet, have come to mean more than parents, children,
retirement pensions, the rule of law, or the logic of empire.
The only man to show any flicker of interest was Sergeant
Cassiriras was normal, since he was Oberholzer's under-
studyand he did no more than look up from over the
straps of his antigas suit and say, "Well?"
"Well," Oberholzer said, "now hear this."
There was a sort of composite jingle and clank as the
men lowered their gear to the deck or put it aside on their
bunks.
"We're investing a planet called Calle in the Canes
Venatici cluster," Oberholzer said, sitting down on an olive-
drab canvas pack stuffed with lysurgic acid grenades. "A
cruiser called the Assam Dragonyou were with her on her
shakedown, weren't you, Himber?touched down here ten
years ago with a flock of tenders and got swallowed up.
They got two or three quick yells for help out and that was
thatnothing anybody could make much sense of, no wea-
pons named or description of the enemy. So here we are,
loaded for the kill."
"Wasn't any Galley in command of the Assam Dragon
when I was aboard," Himber said doubtfully.
"Nah. Place was named for the astronomer who spotted
her, from the rim of the cluster, a hundred years ago,"
Oberholzer said. "Nobody names planets for ship captains.
Anybody got any sensible questions?"
"Just what kind of trouble are we looking for?" Cassirir
said.
"That's just it we don't know. This is closer to the
center of the Galaxy than we've ever gotten before. It
may be a population center too; could be that Calle is just
one piece of a federation, at least inside its own cluster.
That's why we've got the boys from Momma on board; this
one could be damn important."
Somebody sniffed. "If this cluster is full of people, how
come we never picked up signals from it?"
"How do you know we never did?" Oberholzer retorted.
"For all I know, maybe that's why the Assam Dragon came
here in the first place. Anyhow that's not our problem. All
we're"
The lights went out. Simultaneously, the whole mass of
the Novoe Washingtongrad shuddered savagely, as though a
boulder almost as big as she was had been dropped on her.
Seconds later, the gravity went out too.
2
Flo-Mar 12-Upjohn knew no more of the real nature of
the disaster than did the wardroom squad, nor did anybody
on the bridge, for that matter. The blow had been inde-
tectable until it struck,  and then most  of the fleet was
simply annihilated; only the Hobo was big enough to survive
the blow, and she survived only partiallyin fact, in five
pieces. Nor did the Consort of State ever know by what
miracle the section he was in hit Calle still partially under
power; he was not privy to the self-salvaging engineering
principles of battleships. All he knewonce he struggled
back to consciousnesswas that he was still alive, and that
there was a broad shaft of sunlight coming through a top-
to-bottom split in one wall of what had been his office
aboard ship.
He held his ringing head for a while, then got up in
search of water. Nothing came out of the dispenser, so he
unstrapped his dispatch case from the underside of his desk
and produced a pint palladium flask of vodka. He had
screwed up his face to sample thisat the moment he
would have preferred waterwhen a groan reminded him
that there might be more than one room in his suddenly
shrunken universe, as well as other survivors.
He was right on both counts. "Though the ship section he
was in consisted mostly of engines of whose function he had
no notion, there were also three other staterooms. Two of
these were deserted, but the third turned out to contain a
battered member of his own staff, by name Robin One.
The young man was not yet conscious and 12-Up]'ohn
regarded him with a faint touch of despair. Robin One was
perhaps the last man in space that the Consort of State
would have chosen to be shipwrecked with.
That he was utterly expendable almost went without say-
ing; he was,  after all, a drone. When the perfection of
sperm electrophoresis had enabled parents for the first time
to predetermine the sex of their children, the predictable
result had been  an enormous glut of maleswhich was
directly accountable for the present regime 6n Earth. By the
time the people and the lawmakers, thoroughly frightened
by the crazy years of fashion upheavals, "beefcake," poly-
andry, male prostitution, and all the rest, had come to their
senses,  the  Matriarchy  was  in to  stay;  a weak  electric
current had overturned civilized society as drastically as the
steel knife had demoralized the Eskimos.
Though the tide of excess males had since receded some-
what, it had left behind a wrack, of which Robin One was
a bubble. He was a drone, and hence superfluous by defini-
tionfit only to be sent colonizing, on diplomatic missions
or otherwise thrown away.
Superfluity alone, of course, could hardly account for his
presence on 12-Upjohn's staff. Officially, Robin One was an
interpreter; actuallysince nobody could know the language
the Consort of State might be called upon to understand on
this missionhe was a poet, a class of unattached males
with special privileges in the Matriarchy, particularly if
what they wrote was of the middling-difficult or Hillyer So-
ciety sort. Robin One was an eminently typical member of
this class, distractible, sulky, jealous, easily wounded, homo-
sexual, lazy except when writing, and probably (to give him
the benefit of the doubt, for 12-Upjohn had no ear whatever
for poetry) the second-worst poet of his generation.
It had to be admitted that assigning  12-UpJ'ohn a poet
as an interpreter on this mission had not been a wholly
bad idea, and that if Hildegard MuUer of the Interstellar Un-
derstanding Commission had not thought of it, no mere male
would have been likely toleast of all Bar-Rob 4-Agberg,
Director of Assimilation. The nightmare of finding the whole
of the center of the Galaxy organized into one vast federation,
much older than Earth's, had been troubling the State De-
partment for a long time, at first from purely theoretical
considerationsall those heart-stars were much older than
those in the spiral arms, and besides, where star density in
space is so much higher, interstellar travel does not look like
quite so insuperable an obstacle as it long had to Earthmen
and later from certain practical signs, of which the obliter-
ation of the Assam Dragon and her tenders had been only
the most provocative. Getting along with these people on the
first  contact would  be  vital,  and  yet the  language  barrier
might well provoke a tragedy wanted by neither side, as the
obliteration of Nagasaki in World War II had been provoked
by the mistranslation of a single word. Under such circum-
stances, a man with a feeling for strange words in odd rela-
tionships might well prove to be useful, or even vital.
Nevertheless, it was with a certain grim enjoyment that
12-Upjohn poured into Robin One a good two-ounce jolt
of vodka. Robin coughed convulsively and sat up, blinking.
"Your Excellencyhowwhat's happened? I thought we
were dead. But we've got lights again, and gravity."
He was observant, that had to be granted. "The lights are
ours but the gravity is Calle's," 12-Upjohn explained tersely.
"We're in a part of the ship that cracked up."
"Well, it's good that we've got power."
"We can't afford to be philosophical about it. Whatever
shape it's in, this derelict is a thoroughly conspicuous object
and we'd better get out of it in a hurry."
"Why?" Robin said. "We were supposed to make contact
with these people. Why not just sit here until they notice
and come to see us?"
"Suppose they just blast us to smaller bits instead? They
didn't stop to parley with the fleet, you'll notice."
"This is a different situation," Robin said stubbornly.
"I wouldn't have stopped to parley with that fleet myself, if
I'd had the means of knocking it out first. It didn't look a  bit
like a diplomatic mission. But why should they be afraid of
a piece of a wreck?"
The Consort of State stroked the back of his neck re-
flectively. The boy had a point. It was risky; on the other
hand, how long would they survive foraging in completely
unknown territory? And yet obviously they couldn't stay
cooped up in here foreverespecially if it was true that there
was already no water.
He was spared having to make up his mind by a halloo
from the direction of the office. After a startled stare at
each other, the two hit the deck running.
Sergeant Oberholzer's face was peering grimly through
the split in the bulkhead.
"Oho," he said. "So you did make it." He said something
unintelligible to  some invisible  person outside,  and then
squirmed through the breach into the room, with consider-
able difficulty, since he was in full battle gear. "None of
the officers did, so I guess that puts you in command."
"In command of what?" 12-Upjohn said dryly.
"Not very much," the Marine admitted. "I've got five
men surviving, one of them with a broken hip, and a section
of the ship with two drive units in it. It would lift, more or
less, if we could jury-rig some controls, but I don't know
where we'd go in it without supplies or a navigatoror an
overdrive, for that matter." He looked about speculatively.
"There was a Standing Wave transceiver in this section, I
think, but ifd be a miracle if it still functioned."
"Would you know how to test it?" Robin asked.
"No. Anyhow we've got more immediate business than
that.  We've picked up  a native.  What's more,  he speaks
Englishmust have picked it up from the Assam Dragon. We
started to ask him questions, but it turns out he's some
sort of top official, so we brought him over here on the off
chance that one of you was alive."
"What a break!" Robin One said explosively.
"A whole series of them," 12-Upjohn agreed, none too
happily. He had long ago learned to be at his most suspicious
when the breaks seemed to be coming his way. "Well, better
bring him in."
"Can't," Oberholzer said. "Apologies, Your Excellency,
but he wouldn't fit. You'll have to come to him."
3
It  was  impossible  to  imagine  what  sort  of  stock  the
Callean had evolved from. He seemed to be a thoroughgoing
mixture of several different phyla. Most of him was a brown,
segmented tube about the diameter of a barrel and perhaps
twenty-five feet long, rather like a cross between a python
and a worm. The front segments were carried upright, raising
the head a good ten feet off the ground.
Properly speaking, 12-Upjohn thought, the Callean really
had no head, but only a front end, marked by two enormous
faceted eyes and three upsetting simple eyes which were
usually closed. Beneath these there was a collar of six short,
squidlike tentacles, carried wrapped around the creature in
a ropy ring. He was as impossible-looking as he was fear-
some, and 12-Upjohn felt at a multiple disadvantage from the
beginning.
"How did you learn our language?" he said, purely as a
starter.
"I learned it from you," the Callean said promptly. The
voice was unexpectedly high, a quality which was accentuated
by the creature's singsong intonation; 12-Upjohn could not
see where it was coming from. "From your ship which I
took apart, the dragon-of-war."
"Why did you do that?"
"It was evident that you meant me ill," the Callean sang.
"At that time I did not know that you were sick, but that
became evident at the dissections."
"Dissections! You dissected the crew of the Dragon?"
"All but one."
There was a growl from Oberholzer. The Consort of State
shot him a warning glance.
"You may have made a mistake," 12-Upjohn said. "A
natural mistake, perhaps. But it was our purpose to offer
you trade and peaceful relationships. Our weapons were
only precautionary."
"I do not think so," the Callean said, "and I never make
mistakes. That you make mistakes is natural, but it is not
natural to me."
12-Upjohn felt his jaw dropping. That the creature meant
what he said could not be doubted; his command of the
language was too complete to permit any more sensible
interpretation. 12-Upjohn found himself at a loss; not only
was the statement the most staggering he had ever heard
from any sentient being, but while it was being made he had
discovered how the Callean spoke: the sounds issued at low
volume from a multitude of spiracles or breath-holes all
along the body, each hole producing only one pure tone,
the words and intonations being formed in mid-air by inter-
modulationa miracle of co-ordination among a multitude
of organs obviously unsuitable for sound-forming at all. This
thing was formidablethat would have been evident even
without the lesson of the chunk of the Novae Washington-
grad canted crazily in the sands behind them.
Sands? He looked about with a start. Until that moment
the Callean had so hypnotized his attention that he had for-
gotten to look at the landscape, but his unconscious had
registered it. Sand, and nothing but sand. If there were
better parts of Calle than this desert, they were not visible
from here, all the way to the horizon.
"What do you propose to do with us?" he said at last
There was really nothing else to say; cut off in every possible
sense from his home world, he no longer had any base from
which to negotiate.
"Nothing," the Callean said. "You are free to come and
go as you please."
"You're no longer afraid of us?"
"No. When you came to kill me I prevented you, but you
can no longer do that."
"There you've made a mistake, all right," Oberholzer said,
lifting his rifle toward the multicolored, glittering jewels of
the Callean's eyes. "You know what this isthey must have
had them on the Dragon."
"Don't be an idiot, Sergeant," 12-Upjohn said sharply.
"We're in no position to make any threats." Nor, he added
silently, should the Marine have called attention to his gun
before the Callean had taken any overt notice of it.
"I know what it is," the creature said. "You cannot kill
me with that. You tried it often before and found you could
not. You would remember this if you were not sick."
"I never saw anything that I couldn't kill with a Sussmann
flamer," Oberholzer said between his teeth. "Let me try it
on the bastard, Your Excellency."
"Wait a minute," Robin One said, to 12-Upjohn's astonish-
ment. "I want to ask some questionsif you don't mind,
Your Excellency?"
"I don't mind," 12-Upjohn said after an instant. Anything
to get the Marine's crazy impulse toward slaughter side-
tracked. "Go ahead."
"Did you dissect the crew of the Assam Dragon person-
ally?" Robin asked the Callean.
"Of course."
"Are you the ruler of this planet?"
"Yes."
"Are you the only person in this system?"
"No."
Robin paused and frowned. Then he said: "Are you the
only person of your species in your system?"
"No. There is another on Xixobraxthe fourth planet."
Robin paused once more, but not, it seemed to 12-Upjohn,
as though he were in any doubt; it was only as though he
were gathering his courage for the key question of all. 12-
Upjohn tried to imagine what it might be, and failed.
"How many of you are there?" Robin One said.
"I cannot answer that. As of the instant you asked me
that  question,  there  were  eighty-three  hundred  thousand
billion, one hundred and eighty nine million, four hundred
and sixty five thousand, one hundred and eighty; but now the
number has changed, and it goes on changing."
"Impossible,"  12-Upjohn said, stunned. "Not even two
planets could support such a numberand you'd never
allow a desert like this to go on existing if you had even a
fraction of that population to support. I begin to think, sir,
that you are a type normal to my business: the ordinary,
unimaginative liar."
"He's not lying," Robin said, his voice quivering. "It all
fits together.  Just let me finish,  sir,  please.  I'll  explain,  but
I've got to go through to the end first."
"Well," 12-Upjohn said, helplessly, "all right, go ahead."
But he was instantly sorry, for what Robin One said was:
"Thank you. I have no more questions."
The Callean turned in a great liquid wheel and poured
away across the sand dunes at an incredible speed. 12-Upjohn
shouted after him, without any clear idea of what it was
that he was shoutingbut no matter, for the Callean took
no notice. Within seconds, it seemed, he was only a thread-
worm in the middle distance, and then he was gone. They
were all alone in the chill desert air.
Oberholzer lowered his rifle bewilderedly. "He's fast," he
said to nobody in particular. "Gripes, but he's fast. I couldn't
even keep him in the sights."
"That proves it," Robin said tightly. He was trembling,
but whether with fright or elation, 12-Upjohn could not tell;
possibly both.
"It had better prove something," the Consort of State
said, trying hard not to sound portentous. There was some-
thing about this bright remote desert that made empty any
possible pretense to dignity. "As far as I can see, you've just
lost us what may have been our only chance to treat with
these creatures . . . just as surely as the sergeant would have
done it with his gun. Explain, please."
"I didn't really catch on until I realized that he was using
the second person singular when he spoke to us," Robin
said. If he had heard any threat implied in  12-Upjohn's
charge, it was not visible; he seemed totally preoccupied.
"There's no way to tell them apart in modem English. We
thought he was referring to us as "you' plural, but he wasn't,
any more than his 1' was a plural. He thinks we're all a part
of the same personalityincluding the men from the Dragon,
toojust as he is himself. That's why he left when I said I
had no more questions. He can't comprehend that each of
us has an independent ego. For him such a thing doesn't
exist."
"Like ants?" 12-Upjohn said slowly. "I don't see how an
advanced technology . . . but no, I do see. And if it's so, it
means that any Callean we run across could be their chief of
state, but that no one of them actually is. The only other
real individual is next door, on the fourth planetanother
hive ego."
"Maybe not," Robin said. "Don't forget that he thinks
we're part of one, too."
12-Upjohn dismissed that possibility at once. "He's sure
to know his own system, after all. . . . What alarms me is the
population figure he cited. It's got to be at least clusterwide
and from the exactness with which he was willing to cite
it,  for a given instant, he had to have immediate access to it.
An instant, effortless census."
"Yes," Robin said. "Meaning mind-to-mind contact, from
one to all, throughout the whole complex. That's what started
me thinking about the funny way he used pronouns."
"If that's the case. Robin, we are spurlos versenkt. And
my pronoun includes the Earth."
"They may have some limitations," Robin said, but it was
clear that he was only whistling in the dark. "But at least
it explains why they butchered the Dragon's crew so readily
and why they're willing to let us wander around their
planet as if we didn't even exist. We don't, for them. They
can't have any respect for a single life. No wonder they
didn't give a damn for the sergeant's gun!"
His initial flush had given way to a marble paleness; there
were beads of sweat on his brow in the dry hot air, and he
was trembling harder than ever. He looked as though he
might faint in the next instant, though only the slightest
of stutters disturbed his rush of words. But for once the
Consort of State could not accuse him of agitation over
trifles.
Oberholzer looked from one to the other, his expression
betraying perhaps only disgust, or perhaps blank incom-
prehensionit was impossible to tell. Then, with a sudden
sharp snick which made them both start, he shot closed the
safety catch on the Sussmann.
"Well," he said in a smooth cold empty voice, "now we
know what we'll eat."
4
Their basic and dangerous division of plans and purposes
began with that.
Sergeant Oberholzer was not a fool, as the hash marks
on his sleeve and the battle stars on his ribbons attested
plainly; he understood the implications of what the Callean
had saidat least after the Momma's boy had interpreted
them; and he was shrewd enough not to undervalue the con-
tribution the poor terrified fairy had made to their possible
survival on this world. For the moment, however, it suited the
Marine to play the role of the dumb sergeant to the hilt. If a
full understanding  of what the  Calleans were  like  might
reduce him to a like state of trembling impotence, he could
do without it.
Not that he really believed that any such thing could
happen to him; but it was not hard to see that Momma's boys
were halfway there alreadyand if the party as a whole
hoped to get anything done, they had to be jolted out of it
as fast as possible.
At first he thought he had made it. "Certainly noti" the
Consort of State said indignantly. "You're a man, sergeant,
not a Callean. Nothing the Calleans do is any excuse for
your behaving otherwise than as a man."
"I'd rather eat an enemy than a friend," Oberholzer said
cryptically. "Have you got any supplies inside there?"
"I1 don't know. But that has nothing to do with it."
"Depends on what you mean by 'it.' But maybe we can
argue  about  that  later.  What  are  your  orders.  Your
Excellency?"
"I haven't an order in my head," 12-Upjohn said with
sudden, disarming frankness. "We'd better try to make some
sensible plans first, and stop bickering. Robin, stop snuffling,
too. The question is, what can we do besides trying to survive,
and cherishing an idiot hope for a rescue mission?"
"For one thing, we can try to spring the man from the
Dragon's crew that these worms have still got alive," Ober-
holzer said. "If that's what he meant when he said they
dissected all but one."
"That doesn't seem very feasible to me," 12-Upjohn said.
"We have no idea where they're holding him"
"Ask them. This one answered every question you asked
him."
"and even supposing that he's near by, we couldn't
free him from a horde of Calleans, no matter how many
dead bodies they let you pile up. At best, sooner or later
you'd run out of ammunition."
"It's worth trying," Oberholzer said. "We could use the
manpower."
"What for?" Robin One demanded. "He'd be- just one more
mouth to feed. At the moment, at least, they're feeding him."
"For raising ship," Oberholzer retorted, "if there's any
damn chance of welding our two heaps of junk together and
getting off this mudball. We ought to look into it, anyhow."
Robin One was looking more alarmed by the minute. If
the prospect of getting into a fight with the Calleans had
scared him, Oberholzer thought, the notion of hard physical
labor evidently was producing something close to panic.
"Where could we go?" he said. "Supposing that we could
fly such a shambles at all?"
"I don't know," Oberholzer said. "We don't know what's
possible yet. But anything's better than sitting around here
and starving. First off, I want that man from the Dragon."
"I'm opposed to it," 12-Upjohn said firmly. "The Calleans
are leaving us to our own devices now. If we cause any real
trouble they may well decide that we'd be safer locked up,
or dead. I don't mind planning to lift ship if we canbut no
military expeditions."
"Sir," Oberholzer said, "military action on this planet is
what I was sent here for. I reserve the right to use my own
judgment. You can complain, if we ever get backbut I'm
not going to let a man rot in a worm-burrow while I've got a
gun on my back. You can come along or not, but we're
going."
He signaled to Cassirir, who seemed to be grinning slightly.
12-Upjohn stared at him for a moment, and then shook his
head.
"We'll stay," he said. "Since we have no water. Sergeant,
I hope you'll do us the kindness of telling us where your part
of the ship lies."
"That way, about two kilometers," Oberholzer said. "Help
yourself. If you want to settle in there, you'll save us the
trouble of toting Private Hannes with us on a stretcher."
"Of course," the Consort of State said. "We'll take care
of him. But, Sergeant . . ."
"Yes, Your Excellency?"
"If this stunt of yours still leaves us all alive afterwards,
and we do get back to any base of ours, I will certainly see
to it that a complaint is lodged. I'm not disowning you now
because it's obvious that we'll all have to work together
to survive, and a certain amount of amity will be essential.
But don't be deceived by that."
"I understand, sir," Oberholzer said levelly. "Cassirir, let's
go. We'll backtrack to where we nabbed the worm, and then
follow his trail to wherever he came from. Fall in."
The men shouldered their Sussmanns. 12-Upjohn and
Robin One watched them go. At the last dune before the two
would go out of sight altogether, Oberholzer turned and
waved, but neither  waved back.  Shrugging,  Oberholzer
resumed plodding.
"Sarge?"
"Yeah?"
"How do you figure to spring this joker with only four
guns?"
"Five guns if we spring himI've got a side arm," Ober-
holzer reminded him. "We'll play it by ear, that's all. I want
to see just how serious these worms are about leaving us
alone, and letting us shoot them if we feel like it. I've got a
hunch that they aren't very bright, one at a time, and don't
react fast to strictly local situations. If this whole planet is
like one huge body, and the worms are its brain cells, then
we're germsand maybe ifd take more than four germs to
make the body do anything against us that counted, at least
fast enough to do any good."
Cassirir was frowning absurdly; he did not seem to be
taking the theory in without pain. Well, Cassirir had never
been much of a man for tactics.
"Here's where we found the guy," one of the men said,
pointing at the sand.
"That's not much of a trail," Cassirir said. "If there's any
wind it'll be wiped out like a shot."
"Take a sight on it, that's all we need. You saw him run
offstraight as a ruled line, no twists or turns around the
dunes or anything. Like an army ant. If the trail sands over,
we'll follow the sight. It's a cinch it leads someplace."
"All right," Cassirir said, getting out his compass. After a
while the four of them resumed trudging.
There were only a few drops of hot, flat-tasting water left
in the canteens, and their eyes were gritty and red from dry-
ness and sand, when they topped the ridge that overlooked
the nest. The word sprang instantly into Oberholzer's mind,
though perhaps he had been expecting some such thing ever
since Robin One had compared the Calleans to ants.
It was a collection of rough white spires, each perhaps
fifty feet high, rising from a common doughlike mass which
almost filled a small valley. There was no greenery around it
and no visible source of water, but there were three roads,
two of them leading into oval black entrances which Ober-
holzer could see from here. Occasionallynot oftena Cal-
lean would scuttle out and vanish, or come speeding over
the horizon and dart into the darkness. Some of the spires
bore masts carrying what seemed to be antennae or more
recondite electronic devices, but there were no windows to
be seen; and the only sound in the valley, except for the dry
dusty wind, was a subdued composite hum.
"Man!" Cassirir said, whispering without being aware of
it. "It must be as black as the ace of spades in there. Anybody
got a torch?"
Nobody had. "We won't need one anyhow," Oberholzer
said confidently. "They've got eyes, and they can see in desert
sunlight.  That  means  they  can't  move  around  in  total
darkness. Let's goI'm thirsty."
They stumbled down into the valley and approached the
nearest black hole cautiously. Sure enough, it was not as
black as it had appeared from the hill; there was a glow
inside, which had been hidden from them against the con-
trast of the glaringly lit sands. Nevertheless, Oberholzer found
himself hanging back.
While he hesitated, a Callean came rocketing out of the
entrance and pulled to a smooth, sudden stop.
"You are not to get in the way," he said, in exactly the
same piping singsong voice the other had used.
'Tell me where to go and I'll stay out of your way,"
Oberholzer said. "Where is the man from the warship that
you didn't dissect?"
"In Gnitonis, halfway around the world from here."
Oberholzer felt his shoulders sag, but the Callean was not
through. "You should have told me that you wanted him," he
said. "I will have him brought to you. Is there else that you
need?"
"Water," Oberholzer said hopefully.
'That will be brought. There is no water you can use here.
Stay out of the cities; you will be in the way."
"How else can we eat?"
"Food will be brought. You should make your needs
known; you are of low intelligence and helpless. I forbid
nothing, I know you are harmless, and your life is short in
any case; but I do not want you to get in the way."
The repetition was beginning to tell on Oberholzer, and the
frustration created by hig having tried to use a battering ram
against a freely swinging door was compounded by his
mental picture of what the two Momma's boys would say
when the squad got back.
"Thank you," he said, and bringing the Sussmann into
line,  he  trained  it  on  the  Callean's  squidlike  head  and
squeezed the trigger.
It was at once established that the CallSans were as mortal
to Sussmann flamers as is all other flesh and blood; this one
made a very satisfactory corpse. Unsatisfied, the flamer bolt
went on to burn a long slash in the wall of the nest, not
far above the entrance. Oberholzer grounded the rifle and
waited to see what would happen next; his men hefted
their weapons tensely.
For a few minutes there was no motion but the random
twitching of the headless Callean's legs. Evidently he was
still not entirely dead, though he was a good four feet shorter
than he had been before, and plainly was feeling the lack.
Then, there was a stir inside the dark entrance.
A ten-legged animal about the size of a large rabbit
emerged tentatively into the sunlight, followed by two more,
and then by a whole series of them, perhaps as many as
twenty. Though Oberholzer had been unabashed by the
Calleans themselves, there was something about these things
that made him feel sick. They were coal black and shiny,
and they did not seem to have any eyes; their heavily
armored heads bore nothing but a set of rudimentary palps
and a pair of enormous pincers, like those of a June beetle.
Sightless or no, they were excellent surgeons. They cut
the remains of the Callean swiftly into sections, precisely
one metamere to a section, and bore the carrion back inside
the nest. Filled with loathing, Oberholzer stepped quickly
forward and kicked one of the last in the procession. It
toppled over like an unstable kitchen stool, but regained its
footing as though nothing had happened. The kick had not
hurt it visibly, though Oberholzer's toes felt as though he
had kicked a Victorian iron dog. The creature, still holding
its  steak  delicately  in  its  living  tongs,  mushed  implacably
after the others back into the dubiety of the nest. Then all
that was left in the broiling sunlight was a few pools of black-
ening blood seeping swiftly into the sand.
"Let's get out of here," Cassirir said raggedly.
"Stand fast," Oberholzer growled. "If they're mad at us,
I want to know about it right now."
But the next Callean to pass them, some twenty eternal
minutes later, hardly even slowed down. "Keep out of the
way," he said, and streaked away over the dunes. Snarling,
Oberholzer caromed a bolt after him, but missed him clean.
"All right," he said. "Let's go back. No hitting the
canteens till we're five kilometers past the mid-point cairn.
Marchi"
The men were all on the verge of prostration by the time
that point was passed, but Oberholzer never once had to
enforce the order. Nobody, it appeared, was eager to come
to an end on Calle as a series of butcher's cuts in the tongs
of a squad of huge black beetles.
"I know what they think," the man from the Assam
Dragon said. "I've heard them say it often enough."
He was a personable youngster, perhaps thirty, with blond
wavy hair which had been turned almost white by the
strong Callean sunlight: his captors had walked him. for
three hours every day on the desert. He had once been the
Assam Dragon's radioman, a post which in interstellar flight
is  a  branch  of  astronomy,  not  of  communications;  never-
theless, Oberholzer and the marines called him Sparks, in
deference to a tradition which, 12-Upjohn suspected, the
marines did not even know existed.
"Then why wouldn't there be a chance of our establishing
better relations with the 'person' on the fourth planet?" 12-
Upjohn said. "After all, there's never been an Earth landing
there."
"Because the 'person' on Xixobrax is a colony of Callg,
and knows everything that goes on here. It took the two
planets in co-operation to destroy the fleet. There's almost
full  telepathic  communion  between  the  twoin  fact,  all
through the Central Empire. The only rapport that seems to
weaken over short distancesinterplanetary distancesb the
sense of identity. That's why each planet has an 1' of its
own, its own ego. But it's not the kind of ego we know
anything about. Xixobrax wouldn't give us any better deal
than Calle has, any more than I'd give Calle a better deal
than you would, Your Excellency. They have common pur-
poses and allegiances. All the Central Empire seems to be
like that."
12-Upjohn thought about it; but he did not like what he
thought. It was a knotty problem, even in theory.
Telepathy among men had never amounted to anything.
After the pioneer exploration of the microcosm with the
Arpe Effectthe second of two unsuccessful attempts at an
interstellar drive, long before the discovery of the Standing
Waveit had become easy to see why this would be so.
Psi forces in general were characteristic only of the subspace
in which the primary particles of the atom had their being;
their  occasional  manifestations  in  the  macrocosm  were
statistical accidents, as weak and indirigible as spontaneous
radioactive decay.
Up to now this had suited 12-Upjohn. It had always
seemed to him that the whole notion of telepathy was a
dodgean attempt to by-pass the plain duty of each man
to learn to know his brother, and, if possible, to learn to
love him; the telepathy fanatics were out to short-circuit the
task, to make easy the most difficult assignment a human
being might undertake. He was well aware, too, of the bias
against telepathy which was inherent in his profession of
mplomat; yet he had always been certain of his case, hazy
though it was around the edges. One of his proofs was that
telepathy's main defenders invariably were incorrigibly lazy
writers, from Upton Sinclair and Theodore Dreiser all the
way down to . . .
All the same, it seemed inarguable that the whole center
of the Galaxy, an enormously diverse collection of peoples
and cultures, was being held together in a common and
strife-free union by telepathy alone, or perhaps by telepathy
and its even more dubious adjuncts: a whole galaxy held
together by a force so unreliable that two human beings
sitting across from each other at a card table had never
been able to put it to an even vaguely practicable use.
Somewhere, there was a huge hole in the argument.
While he had sat helplessly thinking in these circles, even
Robin One was busy, toting power packs to the welding crew
which was working outside to braze together on the desert the
implausible, misshapen lump of metal which the Marine
sergeant was fanatically determined would become a ship
again. Now the job was done, though no shipwright would
admire it, and the question of where to go with it was being
debated in full council. Sparks, for his part, was prepared
to bet that the Calleans would not hinder their departure.
"Why would they have given us all this oxygen and stuff
if they were going to prevent us from using it?" he said
reasonably. "They know what it's foreven if they have
no brains, collectively they're plenty smart enough."
'Wo brains?" 12-Upjohn said. "Or are you just exag-
gerating?"
"No brains," the man from the Assam Dragon insisted.
"Just lots of ganglia. I gather that's the way all of the races
of the Central Empire are organized, regardless of other
physical differences. That's what they mean when they say
we're all sickhadn't you realized that?"
"No," 12-Upjohn said in slowly dawning horror. "You
had better spell it out."
"Why, they say that's why we get cancer. They say that
the brain is the ultimate source of all tumors, and is itself a
tumor. They call it 'hostile symbiosis.' "
"Malignant?"
"In the long run. Races that develop them kill themselves
off. Something to do with solar radiation; animals on planets
of Population II stars develop them, Population I planets
don't."
Robin One hummed an archaic twelve-tone series under
his breath. There were no words to go with it, but the Con-
sort of State recognized it; it was part of a chorale from a
twentieth-century American opera,  and the words went:
Weep, weep beyond time for this Earth of hours.
"If fits," he said heavily. "So to receive and use a weak
field like telepathy, you need a weak brain. Human beings
will never make it."
"Earthworms of the galaxy, unite," Robin One said.
"They already have," Sergeant Oberholzer pointed out.
"So where does all this leave us?"
"It means,"  12-Upjohn  said slowly,  "that  this  Central
Empire, where the stars are almost all Population I, is
spreading out toward the spiral arms where the Earth lies.
Any cluster civilizations they meet are natural alliesclusters
are purely Population Iand probably have already been
mentally assimilated. Any possible natural allies we meet,
going around Population II stars, we may well pick a fight
with instead."
"That's not what I meant," Sergeant Oberholzer said.
"I know what you meant; but this changes things. As I
understand it, we have a chance of making a straight hop to
the nearest Earth base, if we go on starvation rations"
"and if I don't make more than a point zero five per
cent error in plotting the course," Sparks put in.
"Yes. On the other hand, we can make sure of getting
there by going in short leaps via planets known to be in-
habited, but never colonized and possibly hostile. The only
other possibility is Xixobrax, which I think we've ruled out.
Correct?"
"Right as rain," Sergeant Oberholzer said. "Now I see
what you're driving at. Your Excellency. The only thing is
you didn't mention that the stepping stone method will take
us the rest of our lives."
"So I didn't," 12-Upjohn said bleakly. "But I hadn't for-
gotten it. The other side of that coin is that it will be even
longer than that before the Matriarchy and the Central
Empire collide."
"After which," Sergeant Oberholzer said with a certain
relish, "I doubt that it'll be a Matriarchy, whichever wins.
Are you calling for a vote, sir?"
"Wellyes, I seem to be."
"Then let's grasshopper," Sergeant Oberholzer said unhesi-
tatingly. 'The boys and I can't fight a point zero five per cent
error in navigationbut for hostile planets, we've got the
flamers."
Robin One shuddered. "I don't mind the fighting part,"
he said unexpectedly. "But I do simply loathe the thought of
being an old, old man when I get home. All the same, we
do have to get the word back."
"You're agreeing with the sergeant?"
"Yes, that's what I said."
"I agree," Sparks said. "Either way we may not make it,
but the odds are in favor of doing it the hard way."
"Very good," 12-Upjohn said. He was uncertain of his
exact emotion at this moment; perhaps gloomy satisfaction
was as close a description as any. "I make it unanimous. Let's
get ready."
The sergeant saluted and prepared to leave the cabin; but
suddenly he turned back.
"I didn't think very much of either of you, a while back,"
he said brutally. "But I'll tell you this: there must be some-
thing about brains that involves guts, too. I'll back 'em any
time against any critter that lets itself be shot like a fish in a
barrelwhatever the odds."
The Consort of State was still mulling that speech over as
the madman's caricature of an interstellar ship groaned and
lifted its lumps and angles from Calle. Who knows, he kept
telling himself, who knows, it might even be true.
But he noticed that Robin One was still humming the
chorale from Psyche and Eros', and ahead the galactic night
was as black as death.
The End