This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events
portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resem-
blance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

THE STRANGER

Copyright (c) 1987 by Gordon R. Dickson

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this
book or portions thereof in any form.

First printing: March 1987
A TOR Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.
49 West 24 Street
New York, N.Y. 10010

Cover art by David Lee Anderson

ISBN: 0-812-53579-0
CAN. ED.: 0-812-53580-4

Printed in the United States of America
0987654321

Acknowledgments

"God Bless Them" copyright (c) 1982 by Omni Pub-
lications International, Ltd.

"James" copyright (c) 1955 by Fantasy House, Inc.
Copyright (c) 1983 by Gordon R. Dickson.

"E Gubling Dow" copyright (c) 1959 by Renown
Publications, Inc.

"The Stranger" copyright (c) 1952 by Greenleaf
Publishing Co. Copyright (c) 1980 by Gordon R.
Dickson.

"The Friendly Man" copyright (c) 1951 by Street &
Smith Publications, Inc. Copyright (c) 1979 by
Gordon R. Dickson.

"MX Knows Best" copyright (c) 1957 bv Candar
Publishing Co., Inc. Copyright (c) 1985 by Gor-
don R. Dickson.

"The Quarry" copyright (c) 1958 by Street & Smith
Publications, Inc. Copyright (c) 1986 by Gordon
R. Dickson.

"3-Part Puzzle" copyright (c) F962 by the Conde Nast
Publications, Inc.

"IT, Out of Darkest Jungle" copyright (c) 1964 by
Ziff-Davis Publishing Co.

"The Green Building" copyright (c) 1956 by Re-
nown Publications, Inc. Copyright (c) 1984 by
Gordon R. Dickson.

"Tempus Non Fugit" copyright (c) 1957 by Colum-
bia Publications, Inc. Copyright (c) 1985 by Gor-
don R. Dickson.

"Cloak and Stagger" copyright (c) 1957 by Colum-
bia Publications, Inc. Copyright (c) 1985 by Gor-
don R. Dickson-

"And Then There Was Peace" copyright (c) 1962 by
Digest Productions Corp.

"The Catch" copyright (c) 1959 by Street & Smith
Publications, Inc.

Contents

God Bless Them

James

E Gubling Dow

The Stranger

The Friendly Man

MX Knows Best

The Quarry

3-Part Puzzle  -

IT, Out of Darkest Jungle

The Green Building

Tempus Non Fugit

Cloak and Stagger

And Then There Was Peace

The Catch

God Bless Them

"Nobody in Congress or the federal government
or the public has put forward a case for a U.S.
manned Mars Mission," Press said in an inter-
view. "And if the Soviets decide to spend $70
billion to land men on Mars in five years, we
say: God bless them."

-Los Angeles TimesYreprinted in the Minne-
apolis Star. Thursday, October 12, 1978
-(from an interview with Frank Press, sci-
ence adviser to U.S. President James Car-
ter and chairman of the presidential review
committee whose four-month study formed
the basis for Carter's policy statement on
the space effort.)

There was no mail at the Main Minneapolis Post
Office for Merlin Swenson. Almost no one got
any mail at General Delivery on Mondays now. But
people went there, anyway, although lately the air
conditioning was always off.

Merlin left the post office and walked slowly the
twenty-seven blocks to the slave market. It was a

10

Gordon R. Dickson

blue-bright July morning, already turning hot, and
he could feel the heat of the sidewalk through the
thin soles of his shoes. At Twelfth Avenue and Third
Street, he stepped on something hard and stopped in
a panic to check the sole of the right shoe. But what-
ever it was, he discovered, standing on one foot, had
not gone through-although the sole was now like
soft cardboard and gave at a touch.

He started walking again. The shoes would be too
expensive for him to replace, these days, and there
was no hope of getting any worthwhile work without
them. When the soles finally wore through there would
be several things he could do to patch them, tempo-
rarily, but it would be the beginning of the end. And
it was inevitable that they would wear through. Any
day now.

In the narrow waiting room of the slave market,
the hard, upright chairs along the walls were all
filled. The air conditioning, roaring from the ventila-
tor grills, barely removed the stink of unwashed bod-
ies. Merlin, himself, was clean this morning. It had
cost him, but this was a special day.

"You planning to work dressed like that?" asked
the hiring clerk behind the desk. His narrow, white
face, under an upright shock of brown hair, was
pinched by an expression of habitual annoyance.

"I am if you can get me something clean for half a
day," Merlin said. In the mirror tile behind the clerk's
desk he saw his own face, square, large-boned, trained
now to show no expression at all. "I've got an engi-
neering job interview this afternoon."

"Oh?" said the clerk, staring at his computer screen.
He punched the keys of the terminal. "All right. You're
on the half-day list. I can tell you right now there's
not much chance."

"I could manage another ten percent," Merlin said.

The clerk's shrug told the true story. It was too

GOD BLESS THEM               11

much to expect a clean job somewhere for just half a
day. Still, the chance could'not be passed up. Money
was everything.

Merlin waited for a chair; then, sitting, he tried to
rest with his eyes open. You could lose your connec-
tion with a place like this if they caught you drop-
ping off-that explained the hard chairs and the icy
air conditioning. Everybody wanted a safe place to
sleep. But this was the best of the slave markets.
They were honest and made a specialty of hiring
people who had degrees. The Qualified Laborer is a
Conscientious Laborer was their slogan. Merlin drifted
into a mindless period hearing nothing until the man
next to him began reading aloud from a morning
newspaper.

" "All hope of possible U.N. assistance for the U.S.
economy seemed doomed today in light of comment
by the Soviet Representative, Anatoly Pirapich, that
this country had historically refused to fund its space
program adequately and that aid now to U.S. orbital
industries, in particular, would be an open invitation
to impoverished nations to-rely on other countries
for large investment capital.

" 'Pirapich read aloud in session a 1978 quote from
the Los Angeles Times, reprinted in the Minneapolis
Star on October twelfth of that year:

"The While House statement says America's civil
space policy centers on these tenets: that activities will
reflect a balanced strategy of application, science and
technology development ... it is neither feasible nor
necessary at this time to commit the U.S. to a high-
challenge space engineering initiative comparable to
Apollo ..."'"

The man stopped reading, folded his paper and
turned to Merlin.

"Can you imagine that?" he said. "Just fifteen years
ago, a White House statement says that. What were
they using for brains?"

12

Gordon R. Dickson

"What good does it do to keep re-reading that sort
of thing?" Merlin said dully. "It doesn't change
anything."

"But how could anyone be so blind?"

It was a trite question. Merlin felt no urge to an-
swer, but he was not surprised to hear it asked.
Although probably his own age, the other man had
the kind of appearance that made him seem barely
out of adolescence. Curly black hair, slight body,
pale face-an innocent in a time when innocents got
eaten for breakfast. Merlin had never seen him before.

"Does it matter now?" Merlin finally said.

"There'd still be a chance for this country if . . ."
The other broke off. "Oh, my name's Sam Church.
My degree's in electronics. How about you?"

"Flow mechanics, gravityless."

"Gravityless? You must really have thought you'd
make it with an off-world job. But don't you know
you shouldn't wear good clothes for this kind of place?
No telling what kind of work they'll offer you."

The assumption of experience by someone obvi-
ously new here irritated Merlin enough to rouse him
from the chronic fatigue he shared with most adults
nowadays.

"I'm dressed like this because I've got a job inter-
view this afternoon," he said. "In my own field."

He was sorry he had mentioned it, the moment the
words were out of his mouth. Sam Church's pale face
was suddenly wiped naked of pretension; it was now
desperate with longing.

"Oh, God!" Church breathed. "You really have an
interview?"

"I've been waiting nine months," Merlin said gruffly.
He was sorry now he had talked to this man at all.
Luckily, Church seemed to be the only one who had
heard his mention of a professional job interview.
They were all in the same straits. Church lowered his
voice.

GOD BLESS THEM               13

"Where? Who with?"

"International Positions," Merlin said. "One o'clock."

"God!" said Church again. He sniffed the air. "You
took a shower, too."

Merlin's small, bitter laugh caught in his throat.

"Not damn likely!" he said. "I used the washbasin
on my crash floor, and it cost me three hundred for
five minutes. My own soap and towel, and a hundred
to hire somebody to stand guard."

Church's attitude had changed. He was now ut-
terly the awestruck neophyte looking at an old hand.

"You're office-crashing?" he said. "How dangerous
is it?"

"If you know what you're doing, it's workable,"
Merlin said.

"You carry a knife?"

"Of course." Merlin felt trapped by the conversa-
tion but unable to think of a way to change the
subject. "That doesn't mean much. There's always
someone around who's better with a knife. The real
trick is knowing who's sharing the office with you,
and all of you take turns on watch. You've got to
know how to wheel and deal'with the hall-patrol
guards, too."

Church breathed out softly. He looked enviously at
Merlin's large frame.

"I couldn't do it," he said.

Merlin looked at him. He was quite ready to be-
lieve that the other could not do it, would not be able
to survive in one of the empty office buildings that
had been converted to dormitories. Only the fittest
survived very long.

"Where do you live?" he asked, to change the
subject.

"I've only been married five months. My wife and
I, we've got a room with my in-laws."

"Wife . . ." Merlin caught himself just in time. He

14

Gordon R. Dickson

had had a sudden, unbearably poignant, vision of
someone to go home to, only one other person and a
room where you could be alone, just the two of you.

"You're married too?" Church asked.

"Yes. She's on the west coast."

"Oh."

Church did not make the mistake of asking more
than that-there were limits even to his innocence,
apparently. Many families had been split by the gal-
loping inflation and the lack of jobs.

"Do you hear from her much?" Church asked.

"No."

The monosyllable finally stopped Church's ques-
tioning. They sat a while longer in silence; then,
glancing at the clock. Merlin saw that it was almost
noon. His mindless period had lasted longer than it
seemed. He stood up, went over to the desk and told
the clerk he was checking out.

"Right." The clerk punched keys on his computer
terminal, not looking up. As he turned away from the
desk, Merlin bumped into Church, also on his feet.

"I haven't gotten anything all morning here, ei-
ther," said Church. "Do you mind if I walk along
with you?"

"Yes," said Merlin-
Church blinked. "Yes? You do mind?"
"That's right. No company."

"Oh." Church fell back. Merlin turned and went
past him and out the door into midday heat that was
now like radiation from the hearth of a blast furnace.

He walked back the way he had come, downtown
toward the International Trade Center. On the way
he stopped at a discount market and bought a quarter-
liter foil package of uncooked Quaker Oats for eigh-
teen dollars. A smal! detour took him to Aimsbury
Park, where he ripped open the package and ate the
dry oats by the handful, washing them down with

GOD BLESS THEM               15

water from a public fountain. The oat flakes, under
their dustiness, had an aimost nutty taste. They were
the most food available for the money, and he felt
better with something in his stomach. "Courage is
food; food is courage." Someone had told him that
when he was young.

It was nearly one o'clock. He went on to the Inter-
national Trade Center, to the office of International
Positions, and gave his name to the receptionist-

"Oh, yes." She checked her computer screen. "Mr.
Ghosh will see you. Just a few minutes ... if you'll
sit down."

It was, of course, more than just a few minutes.
His mouth began to feel dry from the oat flakes, and
he got to his feet.

"Would I have time to find a drinking fountain?"
he asked.

"I'm sure you will." She smiled at him. She was
thin, in her forties, and in spite of having a steady
job, she seemed prey to inner anxiety. "There's one
just outside, to your left."

He went out through the "glass door and found the
fountain. After drinking, as he straightened up, he
heard a throat cleared behind him. He turned to see
Church standing there.

"I hope you don't mind," Church said. "I just wanted
to see how you'd come out ..."

Under his immediate irritation, something he
thought he had long since repressed, something
dangerous-sympathy for another human being-
stirred in Merlin. Church was so helpless, so inoffen-
sive, it was impossible not to feel sorry for him.

"All right," said Merlin. "But don't hang around
here. Wait for me outside and I'll tell you about it
when I leave."

"Thanks." said Church, looking up at him. "Really.
I mean thanks!"

16

Gordon R. Dickson

"I'm not doing anything special for you," said Mer-
lin. He went back into the office.

"Oh, good. There you are," said the receptionist as
he stepped through the door. "Hurry! Mr. Ghosh is
waiting for you. Straight ahead and to your right!"

Merlin hurried into the corridor beyond her desk
and found his way to the open doorway of a wide
room, brightly lit by a wall-wide window. The room
was pleasant with air conditioning and the green of
potted plants. Behind a wood-and-chrome desk sat a
dark-skinned man in his forties, wearing a chalk-
striped blue suit-the value of which would have
given Meriin financial security for a year. Ram Ghosh,
said the nameplate on his desk. But his eyes were not
unkind, and he did not exhibit the condescension,
the air of veiled exasperation and impatience with
Americans, that so many foreigners showed these
days.

"Mr. Swenson? Sit down, please." Ram Ghosh's
English was almost accentiess, with only a slight
prolongation of the vowels. Merlin took a chair. Ghosh
tapped the papers on his desk with the nail of an
index finger.

"Six months," he said. "You've waited a long time
for a job offer from us."

"Lots of people wait longer," Merlin said. Ghosh
smiled at him, a little sadly.

"Yes . . ." he said. He became more brisk. "Well,
the matter at hand is that you now have an offer.
Your education was in null-gravity flow mechanics, I
see. But no experience?"

"They aren't hiring many U.S. citizens to work
outside the atmosphere these days." Merlin knew his
bitterness was showing. He felt a twinge of fear at
the thought that he might already have prejudiced
the interview, but the words had come by themselves
before he could stop them. Ghosh. however, did not
seem offended.

GOD BLESS THEM               17

"Very true," he said, nodding. "But you can't blame
off-Earth installations and factories for giving first
chance to their own nationals. Many people, you
know, want to work in space these days."

As many, thought Merlin, as want to enter heaven.

"No experience," Ghosh went on. "Well, we could
wish you had. But, in this case, the fact you don't
isn't a complete barrier. I can offer you a job in your
specialty. But I warn you to treat this offer, and all
information concerned with it, as a matter of se-
crecy, whether you accept the job or not."

Merlin felt an icy shock that gave way to a glow of
hope so powerful that he feared it showed on his
face.

"Of course," he said, slowly and clumsiiy. "Profes-
sional confidentiality ... I understand."

"Good," said Ghosh, smiling again. "All right. The
job will be in the metals-forming group of an elec-
tronics research unit to be placed in high orbit in the
next two years. Your work would be classified and
would have to be explained to you later if you accept
the job. But it's within your-ability and education,
and you'd be paid at going rates for a space-qualified
engineer of your specialty and experience . . ."

Merlin's mind reeled. The pay rate Ghosh was talk-
ing about would make him comfortably welt off in
any other society in the world. Here in the U.S., it
would make him wealthy, by comparison with those
at the income level at which he had been living for
the last five years.

"I should say, that's what your pay rate would be
once you were in orbit and on the job," Ghosh con-
tinued. "During your training period, here on the
surface, you'd be paid at a standby rate of half your
space-borne pay. Should you accept . . ."

In a euphoric daze, Merlin found himself signing
papers, shaking Ghosh's hand and receiving congrat-

18 Gordon R. Dickson

illations as a new employee of something called Trans-
Space Electronics.

"You'll report to the training center in Huntsville,
Utah," Ghosh said. "The receptionist outside has all
the necessary information, transportation vouchers
and the rest . . ." He coughed. "If you could use an
advance on your first month's wages . . ."

"I ... ves," Merlin said. He had been so over-
whelmed by good fortune that he had completely
forgotten he would need decent clothes, luggage, a
dozen other things he had once taken for granted but
no longer owned.

"My secretary can give you a check for up to a
third of your first pay period's wages."

"Thank you," said Merlin. "I don't know how to
thank you."

"Not at all." Ghosh smiled. "I must admit I like
this job. I've had less happy ones. If you know of
anyone else whom you think might work out for us ..."

"I'm afraid not," Merlin said quickly. The hard
years had taught him not to recommend anyone.
There was too much risk; the other person's actions
might recoil against one's own record. Life had be-
come too brutal for casual favors.

They shook hands and Merlin went out. With the
advance check and other materials in hand, he stepped
back out into the lobby of the Trade Building. For a
moment he hesitated, his mind whirling, unable to
think of what to do first.

He turned toward the drinking fountain. The cold
water tasted like expensive wine. Then he saw Church.

"I got the job," said Merlin.

"God!" said Church.

"Engineering, in my specialty," said Merlin- "Half-
pay at the trainee level until I go into space, then full
pay."

Church said nothing, but there was a look on his

GOD BLESS THEM               19

face-one of incredulity and envy and disbelief, all
mixed.

And it was a look that touched Merlin's inner core.
In this moment of incredible happiness, he saw him-
self standing where Church was, hearing of someone
else's good fortune. He knew too well what the other
must be feeling. Impulsively, he spoke.

"You've got an electronics degree, you said?"

Church nodded, his face suddenly wary.

"Go in there right now," said Merlin. "You may be
able to get hired yourself. Tell the secretary you
heard about it at the post office-anything. Just don't
tell them I sent you. The name of the outfit is Trans-
Space Electronics. Remember, you didn't hear about
it from me."

Church stared as if he had just heard some un-
known language. Then his eyes opened wide. He spun
on his heel, ran to the entrance of the offices and let
himself in.

Merlin departed, clutching his check and the other
papers.

His transportation vouchers got him on the eve-
ning flight to Salt Lake City. He boarded carrying a
new suitcase with nothing but his old clothes and
shoes in it. After being so poor for so long, he found
he could not bring himself to throw things away.

It was only the first of his conflicts with the uncon-
scious habits of near-starvation. When he got to the
training camp at Huntsville, he found the Reception
Center closed for the day and only the thought of the
consequences to his employment record, if he should
be picked up for vagrancy, drove him to a hotel.
There, in the palatial privacy of his smgle room, in
the luxury of his mattressed bed, he finally fell asleep.

In the morning he reported to the Reception Cen-
ter. He was put through processing, presented with a
schedule of refresher and training classes and as-

20 Gordon R. Dickson

signed to a barracks with other new employees. The
barracks were two-story wood frame buildings, with
a large dormitory room upstairs and a day room and
a latrine downstairs. White partitions surrounded
the individual beds in the dormitories, giving each
employee the privacy of a tiny cubicle.

There were no women in the barracks. He was told
that new employees were segregated by sex, even
those husband-and-wife pairs who had signed their
five-year employment contracts together.

In the latrine he found showers in which hot water
was available day and night. Soap and towels were
provided. Although he understood that this must be
characteristic of newcomers like himself, he was un-
able to resist the luxury of immediately soaking him-
self in the shower.

He was stepping out of the shower when he saw a
familiar-looking man standing at one of the washba-
sins. He circled to get a glimpse of the other's face,
reflected in the long mirror above the washstands. It
was Church.

"You made it!" he said.

Church turned around.

"Yes, I made it!" he said. They shook hands
solemnly.

"I didn't see you at any of the processing sessions,"
Merlin said, wrapping a towel around his waist.

"I had some special interviews," said Church. "I'm
to be considered for cadre. It could mean a move to
better quarters."

"Cadre?" Merlin stared at him. "1 thought all cadre
would be previous employees."

"I think they'd rather have it that way. But this
project's expanding so fast . . ."

"But how did you get picked for that?"

"Well . . ." Church looked at the open door to the
latrine. He stepped over so he could see through it,

GOD BLESS THEM               21

then stepped back again. "I think they picked me
because I told them I'd had experience. Didn't you?"

"How could I? I haven't ever been in space."

"Well, neither have I, of course. But it doesn't hurt
to fib a little. By the time they check, they'll have
already tried you out in a position. If they like what
you've done, then it doesn't matter, and if they're
displeased, then you just tell them you didn't under-
stand the original question or blame it on computer
error. They're not going to go to the trouble of check-
ing personally with whoever it was that hired you."

"It could still catch up with you," Merlin said.

"Oh, I don't think so." Church's manner was al-
most airy. "Well, I've got to run. One of the advan-
tages of being considered like this is that I can phone
from the offices, instead of standing in line like the
rest of you. I told my wife I'd call."

"Yes, see you later," said Merlin.

He watched the other man go. Later, dressed and
standing in line himself at the phone booths in the
communications building, he felt his first touch of
envy. Even if Church's lie caught up with him, it was
almost worth it not to have to'wait here like this.
The camp had a direct satellite hookup. Long-distance
phone charges could be put against your first six-
months' salary. Everyone just hired was desperate to
talk with someone, with the mail as unreliable as it
was and the cost of ordinary phoning astronomically
out of reach.

He got to a phone at last and called everyone he
could think of on the west coast who might know
where his wife could be reached. But, as he had
half-expected, he learned nothing. With his last call
he hired a detective agency in San Francisco-another
indulgence that would have been impossible two days
before, but his only real chance of finding her. Ona
had no engineering degree, but there might be other

22 Gordon R. Dickson

work openings on this space factory. Even if that did
not pan out, his own salary would be enough to
make life secure for her, and once a year he would be
getting furloughs to come back and see her.

He returned to the barracks, looked for Church's
cubicle and found him sitting on his bed, talking
with two of the other trainees.

"Oh, hello. Merlin," Church said, looking up. "Come
in and shut the door. We're just comparing notes on
the situation here."

He introduced Merlin to the other two: a middle-
aged, slightly overweight man named Sloller Fread,
with the patient face of a basset hound, and a blond
young man named Bill Sumash, who looked as if he
was just out of school. The comparing of notes Church
referred to was clearly a gossip and rumor session.
Merlin sat on a corner of Church's bed and listened.

"Oh, it's a scam," Church was saying. "The idea's
not so much to set up a factory station in orbit as to
get their share of U.N. development funds for nations
with low GNP like ours."

"But," said Stoller, "the U.N. doesn't fund private
corporations."

"This isn't a private corporation," said Church.
"It's a consortium of corporations with federal back-
ing- As that, of course, it still can't get U.N. funds
directly, but the federal government can, and then
make funds of its own available to the consortium."

"But that's a great thing, isn't it?" said Sumash.
"It could be the beginning of a national space-based
industry, after all."

"Don't be a dupe," Church said. "This country's
too impoverished to maintain a space-based indus-
try. If we'd already had one-if the government had
pushed one when they should've, twenty years ago-
we could be in a position to compete nowadays. But
we're not."

GOD BLESS THEM               23

"We dropped out," said Sumash. "Now we don't
have the chips to get back into the game."

"The point is that the U.S/ lost the original virtues
that made it what it was," Church said. "And like an
old, fat-bellied ex-athlete, it wouldn't exert itself while
a bad situation ran downhill and got to be a situa-
tion nobody could get out of. You're right, you know,
we don't have the chips to get back into the space
game-and we never will. Our golden age is gone."

Merlin got up. He had heard all this too often. It
was all true, but life had no room for such large
concerns now. Life was lying in the blessed privacy
of his cubicle and a dream about Ona being found by
the detective agency, and of their being together again.

"Sorry," he said to Church, "I can't keep my eyes
open. Next time . . ."

He nodded to the other two as he stepped to the
door of Church's cubicle.

"Glad to have met you," he said, and a moment
later he was out on the barracks floor, headed for his
own cubicle and peace.

The next few weeks were-filled with classes and
training. He found himself going to bed exhausted
every night. He did not miss Church, so it was some-
thing of a shock, when he was next in the centra!
administration building, to see him there, dressed in
a regular civilian office suit. Merlin had come in to
get approval for a draw against his wages to pay the
detective agency.

"Church!" he said, as the other walked hastily by
him in the corridor. "Sam Church!"

Church looked around and saw him. He came over
to shake hands.

"Merlin!" he said. "How're you doing? I meant to
get down to the barracks and took you up, but they've
got us all so busy here on planning . . ."

"You did make cadre, then!" said Merlin. "Good
for you!"

24 Gordon R. Dickson

"Thanks," said Church. He lowered his voice and
looked around, but the corridor was momentarily
deserted. "I really was going to get in touch with
you, in fact. Working in this place, I hear about
things ahead of time. They've got wind of some agi-
tators in the trainee corps. They're going to begin
making inquiries tomorrow. I wanted to warn you."

"Me?" Merlin laughed. "I don't know any agitators."

"Of course not. I don't think there actually are any.
That's why I was going to warn you. Investigations
like this are under pressure. They've got to produce
results to justify whoever authorized them. That means
they're going to be picking up on anything at all that
can be made to seem socially destructive. You re-
member how you sat in on some of those sessions in
my cubicle . . ."

"Once," said Merlin.

"Only once? Well," said Church, "at any rate, you
know how harmless they were. I've already told the
investigation team all about them and no one's wor'
ried. But just the same, you might want to say you
didn't know anything about them . . ."

Merlin stared at Church. He had not thought of the
other man in the role of protector, and he felt embar-
rassed at not giving Church more credit. In a way
this warning repaid the favor Merlin had done him
by putting him on the track toward getting his job. It
testified to an awareness of obligation in Church that
Merlin had not expected.

He got the contingency payment approved and stood
in tine at the phones to tell the detective agency.

"Fine, fine!" the voice of the woman at the agency
crackled in his ear. "I think we've just about located
your wife, Mr. Swenson. With this payment against
expenses we should find her this week."

"Splendid," said Merlin. "You'll call me?"

"As soon as we've got something to report. Now,

GOD BLESS THEM               25

Mr. Swenson, it was explained to you that your pay-
ment in full would have to be in our hands before we
released any hard information?"

"Of course," said Merlin. "I've already talked to
my employers here, and there'll be no problem get-
ting an advance for the rest. They just want to be
sure I've really found her, and they won't have to
turn around and give me another advance next week."

"Good. We'll be calling you this week, Mr. Swenson."

He went back to the barracks, his mind full of Ona
and her happiness when she would learn what had
happened to him.

He had completely forgotten about Church's warn-
ing, when, two days later, he was called out of class
with orders to report to Conference Suite 460 in the
Headquarters Building. Suite 460 turned out to be a
spacious room with a long table capable of seating
perhaps sixteen people. But when Merlin stepped in,
the only ones there were a fiftyish, tired-looking man
and a woman of about the same age, raw-boned and
with graying red hair. They were seated side by side
at the far end of the table. "

"Come sit here, Mr. Swenson," said the woman.
She pointed to the first chair on the long side of the
table, at her right. He obeyed-

"Now," said the woman, glancing at a printout
sheet before her. "Of those trainees presently in your
barracks, Mr. Swenson, were there any you knew
before you came here?"

"No," said Merlin. He did not have to stop and
think in order to answer. "No" came automatically
to everyone's lips these days. It was a "yes" answer
that called for thought and hesitation.

The woman looked again at her printout. So far
the man had said nothing. It occurred to Merlin that
the psychological profile they had worked up on him
might have indicated that he was more likely to trust
a woman.

26 Gordon R. Dickson

"Do you know a StoUer Fread or a Bill Sumash,
Mr. Swenson?"

"I think they're in the barracks."

"This Fread and Sumash," the woman said, "have
you ever noticed them talking together, or attempt-
ing to gather others in the barracks to talk?"

"No," said Merlin.

"Have either of them ever tried to talk to you
privately, Mr. Swenson?"

"No," said Merlin. "Not that I can remember,
anyway."

"Do you know anyone here whom you might have
cause to suspect as an activist or subversive?"

"I'm afraid," said Merlin, "I've been so busy with
the training courses, I haven't really had a chance to
talk with the others much."

"Yes or no to the question I asked, Mr. Swenson?"

"Definitely no," said Merlin. "I haven't met any-
one like that."

"But you'd tell us if you did, wouldn't you, Mr.
Swenson?"

I'd tell you anything I needed to, true or false, thought
Merlin grimly. I'd cry, dance, or crawl on the floor to
keep this job, now that Ona's almost found.

"I surely would," he said aloud.

"Thank you," she said. The man continued to sit.
With eyes pouched in finely wrinkled flesh, he si-
lently studied Merlin.

Merlin was released, finally, and the next few days
went by swiftly. He struggled with his training courses
and impatiently wondered when the detective agency
would phone with word of Ona's whereabouts.

But no call came. On the Thursday after his secu-
rity interview, he discovered a memo in his message
box that asked him to report to the Payroll Center at
nine o'clock the next morning.

He assumed it must have something to do with the

GOD BLESS THEM               27

last advance against his wages. Annoyed that he would
be late for his second class of the morning, he hur-
ried to the Center, hoping that whatever it was would
not take too long.

At the Center he was directed to the Pay-Outs Cash-
ier. Only one window was open, with two security
guards standing nearby. Merlin stood in line behind
three men, two of whom were cadre. From their
conversation, he assumed they were here to get an
advance on wages. The third man merely signed a
form and left. Now Merlin was facing the cierk be-
hind the window.

"Merlin Swenson^" asked the clerk. He searched
below the counter level on his side and came up with
two pieces of paper.

"Sign this," he said, pushing one ahead of the
other at Merlin. "The second one you keep."

With his pen poised in his hand, Merlin read the
first paper.

1, Merlin James Swenson, acknowledge the
following indebtedness to Trans-Space Elec-
tronics Corporation, Limited:

Advances
Per diem:

Equipment issued:

Miscellaneous:

Subtotal:

Less trainee wages
to date:

Total:

Signed - - .

$43,432.54
22,806.00
28,099.10
9,847.78
$104,185.42

60,765.70
$43,419.72

"What's this?" Merlin asked.

"Just your account to date. We need a signature."

"All right," said Merlin-

28              Gordon R. Dickson

He signed. The clerk took back the form and sepa-
rated a top copy from a bottom one. He pushed the
bottom copy to Merlin, along with the other paper.

He took both sheets and started to turn away,
glancing at the second paper. Suddenly, he stopped
and turned back.

"What's this?"

"I just hand it to you, that's all," said the clerk. He
turned and walked out of sight inside the cage.

Merlin stared at the second paper.

Termination Notice

As of the present date . . . the lines biurred
in Merlin's vision, then came back into focus,
. . . services no longer required. After advances
and expenses of the Corporation, it has been
determined that the balance of your employee
account with Trans-Space Electronics shows
an indebtedness ofS43.4I9.72. Payment should
be made within three months, or arrangements
must be made at the end of that time to repay
any amount still outstanding .. .

"Come back here!" Merlin shouted through the
window-and found himself seized from behind, his
elbows pulled toward the small of his back and his
whole body wrenched away from the window.

He was facing one of the gray-uniformed security
guards. The other guard was holding Merlin's arms
in a painful backlock. A dull throbbing had already
begun in the socket of each shoulder.

"You subverts are all alike," said the security guard
facing Merlin. "The minute things stop going your
way, you start yelling and pretending you're being
picked on. Well, you're fired and you're leaving. How
do you want to go? It's up to you."

GOD BLESS THEM               29

Merlin choked back the bubble of fury in his chest.

"I'll go easy," he said.

"Good," said the guard. He nodded, and the other
guard released Merlin's arms. "Let's go."

They marched Merlin to the door of the building,
put him in a gleaming white car bearing the Trans-
Space emblem on its front doors and rode with him
to the compound by the entrance gate where person-
nel on pass waited for the hover-bus into Ogden.

"Who've you got there, Gus?" called the guard at
the gate.

"Another of them," Gus called back. He and his
cohort walked a small distance off and stood to-
gether, talking and glancing at Merlin from time to
time.

Merlin turned his back and stared out through the
heavy wire mesh that fenced the compound. Beyond,
he could see the warehouse buildings of the supply
area, gray silhouettes in the morning sunlight.

"Merlin!"

He looked around, but saw no one.

"Merlin, over here!"

He looked down along the fence to his left. About
ten meters away was a gate, now padlocked. Merlin
glanced at the guards, but they seemed indifferent to
the situation. He walked along the fence until he saw
Sam Church's face looking between the vertical iron
pipes that supported the gate-door.

"Merlin . . ." he said. "I got here as soon as I
could . . ."

"I don't know what's happened. They're kicking
me out without a chance to talk to anyone!" Merlin
clung to the bars. "It has to be a computer error, or
something like that. But how do I do anything about
it when they're running me out like this, without a
chance to talk to anyone?"

"You can't, of course . . ." Church began.

30 Gordon R. Dickson

"Sam, listen! Try and get to someone! You're cadre.
You can find out what went wrong and fix it, can't
you? Sam . . . can't you?"

"Well . . ." said Church.

"You've got to! Don't you know what this means?
It's not just this job. What outfit, anywhere, is going
to hire me for anything but slave labor as long as the
records here say I was a subvert? I've got to get it
straightened out! What's the matter with you, Sam?
Won't you even try?"

"Oh, I'li try," said Church.

"And something else-something else you can do
for me right away, Sam, and it won't be hard. Not
for you. You know that detective agency I had hunt-
ing my wife? They called, just Monday, and said
they'd almost found her, that they'd be calling this
week to teH me where she is. Sam . . ."

He fumbled in his shirt pocket and came up with a
pen and a piece of paper. He scribbled on the paper
and passed it between the vertical pipes into Church's
hands.

"It's easy for you to phone out. Call them, Sam.
Don't tell them what's happened to me. but tell them
they can reach me at-they can leave a message at ..."

He stopped and searched his mind desperately.

"I know!" he burst out. "You remember that slave
market in Minneapolis, where you first met me? The
Availables, Fifth and First Avenue North? Tell them
they can leave a message for me there. I'll be back
Monday. 1 can pay off that dayclerk, and he'll go
along with it."

"All right." Sam Church looked at him strangely.

"And another thing you can do for me .. ."

He was interrupted by the roar of blowers as the
bus turned a corner into the compound.

"All right, Swenson!" shouted one of the guards.
"Get over here!"

GOD BLESS THEM               31

"Sam, listen, if you have a chance . . ."

"There's no more time, Merlin." Church was thrust-
ing a white envelope at him between the pipes. "It's
not much, but it's all I could raise in a hurry."

Merlin took if automatically. The guards were com-
ing for him. There was not even time to take Church's
hand.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," said Church. "I'm really very
sorry. I couldn't help it. I have my own wife to think
of."

The guards grabbed Merlin, whirled him around
and marched him toward the bus. Dazedly, he found
himself aboard.

"Company billing, Jake," said one of the guards.
"This one to Denver Central. If he gives you any
trouble, let us know."

They stood back. There were no other passengers
boarding. The doors of the bus closed with a pneu-
matic hiss. The driver lifted the vehicle on the down-
ward thrust of its underjets until it floated free. He
turned it in its own length and headed toward the
highway.

Merlin, catching at seatbacks to keep his balance
in the turning bus, stumbled to the mid-section of
the vehicle and sat down- Only then he realized he
was still clutching the envelope that Church had
given him. Numbly, he opened it. Inside were twenty
hundred-dollar bills.

He laughed bitterly. This, together with the twenty-
five hundred or so he had in his wallet, might be just
enough to buy a bus ticket back to Minneapolis. He
would have to take a bus to get there by next Mon-
day. If you were caught hitchhiking, the police either
beat you up so badly that you ran the chance of
being crippled, or shot you on some pretext or other
to save themselves the trouble of beating you up.

He tucked the envelope into an inside pocket. His

32 Gordon R. Dickson

old work clothes and everything else he owned were
getting farther behind him by the minute. Once back
in Minneapolis he would have to work in what he
was wearing now-for as long as it stood up. Ironi-
cally, he had been saving his good new shoes lately
by wearing his old ones with the paper-thin soles; he
had found out that the instructors did not care. Shoes
would be a critical matter once he went back to
daywork. The money that would buy his bus ticket
could be used to purchase a pair of heavy work boots
instead. With those, at slave markets in Denver, he
could last indefinitely. Given enough time, anything
could happen. He could be reinstated with Trans-
Space, if Church could get to the right person-

His thoughts broke off suddenly as he remembered
Church's parting words. What had he meant by saying
he couldn't help it-that he had his own wife to
think of?

Understanding exploded in Merlin.

"The bastard!" he screamed.

He woke to the fact that he had half-risen out of
his seat. Remembering where he was, he sank back
down again. The few other passengers on the bus and
the driver, in his rearview mirror, were all staring at
him.

Merlin sat stunned, the whole pattern taking shape
before him like a puzzle picture that suddenly be-
comes comprehensible. He remembered how Church
had lied about having space experience in order to
qualify for the cadre. He remembered Church want-
ing to walk downtown with him to his interview,
Church meeting him there after all-which he could
only have done if he had followed Merlin-and want-
ing to hang around and see how this perfect stranger
made out in an interview. Merlin remembered the
look of terrible longing on Church's face when Merlin
told of his own good fortune. How many times, he

GOD BLESS THEM               33

wondered now. sickened, must Church have used that
look on other people?

He should have been on his guard when Church
warned him to deny having been at any of the obvi-
ously subvert talk sessions in Church's cubicle. The
meaning of Church's last words were clear- He had
insured his own job security by throwing the corpo-
rate people a substitute victim and telling them that
victim would deny everything when questioned. Then
he made sure by advising Merlin to do just that.

A deep wave of rage erupted in Merlin. It rose,
crested, and broke. But fury was useless. Church was
out of reach-and he had always been just what he
was. The way life was now, it had been up to Merlin
to protect himself-and he had failed to do so. He
remembered, in The Availables' slave market, how
he had taken Church for an innocent. Not Church.
He, himself, had been the innocent.

Fifty-six hours later, at midnight, he stumbled off
the Greyhound bus at the Minneapolis terminal. He
had enough money left for a week's crash space in
one of the office buildings-but this late at night, he
would be taking unreasonable chances. His room-
mates might be relatively honest, but any stranger
was fair game for the pack. Better to take his chances
on the streets than pay to lie awake all night with his
eyes open.

He headed east toward the University area, where
people would be on the streets all night. The time
had been when someone like himself could ease his
way into a party of students, go back with them to
whatever apartment, room or warehouse they were
headed to, and pick up free crash space by pretend-
ing to pass out in a corner. But those easy days were
gone. The best to hope for was to stay on the streets
without attracting the attention of the police.

But this night the University district was swarm-

34 Gordon R. Dickson

ing. He had the incredible luck to catch on with a
student party that ended up down in the park along
the Mississippi riverbank. Anyone but students would
have been rousted out of there by the police. But
they were left alone; and so he made it through until
Monday, and was waiting first in line outside the
door when the slave market opened at six o'clock
that morning.

The clerk came up the street to the door, recog-
nized him as a familiar face and grunted at him
sleepily before unlocking the door and letting them
all inside. He took his time, yawning as he set up for
the day. Finally, he was ready, seated behind his
computer screen and keys.

"Name?" he said ritually, not glancing up.

"Merlin. Merlin Swenson. Did a long-distance phone
call come here for me? Now look," said Merlin, swiftly,
"I know this isn't the sort of thing you do, but I can
reimburse you for your trouble. Did a long distance
call come in here for me. Thursday afternoon or
Friday?"

"Maybe," said the clerk and looked sour. "It was
collect. I had to pay two hundred and eighty to ac-
cept it for you."

"Two hundred and-"

"Look, man!" said the clerk loudly. "You want to
stiff me on money I've already paid out for you,
that's all right. I'll live. But don't come around here
again asking me to put you on somebody's payroll.
Deadbeats like you don't deserve jobs."

"All right!" said Merlin, low-voiced. "I'll pay! What's
the messsage-and tell me privately or it's no deal!"

"You come into the office with me," said the clerk,
still loudly.

He stood up from behind his desk and opened the
half-door in the barricade that joined his desk to the
wall on either side of it to create a small privacy

GOD BLESS THEM               35

space. Merlin walked in and followed him through a
door in the back wall to a tiny office.

"Here you are," the clerk said. His tone was cheer-
ful and friendly once the office door had been closed
behind them. He pulled down a sheet of paper that
was thumbtacked to a cork bulletin board. "I didn't
understand a word of it, but I figured someone like
you would be along asking for it. That'll be two
hundred and eighty."

He kept his grip on the paper until Merlin had
counted over the money. Then he held it out in his
fingertips. Merlin snatched it.

"This is no message!" said Merlin. "It's only a
telephone number!"

"You expected more?" The clerk was curious.
"That's all they gave me."

"But now I've got to call them long distance!" said
Merlin. "And you cleaned me out. I don't have any
money left!"

"Call them collect," advised the clerk.

"I can't call collect to a detective agency," said
Merlin, desperately. "And I've got to reach them. It's
a West coast outfit that's been locating my wife, and
they were to phone like this when they found her."

"Sure, you can call collect," said the clerk. "For
another two hundred, I'll show you how."

"Don't you understand?" said Merlin desperately.
"You cleaned me out. I'm broke! Do you think I'd be
standing in line here if I had more than what I gave
you already?"

"Oh, what the hell!" the clerk said. He left the
table, sat down before the phone terminal at the
desk, and punched buttons. The screen lit up with
the face of a young man.

"Yes?" he said. "Who's calling collect, please?"

"Merlin Swenson. The Avaiiables," said the clerk.

"I'm sorry. I don't have any Avaiiables or Merlin
Swenson on my list to accept."

36 Gordon R. Dickson

"Well then, just forget it, man. Forget it!" barked
the clerk. "You people called here. If you don't want
to talk to us. we sure don't want to talk to you!"

"Are you Merlin Swenson?" asked the young face.
"If you're Merlin . . ."

"Me? Merlin Swenson? You people must think a
tot of yourselves. Merlin Swenson doesn't answer
any outfit that calls and leaves word for him to call
back. Let me talk to whoever called him, and I'll
decide whether it's something to bother Merlin
Swenson about."

"Just a minute," said the face, "let me check
with . . ."

"Never mind. Forget it!" shouted the clerk, and
warded off Merlin with one hand. "I've wasted enough
time with you already, and all you've done is stall . .."

"Wait. Wait just a minute," said the other. "I think
it was Maria Balsom who wanted to talk to Merlin
Swenson. Just a minute . . ."

The screen went blank for a moment, then the face
of the woman Merlin had spoken with before at the
agency came on the screen.

"Hello? Mr. Swenson?" Her face was puzzled.

"One moment," said the clerk, He slid out of the
seat and Merlin replaced him.

"I don't understand, Mr. Swenson," said Maria
Balsom, "we don't accept collect calls from clients
who owe us money . . ."

"Have you found her?" The words burst from
Merlin.

"Of course. That's what we called you about. Then
we had a message to find you at this number, so we
called and left word for you to call us. But you were
not being invited to call us collect. As I say, we don't
accept calls from . . ."

"Where is she?"

"Really, Mr. Swenson. You don't expect this agency

GOD BLESS THEM               37

to furnish information before it's paid? You've got a
balance outstanding of fifteen thousand, four hun-
dred and eighteen dollars and twelve cents. If you'll
make your payment to us in that amount . . ."

"But that's why I had to talk to you," Merlin said
quickly. "You see, just for the next week or so, there's
been a little hitch. There was a crazy mix-up in my
computer records, and until it's cleared up, they're
holding up my ability to get advances of the kind I've
been paying with. It's just a temporary thing because
they're understaffed in the records section, but it'll
hold things up for a couple of weeks. But I have to
make a decision about housing my wife while I'm in
orbit, and I need to talk to her about this right away.
So I thought if you could just let me know what
you've turned up so far-after all, I have paid you
over thirty thousand dollars already . . ."

"Mr. Swenson . . ." Maria Balsom's voice had
stepped far back from him. "Are you telling me that
you're not connected with Trans-Space any longer?"

"Yes and no. The point is, I can't pay your bill
right now, but if you'll wait ^. ."

"Of course." Maria Balsom's voice came now from
a different world. "When you've got what you owe
us, Mr. Swenson, send us a credit voucher, and we'll
be glad to give you the full results of our investiga-
tions."

"Don't you understand . . ." Merlin began.

"I understand perfectly, Mr. Swenson. Do you?"
said the woman, grimly. "Like everyone else in this
business I live on my commissions from accounts
collected!"

She broke the connection.

"Well, there you are," said the clerk. He slapped
Merlin on the shoulder. "Come on out and I'll find
you a job with some overtime."

Merlin shook him off. He stalked out of the office,
out through the half-door, past the other day-laborers

38 Gordon R. Dickson

still lined up at the counter, staring at him, and out
of the building.

The heat of the day was stifling as he hurried away
from The Availables office. He paid no attention to
where he was going until he felt grass beneath his
feet and looked around at Almsbury Park.

He stared about like someone just awakened from
a heavy sleep. At this hour of the day, the park was
only sparsely occupied. The nearest bench to him,
half in sunlight, half in shadow, had only one person
on it, a very old man, apparently asleep on the end in
sunlight that was growing hotter by the minute.

It was a consolation prize of fate. The shady ends
of the bolted-down benches were normally occupied
on a hot summer day like this. Merlin gratefully sat
down in the shade.

An empty hour passed. But then, slowly, little by
little, the desire to live crept back into him like a
dull ache. Life was still with him. Everything was
lost, but his heart stiil beat. His chest still pumped.
In a few hours-whatever else might happen-he
would be hungry again. And soon after that, he would
once more need to sleep.

The heat of the advancing sunlight against the thin
sole of his right shoe roused him from his thoughts.
Any day now, he thought, the sole would wear through
and there would be no replacing it. The day was
heating fast, and the shadow in which he sat had
retreated until it could not much longer protect him.
He felt chilled in the midst of heat, naked and lonely.

He squinted along the bench at the o!d man, still
sitting squarely in the sunlight. The other looked
very old and weary. A lifetime of outdoor living had
once darkened his skin to the color of old leather, but
age and general debility had paled and faded the
leather-tone to a gray shade. The bones of his face
seemed unnaturally large under the thin mask of old
skin. A white stubble blurred the outlines of his lower

GOD BLESS THEM               39

jaw and his wrinkled eyelids rested on his cheeks. He
did not move, but his chest stirred slowly under his
heavy checked shirt, its colors-like his-grayed by
time.

Merlin leaned toward the man, at which the smell
of death came faintly into his nostrils. A wisp of
feeling he thought he had lost stirred within him.

"Why don't you move this way?" he said to the old
man. "There's still shade enough for both of us at
this end."

There was no answer. He said it again.

"Leave me be," said the other, without opening his
eyes.

"The sun'll kill you."

"It feels good."

They sat together. It was not much, but Merlin's
racking loneliness had eased slightly with the ex-
change of those few words with the weary figure
beside him.

"I'm at the end of my rope," Merlin said. "You
know how it is?"

"I know," said the old man, after a long pause. It
was as if he were so far off that ,the sound of Merlin's
voice look some time to reach him.

"I'll never find my wife now," said Merlin. "I'll
never get a job now. It's ail gone. That's the worst
part, knowing there's no use. Once, I had hope, but
now . . ."

He found himself telling the old man all about it.
There was no one else to tell, and he had to tell
someone. The old man sat in the sun, smelling faintly
of death. He said nothing. As Merlin talked, a fly
circled and landed on the pocket of the old man's
checked shirt. It stayed there, resting with the old
man in the sun.

"You see," Merlin went on, "there's nothing to be
done. Nowhere to go."

He stopped talking, but the old man still said noth-

40 Gordon R. Dickson

ing. Merlin leaned into the sun and put his lips close
to the gray ear nearest him.

"I say," he said loudly, "there's no place to go, is
there? Where can you go?"

The eyelids twitched slightly. The dry lips parted.

"Get off the Earth," said the old man, "If you can't
scratch a living down here, you got to get off the
Earth."

Merlin sat back. The advancing sun had found the
thin sole of his left shoe again. The heat was burning
his foot now, but he could not summon up the will to
pull it back into the shade. He sat.

James

'-'James gave the hurtle of a snail in danger. .."
(from "Four Friends," a poem by A. A. Milne)

James huffied.

He paused, his horns searching the air. Some-
thing was coming toward him along the brick he
himself was traversing. For a moment he tensed,
then his trained perception ^recognized that the one
approaching was another snail'. James glowed with
pleasure and hurried to meet him.

"I'm James," he said, joyfully touching horns. "And
you?"

"Egbert," replied the other. "Honored to make your
acquaintance, James."

"Honored to make yours," replied James, and then,
avidly, as all snails do, he asked, "What's new7"

"The word," said the other. "The word is being
passed."

"No!" said James.

"Absolutely," confirmed Egbert.

"It's Homo Sapiens, of course; you might have
expected it." He sighed.

"H. Sapiens?" asked James. "Why, I wouldn't have

41

42 Gordon R Dickson

thought it of them. They seemed like such targe harm-
less creatures, for all their rushing around. I've just
been observing one-"

"They may look harmless," interrupted Egbert,
sternly, "but the mischief's in them. And we can't
tolerate it, of course. After coming halfway across the
Galaxy to try and get away from Them, you know."

"True," agreed James. He added, a trifle wistfully,
"Sometimes I think we should have crushed Them
the last time they overran the planet we were on. If
not the previous time. Or the time before that."

"But what a labor it would have been," protested
Egbert. "Of course all they had were primitive mate-
rial weapons: space warps, disintegrators and the
like. But there were so many of Them-thousands of
planetary systems all populated up to the pUmsoll
mark. What a weary task to zzitz hard enough to
exterminate them all. And how easy, comparatively,
to zzitz just enough to protect ourselves."

"Ah, yes," sighed James. "Of course we are by
nature sensible and wary of overexertion. Well, I
suppose we're better off here after all, even with
Homo Sapiens dashing back and forth as if his shell
was on fire. Who would ever have thought a life form
could become so active? And what is it, by the way,
that they've finally done?"

"Well," said Egbert darkly, "brace yourself. It's
almost unbelievable, but since it comes through the
grapevine, it must be true. The official word just
filtered up from the valley of the Euphrates, or the
Nile, or someplace around there. One of them"-he
spaced the words slowly and impressively-"one-of-
them has actually just invented a wheel!"

"No!" cried James, stunned.

"That's the word," insisted Egbert. "I don't blame
you for being surprised. I had trouble believing it
myself when it was told to me just the month before
last."

JAMES                    43

"That explains it!" cried James. "I thought I'd been
seeing things with wheels around, but naturally I
couldn't believe my senses on the basis of purely
empirical evidence. An old friend of mine was crushed
by one the other day. His name was Charlie. You
didn't know him, by any chance?"

"No," replied Egbert. "I never knew a Charlie."
They brooded in silence for a second.

"He was a Good Snail," said James, at last, be-
stowing the words of highest tribute upon his de-
ceased friend. His mind swung back to the implica-
tions of the news he had just heard. "But this"-he
stammered-"this is terrible!"

"Of course it is," brooded Egbert, darkly. "You
know what's bound to happen now, don't you? They'll
be settling down, making pottery. First thing you
know they'll build pyramids, discover gunpowder.
Why, before we can turn around they'll be splitting
the atom, and you know what happens then!"

"Spaceflight . . ." breathed James, horrified.

"Exactly!" replied Egbert grimly. "And the minute
they get a ship outside the atmosphere, it'll register
on Their separation-index. And you know what They'\\
do when They find out."

"Poor H. Sapiens!" quavered James.

"Yes," said Egbert. "And poor us. The minute a
ship gets outside the Earth's atmosphere, it won't be
more than three days, local time, before They notice
it and have a fleet here englobing the planet. Which
means we have only the limited time remaining be-
tween now and the launching of the first space rocket
to take defensive measures. And that time gets shorter
by the century. Why, for all we know-at the mad
pace these humans move-one of them may be ex-
perimenting with a potter's wheel even now "

"Indeed," said James, anxiously, "I could almost
swear I've noticed signs of pottery culture among our
local H. Sapiens. Of course"-he added hastily-"I

44 Gordon R. Dickson

have no confirmation of the fact in the way of com-
parative reports from other Snails."

"True. I too . . ." Egbert lowered his voice. "Let us
speak off the record, James. Unscientific as it must
be for only two observers to compare notes-tell me:

You haven't seen any evidence of pyramid building
here in North America?"

"N-no . . ." answered James cautiously. "I have seen
some rather odd structures-but no true pyramid."

"Thank heaven for that," said Egbert, with a sigh
of relief. "Nor have I. Not that our two unofficial
observations mean anything, but they represent a
straw in the wind, a hope, James, that what you and
I have seen mirrors the Big Picture, and that H.
Sapiens is still, essentially, a happy herdsman."

"Still," said James doubtfully, "if I were to ven-
ture a guess pn my own-"

"James!" reproved Egbert, shocked. "This is un-
snaillike. Put such thoughts from your mind. No, no,
rest assured that we have some few thousands of
years still in which to contact H. Sapiens if the race
is to be taught how to zzitz and so protect itself and
its planet from Them. Reassure yourself that it is
merely a matter of contacting the right individual,
one who will believe us and who in turn will be
believed by his fellows."

For a moment silence hung heavy between the two
snails.

"Some people," said James finally, in an apolo-
getic voice, "might call us slow."

"Oh, no!" cried Egbert, profoundly shocked. "Surely
not!"

"And perhaps," continued James, his voice strength-
ening, "who knows but what we actually may be a
bit slow? I want to be fair about this. I will be fair
about this! Think, Egbert: it has been at least twenty
planets, one after the other, which we have seen
blown from beneath us, and their native life destroyed

JAMES                    45

by Them in spite of all our good intentions about
teaching that native life to protect itself by zzitzing."

"But-"

"But me no buts. Egbert! Twenty chances we have
had to protect the weak and defenseless. Twenty
times-in a row-we have been just a little bit late in
giving aid. And I say to you, Egbert, here and now,
that if by following our traditional cautious methods
we again slip up and see the human race destroyed,
then, by all that's holy, we are a trifle slow!"

"James," breathed Egbert, shrinking back in awe.
"Such energy! Such fire! You are a Snail Transformed!"

And, indeed, James was. Quivering with righteous
indignation, he had reared up a full three-quarters of
an inch above the surface of the brick and both sets
of his horns stuck out rigidly, as if challenging the
universe.

"Egbert," he said fiercely, "the tradition of eons is
about to be broken. You have spoken of several thou-
sand years in which to contact H. Sapiens. Know,
Egbert, that the far end of this brick touches the sill
of a window, that that sill overhangs a desk, and that
at that desk sits a man high in the councils of the
Five Indian Nations, or the United Nations, or some
such important organization. This man I have been
observing and I have discovered in him the capabil-
ity to understand and believe the threat that They
will pose to his race, if that self-same race continues
this mad plunge of progress which has just recently
brought forth the invention of the wheel."

"James!" gasped Egbert. "You mean . . . ? You
wouldn't . . . ? Not without first submitting a report
for the consideration of other snails, the formation of
an investigative forum, the collection of an adequate
number of blanketing reports, a general referendum-"

"Cease, Egbert!" interrupted James sternly. "I
would, and I will. What you and other Snails have
always refused to recognize is the impermanence of

46 Gordon R. Dickson

the individual H. Sapiens. They are here today, and-if
I may coin a phrase-gone tomorrow." The tone of
his voice changed. A note almost of pleading crept
into it. "Can't you understand, Egbert, that this is a
crisis' We can't afford to waste a thousand years here
and a thousand years there just to make the matter
official."

"But scientific method-" began Egbert.

"Scientific method, bosh!" retorted James, crudely.
Egbert gasped. "What good was scientific method to
the life forms of the last twenty planets we've in-
habited?"

Egbert was struck dumb. It was a good twenty
minutes before he managed to answer.

"Why-" he said at last. "I never thought of that.
That's true, it didn't help them much, did it?" He
stared at James with wonder and admiration dawn-
ing in the little eye at the tip of each of his two major
horns. "But James-" he said. "To flout tradition in
this fashion-to throw off at one fell swoop the age-
welded bonds of ancient custom and established
means. Why, James"-he went on, falling, as all Snails
do when deeply moved, into iambic pentameter-"this
step will sound throughout the halls of time; and
through the echoing vault of universe, be duplicated
to infinity. So that all future ages, hearing it, and
looking back, will wonder how you could. And tell
me James, how is it that you can?"

James bowed his horns in graceful acknowledg-
ment of the question.

"I am," he replied simply, "what you might possi-
bly characterize as a humanitarian."

"Ah," said Egbert softly, "so that's it."

"Yes," answered James. "And now-my duty calls.
Farewell, Egbert."

"Farewell!" choked Egbert, almost too overcome
to speak. They broke contact; and James began to
turn around. "Farewell, oh brave and gallant spirit!"

JAMES                    47

Resolutely, James completed his turn and began
his march. Inside the window, at the desk, a heavy
balding man with tired eyes straightened his glasses
and began to read a report stamped TOP SECRET
and headed PARTICULARS OF FORTHCOMING FLIGHT OF UN
SPACE ROCKET x-1. He read steadily into the report as
the sun crept across the sky,

After a while he stopped temporarily to rub his
eyes. As he did, he caught sight of a snail which had
just crawled across the sill from outside the window.
It stood balanced on the edge. It was James, of course,
and for a long second they looked at each other. Then
the man turned back to the report.

James paused to catch his breath. The trip had
been all of eleven inches and he had come at top

speed.

Finally he collected himself and turned toward the
man. The H. Sapiens' head was bent over a sheaf of
paper; but whatever engrossed him there would be
small potatoes to what James was about to hit him
with. James look a deep breath.

"Huffle." he said. "Huffle. Huffle! Huffle, huffle,
huffle. huffle ..."

"James gave the huffle of a snail in danger-
And nobody heard him at all."

A. A. Milne

E Gubling Dow

f^T isten, ' said Sonny, snapping a glance at his

JL/father ' I heard something )ust now Noise like
a car coming up the road to the place, here '

"I don't hear nothing," said George Weaver "No
one coming calling at our farm at past midnight "
He put his big, gray, wrinkled hand on the table Not
striking it, just laying it out "Pass the spuds, girt "

"Here, Dad "

From beside the stove, Sonny's wife Betty came
across the room with her apron whispering and the
large oval blue-nmmed bowl in her hand She forked
boiled potatoes onto the old man's plate

"Shut up," said Sonny ' I tell you I heard some-
thing '

They stopped for a moment, Betty standing by
George's chair, George staring at his son, unwillingly
yet curiously silent Outside the house, the plowed
fields and the moonlit wood were silent The chilly
spring night was silent

'Could've swore t heard something," said Sonny,
reluctantly at last He sat back in the chair at the
kitchen table, and under the white wash of light

48

E GUBLING Dow                49

from the bright bulb in the ceiling, motion came
back to the three of them

Betty took the potato dish back to the stove and set
it down beside the burners George split his potato
with a fork He looked at Sonny's thin face

"Thai murder mystery movie tonight got your head
full of notions," he said

"Yes," said Sonny "If it was up to you, we'd never
go to town "

"It ain't going to town, I mind It's staying up all
night like this,' said the old man "Girl, where's the
butter^"

"Right in the icebox behind you,' said Sonny
"Come here and sit down, Bettv Let him get it his
own self You haven't ate a thing yourself, yet "

"I don't mind," said Betty She had a voice as soft
as the blue eyes in her small face "I'll sit in a minute "

"No, go ahead and sit down," said George "I guess
my son told me my place here on the farm I've
worked for forty years Go ahead and sit down "

"I'll get everything on the table first," said Betty
She moved about the kitchen^ bringing things to the
square, linoleum-covered table top

"I guess I'll eat and go to bed-" the old man was
beginning, when Sonny cut him off, excitedly

"Listen" Hear thap"

With the tail echo of his words still hanging m the
air, the other two, old man and young woman, seemed
to feel rather than hear something that had just ceased
It was like sensing that a sound had been, rather
than that a sound was

"What is it, Sonny^" Betty asked her husband She
stood by the stove, her apron caught up in the act of
wiping her hands

"I don't know," said Sonny, jumping suddenly to
his feet "But I'm sure as heck going to find out " He
snatched up his jacket from the back of his chair and
strode swiftly to the kitchen door

50 Gordon R. Dickson

"Wait!" cried Betty. "I'll go with you."

"Girl!" said the old man.

"Oh, just stay where you are, Dad!" she flung over
her shoulder at him. "I'll be back, I'll be back!"

Lifting a sweater from its hook near the kitchen
door, she ran out after her husband, shutting the
door behind her. On the steps she paused. Then she
made out Sonny's dark shadowy form at the far edge
of the back yard, looking over the duckpond into the
blackness of the woods behind the farmhouse. Lightly,
she ran to him.

"Sonny," she said, in a low voice, taking his arm.
"What was it?"

"Don't know," he said, frowning at the woods. He
turned his head to look down at her. "Something
smashed out there." He gestured to the woods. "The
old man giving you a specially hard time tonight?"

"Oh, he's tired," she said.

"If you'd stand up to him, he wouldn't be ordering
you around all the time like a servant."

She squeezed his arm. "I don't mind."

"Well, I mind," said Sonny. "You're my wife. not
his."

"It's that that bothers him," she said. "With your
stepmother gone, and him not able to work the way
he used to, he feels like someone extra around the
place."

"He don't have to," said Sonny.

"I know. Sonny-" she said, "what was it like-
what you heard?"

"Like a car coming, a long way off," he said. "And
then a smash. A real light smash, crackling, sort
of-like an orange crate being splintered and busting
wide open."

She looked past him, into the woods. "Out there?"
she said.

"Sounded like it."

E GUBUNG Dow              51

He started off suddenly, down the slope toward the
duckpond. She came after him.

"Maybe you better go back to the house," he said.

"No," she answered. "I want to come."

"Stay close, then," he said.

He went on, his slim shoulders bobbing in the
moonlight as he detoured around the duck pond. He
looked thin and small, but quick and dangerous like
a ferret. Betty followed, thinking how much hitler-
and yet, in other ways, how much bigger he was than
the long, heavy-jointed man, his father.

They walked into the woods. The trees were big
and had killed off all but a few straggly patches of
underbrush between them. The moonlight came
through their bare branches, filtering down in thin
shafts.

"If something's here, it ought to show," she whis-
pered at the back of his ear. The wood was only an
acre or two deep-a patch rather than a real wood.

Sonny grunted. There was silence for a moment.
Then he spoke again- "There!" he said. "Look!"

He stopped and Betty stopped, and Betty looked
forward over his shoulder. In the little cleared spot
between two big trees was something like a large,
half-shattered silver egg. Its top half was still intact,
but the bottom had broken and spread.

"What is it?" asked Betty.

But Sonny was already approaching the smashed
thing. He came up and stood beside it. It was barely
taller than his head-not more than six feet high as
it stood-and maybe eight feet through the middle.

"Funny!" he said.

Betty had caught up with him by this time. "Is it
some kind of plane?" she asked.

"Not likely," he said. Then he changed his mind.
"Might be. They got new stuff coming out all the
time nowadays." He frowned at it. "Sure looks flimsy,
doesn't it?"

52 Gordon R. Dickson

He reached out a hand to touch the cracked, silver
surface before him. It bent at his touch. Through the
whole thing ran a shiver and without warning a
strange, deep voice spoke briefly to them from the
thing's interior.

"What's that?" gasped Betty. Her eyes were big in
the moonlight which in this little open space flooded
down all around them. She and Sonny had both
drawn back at the sound; and now they stood close
together, staring.

"Leave me go," said Sonny. "I've got to look into
this. Just you stay back a bit-"

Betty released the hands that had clutched at him
all unwittingly. When he went forward, again, she
ignored his advice and stayed close beside him. Gin-
gerly, he touched the broken object once more.

Again, the voice spoke. It was as if the shattered
thing responded instinctively to his touch.

He touched it once more. Clear and sharp, for the
third time, the voice made sounds like recognizable
words, in the night.

"E Gubling Dow!"

"Don't, Sonny!" cried Betty. "Leave it alone! It
might be something dangerous- A bomb or something."

"There's something in there," said Sonny, staring
in fascination at the object.

"Maybe it's something foreign. Let's go call the
sheriff," said Betty. "Please, Sonny!"

He shook her off. "Foreign or not," he said, "there's
something in there. I want to know what it is."

"Don't you know better!" she cried in agony.
"They've got bombs and terrible things nowadays.
It's not your business to look into things like this."

"Now you shut up," said Sonny. But he did not say
it angrily. "This is my farm-"

"It is not! It's your dad's!"

"Mine as much as his. And I got a right to look in
what comes onto it, if I want. Now you stay back."

E GUBLING Dow                53

"I won't," she said. "If you're going to do some-
thing crazy like that I'm going to be right with you."

"All right," Sonny said. "Just don't you get in the
way."

He approached the object again; and, taking the
two edges of a crack, forced them apart. The metai, if
it was metai, of the shell tore slowly, like heavy
cardboard, but without sound. When he had sepa-
rated the two edges of the crack enough, he thrust
his head and shoulders inside.

A deep "E Gubling Dow" sounded from the interior
and after a second, Sonny's voice followed, sounding
muffled and a little hollow.

"Something here, all right. Pull that right edge
back, Betty, while I lift it out."

Betty hurried to obey. The thin bright metal felt
cool and flimsy in her fingers.

Sonny backed out, holding something large and
curved in his arms. When he got it out into the
moonlight, they saw that it was a round thing, per-
haps a little larger than a basketball, but flattened as
if by ifs own weight, and with an odd crease diago-
nally across its top.

"Brace or something had it pinned in," said Sonny.
"I--
Abruptly, in the tricky moonlight, a dimple seemed
to appear near the top of the thing. The dimple deep-
ened, widened, and spoke suddenly, the same words
they had heard before.

"E Gubling Dow."

Betty gave a little throat-caught shriek, and backed
off.

"It's alive!" she cried.

"Of course it's alive," said Sonny. The mouth con-
tracted and all but disappeared. "Don't scare your-
self, honey. Something like this can't hurt nobody.
Here, feel it."

Betty backed away.

54 Gordon R. Dickson

"Come on," urged Sonny. His hands, used to the
animals of the farm, held it lightly and surely. "Noth-
ing slimy or bad about it. It's light as a balloon, darn
near."

"Put it down and we'll go call the sheriff," said
Betty, tremulously.

"Feel it," commanded Sonny.

Reluctantly, Betty approached and reached out
shrinking fingertips. Her first touch on the creature
could have been no more than the brush of a feather.
When it neither moved nor spoke, she gained cour-
age, and drew closer, running her fingers more cer-
tainly over its surface.

"It feels-funny." she said. "Sort of satiny-smooth,
and warm."

"Here, hold it," said Sonny. "Nothing to it, hardly."

Hesitantly, she took it and exclaimed in surprise.

"It's like a bubble!" she cried. "Like a big, warm
bubble."

Sonny reached out and took the strange object
back from her.

"We'll carry it up to the house," he said. "Then we
can call the sheriff. There's something special about
this." And he started off back toward the house.

"What do you suppose it is, Sonny?" asked Betty,
following close behind him.

"Can't tell," said Sonny.

"Where do you suppose it came from?"

"Through the air, someplace, that's for sure," said
Sonny. "That thing it was in wasn't built for moving
along the ground."

"They do all sorts of secret things, nowadays," said
Betty. "Maybe the army sent it out, or the air force.
or something. Sonny-"

"What?"

"You don't suppose it might be from-someplace
else? Like those flying saucers, things like that?"

E GUBLING Dow

55

Sonny grunted. For a minute he did not answer;

and they walked along in silence.

"I was thinking about that," he said, finally.

"What?" asked Betty.

"I was thinking," he said. "I don't guess I'll call
the sheriff after all. I think maybe I'll call the FBI."

"The FBL"

"I guess so."

Betty looked at her husband with wide eyes.

"If this is something special," said Sonny, "the FBI
would know better how to handle it. Besides, there
might be something they wanted to keep secret."

"But-" Betty stumbled. "You can't just phone."

"Why not?" he countered. "They're in the city phone
book, just like everything else."

They had reached the edge of the wood and emerged
into full moonlight again. Under its beams, the crea-
ture in Sonny's arms seemed to gleam and glow. The
dimple mouth sprang suddenly into existence, wid-
ened and spoke.

"£ Gublmg Dow."

They stopped at the sound of it, staring at each
other.

"This's nothing for the sheriff," said Sonny.

Betty looked from him to the creature, in which
the mouth had all but vanished again. She followed
Sonny back across the yard and up the back steps of
the farmhouse.

"Open the door for me," ordered Sonny. She moved
past him, pulled open the screen door, pushed open
the back door, and stood holding both doors wide,
looking into the kitchen where the old man still sat
at table, a piece of cold roast pork on his fork. He put
it down when he saw her and lifted his head.

"It's going on two o'clock in the morning," he said.
"If you're done traipsing all over the woods-" He
broke off suddenly as Sonny came in, carrying the

56 Gordon R. Dickson

creature. His creased face hardened in surprise.
"What's that?"

"Something," said Sonny, briefly. He carried it
across to one of the kitchen chairs and set it down on
the chair's seat. It flattened a little and lay still
without rolling. He went on into the living room and
George and Betty could hear him on the phone, ask-
ing the local operator for the city number of the FBI.

George stared at the creature on the chair. Under
the bright illumination of the electric light in the
kitchen, its rounding shape ran with shifting colors.
It lay still. Only the creased spot across its top was
dark and colorless.

"Girl!" said the old man, finding his voice, finally.
"What is that?"

"I don't know, Dad," she said. She stood facing
him, feeling defensive, the edge of the sink pressing
into the small of her back. "It was in something that
came down and crashed back in our woods."

"What's it doing in my house?"

"Sonny brought it," she said.

"I know he brought it. I want to know what it is,
and what it's doing here. And what's that Sonny's
calling for on the phone?"

"The FBI."

"The FBI?" George stared at her. "Has he gone
crazy? Has he gone clear out of his head?" The old
man pushed himself suddenly back in his chair and
stood up. With long, heavy strides, he crossed to the
chair in which the creature lay; and reached out a
knobby forefinger toward it.

Before he could touch it, the dimple appeared and
widened. The creature spoke.

"E Gubling Dow."

George jerked his finger back as if it had been
bitten. He backed away from the chair, his face an-
gry and scared.

"It's alive!" he said.

E GUBLING Dow                57

"Yes, Dad," began Betty. "It spoke like that before."

"It's alive\" repeated the old man, hoarsely.

"Dad-"

"What kind of thing is it?"

Betty opened her mouth; but she could think of
nothing to say. At that moment, however. Sonny
came back from the living room.

"They said they'd send someone out," he said. He
grinned, briefly. "Man on the phone sounded tike he
thought I was drunk, at first."

"Richard!" said George. "Richard! What have you
brought into this house?"

At the unusual use of his given name, Sonny turned
slowly. For the first time, he noticed the wild stare in
the older man's eyes.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked. "It's nothing,
Dad. Just something from a ship of some kind that
crashed into the woods."

"It ain't natural," said his father. "Whatever it is,
it ain't natural, nor fit, nor holy. Look at it! And it's
alive!"

"Well, why not?" demanded Sonny. "Why shouldn't
there be something like that and alive? Just because
it don't look-"

"Where did it come from?"

"Some sort of flying ship from someplace smashed
up back in the woods."

"It's a devil creature. Something like that was never
meant to exist on the good earth."

Sonny stared at his father. "Now, what're you get-
ting all worked up for?" he said, gently. "It don't
have to be so terrible just because it's different."

"I tell you it ain't right! Things like that just ain't
right!" cried George. He stared frantically from Sonny
to Betty. "Girl, you shouldn't have let him do it. You
shouldn't 'a let him bring it home."

"Dad-" began Betty.

58 Gordon R. Dickson

Sonny went past her and up to his father and took
him by the arms.

"Here, you sit down now," he said, pushing the oid
man easily into a chair. "There's no sense you get-
ting all worked up like that. It's just some strange
kind of animal, that's all."

"No, it ain't!" shouted the old man. "It ain't even
an animal. It's something different."

"And what if it is?" answered Sonny. "Maybe that
was what they call a saucer it was in, and it's from
Mars or the moon or something. That don't make it
something ungodly. Besides, the man is coming to
take it anyhow."

"You shouldn't ought to let it live," said George in,
a low, dead voice, staring across the room at it.

"Dad-" said Betty, coming across the room to
him. She put a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it
soothingly back and forth. "It can't hurt anyone. All
it can do is talk a little. And I think it's asking for
help. See-" she pointed to the dark crease across it.
"I think it's hurt."

"That's where that brace pinched it," said Sonny.
He walked over and examined the crease. "I don't
suppose there's anything we can do."

"Kill it," said George.

"Now you listen to me!" flashed Sonny, raising his
head and looking across at his father. "We aren't
going to touch this thing. It ain't up to us to touch it.
And anyway it's done us no harm and I don't believe
in lifting any hand against any living thing until it
does!"

"It ain't right," said the old man, stubbornly.

"It ain't right-it ain't right," echoed Sonny, exas-
perated. "That all you can say? What's not right
about it?"

"What ain't right about it?" The old man straight-
ened up, his eyes wide and angry, his face flushed.
"I'll tell you what, boy! This world's been going to

E GUBLING Dow                59

hell for some time now. Everybody playing hob with
things that ought to be left be. Wars and destruction.
Plague and pestilence. They got to monkey with the
weather.

"They got to make atomic bombs which ain't no
more nor less than letting loose hellfire on Earth.
Every day they find something new to cut a man up
for, or pump him full of serum for, or take him to
court for. And that there"-he pointed a shaking
finger at the round creature-"that's the end of it ail.
Something that was never meant to be on this earth
and there it is."

Sonny stared at his father. "This's not like you," he
said, slowly.

"Not like me?" cried George.

"This roaring around about science and progress
and all. I notice you ain't kicking the tractor out of
the barn for no horses!"

The old man opened his mouth, then abruptly
clamped it shut again and stood glaring at his son.
Sonny looked at him a moment, then went on.

"Never heard you say nothing against hybrid corn.
Or Black Angus cattle. How come you're so hot un-
der the collar about this?" and he jerked a thumb at
the creature.

"They're different!" cried George. "They're natural
animals. This-talks."

"Just makes a noise, is all."

"Noise, my foot!" said George. "That's talk. as clear
as a man makes. That thing can talk. And it can
listen. It's laying over there listening to every word
we say right now."

Sonny half-turned to look at the creature, his eyes
narrowing.

"You said it come in a ship, didn't you?" demanded
the old man. "They don't put animals in to fly ships."

"The Russians sent a dog up, didn't they? News-

60 Gordon R. Dickson

paper said we sent some monkeys up in rockets. The
army or the navy or something did."

"Dogs and monkeys!" The old man's scorn was
crushing. "That ain't no monkey, laying there watch-
ing us like that, speaking words like a human."

"Watching!" said Sonny. "It's got no eyes. But all
right, supposing it is. Supposing it's smart as a man,
Supposing it come all the way from some star we
never even heard of. What about it?"

"What about it? I'll tell you what about it when
you answer me one question," said George. "What's
it come for? What's it come all the way to the Earth,
here, to the U.S.A., to our farm and our woods and
our house for?"

Sonny frowned. In the moment's silence, almost as
if it was in answer to the old man's question, the
dimple formed once more on the creature's smooth
surface; and it spoke again.

"E Gubling-Dow," it said.

There was the slightest of pauses between the sec-
ond and the last word, this time. It impressed itself
on the three listeners with the particular sharpness
of something at once opposite and ominous. In the
pause following, Betty spoke tremblingly.

"Sonny," she said. "Sonny-I think it's getting
worse."

"Worse?" echoed Sonny. He took a step over to the
creature and looked down at it. "What d'you mean?"

Betty's finger indicated the crease on the crea-
ture's top, without touching it.

"See-it's getting darker around there," she said.
"And it sounded kind of-well, weak."

Sonny examined it. After a moment, he raised an
angry face in the direction of his father.

"Now you see!" he said. "You with all your yelling
about what a terrible thing it is. It hurt itself in that
crash- Maybe it's hurt bad. You sitting there worry-

E GUBLING Dow                61

ing about it, when it's not only harmless but prob'ly
dying."

"It won't die," said the old man, raising his head.
"Critters of that sort don't die."

"Lot you know about it," grumbled Sonny, bend-
ing over the creature. "Betty, there ought to be some-
thing we could do for it."

"I don't know, Sonny," said Betty, standing gazing
at it. "1 don't know what anyone could do for some-
thing like that."

"That brace must have pinched it bad inside, maybe
it broke something. Maybe-" he broke off. suddenly
aware of his father close behind him, peering over
his shoulder. He turned. The old man was staring in
fascination at the creature.

"It can't die," said the old man again. But there
was doubt in his voice for the first time.

"Why can't it?" demanded Sonny sharply.

The old man shook his head, but said nothing. He
continued to gaze at the creature, which, as if it was
aware of their concentrated attention upon it, opened
its dimple of a mouth once more.

"E . .. Gubling ... Dow," it said.

There was no doubt that the pauses between the
words-if they were words-were longer than they
had been before. Though nothing else had changed,
neither the tone nor the accent with which the words
were spoken, the words came slowly, as if they were
being pushed out by unusual effort.

"How soon will the man be here?" asked Betty.

"He said in an hour or two."

"Be sun-up in an hour or two," said the old man.
"After three now. No sort of hours to stay up to." His
voice was mechanical and absent. He remained, star-
ing at the creature.

Sonny and Betty paid no attention.

"Do you think they can do something for it when
they come?" Betty said.

62 Gordon R. Dickson

"Don't know," frowned Sonny. "Take it in to the
hospital, I guess. Take an X ray there and see what's
wrong. I don't know."

"It'd be too bad if it-didn't last," said Betty.

"Yeah," said Sonny.

There was a moment's silence in the white-lit
kitchen.

"You don't suppose-" said Betty. "You don't sup-
pose it's something important it's trying to tell us?"
She looked up into Sonny's face as if for reassurance.

Sonny shook his head.

"No telling," he said.

"What I say is," broke in George suddenly. "It
must've come for some reason-" He turned to his
son. "How far off are them stars?"

"Hundreds of millions of miles," replied Sonny,
without turning his head.

Air hissed scornfully in between the old man's teeth.
"You're crazy boy," he said. "It can't be nothing like
that."

"Look in the almanac if you don't believe me,"
said Sonny.

"Huh!" said George; but he turned and went across
to the kitchen shelf where the current issue of the
almanac stood beside Betty's cookbooks.

"I just wish we could do something for it," said
Betty.

"I guess we could put him on a pillow or some-
thing," said Sonny

Betty turned and went out of the room. Behind
Sonny, the old man's feet shuffled across the kitchen
floor.

"1 can't find it in here. Sonny," he said. pushing
the almanac into his son's hands. "Where do you find
figures like that?"

Sonny took it, ran through the index and turned to
the almanac's interior.

"Here you are," he said. " 'The Planets and the

E GUBLING Dow                63

Solar System. Name of planet-Mercury-approxi-
mate distance from Earth in millions of miles-
maximum one thirty-six.' That's a hundred and
thirty-six million miles. 'Minimum, fifty-' That's fifty
million and so on. And the planets ain't stars. Stars
are much further off. Read it for yourself, there. Maybe
it came from a planet, maybe a star."

He handed the book back to the old man, who took
it numbly and stared at the open page.

"That can't be right," he said. "That just can't be
right. Couldn't anything come that far. Why, do you
know how far a million miles is, Sonny?"

"If they figure we can do it one of these days, no
reason this couldn't have," said Sonny.

Betty came back with the pillow.

"Lift it real gentiy, Sonny," she said. Sonny lifted.
She slid the pillow underneath the creature. It shiv-
ered, but said nothing-

"All that way-" the old man was mumbling- "What
for?"

"Maybe," said Betty, hesitantly, "it came to tell us
something."

"Tell us what?" demanded George, turning to her.

"I don't know. But the way it says E Gub-whatever
it is-over and over again-"

"Sonny," George turned to his son, "do you guess
that's it?"

"Don't know," said Sonny, gazing at the now quiet
creature.

"E-" it said. "Gubling-Dow."

"I'm going to call that FBI office again," said Sonny.
"Maybe I could meet them halfway or some such
thing."

He went into the living room; and they heard him
speaking to the operator. George turned to Betty.

"Girl-" he said, in a low voice. "Girl, I'm not as
young as 1 used to be. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but

64              Gordon R. Dicksun

it's hard for me-all these new things. And I don't
know about this. I just don't know."

She came over to him and took his hand, sympa-
thetically.

"You don't like it either," he said, looking up at
her. "I know you don't like it, either."

She stroked his shoulder, reassuringly.

"Hush, Dad," she said. But her voice trembled a
little. "Hush. I was scared at first, too- But now I'm
just sorry for it. being hurt and all."

"What's it trying to say to us?" said the old man.
"I can't talk to him. He don't listen to me anymore.
But you know how I feel, girl. I worked for my uncle
thirty years before I got this place- I tried to build it
into something permanent over forty years here. And
now that I got it, the world seems to be going to
pieces all around me. You understand me, girl. I
don't mean to be ornery and cranky all the time. I
just don't feel right with things anymore."

"Hush, Dad," she said. "We know."

"You do," he answered. "But does he? He's alt one
piece, that boy. All one tight little package. Can't
nobody tei! what he thinks or feels or sees. Most of
the time I think he don't care. I care. You care." He
looked up at the girl suddenly with a strange expres-
sion on his lined face. "I know and I bet he don't
even. You're expecting, ain't you?"

"Shhh!" said the girl. But this time there was an
urgency to her hushing. "I don't know-I mean, I'm
not sure. I want to see the doctor first before I say
anything. I was going today in town, but I didn't get
the chance."

"You see?" mumbled George. "You and a child in
you. And me-"

"E .. ." said the creature, slowly and heavily,
"Gubling . . . Doooow."

The last word drew out like a disk on a record

E GUBLING Dow               65

player slowing down. They both looked over at the
creature where it lav still.

"And it," said George.

Sonny came back into the kitchen, walking fast, as
he always did, on his toes.

"Man's already left," he announced. "How is he?"

He bent over the creature. He shook his head. The
area around the crease had darkened and enlarged
and the colors that played over the surface of the
sphere seemed to have slowed.

"Betty," he said, straightening up. "Let's have some
coffee. That man ought to be here in an hour. City's
unty tortv miles away."

"If he doesn't get lost," put in George.

Sunny looked at his father. "He won't," he said,
shortly.

Betty went to the stove and picked up the coffee
pot. The coffee in it was old. She poured it out and
put tresh water on. Then she came back and sat
down at the table.

They sat now, all three of them, for Sonny had
taken a seat at the table, top; and his lather was
seated across from him. Sonny looked up at the old
man.

"You tired. Dad?" he said. "No sense vou're staying
up unless you want to."

"I'm waiting," said George.

A silence fell between them. After a while, the
coffee pot began to sing above the burner and Betty
got up to turn the current off. Still none of them said
anything. Betty went to the cupboard and came out
with fresh cups. She placed one before each of the
men and filled it up. Then she began, mechanically,
to clear the table.

"Leave that go until morning, why don't vou?"
said Sonny, looking up at her.

"I hate to get up to a dirty kitchen." she said "It's
no trouble-now."

66 Gordon R. Dickson

He turned his gaze away from her, and back to the
creature. Both men sat drinking their coffee and
watching it. Their faces were stil! above the table,
like the busts of old Roman Senators. Sonny's nar-
row, smallboned features were straining a little
forward-like action suspended-with an almost pred-
atory brightness as he watched the creature. His fa-
ther's face was stiller, more settled and heavy, the
wrinkled skin looking thick, like old leather weath-
ered by time, the immobility of age holding it with a
solid motionlessness. The electric clock above the
sink moved noiselessly, its little purring of gears lost
in the water-muted clatter of the dishes, as Betty
washed up.

Three times, as the hour went by, the creature
cleared its throat as if to speak, but no full words
came out.

"It's going," said the old man, suddenly.

This abrupt speaking of what was in all their minds
made the other two look quickly over at him.

"Maybe not," said Sonny, sharply.

The old man raised his head and looked Sonny
squarely in the eye.

"Some things you can tell me, boy," he said. "But
not that. I know when something's birthing, and when
it's dying."

Sonny opened his mouth as if to retort, closed it
again, then opened it once more.

"You'd be glad to see that, wouldn't you?" he asked.

The old man rubbed his hands together.

"Don't know," he said. "Guess we're better off with-
out it."

"Ever figure it might be like a man, someplace
else?" said Sonny. "A man with his insides smashed,
dying in some place strange with things like that
around him, just watching and not knowing what to
do?"

The old man sighed and turned his head away. On

E GL'BLING Dow                 67

the window beside him the blind was pulled. He
reached out with one long arm and raised it part
way.

"Coming on to dawn," he said.

The first pale, grayish-white tight of morning was
Hooding across the fields. It cast its illumination in
through the window, making the electric light in the
ceiling suddenly yellow and garish.

Abruptly, the creature shivered and rocked a little
on its pillow. The dimple mouth fluttered open and
shut, open and shut, and a sudden riot of wild colors,
unlike anything they had seen before, flamed wildly
over its surface.

"£ GUBLING DOW!" it said; and then. very fast,
three times, so that the sounds were all run together,
"E Gubling Dow'. E Gubling Dow! E Gubling Dow!"

The dimple sagged half open; and it went silent.
The colors faded like a momentary flush, faded into
gray and from there to a sickly white, like a dead
fish, cast up on'a shoreline, bleaching in the sun. The
old man sighed heavily, and the ghost of an echo
came from Betty. Sonny cussed suddenly, in a low,
bitterly furious voice; and, getting up, stalked across
the room and out the back door. The door slammed
behind him.

The old man and the girl looked at each other.

"What ails the boy?" cried George.

"I don't know!" said Betty. She hurried across to
the door, the old man up and lumbering behind her.
She pulled it open and they stepped out onto the
back stoop. Three steps down, Sonny stood beluw
them, his back to them, his fists clenched at his side,
staring into the rising sun. At the sound of the open-
ing door, he whirled to face them.

"Sonny'" cried Betty. "Sonny, what is it?"

He glared at them, half-raising his fists, in a furi-
ous, helpless geslure-

68

Gordon R. Dickson
he shouted. "It don't mean nothing to

"You-"

you! All you want is your farms or your babies. You
don't know what goes on in the inside of a live and
living man!"

The Stranger

TT/e will not consider the odds involved in their
W finding the stranger, for the odds were impossible.

They came down to rest their tubes on an un-
named planet of a little-known star in the Buckhorn
Cluster. Because they were tired from weeks in space,
they came in without looking. They circled the planet
once and spiraled down to an open patch of sand
between two rocky cliffs. Only then did they see the
other ship.

Jeff Wadley was at the controls and his eyes wid-
ened when he saw it. But his fingers did not hesitate
on the controls, for a deep-space starship is not the
kind of vehicle that can change its mind about land-
ing once it is within half a mile of the ground. He
brought the Emerald Girl in smoothly to a stop not
five hundred feet from the stranger. Then he sat
back.

"Dad," he said flatly, into the intercom, "swing the
turret!"

Peter Wadley, up in the instrument room, had al-
ready seen the strange ship, and the heavy twin bar-
rels of the automatic rifles were depressing to cover.
Jeff leaned forward to the communicator.

69

70 Gordon R. Dickson

"Identify yourself!" The tight beam in Common Code
snapped across the little stretch of open sand to the
cliff against which the other seemed to nestle. "We
are the mining ship Emerald Girl, Earth license, five
hundred and eighty-two days out ofArcturus Station.
Identify yourself!"

There were steps behind Jeff, and Peter Wadley
came to stand behind his son's tense back.

"Do they answer, Jeff?"

"No.

"Identify yourself. Identify yourself! Identify yourself!"

The angry demand crackled and arced invisibly
across the space between both vessels. And there was
no answer.

Jeff sat back from the communicator. The palms of
his hands were wet and he wiped them on the cloth
of his breeches.

"Let's get out of here," he said nervously.

"And leave him?" His father's lean forefinger indi-
cated the strange silent ship.

"Why not?" Jeff jerked his face up. "We're no sal-
vage outfit or Government exploration unit."

There was a moment of tenseness between them.
The older man's face tightened.

"We'd better look into it." he said.

"Are you crazy?" blazed Jeff. "It was here when we
came. It'll be here if we leave. Let's get going. We
can report it if you want. Let the Federal ships
investigate."

"Maybe, it just landed," his father said evenly.
"Maybe it's in trouble."

"What if it is?" Jeff insisted. "Don't you realize
we're a sitting target here? And what do you think it
is-Aunt Susie's runabout? Look at it!" And with a
savage flip of his hand he shoved the magnification
of the viewing screen up so that the other ship seemed
to loom up a handsbreadth beyond their walls.

It was an unnecessary gesture. There was no mis-

THE STRANCF-R                 71

taking that the lines of the other ship were foreign to
any they had ever seen. It was big; not outlandishly
big, but bigger than the Emerald Girl. and bulb-shaped
with most of its bulk in front. There was no sign of
ports or airlocks, only a few stubby fins, which pro-
jected forlornly from the body at an angle of some
thirty degrees.

And from its silence and immobility, its strange
inhuman lines, a cold air of alien menace seemed to
reach out to chill the two watching men.

"Well?" challenged Jeff. But the older man was
not listening.

"The radarcamera," he said, half to himself. He
turned on his heel and stalked off. Jeff, sitting tensely
in his chair, heard his father's footsteps die away. to
be succeeded seconds later by the distant clumsy
sounds of a man getting into a spacesuit. Jeff swore,
and jumping to his feet, ran to the airlock. His fa-
ther, radarcamera at his feet. was already half-dressed
to go outside.

"You aren't going out there?" he asked incredulously.

The older man nodded and picked up his fishbowl
helmet. Jeff's face twisted in dismay.

"I won't let you!" he hatf-shouted. "You're risking
your life and I can't navigate the ship without you."

Helmet in hand, his father paused, the deep-graved
lines of his face stiffening.

"I'm still master of this ship!" he said curtly. "Alien
or not that other ship may need assistance. By
intraspace law I'm obliged to give it. If you're wor-
ried, cover me from the gun turret." He dropped the
helmet over his head, cutting Jeff off from further
protest.

Seething with mixed fear and anger, Jeff turned
abruptly and climbed hurriedly to the gun turret.
The twin barrels of the rifles were already centered
on their target, which the aiming screen showed,
together with the area between the two vessels and a

72

Gordon R. Dickson

portion of the Emerald Girl's airlock, which projected
from her side. As Jeff watched, the outer lock swung
open and a gray, space-suited figure raced for the
protection of the bow. It was a dash of no more than
five seconds duration, but to Jeff it seemed that his
father took an eternity to reach safety.

He reached for the microphone on the ship's cir-
cuit and pulled it to him.

"All right, Dad?" In spite of himself, Jeff's voice
was still ragged with anger.

"Fine, Jeff," his father's voice came back in unper-
turbed tones- "I'm well shielded and I can get good,
clean shots at every part other."

"Let me know when you're ready to start back,"
said Jeff, and shoved the microphone away from him.

He sat back and lit a cigarette, but his eyes contin-
ued to watch the other ship as a man might watch a
dud bomb which has not yet been disarmed. After a
while, he noticed his fingers were shaking, and he
laid the cigarette carefully down in the ashtray.

When he comes back, thought Jeff, it'll be time.
We'll have this thing out then. He's become some
sort of a religious fanatic, and he doesn't know it.
How a man who's been all over hell and seen the
worst sides of fifty different races in as many years
can think of them all as lovable human children, I
don't know. But, know it or not, this taking of chances
has got to stop someplace; and right here is the best
place of all. When he gets back-if he gets back-
we're taking off. And if he doesn't get back . . . I'll

blow that bloody bastard over there into so many
bits . - .

"Coming in, Jeff," his father's voice on the speaker
interrupted him.

Jeff leaned forward, his hands on the trips of the
rifles; the small gray figure suddenly shot back to the
protection of the airlock, which snapped shut behind

THE STRANGER

73

it. Then, he took a deep breath, stood up, and wiped
the perspiration from his forehead. He went down to
the instrument room

Peter Wadley was already out of his suit and devel-
oping the pictures. Jeff picked them up as they came
off the roll, damp and soft to the touch.

"I can't tell much," he said, holding them up to the
light.

"There's a great deal of overlap," his father an-
swered- "We're going to have to section and fit the
pieces together like a jigsaw puzzle. Wait'11 I'm
through here."

For about five minutes more, pictures continued to
come off the roll. Then Peter picked up a pair of
scissors and arranged the prints in their proper
sequence.

"Clear the table," he told Jeff, "and fit these to-
gether as I hand them to you."

For a little while longer, they worked in silence.
Then Peter laid down his scissors.

"That's all," he said. "Now, what have we got?"

"I don't know," answered Jeff, bewilderment in his

"fr

voice. "It looks like nothing I veever seen."

Peter stepped up to the table and squinted at the
shadowy films with eyes practiced in reading rock
formations. He shook his head.

"It is strange," he said, finally.

"Do you see what I see?" demanded Jeff. "There's
no real crew space. There's this one spot-up front"-
he indicated it with his finger-"that's about as big
as a good-sized closet. And nothing more than that-
except corridors about twenty inches in diameter
running from it to points all over the ship. She must
be flown by a crew of midgets."

"Midgets," echoed the older man, thoughtfully. "I
never heard of an intelligent race that small."

"Then they're something new," said Jeff, with a
shrug of his shoulders.

74 Gordon R. Dickson

"No," said his father, slowly. "I don't remember
when or where I heard it, but there's some reason
why you couldn't have an intelligent race much
smaller than a good-sized dug. It has something to
do with the fact that they grow in size as their devel-
oping intelligence gives them an increasing advan-
tage over their environment."

"Here's the evidence," Jeff answered, tapping the
film with one finger.

"No." Pete was bending over the picture fragments
again. "Look at these things in the corridor. They're
obviously controls."

Jeff looked.

"I see what you mean," he said at last. "If there's
any similarity betwen their mechanical system and
ours, these controls are built for somebody pretty
big. But look how they're scattered all over the ship.
There's a good fifteen or twenty different groups of
instruments and other things. That means a number
of crew members; and you simply can't put a num-
ber of large crew members in those little corridors."

"There's a large amount of total space," Pete be-
gan. Then, suddenly a faint tremor ran through the
ship. Jeff leaped for the screen and his father moved
over <o stand behind him.

"Good Lord," said Jeff, "look at her."

The other ship shook suddenly and rolled slightly
to one side. Some unseen center of gravity pulled her
back to her original position. She hesitated a mo-
ment, and then tried again, with the same results.
She lay quiescent.

Jeff pounced on his radiation drum graph-

"What does il say?" Peter asked.

Jeff shook his head in astonishment. "Nothing," he
answered, "just nothing at all."

"Nothing?" Peter came over to take a look at the
graph himself. It was as Jeff had said. The line trac-

THE STRANGER

75

ing the white surface of the graph was straight and
undisturbed.

"But that's impossible." Peter frowned.

The two men turned back to the screen. As they
watched, one final shudder shook the strange ship,
and then, like a stranded whale who has given up
hope, it lay still.

"My God!" said Pete, and Jeff turned to him in
astonishment. It was the closest to profanity his fa-
ther had come in twenty years. "Jeff, do you know
what I think? 1 think that ship is manned by just one
great big creature-like a giant squid. That's why no
radiation registered. He was trying to move his ship
by sheer strength."

Jeff stared at his father.

"You're crazy," was all he could manage to say.
"Why, something big enough to shake that ship would
have to fill every inch of space inside it. You can't
live in a space ship that way."

"That's right," Pete answered. He clamped his hand
on Jeff's shoulder excitedly and led him back to the
jigsaw puzzle on the table. ^

"If I'm right," he said, "that's, no ship at all as we
understand it, but some sort of a space-going suit for
something terrifically large. Something like a giant
squid, as I said, or some other long-tentacled crea-
ture. His body would lie here-in this space you said
was about the size of a closet-and his tentacles, or
whatever they are, would reach out in these corri-
dors to the various groups of instruments."

Jeff frowned.

"It sounds sensible," he muttered. "And in any
case, he wouldn't be able to get outside his ship to fix
anything that went wrong. And I take it there is
something wrong, or else he wouldn't be jumping
around inside."

"Jeff," Pete said, "I'm going outside to take a close
look at him."

76

Gordon R. Dickson

Jeff's head snapped up from the jigsaw puzzle. The
old, sick fear had come back. It washed over him like
a wave.

"Why?" he demanded harshly.

"To see if I can find out what's wrong with his
ship," said Pete over his shoulder as he went to the
airlock. "Coming?"

"Wait!" cried Jeff. He stood up and followed his
father. For a moment there, they stood facing each
other, two tall men with less apparent physical dif-
ference between them than their ages might indicate,
poised on the brink of an open break.

"Wait," said Jeff again, and now his voice was
lower, more under control. "Dad, there's no point in
playing around any longer. You aren't going to be
satisfied just to look around out there and then leave.
You're going to do something. And if that's it I want
to know now."

There was a moment's silence; then Pete turned
back to Jeff, his face set.

"That's right," he said. "I don't have to look. I
know what's wrong- And I know what I'm going to
do about it. There's a living intelligence trapped in
that space-thing as you and I might be trapped. I can
set it free with two of our motor jacks. If you've got
one inkling of what it means to be ignored when
you're caught like that, you'll help me. If not, I'm
taking two jacks out the airlock and you can fire the
motors and take off and be damned to you."

Between the two big men the tension built and
strained and broke. Jeff let out a ragged sigh.

"All right," he said. "I'm with you."

"Good," said the older man, and there was new life
in his voice. "Get your suit on. I'll explain as we
dress.

"The trouble with our friend there is that he's
fallen over- I see you don't understand, Jeff. Well,

THE STRANGER                 77

this ship of ours lands on her belly. We've got booster
rockets all over the hull to correct our landing angle.
But ships weren't always that way. They used to
have to sit down on their tail. There's no furrow
where that ship landed, only a circular blasted spot,
so it figures. Maybe some of his mechanism went
wrong at the last minute.

"At any rate, I'm betting that if we get him upright
again, he can take care of himself from there on out.
So you and I are going to go out there with a couple
of jacks and see if we can't jack him back up into
position."

The sand was thick and heavy. The walk over to
the other ship was tedious, with the heavy jacks
weighing them down. They reached the alien hull,
paused a moment to get their breath and then at-
tached the magnetic grapples to the skin of the ship
at two points on opposite sides of the hull and roughly
a fourth of the way up from the rocket tubes.

It was hard to anchor the jacks in the soft sand.
They finally found it necessary to dig them in some
three or four feet to a layer of rock that underlay the
sand. Then, when everything was ready, they took
their stations, each at a jack, and Pete called to Jeff
on the helmet set.

"All ready? Start your motor."

Jeff reached down and flicked a switch. The tiny,
powerful jack motor began to spin, and the jack base
settled more solidly against its rocky bed. When he
was sure that it would not slip, he left it, and went
around the rockets to stand by his father.

His face was gray.

"Well," said Peter tensely, "up she goes."

The nose of the alien ship was rising slowly from
the sand. It quivered softly from some motion inside
the ship.

78 Gordon R. Dickson

"Yes," said Jeff, "up she goes." His words were flat
and dull. Pete turned to look at him.

"Scared, son?" he asked. Jeff's !ips parted, closed
and opened again.

"You know how we stand," he said, dully. "I've
heard what you said from other men, but never from
an alien. Most of the ones we know hiE first, and talk
afterward. You know that once this ship is on its feet
we're at his mercy. Just his rocket blasts alone could
kill us; and there won't be time to get back to the
Girl"

The alien was now at an angle of forty-five degrees.
The little jacks stretched steadily, pushing their thin,
stiff arms against the strange hull. Sand dripped
from the rising ship.

"Yes, Jeff," Pete said. "I know. But the important
thing isn't what he does, but what we do. The fact
that we've helped him-can't you see it that way,
son ?''

Jeff shook his head in bewilderment.

"I don't know," he said helplessly. "I just don't
know."

The ship was now nearly upright. Suddenly, with
an abruptness that startled both men, it shook itself
free of the jacks and teetered free for a second, before
coming to rest, its nose pointing straight up.

"Here it goes," said Pete, a tinge of excitement in
his voice. They moved back some yards to be out of
the way of the takeoff blast. Suddenly the ground
trembled under their feet. Pete put his hand on the
younger man's shoulder.

"Here it goes," he repeated, in a whisper.

Flame burst abruptly from the base of the ship. It
was warming up its tubes. Slowly the flame puffed
out from its base and it began to rise.

Jeff shook suddenly with an uncontrollable shud-
der. His voice came to Pete through the earphones,
starklv afraid.

THE STRANGER                79

"Now what?" he cried. "What'll he do now?"

Pete's grip tightened on his shoulder,

"Steady boy."

The ship was rising. Up it went, and up, until it
was the size of a man's little finger, a liny sliver of
silver against the black backdrop of the sky. Then,
inexplicably, it halted and began to reverse itself.

Slowly it turned, until the blunt nose pointed to-
ward them. Jeff's hoarse breathing was loud in his
helmet. Now it comes, he thought, and his muscles
tensed.

A long minute flowed by and still the alien hung
there. Then, abruptly it went into a series of idiotic
gyrations; it twisted and turned, and spun around,
swinging its fiery trail of rocket gases like a luminous
tall in the darkness. Then, just as abruptly, it re-
versed once more, so that its head was away from
them: in the twinkling of a moment it was gone.

Pete sighed, a deep, ragged sigh.

"Did you see it, boy?" he cried. "Did you see it?"

"I saw." Jeff's voice was filled with a new awe.
"Now I get it. He wasn't swe-he didn't know we
were really trying to help him until we let him get
all the way out there by himself. Then he knew he
was free. That's why he wouldn't answer before."

"Sure, Jeff, sure;" said the older man, a note of
triumph in his voice. "But that's not what I mean.
Did you notice all those contortions he was going
through up there? What did they remind you of?"

There was a moment of silence, then the words
came, at first slowly, then in a rush from Jeff's lips.

"Like a puppy," he said, haltingly, stumbling over
the wonder of it. "Like a puppy wagging its tail."

And the light of a new understanding broke sud-
denly in his eyes.

"Dad!" said Jeff, turning to his father. "Dad! Do
you know what I think? I think we've made a friend."

Gordon R Oickson

80

And the two men stood there, side by side, looking
into the blackness of space where an odd-shaped
spacecraft had vanished. It, they felt, was on its way
home.

And they were right. Moreover, It was hurrying.

For It had a story to tell.

The Friendly Man

Mark Toren was very surprised to find someone
waiting for him.

The awaiter was a young, pleasant-looking man
wearing an open-throated sports shirt with a pipe in
his mouth. He took the pipe from his mouth to wave
cheerfully and pointed through a doorway into what
seemed a rather pleasant living room.

"Come in," he said. "Come in, and make yourself
at home."

Wondering, Mark followed him in. This was not
according to what he had conceived as regulations.
Did they have a reception for all visitors from time?

He looked around the room wonderingly as he took
a chair It looked like any ordinary room, comfort-
ably furnished in the style of his own century.

"You look puzzled," said the young man. who had
taken a seat across from him-a deep leather arm-
chair in which he lounged comfortably. Mark eyed
him narrowly, noting the style of his clothes, which
was the same as that of Mark's own.

"I am," he said, dryly. "You don't expect to go fifty
thousand years into the future and find the present."

The young man chuckled. "You'd be surprised," he

81

82 Gordon R. Dickson

said. "Civilization has a way of coming full circle . . .
oh, by the way, my name's Merki: and yours is-?"

"Mark Toren," said Mark. "What do you mean by
full circle?"

"Ups and downs," replied the young man, airily.
"Dark Ages-a period of scientific advance-another
Dark Ages-another period of scientific advance-and
so on."

Mark frowned. "That's odd," he said. "The cycle
seemed that way in my time, surely. But according
to my own prognostications, it should have levelled
out to a steady uphill climb for the human race by at
least twenty thousand years after my time. As a mat-
ter of fact, that's why I chose to go this far into the
future; simply because that time seemed so remote
that no one of my time could imagine what the hu-
man race would be like-" He interrupted himself
suddenly. "If you don't mind, I'd like to ask a few
questions about your present time."

"Shoot!" said the young man, blowing a cloud of
smoke toward the ceiling.

"You speak my language," asked Mark, bluntly,
"you're dressed as I am. How come?"

"Oh, that," said Merkl. "We have instruments that
allow us to look a little distance along the time line
in either direction. We saw you coming and got things
fixed up to receive you."

"That much trouble for one visitor?" asked Mark.

"It wasn't much trouble"-Merkl shrugged-"with
our technology."

"Then," said Mark, "I take it that your world is
very different from what I see here."

"Some," said Merkl. "We have a higher technologi-
cal level, of course. At the same time, as I said,
culturally, our civilization is at pretty much the same
cyclic point that yours was at."

"At the same time," Mark sa''d, his eyes taking on
for a second the fugitive gleam of the researcher,

THE FRIENDLY MAN               83

"it's going to be interesting for me." He paused, and
when the other made no immediate response, contin-
ued, "You don't have any objection to my seeing it,
do you?" he asked.

"Oh, none. None at all," replied the young man
hurriedly. "Of course, you understand, we're going to
have to give you and your temporal vehicle a bit of
an examination, just to make sure there's nothing
about either of you that might possibly be harmful to
us."

"I assure you-" Mark was beginning stiffly, when
the young man interrupted with an apologetic air.

"Oh, we realize that you have no intention of doing
any harm, but you might, for example, be harboring
disease germs to which we are no longer immune.
Your ship might possess some latent energy which
would react violently if it were inadvertently ex-
posed to some of our technology. I assure you that
there won't be anything to the examination. As a
matter of fact, you can speed up the business consid-
erably just by answering a few questions for me."

Mark grimaced wryly.

"I'd hoped the shoe would be'on the other foot," he
said. "I'm bursting with curiosity. However, go ahead."

"First," said Merkl, "just to confirm the findings of
our instruments, suppose you tell me from what time
you come?"

"Twenty-one Ninety AD," said Mark.

Merkl nodded.

"And what type of civilization did you have, then?"

"Well," said Mark, "we considered ourselves fairly
well advanced. Our rockets had reached as far as the
moons of Jupiter and we had fairly well established
colonies on Mars and Venus. We were making fairly
wide use ot atomic power, although the installations
were still so expensive as to restrict their use con-
siderably-" He broke off, somewhat embarrassed.

84 Gordon R. Dickson

"I suppose this all sounds awfully primitive and
childlike to you," he said.

"Not at all," answered Merki, quickly. "Not at all.
Go on."

"Well-sociologically we were, I suppose, pretty
primitive. Equality among the sexes was firmly es-
tablished, of course. There was still some suppres-
sion of minorities, but not much. The old Earth
governments were still in force, although the real
power was wielded by the large business and labor
organizations."

"I see," interrupted Merkl. "Still the type of soci-
ety where a strong man could hack his way to power."

"Why, yes-" said Mark, and stopped abruptly.
"Why do you ask that?"

"Oh, for no particular reason," replied Merkl, eas-
ily. "The situation is merely typical of such cyclic
conditions as you've been describing. Tell me more
about the extent to which planetary exploration had
gone. No farther than Jupiter, you say?"

"Not that I know of," answered Mark. "And I imag-
ine I would have heard of any further advances."

"Interesting," said Merkl. "Very interesting." He
rose suddenly to his feet

"I'll leave you now," he said. "The machines are
ready to scan you and your machine. The process
will take several days, but I assure you, will not
cause you the slightest discomfort. Make yourself
comfortable here. This building is yours, although I
must warn you about stepping outside of it until you
are told it is safe to do so."

"Of course," said Mark. "But there are a few more
things I'd like to ask you-" He broke off, for Merkl
had already passed through the door and was gone.

After the young man left, Mark sat for a while in
thought. The reception he had been accorded was
not what he had expected-but then he chided him-

THF FRItNDlY MAN

85

self for expecting it to conform to any preconceived
notions.

He was not the first explorer in time to leave from
the period of the Twenty-second Century; but if he
returned, he would be the first to do that. The risk
was a calculated one, and he took it with no mental
reservations. It was, however, with some idea of
playing safe that he had set his destination at fifty
thousand years in the future. Briefly, Mark had been
hoping to get beyond the cyclic ups and downs to
which Merkl had referred. Inevitably, he had thought,
reverses and re-reverses of history must come to an
end eventually as man grew in mental maturity.

How far can the human race go in fifty thousand
years, considering its progress during the past five
thousand years of known history? Mark had asked
himself that question and answered it with the obvi-
ous reply that it was impossible to imagine the an-
swer. The most he could guess was that by then man
would be a new creature entirely, bearing only the
remotest resemblance to his ancestor of the Twenty-
second Century. The least Mark had imagined was
that man, fifty thousand years from then, would
have passed into a completely new era.

And now, here was Merkl to tell him that, aside
from a greatly improved technology, man was still
on the same merry-go-round of history that he had
been on in Mark's time. Mark shook his head over
the information. Merkl's answer was plausible, even
reasonable, but it did not feel right.

Mark shook the notion from his head and rose to
explore the building where he was being temporarily
held a prisoner. It consisted of three rooms and all
the appurtenances of the normal Twenty-second Cen-
tury bungalow. The only difference was a stairway
that led up to the open roof, which gave him a view
of the surrounding country.

The countryside was grassy and rolling; the air

86 Gordon R. Dickson

astoundingly fresh and clear, so that the few isolated
groups of buildings he could see in the distance stood
out sharply, like meticulously executed miniatures.
He was struck by the isolated position of his bunga-
low, and had halfway resolved to ask Merki about it,
when it struck him that possibly they were playing
extra-safe in the matter of possible contagion. Still,
that was odd, when Merki had not seemed at all shy
about coming into quite close proximity to him. Of
course, the scientific worker sometimes took long
chances- He shrugged his shoulders and went back
down the stairs. I'll just check the lime machine, he
thought, and then gel some sleep. As soon as the
examination period is over there'll no doubt be plenty
to do.

But when he came to the spot of his arrival, the
time machine was gone.

Two days later, Merki returned. Mark did not hear
him enter, but there he was, suddenly, in the en-
trance to the room where they had had their first
interview.

"Hello," said Merki. with a friendly smile. "How
are things going?"
Mark jumped out of his seat.
"You've taken my machine!" he snapped.
"Why, yes," said Merki. "It was easier to take it to
the machines which would scan it, than to bring the
machines here. I imagine you'll have it back in a day
or so."

"Oh," Mark answered, somewhat mollified. Merki
came on into the room, followed by an older, thinner
man, who nodded pleasantly to Mark.

"Mark," said Merki, "I'd like to have you meet
Termi, one of our archaeologists. He's one of the
group who's been studying that machine of yours;

and he's found it interesting. So interesting, in fact,

THE FRIENDLY MAN               87

that he wanted me to ask you if you wouldn't mind
chatting with him about it."

Mark could not help feeling slightly flattered. The
thin line of his mouth relaxed.

"Of course," he said. "Anything you would like to
know."

"Thank you, sir," responded Termi. "Shall we sit
down?"

All three took chairs, and Mark leaned forward,
grasping his knees with his hands, in an attitude of
attentiveness. Termi's smooth voice flowed over him.

"I must begin by an admission," said the archaeol-
ogist. "Our records of time machines are very incom-
plete, Mark, very. The most primitive ones of which
we have any record belong to a date some fifteen
thousand years later than your time. We assume that
probably there was, following your time, a period of
scientific retrogression, in which the basic knowl-
edge necessary to the construction of such a ma-
chine was lost. So that your machine stands alone in
our experience without any means available to tie it
to later developments. It is not even readily apparent
to us how you operated it; and I thought, just to save
us time and effort of experimentation, that you might
not mind explaining the process to us."

"Not at all," answered Mark. "You must. of course,
understand that there were others working on the
subject of time travel during my period and that my
machine is by no means typical. But they are all
founded on the same principles.

"Briefly, it was the development of psychomechanics
that allowed real research on the subject of time
travel to begin. Psychomechanics found that there
was a definite connection between the human body's
perception of time and its experience of time. That is,
the body tended to react to what it perceived as a
speeded-up time flow by speeding up inside. The
Mackenwald distorter was the first instrument to

88 Gordon R. Dickson

exploit this reaction by accelerating a subject's per-
ception of time as much as three times normal; and,
quite by accident, it was discovered that inanimate
objects in close proximity to the body also tended to
be affected by the speed-up process.

"From the matter of distorting the body relative to
time, it was a short step to the problem of distorting
time relative to the body. And from the research
done in that direction finally was evolved the tech-
nique of putting the body in suspension relative to
time-that is, into a timeless state.

"It's a little difficult to explain what I mean with-
out demonstrating the processes as they occurred
step by step. But, it should be easy to understand
how, once it was possible to put a living person into
a timeless state, all that was necessary for time travel
was to find a means of moving that body along the
time stream to the point at which it wished to re-
enter the time stream. Psychomechanics solved that
difficulty by training the human mind to the point of
using it as a propulsive unit in the timeless state.
This, of course, was possible since it takes, even in
practice, almost no energy to move a body relative to
the time stream."

Termi leaned back in his chair and laughed.

"No wonder," he said. "That's a good joke on us.
No wonder we couldn't find any evidence of a pro-
pulsive unit on your machine, when the propulsive
unit was in your head, instead."

"Well," said Mark, a trifle embarrassed. "It's some-
thing like that."

"Well, well," said Termi, standing up, "thank you
for being so kind as to explain it to me, Mark. Some-
time later I'll have to drop back and have another
chat with you. There are a lot of aspects of your time
on which I'd be glad to have some firsthand informa-
tion."

THE FRIENDLY MAN               89

He turned toward the door. MerkI also rose to go,
but Mark put out a hand to detain him.

"Look here, MerkI," he said, "aren't you through
with investigating me, now? I'd like to get out of
here and see firsthand what this world of yours is
like."

MerkI stuffed his pipe thoughtfully.

"As a matter of fact," he said. "you seem to be
turning out to be a more complex character than we
had expected, Mark, and we're not quite done yet. I
imagine that in a week or more, you can get out and
around."

"A week!"

"Possibly a week," answered Merkl. "Possibly less.
And now I really must go." And, wrenching his arm
from Mark's grasp, he turned and was through the
door before Mark could think of anything more to
say.

Mark jumped to the door behind him, and flung it
open. But there was nothing to be seen except a
small sort of flying ship rising from the grass just
outside the building. Defeated, Mark returned to the
interior of the bungalow.

The week passed, leaving Mark with food for
thought. The bungalow was supplied with books of
the Twenty-second Century type, but, on close in-
spection, Mark was unable to find one that he had
not read before. So he spent his time mostly on the
roof of the building, enjoying the sunlight and pon-
dering the reception that he was receiving in this
world of the future.

It was not until the week was nearly over that he
was able to put his finger on the oddness of his
situation-the feeling that had been bothering him
ever since his arrival.

It had to do with the reactions exhibited by Merkl,
Termi, and the race they represented- Subconsciously,
Mark had expected these men of the future to be, if

90 Gordon R. Dickson

anything, supremely sure of themselves and their
actions. And it was a lack of this sureness that he
seemed to notice in the two men he had met so far.

He had assumed from the completeness of the build-
ing in which he found himself and the casual atti-
tude of Merki that they had been completely prepared
for his arrival. Consequently, he had reasoned that
there would be little fuss and bother about the inves-
tigation to which they insisted on submitting him.
Instead, there seemed to be a great deal- It was
puzzling.

Consequently, when Merki next returned, at the
end of the week, Mark was determined to pin him
down on the matter of his further seclusion.

"Look here, Merki!" he said. "I'm not questioning
your right to take adequate defensive measures against
whatever inimical hosts my mind or body may be
harboring, but you can't keep me shut up like this
with nothing to do. I'll go crazy. Man, I'm human,
too."

For some reason Mark's words seemed to catch the
other completely off balance. He continued to stand
facing the visitor from time, with his usual smile and
puffing with his usual serenity on his pipe. But oth-
erwise it was exactly as if a switch in his mind had
been clicked off. He stood, staring at Mark for such a
long time that Mark grew alarmed, thinking that the
man had been struck by some sudden strange paraly-
sis. Then, just as suddenly, he came out of it.

"You must stay here," he said. "It is impossible for
you to go out right now."

"But-" cried Mark.

"I'm sorry," said Merki, and turning on his heels,
fairly ran out the door to his waiting flier.

Mark, puzzled and angry, paced the bungalow after
Merki had left. He had no longer any doubt that he
was being deliberately cut off from the world of the

THE FRIENDLY MAN               91

future. Why, he wondered. What on earth could be so
wrong with him that he was not allowed even a
close-up glimpse of the cities he could see from the
roof? And out of his frustration, and the temper-
wearing pressure of nearly two weeks' enforced idle-
ness, he formed a plan.

That night he crept up on the roof, being careful to
allow no light to show. A half-insane plan had formed
in his head. They had warned him against going out
of the building, but the front door was unlocked. He
assumed that if they expected him to leave against
orders, they would not expect him to go to the trou-
ble of dropping off one side of the roof, rather than
walking directly out the door. At any rate, he would
chance it.

He slithered over the roof's low railing, hung by
his hands for a second, and then released his grip. He
fell, but not hard, and after rolling over a couple of
times in the soft grass, lay still and waited.

There was no alarm. After a while, he got to his
feet and moved softly off through the night to where
the nearest city gleamed against the night sky.

He had estimated that the city was some eight or
ten miles away, but after trudging for three or four
minutes, he was surprised to see that the glow of its
lights was considerably stronger, so that it appeared
to light up half of the sky. Cautiously he slowed his
pace, but the glow increased with such rapidity that
he finally had to drop into the grass for fear of being
seen outlined against the sky.

He crept forward. There was a small hillock in his
way, and for a moment this blacked out sight of the
city. Then, he reached the top of it, and looked over.
The glare hit him full in the face and he gave a
sudden cry of animal fear.

For the city was only a model.

For a second, he lay staring at it. And then he had

92 Gordon R. Dickson

jumped to his feet and was running down upon it. Its
miniature buildings lowered to his chest, and the
tiny streets were just wide enough for him to walk
through. Unbelievingly, he ran his fingers over the
structures. They were complete in every detail; little
masterpieces of imitation. But it was not just that
that set his mind reeling.

It was the fact that every one was a model of some
building in his home town. Each one was a replica of
a structure he had seen and known. Not one was
unfamiliar.

Trembling, he lifted his eyes from the city. Beyond
it trembled a shimmering haze on which his eyes
refused to tocus. Wonderingly, he moved toward it.

It hung, like a curtain of mist, just beyond the
farther limits of the city. He strode up to it, stood in
front of it, and cautiously extended his hands out
and into it.

It gave without resistance and his hands plunged
through, disappearing from sight. With a wordless
cry, he jerked them back and looked at them in the
reflected light of the city. They were whole and good.
He stood for a second more, gathering his nerve, and
then, taking a deep breath, walked through the curtain.

His feet passed from soft turf to solid surface, the
mist thinned before his eyes. He brushed the last of it
away with one hand and saw-desolation.

He stood on a street where giants might have walked.
And on either side towered buildings. Not minia-
tures, these, but mighty edifices that towered up
until they were lost to sight in the night sky. But
there was no light here, and no movement. The fact
was written on the dust of the street, in the blank
and staring windows of the buildings.

The city was deserted.

Fear returned to Mark Toren with redoubled force.
He felt lost and insignificant, like an insect upon the

THE FRIENDLY MAN               93

windowpane of eternity, about to be squashed by the
thumb of a god. And he burst into wild, unreasoning
flight down the street.

After some distance, he obeyed the impulse to hide,
and darted into the open doorway of one of the
buildings.

"Greetings!" boomed a deep voice.

He leaped backward in sheer panic to the street
outside. The voice ceased. He turned and darted wildly
for another doorway and slipped inside.

"Greetings!" boomed a voice, again.

He took a step backward, but this time curiosity in
part conquered fear, so that he stayed where he was,
flattened against a wall, in the shadows.

And the voice went on talking. Only this time he
realized that the words were not impacts of sound on
his ears, but welled up unbidden, within his mind.

"Greetings, visitor," came the words. "From wher-
ever you have come, no matter what far-flung starbom
world may be your home, greetings. You stand at the
birthplace of the human race.

"This was our breeding place-this earth. Here we
lifted our heads from the earth. Here we stood up-
right and walked. Here we grew and reached out to
the stars. And here we have left our memorial of the
last men to be planet-bound. Look about you and
see. The heritage of the human race is here.

"Now we, the last men to be planet-bound, have
finished our memorial and go to Join our brothers
between the stars. We do not go to some home, for
we will have no other home. We have passed beyond
the need of home, and all the reaches of stellar space
are the same to us.

"For it was never ordained that man should cling
to the smalt bodies of planets when the endless re-
gions of the ether are his to wander in, as a bird
might wander in the sky, winged and armored by the
power of his mind.

94 Gordon R Dickwn

"So, to you, visitor, greetings Look on the works of
man, his buildings, his machines, and the creatures
of his machines All this he has left, as vou will one
day leave vour works and all that your hands have
wrought for the greater freedom that comes between
the stars "

The voice ceased, and Mark turned from the door-
wav, into the moonlit street again-and stopped Wait-
ing for him, rank on silent rank were Merki and
Termi, and others like them, although the others
glinted, gaunt and bright in the moonlight without
the kindness of artificial flesh to cover their metal
bones They said nothing, and their eyes glittered on
him And Mark knew that he should feel frightened,
but the voice inside of the building had drained fear
from him and he felt only pity for the ones before
him

"So," he said, fmallv, "you are the creatures of the
machines "

"Yes " The answer came like a sighing wind from
the crowd

"And I am a man," said Mark The pity inside him
welled up and he asked gently "What were you trying
to do^ What did you hope to learn from me^"

"We were trying to leam life," answered Merki for
them all "We are Earthbound because, while we can
think, we have no imagination Mans imagination
has taken him between the stars. We thought if we
could learn to go back to the time when Man was
stilt learning, we could learn, too "

"But," said Mark, "you could not use my machine
unless you had imagination The use of psycho-
mechanics requires it " They did not answer

'But why didn't vou just come out directly and a&k
me7" asked Mark "And why did you hide all this"-
and his arm swept out to indicate the buildings-
"h-om me^"

THE FRIENDLY MAN              95

'Because we hate you," said Merki unemotionally
"You are something we can never be and so we hate
you "

"But you haven t harmed me-" began Mark, be
wildered And then the realization struck him "You
cannot harm me,' he said

"We cannot harm you," said Merk! "Therefore we
hate you "

There was a long silence

"I'm sorry," whispered Mark, "but I can't do any-
thing for vou "

"No." said Merki, "you can do nothing for us And
we can learn nothing from you The building in which
you staved was a gigantic scanner We have analyzed
you We have read you like a book and we do not
understand you We have taken your machine to
pieces-down to its component atoms-and put it
back together again But we cannot operate it Now,
we only want you to leave." He lifted his hand the
crowd parted, and Mark saw his time machine stand-
ing in the midst of them

"We cannot travel in time/' continued Merki, "but
there are machines here which can block off time
from our period to yours. We will use them when vou
are gone We have learned from your visit that it is
not a good thing for your kind to meet ours Now.

go "
Mark stepped forward as if in a dream and walked

to his machine down the waiting corridor of the
friendly men Without a word, he stepped inside it
and lifted his hand to the controls Then, some inex-
plicable emotion made him turn, and he looked once
more at Merki, who was standing beside him Be-
neath his feet, the generators began to warm up with
a humming sound

"Robot," said Mark, almost wondenngly, staring
at Merki

96              Gordon R. Dickson

The mists of a vanishing time began to swirl up
between them. Through the haze he saw the plastic
face of the other strangely distorted.

"Don't curse me so!" cried the Hendiv man.

MX Knows Best

he barroom seemed to tilt a little as he walked

The
in.

"Let's get drunk, Dugie," said Alien Morg, climb-
ing onto a bar stool.

"This time in the morning?" Dugie peered at him
from behind the bar, his smooth, round, young-looking
face seeming to bob like a balloon in the dimness.
"At ten AM? What kind of ar bad decision did you
get?"

"Give me a drink, Dugie," said Alien. The round
face advanced and peered at him.

"You been drinking it up already. Maybe I should
punch for a decision on eighty-sixing you."

"Give me a drink," said Alien. And then the whole
room swung crazily, the ceiling came down in front
of his eyes and there was a blank space for a while.

He came to in one of the private lounges, and Gait

Boiver was there.

"Feel better now?" Gait asked.
"Where'd you come from?" asked Alien.
"Dugie called me. He'd have sent you home, but he

97

98 Gordon R Dickwn

didn t know where vour apartment is What's all this
business about an ax^"

"Ax^" With great effort, Alien raised his head and
looked past Gait's long. friendly horse face to the rest
of the lounge There was no ax in sight He let his
head drop back wearily "I must have lost it, some-
place "

"You're lucky Dugie s been checking One place
you were in last night almost put in a not call You
said you were going to chop up MX "

"Did P"

"You did "

Silence descended on the lounge After a while,
Alien said, "Connie took off "

"Oh^" said Gait He had been sitting still, shaggy
and gaunt, just waiting by the side of the couch on
which Alien was stretched out

"We were kidding one night 1 said we ought to
punch for a decision before getting married She took
me up on it

"WelP" asked Gait, after a minute

"Negative She took off No forwarding address "

"When was this7" asked Gait

Alien shrugged, gazing at the ceiling of the lounge
with the bitter taste of anti-alcohol in his mouth

"Yesterday," he said, "   or the night before "

"Your law office says you haven't been down in a
week "

"Then it's a week," said Alien, expressionlessly

Gait consideied him

"Want to do some more drinking7'

"No," said Alien "I want my ax back "

"The man says it when he's sober

"That's right," agreed Alien "the man says it when
he's sober "

Gait reached out and gripped his shouldei

"Hang on a little while, buddy," he ->aid "I ve got
something better for you than an ax "

MX KNOWS BESI               99

It took some twenty-eight hours, to rebuild Alien Morg
into a fair specimen of a sober human being again
Four o'clock of the following afternoon found him
and Gait on Gait's airfoil platform, fiving north out
of the city to see some people

"How far is it7" asked Alien, fitting his lean body
comfortably into one of the soft chairs of the platform

"About forty miles," answered Gait, squinting at
the horizon with the balance wheel between his big
hands Alien looked at him

"How come vou never told me about these people
before7"

"Before," said Gait, "you may not have liked MX,
and you may have disliked people taking its deci-
sions for gospel-but were you ready to do some-
thing aboutit7"

"No, I guess not," said Alien

"There vou are "

The platform tilted and slid off in a slightly new,
more northwesterly direction

"Who are they, anyway7 Can you tell me that now7"
asked Alien

"You know them It's Jasper Aneurme, his sister
Leta   and someone else "

Alien frowned, his thin, rather good-looking face
becoming even more intense than usual He re-
membered the Aneunnes They had cropped up more
than once at parties with Gait, several years back
He had not seen them since Jasper was a silver-
haired, upright man of the sort that seems to become
abruptly handsome in late middle age Leta, who
must be a good twenty years or more her brother's
junior, had not been unusually good-looking, but
rather striking in her own way Alien had been en-
gaged to some other girl-not Connie-at that time,
but he remembered being strangely and almost com-

100 Gordon R. Dickson

pulsively attracted to Leta, on the few occasions of
their meetings. There was a sort of lonely, destined
air about her.

"How long," asked Alien, "have you belonged to
this bunch?"

"Oh," said Gait. "Almost ten years."

"I've known you fifteen."

Gait nodded "But it wasn't just my secret."

"No," agreed Alien- "Still, ten years-all the while
you've been hacking away as a trial lawyer, just like
me at my contracts, and I never took you for a
revolutionary."

"I'm not," said Gait.

"Aren't you?" said Alien, and laughed a little bit-
terly. "Try to take MX from the people who've given
up making up their own minds, and see. The dope
addict loves his drugs; the drinker loves his booze."

"Say instead," said Gait, "they can't do without
them."

"Easy," said Gait, soothingly. "Easy. It's a big prob-
lem, but just a problem. That's all."

"Just a problem? How does that thing go?" de-
manded Alien. "Our fathers in their time sowed drag-
on's teeth ..."

". . . Our children know and suffer armed men," fin-
ished Gait.

They flew north and a little bit west past Scarbor-
ough. Tendale, and Cooper's City. They passed New
Berlin and veered west again toward a little suburb
called Kingsdale. There they came down on the park-
ing pad of a private living area.

The drapes were pulled back on the living room
beside the pad and a tall young woman with brown
hair and a slim, intelligent face was waiting for them.
The whispering air current of the wall cooled Alien's
face for a moment as he stepped through the wall;

MX KNOWS BLST              101

then he was face to face with Leta Aneurine once
more.

"Leta," said Gait. "You remember Alien."

"Very well," she said. She gave him a slim, firm
hand and Alien found himself holding on to it for a
short second with real thankfulness. After the desert
heat and sun of Connie, this was cool water.

"I remember too." he said.

"Then I'm flattered," she answered, and turned to
Gait. "Jasper and Frank are in the den."

"I'll go talk to them," said Gait. "You stay here
with Leta, will you Alien?" And he stalked oft, disap-
pearing through a wall of screen light in the back of
the room.

"And what makes Gait bring you out at last to see
us?" asked Leta, turning back to Alien.

"Well . . ." He hesitated, but her perception was
quick.

"Oh, I see," she said. "You're one of our sudden
converts and I shouldn't ask. Would you like a drink-
even if it's just to balance politely in your hand?"

He smiled, and found his old liking for her coming
back.

"Thanks," he said, and trailed her across the room
to a dispenser cabinet.

"What'll it be, now?" She opened the cabinet. A
concealed rainbow of light played across the interior
and a miniature, three-dimensional representation of
his host's liquor supply revolved slowly for his in-
spection. Alien thought of the week just past with
something like a shudder.

"Beer," he said, "light and cold."

"And in a stein," she said. She pressed appropriate
buttons and handed it to him, taking a small glass of
sherry for herself.

"Who's Frank?" he asked,

She led the way back to some easy chairs across

102 Gordon R. Dickson

the room. "Frank Campanelli. He's our technical
expert."

"Technical expert?"

She smiled at him. "Jasper'11 tell you. And how's
business in court these days?"

"You've got me confused with Gait. I just write
contracts-a sort of glorified clerk." He gazed at her
curiously. "You know, I never did know what you
do."

"I write poetry. Don't laugh," she added gravely,
"I make a great deal of money at it. I do graded
stories in poetic imagery for the school-age child.
How are contracts, then?"

"Fine."

"Then it's woman trouble."

He started. "How do you know?"

"Why, I was born an expert, being female. And
received the normal twenty years or so of postgradu-
ate instruction customary for girls." She bit her lip.
"Including the instincts and habit of poking my nose
into what's probably none of my business. I'm sorry."

"It's nothing." He shrugged. "We punched for a
decision on getting married. MX said no ... and she
took it to heart."

Leta did not answer for a second. She seemed to be
thinking,

"You know," she said, suddenly. "If I were Frank,
or Jasper-or Gait, even, I wouldn't trust you."

He was both shocked and wounded. He stared at
her in astonishment.

"Why not?" he challenged.

"You might change back, just as suddenly as you
changed to." But she looked at him almost appeal-
ingly as she said it, as if begging him not to blame
her for a judgment she couldn't help.

"What do you mean, suddenly?" he said. "Why,
I've felt this way for years."

MX KNOWS BEST              103

"But you've never done anything about it until
now."

"What's that got to do with it?"

She made a defensive, apologetic gesture with one
hand. as if warding off a blow.

"Well, perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps you're just not
a leader."

"And you, I see," he said harshly, "are one of those
women with a high 10 and nothing else, who justify
themselves by taking jabs at every man they come in
contact with."

The sudden storm of their antagonism blew itself
out into silence. She had turned her head away, and
it was not until he got up and went around to face
her that he saw there were tears on her cheeks.

"You started it," he said.

"Yes," she said. "It's my fault."

He would have taken the one step that would have
brought him to her, but at that moment Gait stuck
his head through the light wall.

"Come on," he ordered, briefly; and disappeared
again. Alien turned back to fceta and saw her using a
handkerchief to repair damages'.

"Go ahead," she said. "I'll be along in a minute."

A little reluctantly, Alien turned and went. Step-
ping through the light wall, he found himself in a
narrow hallway that led to a miniature garden and
fishpond. Beyond the garden, three men sat about a
table in a room.

"Oh, here he is," Gait said as Alien came in. "Al-
ien, you know Jasper. This is Frank Campanelli."

Frank was a dark little rubber ball of a man, about
Jasper's age, or possibly younger; Leta's brother did
not look his years. Now he nodded his silver hair at
Alien. "Hello, Alien."

"Hello," answered Alien. He shook hands with Frank
Campanelli, who had risen from his seat and cx-

104 Gordon R. Dickson

tended a hand as stubby and firm as the rest of his
body.

"Sit down," said Jasper. "Alien, Gait knows you
well and of course I've met you a number of times.
But you're a complete stranger to Frank. Mind if he
asks a few questions?"

"Charge ahead," said Alien.

"What're you after?" asked Frank.

The question was so abrupt as to be discourteous,
and the short man made no attempt to soften it,
either by manner or phrasing. Alien took his time
about lighting a cigarette.

"I'd like to put MX out of business," he said.

"How long do you think you'll feel that way?"

"Until MX is out of business," said Alien. "Look
here-"

"Why do you think it ought to be put out of
business?"

"Because ninety percent of the human race has
lost the guts to make up their own minds for them-
selves," said Alien. "Why do you think it ought to be
put out of business?"

"We'll get to me later," said Frank. "How do you
think we ought to go about doing it?"

"Well," said Alien, "I was going to try it with an
ax. Maybe you've got a better idea. Have you?"

Frank didn't answer him. He turned to Jasper.

"I don't like it," he said. "I don't like anything
about it. People who heat up fast can cool off fast."

"Frank," replied Jasper, calmly, "Gait tells us Al-
ien here's been ten years coming to this."

"Why didn't he come sooner?"

"You can't have it both ways, Frank," said Jasper.
"Either Alien's too fast to anger, or too slow, but not
both. For my part"-he gave Alien a friendly smile-"I
think he's just about right in matter of speed."

"Why," asked Alien softly, "all the fuss?"

MX KNOWS BEST              105

"Because," snapped Frank, turning on him, "this is
no game. This is serious business-"

"Oh, there you are, Leta," interrupted Jasper. "Come
in and sit down with us. You remember Alien Morg,
don't you?"

"I've just been talking to him," she said, taking
one of the chairs at the table. "And I see Frank's been
talking at him."

"Seriously, though," went on Jasper, quickly, be-
fore Frank could open his mouth again, "Frank is
quite right. Most people have no idea what's been
done to MX and what it's done to people."

"I can see what it's done to people," said Alien,
unable to keep his eyes from straying to Leta. She sat
with her eyes on her brother, a little abstracted, as if
listening partially to her own inner thought, and did
not glance at Alien.

"But do you realize the degree of it?" asked Jasper,
leaning a little forward across the table. "Do you
realize how it's become something that strikes at the
very heart of the concept of individual freedom? The
very thing that makes an individual in our society is
his ability and preference for making his own de-
cisions."

The silver-haired man's tone of voice was demand-
ing in its claim upon Alien's attention. Reluctantly,
he withdrew his eyes from Leta and looked at her
brother.

"I know that," he said. "Doesn't everybody? It's
obvious."

"Obvious, but how many people take it for granted
just because of that? You know, the theory behind
MX was a fine one. Remember reading about it in
school? A master device, a joining of the census re-
cords with the economic integration computer and
the new-they were new then-psychologic compu-
tation methods. All in one machine. A public service.
Code your name and what other personal informa-

106 Gordon R. Dickson

tion MX requested and ask your question. 'Should 'I
buy myself a new living area now, or next year?' MX
integrated the problem and came up with an answer
to the best of its ability."

"To ihe best of its ability!" echoed Alien, a little
bitterly.

"Exactly-to the best ot its ability." Jasper's eyes
gleamed darkly in his face under the silver hair.
"That was the theory; ninety percent correct, ninety
percent of the time, for ninety percent of the cases
concerned. There, you see, was the illusion of free-
dom. No one, of course, would commit his life to the
decisions of a machine which was only ninety per-
cent accurate. Or so they thought. They forgot the
perniciousness of habit-of the habit of having deci-
sions made for you."

"The point is," said Gait, "people have been com-
forting themselves with a sense of freedom from MX
that doesn't actually exist. As a practical matter,
Alien, not ninety, but almost a hunded percent of the
people use and obey MX a hundred percent of the
time."

"Is it really that much?" asked Alien.

"That much."

"But the bad decisions-"

"They're explained away," said Jasper. "What does
a man say when a decision turns out bad-say MX
decides in favor of a man buying a platform now,
instead of later? And the next day, with the new
platform, he has an accident."

Alien nodded.

"I know," he said. "He says that maybe the com-
putation figured a more serious accident if the ma-
chine was gotten later, or some such excuse."

"That's it!" The eyes in Gait's long face seemed to
pounce like a hawk. "Maybe MX knows best!"

There was a little silence.

"A new god," said Alien, thoughtfully.

MX KNOWS BEST              107

"A new god," said Gait. "And a jealous god."

Leta got up from her chair. Outside, in the garden,
the light was fading.

"Time for dinner," she said. "I'll go see about it."
She looked across the table into Alien's eyes. "You'll
be staying for the evening."

"Thank you," said Alien, and watched her leave
the room-
After dinner, he managed to corner her on a little
balcony overlooking that same garden with the fish-
pond. He felt a strange necessity to talk to her fur-
ther, to understand her. It was as if an entirely new
sort of curiosity had laid hold of him, and grew with
the mounting intimacy of their talk.

"Tell me one thing," he asked, after a while. "Are
you in this because of your brother, or because you
feel strongly about MX, yourself?"

She looked up at his face in the dim light of the
shadowed balcony.

"Because I feel strongly about MX," she said.

"I see," he answered. He was oddly disappointed
and she sensed it.

"You don't like fanatic females, is that it?" The
tone was light, but it quavered betrayingly on the
last word. He looked down at her, and all at once her
helplessness reached through to him; here, he felt
flooded with tenderness toward her.

"You're not a fanatic female," he said.

Suddenly, like someone who at last surrenders com-
pletely, she leaned against him. He put his arms
around her. She murmured against him and he felt
the warmth of her breath through his shirt.

"I don't know ... I don't know . . ." she whispered.
"I know this is right, but I want to live a normal life,
too."

He put his head down to kiss her, but she avoided
him.

108 Gordon R. Dickson

"No. Please don't," she murmured. "Please."

"Why not?"

"It's just that it's too soon yet. I couldn't help
thinking of you as on the rebound."

"You don't trust me," he said, bitterly.

She didn't answer. He put a finger under her chin
and forced it upward so that she had to look at him.

"You don't trust me," he repeated.

Her face showed the pain in her.

"Oh, Alien!" she said, miserably. Brutally, he let
her go and stepped away.

"Wait, Alien!" she cried behind him. "I don't care
about me. It's Jasper and the others."

"Why," he demanded, turning back, "what do you
think I'd do to them? Snitch to MX on them?"

She did not answer. With a sudden sense of fury
and shock, he stared at her.

"You do think that'"

"Oh, Alien! Alien, darling"-she reached out to him,
but he stepped back from her-"it's just that you
aren't settled, you aren't stable . . ."

But he was burning with anger and determined to
punish her.

"Thanks for letting me know about it," he said,
and left her.

He managed to cooi down as he returned through the
several rooms and hallways that separated him from
the sitting room where the others were having their
after-dinner coffee. But it seemed he came in on an
argument here. too; the voices of Gait and Frank
ceased abruptly as he entered; and all three men
looked up at him from their chairs with the afterwash
of strained emotion on their faces.

"What's up?" he asked, taking a cup of coffee from
the dispenser and sitting down in a chair that was
grouped with theirs-

MX KNOWS BEST

109

"Nothing," said Gait, tightly. "Frank thinks we're
going a little too fast with you, that's all."

Alien met the other man's dark, hard eyes.

"That's his privilege," he said lightly.

"Perhaps," said Gait, his tone smoothing out. "At
any rate, it's beside the point, because Jasper and I
outvoted him. Now, Alien, I want you to listen with
an open mind to what Jasper and Frank have to tell
you, because it's the result of years of work."

Alien looked at him a little curiously, but Gait's
long face was heavy with seriousness.

"Go ahead," said Alien, nodding.

Jasper cleared his throat, and Alien turned to look
at him. The tension, the very feverishness that had
been in the silver-haired man was gone. He spoke
with the easiness of an experienced professor ad-
?   dressing his seminar.

"I'm the social expert in this business, Alien," he
said. "It's been my job to study and understand all
the change and effect which MX has caused in our
human society during the last fifty years." He put his
coffee cup down on the arm of his chair and leaned
forward.

"You know"-he tapped with one slim finger on
the arm of the chair-"after the last shouting and
drum-playing was over that celebrated the uniting of
this world into a single social unit, the problems
really came along. Personal problems, Alien. People
were unsure of how they were supposed to act and
react in this new world they suddenly had. And that's
what MX grew out of-a sort of super-advisory ser-
vice that was set up at that time."

Alien frowned.

"It's a fact." Jasper nodded emphatically. "There
actually was a bureau with branches in every com-
munity to answer questions; you can look it up for
yourself in the history books if you want to. Anvwav,
of course it got more and more mechanized, or

110 Gordon R. Dickson

automationized. if you like that word better, until
they finally conceived of MX as a final answer to the
problem. You know the rest of it-how people be-
came more and more dependent on it. But what
most people don't realize is the logical basis for the
development."

"Logic?" echoed Alien. "I don't see any logic in it
at all. It's just plain mental laziness."

"No, no," said Jasper, quite earnestly. "There's the-
habit angle, to be sure, but there had to be some-
thing beneath and before that. There's a strong, orig-
inal, logical reason for a man trusting MX's decisions
instead of his own. It's this same business of percent-
ages. MX, a man knows, is right ninety percent of the
time, on the average. And he asks himself if he can
do as well on his own. Usually, he believes he can't."

Alien frowned again. "But it's a gamble," he said.
"Anyone knows that. You might believe that and still
happen to fall into the ten percent bad answer sec-
tion regularly."

Jasper nodded.

"Yes," he said. "But still, that's the logic we're up
against. And on its own ground it's unbeatable, be-
cause it presupposes infallibility on MX's part. In
other words, that ninety percent is something every-
body thinks they can count on. But if we can destroy
that faith, and replace it with a healthy attitude of
doubt, we'll have people regaining their emotional
integrity and their emotional balance."

"Clear enough." Alien looked across at him. "How
do we go about it?"

Jasper smiled calmly.

"We're going to gimmick MX," he said. "We're
going to cheat most outrageously in a good cause to
remind people that a machine-even a machine like
MX-can be taken advantage of by a human being.
People are going to start getting some surprising
answers to their questions, answers that will turn

MX KNOWS BEST              111

out to be dead wrong. And sometime after that our
gimmicks will be discovered."

Alien was slightly puzzled.

"Sorry," he said, "but I don't see-"

"Why," said Gait, "a man who has been awakened
to the possibility that MX can be gimmicked, will
have a job on his hands recovering his blind faith in
it. He'll say to himself, sure, they found thai gim-
mick, but suppose there's others they haven't found?
Suppose somebody's rigged it somehow, someplace
else, for his own advantage?"

"Ah," said Alien, slowly. "I see."

"Yes." Jasper nodded at him. "Simple, crude, and
effective."

"How's it to be done?"

Jasper did not answer. He turned his head to look
at the short man, his friend.

"Frank . . ." he said.

Frank looked back at him stonily.

"He could be the death of all of us," Frank said.

"We settled that," said Gait, a little sharply.

Alien felt anger stir in himt~

"Just what do you mean?" he'demanded. "I could
be the death of all of you?"

"Alien, no offensc meant." Jasper spoke quickly,
soothingly- "You just don't know MX as well as we
do."

"What's MX got to do with my giving you away?"

"I'll tell you!" Frank broke in with sudden sav-
agery. "MX has the necessary parts to kill us off if it
finds out about us'"

Alien stared at him.

"What kind of a bogeyman tale is this?"

"Bogeyman!" said Frank, and all but turned his
back on them in disgust.

"No, Alien, it's true," said Gait. "Te!l him, Frank."

"Listen," said Frank, turning back, "this 's my

112 Gordon R. Dickson

field; I know. What the men who set up MX wanted
in the first place was a device to reckon the probabil-
ity of one human action succeeding over another.
Just that. They couldn't build an actual predicting
machine for two reasons. One, nothing human hands
could build and human minds conceive could possi-
bly take all the factors into account. Two, there was
always the possibility that some of the factors sup-
plied to their device would be false, or falsely stated."

"All right." Alien was determined he would not
back down an inch. He faced the shorter man. "What
of it?"

"What of it? That's what MX was-just a probabil-
ity computer- But then the human factor came into
it. The more people leaned on MX decisions in their
daily life, the more they wanted it to be more accu-
rate, more omnipotent, more godlike. And then the
changes began."

"What changes?"

"There've been a lot of them," growled Frank. "But
there's only two that did real damage. Twenty-three
years ago, what was called a balance factor got added.
And nine years ago something called an implementa-
tion circuit."

He glared at Alien.

"The balance factor was an element added that
allowed MX to compensate for the psychological pro-
file of the person asking the question. It could com-
pensate in the direction of what it assessed to be the
real desire and good of the questioner. The imple-
mentation circuit-1 suppose even you know that
most of our transportation devices, large production
units, and automatic machinery are directed by MX?"

"I knew some were . . ." said Alien.

"Almost all. All right, this implementation circuit
allows MX to make use of all the mechanical facili-
ties it controls to implement its own decisions. And

MX KNOWS BEST              113

finally, in order to make this addition workable, it
was necessary to add one thing that should never
have been built into MX."

"What?"

"A desire circuit." Frank looked at him with grim
triumph. "MX was furnished with the need to try
and make its decisions work out."

For some reason this statement was apparently
expected to be a bombshell. Alien was merely puzzled.

"I don't get it," he said.

"You should," replied Frank. "It means we're all
living under the thumb of a machine whose prime
purpose is to have the world run in accordance with
its own decisions."

Alien stared.

"What it means for us," added Gait, leaning for-
ward, "is that MX will fight back at any attempts to
damage it, or its prestige."

Alien sat back. Slowly he relaxed, and smiled a
little, in spite of himself.

"Oh, now I-" he began-

"It's the truth," interrupted Gait.

"A machine can't be inimical." Alien looked at
Gait. "It can't deliberately try to hurt you."

"How about an aerial torpedo with a seeker circuit
that hunts down its target?"

"But the initial impulse had to come from a hu-
man decision-"

"So," broke in Frank, "did the implementation fac-
tor, with its desire circuit- That was MX's original
impulse."

"Believe us, Alien," said Gait. "This is fact."

"How do you know it all?" demanded Alien. There
was a little silence-

At last, Frank said harshly, "I designed the imple-
mentation circuit."

Alien looked at him. But the short man's face was

114 Gordon R. Dickson

a mask of anger that blocked off any urge to sympa-
thy. Alien sighed.

"All right," he said. "I believe you. Now what?
How do you keep safe from iP"

"A mechanical device," said Jasper, "has its limi-
tations. It may be able to respond to an actual threat,
but it can't respond to a threat that's unexpressed."

"And the sense organs of MX are the coder pan-
els," said Gait. "Unless information reaches it through
that-about us. for example-it hasn't any way of
knowing we're dangerous to it."

"Then it's simple," said Alien. "Don't use the
panels."

"Exactly," said Jasper. "I haven't used them for
fourteen years, Frank for just about as long, and Gait
for eleven. And you mustn't either, Alien."

"I?" Alien smiled. "MX doesn't know I know you,
or anything about this."

Jasper shook his head.

"Have you any idea how many factors it's possible
for MX to take into account in making a decision?"
he asked.

"No idea," replied Alien, checrfuliv

"Well, it's something over half a million. All the
years we've been keeping scrupulously away from
the coder panels, we've still had to report on the
census, pay our taxes, make purchases in the food
and shopping centers, and maintain bank accounts.
MX has years of information on us, lying like un-
fused dynamite in the code punches on our cards and
waiting for the one pertinent fact that will show us
up for the threat we are to its existence-"

"But what could it tell from me?" asked Alien.

"We don't know," said Gait. "But the chance is too
riskv to take. Leave the panels alone, Alien. You
don't need them, anyway."

"No." Alien sighed. "That's true." He brightened

MX KNOWS BEST              115

up. "Well, how about the rest of this? How about the
gimmick?"

The other two men turned to Frank, who looked at
them for a second, his dark eyes unmoving.

"No!" he said.

The word dropped like a stone into the pool of
waiting silence, sending little rings of emotion rip-
pling through the others.

"No!" echoed Jasper. "Why not?"

"Because it's too soon," said Frank. "I just met this
man today. Let him wait for the details."

"I told you." said Gait, in the patient tones of a
man who is repeating what he has already repeated
many times before, "that I know him. That I trust
him. That I vouch for him. Also, we need him-not in
a few days, but right now. Things are almost finished."

"No," repeated Frank.

"Franks'-Jasper's voice brought the short man's
head around-"you're wrong. You're usually right
to be cautious, but this time you're wrong. If you
won't tell him, / will."

"Then I wash my hands.of it." Frank stood up
abruptly and, turning his back, strode across the
room to rip back the drape hanging in front of the air
wall. Beyond, the night sky and a full yellow moon,
early and enormous just above the treetops, looked
in on them. Frank stood, legs spread a little apart,
staring out at it and not moving.

"Alien . . ." said Jasper, gently, and Alien turned
his attention back to the silver-haired man, who
opened a drawer in the arm of his chair and took out
a tiny, dark object, like a miniature condenser, which
he handed to Alien. Alien took it curiously, examin-
ing the small, black central body from which two
short wires sprouted.

"There's only one part of itself where MX wouldn't
be aware of someone working on it." said Jasper,
"and that's the coder panels themselves. They're eas-

116 Gordon R. Dickson

ity opened with a repairman's key. and in about forty
seconds a trained man can open one, attach that
little object you're holding, and reclose the panel.
The spot where it attaches and its design make it
almost indistinguishable from the ordinary factory
assembly of a coder's innards. Even a trained repair-
man would have to be looking for it, to find it once it
was attached."

"That's what you want me for?" asked Alien.

"We're about ready to start adding these things to
the coder panels-not just here, but the world over.
We've been making them by hand for eight years
now, in thousands of little groups like this one. Now,
we need every pair of hands we can get."

"What does it do?" asked Alien.

"It distorts the information coded on the panel.
MX will receive false information from anyone using
the coder; as a result, it will hand out a false decision."

Alien nodded.

"I see," he said, slowly. "Yes, I see." His hand
closed tightly over the little object, and slowly, he
nodded.

There was a chance before Gait and Alien left that
evening for Alien to snatch a few free minutes. Once
more he went in search of Leta, and discovered her,
finally, in her own room. She was dressed for bed
and sitting on the railing of a small terrace outside
her room, gazing at the same moon that had pro-
vided a focus for Frank's attention a short while
earlier in the sitting room. Against the moonlight, in
the filmy night-dress, she looked like some sad figure
out of an old painting, all black and silvery gray.
With a rush, all the hard emotions flowed out of
Alien, like water from a broken cup, and he almost
groped his way across the room toward her.

"Leta . . ." he said.

She rose and clung to him. For a minute, thev said

MX KNOWS BEST              117

nothing, just held on to each other. After a little
while, he begged her to come away with him.
". . . you don't want this. It isn't your life."
She pressed herself tightly against him.
"But it is," she said. "You can't live with some-
thing for fifteen years like this and not have it be
vour life."

"That's not true," he answered. "It was Jasper's
choice, but not yours. You didn't pick this."

"That doesn't make any difference."

"You want to come with me, don't you?"

"Oh, I don't know!" she cried. "I don't know!"

"Yes, you do."

She raised her face to look at him.

"Would you run out. Alien?"

"I?" he said, surprised. "But I don't mean that you
should run out. All I mean is for you to come away
from here to where you can lead your own life. I'm
going through with this, of course. I want to."

"But you want me, too," she said.

"Well, why not?" he demanded. "Is there any rea-
son why I can't have both?" ^

There was a noise from the doorway of the bed-
room. They turned. Frank stood just inside the shadow
of the aperture, his face in shadow.

"Jasper wants to see you, Leta," he said. His voice
was perfectly even.

"Oh-" she gasped. "Excuse me." She turned and
went swiftly out the door. Frank stepped aside to let
her pass. Then he walked toward Alien.

"You needn't apologize," Alien said grimly.

"I wasn't going to." Frank had emerged into the
moonlight on the terrace- He looked upward at Al-
ien's face. "Leave Leta alone," he said.

Alien considered him. "Why?"

"A number of reasons." Frank's moonlight-pale face
had no expression. "The best is that I know you by

118 Gordon R. Dickson

reputation-from Gait and others. You can't be

trusted."

Alien felt the familiar stir of anger, boiling like
some slow. heavy liquid inside him.

"Can't be trusted . . . how?" he asked, softly.

"In any way," answered Frank, quite calmly. "That
was why I didn't want to tell you about the gim-
micks downstairs. You're not the man to belong to
an organization, Morg. You're an egoist; and you'll
put yourself first. You'd betray any of us-alt of us-if
the choice was right."

"And you," replied Alien, brutally, "are in love

with Leta."

Frank did not stir, or change his unmoving coun-
tenance.

"Of course," he said. "But that doesn't come into

it."

"I think it does."

"What you think," went on Frank, easily, "is of no
importance whatsoever. I've been forced into risking
my life and my work on you. I won't risk the lives of
the people I love. And if you keep after Leta, the
time'll come when you'll put the rest of us on the
auction block to buy what you want with her."

Alien grinned with rage. He was seething up inside
into boiling fury.

"So what?" he asked.

"So stay away from her," continued Frank. "If you
don't, I'll kill you." He reached into his shirt, took
his hand out again, and there was a small, snapping
sound. The long, thin blade of a knife displayed itself
in the moonlight. Alien made an involuntary little
sound and took a step backward. "Oh, not with this
. . . and not now," said Frank. "1 just wanted to show
you I meant what I said. I will kill you, one way or
another, even if it costs me my own life for doing it."
He folded the knife and put it back into his shirt.

"Gait's waiting for you at the pad," he said.

MX KNOWS BEST              119

He turned and left. Alien stared after his small,
blocky figure as it disappeared down the hall. After a
moment, he followed.

Gait was waiting for him, at the landing pad.

"Oh, here vou are," he said, a little impatiently, as
if he had been waiting for some lime. "Come on. It's
late enough already and I have to be in court early
tomorrow."

He led the way to the platform, and they took off.

It was a quiet ride back to the city. Alien was think-
ing, and Gait evidently had his mind on the case he
was to plead the next day. When they reached the
city transportation center and left the platform for
separate cabs. Alien, instead of going directly home
to his apartment, rode to a little neighborhood bar
for a cup of coffee.

He was in an incredibly disturbed state of mind.
Great rewards and great penalties juggled themselves
in his mind. On the surface, it was fantastic that he
should feel this deeply about a situation into which
he had rather unwillingly fallen. But there was Leta.
who had so strangely and so quickly reached through
to him, and for whom he felt what he was convinced
was, for the first time, a real and actual love.

The short, thick-bodied Frank Campanelli, on the
other hand . . , The sharp crystals of a genuine ha-
tred were growing in the nutrient solution of Alien's
resentment toward the man. The two emotions built
on each other, even while Alien cautioned himself to
go slowly, go carefully, so as not to be swept away by
the swift current of his own turbulent feelings.

In his mind he resolved a cold, analytical appraisal
of the situation. Leta was the product of her environ-
ment. Fifteen years of devotion to a common purpose
had bonded their two lives together. There seemed
no way to destroy that bond without destroying at

120 Gordon R. Dickson

least one of the parties to it, and Alien-he thought
to himself with a touch of self-righteousness-unlike
Frank, could not seriously consider murdering an-
other man.

Alien shoved his coffee cup angrily from him. He
was furious at the particularly self-defeating struc-
ture of the problem. On the one hand, Leta; on the
other, Frank. And over all, the looming greatness of
the job of sabotage they were all committed to,
together.

Like a sharp breaking-in of light on some dark
place, the answer dissolved the obscurity of the situ-
ation. Of course! Once the sabotage had been com-
mitted, once their work had been discovered in
millions of coder panels and the general population
had begun to wonder how long they had been there,
had begun to question and doubt MX, speculating on
whether there might still be other, more secret gim-
micks concealed in it-then there would be no more
work to link Frank and Leta together. Then Alien
would face no more problem.

Or would he? The sudden doubt sprang thornily
upright in his mind. Fifteen years were a great many
years to live and work together. How strong could
the habit of association grow, nourished by the win-
ters, springs, and summers of all those years? After
the job was done, would the ghost of it still stand in
the moonlight, a knife in its hand, barring Alien's
way to Leta?

There was a coder panel in a booth across the room.
Alien half-rose before he remembered, and sat down
with a curse on his tongue. Of course, he couldn't use
it now. But this was exactly the kind of question that
MX was set up so beautifully to render a decision on.
Disgustedly, Alien reached for his coffee cup, saw
what he was about to do, and changed the motion of
his hand to punch for a drink.

MX KNOWS BEST              121

Yesterday he had thought that he would never be
able to look at an alcoholic beverage with enjoyment
again. But the Scotch and soda he punched for tasted
clean and comforting when it came. And the quick
glow, following shortly after it was down, took the
unyielding edge off his disappointment.

He ordered another and sipped it. Already his mind
was bouncing back from the block of the prohibition
he had agreed to. To be sure, only a fool would do
what he had almost done-go up, punch out the
problem, giving his own name, Leta's and Frank's,
and request a decision on the possibility of what he
wished. But MX had been set up to handle theoreti-
cal problems, too. And what could be dangerous
about a theoretical problem posed by an anonymous
questioner?

How to phrase it? Alien revolved ideas in his mind,
finished his drink and punched another. Then, with
this half-completed, he got up and went over to the
booth housing the coder panel.

Theoretical, he coded on the simple keyboard all
children learned in school nowadays. Then he stated
the problem in general terms, giving fictitious names
for himself, Leta, and Frank.

MX was slow answering, slower than he ever re-
membered it being. And then, when the panel above
the keyboard did light up, the words upon it were
not what he had expected.

Questioner to furnish additional data on these two addi-
tional points.

1. What is the nature of the work on which the older
man and the girl have been engaged for the fifteen
years stated?

2. Did the younger man referred to cease relation-
ships recently with another girl or woman not
mentioned, as a result of a decision by MX?

122 Gordon R Dickwn

For a few seconds, Alien did not move. Then, very
quietly, leaving the questions still on the screen, he
stepped back and out of the booth. Quietly, he closed
the door, and quietly, he walked out of the bar. In-
stinctively, his legs took him at a fast pace away
down the nighttime street.

So, MX perhaps had been able to guess his identity
from the situation in his questions. Who would have
thought its knowledge and its system to be so fantas-
tically extensive? But that would be the most it could
do. There had been no clue to Leta or Frank in what
he said. As far as MX could know, they might be any
two people, any two people anywhere in the world.
Certainly there could be no record of them among
the list of people MX would have of those whom he
had had dealings with before.

As he went homeward, his spirits started to rise
and after a while he found himself whistling. What he
needed, he told himself firmly, was a good night's
sleep. In the morning, things would be different.

But MX was a tireless creature, and under the desire
circuit it was not created to leave a problem unsolved.
Click, click, click, went MX. In the endless cells and
banks of its structure, little lights glowed, little im-
pulses of current shot through. The problem was
investigated, a picture built, an answer found.

From a slot in a pane! overlooking a desk where a
light glowed, five cards shot out to a wire basket.
The bottom one glanced off an edge of the basket and
all five slid out to lie under the soft glow of the light
above.

In a couple of widely separated apartments in the
city outside, wiring shorted and slow fires began to
smolder behind bedroom walls. And northwest of
the city, a great automatic freight transport subtly
altered its blind, obedient course through the skies,
so aiming itself toward a living area in a small sub-

MX KNOWS BEST              123

urb called Kingsdale. Its speed when it hit would be
upwards of eight hundred miles an hour.

And under the light, the first five cards lay to-
gether on the table m a little heap.

Morg, James Alien. CANCELLED
Bolver, Gait Winton Harvey. CANCELLED
Aneurme, Jasper Renee. CANCELLED
Aneurine, Leia Mane. CANCELLED
Campanelh. Frank Thomas. CANCELLED

The Quarry

f^TJe went in under here," said the older of the

JL JLtwo boys. "I saw him."

"He couldn't get under a rock like that, Jix," the
other said. "He's too big."

"But he's awful skinny," said Jix. "Raby, you go
around the other side and I'll call him. If he comes
out your way, you hold him until I get there." Raby
went off, and Jix bent down the opening. "Mr. John-
son!" he called. "Come on out, Mr. Johnson! It's only
us."

Under the rock William Johnson twitched convul-
sively and squirmed deeper into the mold-smelling
earth. He pressed his mouth to it, its grittiness against
his teeth, to hide the sound of his breathing. Hol-
lowed and drawn out between earth and rock, Jix's
voice reached down to him again.

"Mr. Johnson, you come out now. If you don't
come out, I'll have to come in and get you."

William did not move. Then, after a long, breath-
held moment, he heard the rattle and scrape of a
body crawling toward him under the rock. He made
a high, squeaking sound in his throat and suddenly
threw himself away from the approaching sound,

124

THE QUARRY                125

scrabbling back and up through the loose earth to
the far underside of the rock. The light of day broke
suddenly in on him, and he saw the far overhanging
edge of the rock. Then he was out from under it, into
the grass and the sun. He jerked to his feet, ready to
run, and then two slim arms caught and held him.

"Jix!" cried the voice of Raby, triumphant. "I got
him! I got him here!"

There was the sound from under the rock behind
him and a second later Jix came around to stand
before Johnson. Dirt had refused to cling to Jix's
shimmering shorts and tunic. He stood in front of
William, his head about shoulder-high on the man,
his face as beautiful as a profile on a cameo, sad and
concerned.

"Mr. Johnson." he said, "why do you run off like
that?'Don't you know how easy it is for you to get
hurt? We've told you and told you, Mr. Johnson."

William did not answer. He whimpered and strug-
gled ineffectually in Raby's grasp.

"What'll we do, Jix?" asked Raby. "He's all ex-
cited, and he's going to hurt himself if he doesn't
stop fighting."

"I think he wants to get back under the rock," said
Jix. "Let's take him away to where there's nothing
for him to crawl under. Then maybe he'll relax."

He led off. Raby followed, holding William's arms
and pushing him along. As they went, William's re-
sistance slowly melted. He ceased to fight against
Raby's urging and the tension went out of his arms.
After a little while the younger boy let him go and he
trudged along with them with his head bowed, his
gray hair falling forward over his gaunt, youngish-
looking face and his arms in their iridescent sleeves-
he was dressed in the same fashion as Jix and Raby-
swinging limply on either side.

126 Gordon R. Dickson

They had been on the side of a stone-tumbled hill,
just below its peak. This peak they went up and over
now, and down the far side onto a smooth falling-
away of land, so carpeted with fine grass that it
seemed almost parklike. In the nearer distance was a
great, abrupt hole several acres in area, with a glimpse
of vertical sides of white rock. Beyond this were the
hazy blue shoulders of the foothills to the mountains,
and here and there amongst them a flash or hint of
bright color that gave no clue to its shape or purpose
in being.

They went on until they reached the smooth lawn-
level grass beside the quarry; and there the two boys
sat down, pulling William down with them. They sat
cross-legged like Indians in a rough circle.

William's eyes, for all that his body was loose again,
were still abstract and wild. They stared away at the
foothills; and slowly two tears formed in them, welled
up and began to streak their way down his hollow
cheeks.

"Home-" he said suddenly, brokenly, "home-"

Jix reached over and rhythmically, slowly, sooth-
ingly, rubbed William's near shoulder.

"Now. Mr. Johnson," he said, "you know you can't
go home. You can only go forward in time, not back.
We told you and told you," he almost chanted the
words, matching the rhythm of his moving hand,
"and told you you can't go back."

William put his head down and sobbed.

"Now. Mr. Johnson," said Jix, "it's really no use
getting all unhappy. If you'll just look up and around
you, you'll see all sorts of things to feel good about.
See how the foothills seem to go right up into the air
like towers-look, Mr. Johnson." Slowly, as if unwill-
ingly, the man raised his head and turned it toward
the foothills. "That darker blue behind them, that
haze, that's really the mountains, only the humidi-

THE QUARRY                127

ty's up and we've got a temperature inversion back a
ways. Isn't that something to see, Mr. Johnson?"

William swallowed, looking off in the direction
indicated.

"And look at this," broke in Raby. plucking a sin-
gle blade of grass and holding it up before his face,
"look at this, Mr. Johnson. See how fine and sharp
the lines are. So beautiful. And all complete and
whole in one little piece. Doesn't that make you
happy?"

Suddenly, William knocked the hand holding the
blade of grass aside.

"No!" he cried. "No!"

"Please, Mr. Johnson," said Jix, now rubbing his
hand soothingly up and down the sharp adult spine.
"Try just a little bit to like things. You'll feel a lot
better if you do. It's nice here, but you won't let
yourself like it."

"It's not!" William snapped his head back and
forth, glaring first in one young face and then in the
other. "Not like home!"

"But you can't go home," said Raby. "And it really
wasn't very nice back then, Mr.'Johnson, you know
that as well as we do, but you won't admit it. It was
dirty, and people were sick all the time, now wasn't
it?"

"No!" exploded William. "It was fine, and plain
and natural-" He sobbed again, suddenly. "There
were people you could talk to. Plain people, who
liked ordinary things and lived in real houses- They
ate real food-real, cooked food."

"You can have anything you want to eat, Mr. John-
son," said Jix- "We'll get it right now for you." ,

"I don't want your food!" cried William, desper-
ately. "It isn't real! It isn't honest."

"Why, yes it is," said Jix. "Now, you know that;

too, Mr. Johnson. It's just as real as the food you
used to get by killing animals and cooking up plants.

128

Gordon R. Dickson

It's just made out of the essential raw materials,
that's all."

"I say it's fake!" William jerked about on the grass
between them as if he would get up and run, but did
not do so. "It's not right." He whimpered, dropping
his voice and head. "It's not right," he whispered to
the grass between his spread legs. He lifted his head-
"All right," he said defiantly. "Make me eat it."

"Mr. Johnson," said Raby, "we couldn't do a thing
like that. Could we, Jix?"

"Not unless Mr. Johnson really wants us to," said
Jix, firmly. "And we know he doesn't."

William brought his face around slowly to sneer in
the face of the older boy-

"Oh, you're sure about that, are you?" he said,
softly. "You're so sure." Jix did not pull his face back
or alter his expression as the man's hot breath fanned
his eyelashes. "You're so sure you know what I really
want, and you try so hard to give it to me, don't you?
And why? Why?"

"We feel sorry for you, Mr. Johnson," said Jix.
"I'd bet you do. I'll-just-bet-you-do." William
pushed himself suddenly forward and onto his knees,
so that he kneeled before Jix looming over him. "Do
you know what I am?" he said softly. "I'm a physi-
cist, a research physicist. I've got four degrees, do
you know that? Four college degrees! I've got a
million-dollar appropriation to do whatever I want-
and I did something with it nobody ever did before,
something nobody was ever intelligent enough and
skillful enough, and trained enough to do before. I
traveled into the future, into the far future. That's
the kind of man I am."

"We know, Mr. Johnson," said Raby, from behind
him. "You told us, you know, lots of times."

"Then what're we sitting here for?" cried William,
sitting back on his knees and looking from one to the
other. "Where are the men who ought to be talking

THE QUARRY                129

to me? Where are the scientists? Where are the histo-
rians? Where are the institutes?"

"There aren't any, Mr. Johnson," said Jix. "Every-
body told you that. Not the way you think. Every-
body knows all about those things you know, but
they're too busy to bother with them."

"Busy? Busy at what?" cried William.

"We told you and told you, Mr. Johnson," said
Raby, patiently, "that it's no use your trying to make
us tell you, because there isn't any language for ex-
plaining what people do. You've just got to under-
stand."

"Try me. Make me understand."

"But you can't," said Raby. "You weren't bred to
understand. It took generations and generations of
gene selection and crossing to evolve people who
could understand. That's why the grownups don't
have anything to talk to you about."

"Then why do you two talk to me?" William
clenched his fists. "Why you?"

"But we're just children, Mr. Johnson."

"Children!" William's voice broke on a fresh sob.
"Call yourselves children! Oh, no. Children are little
and not strong. You show them things. Children be-
lieve you. You? Children?"

"But we are," said Jix, calmly.

"No. you're not." William straightened up, star-
ing at them. "Children? You're monsters. Monsters
stronger than I am. Monsters who know everything,
who can do anything, who haven't a shred of natural
feeling. Children? Children laugh. Children cry. You
don't laugh or cry, either one of you. You don't hate.
You don't love."

"Mr. Johnson!" said Raby. "You know better than
that. We love everybody- We love you, too."

"Love? Me? When you torture me like this, day
after day? When you follow me around, making a
fool of me, always hounding me, showing me up-"

130 Gordon R. Dickson

"We'll go away if you want," said Jix. "But every
time we go away, you come looking for us."

"Not you! Not you!" William shook his clenched
fists above his head. "I want real people, adult peo-
ple to talk to."

"But nobody has time to talk to you but us," said
Jix. "We told you that. Besides, we want to look after
you. You're liable to get hurt if we don't watch you.
You're always doing something that's going to get
you hurt when we leave you alone, then we have to
catch you before you do." He gestured at the wide
hole a few yards off. "You nearly fell into the quarry,
day before yesterday."

"The quarry!" groaned William. "Oh, God! And
why did you make a quarry there in the first place?
Did you just want one? Or did you want to play King
Arthur with a real stone castle?"

"Our father wanted it," said Raby. "We told you
that."

"He?" William gave a shout of high-pitched laugh-
ter. "The great man? The mysterious head of the
household, who doesn't even exist part of the time?
You mean he needed real stone? Plain stone?" Wil-
liam's voice rose on waves of hysterical laughter.
"Plain, ordinary limestone? What for?"

The two boys looked at each other helplessly.

"It's one of those things I have to understand, isn't
it?" shouted William, leaping to his feet. "Liars! Fake!"
He began to dance before them, stamping his feet
and bobbing his shoulders like a savage. "Mumbo
jumbo! Witch doctor! Witch doctor! Spirits of the
mumbo .. . jumbo .. - mumbo-" Abruptly, he stopped
chanting and dancing and stared at them, his face
falling into a look of agony. He fell to his knees
and stretched out his skinny arms to them. Dragg-
ing himself forward on his knees, he approached
them.

"Please," he said, "please ... oh please! You can

THE QLARRY                131

do anything. I know you can do anything. Put me out
of my misery. Make me happy here. Make me not
know any different. Make me forget. Fix me ... fix

me-

The two boys looked at him with sad and solemn
eyes.

"Poor Mr. Johnson," said Jix. "We can't do that. If
you understood, you'd know it wasn't right for us to
do it. If we changed you, it would spoil you, and we
would be spoiled by doing such a thing. It isn't right
for people to be changed, Mr. Johnson, except by
themselves."

"But I'm not people"-he clawed at their glittering
tunics-"I'm an animal. I'm a pet. Have pity . . . oh,
have pity-"

"No, Mr. Johnson," said Jix. "Even you know that.
You're not an animal or a pet at all. You're a human
man with a soul who has to find his own way, like
everybody."

"But I can't . . . you all say I can't!"

"Poor Mr. Johnson," said Raby softly. "If only you'd
understand."

"Make me understand," William pleaded.

"Nobody can make you understand, Mr. Johnson."

William screamed suddenly and rose to his feet.
Extending his shaking hands to the air, he screamed
at the sky. And then, whirling, before even the quick
reflexes of the boys could stop him, he turned and
ran toward the open edge of the quarry. He ran
forward and out. For a fraction of a second he contin-
ued forward, seeming to run in empty air, and then
he dropped from sight.

The boys leaped and ran to the edge of the quarry.
Before they reached it, the sound of an impact came
up from the depths. They stopped at the edge; and,
looking over, saw the broken body of William lying
on the pale wet rock. far below.

132             Gordon R. Dickson

They looked at each other. Then they started to
climb down into the quarry.

Their mother was in the garden of their house, that
was like no house William had ever known, as they
came up a little later carrying the crushed and ru-
ined body. She turned to face them, a tall woman
with pale skin and dark hair and as beautiful as they.
Her eyes took in what was left of William and her
exchange of glances with the boys seemed to gather
the whole story.

"He suddenly jumped. Mother." said Raby. He
looked up at the tall woman with eyes that were still
the eyes of a child. "Is he all spoiled?"

"No, Raby." she answered. "Nothing is ever all
spoiled. Give him to me." She took the dead man
from Jix's arms easily up into her own. "I'll give him
to your father when he gets back. Your father will fix
him, and he'll be as good as ever in the morning."

3-Part Puzzle

The Mologhese ship twinkled across the light years
separating the human-conquered planets of the
Bahrin system from Mologh. Aboard her, the Mologh
Envoy sat deep in study. For he was a thinker as well
as a warrior, the Envoy, and his duties had gone
far beyond obtaining the capsule propped on the
Mologhese version of a desk before him-a sealed
message capsule containing the diplomatic response
of the human authorities to the proposal he had
brought from Mologh. His object of study at the
moment, however, was not the capsule, but a trans-
lation of something human he had painfully resolved
into Mologhese terms. His furry brow wrinkled and
his bulldog-shaped jaw clamped as he worked his
way through it. He had been over it a number of
times, but he still could not conceive of a reason for a
reaction he had observed among human young to its
message. It was, he had been reliably informed, one
of a group of such stories for the human young.
-What he was looking at in translation was approxi-
mately this:

THE THREE (Name) (Domestic animals) (Name)
Once upon a time there was a (horrendous, carniv-

133

134 Gordon R. Dickson

orous, mythical creature) who lived under a bridge
and one day he became very hungry. He was sitting
there thinking of good things to eat when he heard
the sounds of someone crossing the bridge over his
head. (Sharp hoof-sound)-(sharp hoof-sound) went
the sounds on the bridge overhead.

"Who's there?" cried the (horrendous, carnivorous,
mythical creature).

"It's only I, the smallest (Name) (Domestic animal)
(Name)" came back the answer.

"Well, I am the (horrendous, carnivorous, mythical
creature) who lives under the bridge," replied the
(horrendous, carnivorous, mythical creature), "and I'm
coming up to eat you all up."

"Oh, don't do that, please!" cried the smallest
(Name) (Domestic animal) (Name). "I wouldn't even
make you a good meal. My (relative), the (middle-
sized? next-oldest?) (Name) (Domestic animal) (Name)
will be along in a minute. Let me go. He's much
bigger than I. You'll get a much better meal out of
him. Let me go and eat him instead."

"Very well," said the (horrendous, carnivorous,
mythical creature); and (hoof-sound)-(hoof-sound)
the (Name) (Domestic animal) (Name) hurried across
the bridge to safety.

After a while the (horrendous, carnivorous, mythi-
cal creature) heard (heavier hoof-sound)-(heavier
hoof-sound) on the bridge overhead.

"Who's there?" he cried.

"It is I, the (middle-sized?) (Name) (Domestic ani-
mal) (Name)," replied a (deeper?) voice.

"Then I am coming up to eat you up," said the
(horrendous, carnivorous, mythical creature). "Your
smaller (relative?) the smallest (Name) (Domestic an-
imal) (Name) told me you were coming and I let him
go by so I could have a bigger meal by eating you. So
here I come."

"Oh. you are, are you?" said the (middle-sized)

3-PART PUZZLE                 135

(Name) (Domestic animal) (Name). "Well, suit your-
self; but our oldest (relative?), the big (Name) (Do-
mestic animal) (Name) will be along in just a moment.
If you want to wait for him, you'll really have a meal
to remember."

"Is that so?" said the (horrendous, carnivorous,
mythical creature), who was very (greedy? avaricious?
gluttonous?). "All right, go ahead." (And the (middle-
sized) (Name) (Domestic animal) (Name) went (heav-
ier hoof-sound)-(heavier hoof-sound) across the bridge
to safety-
It was not long before the (horrendous, carnivo-
rous, mythical creature) heard (thunderous hoof-
sound)-(thunderous hoof-sound) shaking the bridge
overhead.

"Who's there?" cried the (horrendous, carnivorous,
mythical creature).

"It is I!" rumbled an (earth-shaking?) deep (bass?)
voice. "The biggest (Name) (Domestic animal) (Name).
Who calls?"

"I do!" cried the (horrendous, carnivorous, mythi-
cal creature). "And I'm coming up to eat you all up!"
And he sprang up on the bridge. But the big (Name)
(Domestic animal) (Name) merely took one look at
him, and lowered (his?) head and came charging
fbcward, with his (horns?) down. And he butted that
(horrendous, carnivorous, mythical creature) over the
hills and so far away he could never find his way
back to bother anyone ever again-

The Mologhese Envoy put the translation aside and
blinked his red-brown eyes wearily. It was ridicu-
lous, he thought, to let such a small conundrum
bother him this way. The story was perfectly simple
and obvious; it related how an organization of three
individuals delayed conflict with a dangerous enemy
until their strongest member arrived to deal with the

136 Gordon R. Dickson

situation. Perfectly usual and good Conqueror indoc-
trination literature for Conqueror young.

But still, there was something-a difference about
it he could not quite put his finger on. The human
children he had observed having it told to them at
that school he had visited had greeted the ending
with an entirely disproportionate glee. Why? Even to
a student of tactics like himself the lesson was a
simple and rather boring one. It was as if a set of
young students were suddenly to become jubilant on
being informed that two plus two equaled four. Was
there some hidden value in the lesson that he failed
to discover? Or merely some freakish twist to the
human character that caused the emotional response
to be disproportionate?

If there was, the Envoy would be everlastingly
destroyed if he could not lay the finger of his percep-
tion on what it was. Perhaps, thought the Envoy.
leaning back in the piece of furniture in which he sat,
this problem was merely part and parcel of that
larger and more widespread anomaly he had remarked
upon during the several weeks, local time, he had been
the guest of the human HQ on Bahrin II. ...

The humans had emerged on the galactic scene rather
suddenly, but not too suddenly to escape notice by
potentially interested parties. They had fanned out
from their home system; doing it at first the hard
way by taking over and attempting to pioneer unin-
habited planets of nearby systems. Eventually they
had bumped into the nearest Conqueror civilization-
which was that of the Bahrin, an ursinoid type estab-
lished over four small but respectable systems and
having three Submissive types in bondage, one of
which was a degraded Conqueror strain.

Like most primitive races, the humans did not at
first seem to realize what they were up against. They
attempted at first to establish friendly relations with

3-PART PUZZLE

137

the Bahrin without attempting any proof of their
own. Conqueror instincts. The Bahrin, of course, rec-
ognized Conqueror elements potential in the form of
the human civilization; and for that reason struck all
the harder, to take advantage of their own age and
experience. They managed to destroy nearly all the
major planetary installations of the humans, and over
twenty percent of the population at first strike. How-
ever, the humans rebounded with surprising ferocity
and speed, to drop guerrilla land troops on the Bahrin
planets while they gathered power for a strikeback.
The strikeback was an overwhelming success, the
Bahrin power being enfeebled by the unexpected
fierceness of the human guerrillas and the fact that
these seemed to have the unusual ability to enlist the
sympathy of the Submissives under the Bahrin rule.
The Bahrin were utterly broken; and the humans
had for some little time been occupying the Bahrin
worlds.

Meanwhile, the ponderous mills of the Galactic
social order had been grinding up the information all
this had provided. It was known that human explo-
ration ships had stumbled across their first contact
with one of the Shielded Worlds; and immediately
made eager overtures of friendship to the people upon
it. It was reported that when the Shielded Peoples
went on about their apparently meaningless business
under that transparent protective element which no
known Conqueror had ever been able to breach (and
the human overtures were ignored, as all Conqueror
attempts at contact had always been) that a storm
of emotion swept over the humans-a storm involv-
ing the whole spectrum of emotions. It was as if the
rejection had had the equivalent of a calculated in-
sult from an equivalent, Conqueror, race.

In that particular neighborhood of the galaxy the
Mologhese currently held the balance of power among

138 Gordon R. Dickson

the Conqueror races. They sent an Envoy with a
proposal to the human authorities.

-And that, thought the Envoy, aboard the return-
ing spaceship as he put aside the problem of the
translation to examine the larger question, was the
beginning of an educative process on both sides.

His job had been to point out politely but firmly
that there were many races in the galaxy; but that
they had all evolved on the same type of world, and
they all fell into one of three temperamental catego-
ries. They were by nature Conquerors, Submissives,
or Invulnerables. The Invulnerables were, of course,
the people of the Shielded Worlds, who went their
own pacific, nontechnologic ways. And if these could
not be dominated behind the protections of their
strange abilities, they did not seem interested in dom-
inating themselves, or interfering with the Conquer-
ors. So the situation worked out to equalities and
they could be safely ignored.

The Submissive races, of course, were there for any
Conqueror race's taking. That disposed of them. But
there were certain elements entering into inter-
Conqueror relationships, that were important for the
humans to know.

No Conqueror race could, naturally, be denied its
birthright, which was to take as much as it could
from Submissives and its fellow-Conquerors. On the
other hand, there were advantages to be gained by
semipeaceful existence even within the laws of a so-
ciety of Conqueror races. Obvious advantages deal-
ing with trade, travel, and a reciprocal recognition of
rights and customs. To be entitled to these, the one
prime requirement upon any Conqueror race was
that it should not rock the boat. It might take on one
or more of its neighbors, or make an attempt to
move up a notch in the pecking order in this neck of
the Galactic woods: but it must not become a bother

3-PART PUZZLE

139

to the local community of Conquerors as a whole by
such things as general piracy, et cetera.

"In short." had replied the Envoy's Opposite Num-
ber-a tall, rather thin, and elderly human with a sad
smile, "a gentleman's agreement?"

"Please?" said the Envoy. The Opposite Number
explained-

"Essentially, yes," said the Envoy, feeling pleased.
He was pleased enough, in fact, to take time out for a
little dissertation on this as an example of the strik-
ing cultural similarities between Conqueror races that
often produced parallel terms in completely different
languages, and out of completely different back-
grounds.

". . . In fact," he wound up, "let me say that per-
sonally, I find you people very much akin. That is
one of the things that makes me so certain that you
will eventually be very pleased that you have agreed
to this proposal I brought. Essentially, all it asks is
that you subscribe to the principles of a Conqueror
intersociety-which is, after all, your own kind of
society-and recognize its limitations as well as its
privileges by pledging to maintain the principles
which are the hard facts of its existence."

"Well," said his Opposite Number, whose name
was Harrigan or Hargan, or some such, "that is some-
thing to be decided on in executive committee. Mean-
while, suppose I show you around here; and you can
tell me more about the galaxy."

There followed several weeks in which the Envoy
found himself being convoyed around the planet which
had originally been the seat of the former Bahrin
ruling group. It was quite obviously a tactic to ob-
serve him over a period of time and under various
conditions; and he did not try to resist it. He had his
own observations to make, and this gave him an
excellent opportunity to do so.

140 Gordon R. Dickson

For one thing, he noted down as his opinion that
they were an exceedingly touchy people where slights
were concerned. Here they had just finished their
war with the Bahrin in the last decade and were
facing entrance into an interstellar society of races as
violent as themselves; and yet the first questions on
the tips of the tongues of nearly all those he met
were concerned with the Shielded Worlds. Even
Harrigan, or whatever his name was, confessed to an
interest in the people on the Invulnerable planets.

"How long have they been like that"3" Harrigan
asked.

The Envoy could not shrug. His pause before an-
swering fulfilled the same function.

"There is no way of telling," he said. "Things on
Shielded Worlds are as the people there make them.
Take away the signs of a technical civilization from a
planet-turn it all into parkland-and how do you
tell how long the people there have been as they are?
All we ever knew is that they are older than any of
our histories."

"Older?" said Harrigan. "There must be some leg-
end, at least, about how they came to be?"

"No," said the Envoy. "Oh, once in a great while
some worthless planet without a population will sud-
denly develop a shield and become fertile, forested
and populated-but this is pretty clearly a case of
colonization. The Invulnerables seem to be able to
move from point to point in space by some nonphysi-
cal means. That's all."

"All?" said Harrigan.

"All," said the Envoy. "Except for an old Submis-
sive superstition that the Shielded Peoples are a mixed
race sprung from an interbreeding between a Con-
queror and a Submissive type-something we know,
of course, to be a genetic impossibility."

"I see," said Harrigan.

Harrigan took the Envoy around to most of the

3-PART PUZZLE

!41

major cities of the planet. They did not visit any
military installations (the Envoy had not expected
that they would) but they viewed a lot of new con-
struction taking the place of Bahrin buildings that
had been obliterated by the angry scars of the war. It
was going up with surprising swiftness-or perhaps
not so surprising, noted the Envoy thoughtfully, since
the humans seemed to have been able to enlist the
enthusiastic co-operation of the Submissives they had
taken over. The humans appeared to have a knack
for making conquered peoples willing to work with
them. Even the Bahrin, what there were left of them,
were behaving most unlike a recently crushed race of
Conquerors, in the extent of their co-operation. Cer-
tainly the humans seemed to be allowing their for-
mer enemies a great deal of freedom, and even
responsibility in the new era. The Envoy sought for
an opportunity, and eventually found the chance to
talk to one of the Bahrin alone. This particular Bahrin
was an assistant architect on a school that was being
erected on the outskirts of one city- (The humans
seemed slightly crazy on the subject of schools; and
only slightly less crazy on the'subjects of hospitals,
libraries, museums, and recreation areas. Large num-
bers of these were going up all over the planet.) This
particular Bahrin, however, was a male who had
been through the recent war. He was middle-aged
and had lost an arm in the previous conflict. The
Envoy found him free to talk, not particularly bitter,
but considerably impressed emotionally by his new
overlords.

"... May your courage be with you," he told the
Envoy. "You will have to face them sooner or later;

and they are demons."

"What kind of demons?" said the Envoy, skeptically.
"A new kind," said the Bahrin. He rested his heavy,
furry, bearlike forearm upon the desk in front of him
and stared out a window at a changing landscape.

142 Gordon R. Dwkson

"Demons full of fear and strange notions. Who un-
derstands them? Half their history is made up of
efforts to understand themselves-and they still don't."
He glanced significantly at the Envoy. "Did you know
the Submissivcs are already starting to call them the
Mixed People?"
The Envoy wrinkled his furry brow.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he said.
"The Submissives think the humans are really Sub-
missives who have learned how to fight."
The Envoy snorted.
"That's ridiculous."

"Of course," said the Bahrin; and sighed heavily.
"But what isn't, these days?" He turned back to his
work. "Anyway, don't ask me about them. The more
I see of them, the less I understand."

They parted on that note-and the Envoy's private
conviction that the loss of the Bahri ^ 's arm had driven
him slightly insane.

Nonetheless, during the following days as he was
escorted around from spot to spot, the essence of that
anomaly over which he was later to puzzle during
his trip home emerged. For one thing, there were the
schools. The humans, evidently, in addition to being
education crazy themselves, believed in wholesale
education for their cattle as well. One of the schools
he was taken to was an education center for young
Bahrin pupils; and-evidently due to a shortage of
Bahrin instructors following the war-a good share
of the teachers were human.

"... I just love my class!" one female human teacher
told the Envoy, as they stood together watching young
Bahrin at play during their relaxation period.

"Please?" said the Envoy, astounded.

"They're so quick and eager to learn," said the
teacher. One of the young Bahrin at play dashed up
to her, was overcome with shyness at seeing the

3-PART PUZZLE

143

Envoy, and hung back. She reached out and patted
him on the head. A peculiar shiver ran down the
Envoy's back; but the young Bahrin nestled up to
her.

"They respond so," said the teacher. "Don't you
think so?"

"They were a quite worthy race at one time," re-
plied the Envoy, with mingled diplomatic confusion
and caution.

"Oh, yes'" said the teacher enthusiastically; and
proceeded to overwhelm him with facts he already
knew about the history of the Bahrin, until the En-
voy found himself rescued by Harrigan- The Envoy
went off wondering a little to himself whether the
humans had indeed conquered the Bahrin or whether,
perhaps, it had not been the other way around.

Food for that same wonderment seemed to be sup-
plied by just about everything else that Harrigan let
him see. The humans, having just about wiped the
Bahrin out of existence, seemed absolutely determined
to repair the damage they had done, and to improve
upon the former situation by way of interest. Why?
What kept the Bahrin from seething with plans for
revolt at this very minute? The young ones of course-
like that pupil with the teacher-might not know
any better; but the older ones .. . ? The Envoy thought
of the one-armed Bahrin architect he had talked to,
and felt further doubt. If they were alt like that one-
but then what kind of magic had the humans worked
to produce such an intellectual and emotional vic-
tory? The Envoy went back to his quarters and took
a nap to quiet the febrillations of his thinking process.

When he woke up, he set about getting hold of
what history he could on the war just past. Accounts
both human and Bahrin were available; and, plow-
ing through them, reading them for statistics rather
than reports, he was reluctantly forced to the conclu-
sion that the one-armed Bahrin had been right. The

144 Gordon R. Dickson

humans were demons. -Or at least, they had fought
like demons against the Bahrin. A memory 'of the
shiver that had run down his back as he watched the
female human teacher patting the young Bahrin on
the head troubled the Envoy again. Would this same
female be perfectly capable of mowing down adult
Bahrin by the automatic handweapon clipful? Ap-
parently her exact counterparts had. If so, which was
the normal characteristic of the human nature-the
head-patting, or the trigger-pulling?

It was almost a relief when the human authorities
gave him a sealed answer to the proposal he had
brought, and sent him on his way home a few days
later. He carried that last question of his away with
him.

"The only conclusion I can come to," said the Envoy
to the chief authority among the Mologhese, a week
and a half later as they both sat in the Chief's office,
"is that there is some kind of racial insanity that sets
in in times of peace. In other words, they're Conquer-
ors in the true sense only when engaged in Conquest."

The Chief frowned at the proposal answer, still
sealed on the desk before him. He had asked for the
Envoy's report before opening it; and now he won-
dered if this traditional procedure had been the wis-
est move under the circumstances. He rather suspected
the Envoy's wits of having gone somewhat astray
during his mission.

"You don't expect me to believe something like
that," said the Chief. "No culture that was insane
half the time could survive. And if they tried to main-
tain sanity by continual Conquest, they would bleed
to death in two generations."

The Envoy said nothing. His Chief's arguments were
logically unassailable.

"The sensible way to look at it," said the Chief, "is
to recognize them as simply another Conqueror strain

3-PAnr PUZZLE                 145

with somewhat more marked individual peculiari-
ties than most. This is-let us say-their form of
recreation, of amusement, between conquests. Per-
haps they enjoy playing with the danger of cultivat-
ing strength in their conquered races."

"Of course, there is that," admitted the Envoy.
"You may be right."

"I think," said the Chief, "that it's the only sensi-
ble all-around explanation."

"On the other hand-" The Envoy hesitated, re-
membering. "There was the business of that female
human patting the small Bahrin on the head."

"What about it?"

The Envoy looked at his Chief.

"Have you ever been patted on the head?" he asked.
The Chief stiffened.

"Of course not!" He relaxed slowly, staring at the
Envoy- "Why? What makes you ask that?"

"Well, 1 never have either, of course-especially by
anyone of another race- But that little Bahrin liked
it. And seeing it gave me-" The Envoy stopped to
shiver again.

"Gave you what?" said the Chief

"A ... a sort of horrible, affectionate feeling-"
The Envoy stopped speaking in helplessness.

"You've been overworking," said the Chief, coldly.
"Is there anything more to report?"

"No," said the Envoy. "No. But aside from all this,-
there's no doubt they'd be a tough nut to crack, those
humans. My recommendation is that we wait for
optimum conditions before we choose to move against
them."

"Your recommendation will go into the record, of
course," said the Chief. He picked up the human
message capsule. "And now I think it's time I lis-
tened to this. They didn't play it for you?"

The Envoy shook his head.

The Chief picked up the capsule (it was one the

i46 Gordon R. Dickson

Envoy had taken along for the humans to use in
replying), broke its seal and put it into the speaker
unit of his desk. The speaker unit began to murmur a
message tight-beamed toward the Chief's ear alone.
The Envoy sat, nursing the faint hope that the Chief
would see fit to let him hear, later. The Envoy was
very curious as to the contents of that message. He
watched his Chief closely, and saw the other's face
slowly gather in a frown that deepened as the mes-
sage purred on.

Abruptly it stopped. The Chief looked up; and his
eyes met the Envoy's.

"It just may be," said the Chief slowly, "that I owe
you an apology."

"An apology?" said the Envoy.

"Listen to this-" The Chief adjusted a volume
control and pressed a button. A human voice speak-
ing translated Mologhese filled the room.

"The Committee of Control for the human race
wishes to express its appreciation for-"

"No, no-" said the Chief. "Not this diplomatic
slush. Farther on-" He did things with his controls,
the voice speeded up to a gabble, a whine, then
slowed toward understandability again. "Ah, listen
to this."

". . . Association," said the voice, "but without en-
dorsement of what the Moioghese Authority is pleased
to term the Conqueror temperament. While our two
races have a great deal in common, the human race
has as its ultimate aims not the exercises of war and
oppression, plundering, general destruction and the
establishment of a tyranny in a community of ty-
rants; but rather the establishment of an environ-
ment of peace for all races. The human race believes
m the ultimate establishment of universal freedom,
justice, and the inviolable rights of the individual
whoever he may be. We believe that our destiny lies

3-PART PUZZLE

147

neither within the pattern of conquest nor submis-
sion, but with the enlightened maturity of indepen-
dence characterized by what are known as the Shielded
Worlds; and, while not ceasing to defend our people
and our borders from all attacks foreign and domes-
tic, we intend to emulate these older, protected peo-
ples in hope that they may eventually find us worthy
of association. In this hope-"

The Chief clicked off the set and looked grimly at
the Envoy. The Envoy stared back at him in shock.

"Insane." said the Envoy. "I was right-quite in-
sane." He sank back in his seat. "At any rate, you too
were correct. They're too irrational, too unrealistic
to survive. We needn't worry about them."

"On the contrary," said his ChieL "And I'm to
blame for not spotting it sooner. There were indica-
tions ot this in some of the preliminary reports we
had on them. They are very dangerous."

The Envoy shook his head.

"I don't see-" he began.

"But I do!" said the Chief. "And I don't hold down
this position among our people for nothing. Think for
a moment, Envoy! Don't you see it? These people are
causal!"

"Causal?"

"Exactly," replied the Chief. "They don't act or
react to practical or realistic stimuli. They react to
emotional or philosophic conclusions of their own."

"I don't see what's so dangerous about that?" said
the Envoy, wrinkling his forehead.

"It wouldn't be dangerous if they were a different
sort of race," said the Chief. "But these people seem
to be able to rationalize their emotional and philo-
sophic conclusions in terms of hard logic and harder
science. -You don't believe me? Do you remember
that story for the human young you told me about,
about the three hoofed and horned creatures crossing
a bridge?"

148 Gordon R Dickson

"Of course," said the Envoy.

"All right. It puzzled you that the human young
should react so strongly to what was merely a lesson
in elementary tactics. But-it wasn't the lesson they
were reacting to. It was the emotional message over-
laying the lesson. The notion of some sort of abstract
right and wrong, so that when the somehow wrong
mythical creature under the bridge gets what the
humans might describe as his just deserts at the
horns of the triumphing biggest right creature-the
humans are tremendously stimulated."

"But I still don't see the danger-"

"The danger," said the Chief, "lies in the fact that
while such a story has its existence apparently-to
humans-only for its moral and emotional values,
the tactical lesson which we so obviously recognize
is not lost, either. To us, this story shows a way of
conquering. To the humans it shows not only a way
but a reason, a Justification. A race whose motives
are founded upon such justifications is tremendously
dangerous to us."

"You must excuse me," said the Envoy, bewild-
eredly. "Why-"

"Because we-and I mean all the Conqueror races,
and all the Submissive races-" said the Chief,
strongly, "have no defenses in the emotional and
philosophic areas. Look at what you told me about
the Bahrin, and the Submissives the humans took
over from the Bahrin. Having no strong emotional
and philosophic persuasions of their own, they have
become immediately infected by the human ones-
They are like people unacquainted with a new dis-
ease who fall prey to an epidemic. The humans, being
self-convinced of such things as justice and love, in
spite of their own arbitrariness and violence, con-
vince all of us who lack convictions having never
needed them before. Do you remember how you said

3-PART PUZZLE

149

you felt when you saw the little Bahrin being patted
on the head? That's how vulnerable we are!"

The Envoy shivered again, remembering.

"Now I see," he said.

"I thought you would," said the Chief, grimly. "The
situation to my mind is serious, enough so to call for
the greatest emergency measures possible. We mustn't
make the mistake of the creature under the bridge in
the story. We were prepared to let the humans get by
our community strength because we thought of them
as embryo Conquerors, and we hoped for better en-
tertainment later. Now they come along again, this
time as something we can recognize as Conqueror-
plus. And this time we can't let them get by. I'm
going to call a meeting of our neighboring Conqueror
executive Chiefs; and get an agreement to hit the
humans now with a coalition big enough to wipe
them out to the last one."

He reached for a button below a screen on his
desk. But before he could touch it, it came alight
with the figure of his own attache.

"Sir-" began this officer; "and then words failed
him.

"Well?" barked the Chief.

"Sir-" The officer swallowed. "From the Shielded
Worlds-a message." The Chief stared long and hard.

"From the Shielded Worlds?" said the Chief. "How?
From the Shielded Worlds? When?"

"I know it's tantastic, sir. But one of our ships was
passing not too far from one of the Shielded Worlds
and it found itself caught-"

"And you just now got the message?" The Chief cut
him short

"Just this second, sir. I was just-"

"Let me have it. And keep your channel open,"
said the Chief. "I've got some messages to send."

The officer made a movement on the screen and
something like a message cylinder popped out of a

150

Gordon R. Dickson

slot in the Chief's desk. The Chief reached for it, and
hesitated. Looking up. he found the eyes of the Envoy
upon him.

"Never-" said the Envoy, softly. "Never in known
history have they communicated with any of us. . . ."

"It's addressed to me," said the Chief, looking at
the outside of the cylinder. "If they can read our
minds, as we suspect, then they know what I've just
discovered about the humans and what I plan to do
about it." He gave the cylinder a twist to open it.
"Let's see what they have to say."

The cylinder opened up like a flower. A single white
sheet unrolled within it lo lie flat on the desk; and
the message upon it in the common Galactic code
looked up at the Chief. The message consisted of just
one word. The word was:

NO.

IT, Out of
Darkest Jungle

Screen treatment of an original story idea by Joe
Charlesville

CAST OF CHARACTERS
"IT"

SCIENCE FICTION MONSTER

Spine-chilling, monstrous white ape with blood-red

face.

JOE CHANNION

RESEARCH CHEMIST

Age twenty-eight, full of character, handsome, a sci-
entific type with glasses.
NORA WINTERS

JOE'S ASSISTANT

Age twenty-two, tall, beautiful, sensitive understand-
ing.
POOTIE (PATRICIA) LATIMER

JOE'S NIECE

Age seven, golden-haired child.
DR. SVEN SODERUP

ARCHAEOLOGIST

Age 64, white-haired, frail, scholarly.
TRUCK DRIVER, SHERIFF, ETC.-minor characters.

151

152 Gordon R. Dickson

OCIENTIFIC NOTE: Recent research has indicated
<..5lhat the Greeks (ancient) did not simply ignore
headaches as was formerly thought, but that they
may have possessed a medication unknown to pres-
ent-day medical science. This has given rise to well-
founded scientific speculation that, lost in the depths
of time, in prehistory, there may have existed a wiz-
ard master race with a knowledge of chemistry and
medicine unknown to present-day scientists. In the
words of Dr. Baker Terril, MIT, "... maybe they had
a super-aspirin." It is on this thesis that the follow-
ing science fiction story idea is based.

Scene 1-Ruins of an oriental-looking ancient city,
half-excavated from the jungle.

WE OPEN WITH AN AERIAL VIEW, PANNING DOWN AND INTO
ONE OF THE EXCAVATED BUILDINGS. THE ROOM WE ENTER IS
STILL HALF-FULL OF DIRT. THE EXCAVATED HALF SHOWS
BENCHES AND TABLES ON WHICH SIT CURIOUSLY SCIENTIFIC-
LOOKING INSTRUMENTS OF GLASS AND POTTERY. IN THE
OTHER HALF, A NATIVE LABORER IS SINGING TO HIMSELF AS
HE EXCAVATES SOMETHING LARGE AND WHITE. WHICH WE
SEE IS THE BODY OF A HUGE WHITE APE WITH A BLOOD-RED
FACE.

LABORER. SUDDENLY REALIZING WHAT IT IS HE IS EXCA-
VATING, GASPS AND DROPS HIS SHOVEL.

AS HE STARES HORRIFIED, THE APPARENTLY MUMMIFIED
APE SLOWLY OPENS ONE EYE AND WINKS AT HIM.

THE LABORER'S FACE SUDDENLY CHANGES TO A MASK OF
HORROR. HE MAKES A MOVEMENT AS IF HE WILL TURN TO
FLEE BUT THE GREAT. WHITE, APELIKE FIGURE REACHES OUT
WITH ONE HAND. GRASPS HIM BY THE THROAT AND STRAN-
GLES HIM HIS DEAD BODY DROPS WITHOUT A SOUND TO THE
FLOOR- THE APE. WHO IS -"IT." OUT OF DARKEST JUNGLE-
CLOSES HIS EYE AND GOES MOTIONLESS AND APPARENTLY
MUMMIFIED ONCE MORE.

A MOMENT LATER, DR. SODERUP ENTERS THE ROOM. FOR A
MOMENT HE DOES NOT SEE THE BODY OFTHE LABORER. THEN

IT, OUT OF DARKEST JUNGLE           153

HE DOES AND COMES FORWARD TO BEND OVER IT, SHOCK
WRITTEN ON HIS FACE.

DR. SODERUP

What could have killed him in that horrible fashion?

HE NOTICES THE BODY OF THE APE, WITH ITS ARM STILL OUT-
STRETCHED ABOVE THE THROAT OF THE DEAD MAN. FOR A
MOMENT HE FROWNS, AND THEN SHAKES HIS HEAD.

No, no. Obviously this creature has been dead for
many thousands of years. I am imagining things-
and who can blame me? Forty-two months in this
murderous jungle-the heat-the insects-

HE BENDS HIS ATTENTION ON THE APE BODY AND HIS EYES
LIGHT UP

But this is a priceless find. Who knows what an
examination of this body may not teach us? I must
get it back to my laboratory in Muncie, Indiana.
DISSOLVE,

Scene 2-A modern-looking concrete laboratory next
to a flimsy-looking ancient wood house somewhere
in the Kentucky hills.

WE LOOK DOWN ON THE PLACE FROM THE SURROUNDING,
WOODED HfLLS A DIRT ROAD LOOPS BY BEFORE THE TWO
BUILDINGS AND A FRONT YARD IN WHICH IS AN ANCIENT WELL,
AND A HUGE, ANCIENT HALF-BURIED GRANITE BOULDER WEIGH-
ING MANY TONS. WE MOVE DOWN AND IN A WINDOW OF THE
LABORATORY IT IS OBVIOUSLY A PLACE WHERE A CHEMIST
WORKS- BENCHES ARE COVERED WITH GLASSWARE IN STRANGE
SHAPES AND A RETORT FULL OF DARK LIQUID IS BUBBLING
MYSTERIOUSLY- YOUNG DR. JOE CHANNION SITS DISCONSO-
LATE ON A STOOL BESIDE A RACK FULL OF HALF-FILLED TEST
TUBES- NORA BESIDE HIM, STANDING.
JOE

Another failure!

NORA

Don't say that, Doctor. You will succeed. I know
you will.

NORA TRIES TO COMFORT HIM, BUT SHE HAS LITTLE SUCCESS.

154 Gordon R. Dickson

THOUGH CLEAN-SHAVEN AND NEAT IN HIS WHITE LABORA-
TORY COAT, HE IS HOLLOW-EYED WITH EXHAUSTION AND DE-
PRESSED. NORA SUGGESTS THAT HE TAKE THE NIGHT OFF AND
FORGET HIS WORK THEY COULD DRIVE INTO TOWN FOR DIN-
NER AND DANCING. BUT JOE WAVES THE SUGGESTION LIST-
LESSLY ASIDE. THOUGH NORA HAS BEEN HIS ASSISTANT FOR
SEVERAL YEARS AND HAS FALLEN DEEPLY IN LOVE WITH HIM.
HE HIMSELF HAS NEVER TAKEN A SQUARE LOOK AT HER AND
DOES NOT REALIZE HOW BEAUTIFUL AND DESIRABLE SHE IS

JOE

No, it's no use. I was a fool to throw up my re-
search grant, build this laboratory here and try to
go ahead on my own.

NORA

You were not. (Fiercely) The fools were the regents
and the other chemists at the University who lacked
vour faith in Aspirin-X.

JOE

(Shaking his head) No. Maybe they were right, and
I was wrong. Maybe I just let myself be carried
away, following that accident in which my sister
and her husband were fatally injured, and I thought
how different it might have been if Aspirin-X had
been available to save them. (He sighs)

When they died and Pootie was orphaned, I must
have lost my head. It was one thing to bury myself
up here in these hills, but to bury you and Pootie-

HE BREAKS OFF, FOR POOTIE, WEARING AN APRON, HAS JUST
ENTERED THE LAB.

POOTIE

Uncle Joe, I made lunch for you and Nora. It's all
ready.

JOE

(Deeply touched) Did you, Pootie! How can I lose
faith myself when you two have such faith in me.
Well, let's have lunch, and then back to experi-
ment number three thousand, tour hundred and
ninety-six.

IT, OUT OF DARKEST JUNGLE          155

PRETENDING CHEERFULNESS. HE STRIDES OUT OF THE ROOM.
EXCHANGING A GLANCE FULL OF FEMININE SYMPATHY. THE
WOMAN AND THE TENDER-EYED GIRL CHILD HURRY AFTER
HIM.

Scene 3-Several miles up the road from the lab.

AERIAL VIEW OF THE ROAD AS IT DIPS THROUGH A SMALL
VALLEY AND THEN CLIMBS UP A RIDGE JUST BEYOND THE
RIDGE THAT OVERLOOKS THE LABORATORY. A WHITE PANEL
TRUCK COMES INTO VIEW, DRIVES DOWN INTO THE HOLLOW
AND THEN SLOWLY MOUNTS THE RIDGE, APPROACHING AS IT
DOES, UNTIL WE ARE ABLE TO SEE THE FACE OF THE TRUCK
DRIVER.

TRUCK DRIVER

(Muttering to himself) This ain't the right way!
How'd I get onto this back road, anyhow? I'll never
make it up into Indiana and Muncie tonight. How'd
I get here, anyway?

HE SHAKES HIS HEAD LIKE SOMEONE WHO HAS JUST BEEN
DAZED BY A BLOW.

-Now, I remember. There was that turnoff back
on Route 49. I wasn't going to leave the highway
and then this here compulsion sort of takes hold of
me . . .

HE SHAKES HIS HEAD FIRMLY, AND BEGINS TO APPLY THE
BRAKES.

I ain't going any farther. I'm just getting loster and
loster.

HE THROWS AN UNEASY GLANCE OVER HIS SHOULDER AT THE
SHEET METAL PARTITION BEHIND HIM WALLING OFF THE BACK
OF THE TRUCK FROM HIS CAB-

Driving that big old ape mummy gives me the
creeps. Whyn't they let things like that stav bur-
ied? I-

AS HE HALTS THE CAR, THE SHEET METAL PARTITION BEHIND
HIM RIPS AS IF IT WAS CARDBOARD JERKING AROUND, HE
SEES A HUGE. BLOOD-RED APE FACE FRAMED IN THE TORN
OPENING. IT WINKS AT HIM. THEN A HUGE WHITE ARM COMES

156 Gordon R Dickson

THROUGH THE-. OPENING GRASPS HIM BY THE THROAT AND
BEGINS TO STRANGLE HIM AS HE FIGHTS FUTILELY AGAINST
ITS GRIP

DISSOLVE TO THE CURVING DRIVEWAY THAT ENTERS THE
YARD BEFORE THE LAB AND THE FLIMSY WOODEN HOUSE A
COUNTY SHERIFFS POLICE CAR IS PARKED IN THE DRIVEWAY
AND A UNIFORMED SHERIFF IS STANDING OUTSIDE IT SPEAK
ING TO JOE

SHERIFF

I'm sorry, Doc But the law's the law I had to
serve you with that there warrant and if you can't
produce the money you owe by court time, Mon-
day the Judge'11 issue the foreclosure order and I'll
have to take over vour property here

JOE

But don't you realize, ShenfP This will put an end
to my researches-an end to my last chance to give
Aspirm-X to a world racked with disease and suf-
fering And there's this feeling I have-this feeling
that I'm so close

HE GRASPS THE SHERIFF PLEADINGLY BY THE OVERALL SUS
FENDERS THE SHERIFF ENDURES IT STOLIDLY BUT WITH A
HINT OF PITY IN HIS TACITURN COUNTRY EYES

If vou could just have seen experiment number
three thousand, four hundred and ninety-six-)ust
now The precipitate I got from it was just a shade
off, almost pure white I'm sure I've almost got it

somehow it's right there under mv hngers if I
could just see it

HE RELEASES THE SHERIFF AND PASSES A HAND SHAKILY
ACROSS HIS BROW STAGGERING A BIT WITH WEARINESS

-Just one more day Sheriff

SHERIFF
Sorry, young feller If it was up to me-but it ain't
I got my duty to do Noon tomorrow

HE TURNS GETS IN HIS POLICE CAR AND LEAVES JOE TURNS
AROUND AND WALKS SLOWLY AND HEAVILY BACK INTO THE
LAB

IT OUT OF DARKEST JINGLE           157

WE WATCH THE PASSAGE OF TIME IN SPEEDED UP FASHION
THE SUN SINKS IN THE WEST THE SCENE GROWS DARK AND
LIGHTS GO ON IN THE LAB AND IN THE HOUSE THE MOON RISES

AS THE MOON CLIMBS HIGH IN THE SKY AND ILLUMINATES
THE SCENE WE SEE A WHITE PANEL TRUCK ROLL SILENTLY
OUT FROM THE SHADOW OF THE TREES HIDING THE ROAD
AND TURN INTO THE YARD IT STOPS BEHIND THE SPOT WHERE
THE SHERIFF S POLICE CAR HAD BEEN PARKED NO ONE GETS
OUT

Scene 4-Intel ior of Joe s lab The mormng sun shines
in at the windows

WE DISCOVER JOE WITH HIS HEAD ON HIS ARMS FALLEN
ASLEEP AT HIS EXPERIMENTING THE VOfCE OF NORA IS HEARD

NORA

Joe'Joe'

THE DOOR OF THE LAB OPENS AND NORA COMES IN BEARING
A POT OF STEAMING COFFEE AND TWO CUPS AT THE SIGHT OF
JOE SHE RUNS TO HIM PUTS DOWN THE COFFEE AND CUPS
AND IS ABOUT TO THROW HER ARMS AROUND HIM WHEN JOE
WAKES UP

JOE

What    what's thaP Oh, it s you, Nora I must
have fallen asleep Let's see    now for experi-
ment number-

NORA

(Fiercely) You can't go on like this You're killing
yourself, Joe No food, no sleep-working night
and day It isn't worth it-even Aspirm-X isn't
worth it

JOE
Don't sav that, Nora It is worth it-

HE POUNDS HIS FIST FIERCEl Y UPON THE I ABORATORY TABLE

It must be worth it' I can't lose faith, whatever
happens Where would the world have been if Lister
had lost failh7 Or Pasteur^ Or Dr and Madame
Cune^ No, no, I must go on

158 Gordon R. Dickson

NORA

Al least take time to drink a cup of coffee. For my
sa-I mean, for the sake of the work.

JOE

(Smiling a weary, gentle smile) Very well One cup
of coffee.

NORA POURS THEM EACH A CUP OF COFFEE AND THEY SIT
DRINKING AS THEY SIT. THEY CHAT, AND JOE TELLS HER OF
HIS NIGHT'S WORK IN THE LABORATORY
JOE

Somehow I can't get the pure, white precipitate I
know I'm after. I keep getting precipitates with a
slight shade of off-white.

HE WAVES AT A LARGE BLACKBOARD SET UP NEAR HIS LABO-
RATORY TABLE THE SURFACE OF THE BLACKBOARD IS COV
ERED WITH FIGURES AND EQUATIONS MADE UP OF SCIENTIFIC
TYPE SYMBOLS

I've gone over my calculations a thousand times,
and I keep getting the same answer. One of my
factors in the essential equation is somehow wrong.
But whicrP Until 1 can discover thai, the chemical
formulas I derive from the equation will never be
the correct formula for Aspirin-X, which should be
recognized by its glistening white color-

NORA

(Suddenly remembering) Oh, that reminds me. Do
you know anything about a while panel truck?
There was one in the front yard when I came out
this morning to bring vou this coffee.

JOE
(Puzzled) A white panel truck? No. Let's go see.

THEY GOT OUT OF THE LAB AND APPROACH THE WHITE PANEL
TRUCK FIRST THEY LOOK INTO THE CAB OF THE VEHICLE

NORA

No one here. Strange. Somebody must have driven
it.

JOE
Let's look in the back.

IT, OUT OF DARKEST JUNGLE          159

HE GOES AROUND AND OPENS THE BACK DOORS OF THE PANEL
TRUCK NORA SCREAMS-FOR THE BODY OF THE UNFORTUNATE
TRUCK DRIVER COMES TUMBLING OUT ONTO THE GROUND

NORA THROWS HERSELF INTO JOE'S ARMS, AND JOE PUTS HIS
ARMS AUTOMATICALLY AROUND HER

NORA

(Shuddering) Oh, how horrible!

JOE
It's all right . . .

SUDDENLY SELF-CONSCIOUS, THEY BREAK APART WE MOVE
IN ON JOE'S FACE AND THE CAMERA CATCHES THE DAWNING
WONDER IN HIS EYES FOR THE FIRST TIME HE IS LOOKING
ON HER AS A WOMAN, AND REMEMBERING WHAT IT FELT LIKE
TO HAVE HIS ARMS AROUND HER ABSENTM1NDEDLY, HE RE
MOVES HIS GLASSES AS IF TO SEE HER BETTER-AND THE
CLEAR EARLY MORNING LIGHT, STRIKING ACROSS HIS FEA
TURES, REVEALS \ RUGGEDNESS IN THEM THAT THE GLASSES
HAVE HIDDEN UNTIL NOW

ON HER PART. NORA HAS DROPPED HER EYES AND TURNED
A LITTLE AWAY-HER SURE FEMININE INSTINCT, WE SEE. HAS
APPRISED HER OF JOE'S SUDDEN AWAKENING TO HER EXIS-
TENCE AS A WOMAN

BEFORE EITHER OF THEM CAN SAY ANYTHING, HOWEVER, A
BATTERED SAFARI TRUCK, POSSIBLY A LAND ROVER, JOLTS
DOWN THE ROAD AND INTO THE YARD

DR SODERUP, DRESSED IN AN ORDINARY SUIT, BUT WITH
SOME ABSENTMINDED TOUCH, LIKE A WIDE-AWAKE HAT-OR
PERHAPS JUST WEARING SLACKS AND A BUSH JACKET   SOME-
THING TO REMIND US OF HIS YEARS IN THE JUNGLE-JUMPS
DOWN FROM THE WHEEL OF THE TRUCK AND RUNS TO BEND
OVER AND EXAMINE THE BODY OF THE STRANGLED TRUCK
DRIVER

SODERUP

(Tragically) Just as I feared' Why didn't I trust my
instincts that day on the excavations site when I
saw that poor dead man there. When the pane)
truck didn't show up in Muncie on schedule, I
knew something like this must have happened.

160

Gordon R. Dickson
JOE

(Approaching with Nora) Then this is your pane]
truck? (blinking at Soderup) Say, aren't you Dr.
Sven Soderup? I remember reading about your
excavation of the Mayan ruins at Tulum in Quintna
Roo when I was in high school. It's an honor to
meet vou. Doctor!

SODERUP
(Staring at Joe, in turn) But you must be Dr. Jo-
seph Channion, the brilliant young chemist whose
work with the salicylates was being so highly
praised at Mid-Continent University the last time I
was there. What are you doing out here in the
Kentucky hills, Doctor?

JOE

I gave up my research grant to continue work on
my own. But you-what are you doing here, Doc-
tor? And how did this panel truck of yours get
here?

SODERUP
It was undoubtedly driven here by its driver, whom
I had employed to bring to Muncie, Indiana, a
huge, apelike figure recently excavated by me from
some jungle ruins. But the driver, I see, is dead
and the rear of the truck empty. There's no doubt
that It has escaped.

NORA
(Gasping) It?

SODERUP
(Solemnly) The huge, apelike creature I excavated.
Fantastic as this may seem to you, I now firmly
believe that in spite of Its apparently mummified
condition, the result of being buried for thousands
of years, It still possesses a sort of hideous life
force.

NORA
But-but-such a thing is impossible.

IT, OUT OF DARKEST JUNGLE
JOE

161

(Thoughtfully) Hum . . . No, Nora. Under certain
special organo-chemical conditions, such a thing
might be entirely possible. In fact, Doctor, you
have given me a ray of hope-

NORA SUDDENLY INTERRUPTS HIM BY SCREAMING

NORA

(Suddenly terror-stricken) Then It must have fled
from this truck into the woods surrounding us! It
must be hiding in there right now!

JOE

But, Nora, I hardly think It will come out in the
daylight. (Becoming suddenly thoughtful again) Un-
less some special need should be drawing It to my
lab-

NORA

(Breathlessly) But you don't understand! Today is
Monday and Pootie found herself short of clothes-
pins to hang the washing. Just an hour ago she
went off to the small general store on the other
side of the ridge to buy two dozen more!

JOB

But going down the road in broad daylight she
should be safe-(He breaks off suddenly) Nora! you
don't mean to tell me she took the ridge trail!

SODERUP
What's the matter, Doctor? What's wrong with
this-what did you call it-ridge trail?

JOE

(Desperately) It's a shortcut over the ridge to the
general store. But not only does it go through thick
woods inhabited by a local pack of wild bears, it
also runs by Old Bottomless-a local muskeg swamp
in which cattle are always being lost, swallowed
up without a trace. -And now It is loose in those
woods as well. I must go after her!

SODERUP
I will go with you. I have my elephant gun in the
Land Rover. I'll get it.

162

Gordon R. Dickson
JOE

If I'm correct in my hunch about it, no elephant
gun will stop it. Besides, Doctor, I want you to stay
here and protect Nora. Just a minute-

THE CAMERA FOLLOWS JOE AS HE TURNS AND DASHES BACK
INTO THE LAB WE SEE HIM SNATCH UP TWO ENORMOUS HY-
PODERMIC SYRINGES, AND FILL THEM BOTH HASTILY. FROM A
FLASK OF COLORLESS LIQUID. HE RUNS BACK OUTSIDE, CAR-
RYING THE HYPODERMICS.

(To Nora) Here! (He gives her one of the syringes)
Hang on to this. In the chance that you should be
cornered by It, inject It with this. It's the barbitu-
rate thiopental, which given as a large intracar-
diac injection will cause permanent cessation of
respiration in one to two seconds. I had it around
to test the effectiveness of Aspirin-X, once I had
produced it in pure form. Now, I will go after
Foot ie.

CARRYING THE OTHER HYPODERMIC, HE DASHES OFF THE
WOODS SWALLOW HIM UP DISSOLVE

Scene 5-The ridge trail, not far from the lab.

POOTIE COMES INTO VIEW. SKIPPING ALONG SINGING, CARRY-
ING A BROWN PAPER BAG CONTAINING TWO DOZEN CLOTHES-
PINS THE CAMERA PANS PAST HER INTO THE WOODS WE SEE
WHAT SHE DOES NOT NOTICE-THE HIDEOUS, BLOOD-RED FACE
OF IT, STARING THROUGH THE BRUSH AT HER IT IS IT, OUT
OF DARKEST JUNGLE, MOVING PARALLEL WITH HER PATH
THROUGH THE WOODS. THE TRAIL GOES AROUND A CURVE
AND COMES OUT BESIDE AN AREA OF BUBBLING MUCK WITH A
FEW TUFTS OF GRASS GROWING AMID HALF-SUNKEN LOGS,
ETC

POOTIE

(Pausing to look at it) There it is. Old Bottomless
Swamp. I wonder if it's really bottomless the way
people around here think-

A DEEP, GROWLING ROAR INTERRUPTS HER. SHE SCREAMS
AND TURNS AROUND TO SEE A PACK OF HUGE BLACK BEARS

IT, OUT OF DARKEST JUNGLE           163

LUMBERING OUT OF THE WOODS AND BEARING DOWN ON HER
SHE TURNS AND BEGINS TO RUN AWAY ALONG THE TRAIL
TOWARD THE HOUSE AND THE LAB THAT ARE SO NEAR AND
YET SO FAR

IT, OUT OF DARKEST JUNGLE, SUDDENLY BREAKS OUT OF
THE WOODS BEFORE HER TO BLOCK HER PATH SHE SCREAMS
AGAIN AND RUNS OFF INTO THE WOODS AT HER RIGHT

THE PACK OF HUGE BEARS, GROWLING AND ROARING, SEE
IT AND CHARGE IT, INSTEAD AND THE FIGHT COMMENCES

SUCH A FIGHT WILL NEVER HAVE BEEN SEEN ON FILM BE-
FORE IT AND THE HUGE PACK OF VORACIOUS BEARS FIGHT
AMONG THE BRUSH. IN THE OPEN ON THE HILLSIDE AND ON
THE MARGIN OF THE DEADLY SUCKING SWAMP WHOLE TREES
ARE TORN UP BY THEIR ROOTS ROARS AND HOWLS FILL THE
AIR BLOOD IS EVERYWHERE

FINALLY, IT DISPOSES OF THE LAST BEAR TORN AND BLEED-
ING, IT DASHES OFF THE TRAIL INTO THE WOODS ON THE
TRACK OF POOTIE

DISSOLVE

Scene 6-Back in front of the flimsy frame house and
the lab.

POOTIE, HER DRESS TORN, BUT STILL CLUTCHING HER PAPER
BAG OF CLOTHESPINS, COMES BURSTING OUT OF THE WOODS
AND RUNS UP TO NORA AND DR SODERUP, WHO ARE STAND-
ING IN THE OPEN-DR SODERUP HOLDING HIS HEAVY ELE-
PHANT GUN-WAITING FOR JOE TO RETURN IT. SNARLING AND
ROARING. BREAKS OUT OF THE WOODS RIGHT BEHIND HER

DR. SODERUP

(To Nora) Quick! Take the child' Get into the house
and lock the door behind you. I'll take care of It.

NORA GRASPS POOTIE BY THE HAND AND THEY RUN UP TO
AND IN THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR OF THE HOUSE THE
CAMERA FOLLOWS THEM AND WE SEE NORA LOCK THE FRONT
DOOR SHE AND POOTIE RUN TO PEER OUT THROUGH THE
GLASS CURTAINS OF A TALL FRONT WINDOW

THE CAMERA LOOKS OUT OVER THEIR SHOULDER WE

164 Gordon R. Dickson

SEE DR SODERLJP DROP TO ONE KNEE AND EMPTY THE MAGA-
ZINE OF HIS ELEPHANT GUN AT THE ONCOMING IT.

FOR A MOMENT IT IS CHECKED AS THE HEAVY SLUGS
HAMMER INTO ITS CHEST, ALMOST KNOCKING IT BACKWARD
IT ROARS WITH PAIN AND RAGE. FURIOUS, IT TEARS UP OUT
OF THE GROUND THE HUGE BOULDER [N FRONT OF THE HOUSE
AND CRUSHES THE PANEL TRUCK WITH IT THEN IT WINKS
HORRIBLY, COMES ON AND GRASPS DR SODERUP BY THE
THROAT. WE SEE HIM SLOWLY STRANGLED

THEN IT ADVANCES ON THE HOUSE,

NORA AND POOTIE BACK AWAY ACROSS THE LIVING ROOM,
TREMBLING. WITH ONE BLOW OF HIS FIST, IT SMASHES THE
DOOR FROM ITS HINGES AND ENTERS.

NORA AND POOTIE RUN INTO THE DINING ROOM. LOCK-
ING THAT DOOR BEHIND THEM. IT PURSUES AND SMASHES
THROUGH THE DOOR.

IT CONTINUES TO PURSUE THEM FROM ROOM TO ROOM,
BREAKING DOWN THE DOORS THEY LOCK BEHIND THEM,

FINALLY THEY ARE IN THE LAST ROOM, THE PANTRY OF
THE HOUSE NORA SWINGS THE DOOR TO, BEHIND THEM,
THEN DISCOVERS THAT THIS DOOR HAS NOTHING BUT A HASP
FITTING OVER A STAPLE, WITH NO BOLT TO GO THROUGH
IT

NORA

(Almost sobbing) There's nothing to lock it with.

POOTIE
(Whipping one of her clothespins out of the paper
bag she stil! holds) Here, Aunt Nora, try this!

NORA SNATCHES THE CLOTHESPIN AND STICKS IT THROUGH
THE STAPLE TO LOCK THE DOOR JUST IN TIME

THEY HEAR IT APPROACH THE DOOR IT THROWS ITS WEIGHT
AGAINST IT THEY CRINGE.

IT BEGINS TO SNARL AND BEAT ON THE DOOR. THE CLOTHES-
PIN HOLDS BUT WE BEGIN TO SEE FINE CRACKS APPEAR-IN
THE UPPER PANEL OF THE DOOR

POOTIE

(All but weeping) Oh, where is Uncle Joe?

IT, OUT OF DARKEST JUNGLE           165

NORA

(Putting her arms around the little girl) Maybe the
door will hold . . .
DISSOLVE

Scene 7-Joe, carrying his hypodermic syringe, at
the point in the woods where Pootie left the trail.

JOE

She's headed home. Her tracks are plain. -But so
are these others, that must be the tracks of It. It
must have been right behind her.

HE DASHES OFF ALONG THE DOUBLE TRAIL OF TRACKS TO-
WARD THE HOUSE AND THE LAB CUT

Scene 8-Back in the pantry at the house.

THE PANTRY DOOR IS FINALLY GIVING TO THE POUNDING OF
IT A HUGE WHITE FIST COMES THROUGH THE UPPER PANEL
THE WOOD DISSOLVES. A BLOOD-RED FACE LOOKS THROUGH
AND WINKS AT NORA AND POOTIE.

A FEW MORE BLOWS SMASH AN OPENING THROUGH WHICH
IT CAN ENTER. IT APPROACHES THE WOMAN AND THE GIRL,
WHO SHRINK BACK AND BACK UNTH- THEY ARE AGAINST THE
WALL AND CAN RETREAT NO FARTHER •

CAMERA CUTS TO LOOK AT IT FROM THEIR POINT OF VIEW
WE SEE IT SLOWLY STUMPING FORWARD, LOOMING HORRIBLY
AND MONSTROUSLY ABOVE THEM- A STRANGE, PLEADING EX-
PRESSION CROSSES HIS BLOOD-RED FACE

NORA

(Driving the hypodermic needle into Its chest in
the region of Its heart) There'.

IT

(Roaring in rage and pain as the deadly poison is
pumped into Its heart) Aaaaaarrrg!

IT STAGGERS BACK. WITH A SPASMODIC EFFORT, IT RIPS OUT
THE HYPODERMIC SYRINGE THAT IS STICKING IN ITS CHEST
AND THROWS IT AWAY TURNING, IT LURCHES, STAGGERING
OUT THROUGH THE RUINED ROOMS, OUT OF THE HOUSE AND
OVER AND INTO THE LAB NEXT DOOR

166

Gordon R. Dickson

THE CAMERA FOLLOWS IT.

IN THE LAB WE SEE IT TUCK JOE'S BLACKBOARD UNDER
ONE ARM. AND THEN SWEEP UP INTO BOTH ITS ARMS AN AS-
SORTMENT OF LAB GLASSWARE AND CHEMICALS,

HOLDING THESE, IT LURCHES BACK OUT OF THE LAB AND
STAGGERS OFF INTO THE WOODS, AS NORA AND POOT!E COME
OUT OF THE RUINED HOUSE IN TIME TO SEE IT DISAPPEAR.

AT THE SAME MOMENT. JUST AS IT IS DISAPPEARING, JOE
BURSTS FROM THE EDGE OF THE WOODS NOT FAR AWAY AND A
TRUCK DRIVES INTO THE YARD. THE TRUCK IS LOADED WITH
THE SHERIFF AND A DOZEN OR MORE SHOTGUN-CARRYING
DEPUTIES THEY, LIKE JOE, SEE IT DISAPPEAR

SHERIFF

(Leading his deputies and descending from the truck,
speaks to Joe as Joe comes up) We heard there was
a dangerous jungle animal loose around here. Tha.
must be it.

JOE

(Solemnly) It is no mere jungle animal, Sheriff.
But I think I know where we can find it. Follow
me.

HE LEADS THE WAY INTO THE WOODS. NORA AND POOTIE
FOLLOW. BEHIND THEM ARE THE SHERIFF AND HIS DEPUTIES,
HANGING BACK FEARFULLY. BUT ALSO FOLLOWING.

CUT.

Scene 8-A little deeper in the woods, almost to Old
Bottomless Swamp.

WE SEE IT, REELING AND STAGGERING THROUGH THE WOODS,
THE BLACKBOARD UNDER ONE ARM, FRANTICALLY GROANING
AND MIXING THE CHEMICALS IT HOLDS [N ITS HANDS- THE BIG
TEST TUBE IN ITS RIGHT HAND IS FIZZING AND CHANGING
COLOR

IT BREAKS OUT OF THE WOODS ONTO THE EDGE OF OLD
BOTTOMLESS INTENT ON ITS CHEMICALS-MIXING. IT STEPS
OFF THE EDGE, BLUNDERING INTO THE MUSKEG- BEFORE IT
REALIZES WHERE IT IS GOING

ALMOST IMMEDIATELY, IT BEGINS TO SINK,

[T, OUT OF DARKEST JUNGLE           167

ROARING, IT THRASHES AROUND, SINKING. BUT MANAGES
TO TURN ITSELF SO THAT IT FACES THE EDGE OF THE SWAMP
ONLY A YARD OR SO AWAY. SEEING IT iS STILL SINKING, IN
SPITE OF ALL IT CAN DO. IT GOES FRANTICALLY BACK TO ITS
MIXING

JOE, WITH POOTIE AND NORA. AND FOLLOWED BY THE SHER-
IFF WITH HIS DEPUTIES, EMERGE FROM THE WOODS AND AP-
PROACH THE SWAMP. THEY HALT ON THE EDGE OF THE MUSKEG
IN WHICH IT IS TRAPPED.

JOE

(To the Sheriff) Quick, we must try to pull it out.

SHERIFF
(Shaking his head) We can't. No rope. And you
won't get any man in these here parts even as close
to the edge of Old Bottomless as you're standing
right now.

IT
(Roaring) Aaaaarrrg!

IT IS UP TO THE NECK NOW, AND QUICKLY GOING DOWN OUT
OF SIGHT JOE SPINS ABOUT AND FOR A MOMENT THE CAMERA
CUTS BACK AND FORTH BETWEEN HIS FACE AND THE BLOOD-
RED FEATURES OF IT- A LOOK OF STRANGE UNDERSTANDING
SEEMS TO PASS BETWEEN THEM.

THEN IT. JUST AS THE SWAMP IS ABOUT TO CLOSE OVER ITS
HEAD. WINKS AT JOE AND REACHES OUT TO PASS THE TEST
TUBE IN HIS HAND TO JOE

JOE TAKES IT. HE STARES AT IT. HE GIVES AN EXCLAMATION
OF SURPRISE. IT DISAPPEARS UNDER THE SURFACE OF THE
SWAMP WITH A HORRIBLE BUBBLING SOUND.

BUT A MOMENT LATER, ONE LONE ARM EMERGES FOR A
SECOND TO PASS THE BLACKBOARD OUT TO JOE-
JOE TAKES THIS. TOO. AND EXCLAIMS AGAIN.

NORA

Oh, Joe! What is it?

JOE

(Excitedly, showing the contents of the test tube to
Nora) White! Pure white! See it?

NORA STARES, AND GASPS.

168 Gordon R. Dickson

NORA

Joe! You mean-(She dares not say it)

JOE
(Happily) Yes! That's what it is! Aspirin-X.

HE STARES. OVERJOYED, AT NORA AND POOTIE.

It had the answer all the time. How else could It
have survived those thousand years of being bur-
ied? In the days of Its ancient culture, Aspirin-X
must have been as available as ordinary aspirin is
now! When It was excavated, It realized It needed
more of this miracle drug. Some strange, forgotten
sense must have drawn It to my laboratory-the
one place on Earth where the materials for Aspirin-X
were available.

NORA
But why didn't It just ask us-

JOE

Did we ever really give It a chance? No, from the
beginning we treated it like a scientific specimen,
an artifact. It was alone in this younger world of
beings who did not understand It-who feared It
because it was different.

CAMERA CUTS TO SHOW JOE'S FACE IN CLOSEUP, THERE IS A
NOBLE SADNESS IN HIS EYES.

Naturally, It had to fight for existence the best way
It could. But in It there was perhaps the spark of a
humanity greater than our own. Didn't Pootie say
that It came to her rescue when the pack of savage
bears came after her at this very spot? Then, when
It followed after her-possibly to find out if she
was all right-It was greeted by gunfire from Dr.
Soderup. Possibly It was still trying to explain
Itself when you pumped It full of thiopental.

POOTIE
Why didn't that kill It right then, Uncle Joe?

JOE

It would have, sweetheart, if It hadn't been perme-
ated by the Aspirin-X It had used during Its an-

IT, OUT OF DARKEST JUNGLE          169

cient lifetime. As it was, the Aspirin-X slowed the
action of the poison so that It should have had
time to make more Aspirin-X to cure itself com-
pletely. -Which was what It was doing when, run-
ning away from us, It stumbled into the swamp
here. But still, It passed me the completed Aspirin-X
as It sank, that the secret might not be lost to the
world, though it was too late to save It, Itself.

SHERIFF
(To Joe) Taking a lot for granted, aren't you, son?
Might've been sheer chance that critter put the
right stuff together to get your Aspirin-X.

JOE
(In ringing tones) Chance? Never!

HOLDING THE BLACKBOARD IN ONE HAND, WITH THE OTHER,
HE SWEEPS DIRT FROM THE SURFACE OF THE BOARD, REVEAL-
ING THE SYMBOLS CHALKED UNDERNEATH. HE POINTS TO A
SYMBOL THAT HAS BEEN ERASED AND REPLACED WITH AN-
OTHER SYMBOL PLAINLY DRAWN BY A DIFFERENT HAND.

See there! There's where I went wrong in my cal-
culations. It corrected them for me, and Its last act
was to pass me the blackboard that the knowledge
would not be lost. Yes ...

HE PUTS THE ARM STILL HOLDING THE BLACKBOARD AROUND
NORA AND HIS OTHER ARM AROUND POOTIE. THEY ALL TURN
AND GAZE AT THE SWAMP WHERE IT HAS DISAPPEARED AS HE
SPEAKS THE CAMERA PANS DOWN AND AWAY FROM THEM OUT
OVER THE AREA OF MUCK IN WHICH IT WENT DOWN,

. . . Aspirin-X has now become available to the
world of men, as it was available to the Earth
populated by Its people. Will we use it wisely, this
time, 1 wonder? Only the future will tell . . .

POOTIE
(Awed) Uncle Joe, is It really dead?

JOE

(Ponderingly) It should, indeed, be dead, Pootie-
poisoned and sunk no ope knows how deep under
the muskeg. But can we tell?

170 Gordon R. Dickson

BACKGROUND MUSiC RISES OVER HIS VOICE.

Once before It was thought to be dead, even mum-
mified. But we do not yet know the full powers
of Aspirin-X. It survived for thousands of years
before to walk the Earth again. Perhaps, who knows,
down under all that muskeg, a spark of life still
lingers. . . .

THE RISING OF THE BACK-GROUND MUSIC DROWNS OUT HIS
VOICE. WE SEE ONLY THE LITTLE SQUARE OF MUSKEG IN THE
SCREEN, AS WE WATCH. A BUBBLE OOZES TO THE SURFACE,
SWELLS UP AND POPS,

THE MUSKEG IS STILL AGAIN.

THE SCENE DARKENS. THE FINAL MUSIC FILLS OUR EARS.
SLOWLY, RISING UP OUT OF THE NOW DARKENED SWAMP COME
THE SHINING WORDS-

THE END
FOLLOWED SLOWLY BY ONE MORE WORD IN A RUNNING
SCRIPT. . . .

-Maybe. . . .

The Green Buildini

That new green building down there? Sorry, every-
thing behind the fence is government property,
and I don't have anything to do with ... A reporter,
are you? Fancy that, now. No-no sir, I do not be-
lieve in censorship of a free press. I happen to vote a
straight ticket, and . . . Well, that's mighty nice of
you to say so. Of course, I know we depend on our
newspapers. You take a restaurant-owner like myself
. . . You don't say so! Those army fellers said that?
Well, I certainly sympathize and-

Well now, I will sit down for a minute. The lunch
rush is over now-but these waitresses . . . Yes, I was
here from the beginning. In fact, I was here at the
beginning. You mean to say they've kept it a secret
from you newspaper fellers all this time? Well now,
that's a shame-now don't quote me as saying that.
After all I'm in business here . . .

No, no, I didn't think you would, but I thought I'd
better mention it, just to make sure like . . . What do
I mean at the beginning? Why, I mean at the begin-
ning. I was here. right here on this very spot, when It
landed.

Not in this restaurant building, of course. I had a

171

172 Gordon R. Dickson

... I should say I do know what it used to be like
around here. Those old days arc graven on my heart-
yes sir, graven right on my heart. Like I say, I used to
have a different sort of business, a-well, you might
call it a sort of candy store right here on this spot.

I'd sit here in the afternoon, waiting for school to
let out and the kids to come by, just tike I was the
afternoon it happened, only that was Memorial Day
and no school.

But I used to sit right here and-just look out the
window beside you, there-and see right down across
to the park and the little creek with the teeter-totters
the kids used to play on, alongside it. And then up
the other side of the hill to where the grade school
itself was and the lops of Piper Park just showing
over the head of the hill beyond.

It was real green and pretty then. None of the
concrete and smell and barbed wire they got now.
Just a free, happy, little hollow, sort of. I used to
say . . .

The day it happened? That's what I'm telling you
about. There I was, sitting and looking out, about
two-twenty in the afternoon, thinking how peaceful
it all was. Then I heard this sort of roaring overhead-
Them jet fighters again, I said to myself. But I didn't
get up and go to the window and look-because, you
know, by the time you go to look for them, they're
gone already. Besides, I seen them lots before.

I just sat and waited for the roar to fade out. But it
didn't fade. It got louder and louder. Then, just when
I was starting to get up and look after all, there was
this terrific concussion, and that was the last I knew
for some few minutes.

When I recovered consciousness-come to, you
know-I was lying in the ruins of what had been my
once fine store. For a minute, I couldn't just remem-
ber what had happened. Then I began to notice the
counter knocked over and glass all over the place

THE GREEN BUILDING             173

and how dark it was because the roof had fallen
down around me.

I was sort of pinned in a little, narrow spot, there.
Not pinned in, really, but sort of boxed in, so's I
couldn't get out. I could see to the outside, though,
and a little patch of the hollow with It laying there.

Well, I lay stuck there, with my head starting to
ache, and watched It sticking up out of the grass in
the park by the teeter-totters like a big chunk of old
granite rock, the size of a three-story building, with
no telling how much more of it out of sight, buried in
the ground underneath. I watched It glowing and
fuming, and the trees all wilting around It. I could
feel the heat and smell of It clear up here.

And then, after a couple of hours, finally the sol-
diers come along and dug me out. You know, Camp
Krilibee was on some kind of maneuvers around here
just then. They had this area staked off faster'n you
can say Jump Jimmy. That's what stopped you fel-
lers from being wised up, of course. I noticed, after-
wards, they had a story in the papers about a
meteorite that fell here-and-that was all.

But not for me. it wasn't all. I tell you, those
government people wanted to know everything I knew,
right down to what I had for breakfast that same
morning. First off, they took me to an army hospital
and kept me there the rest of the day, though there
wasn't anything wrong with me but a little bump on
the head-and I don't know to this day where that
come from, unless it was a can of beans falling off
the shelf behind me when It hit.

Then, when they let me go home, I wasn't to tell
anyone anything, not even my wife. Lot they know
about such things! Why, nobody even asked me. You'd
think some people'd be interested, but in new sub-
urbs like this Piper Park, your next door neighbor's a
stranger, sometimes.

Well now, I'm a man who keeps his word-which

174 Gordon R. Dickson

is more than you can say for certain people. Anyway,
I didn't tell anybody what I saw. Not Jeanie, my
wife, or my married daughter, or anyone. And, like I
say, they weren't too interested, except in what was
to be done about the store. I told her the govemment'd
fix it. That settled her. Oh, I did say, too, that I saw
something big that had fell-but they took for granted
it was the meteorite the papers said it was. They
never raised the subject again until I did.

But these government investigating fellers sure did.
They let on it was about getting me a new store, they
had me down at the site-right close to where the
green building is now-asking me questions, and ask-
ing me questions until. Lord love Bessie, you'd have
thought they'd wear their tongues out. They'd set up
some temporary buildings-not like the permanent
ones they have now, more like army barracks-sur-
rounding It and pretty much hiding It.

They never let the school open again, either. Those
kids had a real picnic for a week until Piper Park got
them sorted out to other schools. And all the time,
they were after me with these questions. What'd I
hear first? And what kind of noise was it? And what'd
I see when It was just sitting there, before they dug
me out?

Well now, I wasn't born yesterday, nor the day be-
fore- They didn't tell me anything-but it didn't take
much looking to see what was going on. Army trucks
going in, and coming out, and stuff being set up,
armed soldiers all around the fence, and cannonlike
things sitting all around pointed at It. They had men
in civilian clothes swarming all over It, too, with all
sorts of instruments, enough to resurrect the dead.

Meteorite! That wasn't any meteorite. Of course, I
could've told them that from the beginning. Meteors
don't smell-and they don't sweat wet stuff out of
them-and trees don't curl up and die around them.
More'n that-and I wouldn't be telling you this now,

THE GREEN BUILDING              175

except for what happened later-they don't move
none after they hit the ground. They don't twist and
wiggle around like an old hog settling down into the
mud, the way I'd seen It do before they dug me out of
my wrecked store.

I told them that. I told them everything. They
didn't thank me any-just kept after me, the same
questions over and over again. I finally got my fill of
it.

"You think I'm lying, say so!" I told them.

"No, no," they'd answer, real soothing. "No, no,
we'd just like to go over it once more, in case you
remember something else." Well, I'm as patient as
Sunday. I kept going over it with them.

Then, just about that time-oh, maybe a month or
two after it happened-when they were starting to
slack up on the meteorite story and let on It was
maybe an army secret flying missile that'd gone astray,
my money for the store come through. Insurance
check.

Well, I know a good thing when I see it. I bought
the land here, where my candy store was, and had
this restaurant built. There was already about five
hundred people working on It down there, all com-
ing on to starve about noon, with nothing closer-
except an army chow line-than a hamburger joint
at the highway overpass the other side of Piper Park.

Of course, I had to give the building and, later on,
the business my personal attention, day and night,
you know. So, about this time, I began figuring that
maybe they ought to owe me some money for the
time I was spending answering their questions. So I
asked them for it.

Well sir, not a cent. Not-a-cent! Twenty-thirty
dollars a day for one of those civilian youngsters to
pound away at It with a little rock-chipping hammer
and make guesses-but not a cent for the man who
saw It land, and knew . . .

176 Gordon R. Dickson

What'd I know? Why, that It was alive, of course!
They hadn't fooled me with their meteorite, guided-
missile business. That thing was just as alive as you
or I, and they were plenty concerned on account of
it. Something that big and alive-and so hard they
couldn't make a dent in It-and so tough it could
land the way It did without getting hurt. I tell you,
they were concerned.

But I don't want to get off on a sidetrack here. The
important thing was, like I'm telling you, they re-
fused to pay me a cent for my time.

"We only hire experts," this one feller told me.

"Well, I'm an expert," I said. "An expert at seeing
It land. You got no experts to match me in that
department."

He admitted that. But they'd gone over the landing
pretty thoroughly with me, he said. And so on and so
forth-and, what with one thing and another, they
figured they didn't have any more need for me.

"All right," I said. "Fair enough. Now, how about
paying me for the time I've already spent?"

Seems he didn't have the authority to do that. Of
course, I could bill Congress down in Washington or
some such fool thing. But I had ought to consider
that I was in pretty much the same position as a
citizen who sees a crime being committed. I couldn't
very well expect the police to pay me for telling them
what I saw.

Now that's a pretty strong argument. If he'd left it
at that, I might have left it at that, and no more said.
But the darn fool couldn't leave well enough alone.
He took me by the elbow and pulled me over to the
window of his office and pointed at my new restaurant.

"Look there," he said. "And think of what you had
before this happened. It seems to me that's pretty
good payment for what you've done."

That made me mad.

"Mister," I said, "you better figure out who ate

THE GREEN BUILDING              177

hamburger instead of pot roast to keep up the insur-
ance on the old place, these last twenty years, before
you go taking credit for that."

I slammed my hat on my head and walked out.
And I've never been through the gates over there
again since.

All right, I'm not one to fly off the handle before I
know which way I'm going. I've never said any more
about it. I've gone right on serving all these mineral-
ogists and bacteriologists and chemists and what-nots,
just the same as ever. But I made up my mind when
I walked out of that office that there was a certain
fair and honest sum due me for the time and trouble
I'd taken-and, come someday, I'd collect it. Sonny,
it looks like you're the one to help me get it.

Yes, you! Now, you can just save yourself the trou-
ble of pretending to be so surprised. I'm not as green
as I look. You knew all about me before you came
into this restaurant. Why did you know? Because
they've finally decided to let the news out, that's
why! All you newspaper fellers are jumping on it as
quick as you can. The end "of this week, the whole
story's going to bust wide open.

How do I know? Never mind how I know. The
point is, do you want to be first with the real eye-
witness story of It landing, and all the facts? All
right. Well, then-it just so happens I've got it worked
out, down to the penny, what my time was worth in
answering those questions.

How much? I'll just write it down here on the edge
of your paper napkin. That's the figure. Yes sir, there's
a pay phone right around the corner there by the
Men's. I'll sit right here and wait . . .

They said okay? Thought they would. Now, lean
closer here. Let me tell you. That thing down there's
just about the size of a three-story building above
ground, and maybe as much again below ground.

178 Gordon R. Dickson

And heavy? They figure it's heavier than lead-heavier
than gold, even. Diamonds won't scratch it.

More'n that-lean real close, I don't want to talk
too loud-they figure, even if they tried an atom
bomb, It wouldn't be hurt. You follow me, sonny?
We got something down there like nothing the hu-
man race ever bumped into before.

Ever since-now listen close-ever since the day It
landed, they've been working, and studying, and test-
ing, all the top scientists in the country, trying to
figure It out. What is It? What's It here for? What's It
aim to do? And what'l) happen to us if It does? And
they found some answers-that's how come the green
building you asked about. They just finished that last
week.

Let me tell you some more about It, first. You
know that heat It puts out-you can feel it even up
here-well, that's because it's got radioactive insides.
They been mining all around It, setting up what they
call heat-exchange units. They figure It puts out
enough heat to warm every house in Piper Park - . .

What? No, the radiation doesn't reach the outsides
of It, just the head. All that stuff It sweats out-
orthophosphonc acid. It eats ordinary dirt and rock
and breathes air and sweats orthophosphoric acid.
That's why the railroad spur going into the place-
and the tank cars.

But you see what I mean-It's alive. And that's not
the half of it-It's intelligent.

They got some feller down here who's been study-
ing brain-waves for years, and he got pictures of
brain-waves from It. They showed It was thinking-
you gel it now?

Two thousand people down there now, behind that
barbed wire fence and those soldiers-nearly all of
them top specialists in something or other. Well now,
that's it. Something had to be done. Because, you
see, while they managed to figure out that It was

THE GREEN BUILDING

179

thinking, there's no possible earthly way-vet-they
can figure out what It's thinking. And there's no tell-
ing what It might do.

That's the reason for the green building. That's
why they've been working so hard and why they
can't keep it secret any longer. It's that green build-
ing. What they got in it, even I don't know. But I do
know the man in charge of it came ail the way from
the East to watch and make sure it was put up right.

in

That, sonny, is a device to keep that thing down
there from taking off again until we humans are
through with It.

Tempus Non Fugit

The desk clerk at the placement service sighed.
"You again?" "Yes," said Whitely Spence un-
happily. He was a little man with a little voice; it
always annoyed him. No matter how he tried to
sound as if it did not matter how other people felt
about him, that voice of his would insist on giving
him away- Right now, he was suffering under the
clerk's scorn and his voice revealed the fact.

"What went wrong this time?" demanded the clerk.

"My-er-employer absconded with the funds for
the charity drive," said Whitely, meekly.

"Oh, if was that guy, was it?" said the clerk. "I was
reading about it in the newsfax. Well, I suppose now
you want us to find you something else?"

"If you don't mind."

"Well, I don't know," grumbled the clerk, punch-
ing buttons on the desk before him. "We don't have
too much call for private business managers, any-
way, and with your record"-there was a buzz, and
a screen set in the desk before him lit up with White-
ly's dossier-"we've fixed you up with five different
employers, and you haven't been able to stick with
any of them. There was this boxer first-"

180

TEMPUS NON FUGIT

181

"But he got married, and his wife made him quit,"
said Whitely, hurriedly. "He didn't need me any
more.''

"Then this rich fella; all you had to do was keep
track of his investments-"

"I-er-don't drink," said Whitely. "And he-"

"Says here your puritanic attitudes made him un-
comfortable. Then there's the used helicopter dealer-"

"But he cheated his customers outrageously," pro-
tested Whitely. "I couldn't in conscience-"

"The old lady with philanthropies-"

"I was allergic to her cats."

"And now this last guy. Well," said the clerk. "I
don't know what we can do for you. I suppose there's
no technical blame to be hung on you for this string
of failures, but clients don't like our recommending
someone with a record like yours. Ever think of going
into some other line of work?"

"But I put in ten years of college and field work,"
said Whitely. "It takes that much to qualify for a
business manager's private certificate. You must have
something."

"Wellll," drawled the clerk, "I'don't say we don't.
But I don't recommend it." He punched a few more
buttons, and a new series of lines flipped into exis-
tence on his desk screen. "There's one chance here.
An inventor. Ten percent of his gross income to his
business manager."

"Ten percent!" Whitely goggled at this liberality.
Two percent was the most he had ever hoped for.
Then his native caution tugged at his elbow. "Er-I
suppose he makes an adequate gross income?"

"Strict amount confidential," replied the clerk. "Au-
thorized however to inform you in six figure bracket."

"Six figures!" Whitely reeled. This was too good to
be true. After all his trouble, to stumble on a job
paying a minimum of ten thousand credits a year.

182 Gordon R. Dickson

His heart palpitated. "What-what's wrong with the
job?"

"Wrong? Nothing!" said the clerk, stiffly. "Never
anything wrong with the jobs we handle. It's just
that this one's for Hobart Grogan."

"Hobart Grogan?" said Whitely, mystified.

"Don't know him? Well-" said the clerk, with a
cough. "He's a bit eccentric; you know how inventors
are. The last dozen or so managers we've sent him all
quit. Up to you, of course."

Whiteiy thought it over. On one hand, the job for
this unknown and rather terrify ing-sound ing inven-
tor; on the other hand-Whitely thought of the fact
that there remained less than twenty credits in his
central account, and that all the other placement
agencies in town had turned him down.

"You," the voice of the clerk interrupted his con-
siderings, "might be just the sort of man to get along
with Grogan. And ten thousand a year and up-"

"I'll take it," said Whitely.

Hobart Grogan, true to the best tenets of eccentric-
ity, lived on the outskirts of town, in a large sprawl-
ing house of bubble plastic, the rooms of which seemed
filled and jammed with all sorts of equipment in
total disregard for their original intended function.

No one answered the door speaker; and since the
door was ajar, Whitely entered and wandered to and
fro through the building until he came at last to a
closed door with a do not disturb sign hung upon it.
Whitely hesitated for a moment, then diffidently
knocked.

Silence.

He knocked again; somewhat harder this time.

"Come in!" barked an irascible voice.

Whitely gulped, adjusted his tunic scarf, and en-
tered. In a small, square room littered with papers, a
comfortable couch and an over-size desk, a tall, thin

TEMPUS NON FUCIT              183

man with a red beard sat busily rattling away at a
typer. He did not look up as Whitely entered. His
eyes continued to glare at the page in his typer, and
his beard bristled,

"Bah!" he snorted.

Whilely approached.

"I don't mean to disturb you-" he began, having
reached Hobart Grogan's elbow.

"Well you are," growled Grogan through his beard,
still not lifting his eyes from his typer. "Who are you,

} •

•>"

anyway

"The Professional Placement service sent me." said
Whitely. "I'm a business manager. I-"

"File B," said Grogan.

"What?"

"File B!" roared Grogan, suddenly. "Do I have to
explain everything to everybody in words of one syl-
lable? Damn the world's numbskulls! B for Bills; B
for Bank statement. In the filing cabinet, whatever-
your-name-is."

"Whiteiy Spence," said Whitely, faintly.

"B, Spence! B! Be astute! "Be alive. Balance my
accounts."

Somewhat stunned, Whitely tottered over to the
filing cabinet, found the file in question (crammed
with bills) and went to work. At the end of half an
hour, he shyly approached Grogan who was still
typing-

"Er-Mr. Grogan-" he said.

Grogan said nothing.

"Mr. Grogan," went on Whitely, his voice gaining
firmness. "You seem to be somewhat in debt."

Still, Grogan said nothing.

"You seem." said Whitely, "to have run up a bill
with United Electronics for six thousand, two hun-
dred and fifty credits. Your bank balance shows only
one thousand, nine hundred and thirty-one credits,

184 Gordon R. Dickson

leaving a deficit of four thousand, three hundred and
nineteen credits." He waited.

"Mr. Grogan-"

"Shut up will you!" said Grogan, suddenly. "I want
to finish this silly story."

Whitely stared.

"Silly story?" he echoed in something like a squeak.

The typer machine-gunned on for a few lines, then
stopped abruptly.

"Certainly, silly story," said Grogan, complacently
turning from the typer. "A story which is silly; I
write them for my own amusement."

To prove his point, he glanced at the last page he
had written and burst into a guffaw of laughter, his
red beard jiggling madly.

"Listen to this-" he began.

"Mr. Grogan!" interrupted Whitely firmly. He was
determined to make a success ot this last chance of
his; he told himself that it was going to be necessary
to be decisive with his employer. "This is no time for
stories, silly or otherwise. The amount lacking to
meet your current commitments is four thousand,
three hundred and nineteen credits. As your business
manager, I want to know if you have any means of
raising it."

"Certainly," said Grogan. "Sell something."

"Sell what?"

"Anything," said Grogan with an airy wave of his
hand. "Don't bother me with details; just take some-
thing and sell it. Simple procedure/' he muttered
into his beard. "Don't know why / have to be the one
to suggest things all the time."

Whitely quivered inside like a vanilla pudding, but
his courage was up. "Grogan!" he said, manfully.
"This won't do. I don't know what you will want to
keep and what you won't want to. You-

"Bah!" snorted Grogan, exploding out of his chair.
He shot out of the room and returned a moment later

TEMPUS NON FUGIT

185

with a small device somewhat resembling an archaic
crystal set, which he shoved into Whitely's hands-
"Here!" he roared.

Whitely took it, hesitantly. "What i;i iP"
"A temporal determinant," said Grogan.
Whitely Spence gulped. Past experience had taught^
him that employers hated explaining themselves".*!
"What," inquired Whitely, "is a temporal deter-
minant?"

Grogan, it seemed, was no exception to the general
rule about employers. He immediately began to swear
at Whitely in something that sounded like Low Dutch.
"-stupid oaf!" he thundered, emerging at last into
English. "What could a temporal determinant be,
but a determinant of temporal factors? In other words,
fool, it determines what lime it is."
"A sort of clock?" hazarded Whitely, weakly.
"Not clock, idiot!" snarled Grogan. "A clock notes
time, it doesn't determine it. You look at a clock to
find out what time it is; you set this to make it the
time you want."

Realization struck WhiteTy like a thunderbolt. A
warm, blissful wave flowed over him and visions of
million dollar checks (made out to Grogan) and hun-
dred thousand dollar checks (made out to W. Spence)
danced before his eyes.

"A time machine," he breathed. He touched it with
trembling, reverent fingers. "Can I try it now?"

Grogan reached over and touched a small dial on
the set. "Forward, or back?"

Whitely hesitated. Maybe it might be dangerous.
"Back," he said. "About half an hour or so."
Grogan twisted the dial. The room vanished.
Whitely knocked diffidently at the door.
Silence.

He knocked again, somewhat harder this time.
"Come in!" barked an irascible voice.
He gulped, adjusted his tunic scarf and entered-

186 Gordon R. Dickson

But this is ridiculous, thought Whitely. I'm just
doing the same thing over again. And he strained
desperately against the unbreakable fabric of the Es-
tablished Past, but could not alter it. Only with the
temporal determinant, that was outside of Time, and
independent of it, did he have freedom of action.
Frantically he twisted the dia! in the opposite direction.

It was night. The room was the same, except that
Grogan was placidly smoking a pipe in a corner and
listening to Brahms' Second Symphony on his colore-
corder.

"There you are finally," said Grogan. "You must
have gone to the full forward limit of the deter-
minant."

Whitely drew a deep, relieved breath. "What is the
limit?"

"Seven hours and twenty-three minutes-approx-
imately," said Grogan. "After that, the probability
index drops below the line of precise logical develop-
ment. 1 could show you the mathematics-but then
you wouldn't understand it, anyway. Of course you
can go as far back along your own lifeline as you
wish, although if you went too far back there might
be some practical considerations preventing your re-
turn. However-you'd better be getting back."

"Getting back?" echoed Whitely.

"Certainly," said Grogan. "Back to the point at
which you started your movements in time. It's now
nine o'clock at night. After you came from here this
afternoon, you talked to me for a couple of minutes
and then dashed out as if your tail was on fire."

"Where was I going?" asked Whitely.

"You didn't say," replied Grogan, dryly; and,
reaching over, twisted the dial back to its original
position.

TEMPUS NON FUGIT

187

"Satisfied?" asked Grogan.

Whitely looked around him. It was daylight again;;

the determinant was still in his hands.

"Where am I going?" he demanded excitedly.

"What do you mean-where are you going?" snapped
Grogan. "Try to be explicit, Whitely. I know it's a
strain, but try."

"I was just seven hours and twenty-three minutes-
or something like that-in the future," babbled
Whitely. "And you said that after I got back here, I
went someplace suddenly. And-since I haven't actu-
ally gone, yet, I don't know where I went I thought
you could tell me where to go."

Grogan's face lit up with a happy smile. "Bless
you, Whitely; you have brightened my day for me.
It's so seldom in a man's life that opportunities like
this occur. Of course I'll tell you where to go."

And he did-in detail. It took about five minutes.

"That wasn't," said Whitely, indignantly, after
Grogan had finished, "what I meant."

"Naturally not," answered Grogan, and burst into
a roar of laughter.

"Well," said Whitely, red-faced, after Grogan's guf-
faws had toned down to chuckles, "you might tell me
why I found myself repeating what I'd done before,
on my trip into the past."

Grogan sobered up. "The past is immutable. All
this hogwash about alternate futures is so much pig
swill."

"Oh," said Whitely, and lapsed into thoughtful
silence-

"Well," rasped Grogan, impatiently. "You wanted
something to make money from, to pay that little bill
of mine. Take the blasted thing out and sell it, or
hock it, or something."

"Sell?" muttered Whitely. "Hock^* No, no-license,
that's what we'll do with it."

And, with that, he rushed out the door.

188 Gordon R. Dickson

United Electronics was a large outfit. It not only sold
to people like Grogan, it also bought from people like
him when they came up with something United Elec-
tronics would find useful. And Whitely already had a
nodding acquaintance with the purchasing agent, as
a result of his short interlude with the rich gentle-
man who had been offended by Whitely's lack of
taste for liquor. Consequently, it was to United Elec-
tronics that Whitely took himself as soon as he had
taken the trouble of putting the determinant under
interim registration at the local branch of the patent
office.

The purchasing agent, however, was out when
Whitely arrived; consequently Whitely had no choice
but to sit in a state of miserable impatience for three
hours. Trying to track the U.E. man down through
the maze of buildings would only have resulted in
Whitely's missing him altogether. Whitely found him-
self as he sat wishing rather wistfully that Grogan
would invent a device for tracking down purchasing
agents. But no, somehow Whitely felt in his bones
that what Grogan would invent would always be
something he needed, or found interesting.

Eventually, however, the man in question, a thin,
forty-year-old by the name of Cooper McBray, re-
turned.

"Ah, Spence," he said smoothly. "You wanted to
see me?"

Whitely looked at this complacent, thinning-haired
figure in its neat business suit of tweed; a vicious
desire to ruffle the man's calm possessed him. "For
three hours," he said. between clenched teeth, "I've
been sitting here with a device that can make five
million a year for the firm that markets it-and you
ask me if I want to see you."

"Now, now, Spence," said McBray, who was used
to exaggerated claims, "haste makes waste, you know.

TEMPOS NUN FUGIT              189

Come into the office, here." He led the way into the
panelled room that was his headquarters.

"Now," he repeated, sitting down and waving
Whitely into a chair, "what have you got, Spence?
My secretary says you're with Grogan. Never met
him, myself, but I understand he's a firecracker.
What's the gimmick?"

"The gimmick, as you put it," said Whitely, lean-
ing across the desk toward him, "is a temporal
determinant."

"And what," asked McBray, "is a temporal deter-
minant?"

For a moment, Whitely felt a small wistful desire
to be able to swear in Low Dutch. Bravely, he
squelched the wish. "To you," he said dryly, "a time
machine "

McBray leaned back in his chair and laughed until
tears glistened in his eyes.

"Well, well, well," he said. "So it's a time ma-
chine, is iP"

"Yes," said Whitely. "It is."

McBray leaned forward and wiped his eyes. "Come
now, Spence," he said. "After all, my working day is
rather a full one. And you've had your joke. Now,
what is it you've really got there."

Whitely leaned forward and put the temporal de-
terminant in McBray's hands. "Which way," he asked,
"would you like to go. Forward in time? Or back?"

"Oh, let's say-back," answered McBray, with a
chuckle. He was still chuckling when Spence set the
dial for five minutes earlier.

From Spence's point of view, the proceedings were
unspectacular. One minute, McBray was beaming
with merriment; the next, he was sitting back abruptly
in the chair behind his desk, his face grave, his fore-
head beaded with sweat.

Whitely leaned over and took the temporal deter-

190 Gordon R. Dickwn

minant from his unresisting hands. "Good Lord!"
gasped McBray.

"You had to live through those last five minutes of
your life all over again, didn't you?" said Whiteiy.

"I couldn't do anything about it-it was awful-"
The purchasing agent began to pull himself together.
He wiped his face with a shaking hand. "I'll concede
you've got something valuable there, Spence. How
much do you want for it?"

"It's not tor sale," replied Whiteiy, succinctly. "But
we might be persuaded to license your manufacture
of the temporal delerminant at a hundred thousand
a year."

McBray started up out of his chair. "A hundred
thou-you're crazy, man!"

Whilely shrugged; it felt good to be on the domi-
nant side for a change. "You can see for yourself," he
said, balancing the temporal determinant carelessly
in one'hand, "there's nothing much to the manufac-
ture of the device. And we guarantee it for seven
hours and twenty-three minutes into the future, and
as far as you wish into the past along your own
lifeline. There's lots of small companies that would
hock their eyeteeth to get the advantage over U.E.
that this would give them."

"But a hundred thousand a year' I've got no au-
thority to make that kind of deal."

"In that case," said Whiteiy, sweetly, "I suggest
you take me to someone who has."

"Why-" spluttered McBray, "nobody but the Pres-
ident of the Board could-I'd be laughed out of my
job if I took you to him with a proposal like that."

Whiteiy got to his feet. "In that case, I'd better be
going."

McBray came swiftly around the desk to intercept
him. "Never mind," he said grimly. "You know I
can't take the risk of letting this get out of my hands.
The whole matter will go to old Conninger, after his

TEMPUS NON FUOIT

191

office hours-and the blood of us both be on your
head!"

Cyril P. Conninger, President of United Electronics,
was a man who liked good food. He was also a man
who, when he said a thing, meant it, people who did
not recognize this fact were not long associated with
Cynl P. Conninger.

Consequently, it was, that after having spent sev-
eral tiresome hours in locating the President of the
Board at his Golden Hills estate and driving out
there, Whiteiy Spence and McBray were further con-
strained to wait while Conninger finished a leisurely
and extensive dinner. Conninger had made it a rule
never to be interrupted at meals, the iron-faced
butler informed McBray of this fact. McBray sat down
with a sigh to wait. So, perforce, did Whiteiy.

Finally, at some indeterminate time after 8:30
(Whitely's watch, perhaps somewhat baffled by its
experiences with Time, seemed to have given up run-
ning at all) he found himself face-to-face with his
potential customer.

"Well, McBray," said Conninger, settling heavily
into an overstuffed chair in the library. "Whozis?
Hah?"

"Excuse us for butting in this way, Mr. Conninger,"
replied the purchasing agent, nervously. "But Mr.
Spence here has a rather unusual item, the manufac-
ture rights of which he wants to license to us for a
rather high sum."

"Ho?" said the President of United Electronics.
"Hah?" He looked at Whiteiy curiously, as if doubt-
ful whether that individual wasn't something that
the second maid should be called to sweep up and
carry out on a dustpan.

"He has," said the perspiring McBray, "a time-
traveling device."

192 Gordon R. Dickson

"Heh?" ejaculated Conninger. startled. Then, as
comprehension struck him-"Haw! Haw!"

"You can laugh," snapped Whitely, "But I've got it
and it works. If some other company gets it they
could put United Electronics out of business in one
year."

Cyril P. Conninger's good humor evaporated some-
what suddenly. These were fighting words. "Ho?" he
barked. "Izato? Lemmeseeit! Whatzit?"

Whitely exhibited the temporal determinant. "You
can go either forward or backward in time." He smiled
enticingly.

"Would you care for a demonstration?"

"Uh!" grunted Conninger, in vigorous affirmative.

Whitely thrust the device into the other man's
hands. He twisted the dial.

"Ho-" began Conninger in alarm. He was cut off
abruptly, sat perfectly motionless for a second, then
began to tremble violently. His face had turned a
decided green.

"Mr. Conninger!" cried McBray, alarmed. "Are you
all right?"

The President of the Board gulped, choked, swal-
lowed, and finally found voice. "All right, you damn
fool' All right, you stupid idiot! Of course I'm not all
right. How would you feel if you had just eaten two
full size dinners in a row?"

He groaned, massaging his ample stomach ten-
derly. Whitely took advantage of the diversion to
repossess himself of the determinant.

"Hey!" cried Conninger, realizing his loss. "Gimme
that here!"

"Not," said Whitely, smoothly, "until you've agreed
to my terms."

"Terms? Hey! What terms?"

"One-one hundred thousand a year for manufac-
turing rights," quavered McBray.

"One hundred-gug!" choked Conninger. He quiv-

TEMPUS NON FUUIT              193

ered as if the temporal determinant had just made
another assault on his stomach. Then, because he
was after all a businessman, he said- "Five thou-
sand."

"Goodbye," said Whitely.

"Sixty thousand."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"All right, blast you, sixty-five thousand."

Whitely came over and patted Cyril P. Conninger
on the shoulder. Something that had never been done
to him before in the memory of anyone connected
with United Electronics.

"I realize," said Whitely, "that you're actually trying
to make a deal. The trouble is just that you're too
used to thinking in terms of these piddling little
sums. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll drop my price to
ninety-five thousand to show that small considera-
tions don't weigh with me. Now you can tell the
Board that you saved them some money."

Conninger purpled and opened his mouth. It turned
out that he, also, could swear in Low Dutch-or at
least something that soundeohremarkably like it.

"-and seventy-five thousand is my last offer. Not
a tenth-credit more; and be damned to you!"

Whitely smiled- Actually, seventy-five thousand was
far more than he had expected. He leaned forward
and spoke very distinctly. "I'll take-" he began-
and disappeared.

It was night. The room was Grogan's room. He was
^  placidly smoking a pipe in one corner and listening
to Brahms' Second Symphony on his colorecorder.

"There you are finally," said Grogan. "You must
have gone forward to the full limit of the deter-
minant."

Whitely drew a deep, relieved breath. "What is the
limit?"

"Seven hours and twenty-three minutes-approx-

194 Gordon R. Dickson

imately," said Grogan. "After that, the probability
index drops below the line of precise logical develop-
ment. I could show you the mathematics-but then
you wouldn't understand it, anyway. Of course you
can go as far back along your own lifeline as you
wish, although if you went too far back there might
be some practical considerations preventing your re-
turn. However-you'd better be getting back."

"Getting back?" echoed Whitely.

"Certainly," said Grogan. "Back to the point at
which you started your movements in time. It's now
nine o'clock at night. After you came from here this
afternoon, you talked to me for a couple of minutes
and then dashed out as if your tail was on fire."

"Where was I going?" asked Whitely.

"You didn't say," replied Grogan, dryly; and, reach-
ing over, twisted the dial back to its original position.

Then Whitely was back in the library of Cyril P
Conninger. "I'l! take seventy-five thousand," he said,
hastily.

Silence greeted this remark. Whitely looked from
President to purchasing agent, from Conninger to
McBray, and felt his heart sink as he noticed a subtle
and unfavorable difference in the attitudes of the two
facing him.

What had happened?

And then realization struck him. He had not come
back to the same moment that he had left. Instead,
he had been missing for a length of time equal to
that which his conversation with Grogan had re-
quired. And in that time-he could tell it by the sly
looks on their faces-Conninger and McBray had
cooked up something between them.

"Ho, ho," chortled Conninger.

"Heh, heh, heh," rasped McBray.

"Seventy-five thousand," echoed Conninger, "he
says."

TEMPUS NON FUGIT

195

"Don't tell me you take our little joke seriously,"
said McBray -

"Yes," said Whitely, grimly. "I did and do. Do you
want to talk business, or don't you?"

"Come now, Spence," said McBray. "You didn't
really think that we'd pay seventy-five thousand a
year for the rights to manufacture a mere toy?"

"Toy?" said Whitely.

"Toy," said McBray. "I imagine some people might
find it entertaining to repeat small portions of their
lives-but hardly at the cost of buying such an ex-
pensive gadget as this. But nobody in his senses would
want to shorten his apparent life by hopping seven
hours and some minutes into the future. I really
can't think of any good commercial use for the deter-
minant. And on the other hand, think of the uncer-
tainty, the danger. Rather a dangerous gadget, don't
you think, Mr. Conninger?"

"Absolutely, McBray," replied Conninger. "Ought
to be a law. Dangerous plaything. No good use for it.
Might write the papers about it myself if it shows up
on the market."

"Of course, Spence," said McBray, delicately, "I
suppose we could still buy it from you-merely as a
curiosity for development in our own tabs. But the
price would be closer to seven hundred and fifty than
seventy-five thousand credits. That, I would say, is
about what it's worth. Since we can't think of any
practical use for it. Or can you, Spence?"

Whitely thought desperately.

Could he?

He could not.

"Well?" said McBray.

For once in Whitely's life anger got the better of
his good nature and exploded out of him.

"No, I can't!" he snapped, jumping to his feet.
"But I'll tell you one thing. Practical use, or no prac-
tical use, you're not getting your hands on this. And

196 Gordon R. Dickson

what's more, I'll bet there is a practical use, and I'm
going to find it. And then if you want it, you're going
to have to pay through the nose for it!"
And he stalked out.

On his way back to Grogan's, Whitely contemplated
the temporal determinant sadly. It was ail very well
to say confidently that he was going to find a use for
it; but it was another matter entirely to go about
doing so. He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully.
McBray and Conninger's game was clear. They would
start circulating the word that the T.D. was danger-
ous and uncommercial, and that they had turned it
down for that reason. With such a rumor circulating
none of the smaller outfits would dare touch it. Of
course, someone would take it eventually; but by
that time the Conninger labs, briefed by McBray's
skilled observation of the determinant Whitely had
showed him, would be well on the way to coming out
with their own determinant, with just enough change
to get around the patent laws. Whitely's and Grogan's
only hope was to get the determinant on the market
first.

There must be some sort of practical use for the
thing- Whitely knotted his brows. Perhaps he and
Grogan could try manufacturing temporal determi-
nants on a small scale themselves and selling them
to retail outlets as curiosities . ..

"Grogan," said Whitely, coming into Grogan's room
a few minutes later. "How much did it cost us to
make the temporal determinant?"

Grogan was once more busy at the typer. "Don't
interrupt me," he growled. "I'm having a small sci-
entific discussion with one of these Europeans. What's
a colloquia! phrase in German meaning "obstinate
moron'?"

TEMPUS NON FUGIT              197

"Why, I don't know," said Whitely, caught off
balance.

"I hate to use the word dummkopf again." reflected
Grogan. "I've already used it twelve times in this one
letter. Oh, well-"

His typer rattled busily for a moment, then stopped.

"Now," he said, turning to Whitely. "What was
that? Oh, cost. Let me see-there, about four hun-
dred and fifty credits worth of parts there, and of
course my own time would be worth at least another
thousand-insofar as you can put a price on time as
valuable as mine."

"Four hundred and fifty credits worth of parts!"
echoed Whitely weakly.

"Naturally," said Grogan. "I hate making anything
out of cheap shoddy materials. That little round af-
fair that looks like a button is really a bank of fifteen
microcells matched to my specifications. And those
insulators, though you can't see them, are commer-
cial diamonds because of their useful heat con-
ductivity.

"Couldn't," quavered Whitely,. "couldn't the tem-
poral determinant possibly be made out of material
just a little less expensive?"

"What?" snorted Grogan, wrathfully. "I'd as soon
cut off my right arm-and anyway, no, it couldn't."

Spence groaned and sat down heavily. "It's no
good,then."

Grogan's beard bristled. "Something / made?" he
thundered. "No good?"

Whitely quivered.

"What I mean is," he explained, "there's no com-
mercial use for the T.D."

"Why in the devil's name should there be?"

"Look, Mr. Grogan," explained Whitely, desper-
ately. "Nobody will pay us for the T.D. unless they
think they can make money themselves off it." And

198 Gordon R. Dickson

he toid Grogan about his interview with Conninger
and McBray.

"Bah!" erupted Grogan, when he had finished. "Peo-
ple are imbeciles. I'll go talk to them. myself."

Whiteiy jumped to his feet, his face lighting up
with hope. "Do you know a use for the T.D., then?"

"Of course not!" snapped Grogan. "But we've got
to fly out to Conninger's place. I'll think up a use on
the way."

Mr. Conninger and Mr. McBray were occupied, the
impenetrable butler informed them when they ar-
rived. It was too late and they had left orders not to
be disturbed, particularly by any gentlemen whose
initials were W. S. He regretted therefore, but-

"Don't," interrupted Grogan harshly, at this point
in the conversation.

The butler raised his eyebrows with lofty scorn.
"Don't?" he echoed, with amused tolerance.

"Don't regret it; because we're going in anyway,"
snapped Grogan. "Just scuttle on down the hall there
and inform your Mr. Conninger that Hobart Grogan
is here to see him."

Slowly, the iron visage of the butler crumpled and
softened. A worshipful look came into his eyes. "Ho-
bart Grogan?"

"The same," said Grogan.

"Not-not-" stammered the butler, "the Hobart
Grogan who wrote the article entitled 'The Applica-
tion of the Theory of Finite Discontinuity of Func-
tions to States of Quantised Probability,' in the
December issue of the Mathematical JoumaP"

"I am," said Grogan.

"Sir," said the butler, "may I have the honor of
shaking your hand?"

"You may." said Grogan.

They shook hands.

TEMPUS NON FUGIT              199

"And now, sir," said the butler, "Mr. Conninger
will see you in the library."

"But-but you said-" stammered Whiteiy.

"Sir." said the butler, simply, "there are in the
world today, over eight hundred men equal in posi-
tion and financial resources to Mr. Conninger; but
there are only seventy-three bonafide butlers."

He inclined his head and stalked off down the hall.
Inside of a couple of minutes he returned. "Mr.
Conninger will see you now, gentlemen."

Whiteiy and Grogan went down the hall and into the
library.

"Well?" demanded McBray, nastily, as they entered.

"Are you Conninger?" asked Grogan, looking at the
purchasing agent inquiringly.

"No," answered McBray, "I'm-"

"Then what the devil are you interrupting the con-
versation for?" snapped Grogan. "I came here to talk
to Conninger. Who's Conninger?"

"I am," said the President_of the Board of United
Electronics.

"Whiteiy tells me you can't think of a use for my
temporal determinant."

"I-" began Conninger.

"Shut up," said Grogan, peevishly. "Nobody has
any manners these days-interrupting all the time. I
should, of course, have foreseen this eventuality. Any
"   businessman with imagination would hardly waste
-(   his time in business. The obvious solution to the
problem of course is for you to market the temporal
determinant under some such snappy title as the
Handy Pocket Timesaver."

"But it doesn't save time," objected McBray.

"Ass!" roared Grogan, turning on the purchasing
agent. "Of course it doesn't; Time is inelastic and
permanent. No man has more of it than can be con-

200 Gordon R. Dickson

tained in his lifetime. However, judicious use of the
temporal determinant will allow people to make prof-
itable use of time that is otherwise wasted. -Moron!"
He glowered at McBray.

"Hey!" said Conninger, rousing himself to articu-
late speech. "How?"

Grogan drew a long, patient breath.

"For the benefit of your limited perceptions," he
said, "I will diagram the procedure. One Sunday
afternoon, you find yourself at home with nothing to
do for four hours- So, with the temporal determinant
you jump ahead to dinner time. On the following
Monday, you find yourself with an interesting little
problem in tensor calculus but not the time to work
it out in. So you hop back to Sunday afternoon and
fill in the vacant four hours with your problem, and
whatever other small enthusiasms occur to you. If, of
course, you had sat around doing nothing all Sunday
afternoon, the time would be filled; and if then you
went back via the temporal determinant, you would
simply have to live through the period of sitting
around, again. But, since you hopped over those four
hours, they remain a blank space in time that you
can later use for any activity you like."

McBray said, "Sure, I get it. And if you can expand
the period, then we can put it on a more popular
level. Say that a fellow's all ready to bring his girl
friend a diamond ring-on, oh, April 11th. That is, he
expects the cash in that day. Then he learns that it
won't come through until April 25th.

"So he hops ahead to April 25th, picks up the
dough and takes it back to the 11th. Then he can buy
the ring when he planned, and he and his tootsie'U
be happy."

There was a moment of silence in the library. Then
Whitely spoke up. "And," he said, making no at-
tempt to keep the triumph out of his voice, "we'll
license the rights to manufacture to you for-"

TEMPUS NON FUGIT

201

"Four thousand, three hundred and nineteen cred-
its," interrupted Grogan.

"No!" shrieked Whitely, "you-"

"Wasn't that the amount you said we needed?"
asked Grogan.

"Yes, but-" cried Whitely, "it's not enough. I-"

"Quite right!" said Grogan, "I'm glad you reminded
me. My trip over here, and my valuable advice, will
have to be charged for. Five thousand, three hundred
and nineteen credits. Conninger."

"Done!" cried the President of United Electronics,
leaping from his chair with surprising agility. "Here,
I'll scratch down a temporary contract and you can
sign over now. Got a pen, McBray? Gimme! Thanks."

"Very good," said Grogan, reading over Conninger's
shoulder as the pen traveled furiously across the pa-
per. "I'll be glad to sign. What are you choking for,
Whitely? Nonsense, don't bother me now. How many
times must I harp on the bad manners of interrup-
tions. Take a lesson from me. I never interrupt. Cour-
tesy, to my mind, is beyond price. -The pen? Thanks."

Grogan signed.

"A fine stroke of business," said Grogan, as they
drove back to his house. "Even if I had to do it all
myself. Simple enough to beat these businessmen at
their own game if you simply keep your wits about
you!"

"You-" stuttered Whitely, finally finding his voice.
"They offered me seventy-five thousand for that li-
cense earlier today. And they would have paid eighty-
five. That's what I was trying to tell you before you
signed, but you kept shutting me up."

His words rang somewhat wildly in the close com-
partment of Grogan's helicopter, in which they were
winging their way homeward through the night. At
the controls, Grogan sat impassively, now and then
touching the pitch controls with a delicate finger.

202 Gordon R. Dickson

For a second after Whitely's words died away there
was silence in the cab as Grogan peered thoughtfully
out and down at the city beneath.

"Well, Whitely," he said, finally settling back in
his seat. "What you say may be true; I would be the
last person to accuse you of saying something that
was not true. Indeed, I will admit we might possibly
have squeezed a few more credits out of them. But
that would have forced them to raise the price of
temporal determinants beyond the reach of all but
the very rich. By shrewdly lowering my own price, I
maneuvered them into keeping theirs down. More
sets will sell. There will be more money in circula-
tion. They will make greater profits and consequently
be able to lower their prices on other articles they
manufacture. I will be able to buy equipment more
cheaply."

And, satisfied with himself again, Grogan gazed
happily out the helicopter window and hummed
Brahms' Second Symphony contentedly to himself.
In the other seat, over against the far window, Whitely
said nothing. But he thought of a percentage com-
mission check for ten thousand credits made out to
himself, and his eyes filled with tears.

Cloak and Stagger

First it was just a haze of light. Then it was some-
thing distant and white, with a dark blob swim-
ming against it. Then it all cleared; and the white was
the ceiling and the blob was the face of a medician.

"Hello. Torm, boy," said the medician. "Easy, now.
How's the head?"

Torm Lindsay reached up and felt a skullcap ban-
dage smooth and tight under his fingers. "Whuzzat?"
he said.

"I'll take it off now," said the medician. His hands
went to Lindsay's head, and Torm could feel the
bandage being peeled and rolled back. "Now how
does it feel?"

"Feels fine," said Torm, his voice strengthening.

"Fine. Not the best operating conditions here, you
know. How d'you feel?"

"Feel?" For a long moment Torm just lay silent,
puzzling over this last question. Feel? How did he
feel? He certainly felt different than he had ever felt
before. Or had he once-a long time ago . . . ? The
memory, if it was a memory, slipped from his mind's
searching fingers and was gone.

"I feel fine," he said.

203

204 Gordon R. Dickson

"Ataboy." The medician helped him up off the long,
narrow table with its white cover. "Take it slow and
easy now; the aliens have the oxygen up around the
embassy again. Breathe slowly and naturally. Don't
try to move too fast."

Torm tried it. The room and everything in it fciegan
to settle around him once more. "Now what?"

"Room 243," said the medician. "She's waiting for
you."

"Who's waiting?"

The medician peered at him. "Don't you know?"

Suddenly Torm remembered. It all blossomed out
inside of him at once; and it seemed to him suddenly
that it was the best, the most wonderful, and the
funniest thing he had ever known. He started to laugh
and his laughter mounted until he was leaning help-
lessly on the medician and whooping in his ear.

"I'm a spy!" he yelped delightedly.

The medician's face went white. He glanced franti-
cally around him. "For . . - Torm, you crazy fool!
Keep it down! Keep your voice down!"

Turning the corner of the corridor leading to room
243 of the Human Embassy to the alien Federation of
Peoples, on Arcturus Five (there was a peculiar feel-
ing of dizziness accompanying the action, as if he
had been turning corridors all morning-but not an
unpleasant feeling at all; Torm Lindsay could hardly
remember ever having felt so good) he came face to
face with a mirror. From it, his own image beamed
back at him, pug nose, blue eyes, all the normal
attributes. He was wearing, he noted, his formal,
one-piece suit of diplomatic black with the Green
Earth emblem on the chest. A pleasant sight.

"Hi, me," said Lindsay.

Looking beyond the mirror, down the corridor, he
saw the doorway he was seeking and went on to and
through it. Inside was an office with a tall, shapely

CLOAK AND STAGGER

205

brunette in the gold and white of a research medician,
standing with her back to him, searching through
the spools of a filing cabinet.

"Rrrufff!" Coming up behind, Lindsay gathered her
in his arms. For a moment it was touch and go; but
then she managed to break away from him.

"No, Torm," she said, getting a desk between them.
"Not now. You sit down over there."

"But I love you," said Torm. "I iove you madly,
Selagh."

Selagh Maron, who had been about to say some-
thing, closed her mouth and swallowed a little con-
vulsively. "This is no time to break the news to me."

"You mean I haven't told you before?" said Torm,
frowning. "That's odd."

"Oh, is it?"

"Of course. I've loved you ever since they first sent
you out from Earth."

"Torm, will you please sit down?"

Torm sat down. "Now," said Selagh, briskly, seat-
ing herself in turn behind the desk, "I want you to
answer a few questions."

"Carry on."

"Name?"

"You know my name."

"Name?"

"Torm Alexander McTavish Lindsay."

"Age?"

"Twenty-eight."

"Position?"

"Junior attache, diplomatic, Embassy to the Fed-
eration, Arcturus Five."

"Present duty?"

"To reach by any possible means the planetary
center of government, and bring our case to the at-
tention of the higher authorities."

"And what is our case?"

"Ha!" said Torm. "We haven't one."

206 Gordon R. Dickson

"Torm!" cried Selagh, sitting up in her chair.
"Well, what do you think? They've got umpteen
thousand races and half the galaxy. If they don't like
us, how can we make them? If they don't want us.
what can we do about it?" Torm scratched the tip of
his nose. "Seems silly to me."

"Torm, that's not the point," retorted Selagh,
swiftly. "The Representative they've assigned to deal
with us is just being obstructionistic, that's all. Your
job is just to find someone else that Ambassador
Coran and Admiral Natek can take our case to."
"Ah, well . . ." Torm shrugged.
Selagh looked at him severely. "Got it?"
"Yup!" said Torm, with a yawn. "Makes no differ-
ence to me, anyhow."
"That's right." Selagh got up. "Come on now."

The guard at the entrance stood to one side, stiff in
his maroon and gray uniform, and they went in. The
office of the Human Ambassador to Arcturus was
long and wide, lit by the same bright sourceless light-
ing that illuminated the whole interior of the em-
bassy building. Around a table at the far end of the
room sat three men.

No-not quite three. One had a curiously crippled
look about him. On closer inspection, it could be
seen that he did not have the outjutting shoulder
bones that belong to the human skeleton- In their
place was something like a large double ball-and-
socket joint into which his arms fitted at the top, but
the details of which were hidden by the sort of loose
smock he wore. This structural peculiarity, and the
unvarying stillness of his expressionless face, tagged
him as an alien of one of the races which together
made up the humanly unknown numbers and extent
of the Federation of Peoples.

"Oh, there you are," said Ambassador Coran, look-
ing up, his thin, lined face under its gray hair alertly

CLOAK AND STAGGER              207

upon Selagh and Torm as they came up to the table.
He turned to the alien. "This, Representative, is the
young man we're sending out."

The Federation Representative turned his unmov-
ing face to Torm. His eyes were dark and lustrous,
and seemed to burn with a deeply hidden light. He
stared at Torm.

"Reading my mind?" asked Torm, cheerfully.

"Lindsay!" snapped Coran.

The Representative raised one hand, slowly. The
hand, too, was very human, though somewhat long
and fragile looking.

"It's all right. Ambassador," he said, in words lack-
ing the faintest trace of any accent. "I've seen you
before; you're Torm Lindsay, aren't vou."

"Right."

"I thought so. No, Torm, I wasn't reading your
mind; I can't. We in the Federation, even the best of
us, can receive only what is consciously projected to
us. You people are not telepathicaily dumb, you know.
Merely deaf-or rather, lacking in proper education.
Now, Torm, you've been warned that going outside
of the Embassy may be-to my mind, certainly will
be-dangerous for you?"

"Check," said Lindsay.

"And you're going out of your own free will?"

"I am."

The alien's hand disappeared into the long sleeve
of his smock and came out holding a small, metallic-
looking capsule. He handed it to Torm, "Break this
with your thumbnail."

Torm did; and a silver mist seemed to rise from
the broken capsule, to flow about him and disappear.

"What's that?" asked Coran.

"Roughly the equivalent-but I should say a great
deal better than one of your space suits," answered
the Representative. "It will ensure a constant physi-

208 Gordon R. Dickson

cal environment for him. His own atmosphere, tem-
perature, pressure, gravity, and so on."

The eyes of stocky Admiral Natek lit up eagerly,
then the glow faded resignedly. He had tried prying
loose technical improvements from the Representa-
tive before this; and with no success.

"Seiagh," said Ambassador Coran, "will you take
Lindsay to the door and start him out? Then come
back here. We're going to ... just come back."

"Yes, sir," said Seiagh.

She led Torm back out the door, down several lev-
els and along a corridor that ended in a small door.
At her touch it slid back, revealing a short ramp
sloping down to a walkway that curved past the
embassy building, and curved off to lose itself among
further buildings of the great city-of which the hu-
mans, imprisoned in their embassy, knew next to
nothing.

"There you are," Seiagh looked up into his face.
"Take care of yourself." Suddenly she threw her arms
around him and clung to him. "Oh, take care of
yourself!"

"Hey . . ." began Torm. But before he could re-
spond, she had kissed him quickly and pushed him
out onto the ramp. The door closed between them;

and Lindsay was left staring foolishly at it.

"Well . . ." said Torm. "Well . . ." After a moment
he shrugged his shoulders and turned away. He went
down the slight slope of the ramp and turned to his
right on the walkway.

II

s he stepped onto it, it seemed deserted. Aliens
of all types, observation from the Embassy's win-
dows had informed its human staff, seemed to prefer
the simplicity of disappearing from one place and

A

CLOAK AND STAGGER

209

appearing in another, to more ordinary and persona]
methods of locomotion. However, Torm Lindsay, being
only human, was finding an actual pleasure in stretch-
ing his legs; he strode along, whistling to himself.

He had, however, covered only a short distance
before he discovered that the walk itself was moving
him along. When he stopped and looked down at his
feet, they seemed to be firmly planted upon an im-
movable surface. When he looked at the low walls
edging the walkway, he saw, however, that he was
undeniably in motion. By way of experiment, Torm
sat down; he proceeded as easily and comfortably as
before.

"Marchons!" This reminded him of the Marsellaise,
and he sang a couple of verses. "Allans," he said. "A
I'estacion. Aus den bierstube. Rrrrapido-" he said,
liking the sound of the rolling r's "conrrem los camros
del ferrrrocamril."

The walk, apparently puzzled, slowed down and
stopped. Torm patted it reassuringly. "That's all right,
boy. Just take me to the nearest transportation center."

The walk picked up speed again.

"Faster," ordered Torm.

It went faster.

"Faster!" cried Torm.

The edging walls began to blur with the speed.

"Faster!"

The walk stopped abruptly-and somehow without
snapping Lindsay's head off at the neck. But at the
moment he was not so concerned with that as with
its evident disobedience to his command.

"What is this farce? I said-faster!" The walk did
not stir. "How will I ever get to ... oh."

He had just noticed that he was halted opposite a
towering building that stretched impossibly up out
of sight beside him.

"I am there? You are there!" he told himself. He

210 Gordon R. Dickson

got to his feet with another charitable pat for the
walkway. "Thanks-and pardon my misunderstand-
ing."

He turned and headed for the building's wide en-
trance. Just inside the shadow of it stood a tall,
bipedal alien with several extra joints in each of his
arms and legs. It looked at him with large, spaniel-
like brown eyes set in a high, bony forehead that was
seamed with wrinkles.

"Hi," said Tom. "This the transportation center?"
The alien continued to stare at him. Term pro-
duced a small cube of plastic. "My identification."
The alien looked down at it. "Torm Lindsay, Human
Embas-" The cube abruptly disappeared. Torm
stared at his empty fingers in some surprise.

The alien unexpectedly produced another pair of
eyes from the wrinkles above the first pair. These
four now surveyed Torm Lindsay with interest, then
closed, one at a time, almost in cadence, from left to
right, from top to bottom. Apparently blind, the alien
turned and walked unerringly toward a small booth
inside the doorway. Torm followed.

The door to the booth opened; the alien stepped
inside; the door closed. Torm waited. After a few
minutes he knocked.
The door opened. The booth was empty.
"Hmmmm?" Torm stepped inside the booth himself.
Behind him the door closed. In the opposite side of
the booth, another door opened. Torm stepped out
and found that he was no longer in the lobby of the
tall building. He was possibly on the top of it-at
any rate, in some large, open area with what seemed
to be a curtain of white light shimmering by itself off
at some distance from him.

The many-jointed alien was not in sight; but nearby
was what appeared to be an oversize Gila monster,
or something very like it, with bushy black whiskers.
The whiskers were just now in the process of being

CLOAK AND STAGGER

211

retracted; as Lindsay watched, the alien split down
the back.

A second later, the essential creature began to strug-
gle out through the crack, leaving the heavy, di&- ••
carded skin behind.                          '     -;

"Need a hand?" asked Torm politely.

The alien did not answer. It was almost completely •
out of the old skin now, revealing a pink, semi-
transparent new skin through which an assortment
of organs could be seen dimly in palpitant motion.

"My congratulations," said Torm. "And now I won-
der if you could direct me . . ." The alien abruptly
disappeared. A moment later the old skin disappeared
also.

"Ah. well," said Torm, philosophically, "it takes
all kinds." He looked about him and saw at some
distance away the shimmering wait ol luminescence.
A number of aliens of all descriptions seemed to be
coming and going from it.

"When in doubt," Torm Lindsay advised himself,
"follow the crowd." He commenced to stroll off in
the direction of the shimmering wall.

The walk to it was uneventful. Occasionally, he had
to sidestep to avoid aliens of various shapes and sizes
who appeared in his path. He was almost trapped
once, and was forced to detour, by a large hole that
appeared before him for no apparent reason, and
then as suddenly closed up again. And he stopped to
watch what appeared to be a couple of twelve-foot
grasshoppers fighting. It was a close match for a
couple of minutes; then one of the grasshoppers got
the head of the other between his enormous, bony
jaws, and crushed it.

"The winnah, and new champeen!" applauded
Torm. The winnah, however, like so many winnahs,
appeared to have let success go to his head. For he
ignored Lindsay and stalked off into the distance

212 Gordon R. Dickson

with a lordly air. The loser, as might have been
expected, disappeared.

Torm shook his head and continued on. As he ap-
proached the wall of luminescence, he discovered
that it was not a solid unit-as it had seemed to be
from a distance-but a long line of glowing capsules
of light, in continuous movement from left to right.
Every so often, one of the aliens standing in front of
it would plunge forward into an empty capsule; the
alien would then be carried off, fading as he went,
until by the time the capsule he had entered had
covered a dozen feet or so, it was once more empty.
Occasionally, other aliens would appear in an other-
wise-empty capsule, ride along for a short distance
until they had acquired full solidity of definition;

and then pop out onto the floor. It was a busy scene.

"Eureka?" said Torm. "It doesn't look like an ordi-
nary transport system. Still .. ."

Talking it over with himself, he stepped up to the
line of capsules. A good share of them, he saw, were
filled by aliens either dissolving or resolving. Occa-
sionally there was an empty, however. He finally
spotted one coming along between a capsule holding
something that looked like a small, leafless bush, and
another containing a sort of tuskless walrus.

"Heigh-ho, and here we go."

The capsule slid opposite.

"To the governing center of the planet, driver," said
Torm, stepping into it. "And don't spare the . . ."

The lights went out.

Torm Lindsay was having a dream. He was dream-
ing that he was his own ancestor back on the border
marches between Scotland and England. Appropri-
ately dressed in kilt and broadsword, he was arguing
with the Earl Douglas. His Scots accent was impec-
cable.

"Douglas," he was saying. "I gi' ye fair warning.

CLOAK AND STAGGER              213

Dinna let yersel be cozened into gaein' tae Ban-
nockburn. Yon Percy have a lean and hungry look."

"Hoot, awa wi' ye, Lindsay!" the Douglas re-
torted. "Wi' sic as yersel' and Montgomery beside me,
there's nae danger. Danger! Hoot. Hoot! Hooooot!
Hooooooo ..."

Torm blinked his eyes open and sat up shakily. A
few feet in front of him, the walrus-shaped alien was
doing push-ups on his front flippers and hooting dis-
tressfully. As Torm Lindsay sat up, the other sank
down, closed his eyes as if exhausted, and became
silent.

Torm shook his head-in gingerly fashion. It had
been a trifle sore to begin with; now, it had picked
up a pounding ache. Moreover, to top it all off, he
had the dirty, ragged-nerved feeling that follows on a
case of severe shock; and he was most outrageously
thirsty.

He looked around in search of something drink-
able. There was no such something in sight. In fact,
little less than what he saw could have been in sight.
Besides himself and the walrus-shaped alien, (which
Torm, in his own mind, nicknamed "the monster")
there was to be seen only the plant-shaped alien that
had occupied the adjoining bubble of light on Term's
other side; and some evidently damaged contrivance
of metal lying sprawled about. Elsewhere, as far as
the eye could reach, there was nothing-nothing at
all except a dead and level plain of sand. A blinding
double sun burnt brightly overhead.

"Well," said Torm thoughtfully. "Well!"

"Hoot!" said the monster, suddenly. "Hoot. Hoot,
hoot!"

Torm looked back at the fat alien and discovered
him doing push-ups again. As far as it was possible
to tell about such things, he seemed to be eyeing the
plant. Torm got stiffly to his feet and went over to
inspect this other companion in misfortune.

214 Gordon R. Dickson

Unlike Lindsay himself and the monster, the plant
appeared to be either still unconscious, or else done
for altogether. It lay sprawled out on the sand, look-
ing like something weeded from a garden and thrown
on a rubbish heap for burning. Torm supposed that
the monster was urging him to give it some kind of
aid. At least, that was the natural assumption. But
how do you go about-say-giving artificial respira-
tion to a plant?

Torm scratched his head and fell, rather than sat,
down on the sand beside it to look at it. There was
nothing in the way of clues about its anatomy. Gen-
erally speaking, it appeared to resemble a small
scrawny bush, a little over a meter in height. Its
limbs were leafless, short and sparse, sticking out
straight from its body and ending in sharp, but deli-
cate tips. At its base, several of what Lindsay took to
be roots sprawled out limply. And just above these,
at the base of the stem, there was a bulge of about
the same size as a small grapefruit. Torm touched
the bulge dubiously with one forefinger, in the rather
forlorn hope of running into something resembling a
heartbeat. But the bulge was hard and silent.

Torm went back to the monster. His knees felt
shaky and he dropped onto the sand facing it.

"Well, I guess something went wrong."

"Hoot," said the monster, companionably.

"Sorry to drag you two into it."

"Hoot. Hoot!"

"Look here," said Torm, "we're obviously all stuck
someplace we didn't intend to be; and our friend
over there doesn't seem to be in any too good shape.
Now, I think the first thing we better do is work out
some kind of a code for communication purposes. To
start off with, if you can understand me, hoot twice."

"Hoot. Hoot!" hooted the monster.

"Fine. Marvelous. Now-is our friend over there
alive?"

CLOAK AND STAGGER              215

"Hoot. Hoot!"

"Is there something I can do to him?"

"Hoot. Hoot!"

"Good," said Torm, pushing himself painfully to
his feet. "I'll just go get him and bring him to
you ..."

"Hoot! Hoot! Hoot! Hoot-" the monster went off
into a frenzy of trumpeting.

Torm paused, astonished. "Don't bring him over?"

"Hoot-"

"Leave him where he is?"

"Hoot! Hoot!"

Torm goggled at the monster. "But shouldn't we-"

"Hoot!"

"But you just said-you know," said Lindsay
thoughtfully, "I'm beginning to wonder if you under-
stand me after all."

"Hoot! Hoot! Hoot!"

"Oh, fine; that explains everything." Torm glanced
over at the plant. It was beginning to stir feebly.
"Wait here," he told the monster. "I'll go see if I
can't make a tittle more sense out of him than I can
out of you."

Ignoring the busy hooting that the monster set up
the minute he turned his back on it, Torm Lindsay
walked over to the plant, which was making weak
efforts to stand upright. He gave it a hand up; it
pushed out with its roots, rocked dizzily for a mo-
ment and found its balance. Now that it was once
more animated and erect, a lot of the scrubbing of its
appearance seemed to have vanished. Vibrant and
alive, it marched away on its roots for a few feet,
turned and marched back, looking a little like a strut-
ting dandy out of medieval Europe.

"Well, now," said Torm. "That's better. Can you
understand me?"

The plant regarded him. Its top bent toward him
and its limbs quivered slightly. It took a couple more

216 Gordon R Dickson

steps toward him and quivered again. It came on
and started to climb up his leg.

"Here!" said Torm, detaching it-the root and limb
ends were a little on the sharp and thorny side. "No.
Stay down." The plant was evidently anything but
amenable to suggestion-it was trying to climb his
leg again. "No, I say! Stay on your own-er-base.'

He slapped it gently for emphasis. The plant re-
treated a few steps, dug its roots firmly into the
sand, and began to quiver violently, as if with indig-
nation. It occurred to Torm that possibly he was
being told off.

"Well, I'm sorry," he said, soothingly. "Very prob-
ably you're one of the leading lights of the Federa-
tion. The point is, how am I to know? And I don't like
you climbing on me like that. Gives me a prickly
feeling."

"Hoot!" put in the monster.

"Another precinct heard from." Torm glanced over
at the larger alien. "Now"-he turned back to the
plant-"let's see if I can get into some kind of com-
munication with you. At least one of the two of you
ought to be telepathic."

The plant waved a few limbs and quivered ex-
pressively.

"I don't know what that's supposed to mean, but
I'll take it for agreement. Now . . ." Lindsay sat down
on the sand again. He found himself a trifle dizzy,
and the dizziness seemed to subside a bit when he
was closer to the ground. "Here's the situation as I
see it. When I stepped into that-er-bubble, it threw
something or other out of kilter. And as a result
we're all both lost and stranded. Right?"

"Hoot," said the monster. Torm looked over at
him; but it was impossible to tell whether the fat
alien was agreeing, or merely felt like hooting. Torm
inclined to the latter opinion. The monster was not a
particularly impressive looking being; he looked like

CLOAK AND STAGGER              217

a grounded sea-cow, and his hoot resembled the note
of a querulous fog horn. Torm turned his attention
back to the plant, whose continual nervous move-
ment seemed to augur a more alert and intelligent
nature.

"At any rate," he wound up, "the point is we're
stuck here. And the question is-what to do about
it? Any suggestions?"

The plant quivered and did a little one-two step.

"Well, don't either of you have any notion of how
to get out of this fix?"

His two auditors preserved their uninformative
attitudes.

"Now look," said Torm. "We can't just stay here
indefinitely. For one thing, I'm thirsty; and there's
no water in sight. And whatever you two eat or
drink-"

The plant turned and began to move away, abruptly.
It marched over to the damaged-looking metallic con-
trivance and began to climb over it.

"Hey," said Torm, getting to his feet, "is this the
gimmick that does the transporting?" He walked over
to the "gimmick." The plant retired about the dis-
tance of a meter and quivered busily at him.

"I wish I knew what you were trying to tell me."
Torm looked down at the gimmick again. "It makes
sense, though. This is the transporter, or whatever it
was. And it's been damaged." He looked at the plant.
"Are you trying to tell me we can fix it?"

Ill

The plant stamped twice with its roots, marched
in a half circle around to Lindsay's flank; as he
turned to face it, the plant quivered once again. Torm
looked over at the monster. "What do you think?"

The monster was lying still with its flippers limp
on the sand and its eyes closed. It did not answer.

Gordon R. Dickson

218

"Our friend yonder," said Torm to the plant,
"doesn't seem to be mechanically inclined."

The plant turned half around, as if discovering the
monster for the first time. For a second it merely
quivered in the other's direction. Then, abruptly, it
began to march toward the monster.

"That's right; wake him up."

The plant continued on its way, trundling along
stiffly like a Napoleonic soldier on parade. When it
was halfway to the monster, the latter suddenly
opened his eyes. He took one look at the advancing
plant and began to hoot violently, waving his flip-
pers. His eyes were on Lindsay.

For a moment, Torm hesitated. "This doesn't make
sense," he said. But the plant continued to advance
and the monster continued to hoot.

Torm shook his head, walked over and caught up
with the plant, and picked it up from behind. The
monster's hooting abruptly ceased. The plant craned
itself around in his hands, quivered energetically,
and tried to climb his arm. It was unsuccessful.

Torm looked from it to the monster. "What's wrong

between you two?"

Neither answered. Torm Lindsay shook his head
and put the plant down- It immediately lit out once
more in the direction of the monster.

"No," said Torm, going around and getting in its
way. "Whatever there is between you two, we're all
in this thing together and we can't afford to take

picks at each other."

The plant was not convinced; it tried to go around
Lindsay. Remembering a technique that had worked
before, he slapped at it a couple of times, lightly. It
retreated half a meter, dug itself perhaps twenty
centimeters into the sand, and quivered violently for

a good minute.

"Consider me told off again," said Torm. The plant
drooped rather limply. "You shouldn't excite your-

CLOAK AND STAGGER              219

self that way. He"-Lindsay glanced over at the
monster-"isn't doing any harm, just lying there that
way."

"Hoot," said the monster.

"Of course, he isn't doing us any good either."

The monster closed his eyes and relaxed. The plant
continued to droop.

"Perk up, son," Lindsay said to the plant, "and
let's get back to business. You, at least, were making
yourself useful on this gimmick business. Let's go
back and see what can be done about getting it work-
ing again, eh?"

The plant made no response. After a minute, Torm
dug the sand away from its roots, picked it up, and
carried it back to the gimmick. It gave a couple of
half-hearted quivers on the way over.

"Cheer up," said Torm. "Nothing is impossible-
Now . . ." He sat down and placed the plant in front
of him, between himself and the apparatus. "Let's
see what we have here."

The plant walked off a meter's length or so and
stood still. Lindsay poked interestedly at the gimmick.

In appearance, it was so simple as to appear easily
understandable. There were several plates spaced
along a narrow rod, which seemed to have been
twisted somewhat out of plumb. There was a long
coil of fine wire, attached to the bottom plate and
trailing loosely off to one side. And there was a fine,
colorful little object that would have made an excel-
lent child's marble back on Earth if it had not been
for the fact that it was ellipsoidal in shape, rather
than spherical.

"Hmmmm." Torm lifted the long coil of wire. It
draped nicely in length. "Where do you suppose this
goes?"

It was a good question. The coil was too long to fit
between the plates-unless Torm didn't mind having

Gordon R. Dickson

220

a lot left over. But the loose end had an uncompleted
look about it, as if it were supposed to fit somewhere.

"Hey!" Torm called, looking over at the plant. "Give
me a hand, here."

The plant ignored him.

"Fine thing! I draw one alien who spends all his
time snoozing when he isn't hooting his head off; and
another who's a little bundle of temperament." He
reached over and poked the stem of the plant, gently.

"Hey-"

The plant quivered briefly. That was all.
"Now look," said Lindsay, "what good's it going to
do you to sulk? If this thing is completely unfixable,
just wave your top back and forth a couple of times.
If something can be done, just move a little closer to

me.

This request got him nowhere. The plant refused to

stir.

"I wouldn't bother you," said Torm. "But our friend
yonder seems a little too bovine to be helpful. I've
got a hunch you're the one with the brains in this

crowd."

He waited; but flattery, it seemed, would also get

him nowhere.
"Very well," said Torm, rising. "You force me to

take my trade to the opposition." He gathered up rod
and plates, coil and marble; and went over to the
monster. He poked it in the region where in any
reasonable scheme of bodily organization, it should

contain its ribs.

"Pardon me; but about this gimmick . . ."
The monster opened one eye, suspiciously.
"How do I fix this?" demanded Torm.
"Hoot, hoot, hoot, hoot, hoot," said the monster

and apparently went back to sleep.
"Much obliged. But couldn't you be a little more

explicit?"
The monster lay quiescent.

CLOAK AND STAGGER              221

"Ah well." Torm Lindsay sat down and resigned
himself to fiddling with the apparatus alone. He tried
wrapping the coil around the rod; he tried attaching
it to the various plates; he searched for some evi-
dence of a broken connection point. He picked up the
marble and examined it.

"You wouldn't know this," he said confidentially
to the motionless and silent monster, "but I'm sup-
posed to be rather good at intuitive reasoning, ac-
cording to the aptitude tests. Even with good intuitive
reasoning, however-" he caught sight suddenly of
the plant which was working around in a wide arc so
as to come up behind the monster. He put the equip-
ment down, struggled to his feet, and walked wearily
over to confront the plant.

It stopped. "Son," said Torm, "this is unworthy of
you."

The plant quivered.

"I know. He's probably one of your own trail herd;

or maybe he broke out of the pasture once and ate
your uncle Otto by mistake. But I've already toid you
I can't take chances on one of you doing something
to the other. I'm just about positive I'm responsible
for this situation we're in; and if I don't get both of
you back in top shape, I can just imagine what kind
of reaction I'll get from the authorities-whoever they
happen to be. Now, will you go back a reasonable
distance and sit down?"

The plant took half a step toward him.

"All right," said Lindsay, "you asked for it." He
looked around for some way of immobilizing the
plant without hurting it. With the exception of the
monster and the equipment, nothing presented itself
as providing a possible restraint. Finally, an idea
occurred to him. He took off his one-piece suit of
embassy black, and tied a leg of it around the plant's
stem just above the bulge.

"There," said Torm. The plant swayed and strug-

222 Gordon R. Dickson

gled against the weight of the suit. Dragging on the
ground, the tangle of cloth made an effective hobble.
Torm went over and got the equipment- He brought
it back and sat down on one arm of the suit to work
on it. The plant was neatly tethered. It quivered
violently at Lindsay.

"Fortunes of war," said Torm, and got back to
work.

It was a little hard to concentrate, he found. His
headache was getting worse, and the desert seemed
to shimmer and dance in the distance. When he tried
to focus down on the metallic objects in his hands,
these too seemed to waver and bend out of focus. It
occurred to him, somewhat belatedly, that the con-
tents of the capsule the Representative had given
him to pop with his thumbnail, while "good as a
spacesuit," might be somewhat lacking in protective
qualities where the possibility of sunstroke was con-
cerned. He looked over at the plant, which had dug
itself into the sand and was, apparently, sulking again.

"You should grow some shade leaves," he told it.

The plant, however, showed no signs of obliging;

and Torm Lindsay went back to fiddling with the
coil of wire. He tried it in every way he could think
of-without success; wadded up, wound around the
rod, festooned from the plates. No results.

He turned his attention to the marble again. He
tried it against both ends of the rod and against all of
the plates, unsuccessfully. His eyes were seeing dots
by this time; and he stopped to rest.

He would probably not make it, he thought. In a
little while, he would pass out from sunstroke; the
plant would get free and eat the monster-or vice-
versa, which was more likely. The survivor would
keel over in due time; and eventually sometime in
the galactic future, a passerby would find them all,
three bleached skeletons, in the sand. Alas, poor Lind-
say, I knew him well. . .

CLOAK AND STAGGER

223

Torm squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head to
clear it and opened his eyes again. Concentrate, he
told himself.

"Hoot, hoot, hoot, hoot, hoot," hooted the monster,
suddenly waking up and doing an energetic series of
push-ups.

"And a happy New Year to you," said Torm, look-
ing over at him. He picked up the equipment and
bent once more to his task.

Sometime later, quite by accident, he got his first
break. He was twisting the coil around aimlessly,
and without any great enthusiasm, when it suddenly
clung to the rod, as if a sort of magnetic force had
abruptly asserted itself. Torm rubbed his eyes and
looked at it. Through the swimming dots, he made
out that he had looped the coil in an arc; and the
middle of it was apparently glued to the top tip of
the rod, while the far end had caught and frozen
itself tight to the near end, where it fastened to the
rod's base. The whole thing now looked something
like a directional antenna.

"Hey!" said Torm, pleased. He set the contraption
upright on the sand and stared at it.

"Let's see now; suppose it is directional. Suppose
it taps some kind of channel of power; and then
when you think of where you want to go-" Torm
Lindsay closed his eyes and thought devoutly of the
spot he had last seen back on Arcturus Five.

He opened his eyes again. The desert still sur-
rounded them.

Undiscouraged, he kept his eyes closed, thought of
the Arcturian station, and carefully rotated the de-
vice in a circle, on the sand.

No results.

He tried rotating it vertically.

No results.

He pondered the situation somewhat woozily for a
few seconds; and then remembered that he'd forgot-

224 Gordon R. Dickson

ten the marble. He hunted for it among the sand and
swimming dots before him and finally found it.

"All right, little marble," he told it. "Where do you
go?"

Shakily, but methodically, he set out at the top
end of the rod, and commenced to run the marble
over every possible inch of the apparatus. He pro-
gressed down the rod, and over the three plates, with
no success. However, the moment he touched the
wire coil where the two ends joined together against
the rod, the marble stuck.

"Hallelujah!" Torm bent down to take a closer
look at the marble and found to his surprise that it
was not merely sticking to the wire; in some mysteri-
ous fashion, it had melted around the wire so that it
was now strung on it like a bead on a string. Torm
poked it with his finger. It slid freely on the wire.

"Well, whither now?" Torm slid the marble around
the coils, moving it up along the rod. At the very tip,
the marble froze, making, it seemed, a connection
between the tip of the rod and the wire.

"What a clever little old diplomat you are, to be
sure," said Torm, admiringly. "Subspatial transport-
ers repaired, rebuil . . ." The sentence trailed off,
uncompleted. He became conscious of the fact that
the effort involved in finishing it was not worth the
trouble. He swayed a little, where he sat on the sand.
It was taking most of his strength now just to remain
upright. In fact, thought Torm, looking affectionately
at the inviting bed of sand stretching off to the hori-
zon, why stay upright, anyhow? A little nap . . .

A slight tugging sensation brought him back for a
moment to his full senses. With a great effort, he
turned his head to look behind him-and stared
blankly for a moment at the sight of his suit lying
still and empty upon the sand. For a moment, he

CLOAK AND STAGGER              225

gazed at it stupidly; then he remembered what it
should, instead, have been occupied with.

He swiveled his head toward the monster. Sure
enough. There was the plant, loose from the suit,
already well on its way toward the rotund alien.

"Hey!" cried Torm, in a cracked voice. The plant
paid no attention. Lindsay made a spasmodic effort
to get to his feet and found that his legs were like
strips of unbaked dough, with neither substance nor
muscle to them. The plant marched on.

"Wait-wait-" mumbled Torm. Gazing around,
his eye fell on the apparatus. Dizzily he fumbled for
it.

"Now-" he said. "Got to-" He made a mighty
effort with his mind. "Station-"

Nothing happened. He fumbled with it.

"Got to work-" he muttered. "Push? Pull? Some-
thing-button to push? Button-" through waves of
dizziness and swimming specks, and the nightmare
marching of the plant bearing down on the silent
monster, his attention was caught by the glitter of
the marble.

"Button-" he mumbled; and, sliding his hand up
the length of the rod, touched marble, wire, and rod,
all at once.

There was a sort of colorless flash; and a black
wave rose up over Tom Lindsay and swallowed him
entirely.

IV

This time, he was very cautious about opening
his eyes.

He lifted his right lid no more than a fraction of an
inch and peered carefully through the tiny aperture.
He saw a portion of white ceiling and the face of
Setagh. Relieved, he opened both eyes.

226 Gordon R. Dickson

Not oniy Selagh, but Ambassador Coran, Admiral
Natek, and the alien Representative were standing
looking down at him. He was lying in the same re-
covery room where it had all started.

"Uh . . . hello," he said.

"Hello, Torm," said the Representative-

Torm Lindsay decided to sit up. He swung his legs
over the edge of the narrow couchlike affair he was
lying on and pushed himself up with his hands. Selagh
hurried to help him. He was back in his suit, he
noticed with some relief; and the medician that he
had first talked with was hovering in the background.
Ambassador Coran noticed the direction of Term's
gaze.

"You can go now, Hartlye," he said. With an air of
something very like relief, the medician nodded, went
across to the door, and slipped out, closing it behind
him. Coran turned back to Torm. "How do you feel?"

"Rocky," answered Torm. His head had come to
life when he sat up; and now it seemed to be full of
shooting pains.

"Anesthetics all out?" asked Coran, looking over at
Selagh.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, then," said the Ambassador, turning to the
Representative, "I think we've proved our point. Lind-
say has certainly returned unharmed; and since you
were watching his progress on that screen of yours
along with the rest of us, you must admit that he
behaved successfully in his contacts with other mem-
bers of your Federation."

"Perhaps, Mr. Coran, perhaps," replied the alien.
"But you may have settled one point of objection
only to raise another. Torm was operated on by your
people before being turned loose. Suppose you ex-
plain that operation to me."

Coran nodded at Selagh. "Commandress . . ."

CLOAK AND STAGGER              227

"A refinement of the old operation of prefrontal
lobotomy," said Selagh.

"I don't understand."

"On our home planet, back in the days when psy-
chiatry was young," explained Selagh, "it was found
possible to relieve cases of chronic tension, by, in
essence, cutting off a certain portion of the brain
from its normal connection with the rest of it. The
tension would be relieved. Unfortunately, the patient
normally suffered a loss of will power at the same
time. He would start eating, say, and keep at it until
the food was all gone, or someone stopped him- Or
he might start doing something like chopping wood;

and once started, keep at it until he was ordered to
stop."

"Go on," said the Representative.

"Well, over the years, the technique was improved.
The last innovation was a development of my own-
the basis of my surgical thesis, in fact. What we did
on Torm Lindsay was what you might call a selective
topectomy, except that instead of cutting, we merely
anesthetized to block off certain parts of his brain.
When we finished, we hoped that we'd made him
emotionally immune-that is, incapable of reacting
emotionally to outside stimuli."

"I see," said the Representative, thoughtfully. He
turned back to the cot. "You know about this, Torm?"

"Yes," said Lindsay, as cheerfully as he could with
invisible little men probing through his head with
white hot needles. "I volunteered."

"And how did you feel-after the operation?"

"Oh . . . fine, I guess. Good. Yes, I felt good."

"I see," said the Representative.

"Well?" demanded Coran. "You claim we humans
aren't ready yet for contact with the rest of the races
in your Federation. You offer to let us prove this to
ourselves by sending a man out. You say that he will

228 Gordon R. Dickson

find contact psychologically unacceptable." He waved
a hand at Lindsay. "Here's our answer."

The alien looked at him. "My dear Ambassador,
you insist on misunderstanding my objection to al-
lowing your people to join our group of races. It is
not that you are a young people, or a primitive peo-
ple, for those are minor points. It is simply that you
must be able to rise above all barriers of mistrust
and prejudice. Now, just recently, Torm here did
very well. He was not shocked by a being with dou-
ble the number of eyes he had himself, and a differ-
ent skeleton, nor by the sight of alien viscera in the
case of the being changing his skin. He made no
attempt to judge between the two members of the
same race which he saw fight until one was killed at
the transport center. But that was the result of your
operation. While now . . ."

He turned abruptly, and put an impossibly fragile
hand on Lindsay's shoulder, at the same time bring-
ing his inhumanly still face up against Term's. In
spite of himself, Torm started, and shrunk back
slightly.

"You see?" said the alien, sadly, letting go. "Preju-
dice. Fear, suspicion, and disgust toward the strange
and unfamiliar."

"I-" began Torm, miserably.

"Never mind," said the Representative. "Don't feel
that you have to apologize. I was merely proving a
point where your race as a whole is concerned. I do
not blame you for your fault, but you must see why it
bars you from acceptance by the rest of us.".

"But why isn't Term's operation the answer?" asked
Coran.

"Because," sighed the Representative, "your cure
is more crippling than your disease. It is no solution
to stop a man scratching his nose by cutting off his
nose. In the case of Lindsay, you rendered him im-
mune to emotional upset over something he might

CLOAK AND STAGGER              229

see or hear or experience. But the moral sense in all
beings is based upon emotion; by removing emotion,
you destroyed this, too. You created, in fact, a psy-
chopathic personality -

"I grant you he did not immediately act like one,
but that was because his habit patterns reacted for
him out of sheer momentum. Given time, he would
have behaved very badly, indeed. He would have
become a danger to any community. You remember
I noticed something odd about him, when he came in
to meet us before leaving. His actions and his speech-
even then-showed evidence of a complete non-
morality, and a complete unconcern for others." His
glance singled out Selagh. "You," he said. "You no-
ticed it."

Selagh blushed, and nodded.

"So you see," wound up the Representative, "by
rendering yourself acceptable in one sense, you im-
mediately render yourself unacceptable in another.
In the galaxy, no race may judge another; but also no
race may harm another. It is live and let live with a
vengeance. If it had occurred to Torm to do damage
to another individual, or to any thing, there would
have been nothing within him to hold him back."

He looked around the room at the unhappy faces of
the humans.

"Now wait," said Torm, suddenly. "Wait a minute-"

The Representative turned to him.

"If I'm so nonmoral," he said, "why was it that I
had to be the one to keep the plant and monster from
each other? They certainly weren't living and let
living!"

He stared demandingly at the alien. He did not
notice the looks of slight embarrassment on the faces
of the other humans.

"Now, Torm," said Ambassador Coran, clearing
his throat, "you jumped to the wrong conclusion
about those two."

230 Gordon R. Dickson

Torm Lindsay stared at him in surprise.

"Wrong conclusion?"

"My dear Torm," said the Representative. "The
gadget was not what you thought it was. The mon-
ster was not-what you thought he was-but a rather
nice old gentleman taking a botanical specimen home
to his private laboratory."

"Specimen-oh," said Torm. "You mean, the plant-"

"Exactly," said the alien.

"But-but-"

"Yes, Torm?"

"But look here. How did it happen he was so help-
less and frightened of the plant? Why did it have to
be me who fixed the gimmick and got us home?"

"But you didn't/' replied the Representative. "You
were picked up by a transport rescue crew, sum-
moned by me, when we saw on our viewer what had
happened; and also by the old gentleman himself,
who sent out a mental call the moment he discov-
ered what had happened to the three of you."

"But the gimmick?"

"It had nothing to do with the mechanisms of
transport, Torm. It was a device for restraining the
plant." He shook his head at Lindsay's puzzled face.
"The plant," he explained, "requires moisture to live.
On its native planet, it gets it by sucking the juices
from other flora and fauna native to the place. Be-
cause it's actually rather a weak, slow-moving crea-
ture, it has developed a weapon. It is capable of
broadcasting a rather limited mental stimulus that
induces a paralyzing fear in its victims. The gimmick
inhibited this capacity in it and kept it immobilized
by a counter field. The gimmick was set up in a
center capsule to keep the plant under control; and it
was that capsule you stepped into with conflicting
directions of destination, just as the unit of three
capsules was about to discharge for the old gentle-
man's home planet."

CLOAK AND STAGGER              231

"I see," said Torm. There was a short silence. "But
why didn't the plant affect me?"

The alien chuckled. It was an odd sound to hear
coming from his still face.

"How could it?" he answered. "You were anesthe-
tized. Remember?" He chuckled again. "The plant
has relatively little intelligence; but what it has must
have been rather sorely tried by the way you reacted
to its best attempts to immobilize you. You do de-
serve congratulations for putting the restraint back
together though. It protected the old gentleman until
the rescue squad arrived."

"Thanks," said Torm.

"Don't be bitter," replied the alien, kindly. "You
did the best you could under the circumstances, and
it turned out to be very good indeed, even if you were
acting on false premises."

Off to one side, Ambassador Coran cleared his
throat.

"All this . . ."

"Yes." The Representative turned toward him with
regret in his voice. "Al! this is beside the point. The
situation stands that you cannot be accepted into the
Federation of Peoples, for the reasons I have given
you. You are still too rigid, too bound with preju-
dice; and Term's operation is not an acceptable way
of mending that fault. You must be all that you are
normally; and, in addition, be free of the tendency to
judge from your own smalt basis of experience."

"I must again request," said Coran, stiffly, "that we
be allowed to take this matter to higher authorities."

"There are no higher authorities," replied the alien.
"From the day when your interstellar ship first en-
tered this system, from the day of my first meeting
with your people, you have been unable to accept the
fact that I am literally what I call myself. I represent
the Federation. I speak not for myself, but for every
member of every race included in it. Believe me, if

232 Gordon R. Dickson

you could question each one individually, he would
say only what I say."

"I fee! I must doubt that," said Coran.

The Representative sighed. "This embassy build-
ing is yours. Free passage to this world, and to this
spot, is yours. But the rest of the Federation is closed
to you. You will not be allowed in any of its solar
systems, or on any of its worlds. If you approach
them, you will be turned back." He looked about at
them. "But don't give up hope. Don't be discouraged.
This fault is one that time will inevitably mend; and
the scale is larger out here in the galaxy. What are
ten, fifty, a hundred thousand years, if they have to
be?"

"We can't stand still," cried Coran, desperately. "It
isn't in us. We aren't built to stand still."

"I am sorry."

The Representative was turning and going away to-
ward the door, his strange form oddly pyramidal
under the robe he wore. Torm Lindsay felt a choking
sensation in his throat, as if from something huge
and desperate, clawing to get out. He opened his
mouth, but no words came. Frantically, he tried again.
"Wait . . ."

The Representative, almost to the door, paused
and turned.

"Wait," said Torm, chokingly. "Listen . . ."

"I am listening."

"We aren't all prejudiced. We aren't ail like this.
What wouid you say if we produced some people
with an open mind? I mean-open completely?"

"Torm," said the alien, softly. "You don't under-
stand. They must be without a single prejudgment;

and yet unspoiled. And none of you are like that."

"But that's just it!" Torm cast a frantic look around
at his fellow humans. "We're all alike here. But I
noticed something. It was the way I felt, after the

CLOAK AND STAGGER              233

operation; I couldn't put my finger on it until just
now. You see, it wasn't the first time I'd fett that
way-and for a while I couldn't remember when."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Coran,
harshly.

"What I remembered," said Torm. "I remembered
that once I was free and unbound. Once I could look
at anything new and accept it, and take it for granted
as being just what it seemed to be and nothing else.
You see? You understand?"

"No," said Coran.

"/ see," said the alien. "And I should have seen
before. But there is something about you people that
is different from all us others. You would say your
answer lies in the untouched minds of your children."

"Is that it? Am I right?"

"Perhaps . . ." In the alien eyes of the Representa-
tive, it seemed that a distant fire dimmed as some-
thing in him went away, and far far away, until
nothing but the shell of a being stood before them.
For a moment it stood, unguessable, and unknow-
able, facing them; and then slowly, gradually, he
began to come back. The light kindled again, and the
Representative was once more with them.

"Yes," he said. "It will be a long road for them and
a hard one- And you will have to let them travel it
alone and apart from you. But I think you have
found your answer."

His eyes moved from Torm and took them all in.
And they stood, the four humans and the one inhu-
man; caught then in a single crystal moment of a
hope of peace and final brotherhood, and dream of
greatness, future, everlasting. . . .

And Then There
Was Peace

At nine hundred hours there were explosions off
to the right at about seven hundred yards. At
eleven hundred hours the stagger came by to pick up
the casualties among the gadgets. Charlie saw the
melting head at the end of its heavy beam going up
and down like the front end of a hardworking chicken
only about fifty yards west of his foxhole. Then if
worked its way across the battlefield for about ha!f
an hour and, loaded down with melted forms of dam-
aged robots, of all shapes and varieties, disappeared
behind the low hill to the west, and left, of Charlie. It
was a hot August day somewhere in or near Ohio,
with a thunderstorm coming on. There was that yel-
low color in the air.

A;

At twelve hundred hours the chow gadget came
ticking over the redoubt behind the foxhole. It crawled
into the foxhole, jumped up on the large table and
opened itself out to reveal lunch. The menu this day
was liver and onions, whole corn, whipped potato
and raspberries.

"And no whipped cream," said Charlie.
"You haven't been doing your exercises," said the
chow gadget in a fine soprano voice.

234

AND THEN THERE WAS PEACE          235

"I'm a front-line soldier," said Charlie. "I'm an
infantryman in a foxhole overlooking ground zero.
I'll be damned if I take exercises."

"In any case, there is no excuse for not shaving."

"I'll be damned if I shave."

"But why not shave? Wouldn't it be better than
having that itchy, scratchy beard-"

"No," said Charlie. He went around back of the
chow gadget and began to take its rear plate off.

"What are you doing to me?" said the chow gadget.

"You've got something stuck to you here," said
Charlie. "Hold still." He surreptitiously took a sec-
ond out to scratch at his four-day beard. "There's a
war on, you know."

"I know that," said the chow gadget. "Of course."

"Infantry men like me are dying daily."

"Alas," said the chow gadget, in pure, simple
tones.

"To say nothing," said Charlie, setting the rear
plate to one side, "of the expenditure of your techni-
cal devices. Not that there's any comparison between
human lives and the wastage of machines."

"Of course not."

"So how can any of you, no matter how elaborate
your computational systems, understand-" Charlie
broke off to poke among the innards of the chow
machine.

"Do not damage me," it said.

"Not if I can help it," said Charlie. "-understand
what it feels like to a man sitting here day after day,
pushing an occasional button, never knowing the re-
sults of his button pushing, and living in a sort of
glass-case comfort except for the possibility that he
may just suddenly be dead-suddenly, like that, be-
fore he knows it." He broke off to probe again. "It's
no life for a man."

"Terrible, terrible," said the chow gadget. "But
there is still hope for improvement."

236 Gordon R. Dickson

"Don't hold your breath," said Charlie. "There's-
ah!" He interrupted himself, pulling a small piece of
paper out of the chow gadget.

"Is there something the matter?" said the chow
gadget.

"No," said Charlie. He stepped over to the observa-
tion window and glanced out. The slagger was mak-
ing its return. It was already within about fifty yards
of the foxhole. "Not a thing," said Charlie. "As a
matter of fact, the war's over."

"How interesting," said the chow gadget-

"That's right," said Charlie- "Just let me read you
this little billet-doux I got from Foxhole thirty-four.
Meet you back at the bar. Charlie. It's all over. Your
hunch that we could get a message across was the clear
quill. Answer came today the same way, through the
international weather reports. They want to quit as well
as we do. Peace is agreed on, and the gadgets-" Char-
lie broke off to look at the chow gadget. "That's you,
along with the rest of them."

"Quite right. Of course," said the chow gadget.

"-have already accepted the information. We'll be
out of here by sundown. And that takes care of the

war.

"It does indeed," said the chow gadget. "Hurrah!
And farewell."

"Farewell?" said Charlie.

"You will be returning to civilian life," said the
chow gadget. "I will be scrapped."

"That's right," said Charlie. "I remember the pre-
programming for the big units. This war's to be the
last, they were programmed. Well-" said Charlie. For
a moment he hesitated. "What d'you know? I may
end up missing you a little bit, after all."

He glanced out the window- The slagger was al-
most to the dugout.

"Well, well," he said. "Now that the time's come

AND THEN THERE WAS PEACE          237

... we did have quite a time together, three times a
day- No more string beans, huh?"

"I bet not," said the chow gadget with a little
laugh.

"No more caramel pudding."

"I guess so."

Just then the slagger halted outside, broke the thick
concrete roof off the dugout and laid it carefully
aside.

"Excuse me," it said, its cone-shaped melting head
nodding politely some fifteen feet above Charlie. "The
war's over."

"I know," said Charlie.

"Now there will be peace. There are orders that all
instruments of war are to be slagged and stockpiled
for later peaceful uses." It had a fine baritone voice-
"Excuse me," it said, "but are you finished with that
chow gadget there?"

"You haven't touched a bite," said the chow gad-
get. "Would you like just a small spoonful of rasp-
berries?"

"I don't think so," said Charlie, slowly. "No, I
don't think so."

"Then farewell," said the chow gadget. "I am now
expendable."

The melting head of the slagger dipped toward the
chow gadget. Charlie opened his mouth suddenly,
but before he could speak, there was a sort of invisi-
ble flare from the melting head and the chow gadget
became a sort of puddle of metal which the melting
head picked up magnetically and swung back to the
hopper behind it.

"Blast it!" said Charlie with feeling. "I could just
as well have put in a request to keep the darn thing
for a souvenir."

The heavy melting head bobbed apologetically back.

"I'm afraid that wouldn't be possible," it said. "The

238

Gordon R. Dickson

order allows no exceptions. All military instruments
are to be slagged and stockpiled."

"Well-" said Charlie. But it was just about then
that he noticed the melting head was descending
toward him.

The Catch

<?tf0ure, Mike- Gee!" said the young Tolfian ex~

43citedly, and went dashing off from the space-
ship in the direction of the temporary camp his local
people had set up at a distance of some three hun-
dred yards across the grassy turf of the little valley.
Watching him go, Mike Wellsbauer had to admit
that in motion he made a pretty sight, scooting along
on his hind legs, his sleek black-haired otterlike body
leaning into the wind of his passage, and his wide,
rather paddle-shaped tail extended behind him to
balance the weight of his erected body. All the
same . . .

"I don't like it," Mike murmured. "I don't like it
one bit."

"First signs of insanity," said a female and very
human voice behind him. He turned about.

"All right, Penny," he said. "You can laugh. But
this could turn out to be the most unfunny thing that
ever happened to the human race. Where is the rest
of the crew?"

Peony Matsu sobered, the small gamin grin fading
from her pert face, as she gazed up at him.

"Red and Tommy are still trying to make commu-

239

240 Gordon R. Dickson

nication contact with home base," she said. "Alvin's
out checking the flora-he can't be far." She stared
at him curiously. "What's up now?"

"I want to know what they're building."

"Something for us, I'll bet."

"That's what I'm afraid of. I've just sent for the
local squire." Mike peered at the alien camp. Work-
ers were still zipping around it in that typical Tolfian
fashion that seemed to dictate that nobody went any-
where except at a run. "This time he's going to give
me a straight answer."

"I thought," said Penny, "he had."

"Answers," said Mike, shortly. "Not necessarily
straight ones." He heaved a sudden sigh, half of ex-
haustion, half of exasperation. "That young squirt
was talking to me right now in English. In English!
What can you do?"

Penny bubbled with laughter in spite of herself.

"All right, now hold it!" snapped Mike, glaring at
her. "I tel! you that whatever this situation is, it's
serious- And letting ourselves be conned into making
a picnic out of it may be just what they want."

"All right," said Penny, patting him on the arm.
"I'm serious. But I don't see that their learning En-
glish is any worse than the other parts of it-"

"It's the whole picture," growled Mike, not waiting
for her to finish. He stumped about to stand half-
turned away from her, facing the Tolfian camp, and
she gazed at his short, blocky, red-haired figure with
tolerance and a scarce-hidden affection. "The first
intelligent race we ever met. They've got science we
can't hope to touch for nobody knows how long, they
belong to some Interstellar Confederation or other
with races as advanced as themselves-and they fall
all over themselves learning English and doing every
little thing we ask for. 'Sure, Mike!'- that's what he
said to me just now . . . 'Sure, Mike!' I tell you,
Penny-"

THE CATCH
'Here they come now," she said.

241

A small procession was emerging from the camp. It
approached the spaceship at a run, single file, the
tallest Tolfian figure in the lead, and the others grad-
ing down in size behind until the last was a half-
grown alien that was pretty sure to be the one Mike
had sent on the errand.

"If we could just get through to home base back on
Altair A-" muttered Mike; and then he could mutter
no more, because the approaching file was already
dashing into hearing distance. The lead Tolfian raced
to the very feet of Mike and sat down on his tail. His
muzzle was gray with age and authority and the
years its color represented had made him almost as
tall as Mike.

"Mike!" he said, happily.

The other Tolfians had dispersed themselves in a
semicircle and were also sitting on their tails and
looking rather like a group of racetrack fans on shoot-
ing sticks.

"Hello, Moral," said Mike, in a pleasantly casual
tone. "What're you building over there now?"

"A terminal-a transport terminal, I suppose you'd
call it in English, Mike," said Moral. "It'll be finished
in a few hours. Then you can all go to Barzalac."

"Oh, we can, can we?" said Mike. "And where is
Barzalac?"

"I don't know if you know the sun, Mike," said
Moral, seriously. "We call it Aimna. It's about a hun-
dred and thirty light-years from ours. Barzalac is the
Confederation center-on its sixth planet."

"A hundred and thirty light-years?" said Mike, star-
ing at the Tolfian.

"Isn't that right?" said Moral, confusedly. "Maybe
I've got your terms wrong. I haven't been speaking
your language but since yesterday-"

242 Gordon R. Dickson

"You speak it just fine. Just fine," said Mike. "Nice
of you all to go to the trouble to learn it."

"Oh, it wasn't any trouble," said Moral. "And for
you humans-well," he smiled, "nothing's too good,
you know."

He said the last words rather shyly, and ducked his
head for a second as if to avoid Mike's eyes-

"That's very nice," said Mike. "Now, would you
mind it I asked you again why nothing's too good?'

"Oh, didn't I make myself clear before?" said Moral,
in distressed tones. "I'm sorry-the thing is, we've
met others of your people before."

"I got that, all right," said Mike. "Another race of
humans, some thousands or dozens of thousands of
years ago. And they aren't around any more?"

"I am very sorry," said Moral with tears in his
eyes. "Very, very sorry-"-

"They died off?"

"Our loss-the loss of all the Confederation-was
deeply felt. It was like losing our own, and more than
our own."

"Yes," said Mike. He locked his hands behind his
back and took a step up and down on the springy
turf before turning back to the Tolfian squire. "Well,
now, Moral, we wouldn't want that to happen to us."

"Oh, no!" cried Moral. "It mustn't happen. Some-
how-we must insure its not happening."

"My attitude, exactly," said Mike, a little grimly.
"Now, to get back to the matter at hand-why did
you people decide to build your transportation cen-
ter right here by our ship?"

"Oh, it's no trouble, no trouble at all to run one
up," said Moral. "We thought you'd want one conve-
nient here."

"Then you have others?"

"Of course," said Moral. "We go back and forth
among the Confederation a lot." He hesitated. "I've

THE CATCH                 243

arranged for them to expect you tomorrow-if it's all
right with you."

"Tomorrow? On Barzalac?" cried Mike.

"If it's all right with you."

"Look, how fast is this . . . transportation, or what-
ever you call it?"

Moral stared at him.

"Why, I don't know, exactly," he said. "I'm just a
sort of a rural person, you know. A few millionths of
a second, I believe you'd say, in your terms?"

Mike stared. There was a moment's rather uncom-
fortable silence. Mike drew a deep breath.

"I see," he said.

"I have the honor of being invited to escort you,"
said Moral, eagerly. "If you want me, that is. I ... I
rather look forward to showing you around the mu-
seum in Barzalac. And after all, it was my property
you landed on."

"Here we go again," said Mike under his breath.
Only Penny heard him. "What museum?"

"What museum?" echoed Moral, and looked blank.
"Oh, the museum erected in honor of those other
humans. It has everything," he went on eagerly, "ar-
tifacts, pictures-the whole history of these other
people, together with the Confederation. Of course"-
he hesitated with shyness again-"there'll be ex-
perts around to give you the real details. As I say, I'm
only a sort of rural person-"

"All right," said Mike, harshly. "I'll quit beating
around the bush. Just why do you want us to go to
Barzalac?"

"But the heads of the Confederation," protested
Moral. "They'll be expecting you."

"Expecting us?" demanded Mike. "For what?"

"Why to take over the Confederation, of course,".
said Moral, staring at him as if he thought the hu-
man had taken leave of his senses. "You are going to,
aren't you?"

244 Gordon R. Dickson

Half an hour later, Mike had a council of war going
in the lounge of Exploration Ship 29XJ. He paced up
and down while Penny, Red Sommers, Tommy Anotu,
and Alvin Longhand sat about in their gimballed
armchairs, hstening-

". . . The point's this," Mike was saying, "we can't
get through to base at all because of the distance.
Right, Red?"

"The equipment just wasn't designed to carry more
than a couple of light-years, Mike," answered Red.
"You know that. To get a signal from here to Altair
we'd need a power plant nearly big enough to put
this ship in its pocket."

"All right," said Mike. "Point one-we're on our
own. That leaves it up to me. And my duty as captain
of this vessel is to discover anything possible about
an intelligent life-form like this-particularly since
the human race's never bumped into anything much
brighter than a horse up until now."

"You're going to go?" asked Penny.

"That's the question. It all depends on what's be-
hind the way these Tolfians are acting. That trans-
porter of theirs could just happen to be a fine little
incinerating unit, for all we know. Not that I'm not
expendable-we all are. But the deal boils down to
whether I'd be playing into alien hands by going
along with them, or not."

"You don't think they're telling the truth?" asked
Alvin, his lean face pale against the metal bulkhead
behind him.

"I don't know!" said Mike, pounding one fist into
the palm of his other hand and continuing to pace. "I
just don't know. Of all the fantastic stories-that
there are, or have been, other ethnic groups of hu-
mans abroad in the galaxy! And that these humans
were so good, so wonderful that their memory is
revered and this Confederation can't wait to put our

THE CATCH

245

own group up on the pedestal the other bunch
vacated!"

"What happened to the other humans, Mike?" asked
Tommy.

"Moral doesn't know, exactly. He knows they died
off, but he's hazy on the why and how. He thinks a
small group of them may have just pulled up stakes
and moved on-but he thinks maybe that's just a
legend. And that's (';." He pounded his fist into his
palm again.

"What's it?" asked Penny.

"The way he talked about it-the way these Tolfians
are," said Mike. "They're as bright as we are. Their
science-and they know it as well as we do-is miles
ahead of us. Look at that transporter, if it's true, that
can whisk you light-years in millisecond intervals.
Does it make any sense at all that a race that
advanced-let alone a bunch of races that advanced-
would want to bow down and say 'Master' to us?"

Nobody said anything.

"All right," said Mike. more calmly, "you know as
well as I do it doesn't. That-leaves us right on the
spike. Are they telling the truth, or aren't they? If
they aren't, then they are obviously setting us up for
something. If they are-then there's a catch in it
somewhere, because the whole story is just too good
to be true. They need us like an idiot uncle, but they
claim that now that we've stumbled on to them, they
can't think of existing without us. They want us to
take over. Us!"

Mike threw himself into his own chair and threw
his arms wide.

"All right, everybody," he said. "Let's have some
opinions."

There was a silence in which everybody looked at
everybody else.

"We could pack up and head for home reai sudden-
like," offered Tommy.

246 Gordon R. Dickson

"No." Mike gnawed at his thumb. "If they're this
good, they could tell which way we went and maybe
track us. Aiso, we'd be popping off for insufficient
reason. So far we've encountered nothing obviously
inimical."

"This planet's Earthiike as they come," offered
Alvin-and corrected himself, hastily. "I don't mean
that perhaps the way it sounded, I mean it's as close
to Earth conditions as any of the worlds we've colo-
nized extensively up until now."

"I know," muttered Mike. "Moral says the Confed-
eration worlds are all that close-and that I can be-
lieve. Now that we know that nearly all suns have
planets, and if these people can really hop dozens of
light-years in a wink, there'll be no great trouble in
finding a good number of Earthiike worlds in this
part of the galaxy."

"Maybe that's it. Maybe it's just a natural thing for
life-forms on worlds so similar to hang together,"
offered Red.

"Sure," said Mike. "Suppose that was true, and
suppose we were their old human-style buddies come
back. Then there'd be a reason for a real welcome.
But we aren't."

"Maybe they think we're just pretending not to be
their old friends," said Red.

"No." Mike shook his head. "They can take one
look at our ship here and see what we've got. Their
old buddies wouldn't come back in anything as old-
fashioned as a spaceship; and they'd hardly be wanted
if they did. Besides, welcoming an old friend and
inviting him to take over your home and business are
two different things."

"Maybe-" said Red, hesitantly, "it's ail true, but
they've got it in for their old buddies for some rea-
son, and all this is just setting us up for the ax."

Mike slowly lifted his head and exchanged a long
glance with his Communications officer.

THE CATCH                 247

"That does it," he said. "Now you say it. That, my
friends, was the exact conclusion I'd come to myself.
Well, that ties it."

"What do you mean, Mike?" cried Penny.

"I mean that's it," said Mike. "If that's the case,
I've got to see it through and find out about it- In
other words, tomorrow I go to Barzalac. The rest of
you stay here; and if I'm not back in two days, blast
off for home."

"Mike," said Penny, as the others stared at him.
"I'm going with you."

"No," said Mike.

"Yes, I am," said Penny. "I'm not needed here,
and-"

"Sorry," said Mike. "But I'm captain. And you
stay, Penny."

"Sorry, captain," retorted Penny. "But I'm the bi-
ologist. And if we're going to be running into a num-
ber of other alien life-forms-" She let the sentence
hang.

Mike threw up his hands in helplessness.

The trip through the transporter was, so far as Mike
and Penny had any way of telling, instantaneous and
painless. They stepped through a door-shaped opaque-
ness and found themselves in a city.

The city was even almost familiar. They had come
out on a sort of plaza or court laid out on a liltie rise,
and they were able to look down and around them at
a number of low buildings. These glowed in all man-
ners of colors and were remarkable mainly for the
fact that they had no roofs as such, but were merely
obscured from overhead view by an opaqueness sim-
ilar to that in the transporter. The streets on which
they were set stretched in all directions, and streets
and buildings were clear to the horizon.

"The museum." said Moral, diffidently, and the
two humans turned about to find themselves facing a

248 Gordon R. Dickson

low building fronting on the court that stretched
wide to the left and right and far before them. Its
interior seemed split up into corridors.

They followed Moral in through the arch of an
entrance that stood without respect to any walls on
either side and down a corridor. They emerged into a
central interior area dominated by a single large
statue in the area's center. Penny caught her breath,
and Mike stared. The statue was, indubitably, that of
a human-a man.

The stone figure was dressed only in a sort of kilt.
He stood with one hand resting on a low pedestal
beside him; gazing downward in such a way that his
eyes seemed to meet those of whoever looked up at
him from below. The eyes were gentle, and the lean,
middle-aged face was a little tired and careworn,
with its high brow and the sharp lines drawn around
the corners of the thin mouth. Altogether, it most
nearly resembled the face of a man who is impatient
with the time it is taking to pose for his sculptor.

"Moral! Moral!" cried a voice; and they all turned
to see a being with white and woolly fur that gave
him a rather polar-bear look, trotting across the pol-
ished floor toward them. He approached in upright
fashion, and was as four-limbed as Moral-and the
humans themselves, for that matter.

"You are Moral, aren't you?" demanded the new-
comer, as he came up to them. His English was
impeccable. He bowed to the humans-or at least he
inclined the top half of his body toward them. Mike,
a little uncertainly, nodded back. "I'm Arrjhanik."

"Oh, yes . . . yes," said Moral. "The Greeter. These
are the humans, Mike Wellsbauer and Peony Matsu.
May I ... how do you put it ... present Arrjhanik a
Bin. He is a Siniloid, one of the Confederation's older
races."

"So honored," said Arrjhanik.

"We're both very pleased to meet you," said Mike,

THE CATCH'                 249

feeling on firmer ground. There were rules for this
kind of alien contact.

"Would you . . . could you come right now?"
Arrjhanik appealed to the humans. "I'm sorry to pre-
vent you from seeing the rest of the museum at this
time"-Mike frowned; and his eyes narrowed a little-
"but a rather unhappy situation has come up. One of
our Confederate heads-the leader of one of the races
that make up our Confederation-is dying. And he
would like to see you before . . . you understand."

"Of course," said Mike.

"If we had known in advance- But it comes rather
suddenly on the Adrii-" Arrjhanik led them off to-
ward the entrance of the building and they stepped
out into sunlight again. He led them back to the
transporter from which they had just emerged.

"Wait a minute," said Mike, stopping. "We aren't
going back to Tolfi, are we?"

"Oh, no. No," put in Moral from close behind him.
"We're going to the Chamber of Deputies." He gave
Mike a gentle push; and a moment later they had
stepped through into a small and pleasant room half-
filled with a dozen or so beings each so different one
from the other that Mike had no chance to sort them
out and recognize individual characteristics.

Arrjhanik led them directly to the one piece of furni-
ture in the room which appeared to be a sort of small
table incredibly supported by a single wire-thin leg
at one of the four corners. On the surface of this lay a
creature or being not much bigger than a seven-year-
old human child and vaguely catlike in form. It lay
on its side, its head supported a little above the
table's surface by a cube of something transparent
but apparently not particularly soft, and large color-
less eyes in its head focused on Mike and Penny as
they approached.

Mike looked down at the small body. It showed no

250 Gordon R. Dickson

signs of age, unless the yellowish-white of the thin
hair covering its body was a revealing shade. Cer-
tainly the hair itself seemed brittle and sparse.

The Adri-or whatever the proper singular was-
stirred its head upon its transparent pillow and its
pale eyes focused on Mike and Penny. A faint, drawn
out rattle of noise came from it.

"He says," said Arrjhanik, at Mike's elbow, " "You
cannot refuse. It is not in you.' "

"Refuse what?" demanded Mike, sharply. But the
head of the Adri lolled back suddenly on its pillow
and the eyes filmed and glazed. There was a little
murmur that could have been something reverential
from all the beings standing about; and without fur-
ther explanation the body of the being that had just
died thinned suddenly to a ghostly image of itself,
and was gone.

"It was the Confederation," said Arrjhanik, "that
he knew you could not refuse."

"Now wait a minute," said Mike. He swung about
so that he faced them all, his stocky legs truculently
apart. "Now, listen-you people are acting under a
misapprehension. / can't accept or refuse anything. I
haven't the authority. I'm just an explorer, nothing

more.

"No, no," said Arrjhanik, "there's no need for you
to say that you accept or not, and speak for your
whole race. That is a formality. Besides, we know
you will not refuse, you humans. How could you?"

"You might be surprised," said Mike. Penny hast-
ily jogged his elbow.

"Temper!" she whispered. Mike swallowed, and
when he spoke again, his voice sounded more rea-
sonable.

"You'll have to bear with me," he said. "As I say,
I'm an explorer, not a diplomat. Now, what did you
all want to see me about?"

"We wanted to see you only for our own pleasure,"

THE CATCH                251

said Arrjhanik. "Was that wrong of us? Oh, and yes-to
tell you that if there is anything you want, anything
the Confederation can supply you, of course you need
only give the necessary orders-"

"It is so good to have you here," said one of the
other beings.

A chorus of voices broke out in English all at once,
and the aliens crowded around. One large, rather
walruslike alien offered to shake hands with Mike,
and actually did so in a clumsy manner.

"Now, wait. Wait!" roared Mike. The room fell
silent. The assembled aliens waited, looking at him
in an inquiring manner.

"Now, listen to me!" snapped Mike. "And answer
one simple question. What is all this you're trying to
give to us humans?"

"Why, everything," said Arrjhanik. "Our worlds,
our people, are yours. Merely ask for what you want.
In fact-please ask. It would make us feel so good to
serve you, few though you are at the moment here."

"Yes," said the voice of Moral, from the background.
"If you'll forgive me speaking up in this assemblage-
they asked for nothing back on Tolfi, and I was forced
to exercise my wits for things to supply them with.
I'm afraid I may have botched the job."

"I sincerely hope not," said Arrjhanik, turning to
look at the Tolfian. Moral ducked his head, embar-
rassed ly.

"Mike," said Arrjhanik, turning back to the hu-
mans, "something about all this seems to bother you.
If you would just tell us what it is-"

"All right," said Mike. "I will." He looked around
at all of them. "You people are all being very gener-
ous. In fact, you're being so generous it's hard to
believe. Now, I accept the fact that you may have
had contact with other groups of humans before us.
There's been speculation back on our home world
that our race might have originated elsewhere in the

252 Gordon R. Dickson

galaxy, and that would mean there might well be
other human groups in existence we don't even know
of. But even assuming that you may have reached all
possible limits of love and admiration for the hu-
mans you once knew, it stiil doesn't make sense that
you would be willing to just make us a gift of all you
possess, to bow down to a people who-we're not
blind, you know-possess only a science that is child-
like compared with your own."

To Mike's surprise, the reaction to this little speech
was a murmur of admiration from the group.

"So analytical. So very human!" said the walrus-
like alien warmly in tones clearly pitched to carry to
Mike's ear.

"Indeed," said Arrjhanik, "we understand your
doubts. You are concerned about what, in our offer,
is ... you have a term for it-"

"The catch," said Mike grimly and bluntly. "What's
the catch?"

"The catch. Yes," said Arrjhanik. "You have to
excuse me. I've only been speaking this language of
yours for-"

"Just the last day or so, I know," said Mike sourly.

"Well, no. Just for the last few hours, actually.
But-" went on Arrjhanik, "while there's no actual
way of putting your doubts to rest, it really doesn't
matter. More of your people are bound to come. They
will find our Confederation open and free to all of
them. In time they will come to believe. It would be
presumptuous of us to try to convince you by argu-
ment."

"Well, just suppose you try it anyway," said Mike,
unaware that his jaw was jutting out in a manner
which could not be otherwise than belligerent.

"But we'd be only too happy to!" cried Arrjhanik,
enthusiastically- "You see"-he placed a hand or paw.
depending on how you looked at it, gently on Mike's
arm-"all that we have nowadays, we owe to our

THE CATCH '                253

former humans. This science you make such a point
of-they developed it in a few short thousand years.
The Confederation was organized by them. Since
they've been gone-"

"Oh, yes," interrupted Mike. "Just how did they
go? Mind telling me that?"

"The strain-the effort of invention and all-was
too much for them," said Arrjhanik, sadly. He shook
his head. "Ah." he said, "they were a great people-
you are a great people, you humans. Always striving.
always pushing, never giving up. We others are but
pale shadows of your kind. I am afraid, Mike, that
your cousins worked themselves to death, and for
our sake. So you see, when you think we are giving
you something that is ours, we are really just return-
ing what belongs to you, after all."

"Very pretty," said Mike. "I don't believe it. No
race could survive who just gave everything away for
nothing. And somewhere behind all this is the catch I
spoke of. That's what you're not telling me-what all
of you will be getting out of it, by turning your
Confederation over to us."

"But . . . now I understand!" cried Arrjhanik. "You
didn't understand. We are the ones who will be get-
ting. You humans will be doing ail the giving. Surely
you should know that! It's your very nature that
ensures that, as our friend who just died said. You
humans can't help yourselves, you can't keep from
it!"

"Keep from what?" yelled Mike, throwing up his
hands in exasperation.

"Why," said Arrjhanik, "I was sure you under-
stood. Why from assuming all authority and respon-
sibility, from taking over the hard and dirty job of
running our Confederation and making it a happy,
healthy place for us all to live, safe and protected
from any enemies. That is what all the rest of us have
been saddled with these thousands of years since

254             Gordon R Dickson

that other group of your people died, and I can't tel!
you"-Arrjhanik, his eyes shining, repeated his last
words strongly and emphatically-"I can't tell you
how badly things have gone to pot, and how very,
very glad we are to turn it all over to you humans,
once again!"