"Past.Through.Tomorrow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

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Berkley Medallion Edition, January, 1975

ELEVENTH PRINTING

COPYRIGHT ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Life-Line, Copyright, 1939, by Street & Smith Publications, Inc. The Roads Must Roll, Copyright, 1940, by Street & Smith Publications, Inc. Blowups Happen, Copyright, 1940, by Street & Smith Publications, Inc. The Man Who Sold the Moon, Copyright, 1949, by Robert A. Heinlein, Delilah and the Space-Rigger, Copyright, 1949, by McCall Corporation, Inc. Space Jockey, Copyright, 1947, by The Curtis Publishing Co. Requiem, Copyright, 1939, by Street & Smith Publications, Inc. The Long Watch, Copyright, 1948, by The American Legion. Gentlemen, Be Seated, Copyright, 1948, by Popular Publications, Inc. The Black Pits of Luna, Copyright, 1947, by The Curtis Publishing Co. "It's Great to Be Back!", Copyright, 1946, by The Curtis Publishing Co. "-We Also Walk Dog?', Copyright, 1941, by Street & Smith Publications, Inc. Searchlight, Copyright, 1962, by Carson Roberts, Inc. Ordeal in Space, Copyright, 1947, by Hearst Publications, Inc. The Green Hills of Earth, Copyright, 1947, by The Curtis Publishing Co. Logic of Empire, Copyright, 1941, by Street & Smith Publications, Inc. The Menace from Earth, Copyright, 1957, by Fantasy House, Inc. "If This Goes On-", Copyright, 1940, by Street & Smith Publications, Inc. Coventry, Copyright, 1940, by Street & Smith Publications, Inc. Misfit, Copyright, 1939, by Street & Smith Publications, Inc. Methuselah's Children-Earlier, shorter version Copyright, 1941, by Street & Smith Publications, Inc. Copyright, 1958, by Robert A. Heinlein.

CONTENTS

Introduction by Damon Knight

Life-LineКККККККККК

The Roads Must Roll

Blowups Happen.

The Man Who Sold the Moon

Delilah and the Space-Rigger

Space JockeyКККККККК

RequiemККККККККККК

The Long Watch

Gentlemen, Be Seated

The Black Pits of Luna

It's Great to Be Back!

We Also Walk Dogs

Searchlight

Ordeal in Space

The Green Hills of Earth

Logic of Empire

The Menace from Earth

If This Goes On

Coventry

Misfit

Methuselah's Children

Introduction by Damon Knight

The year is 1967, and in Carmel, California, a retired admiral named Robert A. Heinlein is tending his garden. Commissioned in 1929, he served through World War II with distinction, taught aeronautical engineering for a few years, then became a partner in a modestly successful electronics firm. Aside from his neighbors, his business associates and Navy friends, no one has ever heard of him.

ККККК This is a likely story, but not true. What really happened is much less probable: six years after graduation from the Naval Academy, while serving on a destroyer, Heinlein contracted tuberculosis. He spent a couple of years in bed, then was retired at the age of 27.

ККККК Like the consumptive Robert Louis Stevenson, like Mark Twain, whose career as a river-boat pilot was swept away by the war, Heinlein turned to writing almost at random, because he could not lead the more active life he would have preferred. Cut adrift from the Navy and from the life-line that would have led him to that rose garden in Carmel, he took graduate courses in physics and mathematics, intending to pursue his old dream of becoming an astronomer, but was again forced to drop out because of poor health. He tried his hand at silver mining, politics, real estate, without conspicuous success.

ККККК Then, in 1939, he happened across the announcement of an amateur short-story contest in a magazine called Thrilling Wonder Stories. The prize was $50, not a fortune, but not to be sneezed at. Heinlein wrote a story, called it 'Life-Line', and submitted it, not to the contest editor, but to John W. Campbell, editor of Astounding Science-Fiction. Campbell bought it, and the next one, and the next. Heinlein's reaction was, 'How long has this been going on? And why didn't anybody ever tell me?' Except for the war years, which he spent at the Naval Air Experimental Station in Philadelphia in 'the necessary tedium of aviation engineering', he never did anything else for a living again. In the February, 1941, issue of Astounding, in which two Heinlein stories appeared (one under the pseudonym Anson MacDonald), the editor wrote:

ККККК Robert A. Heinlein's back again next month with the cover story, "Logic of Empire". This story is, as usual with Heinlein's material, a soundly worked out, fast-moving yarn, more than able to stand on its own feet. But in connection with it, I'd like to mention something that may or may not have been noticed by the regular readers of Astounding: all Heinlein's science-fiction is laid against a common background of a proposed future history of the world and of the United States. Heinlein's worked the thing out in detail that grows with each story; he has an outlined and graphed history of the future with characters, dates of major discoveries, et cetera, plotted in. i'm trying to get him to let me have a photostat of that history chart; if I lay hands on it, I'm going to publish it.'

ККККК He published the chart three months later-the same chart, with some modifications and additions, that appears in this book. Heinlein had the cover of that issue too, with a story called 'Universe'.

ККККК 'Future History' is Campbell's phrase, not Heinlein's, and the author has sometimes been mildly embarrassed by it. This connected series of stories does not pretend to be prophetic. It is a history, not of the future, but of a future-an alternate probability world (perhaps the same one in which the retired Rear Admiral is tending his roses) which is logically self consistent, dramatic, and recognizably an offshoot of our own past. The stories really do not form a linear series at all-they are more like a pyramid, in which earlier stories provide a solid base for later ones to rest on.

ККККК Partly because of this pyramiding of background and partly because of the author's broad knowledge-about which more in a moment-Heinlein's readers find themselves in a world which is clearly our own, only projected a few years or decades into the future. There have been changes, naturally, but they are things you feel you could adjust to without much trouble. People are still people: they read Time magazines, are worried about money, smoke Luckies, argue with theft wives.

ККККК It is easy to say what the ideal science fiction writer would be like. He would be a talented and imaginative writer, trained in the physical and social sciences and in engineering, with a broad and varied experience of people - not only scientists and engineers, but secretaries, lawyers, labor leaders, admen, newspapermen, politicians, businessmen. The trouble is that no one in his senses would spend the time to acquire all this training and background merely in order to write science fiction. But Heinlein had it all.

ККККК Far more of Heinlein's work comes out of his own experience than most people realize. When he doesn't know something himself, he is too conscientious a workman to guess at it: he goes and finds out. His stories are full of precisely right details, the product of painstaking research. But many of the things he writes about, including some that strain the reader's credulity, are from his own life. A few examples, out of many:

ККККК The elaborate discussion of the problems of linkages in designing household robots, in The Door Into Summer. Heinlein was an engineer, specializing in linkages.

ККККК The hand-to-hand combat skills of the heroes of such stories as Gulf and Glory Road. Heinlein himself is an expert marksman, swordsman and rough-and-tumble fighter.

ККККК The redheaded and improbably multi-skilled heroine of The Puppet Masters and other Heinlein stories. Heinlein's redheaded wife Ginny is a chemist, biochemist, aviation test engineer, experimental horticulturist; she earned varsity letters at N.Y.U. in swimming, diving, basketball and field hockey, and became a competitive figure skater after graduation; she speaks seven languages so far, and is starting on an eighth.

ККККК The longevity of the 'Families' in Methuselah's Children. Five of Heinlein's six brothers and sisters are still living. So is his mother: she is 87, 'frail, but very much alive and mentally active.' All the returns are not in yet.

ККККК Even the improbably talented families that appear in The Rolling Stones and elsewhere are not wild inventions: Heinlein himself played chess before he could read. Of his three brothers, one is a professor of electrical engineering, one a professor of political science, and the third is a retired major general who 'made it the hard way - i.e., from private right up through every rank without any college education at all.'

ККККК Like Mark Twain, Heinlein is from Missouri. It shows in his skepticism, his rich appreciation of human absurdity, and in an occasional turn of phrase - a taste for gaudily embellished understatement. He has the Missourian admiration for competence of any kind, for those who can get things done - even (or perhaps especially) if they bend a few rules in the process. (Heinlein: 'I stood quite high at the Naval Academy and would have stood much higher save for a tendency to collect "Black N's" - major offenses against military discipline.') Unlike most modern novelists, he has no patience with the unskilled and incompetent. Those who contribute most to the world, Heinlein thinks, are also those who have the most fun. Those who contribute nothing are objects of pity; and pity for the self-pitying is not high on Heinlein's list of virtues. This tough-mindedness is an altogether different thing from the cynicism of other writers. Heinlein is a moralist to the core; he devoutly believes in courage, honor, self-discipline, self-sacrifice for love or duty. Above all, he is a libertarian. 'When any government, or any church for that matter, undertakes to say to its subjects, "This you may not read, this you must not see, this you are forbidden to know," the end result is tyranny and oppression, no matter how holy the motives. Mighty little force is needed to control a man whose mind has been hoodwinked; contrariwise, no amount of force can control a free man, a man whose mind is free. No, not the rack, not fission bombs, not anything - you can't conquer a free man; the most you can do is kill him.'

ККККК The author himself has often denied that the stories in this book are prophecy. Yet it is apparent that some of Heinlein's fictional forecasts have already come true - not literally but symbolically. 'The Roads Must Roll' predicts urban sprawl, and anticipates Jimmy Hoffa's threat of a nationwide transport strike. The 1969 newspaper headlines in Methuselah's Children, illustrating the character of 'The Crazy Years' - Heinlein's term for the present era - seem less fantastic now than they did in 1941.

ККККК 'Blowups Happen', written and published five years before the Bomb, is based on a series of shrewd guesses that turned out to be wrong. The specific dilemma of that story never became real; nevertheless, it mirrors the real, agonizing dilemma of atomic power with which we have been living since 1945.

Some of these stories are minor entertainments, but one, at least, is a major work of art: 'The Man Who Sold the Moon'.

ККККК Written with deceptive ease and simplicity, it functions brilliantly on half a dozen levels at once. It is a story of man's conquest of the Moon, a penetrating essay on robber-baron capitalism, and a warm, utterly convincing and human portrait of an extraordinary man.

ККККК As for the still-unfolding future, there are guideposts and warnings here. Heinlein continually reminds us that history is a process, not something dead and embalmed in textbooks. The ultimate problem is man's control of his own inventions-not only the minor ones, like the crossbow and the atom bomb, but the major inventions-language, culture and technology. We are a tough and resourceful lot, all things considered; our descendants will need to be tougher and more resourceful still. The odds are all against them. The stars are high, life is short, and the house always takes a percentage. But Man himself is so unlikely that if he did not exist, his possibility would not be worth discussing. Heinlein's money is on Man; and I have a hunch that the next century will prove him right.

The Anchorage

Milford, Pennsylvania

Life-Line

THE chairman rapped loudly for order. Gradually the catcalls and boos died away as several self-appointed sergeants-at-arms persuaded a few hot-headed individuals to sit down. The speaker on the rostrum by the chairman seemed unaware of the disturbance. His bland, faintly insolent face was impassive. The chairman turned to the speaker, and addressed him, in a voice in which anger and annoyance were barely restrained.

ККККК "Doctor Pinero," - the "Doctor" was faintly stressed - "I must apologize to you for the unseemly outburst during your remarks. I am surprised that my colleagues should so far forget the dignity proper to men of science as to interrupt a speaker, no matter," he paused and set his mouth, "no matter how great the provocation." Pinero smiled in his face, a smile that was in some way an open insult. The chairman visibly controlled his temper and continued, "I am anxious that the program be concluded decently and in order. I want you to finish your remarks. Nevertheless, I must ask you to refrain from affronting our intelligence with ideas that any educated man knows to be fallacious. Please confine yourself to your discovery - if you have made one."

ККККК Pinero spread his fat white hands, palms down. "How can I possibly put a new idea into your heads, if I do not first remove your delusions?"

ККККК The audience stirred and muttered. Someone shouted from the rear of the hail, "Throw the charlatan out! We've had enough." The chairman pounded his gavel.

ККККК "Gentlemen! Please!" Then to Pinero, "Must I remind you that you are not a member of this body, and that we did not invite you?"

ККККК Pinero's eyebrows lifted. "So? I seem to remember an invitation on the letterhead of the Academy?"

ККККК The chairman chewed his lower lip before replying. "True. I wrote that invitation myself. But it was at the request of one of the trustees - a fine public-spirited gentleman, but not a scientist, not a member of the Academy."

ККККК Pinero smiled his irritating smile. "So? I should have guessed. Old Bidwell, not so, of Amalgamated Life Insurance? And he wanted his trained seals to expose me as a fraud, yes? For if I can tell a man the day of his own death, no one will buy his pretty policies. But how can you expose me, if you will not listen to me first? Even supposing you had the wit to understand me? Bah! He has sent jackals to tear down a lion." He deliberately turned his back on them. The muttering of the crowd swelled and took on a vicious tone. The chairman cried vainly for order. There arose a figure in the front row.

ККККК "Mister Chairman!"

ККККК The chairman grasped the opening and shouted, "Gentlemen! Doctor Van RheinSmitt has the floor." The commotion died away.

ККККК The doctor cleared his throat, smoothed the forelock of his beautiful white hair, and thrust one hand into a side pocket of his smartly tailored trousers. He assumed his women's club manner.

ККККК "Mister Chairman, fellow members of the Academy of Science, let us have tolerance. Even a murderer has the right to say his say before the state exacts its tribute. Shall we do less? Even though one may be intellectually certain of the verdict? I grant Doctor Pinero every consideration that should be given by this august body to any unaffiliated colleague, even though" - he bowed slightly in Pinero's direction - "we may not be familiar with the university which bestowed his degree. If what he has to say is false, it can not harm us. If what he has to say is true, we should know it." His mellow cultivated voice rolled on, soothing and calming. "If the eminent doctor's manner appears a trifle in urbane for our tastes, we must bear in mind that the doctor may be from a place, or a stratum, not so meticulous in these little matters. Now our good friend and benefactor has asked us to hear this person and carefully assess the merit of his claims. Let us do so with dignity and decorum."

ККККК He sat down to a rumble of applause, comfortably aware that he had enhanced his reputation as an intellectual leader. Tomorrow the papers would again mention the good sense and persuasive personality of "America's handsomest University President". Who knew? Perhaps old Bidwell would come through with that swimming pool donation.

ККККК When the applause had ceased, the chairman turned to where the center of the disturbance sat, hands folded over his little round belly, face serene.

ККККК "Will you continue, Doctor Pinero?"

ККККК "Why should I?"

ККККК The chairman shrugged his shoulders. "You came for that purpose."

ККККК Pinero arose. "So true. So very true. But was I wise to come? Is there anyone here who has an open mind who can stare a bare fact in the face without blushing? I think not. Even that so beautiful gentleman who asked you to hear me out has already judged me and condemned me. He seeks order, not truth. Suppose truth defies order, will he accept it? Will you? I think not. Still, if I do not speak, you will win your point by default. The little man in the street will think that you little men have exposed me, Pinero, as a hoaxer, a pretender. That does not suit my plans. I will speak."

ККККК "I will repeat my discovery. In simple language I have invented a technique to tell how long a man will live. I can give you advance billing of the Angel of Death. I can tell you when the Black Camel will kneel at your door. In five minutes time with my apparatus I can tell any of you how many grains of sand are still left in your hourglass." He paused and folded his arms across his chest. For a moment no one spoke. The audience grew restless. Finally the chairman intervened.

ККККК "You aren't finished, Doctor Pinero?"

ККККК "What more is there to say?"

ККККК "You haven't told us how your discovery works."

ККККК Pinero's eyebrows shot up. "You suggest that I should turn over the fruits of my work for children to play with. This is dangerous knowledge, my friend. I keep it for the man who understands it, myself." He tapped his chest.

ККККК "How are we to know that you have anything back of your wild claims?"

ККККК "So simple. You send a committee to watch me demonstrate. If it works, fine. You admit it and tell the world so. If it does not work, I am discredited, and will apologize. Even I, Pinero, will apologize."

ККККК A slender stoop-shouldered man stood up in the back of the hail. The chair recognized him and he spoke:

ККККК "Mr. Chairman, how can the eminent doctor seriously propose such a course? Does he expect us to wait around for twenty or thirty years for some one to die and prove his claims?"

ККККК Pinero ignored the chair and answered directly:

ККККК "Pfui! Such nonsense! Are you so ignorant of statistics that you do not know that in any large group there is at least one who will die in the immediate future? I make you a proposition; let me test each one of you in this room and I will name the man who will die within the fortnight, yes, and the day and hour of his death." He glanced fiercely around the room. "Do you accept?"

ККККК Another figure got to his feet, a portly man who spoke in measured syllables. "I, for one, can not countenance such an experiment. As a medical man, I have noted with sorrow the plain marks of serious heart trouble in many of our elder colleagues. If Doctor Pinero knows those symptoms, as he may, and were he to select as his victim one of their number, the man so selected would be likely to die on schedule, whether the distinguished speaker's mechanical egg-timer works or not."

ККККК Another speaker backed him up at once. "Doctor Shepard is right. Why should we waste time on voodoo tricks? It is my belief that this person who calls himself Doctor Pinero wants to use this body to give his statements authority. If we participate in this farce, we play into his hands. I don't know what his racket is, but you can bet that he has figured out some way to use us for advertising for his schemes. I move, Mister Chairman, that we proceed with our regular business."

ККККК The motion carried by acclamation, but Pinero did not sit down. Amidst cries of "Order! Order!" he shook his untidy head at them, and had his say:

ККККК "Barbarians! Imbeciles! Stupid dolts! Your kind have blocked the recognition of every great discovery since time began. Such ignorant canaille are enough to start Galileo spinning in his grave. That fat fool down there twiddling his elk's, tooth calls himself a medical man. Witch doctor would be a better term! That little baldheaded runt over there - You! You style yourself a philosopher, and prate about life and time in your neat categories. What do you know of either one? How can you ever learn when you won't examine the truth when you have a chance? Bah!" He spat upon the stage. "You call this an Academy of Science. I call it an undertaker's convention, interested only in embalming the ideas of your red-blooded predecessors."

ККККК He paused for breath and was grasped on each side by two members of the platform committee and rushed out the wings. Several reporters arose hastily from the press table and followed him. The chairman declared the meeting adjourned.

ККККК The newspapermen caught up with him as he was going out by the stage door. He walked with a light springy step, and whistled a little tune. There was no trace of the belligerence he had shown a moment before. They crowded about him. "How about an interview, doe?" "What dyu think of Modem Education?" "You certainly told 'em. What are your views on Life after Death?" "Take off your hat, doe, and look at the birdie."

ККККК He grinned at them all. "One at a time, boys, and not so fast. I used to be a newspaperman myself. How about coming up to my place, and we'll talk about it?"

ККККК A few minutes later they were trying to find places to sit down in Pinero's messy bed-living-room, and lighting his cigars. Pinero looked around and beamed. "What'll it be, boys? Scotch, or Bourbon?" When that was taken care of he got down to business. "Now, boys, what do you want to know?"

ККККК "Lay it on the line, doe. Have you got something, or haven't you?"

ККККК "Most assuredly I have something, my young friend."

ККККК "Then tell us how it works. That guff you handed the profs won't get you anywhere now."

ККККК "Please, my dear fellow. it is my invention. I expect to make some money with it. Would you have me give it away to the first person who asks for it?"

ККККК "See here, doe, you've got to give us something if you expect to get a break in the morning papers. What do you use? A crystal ball?"

ККККК "No, not quite. Would you like to see my apparatus?"

ККККК "Sure. Now we are getting somewhere."

ККККК He ushered them into an adjoining room, and waved his hand. "There it is, boys." The mass of equipment that met their eyes vaguely resembled a medico's office x-ray gear. Beyond the obvious fact that it used electrical power, and that some of the dials were calibrated in familiar terms, a casual inspection gave no clue to its actual use.

ККККК "What's the principle, doe?"

ККККК Pinero pursed his lips and considered. "No doubt you are all familiar with the truism that life is electrical in nature? Well, that truism isn't worth a damn, but it will help to give you an idea of the principle. You have also been told that time is a fourth dimension. Maybe you believe it, perhaps not. It has been said so many times that it has ceased to have any meaning. It is simply a clichЋ that windbags use to impress fools. But I want you to try to visualize it now and try to feel it emotionally."

ККККК He stepped up to one of the reporters. "Suppose we, take you as an example. Your name is Rogers, is it not? Very well, Rogers, you are a space-time event having duration four ways. You are not quite six feet tall, you are about twenty inches wide and perhaps ten inches thick. In time, there stretches behind you more of this space-time event reaching to perhaps nineteen-sixteen, of which we see a cross-section here at right angles to the time axis, and as thick as the present. At the far end is a baby, smelling of sour milk and drooling its breakfast on its bib. At the other end lies, perhaps, an old man someplace in the nineteen-eighties. Imagine this space-time event which we call Rogers as a long pink worm, continuous through the years, one end at his mother's womb, the other at the grave. It stretches past us here and the cross-section we see appears as a single discrete body. But that is illusion. There is physical continuity to this pink worm, enduring through the years. As a matter of fact there is physical continuity in, this concept to the entire race, for these pink worms branch off from other pink worms. In this fashion the race is like a vine whose branches intertwine and send Out shoots. Only by taking a cross-section of the vine would we fall into the error of believing that the shootlets were discrete individuals."

ККККК He paused and looked around at their faces. One of them, a dour hard-bitten chap, put in a word.

ККККК "That's all very pretty, Pinero; if true, but where does that get you?"

ККККК Pinero favored him with an unresentful smile. "Patience, my friend. I asked you to think of life as electrical. Now think of our long pink worm as a conductor of electricity. You have heard, perhaps, of the fact that electrical engineers can, by certain measurements, predict the exact location of a break in a trans-Atlantic cable without ever leaving the shore. I do the same with our pink worms. By applying my instruments to the cross-section here in this room I can tell where the break occurs, that is to say, when death takes place. Or, if you like, I can reverse the connections and tell you the date of your birth. But that is uninteresting; you already know it."

ККККК The dour individual sneered. "I've caught you, doe. If what you said about the race being like a vine of pink worms is true, you can't tell birthdays because the connection with the race is continuous at birth. Your electrical. conductor reaches on back through the mother into a man's remotest ancestors."

ККККК Pinero beamed, "True, and clever, my friend. But you have pushed the analogy too far. It is not done in the precise manner in which one measures the length of an electrical conductor. In some ways it is more like measuring the length of a long corridor by bouncing an echo off the far end. At birth there is a sort of twist in the corridor, and, by proper calibration, I can detect the echo from that twist. There is just one case in which I can get no determinant reading; when a woman is actually carrying a child, I can't sort out her life-line from that of the unborn infant."

ККККК "Let's see you prove it."

ККККК "Certainly, my dear friend. Will you be a subject?"

ККККК One of the others spoke up. "He's called your bluff, Luke. Put up, or shut up."

ККККК "I'm game. What do I do?"

ККККК "First write the date of your birth on a sheet of paper, and hand it to one of your colleagues."

ККККК Luke complied. "Now what?"

ККККК "Remove your outer clothing and step upon these scales. Now tell me, were you ever very much thinner, or very much fatter, than you are now. No? What did you weigh at birth? Ten pounds? A fine bouncing baby boy. They don't come so big any more."

ККККК "What is all this flubdubbery?"

ККККК "I am trying to approximate the average cross-section of our long pink conductor, my dear Luke. Now will you seat yourself here. Then place this electrode in your mouth. No, it will not hurt you; the voltage is quite low, less than one micro-volt, but I must have a good connection." The doctor left him and went behind his apparatus, where he lowered a hood over his head before touching his controls. Some of the exposed dials came to life and a low humming came from the machine. It stopped and the doctor popped out of his little hide-away.

ККККК "I get sometime in February, nineteen-twelve. Who has the piece of paper with the date?"

ККККК It was produced and unfolded. The custodian read, "February 22nd, 1912."

ККККК The stillness that followed was broken by a voice from the edge of the little group. "Doe, can I have another drink?"

ККККК The tension relaxed, and several spoke at once, "Try it on me, doe." "Me first, doe, I'm an orphan and really want to know." "How about it, doe. Give us all a little loose play."

ККККК He smilingly complied, ducking in and out of the hood like a gopher from its hole. When they all had twin slips of paper to prove the doctor's skill, Luke broke a long silence.

ККККК "How about showing how you predict death, Pinero."

ККККК "If you wish. Who will try it?"

ККККК No one answered. Several of them nudged Luke forward. "Go ahead, smart guy. You asked for it." He allowed himself to be seated in the chair. Pinero changed some of the switches, then entered the hood. When the humming ceased, he came out, rubbing his hands briskly together.

ККККК "Well, that's all there is to see, boys. Got enough for a story?"

ККККК "Hey, what about the prediction? When does Luke get his 'thirty'?"

ККККК Luke faced him. "Yes, how about it? What's your answer?"

ККККК Pinero looked pained. "Gentlemen, I am surprised at you. I give that information for a fee. Besides, it is a professional confidence. I never tell anyone but the client who consults me."

ККККК "I don't mind. Go ahead and tell them."

ККККК "I am very sorry. I really must refuse. I agreed only to show you how, not to give the results."

ККККК Luke ground the butt of his cigarette into the floor. "It's a hoax, boys. He probably looked up the age of every reporter in town just to be ready to pull this. It won't wash, Pinero."

ККККК Pinero gazed at him sadly. "Are you married, my friend?"

ККККК "Do you have any one dependent on you? Any close relatives?"

ККККК "No. WHY, do you want to adopt me?"

ККККК Pinero shook his head sadly. "I am very sorry for you, my dear Luke. You will die before tomorrow."

ККККК "SCIENCE MEET ENDS IN RIOT"

ККККК "SAVANTS SAPS SAYS SEER"

ККККК "DEATH PUNCHES TIMECLOCK"

ККККК "SCRIBE DIES PER DOC'S DOPE"

ККККК "HOAX' CLAIMS SCIENCE HEAD"

ККККК "... within twenty minutes of Pinero's strange prediction, Timons was struck by a falling sign while walking down Broadway toward the offices of the Daily Herald where he was employed.

ККККК "Doctor Pinero declined to comment but confirmed the story that he had predicted Timons' death by means of his so-called chronovitameter. Chief of Police Roy..."

Does the FUTURE worry You????????

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(adv.)

- Legal Notice

ККККК To whom it may concern, greetings; I, John Cabot Winthrop III, of the firm Winthrop, Winthrop, Ditmars & Winthrop, Attorneys-at-Law, do affirm that Hugo Pinero of this city did hand to me ten thousand dollars in lawful money of the United States, and instruct me to place it in escrow with a chartered bank of my selection with escrow instructions as follows:.

ККККК The entire bond shall be forfeit, and shall forthwith be paid to the first client of Hugo Pinero and/or Sands of Time, Inc. who shall exceed his life tenure as predicted by Hugo Pinero by one per centurn, or to the estate of the first client who shall fail of such predicted tenure in a like amount, whichever occurs first in point of time.

ККККК I do further affirm that I have this day placed this bond in escrow with the above related instructions with the Equitable-First National Bank of this city.

Subscribed--and sworn,

John Cabot Winthrop Ill

Subscribed and sworn to before me

this 2nd day of April, 1951.

Albert M. Swanson

Notary Public in and for this county and state

My commission expires June 17, 1951.

ККККК "Good evening Mr. and Mrs. Radio Audience, let's go to Press! Flash! Hugo Pinero, The Miracle Man from Nowhere, has made his thousandth death prediction without a claimant for the reward he posted for anyone who catches him failing to call the turn. With thirteen of his clients already dead it is mathematically certain that - he has a private line to the main office of the Old Man with the Scythe. That is one piece of news I don't want to know before it happens. Your Coast-to-Coast Correspondent will not be a client of Prophet Pinero. . ."

ККККК The judge's watery baritone cut through the stale air of the courtroom. "Please, Mr. Weeds, let us return to our muttons. This court granted your prayer for a temporary restraining order, and now you ask that it be made permanent. In rebuttal, Mr. Pinero claims that you have presented no cause and asks that the injunction be lifted, and that I order your client to cease from attempts to interfere with what Pinero describes as a simple - lawful business. As you are not addressing a jury, please omit the rhetoric and tell me in plain language why I should not grant his prayer."

ККККК Mr. Weeds jerked his chin nervously, making his flabby Grey dewlap drag across his high stiff collar, and resumed:

ККККК "May it please the honorable court, I represent the public-"

ККККК "Just a moment. I thought you were appearing for Amalgamated Life Insurance."

ККККК "I am, Your Honor, in a formal sense. In a wider sense I represent several other major assurance, fiduciary, and financial institutions; their stockholders, and policy holders, who constitute a majority of the citizenry. In addition we feel that we protect the interests of the entire population; unorganized, inarticulate, and otherwise unprotected."

ККККК "I thought that I represented the public," observed the judge dryly. "I am afraid I must regard you as appearing for your client-of-record. But continue; what is your thesis?"

ККККК The elderly barrister attempted to swallow his Adam's apple, then began again. "Your Honor, we contend that there are two separate reasons why this injunction should be made permanent, and, further, that each reason is sufficient alone. In the first place, this person is engaged in the practice of soothsaying, an occupation proscribed both in common law and statute. He is a common fortune teller, a vagabond charlatan who preys on the gullibility of the public. He is cleverer than the ordinary gypsy palm-reader, astrologer, or table tipper, and to the same extent more dangerous. He makes false claims of modern scientific methods to give a spurious dignity to his thaumaturgy. We have here in court leading representatives of the Academy of Science to give expert witness as to the absurdity of his claims.

ККККК "In the second place, even if this person's claims were true-granting for the sake of argument such an absurdity" - Mr. Weems permitted himself a thin-lipped smile - "we contend that his activities are contrary to the public interest in general, and unlawfully injurious to the interests of my client in particular. We are prepared to produce numerous exhibits with the legal custodians to prove that this person did publish, or cause to have published, utterances urging the public to dispense with the priceless boon of life insurance to the great detriment of their welfare and to the financial damage of my client."

ККККК Pinero arose in his place. "Your Honor, may I say a few words?"

ККККК "What is it?"

ККККК "I believe I can simplify the situation if permitted to make a brief analysis."

ККККК "Your Honor," cut in Weems, "this is most irregular."

ККККК "Patience, Mr. Weems. Your interests will be protected. It seems to me that we need more light and less noise in this matter. If Dr. Pinero can shorten the proceedings by speaking at this time, I am inclined to let him. Proceed, Dr. Pinero."

ККККК "Thank you, Your Honor. Taking the last of Mr. Weems' points first, I am prepared to stipulate that I published the utterances he speaks of"

ККККК "One moment, Doctor. You have chosen to act as your own attorney. Are you sure you are competent to protect your own interests?"

ККККК "I am prepared to chance it, Your Honor. Our friends here can easily prove what I stipulate."

ККККК "Very well. You may proceed."

ККККК "I will stipulate that many persons have cancelled life insurance policies as a result thereof, but I challenge them to show that anyone so doing has suffered any loss or damage there from. It is true that the Amalgamated has lost business through my activities, but that is the natural result of my discovery, which has made their policies as obsolete as the bow and arrow. If an injunction is granted on that ground, I shall set up a coal oil lamp factory, then ask for an injunction against the Edison and General Electric companies to forbid them to manufacture incandescent bulbs."

ККККК "I will stipulate that I am engaged in the business of making predictions of death, but I deny that I am practicing magic, black, white, or rainbow colored. If to make predictions by methods of scientific accuracy is illegal, then the actuaries of the Amalgamated have been guilty for years in that they predict the exact percentage that will die each year in any given large group. I predict death retail; the Amalgamated predicts it wholesale. If their actions are legal, how can mine be illegal?"

ККККК "I admit that it makes a difference whether I can do what I claim, or not; and I will stipulate that the so-called expert witnesses from the Academy of Science will testify that I cannot. But they know nothing of my method and cannot give truly expert testimony on it."

ККККК "Just a moment, Doctor. Mr. Weems, is it true that your expert witnesses are not conversant with Dr. Pinero's theory and methods?"

ККККК Mr. Weems looked worried. He drummed on the table top, then answered, "Will the Court grant me a few moments indulgence?"

ККККК "Certainly."

ККККК Mr. Weems held a hurried whispered consultation with his cohorts, then faced the bench. "We have a procedure to suggest, Your Honor. If Dr. Pinero will take the stand and explain the theory and practice of his alleged method, then these distinguished scientists will be able to advise the Court as to the validity of his claims."

ККККК The judge looked inquiringly at Pinero, who responded, "I will not willingly agree to that. Whether my process is true or false, it would be dangerous to let it fall into the hands of fools and quacks" he waved his hand at the group of professors seated in the front row, paused and smiled maliciously "as these gentlemen know quite well. Furthermore it is not necessary to know the process in order to prove that it will work. Is it necessary to understand the complex miracle of biological reproduction in order to observe that a hen lays eggs? Is it necessary for me to reeducate this entire body of self-appointed custodians of wisdom - cure them of their ingrown superstitions - in order to prove that my predictions are correct? There are but two ways of forming an opinion in science. One is the scientific method; the other, the scholastic. One can judge from experiment, or one can blindly accept authority. To the scientific mind, experimental proof is all important and theory is merely a convenience in description, to be junked when it no longer fits. To the academic mind, authority is everything and facts are junked when they do not fit theory laid down by authority."

ККККК "It is this point of view-academic minds clinging like oysters to disproved theories-that has blocked every advance of knowledge in history. I am prepared to prove my method by experiment, and, like Galileo in another court, I insist, 'It still moves!'"

ККККК "Once before I offered such proof to this same body of self-styled experts, and they rejected it. I renew my offer; let me measure the life lengths of the members of the Academy of Science. Let them appoint a committee to judge the results. I will seal my findings in two sets of envelopes; on the outside of each envelope in one set will appear the name of a member, on the inside the date of his death. In the other envelopes I will place names, on the outside I will place dates. Let the committee place the envelopes in a vault, then meet from time to time to open the appropriate envelopes. In such a large body of men some deaths may be expected, if Amalgamated actuaries can be trusted, every week or two. In such a fashion they will accumulate data very rapidly to prove that Pinero is a liar, or no."

ККККК He stopped, and pushed out his little chest until it almost caught up with his little round belly. He glared at the sweating savants. "Well?"

ККККК The judge raised his eyebrows, and caught Mr. Weems' eye. "Do you accept?"

ККККК "Your Honor, I think the proposal highly improper-"

ККККК The judge cut him short. "I warn you that I shall rule against you if you do not accept, or propose an equally reasonable method of arriving at the truth."

ККККК Weems opened his mouth, changed his mind, looked up and down the faces of learned witnesses, and faced the bench. "We accept, Your Honor."

ККККК "Very well. Arrange the details between you. The temporary injunction is lifted, and Dr. Pinero must not be molested in the pursuit of his business. Decision on the petition for permanent injunction is reserved without prejudice pending the accumulation of evidence. Before we leave this matter I wish to comment on the theory implied by you, Mr. Weems, when you claimed damage to your client. There has grown up in the minds of certain groups in this country the notion that because a man or corporation has made a profit out of the public for a number of years, the government and the courts are charged with the duty of guaranteeing such profit in the future, even in the face of changing circumstances and contrary public interest. This strange doctrine is not supported by statute nor common law. Neither individuals nor corporations have any right to come into court and ask that the clock of history be stopped, or turned back, for their private benefit. That is all."

ККККК Bidwell grunted in annoyance. "Weems, if you can't think up anything better than that, Amalgamated is going to need a new chief attorney. It's been ten weeks since you lost the injunction, and that little wart is coining money hand over fist. Meantime every insurance firm in the country is going broke. Hoskins, what's our loss ratio?"

ККККК "It's hard to say, Mr. Bidwell. It gets worse every day. We've paid off thirteen big policies this week; all of them taken out since Pinero started operations."

ККККК A spare little man spoke up. "I say, Bidwell, we aren't accepting any new applications for United until we have time to check and be sure that they have not consulted Pinero. Can't we afford to wait until the scientists show him up?"

ККККК Bidwell snorted. "You blasted optimist! They won't show him up. Aldrich, can't you face a fact? The fat little blister has got something; how I don't know. This is a fight to the finish. If we wait, we're licked." He threw his cigar into a cuspidor, and bit savagely into a fresh one. "Clear out of here, all of you! I'll handle this my own way. You too, Aldrich. United may wait, but Amalgamated won't."

ККККК Weems cleared his throat apprehensively. "Mr. Bidwell, I trust you will consult with me before embarking on any major change in policy?"

ККККК Bidwell grunted. They filed out. When they were all gone and the door closed, Bidwell snapped the switch of the inter-office announcer. "O.K.; send him in."

ККККК The outer door opened; a slight dapper figure stood for a moment at the threshold. His small dark eyes glanced quickly about the room before he entered, then he moved up to Bidwell with a quick soft tread. He spoke to Bidwell in a flat emotionless voice. His face remained impassive except for the live animal eyes. "You wanted to talk to me?"

ККККК "Yes."

ККККК "What's the proposition?"

ККККК "Sit down, and we'll talk."

ККККК Pinero met the young couple at the door of his inner office.

ККККК "Come in, my dears, come in. Sit down. Make yourselves at home. Now tell me, what do you want of Pinero? Surely such young people are not anxious about the final roll call?"

ККККК The boy's honest young face showed slight confusion. "Well, you see, Dr. Pinero, I'm Ed Harley and this is my wife, Betty. We're going to have-that is, Betty is expecting a baby and, well-"

ККККК Pinero smiled benignly. "I understand. You want to know how long you will live in order to make the best possible provision for the youngster. Quite wise. Do you both want readings, or just yourself?"

ККККК The girl answered, "Both of us, we think."

ККККК Pinero beamed at her. "Quite so. I agree. Your reading presents certain technical difficulties at this time, but I can give you some information now, and more later after your baby arrives. Now come into my laboratory, my dears, and we'll commence." He rang for their case histories, then showed them into his workshop. "Mrs. Harley first, please. If you will go behind that screen and remove your shoes and your outer clothing, please. Remember, I am an old man, whom you are consulting as you would a physician."

ККККК He turned away and made some minor adjustments of his apparatus. Ed nodded to his wife who slipped behind the screen and reappeared almost at once, clothed in two wisps of silk. Pinero glanced up, noted her fresh young prettiness and her touching shyness.

ККККК "This way, my dear. First we must weigh you. There. Now take your place on the stand. This electrode in your mouth. No, Ed, you mustn't touch her while she is in the circuit. It won't take a minute. Remain quiet."

ККККК He dove under the machine's hood and the dials sprang into life. Very shortly he came out with a perturbed look on his face. "Ed, did you touch her?"

ККККК "No, Doctor." Pinero ducked back again, remained a little longer. When he came out this time, he told the girl to get down and dress. He turned to her husband.

ККККК "Ed, make yourself ready."

ККККК "What's Betty's reading, Doctor?"

ККККК "There is a little difficulty. I want to test you first."

ККККК When he came out from taking the youth's reading, his face was more troubled than ever. Ed inquired as to his trouble. Pinero shrugged his shoulders, and brought a smile to his lips.

ККККК "Nothing to concern you, my boy. A little mechanical misadjustment, I think. But I shan't be able to give you two your readings today. I shall need to overhaul my machine. Can you come back tomorrow?"

ККККК "Why, I think so. Say, I'm sorry about your machine. I hope it isn't serious."

ККККК "It isn't, I'm sure. Will you come back into my office, and visit for a bit?"

ККККК "Thank you, Doctor. You are very kind."

ККККК "But Ed, I've got to meet Ellen."

ККККК Pinero turned the full force of his personality on her.

ККККК "Won't you grant me a few moments, my dear young lady? I am old and like the sparkle of young folk's company. I get very little of it. Please." He nudged them gently into his office, and seated them. Then he ordered lemonade and cookies sent in, offered them cigarettes, and lit a cigar.

ККККК Forty minutes later Ed listened entranced, while Betty was quite evidently acutely nervous and anxious to leave, as the doctor spun out a story concerning his adventures as a young man in Tierra del Fuego. When the doctor stopped to relight his cigar, she stood up.

ККККК "Doctor, - we really must leave. Couldn't we hear the rest tomorrow?"

ККККК "Tomorrow? There will not be time tomorrow."

ККККК "But you haven't time today either. Your secretary has rung five times."

ККККК "Couldn't you spare me just a few more minutes?"

ККККК "I really can't today, doctor. I have an appointment. There is someone waiting for me."

ККККК "There is no way to induce you?"

ККККК "I'm afraid not. Come, Ed."

ККККК After they had gone, the doctor stepped to the window and stared out over the city. Presently he picked out two tiny figures as they left the office building. He watched them hurry to the corner, wait for the lights to change, then start across the street. When they were part way across, there came the scream of a siren. The two little figures hesitated, started back, stopped, and turned. Then the car was upon them. As the car slammed to a stop, they showed up from beneath it, no longer two figures, but simply a limp unorganized heap of clothing.

ККККК Presently the doctor turned away - from the window. Then he picked up his phone, and spoke to his secretary.

ККККК "Cancel my appointments for the rest of the day.... No... No one... I don't care; cancel them." Then he sat down in his chair. His cigar went out. Long after dark he held it, still unlighted.

ККККК Pinero sat down at his dining table and contemplated the gourmet's luncheon spread before him. He had ordered this meal with particular care, and had come home a little early in order to enjoy it fully.

ККККК Somewhat later he let a few drops of fiori d'Alpini roll around his tongue and trickle down his throat. The heavy fragrant syrup warmed his mouth, and reminded him of the little mountain flowers for which it was named. He sighed. It - had been a good meal, an exquisite meal and had justified the exotic liqueur. His musing was interrupted by a disturbance at the front door. The voice of his elderly maidservant was raised in remonstrance. A heavy male voice interrupted her. The commotion moved down the hail and the dining room door was pushed open.

ККККК "Madonna! Non si puo entrare! The Master is eating!"

ККККК "Never mind, - Angela. I have time to see these gentlemen. You ..may go." Pinero faced the surly-faced spokesman of the intruders. "You have business with me; yes?"

ККККК "You bet we have. Decent people have had enough of your damned nonsense."

ККККК "And so?"

ККККК The caller did not answer at once. A smaller dapper individual moved out from behind him and faced Pinero.

ККККК "We might as well begin." The chairman of the committee placed a key in the lock-box and opened it. "Wenzell, will you help me pick out today's envelopes?" He was interrupted by a touch on his arm.ККККК - "Dr. Baird, you are wanted on the telephone."

ККККК "Very well. Bring the instrument here."

ККККК When it was fetched he placed the receiver to his ear. "Hello.... Yes; speaking.... What? .. No, we have beard nothing...К Destroyed the machine, you say.... Dead! How?.... No! No statement. None at all.... Call me later...."

ККККК He slammed the instrument down - and pushed it from him.

ККККК "What's up? Who's dead now?"

ККККК Baird held up one hand. "Quiet, gentlemen, please!

ККККК Pinero was murdered a few moments ago at his home."

ККККК "Murdered?!"

ККККК "That isn't all. About the same time vandals broke into his office and smashed his apparatus." -

ККККК No one spoke at first. The committee members glanced around at each other. No one seemed anxious to be the first to comment.

ККККК Finally one spoke up. "Get it out."

ККККК "Get what out?"

ККККК "Pinero's envelope. It's in there too. I've seen it."

ККККК Baird located it and slowly tore it open. He unfolded the single sheet of paper, and scanned it.

ККККК "Well? Out with it!"

ККККК "One thirteen p.m. - today."

ККККК They took this in silence.

ККККК Their dynamic calm was broken by a member across the table from Baird reaching for the lock-box. Baud interposed a hand.

ККККК "What do you want?"

ККККК "My prediction-it's in there-we're all in there."

ККККК "Yes, yes. We're all in here. Let's have them."

ККККК Baird placed both hands over the box. He held the eye of the man opposite him but did not speak. He licked his lips. The corner of his mouth twitched. His hands shook. Still he did not speak. The man opposite relaxed back into his chair.

ККККК "You're right, of course," he said.

ККККК "Bring me that waste basket." Baird's voice was low and strained but steady.

ККККК He accepted it and dumped the litter on the rug. He placed the tin basket on the table before him. He tore half a dozen envelopes across, set a match to them, and dropped them in the basket. Then he started tearing a double handful at a time, and fed the fire steadily. The smoke made him cough, and tears ran out of his smarting eyes. Someone got up and opened a window. When he was through, he pushed the basket away from him, looked down, and spoke.

ККККК "I'm afraid I've ruined this table top."

The Roads Must Roll

"Who makes the roads roll?"

ККККК The speaker stood still on the rostrum and waited for his audience to answer him. The reply came in scattered shouts that cut through the ominous, discontented murmur of the crowd.

ККККК "We do!" - "We do!" - "Damn right!"

ККККК "Who does the dirty work 'down inside' - so that Joe Public can ride at his ease?"

ККККК This time it was a single roar, "We do!"

ККККК The speaker pressed his advantage, his words tumbling out in a rasping torrent. He leaned toward the crowd, his eyes picking out individuals at whom to fling his words. "What makes business? The roads! How do they move the food they eat? The roads! How do they get to work? The roads! How do they get home to their wives? The roads!" He paused for effect, then lowered his voice. "Where would the public be if you boys didn't keep them roads rolling? Behind the eight ball and everybody knows it. But do they appreciate it? Pfui! Did we ask for too much? Were our demands unreasonable? 'The right to resign whenever we want to.' Every working stiff in other lines of work has that. 'The same pay as the engineers.' Why not? Who are the real engineers around here? D'yuh have to be a cadet in a funny little hat before you can learn to wipe a bearing, or jack down a rotor? Who earns his keep: The 'gentlemen' in the control offices, or the boys 'down inside'? What else do we ask? 'The right to elect our own engineers.' Why the hell not? Who's competent to pick engineers? The technicians? - or some damn, dumb examining board that's never been 'down inside', and couldn't tell a rotor bearing from a field coil?"

ККККК He changed his pace with natural art, and lowered his voice still further. "I tell you, brother, it's time we quit fiddlin' around with petitions to the Transport Commission, and use a little direct action. Let 'em yammer about democracy; that's a lot of eye wash - we've got the power, and we're the men that count!"

ККККК A man had risen in the back of the hall while the speaker was haranguing. He spoke up as the speaker paused. "Brother Chairman," he drawled, "may I stick in a couple of words?"

ККККК "You are recognized, Brother Harvey."

ККККК "What I ask is: what's all the shootin' for? We've got the highest hourly rate of pay of any mechanical guild, full insurance and retirement, and safe working conditions, barring the chance of going deaf." He pushed his anti-noise helmet further back from his ears. He was still in dungarees, apparently just up from standing watch. "Of course we have to give ninety days notice to quit a job, but, cripes, we knew that when we signed up. The roads have got to roll - they can't stop every time some lazy punk gets bored with his billet.

ККККК "And now Soapy-" The crack of the gavel cut him short. "Pardon me, I mean Brother Soapy - tells us how powerful we are, and how we should go in for direct action. Rats! Sure we could tie up the roads, and play hell with the whole community-but so could any screwball with a can of nitroglycerine, and he wouldn't have to be a technician to do it, neither.

ККККК "We aren't the only frogs in the puddle. Our jobs are important, sure, but where would we be without the farmers - or the steel workers - or a dozen other trades and professions?"

ККККК He was interrupted by a sallow little man with protruding upper teeth, who said, "Just a minute, Brother Chairman, I'd like to ask Brother Harvey a question," then turned to Harvey and inquired in a sly voice, "Are you speaking for the guild, Brother - or just for yourself? Maybe you don't believe in the guild? You wouldn't by any chance be" - he stopped and slid his eyes up and down Harvey's lank frame - "a spotter, would you?"

ККККК Harvey looked over his questioner as if he had found something filthy in a plate of food. "Sikes," he told him, "if you weren't a runt, I'd stuff your store teeth down your throat. I helped found this guild. I was on strike in 'sixty-six. Where were you in 'sixty-six? With the finks?"

ККККК The chairman's gavel pounded. "There's been enough of this," he said. "Nobody who knows anything about the history of this guild doubts the loyalty of Brother Harvey. We'll continue with the regular order of business." He stopped to clear his throat. "Ordinarily we don't open our floor to outsiders, and some of you boys have expressed a distaste for some of the engineers we work under, but there is one engineer we always like to listen to whenever he can get away from his pressing duties. I guess maybe it's because he's had dirt under his nails the same as us. Anyhow, I present at this time Mr. Shorty Van Kleeck-"

ККККК A shout from the floor stopped him. "Brother Van Kleeck!"

ККККК "O.K.-Brother Van Kleeck, Chief Deputy Engineer of this road-town."

ККККК "Thanks, Brother Chairman." The guest speaker came briskly forward, and grinned expansively at the crowd, seeming to swell under their approval. "Thanks, Brothers. I guess our chairman is right. I always feel more comfortable here in the Guild Hall of the Sacramento Sector - or any guild hail, for that matter - than I do in the engineers' dubhouse. Those young punk cadet engineers get in my hair. Maybe I should have gone to one of the fancy technical institutes, so I'd have the proper point of view, instead of coming up from 'down inside'.

ККККК "Now about those demands of yours that the Transport Commission just threw back in your face - Can I speak freely?"

ККККК "Sure you can, Shorty!" - "You can trust us!"

ККККК "Well, of course I shouldn't say anything, but I can't help but understand how you feel. The roads are the big show these days, and you are the men that make them roll. It's the natural order of things that your opinions should be listened to, and your desires met. One would think that even politicians would be bright enough to see that. Sometimes, lying awake at night, I wonder why we technicians don't just take things over, and-"

ККККК "Your wife is calling, Mr. Gaines."

ККККК "Very well." He picked up the handset and turned to the visor screen.

ККККК "Yes, darling, I know I promised, but ... You're perfectly right, darling, but Washington has especially requested that we show Mr. Blekinsop anything be wants to see. I didn't know he was arriving today.... No, I can't turn him over to a subordinate. It wouldn't be courteous. He's Minister of Transport for Australia. I told you that.... Yes, darling, I know that courtesy begins at home, but the roads must roll. It's my job; you knew that when you married me. And this is part of my job. That's a good girl. We'll positively have breakfast together. Tell you what, order horses and a breakfast pack and we'll make it a picnic. I'll meet you in Bakersfield - usual place.... Goodbye, darling. Kiss Junior goodnight for me."

ККККК He replaced the handset on the desk whereupon the pretty, but indignant, features of his wife faded from the visor screen. A young woman came into his office. As she opened the door she exposed momentarily the words printed on its outer side; "DIEGO-RENO ROADTOWN, Office of the Chief Engineer." He gave her a harassed glance.

ККККК "Oh, it's you. Don't marry an engineer, Dolores, marry an artist. They have more home life."

ККККК "Yes, Mr. Gaines. Mr. Blekinsop is here, Mr. Gaines."

ККККК "Already? I didn't expect him so soon. The Antipodes ship must have grounded early."

ККККК "Yes, Mr. Gaines."

ККККК "Dolores, don't you ever have any emotions?"

ККККК "Yes, Mr. Gaines."

ККККК "Hmmm, it seems incredible, but you are never mistaken. Show Mr. Blekinsop in."

ККККК "Very good, Mr. Gaines."

ККККК Larry Gaines got up to greet his visitor. Not a particularly impressive little guy, he thought, as they shook hands and exchanged formal amenities. The rolled umbrella, the bowler hat were almost too good to be true.

ККККК An Oxford accent partially masked the underlying clipped, flat, nasal twang of the native Australian. "It's a pleasure to have you here, Mr. Blekinsop, and I hope we can make your stay enjoyable."

ККККК The little man smiled. "I'm sure it will be. This is my first visit to your wonderful country. I feel at home already. The eucalyptus trees, you know, and the brown hills-"

ККККК "But your trip is primarily business?"

ККККК "Yes, yes. My primary purpose is to study your roadcities, and report to my government on the advisability of trying to adapt your startling American methods to our social problems Down Under. I thought you understood that such was the reason I was sent to you."

ККККК "Yes, I did, in a general way. I don't know just what it is that you wish to find out. I suppose that you have heard about our road towns, how they came about, how they operate, and so forth."

ККККК "I've read a good bit, true, but I am not a technical man, Mr. Gaines, not an engineer. My field is social and political. I want to see how this remarkable technical change has affected your people. Suppose you tell me about the roads as if I were entirely ignorant. And I will ask questions."

ККККК "That seems a practical plan. By the way, how many are there in your party?"

ККККК "Just myself. I sent my secretary on to Washington."

ККККК "I see." Gaines glanced at his wrist watch. "It's nearly dinner time. Suppose we run up to the Stockton strip for dinner. There is a good Chinese restaurant up there that I'm partial to. It will take us about an hour and you can see the ways in operation while we ride."

ККККК "Excellent."

ККККК Gaines pressed a button on his desk, and a picture formed on a large visor screen mounted on the opposite wall. It showed a strong-boned, angular young man seated at a semi-circular control desk, which was backed by a complex instrument board. A cigarette was tucked in one corner of his mouth.

ККККК The young man glanced up, grinned, and waved from the screen. "Greetings and salutations, Chief. What can I do for you?"

ККККК "Hi, Dave. You've got the evening watch, eh? I'm running up to the Stockton sector for dinner. Where's Van Kleeck?"

ККККК "Gone to a meeting somewhere. He didn't say."

ККККК "Anything to report?"

ККККК "No, sir. The roads are rolling, and all the little people are going ridey-ridey home to their dinners."

ККККК "O.K.-keep 'em rolling."

ККККК "They'll roll, Chief."

ККККК Gaines snapped off the connection and turned to Blekinsop. "Van Kleeck is my chief deputy. I wish he'd spend more time on the road and less on politics. Davidson can handle things, however. Shall we go?"

ККККК They glided down an electric staircase, and debauched on the walkway which bordered the northbound five mile-an-hour strip. After skirting a stairway trunk marked OVERPASS TO SOUTHBOUND ROAD, they paused at the edge of the first strip. "Have you ever ridden a conveyor strip before?" Gaines inquired. "It's quite simple. Just remember to face against the motion of the strip as you get on."

ККККК They threaded their way through homeward-bound throngs, passing from strip to strip. Down the center of the twenty-mile-an-hour strip ran a glassite partition which reached nearly to the spreading roof. The Honorable Mister Blekinsop raised his eyebrows inquiringly as he looked at it.

ККККК "Oh, that?" Gaines answered the unspoken inquiry as he slid back a panel door and ushered his guest through.

ККККК "That's a wind break. If we didn't have some way of separating the air currents over the strips of different speeds, the wind would tear our clothes off on the hundred-mile-an-hour strip." He bent his head to Blekinsop's as he spoke, in order to cut through the rush of air against the road surfaces, the noise of the crowd, and the muted roar of the driving mechanism concealed beneath the moving strips. The combination of noises inhibited further conversation as they proceeded toward the middle of the roadway. After passing through three more wind screens located at the forty, sixty, and eighty-mile-an-hour strips respectively, they finally reached the maximum speed strip, the hundred-mile-an-hour strip, which made the round trip, San Diego to Reno and back, in twelve hours.

ККККК Blekinsop found himself on a walkway twenty feet wide facing another partition. Immediately opposite him an illuminated show window proclaimed:

JAKE'S STEAK HOUSE No. 4

The Fastest Meal on the Fastest Road!

"To dine on the fly Makes the miles roll by!!"

"Amazing!" said Mr. Blekinsop. "It would be like dining in a tram. Is this really a proper restaurant?"

ККККК "One of the best. Not fancy, but sound."

ККККК "Oh, I say, could we-"

ККККК Gaines smiled at him. "You'd like to try it, wouldn't you, sir?"

ККККК "I don't wish to interfere with your plans-"

ККККК "Quite all right. I'm hungry myself, and Stockton is a long hour away. Let's go in."

ККККК Gaines greeted the manageress as an old friend. "Hello, Mrs. McCoy. How are you tonight?"

ККККК "If it isn't the chief himself! It's a long time since we've had the pleasure of seeing your face." She led them to a booth somewhat detached from the crowd of dining commuters. "And will you and your friend be having dinner?"

ККККК "Yes, Mrs. McCoy-suppose you order for us-but be sure it includes one of your steaks."

ККККК "Two inches thick-from a steer that died happy." She glided away, moving her fat frame with surprising grace.

ККККК With sophisticated foreknowledge of the chief engineer's needs, Mrs. McCoy had left a portable telephone at the table. Gaines plugged it in to an accommodation jack at the side of the booth, and dialed a number.

ККККК "Hello-Davidson? Dave, this is the chief. I'm in Jake's beanery number four for supper. You can reach me by calling ten-six-six."

ККККК He replaced the handset, and Blekinsop inquired politely: "Is it necessary for you to be available at all times?"

ККККК "Not strictly necessary," Gaines told him, "but I feel safer when I am in touch. Either Van Kleeck, or myself, should be where the senior engineer of the watch - that's Davidson this shift - can get hold of us in a pinch. If it's a real emergency, I want to be there, naturally."

ККККК "What would constitute a real emergency?"

ККККК "Two things, principally. A power failure on the rotors would bring the road to a standstill, and possibly strand millions of people a hundred miles, or more, from their homes. If it happened during a rush hour we would have to evacuate those millions from the road-not too easy to do."

ККККК "You say millions-as many as that?"

ККККК "Yes, indeed. There are twelve million people dependent on this roadway, living and working in the buildings adjacent to it, or within five miles of each side."

ККККК The Age of Power blends into the Age of Transportation almost imperceptibly, but two events stand out as landmarks in the change: the achievement of cheap sun power and the installation of the first mechanized road.

ККККК The power resources of oil and coal of the United States had - save for a few sporadic outbreaks of common sense - been shamefully wasted in their development all through the first half of the twentieth century. Simultaneously, the automobile, from its humble start as a one-lunged horseless carriage, grew into a steel-bodied monster of over a hundred horsepower and capable of making more than a hundred miles an hour. They boiled over the countryside, like yeast in ferment. In 1955 it was estimated that there was a motor vehicle for every two persons in the United States.

ККККК They contained the seeds of their own destruction. Eighty million steel juggernauts, operated by imperfect human beings at high speeds, are more destructive than war. In the same reference year the premiums paid for compulsory liability and property damage insurance by automobile owners exceeded in amount the sum paid that year to purchase automobiles. Safe driving campaigns were chronic phenomena, but were mere pious attempts to put Humpty-Dumpty together again. It was not physically possible to drive safely in those crowded metropolises. Pedestrians were sardonically divided into two classes, the quick, and the dead.

ККККК But a pedestrian could be defined as a man who had found a place to park his car. The automobile made possible huge cities, then choked those same cities to death with their numbers. In 1900 Herbert George Wells pointed out that the saturation point in the size of a city might be mathematically predicted in terms of its transportation facilities. From a standpoint of speed alone the automobile made possible cities two hundred miles in diameter, but traffic congestion, and the inescapable, inherent danger of high-powered, individually operated vehicles cancelled out the possibility.

ККККК In 1955 Federal Highway #66 from Los Angeles to Chicago, "The Main Street of America", was transformed into a superhighway for motor vehicles, with an underspeed limit of sixty miles per hour. It was planned as a public works project to stimulate heavy industry; it had an unexpected by-product. The great cities of Chicago and St. Louis stretched out urban pseudopods toward each other, until they met near Bloomington, Illinois. The two parent cities actually shrunk in population.

ККККК That same year the city of San Francisco replaced its antiquated cable cars with moving stairways, powered with the Douglas-Martin Solar Reception Screens. The largest number of automobile licenses in history had been issued that calendar year, but the end of the automobile era was in sight, and the National Defense Act of 1957 gave fair warning.

ККККК This act, one of the most bitterly debated ever to be brought out of committee, declared petroleum to be an essential and limited material of war. The armed forces had first call on all oil, above or below the ground, and eighty million civilian vehicles faced short and expensive rations. The "temporary" conditions during World War II had become permanent.

ККККК Take the superhighways of the period, urban throughout their length. Add the mechanized streets of San Francisco's hills. Heat to boiling point with an imminent shortage of gasoline. Flavor with Yankee ingenuity. The first mechanized road was opened in 1960 between Cincinnati and Cleveland.

ККККК It was, as one would expect, comparatively primitive in design, being based on the ore belt conveyors of ten years earlier. The fastest strip moved only thirty miles per hour and was quite narrow, for no one had thought of the possibility of locating retail trade on the strips themselves. Nevertheless, it was a prototype of social pattern which was to dominate the American scene within the next two decades-neither rural, nor urban, but partaking equally of both, and based on rapid, safe, cheap, convenient transportation.

ККККК Factories - wide, low buildings whose roofs were covered with solar power screens of the same type that drove the road-lined the roadway on each side. Back of them and interspersed among them were commercial hotels, retail stores, theatres, apartment houses. Beyond this long, thin, narrow strip was the open country-side, where the bulk of the population lived. Their homes dotted the hills, hung on the banks of creeks, and nestled between the farms. They worked in the "city" but lived in the "country" - and the two were not ten minutes apart.

ККККК Mrs. McCoy served the chief and his guest in person. They checked their conversation at the sight of the magnificent steaks.

ККККК Up and down the six hundred mile line, Sector Engineers of the Watch were getting in their hourly reports from their subsector technicians. "Subsector one-check!" "Subsector two-check!" Tensionometer readings, voltage, load, bearing temperatures, synchrotachometer readings-"Subsector seven-check!" Hard-bitten, able men in dungarees, who lived much of their lives 'down inside' amidst the unmuted roar of the hundred mile strip, the shrill whine of driving rotors, and the complaint of the relay rollers.

ККККК Davidson studied the moving model of the road, spread out before him in the main control room at Fresno Sector. He watched the barely perceptible crawl of the miniature hundred mile strip and subconsciously noted the reference number on it which located Jake's Steak House No. 4. The chief would be getting in to Stockton soon; he'd give him a ring after the hourly reports were in. Everything was quiet; traffic tonnage normal for rush hour; he would be sleepy before this watch was over. He turned to his Cadet Engineer of the Watch. "Mr. Barnes."

ККККК "Yes, sir."

ККККК "I think we could use some coffee."

ККККК "Good idea, sir. I'll order some as soon as the hourlies are in."

ККККК The minute hand of the control board chronometer reached twelve. The cadet watch officer threw a switch. "All sectors, report!" he said, in crisp, self-conscious tones.

ККККК The faces of two men flicked into view on the visor Screen. The younger answered him with the same air of acting under supervision. ККККК "Diego Circle - rolling!"

ККККК They were at once replaced by two more. Angeles Sector - rolling!"

ККККК Then:ККККК "Bakersfield Sector - rolling!"

ККККК And:ККККК "Fresno Sector - rolling!".

ККККК Finally, when Reno Circle had reported, the cadet turned to Davidson and reported: "Rolling, sir."

ККККК "Very well-keep them rolling!"

ККККК The visor screen flashed on once more. "Sacramento Sector, supplementary report."

ККККК "Proceed."

ККККК "Cadet Guenther, while on visual inspection as cadet sector engineer of the watch, found Cadet Alec Jeans, on watch as cadet subsector technician, and R. J. Ross, technician second class, on watch as technician for the same subsector, engaged in playing cards. It was not possible to tell with any accuracy how long they had neglected to patrol their subsector."

ККККК "Any damage?"

ККККК "One rotor running hot, but still synchronized. It was jacked down, and replaced."

ККККК "Very well. Have the paymaster give Ross his time, and turn him over to the civil authorities. Place Cadet Jeans under arrest and order him to report to me."

ККККК "Very well, sir."

ККККК "Keep them rolling!"

ККККК Davidson turned back to the control desk and dialed Chief Engineer Gaines' temporary number.

ККККК "You mentioned that there were two things that could cause major trouble on the road, Mr. Gaines, but you spoke only of power failure to the rotors." Gaines pursued an elusive bit of salad before answering. "There really isn't a second major trouble-it won't happen. However - we are travelling along here at one hundred miles per hour. Can you visualize what would happen if this strip under us should break?"

ККККК Mr. Blekinsop shifted nervously in his chair. "Hmm - rather a disconcerting idea, don't you think? I mean to say, one is hardly aware that one is travelling at high speed, here in this snug room. What would the result be?"

ККККК "Don't let it worry you; the strip can't part. It is built up of overlapping sections in such a fashion that it has a safety factor of better than twelve to one. Several miles of rotors would have to shut down all at once, and the circuit breakers for the rest of the line fail to trip out before there could possibly be sufficient tension on the strip to cause it to part.

ККККК "But it happened once, on the Philadelphia-Jersey City Road, and we aren't likely to forget it. It was one of the earliest high speed roads, carrying a tremendous passenger traffic, as well as heavy freight, since it serviced a heavily industrialized area. The strip was hardly more than a conveyor belt, and no one had foreseen the weight it would carry. It happened under maximum load, naturally, when the high speed way was crowded. The part of the strip behind the break buckled for miles, crushing passengers against the roof at eighty miles per hour. The section forward of the break cracked like a whip, spilling passengers onto the slower ways, dropping them on the exposed rollers and rotors down inside, and snapping them up against the roof.

ККККК "Over three thousand people were killed in that one accident, and there was much agitation to abolish the roads. They were even shut down for a week by presidential order, but he was forced to reopen them again. There was no alternative."

ККККК "Really? Why not?"

ККККК "The country bad become economically dependent on the roads. They were the principal means of transportation in the industrial areas-the only means of economic importance. Factories were shut down; food didn't move; people got hungry-and the President was forced to let them roll again. It was the only thing that could be done; the social pattern had crystallized in one form, and it couldn't be changed overnight. A large, industrialized population must have large-scale transportation, not only for people, but for trade."

ККККК Mr. Blekinsop fussed with his napkin, and rather diffidently suggested, "Mr., Gaines, I do not intend to disparage the ingenious accomplishments of your great people, but isn't it possible that you may have put too many eggs in one basket in allowing your whole economy to become dependent on the functioning of one type of machinery?"

ККККК Gaines considered this soberly. "I see your point. Yes-and no. Every civilization above the peasant and village type is dependent on some key type of machinery. The old South was based on the cotton gin. Imperial England was made possible by the steam engine. Large populations have to have machines for power, for transportation, and for manufacturing in order to live. Had it not been for machinery the large populations could never have grown up. That's not a fault of the machine; that's its virtue.

ККККК "But it is true that whenever we develop machinery to the point where it will support large populations at a high standard of living we are then bound to keep that machinery running, or suffer the consequences. But the real hazard in that is not the machinery, but the men who run the machinery. These roads, as machines, are all right. They are strong and safe and will do everything they were designed to do. No, it's not the machines, it's the men.

ККККК "When a population is dependent on a machine, they are hostages of the men who tend the machines. If their morale is high, their sense of duty strong-"

ККККК Someone up near the front of the restaurant had turned up the volume control of the radio, letting out a blast of music that drowned out Gaines' words. When the sound had been tapered down to a more nearly bearable volume, he was saying:

ККККК "Listen to that. It illustrates my point."

ККККК Blekinsop turned an ear to the music. It was a swinging march of compelling rhythm, with a modern interpretive arrangement. One could hear the roar of machinery, the repetitive clatter of mechanisms. A pleased smile of recognition spread over the Australian's face. "It's your Field Artillery Song, The Roll of the Caissons, isn't-it? But I don't see the connection."

ККККК "You're right; it was the Roll of the Caissons, but we adapted it to our own purposes. It's the Road Song of the Transport Cadets. Wait."

ККККК The persistent throb of the march continued, and seemed to blend with the vibration of the roadway underneath into a single tympani. Then a male chorus took up the verse:

"Hear them hum!

Watch them run!

Oh, our job is never done,

For our roadways go rolling along!

While you ride;

While you glide;

We are watching 'down inside',

So your roadways keep rolling along!

"Oh, it's Hie! Hie! Hee!

The rotor men are we-

Check off the sectors loud and strong!

ККККК (spoken) One! Two! Three!

Anywhere you go

You are bound to know

That your roadways are rolling along!

(Shouted) KEEP THEM ROLLING!

That your roadways are rolling along!"

"See said Gaines, with more animation in his voice, "See? That is the real purpose of the United States Academy of Transport. That is the reason why the transport engineers are a semi-military profession, with strict discipline. We are the bottle neck, the sine qua non, of all industry, all economic life. Other industries can go on strike, and only create temporary and partial dislocations. Crops can fail here and there, and the country takes up the slack. But if the roads stop rolling, everything else must stop; the effect would be the same as a general strike-with this important difference: It takes a majority of the population, fired by a real feeling of grievance, to create a general strike; but the men that run the roads, few as they are, can create the same complete paralysis.

ККККК "We had just one strike on the roads, back in 'sixty-six. It was justified, I think, and it corrected a lot of real, abuses-but it mustn't happen again."

ККККК "But what is to prevent it happening again, Mr. Gaines?"

ККККК "Morale-esprit de corps. The technicians in the road service are indoctrinated constantly with the idea that their job is a sacred trust. Besides which we do everything we can to build up their social position. But even more important is the Academy. We try to turn out graduate engineers imbued with the same loyalty, the same iron self-discipline, and determination to perform their duty to the community at any cost, that Annapolis and West Point and Goddard are so successful in inculcating in their graduates."

ККККК "Goddard? Oh, yes, the rocket field. And have you been successful, do you think?"

ККККК "Not entirely, perhaps, but we will be. It takes time to build up a tradition. When the oldest engineer is a man who entered the Academy in his teens, we can afford to relax a little and treat it as a solved problem."

ККККК "I suppose you are a graduate?"

ККККК Gaines grinned. "You flatter me-I must look younger than I am. No, I'm a carry-over from the army. You see, the Department of Defense operated the roads for some three months during reorganization after the strike in 'sixty-six. I served on the conciliation board that awarded pay increases and adjusted working conditions, then I was assigned-"

ККККК The signal light of the portable telephone glowed red. Gaines said, "Excuse me," and picked up the handset.'

ККККК "Yes?"

ККККК Blekinsop could overhear the voice at the other end. "This is Davidson, Chief. The roads are rolling."

ККККК "Very well. Keep them rolling!"

ККККК "Had another trouble report from the Sacramento Sector."

ККККК "Again? What this time?"

ККККК Before Davidson could reply he was cut off. As Gaines reached out to dial him back, his coffee cup, half full, landed in his lap. Blekinsop was aware, even as he was rocked against the edge of the table, of a disquieting change in the hum of the roadway.

ККККК "What has happened, Mr. Gaines?"

ККККК "Don't know. Emergency stop-God knows why." He was dialing furiously. Shortly he flung the phone down, without bothering to return the handset to its cradle. "Phones are out. Come on! No- You'll be safe here. Wait."

ККККК "Must I?"

ККККК "Well, come along then, and stick close to me." He turned away, having dismissed the Australian cabinet minister from his mind. The strip ground slowly to a stop, the giant rotors and myriad rollers acting as fly wheels in preventing a disastrous sudden stop. Already a little knot of commuters, disturbed at their evening meal, were attempting to crowd out the door of the restaurant.

ККККК "Halt!"

ККККК There is something about a command issued by one who is used to being obeyed which enforces compliance. It may be intonation, or possibly a more esoteric power, such as animal tamers are reputed to be able to exercise in controlling ferocious beasts. But it does exist, and can be used to compel even those not habituated to obedience.

ККККК The commuters stopped in their tracks.

ККККК Gaines continued, "Remain in the restaurant until we are ready to evacuate you. I am the Chief Engineer. You will be in no danger here. You!" He pointed to a big fellow near the door. "You're deputized. Don't let anyone leave without proper authority. Mrs. McCoy, resume serving dinner."

ККККК Gaines strode out the door, Blekinsop tagging along. The situation outside permitted no such simple measures.

The hundred mile strip alone had stopped; a few feet away the next strip flew by at an unchecked ninety-five miles an hour. The passengers on it flickered past, unreal cardboard figures.

ККККК The twenty-foot walkway of the maximum speed strip had been crowded when the breakdown occurred. Now the customers of shops, of lunchstands, and of other places of business, the occupants of lounges, of television theatres-all came crowding out onto the walkway to see what had happened. The first disaster struck almost immediately.

ККККК The crowd surged, and pushed against a middle-aged woman on its outer edge. In attempting to recover her balance she put one foot over the edge of the flashing ninety-five mile strip. She realized her gruesome error, for she screamed before her foot touched the ribbon.

ККККК She spun around, and landed heavily on the moving strip, and was rolled by it, as the strip attempted to impart to her mass, at one blow, a velocity of ninety-five miles per hour-one hundred and thirty-nine feet per second: As she rolled she mowed down some of the cardboard figures as a sickle strikes a stand of grass. Quickly, she was out of sight, her identity, her injuries, and her fate undetermined, and already remote.

ККККК But the consequences of her mishap were not done with. One of the flickering cardboard figures bowled over by her relative momentum fell toward the hundred mile strip, slammed into the shockbound crowd, and suddenly appeared as a live man-but broken and bleeding, amidst the luckless, fallen victims whose bodies had checked his wild flight.

ККККК Even there it did not end. The disaster spread from its source, each hapless human ninepin more likely than not to knock down others so that they fell over the danger-laden boundary, and in turn ricocheted to a dearly bought equilibrium.

ККККК But the focus of calamity sped out of sight, and Blekinsop could see no more. His active mind, accustomed to dealing with large' numbers of individual human beings, multiplied the tragic sequence he had witnessed by twelve hundred miles of thronged conveyor strip, and his stomach chilled.

ККККК To Blekinsop's surprise, Gaines made no effort to succor the fallen, nor to quell the fear-infected mob, but turned an expressionless face back to the restaurant. When Blekinsop saw that he was actually re-entering the restaurant, he plucked at his sleeve. "Aren't we going to help those poor people?"

ККККК The cold planes of the face of the man who answered him bore no resemblance to his genial, rather boyish, host of a few minutes before. "No. Bystanders can help them - I've got the whole road to think of. Don't bother me."

ККККК Crushed, and somewhat indignant, the politician did as he was ordered. Rationally, he knew that the Chief Engineer was right-a man responsible for the safety of millions cannot turn aside from his duty to render personal service to one-but the cold detachment of such viewpoint was repugnant to him.

ККККК Gaines was back in the restaurant "Mrs. McCoy, where is your get-away?"

ККККК "In the pantry, sir."

ККККК Gaines hurried there, Blekinsop at his heels. A nervous Filipino salad boy shrank out of his way as he casually swept a supply of prepared green stuffs onto the floor and stepped up on the counter where they had rested. Directly above his head and within reach was a circular manhole, counterweighted and operated by a handwheel set in its center. A short steel ladder, hinged to the edge of the opening was swung up flat to ceiling and secured by a hook.

ККККК Blekinsop lost his hat in his endeavor to clamber quickly enough up the ladder after Gaines. When he emerged on the roof of the building. Gaines was searching the ceiling of the roadway with a pocket flashlight He was shuffling along, stooped double in the awkward four feet of space between the roof underfoot and ceiling.

ККККК He found what he sought, some fifty feet away-another manhole similar to the one they had used to escape from below. He spun the wheel of the lock and stood up in the space, then rested his hands on the sides of the opening and with a single. lithe movement vaulted to the roof of the roadways. His companion followed him with more difficulty.

ККККК They stood in darkness, a fine, cold rain feeling at their faces. But underfoot, and stretching beyond sight on each hand, the sun power screens glowed with a faint opalescent radiance, their slight percentage of inefficiency as transformers of radiant sun power to available electrical power being evidenced as a mild phosphorescence. The effect was not illumination, but rather like the ghostly sheen of a snow covered plain seen by starlight.

ККККК The glow picked out the path they must follow to reach the rain-obscured wall of buildings bordering the ways. The path was a narrow black stripe which arched away into the darkness over the low curve of the roof. They started away on this path at a dog trot, making as much speed as the slippery footing and the dark permitted, while Blekinsop's mind still fretted at the problem of Gaines' apparently callous detachment. Although possessed of a keen intelligence his nature was dominated by a warm, human sympathy, without which no politician, irrespective of other virtues or shortcomings, is long successful.

ККККК Because of this trait he distrusted instinctively any mind which was guided by logic alone. He was aware that, from a standpoint of strict logic, no reasonable case could be made out for the continued existence of the human race, still less for the human values he served.

ККККК Had he been able to pierce the preoccupation of his companion, he would have been reassured. On the surface Gaines' exceptionally intelligent mind was clicking along with the facile ease of an electronic integrator-arranging data at hand, making tentative decisions, postponing judgments without prejudice until necessary data were available, exploring alternatives. Underneath, in a compartment insulated by stern self-discipline from the acting theatre of his mind, his emotions were a torturing storm of self-reproach. He was heartsick at suffering he had seen, and which he knew too well was duplicated up and down the line. Although he was not aware of any personal omission, nevertheless, the fault was somehow his, for authority creates responsibility.

ККККК He had carried too long the superhuman burden of kingship - which no sane mind can carry light-heartedly - and was at this moment perilously close to the frame of mind which sends captains down with their ships. Only the need for immediate, constructive action sustained him.

ККККК But no trace of this conflict reached his features.

ККККК At the wall of buildings glowed a green line of arrows, pointing to the left. Over them, at the terminus of the narrow path, shone a sign: "ACCESS DOWN." They pursued this, Blekinsop puffing in Gaines' wake, to a door let in the wall, which gave in to a narrow stairway lighted by a single glowtube. Gaines plunged down this, still followed, and they emerged on the crowded, noisy, stationary walkway adjoining the northbound road.

ККККК Immediately adjacent to the stairway, on the right, was a public tele-booth. Through the glassite door they could see a portly, well-dressed man speaking earnestly to his female equivalent, mirrored in the visor screen. Three other citizens were waiting outside the booth.

ККККК Gaines pushed past them, flung open the door, grasped the bewildered and indignant man by the shoulders, and hustled him outside, kicking the door closed after him. He cleared the visor screen with one sweep of his hand, before the matron pictured therein could protest, and pressed the emergency-priority button.

ККККК He dialed his private code number, and was shortly looking into the troubled face of his Engineer of the Watch, Davidson.

ККККК "Report!"

ККККК "It's you, Chief! Thank God! Where are you?" Davidson's' relief was pathetic.

ККККК "Report!"

ККККК The Senior Watch Officer repressed his emotion and complied in direct, clipped phrases, "At seven-oh-nine p.m. the consolidated tension reading, strip twenty, Sacramento Sector, climbed suddenly. Before action could be taken, tension on strip twenty passed emergency level; the interlocks acted, and power to subject strip cut out. Cause of failure, unknown. Direct communication to Sacramento control office has failed. They do not answer the auxiliary, nor the commercial line. Effort to re-establish communication continues. Messenger dispatched from Stockton Subsector Ten.

ККККК "No casualties reported. Warning broadcast by public announcement circuit to keep clear of strip nineteen. Evacuation has commenced."

ККККК "There are casualties," Gaines cut in. "Police and hospital emergency routine. Move!"

ККККК "Yes, sir!" Davidson snapped back, and hooked a thumb over his shoulder-but his Cadet Officer of the Watch had already jumped to comply. "Shall I cut out the rest of the road, Chief?"

ККККК "No. No more casualties are likely after the first disorder. Keep up the broadcast warnings. Keep, those other strips rolling, or we will have a traffic jam the devil himself couldn't untangle." - Gaines had in mind the impossibility of bringing the strips up to speed under load. The rotors were not powerful enough to do this. If the entire road was stopped, he would have to evacuate every strip, correct the trouble on strip twenty, bring all strips up to speed, and then move the accumulated peak load traffic. In the meantime, over five million stranded passengers would, constitute a tremendous police problem. It was simpler to evacuate passengers on strip twenty over the roof, and allow them to return home via the remaining strips. "Notify the Mayor and the Governor that I have assumed emergency authority. Same to the Chief of Police and place him under your orders. Tell the Commandant to arm all cadets available and await orders. Move!"

ККККК "Yes, sir. Shall I recall technicians off watch?"

ККККК "No. This isn't an engineering failure. Take a look at your readings; that entire sector went out simultaneously.К Somebody cut out those rotors by hand. Place offwatch technicians on standby status-but don't arm them, and don't send them down inside. Tell the Commandant to rush all available senior-class cadets to Stockton Subsector Office number ten to report in. I want them equipped with tumblebugs, pistols, and sleepy bombs."

ККККК "Yes, sir." A clerk leaned over Davidson's shoulder and said something in his ear. "The Governor wants to talk to you, Chief."

ККККК "Can't do it-nor can you. Who's your relief? Have you sent for him?"

ККККК "Hubbard-he's just come in."

ККККК "Have him talk to the Governor, the Mayor, the press - anybody that calls - even the White House. You stick to your watch. I'm cutting off. I'll be back in communication as quickly as I can locate a reconnaissance car." He was out of the booth almost before the screen cleared.

ККККК Blekinsop did not venture to speak, but followed him out to the northbound twenty-mile strip. There Gaines stopped, short of the wind break, turned, and kept his eyes on the wall beyond the stationary walkway. He picked out some landmark, or sign - not apparent to his companion - and did an Eliza-crossing-the-ice back to the walkway, so rapidly that Blekinsop was carried some hundred feet beyond him, and almost failed to follow when Gaines ducked into a doorway and ran down a flight of stairs.

ККККК They came out on a narrow lower walkway, 'down inside'. The pervading din claimed them, beat upon their bodies as well as their ears. Dimly, Blekinsop perceived their surroundings, as he struggled to face that wall of sound. Facing him, illuminated by the yellow monochrome of a sodium arc, was one of the rotors that drove the five-mile strip, its great, drum-shaped armature revolving slowly around the stationary field coils in its core. The upper surface of the drum pressed against the under side of the moving way and imparted to it its stately progress.

ККККК To the left and right, a hundred yards each way, and beyond at similar intervals, farther than he could see, were other rotors. Bridging the gaps between the rotors were the slender rollers, crowded together like cigars in a box, in order that the strip might have a continuous rolling support. The rollers were supported by steel girder arches through the gaps of which he saw row after row of rotors in staggered succession, the rotors in each succeeding row turning over more rapidly than the last.

ККККК Separated from the narrow walkway by a line of supporting steel pillars, and lying parallel to it on the side away from the rotors, ran a shallow paved causeway, joined to the walk at this point by a ramp. Gaines peered up and down this tunnel in evident annoyance. Blekinsop started to ask him what troubled him, but found his voice snuffed out by the sound: He could not cut through the roar of thousands of rotors and the whine of hundreds of thousands of rollers.

ККККК Gaines saw his lips move and guessed at the question.'

ККККК He cupped his hands around Blekinsop's right ear, and shouted, "No car - I expected to find a car here."

ККККК The Australian, wishing to be helpful, grasped Gaines' arm and pointed back into the jungle of machinery.

ККККК Gaines' eye followed the direction indicated and picked out something that he had missed in his preoccupation - a half dozen men working around a rotor several strips away. They had jacked down a rotor until it was no longer in contact with the road surface and were preparing to replace it in toto. The replacement rotor was standing by on a low, heavy truck.

ККККК The Chief Engineer gave a quick smile of acknowledgment and thanks and aimed his flashlight at the group, the beam focused down to a slender, intense needle of light.

ККККК One of the technicians looked up, and Gaines snapped the light on and off in a repeated, irregular pattern. A figure detached itself from the group, and ran toward them.

ККККК It was a slender young man, dressed in dungarees and topped off with earpads and an incongruous, pillbox cap, bright with gold braid and Insignia. He recognized the Chief Engineer and saluted, his face falling into humorless, boyish intentness.

ККККК Gaines stuffed his torch into a pocket and commenced to gesticulate rapidly with both hands-clear, clean gestures, as involved and as meaningful as deaf-mute language. Blekinsop dug into his own dilettante knowledge of anthropology and decided that it was most like American Indian sign language, with some of the finger movements of hula. But it was necessarily almost entirely strange, being adapted for a particular terminology.

ККККК The cadet answered him in kind, stepped to the edge of the causeway, and flashed his torch to the south. He picked out a car, still some distance away, but approaching at headlong speed. It braked, and came to a stop alongside them.

ККККК It was a small affair, ovoid in shape, and poised on two centerline wheels. The forward, upper surface swung up and disclosed the driver, another cadet. Gaines addressed him briefly in sign language, then hustled Blekinsop ahead of him into the cramped passenger compartment.

ККККК As the glassite hood was being swung back into place, a blast of wind smote them, and the Australian looked up in time to glimpse the last of three much larger vehicles hurtle past them. They were headed north, at a speed of not less than two hundred miles per hour. Blekinsop thought that he had made out the little hats of cadets through the windows of the last of the three, but he could not be sure.

ККККК He had no time to wonder - so violent was the driver's getaway. Gaines ignored the accelerating surge; he was already calling Davidson on the built-in communicator. Comparative silence had settled down once the car was closed. The face of a female operator at the relay station showed on the screen.

ККККК "Get me Davidson-Senior Watch Office!"

ККККК "Oh! It's Mr. Gaines! The Mayor wants to talk to you, Mr. Gaines."

ККККК "Refer him-and get me Davidson. Move!"

ККККК "Yes, sir!"

ККККК "And see here-leave this circuit hooked in to Davidson's board until I tell you personally to cut it."

ККККК "Right." Her face gave way to the Watch Officer's.

ККККК "That you, Chief? We're moving-progress O.K.-no change."

ККККК "Very well You'll be able to raise me on this circuit, or at Subsector Ten office. Clearing now." Davidson's face gave way to the relay operator.

ККККК "Your wife is calling, Mr. Gaines. Will you take it?"

ККККК Gaines muttered something not quite gallant, and answered, "Yes."

ККККК Mrs. Gaines flashed into facsimile. He burst into speech before she could open her mouth. "Darling I'm all right don't worry I'll be home when I get there I've go to go now." It was all out in one breath, and he slapped the control that cleared the screen.

ККККК They slammed to a breath-taking stop alongside the stair leading to the watch office of Subsector Ten, and piled out. Three big lorries were drawn up on the ramp, and three platoons of cadets were ranged in restless ranks alongside them.

ККККК A cadet trotted up to Gaines, and saluted. "Lindsay, sir-Cadet Engineer of the Watch. The Engineer of the Watch requests that you come at once to the control room."

ККККК The Engineer of the Watch looked up as they came in. "Chief-Van Kleeck is calling you."

ККККК "Put him on."

ККККК When Van Kleeck appeared in the big visor, Gaines greeted him with, "Hello, Van. Where are you?"

ККККК "Sacramento Office. Now, listen-"

ККККК "Sacramento? That's good! Report."

ККККК Van Kleeck looked disgruntled. "Report, hell! I'm not your deputy any more, Gaines. Now, you-"

ККККК "What the hell are you talking about?"

ККККК "Listen, and don't interrupt me, and you'll find out. You're through, Gaines. I've been picked as Director of the Provisional Central Committee for the New Order."

ККККК "Van, have you gone off your rocker? What do you mean-the New Order?"

ККККК "You'll find out. This is it-the functionalist revolution. We're in; you're out. We stopped strip twenty just to give you a little taste of what we can do."

ККККК Concerning Function: A Treatise on the Natural Order in Society, the bible of the functionalist movement, was first published in 1930. It claimed to be a scientifically accurate theory of social relations. The author, Paul Decker, disclaimed the "outworn and futile" ideas of democracy and human equality, and substituted a system in which human beings were evaluated "functionally" - that is to say, by the role each filled in the economic sequence. The underlying thesis was that it was right and proper for a man to exercise over his fellows whatever power was inherent in his function, and that any other form of social organization was silly, visionary, and contrary to the "natural order."

ККККК The complete interdependence of modern economic life seems to have escaped him entirely.

ККККК His ideas were dressed up with a glib mechanistic psendopsychology based on the observed orders of precedence among barnyard fowls, and on the famous Pavlov conditioned-reflex experiments on dogs. He failed to note that human beings are neither dogs, nor chickens. Old Doctor Pavlov ignored him entirely, as he had ignored so many others who had, blindly and unscientifically dogmatized about the meaning of his important, but strictly limited, experiments.

ККККК Functionalism did not take hold at once-during the thirties almost everyone, from truckdriver to hatcheck girl, had a scheme for setting the world right in six easy lessons; and a surprising percentage managed to get their schemes published. But it gradually spread. Functionalism was particularly popular among little people everywhere who could persuade themselves that their particular jobs were the indispensable ones, and that, therefore, under the "natural order" they would be top dog. With so many different functions actually indispensable such self-persuasion was easy.

ККККК Gaines stared at Van Kleeck for a moment before replying. "Van," he said slowly, "you don't really think you can get away with this, do you?"

ККККК The little man puffed out his chest. "Why not? We have gotten away with it. You can't start strip twenty until I am ready to let you, and I can stop the whole road, if necessary."

ККККК Gaines was becoming uncomfortably aware that he was dealing with unreasonable conceit, and held himself patiently in check. "Sure you can, Van-but how about the rest of the country? Do you think the United States Army will sit quietly by and let you run California as your private kingdom?"

ККККК Van Kleeck looked sly. "I've planned for that. I've just finished broadcasting a manifesto to all the road technicians in the country, telling them what we have done, and telling them to arise, and claim their rights. With every road in the country stopped, and people getting hungry, I reckon the President will think twice before sending the army to tangle with us. Oh, he could send a force to capture, or kill me - I'm not afraid to die! - but he doesn't dare start shooting down road technicians as a class, because the country can't get along without us - consequently, he'll have to get along with us - on our terms!"

ККККК There was much bitter truth in what he said. If an uprising of the road technicians became general, the government could no more attempt to settle it by force than a man could afford to cure a headache by blowing out his brains. But was the uprising general?

ККККК "Why do you think that the technicians in the rest of the country will follow your lead?"

ККККК "Why not? It's the natural order of things. This is an age of machinery; the real power everywhere is in the technicians, but they have been kidded into not using their power with a lot of obsolete catch-phrases. And of all the classes of technicians, the most important, the absolutely essential, are the road technicians. From now on they run the show - it's the natural order of things!" He turned away for a moment, and fussed with some papers on the desk before him, then be added, "That's all for now, Gaines - I've got to call the White House, and let the President know how things stand. You carry on, and behave yourself, and you won't get hurt."

ККККК Gaines sat quite still for some minutes after the screen cleared. So that's how it was. He wondered what effect, if any, Van Kleeck's invitation to strike had had on road technicians elsewhere. None, he thought - but then he had not dreamed that it could happen among his own technicians. Perhaps he had made a mistake in refusing. to take time to talk to anyone outside the road. No - if he had stopped to talk to the Governor, or the newspapermen, he would still be talking. Still - He dialed Davidson.

ККККК "Any trouble in any other sectors, Dave?"

ККККК "No, Chief."

ККККК "Or on any other road?"

ККККК "None reported."

ККККК "Did you hear my talk with Van Kleeck?"

ККККК "I was cut in-yes."

ККККК "Good. Have Hubbard call the President and the Governor, and tell them that I am strongly opposed to the use of military force as long as the outbreak is limited to this road. Tell them that I will not be responsible if they move in before I ask for help."

ККККК Davidson looked dubious. "Do you think that is wise, Chief?"

ККККК "I do! If we try to blast Van and his red-hots out of their position, we may set off a real, country-wide uprising. Furthermore, he could wreck the road so that God himself couldn't put it back together. What's your rolling tonnage now?"

ККККК "Fifty-three percent under evening peak."

ККККК "How about strip twenty?"

ККККК "Almost evacuated."

ККККК "Good. Get the road clear of all traffic as fast as possible. Better have the Chief of Police place a guard on all entrances to the road to keep out new traffic. Van may stop all strips at any time - or I may need to, myself. Here is my plan: I'm going 'down inside' with these armed cadets. We will work north, overcoming any resistance we meet. You arrange for watch technicians and maintenance crews to follow immediately behind us. Each rotor, as they come to it, is to be cut out, then hooked in to the Stockton control board. It will be a haywire rig, with no safety interlocks, so use enough watch technicians to be able to catch trouble before it happens.

ККККК "If this scheme works, we can move control of the Sacramento Sector right out from under Van's feet, and he can stay in this Sacramento control office until he gets hungry enough to be reasonable."

ККККК He cut off and turned to the Subsector Engineer of the Watch. "Edmunds, give me a helmet - and a pistol."

ККККК "Yes, sir." He opened a drawer, and handed his chief a slender, deadly looking weapon. Gaines belted it on, and accepted a helmet, into which he crammed his head, leaving the anti-noise ear flaps up. Blekinsop cleared his throat.

ККККК "May - uh - may I have one of those helmets?" he inquired.

ККККК "What?" Gaines focused his attention. "Oh - You won't need one, Mr. Blekinsop. I want you to remain right here until you hear from me."

ККККК "But-" The Australian statesman started to speak, thought better of it, and subsided.

ККККК From the doorway the Cadet Engineer of the Watch demanded the Chief Engineer's attention. "Mr. Gaines, there is a technician out here who insists on seeing you - a man named Harvey."

ККККК "Can't do it."

ККККК "He's from the Sacramento Sector, sir."

ККККК "Oh! Send him in."

ККККК Harvey quickly advised Gaines of what he had seen and heard at the guild meeting that afternoon. "I got disgusted and left while they were still jawin', Chief. I didn't think any more about it until twenty stopped rolling. Then I heard that the trouble was in Sacramento Sector, and decided to look you up."

ККККК "How long has this been building up?"

ККККК "Quite some time, I guess. You know how it is - there are a few soreheads everywhere and a lot of them are functionalists. But you can't refuse to work with a man just because he holds different political views. It's a free country."

ККККК "You should have come to me before, Harvey." Harvey looked stubborn. Gaines studied his face. "No, I guess you are right. It's my business to keep tab on your mates, not yours. As you say, it's a free country. Anything else?"

ККККК "Well - now that it has come to this, I thought maybe I could help you pick out the ringleaders."

ККККК "Thanks. You stick with me. We're going 'down inside' and try to clear up this mess."

ККККК The office door opened suddenly, and a technician and a cadet appeared, lugging a burden between them. They deposited it on the floor, and waited.

ККККК It was a young man, quite evidently dead. The front of his dungaree jacket was soggy with blood. Gaines looked at the watch officer. "Who is he?"

ККККК Edmunds broke his stare and answered, "Cadet Hughes-he's the messenger I sent to Sacramento when communication failed. When he didn't report, I sent Marston and Cadet Jenkins after him."

ККККК Gaines muttered something to himself, and turned away. "Come along, Harvey."

ККККК The cadets waiting below had changed in mood. Gaines noted that the boyish intentness for excitement had been replaced by something uglier. 'There was much exchange of hand signals and several appeared to be checking the loading of their pistols.

ККККК He sized them up, then signaled to the cadet leader. There was a short interchange of signals. The cadet saluted, turned to his men, gesticulated - briefly, and brought his arm down smartly. They filed upstairs and into an empty standby room, Gaines following.

ККККК Once inside, and the noise shut out, he addressed them,

ККККК "You saw Hughes brought in-how many of you want a chance to kill the louse that did it?"

ККККК Three of the cadets reacted almost at once, breaking ranks and striding forward. Gaines looked at them coldly. "Very well. You three turn in your weapons, and return to your quarters. Any of the rest of you that think this is a matter of private revenge, or, a hunting party, may join them." He permitted a short silence to endure before continuing. "Sacramento Sector has been seized by unauthorized persons. We are going to retake it - if possible, without loss of life on either side, and, if possible, without stopping the roads. The plan is to take over 'down inside', rotor by rotor, and cross-connect through Stockton, The task assignment of this group is to proceed north 'down inside', locating and overpowering all persons in your path. You will bear in mind the probability that most of the persons you will arrest are completely innocent. Consequently, you will favor the use of sleep gas bombs, and will shoot to kill only as a last resort.

ККККК "Cadet Captain, assign your men in squads of ten each, with a squad leader. Each squad is to form a skirmish line across 'down inside', mounted on tumblebugs, and will proceed north at fifteen miles per hour. Leave an interval of one hundred yards between successive waves of skirmishers. Whenever a man is sighted, the entire leading wave will converge on him, arrest him, and deliver him to a transport car and then fall in as the last wave. You will assign the transports that delivered you here to receive prisoners. Instruct the drivers to keep abreast of the second wave.

ККККК "You will assign an attack group to recapture subsector control offices, but no office is to be attacked until its subsector has been cross-connected with Stockton. Arrange liaison accordingly.

ККККК "Any questions?" He let his eyes run over the faces of the young men. When no one spoke up, he turned back to the cadet in charge. "Very well, sir. Carry out your orders!"

ККККК By the time the dispositions bad been completed, the follow-up crew of technicians had arrived, and Gaines had given the engineer in charge his instructions. The cadets "stood to horse" alongside their poised tumblebugs. The Cadet Captain looked expectantly at Gaines. He nodded, the cadet brought his arm down smartly, and the first wave mounted and moved out.

ККККК Gaines and Harvey mounted tumblebugs, and kept abreast of the Cadet Captain, some twenty-five yards behind the leading wave. It had been a long time since the Chief Engineer had ridden one of these silly-looking little vehicles, and he felt awkward. A tumblebug does not give a man dignity, since it is about the size and shape of a kitchen stool, gyro-stabilized on a single wheel. But it is perfectly adapted to patrolling the maze of machinery 'down inside', since it can go through an opening the width of a man's shoulders, is easily controlled, and will stand patiently upright, waiting, should its rider dismount.

ККККК The little reconnaissance car followed Gaines at a short interval, weaving in and out among the rotors, while the television and audio communicator inside continued as Gaines' link to his other manifold responsibilities.

ККККК The first two hundred yards of the Sacramento Sector passed without incident, then one of the skirmishers sighted a tumblebug parked by a rotor. The technician it served was checking the gauges at the rotor's base, and did not see them approach. He was unarmed and made no resistance, but seemed surprised and indignant, as well as very bewildered.

ККККК The little command group dropped back and permitted the new leading wave to overtake them.

ККККК Three miles farther along the score stood thirty-seven men arrested, none killed. Two of the cadets had received minor wounds, and had been directed to retire. Only four of the prisoners had been armed, one of these Harvey had been able to identify definitely as a ringleader. Harvey expressed a desire to attempt to parley with the outlaws, if any occasion arose. Gaines agreed tentatively. He knew of Harvey's long and honorable record as a labor leader, and was willing to try anything that offered a hope of success with a minimum of violence.

ККККК Shortly thereafter the first wave flushed another technician. He was on the far side of a rotor; they were almost on him before he was, seen. He did not attempt to resist, although he was armed, and the incident would not have been worth recording, had he not been talking into a hush-a-phone which he had plugged into the telephone jack at the base of the rotor.

ККККК Gaines reached the group as the capture was being effected. He snatched at the soft rubber mask of the phone, jerking it away from the man's mouth so violently that he could feel the bone-conduction receiver grate between the man's teeth. The prisoner spat out a piece of broken tooth and glared, but ignored attempts to question him.

ККККК Swift as Gaines had been, it was highly probable that they had lost the advantage of surprise. It was necessary to assume that the prisoner had succeeded in reporting the attack going on beneath the ways. Word was passed down the line to proceed with increased caution.

ККККК Gaines' pessimism was justified shortly. Riding toward them appeared a group of men, as yet several hundred feet away. There were at least a score, but their exact strength could not be determined, as they took advantage of the rotors for cover as they advanced. Harvey looked at Gaines, who nodded, and signaled the Cadet Captain to halt his forces.

ККККК Harvey went on ahead, unarmed, his hands held high above his head, and steering by balancing the weight of his body. The outlaw party checked its speed uncertainly, and finally stopped. Harvey approached within a couple of rods of them and stopped likewise. One of them, apparently the leader, spoke to him in sign language, to which he replied.

ККККК They were too far away and the yellow light too uncertain to follow the discussion. It continued for several minutes, then ensued a pause. The leader seemed uncertain what to do. One of his party rolled forward, returned his pistol to its holster, and conversed with the leader. The leader shook his head at the man's violent gestures.

ККККК The man renewed his argument, but met the same negative response. With a final disgusted wave of his hands, he desisted, drew his pistol, and shot at Harvey. Harvey grabbed at his middle and leaned forward. The man shot again; Harvey jerked, and slid to the ground.

ККККК The Cadet Captain beat Gaines to the draw. The killer looked up as the bullet bit him. He looked as if he were puzzled by some strange occurrence-being too freshly dead to be aware of it.

ККККК The cadets came in shooting. Although the first wave was outnumbered better than two to one, they were helped by the comparative demoralization of the enemy. The odds were nearly even after the first ragged volley. Less than thirty seconds after the first treacherous shot all of the insurgent party were dead, wounded, or under arrest. Gaines' losses were two dead (including the murder of Harvey) and two wounded.

ККККК Gaines modified his tactics to suit the changed conditions. Now that secrecy was gone, speed and striding power were of first importance. The second wave was directed to close in practically to the heels of the first. The third wave was brought up to within twenty-five yards of the second. These three waves were to ignore unarmed men, leaving them to be picked up by the fourth wave, but they were directed to shoot on sight any person carrying arms.

ККККК Gaines cautioned them to shoot to wound, rather than to kill, but he realized that his admonishment was almost impossible to obey. There would be killing. Well, he had not wanted it, but he felt that he had no choice. Any armed outlaw was a potential killer - he could not, in fairness to his own men, lay too many restrictions on them.

ККККК When the arrangements for the new marching order were completed, he signed the Cadet Captain to go ahead, and the first and second waves started off together at the top speed of which the tumblebugs were capable - not quite eighteen miles per hour. Gaines followed them.

ККККК He swerved to avoid Harvey's body, glancing involuntarily down as he did so. The face was an ugly jaundiced yellow under the sodium arc, but it was set in a death mask of rugged beauty in which the strong fibre of the dead man's character was evident. Seeing this, Gaines did not regret so much his order to shoot, but the deep sense of loss of personal honor lay more heavily on him than before.

ККККК They passed several technicians during the next few minutes, but had no occasion to shoot. Gaines was beginning to feel somewhat hopeful of a reasonably bloodless victory, when he noticed a change in the pervading throb of machinery which penetrated even through the heavy anti-noise pads of his helmet. He lifted an ear pad in time to hear the end of a rumbling diminuendo as the rotors and rollers slowed to rest.

ККККК The road was stopped.

ККККК He shouted, "Halt your men!" to the Cadet Captain. His words echoed hollowly in the unreal silence.

ККККК The top of the reconnaissance car swung up as he turned and hurried to it. "Chief!" the cadet within called out, "relay station calling you."

ККККК The girl in the visor screen gave way to Davidson as soon as she recognized Gaines' face. "Chief," Davidson said at once, "Van Kleeck's calling you."

ККККК "Who stopped the road?"

ККККК "He did."

ККККК "Any other major change in the situation?"

ККККК "No-the road was practically empty when he stopped it."

ККККК "Good. Give me Van Kleeck."

ККККК The chief conspirator's face was livid with uncurbed anger when he identified Gaines. He burst into speech. "So! You thought I was fooling, eh? What do you think now, Mister Chief Engineer Gaines?"

ККККК Gaines fought down an impulse to tell him exactly what he thought, particularly about Van Kleeck. Everything about the short man's manner affected him like a squeaking slate pencil.

ККККК But he could not afford the luxury of speaking his mind. He strove to get just the proper tone into his voice which would soothe the other man's vanity. "I've got to admit that you've won this trick, Van - the roadway is stopped - but don't think I didn't take you seriously. I've watched your work too long to underrate you. I know you mean what you say."

ККККК Van Kleeck was pleased by the tribute, but tried not to show it. "Then why don't you get smart, and give up?" he demanded belligerently. "You can't win."

ККККК "Maybe not, Van, but you know I've got to try. Besides," he went on, "why can't I win? You said yourself that I could call on the whole United States Army."

ККККК Van Kleeck grinned triumphantly. "You see that?"К He held up a pear-shaped electric push button, attached to a long cord. "If I push that, it will blow a path right straight across the ways-blow it to Kingdom Come. And just for good measure I'll take an ax, and wreck this control station before I leave."

ККККК Gaines wished wholeheartedly that he knew more about psychiatry. Well - he'd just have to do his best, and trust to horse sense to give him the right answers. "That's pretty drastic, Van, but I don't see how we can give up."

ККККК "No? You'd better have another think. If you force me to blow up the road, how about all the people that will be blown up along with it?"

ККККК Gaines thought furiously. He did not doubt that Van Kleeck would carry out his threat; his very phraseology, the childish petulance of "If you force me to do this-" betrayed the dangerous irrationality of his mental processes. And such an explosion anywhere in the thickly populated Sacramento Sector would be likely to wreck one, or more, apartment houses, and would be certain to kill shopkeepers on the included segment of strip twenty, as well as chance bystanders. Van was absolutely right; he dare not risk the lives of bystanders who were not aware of the issue and had not consented to the hazard - even if the road never rolled again.

ККККК For that matter, he did not relish chancing major damage to the road itself-but it was the danger to innocent life that left him helpless.

ККККК A tune ran through his head-"Hear them hum; watch them run. Oh, our work is never done-" What to do? What to do? "While you ride; while you glide; we are-"

ККККК This wasn't getting anyplace.

ККККК He turned back to the screen. "Look, Van, you don't want to blow up the road unless you have to, I'm sure. Neither do I. Suppose I come up to your headquarters, and we talk this thing over. Two reasonable men ought to be able to make a settlement."

ККККК Van Kleeck was suspicious. "Is this some sort of a trick?"

ККККК "How can it be? I'll come alone, and unarmed, just as fast as my car can get there."

ККККК "How about your men?"

ККККК "They will sit where they are until I'm back. You can put out observers to make sure of it."

ККККК Van Kleeck stalled for a moment, caught between the fear of a trap, and the pleasure of having his erstwhile superior come to him to sue for terms. At last he grudgingly consented.

ККККК Gaines left his instructions and told Davidson what he intended to do. "If I'm not back within an hour, you're on your own, Dave."

ККККК "Be careful, Chief."

ККККК "I will."

ККККК He evicted the cadet driver from the reconnaissance car and ran it down the ramp into the causeway, then headed north and gave it the gun. Now he would have a chance to collect his thoughts, even at two hundred miles per hour. Suppose he pulled off this trick-there would still have to be some changes made. Two lessons stood out like sore thumbs: First, the strips must be cross-connected with safety interlocks so that adjacent strips would slow down, or stop, if a strip's speed became dangerously different from those adjacent. No repetition of what happened on twenty!

ККККК But that was elementary, a mere mechanical detail. The real failure had been in men, Well, the psychological classification tests must be improved to insure that the roads employed only conscientious, reliable men. But hell's bells - that was just exactly what the present classification tests were supposed to insure beyond question. To the best of his knowledge there had never been a failure from the improved Hunim-Wadsworth-Burton method - not until today in the Sacramento Sector. How had Van Kleeck gotten one whole sector of temperament - classified men to revolt?

ККККК It didn't make sense.

ККККК Personnel did not behave erratically without a reason. One man might be unpredictable, but in large numbers, they were as dependable as machines, or figures. They could be measured, examined, classified. His inner eye automatically pictured the personnel office, with its rows of filing cabinets, its clerks - He'd got it! He'd got it! Van Kleeck, as Chief Deputy, was ex officio personnel officer for the entire road!

ККККК It was the only solution that covered all the facts. The personnel officer alone had the perfect opportunity to pick out all the bad apples and concentrate them in one barrel. Gaines was convinced beyond any reasonable doubt that there had been skullduggery, perhaps for years, with the temperament classification tests, and that Van Kleeck had deliberately transferred the kind of men he needed to one sector, after falsifying their records.

ККККК And that taught another lesson-tighter tests for officers, and no officer to be trusted with classification and assignment without close supervision and inspection. Even he, Gaines, should be watched in that respect. Qui custodiet ipsos custodes? Who will guard those selfsame guardians? Latin might be obsolete, but those old Romans weren't dummies.

ККККК He at last knew wherein he had failed, and he derived melancholy pleasure from the knowledge. Supervision and inspection, check and re-check, was the answer. It would be cumbersome and inefficient, but it seemed that adequate safeguards always involved some loss of efficiency.

ККККК He should not have entrusted so much authority to Van Kleeck without knowing more about him. He still should know more about him- He touched the emergency-stop button, and brought the car to a dizzying halt. "Relay station! See if you can raise my office."

ККККК Dolores' face looked out from the screen. "You're still there-good!" he told her. "I was afraid you'd gone home."

ККККК "I came back, Mr. Gaines."

ККККК "Good girl. Get me Van Kleeck's personal file jacket. I want to see his classification record."

ККККК She was back with it in exceptionally short order and read from it the symbols and percentages. He nodded repeatedly as the data checked his hunches - masked introvert-inferiority complex. It checked.

ККККК "'Comment of the Board:'" she read, "'In spite of the potential instability shown by maxima A, and D on the consolidated profile curve, the Board is convinced that this officer is, nevertheless, fitted for duty. He has an exceptionally fine record, and is especially adept in handling men. He is therefore recommended for retention and promotion."

ККККК "That's all, Dolores. Thanks."

ККККК "Yes, Mr. Gaines!"

ККККК "I'm off for a showdown. Keep your fingers crossed."

ККККК "But Mr. Gaines-" Back in Fresno, Dolores stared wide-eyed at an empty screen.

ККККК "Take me to Mr. Van Kleeck!"

ККККК The man addressed took his gun out of Gaines' ribs - reluctantly, Gaines thought - and indicated that the Chief Engineer should precede him up the stairs. Gaines climbed out of the car, and complied.

ККККК Van Kleeck had set himself up in the sector control room proper, rather than the administrative office. With him were half a dozen men, all armed.

ККККК "Good evening, Director Van Kleeck." The little man swelled visibly at Gaines' acknowledgment of his assumed rank.

ККККК "We don't go in much around here for titles," he said, with ostentatious casualness. "Just call me Van. Sit down, Gaines."

ККККК Gaines did so. It was necessary to get those other men out. He looked at them with an expression of bored amusement. "Can't you handle one unarmed man by yourself, Van? Or don't the functionalists trust each other?"

ККККК Van Kleeck's face showed his annoyance, but Gaines' smile was undaunted. Finally the smaller man picked up a pistol from his desk, and motioned toward the door. "Get out, you guys!"

ККККК "But Van-"

ККККК "Get out, I said!"

ККККК When they were alone, Van Kleeck picked up the electric push button which Gaines had seen in the visor screen, and pointed his pistol at his former chief. "O.K.," he growled, "try any funny stuff, and off it goes! What's your proposition?"

ККККК Gaines' irritating smile grew broader. Van Kleeck scowled. "What's so damn funny?" he said.

ККККК Gaines granted him an answer. "You are, Van - honest, this is rich. You start a functionalist revolution, and the only function you can think of to perform is to blow up the road that justifies your title. Tell me," he went on, "what is it you are so scared of?"

ККККК "I am not afraid!"

ККККК "Not afraid? You? Sifting there, ready to commit hara-kari with that toy push button, and you tell me that you aren't afraid. If your buddies knew how near you are to throwing away what they've fought for, they'd shoot you in a second. You're afraid of them, too, aren't you?"

ККККК Van Kleek thrust the push button away from him, and stood up; "I am not afraid!" he screamed, and came around the desk toward Gaines.

ККККК Gaines sat where he was, and laughed. "But you are! You're afraid of me, this minute. You're afraid I'll have you on the carpet for the way you do your job. You're afraid the cadets won't salute you. You're afraid they are laughing behind your back. You're afraid of using the wrong fork at dinner. You're afraid people are looking at you - and you are afraid that they won't notice you."

ККККК "I am not!" he protested. "You - You dirty, stuck-up snob! Just because you went to a high-hat school you think you're better than anybody." He choked, and became incoherent, fighting to keep back tears of rage. "You, and your nasty little cadets-"

ККККК Gaines eyed him cautiously. The weakness in the man's character was evident now - he wondered why he had not seen it before. He recalled how ungracious Van Kleeck had been one time when he had offered to help him with an intricate piece of figuring.

ККККК The problem now was to play on his weakness, to keep him so preoccupied that he would not remember the peril-laden push button. He must be caused to center the venom of his twisted outlook on Gaines, to the exclusion of every other thought.

ККККК But he must not goad him too carelessly, or a shot from across the room might put an end to Gaines, and to any chance of avoiding a bloody, wasteful struggle for control of the road.

ККККК Gaines chuckled. "Van," he said, "you are a pathetic little shrimp. That was a dead give-away. I understand you perfectly; you're a third-rater, Van, and all your life you've been afraid that someone would see through you, and send you back to the foot of the class. Director - phiu! If you are the best the functionalists can offer, we can afford to ignore them - they'll fold up from their own rotten inefficiency." He swung around in his chair, deliberately turning his back on Van Kleeck and his gun.

ККККК Van Kleeck advanced on his tormentor, halted a few feet away, and shouted: "You - I'll show you. - I'll put a bullet in you; that's what I'll do!"

ККККК Gaines swung back around, got up, and walked steadily toward him. "Put that popgun down before you hurt yourself."

ККККК Van Kleeck retreated a step. "Don't you come near me!" he screamed. "Don't you come near me - or I'll shoot you - see if I don't!"

ККККК This is it, thought Gaines, and dived.

ККККК The pistol went off alongside his ear. Well, that one didn't get him. They were on the floor. Van Kleeck was hard to hold, for a little man. Where was the gun? There! He had it. He broke away.

ККККК Van Kleeck did not get up. He lay sprawled on the floor, tears streaming out of his closed eyes, blubbering like a frustrated child.

ККККК Gaines looked at him with something like compassion in his eyes, and hit him carefully behind the ear with the butt of the pistol. He walked over to the door, and listened for a moment, then locked it cautiously.

ККККК The cord from the push button led to the control board. He examined the hookup, and disconnected it carefully. That done, he turned to the televisor at the control desk, and called Fresno.

ККККК "Okay, Dave," he said, "Let 'em attack now - and for the love of Pete, hurry!" Then he cleared the screen, not wishing his watch officer to see how he was shaking.

ККККК Back in Fresno the next morning Gaines paced around the Main Control Room with a fair degree of contentment in his heart. The roads were rolling - before long they would be up to speed again. It had been a long night. Every engineer, every available cadet, had been needed to, make the inch-by-inch inspection of Sacramento Sector which he had required. Then they had to cross-connect around two wrecked subsector control boards. But the roads were rolling - he could feel their rhythm up through the floor.

ККККК He stopped beside a haggard, stubbly-bearded man. "Why don't you go home, Dave?" be asked. "McPherson can carry on from here."

ККККК "How about yourself, Chief? You don't look like a June bride."

ККККК "Oh, I'll catch a nap in my office after a bit. I called my wife, and told her I couldn't make it. She's coming down here to meet me."

ККККК "Was she sore?"

ККККК "Not very. You know how women are." He turned back to the instrument board, and watched the clicking 'busy-bodies' assembling the data from six sectors. San Diego Circle, Angeles Sector, Bakersfield Sector, Fresno Sector, Stockton-Stockton? Stockton! Good grief! - Blekinsop! He had left a cabinet minister of Australia cooling his heels in the Stockton office all night long!

ККККК He started for the door, while calling over his shoulder, "Dave, will you order a car for me? Make it a fast one!" He was across the hail, and had his head inside his private office before Davidson could acknowledge the order.

ККККК "Dolores!"

ККККК "Yes, Mr. Gaines."

ККККК "Call my wife, and tell her I had to go to Stockton. If she's already left home, just have her wait here. And Dolores-"

ККККК "Yes, Mr. Gaines?"

ККККК "Calm her down."

ККККК She bit her lip, but her face was impassive. "Yes, Mr. Gaines."

ККККК "That's a good girl." He was out and started down the stairway. When he reached road level, the sight of the rolling strips warmed him inside and made him feel almost cheerful.

ККККК He strode briskly away toward a door marked ACCESS DOWN, whistling softly to himself. He opened the door, and the rumbling, roaring rhythm from 'down inside' seemed to pick up the tune even as it drowned out the sound of his whistling.

"Hie! Hie! Hee!

The rotor men are we-

Check off your sectors loud and strong! One! Two! Three!

Anywhere you go

You are bound to know

That your roadways are rolling along!"

Robert A Heinlein

Blowups Happen

ККККК "PUT down that wrench!"

ККККК The man addressed turned slowly around and faced the speaker. His expression was hidden by a grotesque helmet, part of a heavy, lead-and-cadmium armor which shielded his entire body, but the tone of voice in which he answered showed nervous exasperation.

ККККК "What the hell's eating on you, doc?" He made no move to replace the tool in question.

ККККК They faced each other like two helmeted, arrayed fencers, watching for an opening. The first speaker's voice came from behind his mask a shade higher in key and more peremptory in tone. "You heard me, Harper. Put down that wrench at once, and come away from that 'trigger'. Erickson!"

ККККК A third armored figure came from the far end of the control room. "What 'cha want, doe?"

ККККК "Harper is relieved from watch. You take over as engineer-of-the-watch. Send for the standby engineer."

ККККК "Very well." His voice and manner were phlegmatic, as he accepted the situation without comment. The atomic engineer whom he had just relieved glanced from one to the other, then carefully replaced the wrench in its rack.

ККККК "Just as you say, Doctor Silard, but send for your relief, too. I shall demand an immediate hearing!" Harper swept indignantly out, his lead-sheathed boots clumping on the floorplates.

ККККК Doctor Silard waited unhappily for the ensuing twenty minutes until his own relief arrived. Perhaps he had been hasty. Maybe he was wrong in thinking that Harper had at last broken under the strain of tending the most dangerous machine in the world-the atomic breeder plant. But if he had made a mistake, it had to be on the safe side-slips must not happen in this business; not when a slip might result in atomic detonation of nearly ten tons of uranium-238, U-235, and plutonium.

ККККК He tried to visualize what that would mean, and failed. He had 'been told that uranium was potentially twenty million times as explosive as T.N.T. The figure was meaningless that way. He thought of the pile instead as a hundred million tons of high explosive, or as a thousand Hiroshimas. It still did not mean anything. He had once seen an A-bomb dropped, when he had been serving as a temperament analyst for the Air Forces. He could not imagine the explosion of a thousand such bombs; his. brain balked. Perhaps these atomic engineers could. Perhaps, with their greater mathematical ability and closer comprehension of what actually went on inside the nuclear fission chamber, they had some vivid glimpse of the mind-shattering horror locked up beyond that shield. If so, no wonder they tended to blow up- He sighed. Erickson looked away from the controls of the linear resonant accelerator on which he had been making some adjustment.

ККККК "What's the trouble, doc?"

ККККК "Nothing. I'm sorry I had to relieve Harper."

ККККК Silard could feel the shrewd glance of the big Scandinavian. "Not getting the jitters yourself, are you, doc? Sometimes you squirrel-sleuths blow up, too-"

ККККК "Me? I don't think so. I'm scared of that thing in there-I'd be crazy if I weren't."

ККККК "So am I," Erickson told him soberly, and went back to his work at the controls of the accelerator. The accelerator proper lay beyond another shielding barrier; its snout disappeared in the final shield between it and the pile and fed a steady stream of terrifically speeded up sub-atomic bullets to the beryllium target located within the pile itself. The tortured beryllium yielded up neutrons, which shot out in all directions through the uranium mass. Some of these neutrons struck uranium atoms squarely on their nuclei and split them in two. The fragments were new elements, barium, xenon, rubidium-depending on the portions in which each atom split. The new elements were usually unstable isotopes and broke down into a, dozen more elements by radioactive disintegration in a progressive reaction.

ККККК But these second transmutations were comparatively safe; it was the original splitting of the uranium nucleus, with the release of the awe-inspiring energy that bound it together-an incredible two hundred million electron volts-that was important-and perilous.

ККККК For, while uranium was used to breed other fuels by bombarding it with neutrons, the splitting itself gives up more neutrons which in turn may land in other uranium nuclei and split them. If conditions are favorable to a progressively increasing reaction of this sort, it may get out of hand, build up in an unmeasurable fraction of a micro-second into a complete atomic explosion-an explosion which would dwarf an atom bomb to pop-gun size; an explosion so far beyond all human experience as to be as completely incomprehensible as the idea of personal death. It could be feared, but not understood.

ККККК But a self-perpetuating sequence of nuclear splitting, just wider the level of complete explosion, was necessary to the operation of the breeder plant. To split the first uranium nucleus by bombarding it with neutrons from the beryllium target took more power than the death of the atom gave up. In order that the breeder pile continue to operate it was imperative that each atom split by a neutron from the beryllium target should cause the splitting of many more.

ККККК It was equally imperative that this chain of reactions should always tend to dampen, to die out. It must not build up, or the uranium mass would explode within a time interval too short to be measured by any means whatsoever.

ККККК Nor would there be anyone left to measure it.

ККККК The atomic engineer on duty at the pile could control this reaction by means of the "trigger", a term the engineers used to include the linear resonant accelerator, the beryllium target, the cadmium damping rods, and adjacent controls, instrument board, and power sources. That is to say he could vary the bombardment on the beryllium target to increase or decrease the level of operation of the plant, he could change the "effective mass" of the pile with the cadmium dampers, and he could tell from his instruments that the internal reaction was dampened-or, rather, that it had been dampened the split second before. He could not possibly know what was actually happening now within the pile-subatomic speeds are too great and the time intervals too small. He was like the bird that flew backward; he could see where he had been, but never knew where he was going.

ККККК Nevertheless, it was his responsibility, and his alone, not only to maintain the pile at a high efficiency, but to see that the reaction never passed the critical point and progressed into mass explosion.

ККККК But that was impossible. He could not be sure; he could never be sure.

ККККК He could bring to the job all of the skill and learning of the finest technical education, and use it to reduce the hazard to the lowest mathematical probability, but the blind laws of chance which appear to rule in sub-atomic action might turn up a royal flush against him and defeat his most skillful play.

ККККК And each atomic engineer knew it, knew that he gambled not only with his own life, but with the lives of countless others, perhaps with the lives of every human being on the planet. Nobody knew quite what such an explosion would do. A conservative estimate assumed that, in addition to destroying the plant and its personnel completely, it would tear a chunk out of the populous and heavily traveled Los Angeles-Oklahoma Road-City a hundred miles to the north.

ККККК The official, optimistic viewpoint on which the plant had been authorized by the Atomic Energy Commission was based on mathematics which predicted that such a mass of uranium would itself be disrupted on a molar scale, and thereby limit the area of destruction, before progressive and accelerated atomic explosion could infect the entire mass.

ККККК The atomic engineers, by and large, did not place faith in the official theory. They judged theoretical mathematical prediction for what it was worth-precisely nothing, until confirmed by experiment.

ККККК But even from the official viewpoint, each atomic engineer while on watch carried not only his own life in his hands, but the lives of many others-how many, it was better not to think about. No pilot, no general, no surgeon ever carried such a daily, inescapable, ever present weight of responsibility for the lives of others as these men carried every time they went on watch, every time they touched a venire screw, or read a dial.

ККККК They were selected not alone for their intelligence and technical training, but quite as much for their characters and sense of social responsibility. Sensitive men were needed-men who could fully appreciate the importance of the charge entrusted to them; no other sort would do. But the burden of responsibility was too great to be borne indefinitely by a sensitive man.

ККККК It was, of necessity, a psychologically unstable condition. Insanity was an occupational disease.

ККККК Doctor Cummings appeared, still buckling the straps of the armor worn to guard against stray radiation. "What's up?" he asked Silard.

ККККК "I had to relieve Harper."

ККККК "So I guessed. I met him coming up. He was sore as hell-just glared at me."

ККККК "I know. He wants an immediate hearing. That's why I had to send for you."

ККККК Cummings grunted, then nodded toward the engineer, anonymous in all-enclosing armor. "Who'd I draw?"

ККККК "Erickson."

ККККК "Good enough. Squareheads can't go crazy-eh, Gus?"

ККККК Erickson looked up momentarily, and answered, "That's your problem," and returned to his work. Cummings turned back to Silard, and commented, "Psychiatrists don't seem very popular around here. O.K.-I relieve you, sir."

ККККК "Very well, sir."

ККККК Silard threaded his way through the zig-zag in the outer shield which surrounded the control room. Once outside this outer shield, he divested himself of the cumbersome armor, disposed of it in the locker room provided, and hurried to a lift. He left the lift at the tube station, underground, and looked around for an unoccupied capsule. Finding one, he strapped himself in, sealed the gasketed door, and settled the back of his head into the rest against the expected surge of acceleration.

ККККК Five minutes later he knocked at the door of the office of the general superintendent, twenty miles away.

ККККК The breeder plant proper was located in a bowl of desert hills on the Arizona plateau. Everything not necessary to the immediate operation of the plant-administrative offices, television station, and so forth-lay beyond the hills. The buildings housing these auxiliary functions were of the most durable construction technical ingenuity could devise. It was hoped that, if the tag ever came, occupants would stand approximately the chance of survival of a man going over Niagara Falls in a barrel.

ККККК Silard knocked again. He was greeted by a male secretary, Steinke. Silard recalled reading his case history. Formerly one of the most brilliant of the young engineers, he had suffered a blanking out of the ability to handle mathematical operations. A plain case of fugue, but there had been nothing that the poor devil could do about it- he had been anxious enough with his conscious mind to stay on duty. He had been rehabilitated as an office worker.

ККККК Steinke ushered him into the superintendent's private office. Harper was there before him, and returned his greeting with icy politeness. The superintendent was cordial, but Silard thought he. looked tired, as if the twenty-four-hour-a-day strain was too much for him.

ККККК "Come in, Doctor, come In. Sit down. Now. tell me about this. I'm a little' surprised. I thought Harper was one of my steadiest men."

ККККК "I don't say he isn't, sir."

ККККК "Well?"

ККККК "He may be perfectly all right, but your instructions to me are not to take any chances."

ККККК "Quite right" The superintendent gave the engineer, silent and tense in his chair, a troubled glance, then returned his attention to Silard. "Suppose you tell me about it."

ККККК Silard took a deep breath. "While on watch as psychological observer at the control station I noticed that the engineer of the watch seemed preoccupied and less responsive to stimuli than usual. During my off-watch observation of this case, over a period of the past several days, I have suspected an increasing lack of attention. For example, while playing contract bridge, he now occasionally asks for a review of the bidding which is contrary to his former behavior pattern.

ККККК "Other similar data are available. To cut it short, at 3:11 today, while on watch, I saw Harper, with no apparent reasonable purpose in mind, pick up a wrench used only for operating the valves of the water shield and approach the trigger. I relieved him of duty, and sent him out of the control room."

ККККК "Chief!" Harper calmed himself somewhat and continued, "If this witch-doctor knew a wrench from an oscillator, he'd know what I was doing. The wrench was on the wrong rack. I noticed it, and picked it up to return it to its proper place. On the way, I stopped to check the readings!"

ККККК The superintendent turned inquiringly to Doctor Shard. "That may be true- Granting that it is true," answered the psychiatrist doggedly, "my diagnosis still stands. Your behavior pattern has altered; your present actions are unpredictable, and I can't approve you for responsible work without a complete check-up."

ККККК General Superintendent King drummed on the desktop, and sighed. Then he spoke slowly to Harper, "Cal, you're a good boy, and believe me, I know how you feel. But: there is no way to avoid it-you've got to go up for the psychometricals, and accept whatever disposition the board makes of you." He paused, but Harper maintained an expressionless silence. "Tell you what, son-why don't, you take a few days' leave? Then, when you come back,' you can go up before the board, or transfer to another department away from the bomb, whichever you prefer." He looked to Shard for approval, and received a nod.

ККККК But Harper was not mollified. "No, chief," he protested. "It won't do. Can't you' see what's wrong? It's this constant supervision. Somebody always watching the back of your neck, expecting you to go crazy. A man can't even shave in private. We're jumpy about the most innocent acts, for fear some head doctor, half batty himself, will see it and decide it's a sign we're slipping-good grief, what do you expect!"

ККККК His outburst having run its course, he subsided into a flippant cynicism that did" not quite jell. "O.K.-never mind the strait jacket; I'll go quietly. You're a good Joe in spite of it, chief," he added, "and I'm glad to have worked under you. Goodbye."

ККККК King kept the pain in his eyes out of his voice. 'Wait a minute, Cal-you're not through here. Let's forget about the vacation.' I'm transferring you to the radiation laboratory. You belong in research anyhow; I'd never have spared you from it to stand watches if I hadn't been short on number-one men.

ККККК "As for the constant psychological observation, I hate it as much as you do. I don't suppose you know that they watch me about twice as hard as they watch you duty engineers."

ККККК Harper showed his surprise, but Shard nodded in sober conflation. "But we have to have this supervision. . . Do you remember Manning? No, he was before your time. We didn't have' psychological observers then. Manning was able and brilliant. Furthermore, he was always cheerful; nothing seemed to bother him.

ККККК "I was glad to have him on the pile, for he was always alert, and never seemed nervous about working with it-in fact he grew more buoyant and cheerful the longer he stood control watches. I should have known that was a very bad sign, but I didn't, and there was no observer to 'tell me so.

ККККК "His technician had to slug him one night. . . He found him dismounting the, safety interlocks on the cadmium assembly. Poor old Manning never pulled out of it- he's been violently insane ever since. After Manning cracked up, we worked out the present system of two qualified engineers and an observer for every watch. It seemed the only thing to do."

ККККК "I suppose so, chief," Harper mused, his face no longer sullen, but still unhappy. "It's a hell of a situation just the same."

ККККК "That's putting it mildly." He got up and put out his hand. "Cal, unless you're dead set on leaving us, I'll expect to see you at the radiation laboratory tomorrow. Another thing-I don't often recommend this, but it might do you good to get drunk tonight."

ККККК King had signed to Shard to remain after the young man left. Once the door was closed he turned back to the psychiatrist. "There goes another one-and one of the best. Doctor, what am I going to do?"

ККККК Silard pulled at his cheek. "I don't know," he admitted. "The hell of it is, Harper's absolutely right. It does increase the strain on them to know that they are being watched... and yet they have to be watched. Your psychiatric staff isn't doing too well, either. It makes us nervous to be around the Big Bomb... the more so because we don't understand it. And it's a strain on us to be hated and despised as we are. Scientific detachment is difficult under such conditions; I'm getting jumpy myself."

ККККК King ceased pacing the floor and faced the doctor. "But there must be some solution-" he insisted.

ККККК Silard shook his head. "It's beyond me, Superintendent. I see no solution from the standpoint of psychology."

ККККК "No? Hmm-Doctor, who is the top man in your field?" "Eh?"

ККККК "Who is the recognized number-one man in handling this sort of thing?"

ККККК "Why, that's hard to say. Naturally, there isn't any one, leading psychiatrist in the world; we specialize too much." I know what you mean, though. You don't want the best industrial temperament psychometrician; you want the" best all-around man for psychoses non-lesional and situational. That would be Lentz."

ККККК "Go on."

ККККК "Well- He covers the whole field of environment adjustment. He's the man that correlated the theory of optimum tonicity with the relaxation technique that Korzybski had developed empirically. He actually worked under, Korzybski himself, when he was a young student-it's the only thing he's vain about."

ККККК "He did? Then he must be pretty old; Koxzybski died in- What year did he die?"

ККККК "I started to say that you must know his work in symbology-theory of abstraction and calculus of statement, all that sort of thing-because of its applications to engineering and mathematical physics."

ККККК "That Lentz-yes, of course. But I had never thought of him as a psychiatrist."

ККККК "No, you wouldn't, in your field. Nevertheless, we are inclined to credit him with having done as much to check and reduce the pandemic neuroses of the Crazy Years as any other man, and more than any man left alive."

ККККК "Where is he?"

ККККК "Why, Chicago, I suppose. At the Institute."

ККККК "Get him here."

ККККК "Get him down here. Get on that visiphone and locate him. Then have Steinke call the Port of Chicago, and hire a stratocar to stand by for him. I want to see him as soon as possible-before the day is out." King sat up in his chair with the air of a man who is once more master of himself and the situation. His spirit knew that warming replenishment that comes only with reaching a decision. The harassed expression was gone.

ККККК Silard looked dumbfounded. "But, superintendent," he expostulated, "you can't ring for Doctor Lentz as if he were a junior clerk. He's-he's Lentz."

ККККК "Certainly-that's why I want him. But I'm not a neurotic clubwoman looking for sympathy, either. He'll come. If necessary, turn on the heat from Washington. Have the White House call him. But get him here at once. Move!" King strode out of the office.

ККККК When Erickson came off watch he inquired around and found that Harper had left for town. Accordingly, he dispensed with dinner at the base, shifted into "drinkin'clothes", and allowed himself to be dispatched via tube to Paradise. Paradise, Arizona, was a hard little boom town, which owed its existence to the breeder plant. It was dedicated exclusively to the serious business of detaching the personnel of the plant from their inordinate salaries. In this worthy project they received much cooperation from the plant personnel themselves, each of whom was receiving from twice to ten times as much money each payday as he had ever received in any other job, and none of whom was certain of living long enough to justify saving for old' age. Besides, the company carried a sinking fund in Manhattan for their dependents; why be stingy?

ККККК It was claimed, with some truth, that any entertainment or luxury obtainable in New York City could be purchased in Paradise. The local chamber of commerce had appropriated the slogan of Reno, Nevada, "Biggest Little City in the World." The Reno boosters retaliated by claiming that, while a town that close to the atomic breeder plant undeniably brought thoughts of death and the hereafter; Hell's Gates would be a more appropriate name.

ККККК Erickson started making the rounds. There were twenty-seven places licensed to sell liquor in the six blocks of the main street of Paradise. He expected to find Harper in one of them, and, knowing the man's habits and tastes, he expected to find him in the first two three he tried.

ККККК He was not mistaken. He found Harper sitting alone a table in the rear of deLancey's Sans Souci Bar. Lancey's was a favorite of both of them. There was old-fashioned comfort about its chrome-plated bar red leather furniture that appealed to them more than the spectacular fittings of the up-to-the-minute place. DeLancey was conservative; he stuck to indirect light and soft music; his hostesses were required to be fully clothed, even in the evening. The fifth of Scotch in front of Harper was about two thirds full. Erickson shoved three fingers in front Harper's face and demanded, "Count!"

ККККК "Three," announced Harper. "Sit down, Gus."

ККККК "That's correct," Erickson agreed, sliding his big frame into a low-slung chair. "You'll do-for now. What the outcome?"

ККККК "Have a drink. Not," he went on, "that this Scotch any good. I think Lance has taken to watering it. I surrendered, horse and foot."

ККККК "Lance wouldn't do that-stick to that theory anti you'll sink in the sidewalk up to your knees. How come you capitulated? I thought you planned to beat 'em about the head and shoulders, at least." 'ККККК ККККК I

ККККК "I did," mourned Harper, "but, cripes, Gus, the chief is right. If a brain mechanic says you're punchy, he has got to back him up, and take you off the watch list. The chief can't afford to take a chance."

ККККК "Yeah, the chief's all right, but I can't learn to love our dear psychiatrists. Tell you what-let's find us one, and, see if he can feel pain. I'll hold him while you slug 'im."

ККККК "Oh, forget it, Gus. Have a drink."

ККККК "A pious thought-but not Scotch. I'm going to have a martini; we ought to eat pretty soon."

ККККК "I'll have one, too."

ККККК "Do you good." Erickson lifted his blond head and bellowed, "Israfell"

ККККК A large, black person appeared at his elbow. "Mistuh Erickson! Yes, sub!"

ККККК "Izzy, fetch two martinis. Make mine with Italian." He turned back to Harper. "What are you going to do now, Cal?"

ККККК "Radiation laboratory."

ККККК "Well, that's not so bad. I'd like to have a go at the matter of rocket fuels 'myself. I've got some ideas."

ККККК Harper looked mildly amused. "You mean atomic fuel for interplanetary flight? That problem's pretty well exhausted. No, son, the ionosphere is the ceiling until we think up something better than rockets. Of course, you could mount a pile in a ship, and figure out some jury rig to convert some of its output into push, but where does that get you? You would still have a terrible mass-ratio because of the shielding and I'm betting you couldn't convert one percent into thrust. That's disregarding the question of getting the company to lend you a power pile for anything that doesn't pay dividends."

ККККК Erickson looked balky. "I don't concede that you've covered all the alternatives. What have we got? The early rocket boys went right ahead trying to build better rockets, serene in the belief that, by the time they could build rockets good enough to fly to the moon, a fuel would be perfected that would do the trick. And they did build ships that were good enough-you could take any ship that makes the Antipodes run, and refit it for the moon-if you had a fuel that was adequate. But they haven't got it.

ККККК "And why not? Because we let 'em down, that's why. Because they're still depending on molecular energy, on chemical reactions, with atomic power sitting right here in our laps. It's not their fault-old D. D. Harriman had Rockets Consolidated underwrite the whole first issue of Antarctic Pitchblende, and took a big slice of it himself, in the expectation that we would produce something usable in the way of a concentrated rocket fuel. Did we do it? Like hell! The company went hog-wild for immediate commercial exploitation, and there's no atomic rocket fuel yet."

ККККК "But you haven't stated it properly," Harper objected. "There are just two forms of atomic power-available, radioactivity and atomic disintegration. The first is too slow; the energy is there, but you can't wait years for it to come out-not in a rocket ship. The second we can only manage in a large power plant. There you are-stymied."

ККККК "We haven't really tried," Erickson answered. "The power is there; we ought to give 'em a decent fuel"

ККККК "What would you call a 'decent fuel'?"

ККККК Erickson ticked it off. "A small enough critical mass so that all, or almost all, the energy could be taken up as heat by the reaction mass-I'd like the reaction mass to be ordinary water. Shielding that would have to be no more than a lead and cadmium jacket. And the whole thing controllable to a fine point."

ККККК Harper laughed. "Ask for Angel's wings and be done with it. You couldn't store such fuel in a rocket; it would~ Set itself off before it reached the jet chamber."

ККККК Erickson's Scandinavian stubbornness was just gathering for another try at the argument when the waiter arrived with the drinks. He set them down with a triumphant flourish. "There you are, suh!"

ККККК "Want to roll for them, Izzy?" Harper inquired.

ККККК "Don' mind if I do."

ККККК The Negro produced a leather dice cup and Harper rolled. He selected his combinations with care and managed to get four aces and jack in three rolls. Israfel took the cup. He rolled in the grand manner with a backwards twist to his wrist. His score finished at five kings, and he courteously accepted the price of six drinks. Harper stirred the engraved cubes with his forefinger.

ККККК "Izzy," he asked, "are these the same dice I rolled with?"

ККККК "Why, Mistuh Harper!" The black's expression was pained.

ККККК "Skip it," Harper conceded. "I should know better than to gamble with you. I haven't won a roll from you in six weeks. What did you start to say, Gus?"

ККККК "I was just going to say that there ought to be a better way to get energy out of-" But they were joined again, this time by something very seductive in an evening gown that appeared to have been sprayed on her lush figure. She was young, perhaps nineteen or twenty. "You boys lonely?" she asked as she flowed into a chair.

ККККК "Nice of you to ask, but we're not," Erickson denied with patient politeness. He jerked a thumb at a solitary figure seated across the room. "Go talk to Hannigan; he's not busy."

ККККК She followed his gesture with her eyes, and answered with faint scorn, "Him? He's no use. He's been like that for three weeks-hasn't spoken to a soul. If you ask me, I'd say that he was cracking up."

ККККК "That so?" he observed noncommittally. "Here-" He fished out a five-dollar bill and handed it to her. "Buy yourself a drink. Maybe we'll look you up later."

ККККК "Thanks, boys." The money disappeared under her clothing, and she stood up. "Just ask for Edith."

ККККК "Hannigan does look bad," Harper considered, noting the brooding stare and apathetic attitude, "and he has been awfully stand-offish lately, for him. Do you suppose we're obliged to report him?"

ККККК "Don't let it worry you," advised Erickson, "there's a spotter on the job now. Look." Harper followed his companion's eyes and recognized Dr. Mott of the psychological staff. He was leaning against the far end of the bar and nursing a tall glass, which gave him protective coloration. But his stance was such that his field of vision included not only Hannigan, but Erickson and Harper as well.

ККККК "Yeah, and he's studying us as well," Harper added.' "Damn it to hell, why does it make my back hair rise just to lay eyes on one of them?"

ККККК The question was rhetorical, Erickson ignored it. "Let's get out of here," he suggested, "and have dinner some where else."

ККККК "O.K."

ККККК DeLancey himself waited on them as they left. "GoingККККК so soon, gentlemen?" he asked, in a voice that implied that their departure would leave him no reason to stay open. "Beautiful lobster thermidor tonight. If you do not like it, you need not pay." He smiled brightly.

ККККК "No sea food, Lance," Harper told him, "not tonight. Tell me-why do you stick around here when you know that the pile is bound to get you in the long run? Aren't you afraid of it?"

ККККК The tavern keeper's eyebrows shot up. "Afraid of this pile? But it is my friend!"

ККККК "Makes you money, eh?"

ККККК "Oh, I do not mean that." He leaned toward them confidentially. "Five years ago I come here to make some money quickly for my family before my cancer of the stomach, it kills me. At the clinic, with the wonderful new radiants you gentlemen make with the aid of the Big Bomb, I am cured-I live again. No, I am not afraid of theКК pile; it is my good friend."

ККККК "Suppose it blows up?"

ККККК "When the good Lord needs me, he will take me." He crossed himself quickly.

ККККК As they turned away, Erickson commented in a low voice to Harper. "There's your answer, Cal-if all us engineers had his faith, the job wouldn't get us down."

ККККК Harper was unconvinced. "I don't know," be mused. 'I don't think it's faith; I think it's lack of imagination and knowledge."

ККККК Notwithstanding King's confidence, Lentz did not show up until the next day. The superintendent was subconsciously a little surprised at his visitor's appearance. He had pictured a master psychologist as wearing flowing hair, an imperial, and having piercing black eyes. But this man was not overly tall, was heavy in his framework, and fat-almost gross. He might have been a butcher. Little, piggy, faded-blue eyes peered merrily out from beneath shaggy blond brows. There was no hair anywhere else on the enormous skull, and the ape-like jaw was smooth and pink. He was dressed in mussed pajamas of unbleached linen. A long cigarette holder jutted permanently from one corner of a wide mouth, widened still more by a smile which suggested unmalicious amusement at the worst that life, or men, could do. He had gusto. King found him remarkably easy to talk to.

ККККК At Lentz' suggestion the Superintendent went first into the history of atomic power plants, how the fission of the uranium atom by Dr. Otto Hahn in December, 1938, had opened up the way to atomic power. The door was opened just a crack; the process to be self perpetuating and commercially usable required an enormously greater knowledge than there was available in the entire civilized world at that time.

ККККК In 1938 the amount of separated uranium-235 in the world was not the mass of the head of a pin. Plutonium was unheard of. Atomic power was abstruse theory and a single, esoteric laboratory experiment. World War II, the Manhattan Project, and Hiroshima changed that; by late 1945 prophets were rushing into print with predictions of atomic power, cheap, almost free atomic power, for everyone in a year or two.

ККККК It did not work out that way. The Manhattan Project had been run with the single-minded purpose of making weapons; the engineering of atomic power was still in the future.

ККККК The far future, so it seemed. The uranium piles used to make the atom bomb were literally no good for commercial power; they were designed to throw away power as a useless byproduct, nor could the design of a pile, once in operation, be changed. A design-on paper-for an economic, commercial power pile could be made, but it had two serious hitches. The first was that such a pile would give off energy with such fury, if operated at a commercially satisfactory level, that there was no known way of accepting that energy and putting it to work.

ККККК This problem was solved first. A modification of the Douglas-Martin power screens, originally designed to turn the radiant energy of the sun (a natural atomic power pile itself) directly into electrical power, was used to receive the radiant fury of uranium fission and carry it away as electrical current.

ККККК The second hitch seemed to be no hitch at all. An "enriched" pile-one inК which U-235 or plutonium had been added to natural uranium-was a quite satisfactory source of commercial power. We knew how to get U-235 and plutonium; that was the primary accomplishment of the Manhattan Project.

ККККК Or did we know how? Hanford produced plutonium; Oak Ridge extracted U-235, true-but the Hanford piles used more U-235 than they produced plutonium and Oak Ridge produced nothing but merely separated out the 7/10 of one percent of U-235 in natural uranium and "threw away" the 99%-plus of the energy which was still locked in the discarded U-238. Commercially ridiculous, economically fantastic!

ККККК But there was another way to breed plutonium, by means of a high-energy, unmoderated pile of natural uranium somewhat enriched. At a million electron volts or more U-238 will fission at somewhat lower energies it turns to plutonium. Such a pile supplies its own "fire" and produces more "fuel" than it uses; it could breed fuel for many other power piles of the usual moderated sort.

ККККК But an unmoderated power pile is almost by definition an atom bomb.

ККККК The very name "pile" comes from the pile of graphite bricks and uranium slugs set up in a squash court at the University of Chicago at the very beginning of the Manhattan Project. Such a pile, moderated by graphite or heavy water, cannot explode.

ККККК Nobody knew what an unmoderated, high-energy pile might do. It would breed plutonium in great quantities- but would it explode? Explode with such violence as to make the Nagasaki bomb seem like a popgun?

ККККК Nobody knew.

ККККК In the meantime the power-hungry technology of the United States grew still more demanding. The Douglas Martin sunpower screens met the immediate crisis when oil became too scarce to be wasted as fuel, but sunpower was limited to about one horsepower per square yard and was at the mercy of the weather.

ККККК Atomic power was needed-demanded.

ККККК Atomic engineers lived through the period in an agony of indecision. Perhaps a breeder pile could be controlled. Or perhaps if it did go out of control it would simply blow itself apart and thus extinguish its own fires. Perhaps it would explode like several atom bombs but with low efficiency. But it might-it just might-explode its whole mass of many tons of uranium at once and destroy the human race in the process.

ККККК There is an old story, not true, which tells of a scientist who had made a machine which would instantly destroy the world, so he believed, if he closed one switch. He wanted to know whether or not lie was right. So he closed the switch-and never found out.

ККККК The atomic engineers were afraid to close the switch.

ККККК "It was Destry's mechanics of infinitesimals that showed a way out of the, dilemma," King went on. "His equations appeared to predict that such an atomic explosion, once started, would disrupt the molar mass enclosing it so rapidly that neutron loss through the outer surface of the fragments would dampen the progression of the atomic explosion to zero before complete explosion could be reached. In an atom bomb such damping actually occurs.

ККККК "For the mass we use in the pile, his equations predicted possible force of explosion one-seventh of one percent of the force of complete explosion. That alone, of course, would be incomprehensibly destructive-enough to wreck this end of the state. Personally, I've never been sure that is all that would happen."

ККККК "Then why did you accept this job?" inquired Lentz.

ККККК King fiddled with items on his desk before replying. "I couldn't turn it down, doctor I couldn't. If I had refused, they would have gotten someone else-and it was an opportunity that comes to a physicist once in history."

ККККК Lentz nodded. "And probably they would- have gotten someone not as competent. I understand, Dr. King-you were compelled by the 'truth-tropism' of the scientist. He must go where the data is to be found, even if it kills him. But about this fellow Destry, I've never liked his mathematics; he postulates too much."

ККККК King looked up in quick surprise, then recalled that this was the man who had refined and given rigor to the calculus of statement. "That's just the hitch," he agreed. "His work is brilliant, but I've never been sure that his predictions were worth the paper they were written on. Nor, apparently," he added bitterly, "do my junior engineers."

ККККК He told the psychiatrist Of the difficulties they had had with personnel, of how the most carefully selected men would, sooner or later, crack under the strain. "At first I thought it might be some degenerating effect from the neutron radiation that leaks out through the shielding, so we improved the screening and the personal armor. But it didn't help. One young fellow who had joined us after the new screening was installed became violent at dinner one night, and insisted that a pork chop was about to explode. I hate to think of what might have happened if he had been on duty at the pile when he blew up."

ККККК The inauguration of the system of constant psychological observation had greatly reduced the probability of acute danger resulting from a watch engineer cracking up, but King was forced to admit that the system was not a success; there had actually been a marked increase in psychoneuroses, dating from that time.

ККККК "And that's the picture, Dr. Lentz. It gets worse all the time. It's getting me now. The strain is telling on me; I can't sleep, and I don't think my judgment is as good as it used to be-I have trouble making up my mind, of coming to a decision. Do you think you can do anything for us?"

ККККК But Lentz had no immediate relief for his anxiety. "Not so fast, superintendent," he countered. "You have given me the background, but I have no real data as yet. I must look around for a while, smell out the situation for myself, talk to your engineers, perhaps have a few drinks with them, and get acquainted. That is possible, is it not? Then in a few days, maybe, we know where we stand."

ККККК King had no alternative but to agree.

ККККК "And it is well that your young men do not know what I am here for. Suppose I am your old friend, a visiting physicist, eh?"

ККККК "Why, yes-of course. I can see to it that that idea gets around. But say-" King was reminded again of something that had bothered him from the time Silard had first suggested Lentz' name. "May I ask a personal question?"

ККККК The merry eyes were undisturbed. "Go ahead."

ККККК "I can't help but be surprised that one man should attain eminence in two such widely differing fields as psychology and mathematics. And right now I'm perfectly convinced of your ability to pass yourself off as a physicist. I don't understand it."

ККККК The smile was more amused, without being in the least patronizing, nor offensive. "Same subject," he answered.

ККККК "Eh? How's that-"

ККККК "Or rather, both mathematical physics and psychology are branches of the same subject, symbology. You are a specialist; it' would not necessarily come to your attention."

ККККК "I still don't follow you."

ККККК "No? Man lives in a world of ideas. Any phenomenon is so complex that he cannot possibly grasp the whole of it. He abstracts certain characteristics of a given phenomenon as an idea, then represents that idea as a symbol, be it a word or a mathematical sign. Human reaction is almost entirely reaction to symbols, and only negligibly to phenomena. As a matter Of fact," he continued, removing the cigarette holder from his mouth and settling into his subject, "it can be demonstrated that the human mind can think only in terms of symbols.

ККККК "When we think, we let symbols operate on other symbols in certain, set fashions-rules of logic, or rules of mathematics. If the symbols have been abstracted so that they are structurally similar to the phenomena they stand for, and if the symbol operations are similar in structure and order to the operations of phenomena in the ~real~ world, we think sanely. If our logic-mathematics, or our word-symbols, have been poorly chosen, we think not sanely.

ККККК "In mathematical physics you are concerned with making your symbology fit physical phenomena. In psychiatry I am concerned with precisely the same thing, except that I am more immediately concerned with the man who does the thinking than with the phenomena he is thinking about. But the same subject, always the dame subject."

ККККК "We're not getting anyplace, Gus." Harper put down his slide rule and frowned.

ККККК "Seems like it, Cal," Erickson grudgingly admitted.

ККККК "Damn it, though-there ought to be some reasonable way of tackling the problem. What do we need? Some form of concentrated, controllable power for rocket fuel. What have we got? Power galore through fission. There must be some way to bottle that power, and serve it out when we need it-and the answer is some place in one of the radioactive~ series. I know it." He stared glumly around the laboratory as if expecting to find the answer written somewhere on the lead-sheathed walls.

ККККК "Don't be so down in the mouth about it. You've got me convinced there is an answer; let's figure out how to find it. In the first place the three natural radioactive series are out, aren't they?"

ККККК "Yes ... at least we had agreed that all that ground had been fully covered before."

ККККК "Okay; we have to assume that previous investigators have done what their notes show they have done-otherwise we might as well not believe anything, and start checking on everybody from Archimedes to date. Maybe that is indicated, but Methuselah himself couldn't carry out such an assignment. What have we got left?"

ККККК "Artificial radioactives."

ККККК "All right. Let's set up a list of them, both those that have been made up to now, and those that might possibly be made in the future. Call that our group-or rather, field, if you want to be pedantic about definitions. There are a limited number of operations that can be performed on each member of the group, and on the members taken in combination. Set it up."

ККККК Erickson did so, using the curious curlicues of the calculus of statement. Harper nodded. "All right-expand it."

ККККК Erickson looked up after a few moments, and asked, "Cal, have you any idea how many terms there are in the expansion?"

ККККК "No. . . hundreds, maybe thousands, I suppose."

ККККК "You're conservative. It reaches four figures without considering possible new radioactives. We couldn't finish such a research in a century. He chucked his pencil down and looked morose.

ККККК Cal Harper looked at him curiously, but with sympathy. "Gus," he said gently, "the job isn't getting you, too, is it?"

ККККК "I don't think so. Why?"

ККККК "I never saw you so willing to give up anything before. Naturally you and I will never finish any such job, but at the very worst we will have eliminated a lot of wrong answers for somebody else. Look at Edison-sixty years of experimenting, twenty hours a day, yet he never found out the one thing he was most interested in knowing. I guess if he could take it, we can."

ККККК Erickson pulled out of his funk to some extent. "I suppose so," he agreed. "Anyhow, maybe we could work out some techniques for carrying a lot of experiments simultaneously."

ККККК Harper slapped him on the shoulder. "That's the ol' fight. Besides, we may not need to finish the research, or anything like it, to find a satisfactory fuel. The way I see it, there are probably a dozen, maybe a hundred, right answers. We may run across one of them any day. Anyhow, since you're willing to give me a hand with it in your off watch time, I'm game to peck away at it till hell freezes."

ККККК Lentz puttered around the plant and the administration center for several days, until he was known to everyone by sight He made himself pleasant and asked questions. He was soon regarded as a harmless nuisance, to be tolerated because he was a friend of the superintendent. He even poked his nose into the commercial power end of the plant, and had the radiation-to-electric-power sequence explained to him in detail. This alone would have been sufficient to disarm any suspicion that he might be a psychiatrist, for the staff psychiatrists paid no attention to the hard-bitten technicians of the power-conversion unit. There was no need to; mental instability on their part could not affect the pile, nor were they subject to the strain of social responsibility. Theirs was simply a job personally dangerous, a type of strain strong men have been inured to since the jungle.

ККККК In due course he got around to the unit of the radiation laboratory set aside for Calvin Harper's use. He rang the bell and waited. Harper answered the door, his antiradiation helmet shoved back from his face like some grotesque sunbonnet. "What is it?" he asked. "Oh-it's you, Doctor Lentz. Did you want to see me?"

ККККК "Why, yes, and no," the older man answered, "I was just looking around the experimental station and wondered what you do in here. Will I be in the way?"

ККККК "Not at all. Come in. Gus!"

ККККК Erickson got up from where he had been fussing over the power leads to their trigger a modified betatron rather than a resonant accelerator. "Hello."

ККККК "Gus, this is Doctor Lentz-Gus Erickson."

ККККК "We've met," said Erickson, pulling off his gauntlet to shake hands. He had had a couple of drinks with Lentz in town and considered him a "nice old duck." "You're just between shows, but stick around and we'll start another run-not that there is much to see."

ККККК While Erickson continued with the set-up, Harper conducted Lentz around the laboratory, explaining the line of research they were conducting, as happy as a father showing off twins. The psychiatrist listened with one ear and made appropriate comments while he studied the young scientist for signs of the instability he had noted to be recorded against him.

ККККК "You see," Harper explained, oblivious to the interest in himself, "we are testing radioactive materials to see if we can produce disintegration of the sort that takes place in the pile, but in a minute, almost microscopic, mass. If we are successful, we can use the breeder pile to make a safe, convenient, atomic fuel for rockets-or for anything else." He went on to explain their schedule of experimentation.

ККККК "I see," Lentz observed politely. "What element are you examining now"

ККККК Harper told him. "But it's not a case of examining one element-we've finished Isotope II of this element with negative results. Our schedule calls next for running the same test on Isotope V. Like this." He hauled out a lead capsule, and showed the label to Lentz. He hurried away to the shield around the target of the betatron, left open by Erickson. Lentz saw that he had opened the capsule, and was performing some operation on it with 'a long pair of tongs in a gingerly manner, having first lowered his helmet. Then he closed and clamped the target shield.

ККККК "Okay, Gus?" he called out. "Ready to roll?"

ККККК "Yeah, I guess so," Erickson assured him, coming around from behind the ponderous apparatus, and rejoining them. They crowded behind a thick metal and concrete shield that cut them off from direct sight of the set up.

ККККК "Will I need to put- on armor?" inquired Lentz.

ККККК "No," Erickson reassured him, "we wear it because we are around the stuff day in and day out. You just stay behind the shield and you'll be all right."

ККККК Erickson glanced at Harper, who nodded, and fixed his, eyes on a panel of instruments mounted behind the shield. Lentz saw Erickson press a push button at the top of the board, then heard a series of relays click on the far side of~ the shield. There was a short moment of silence.

ККККК The floor slapped his feet like some incredible bastinado. The concussion that beat on his ears was so intense that it paralyzed the auditory nerve almost before it could be recorded as sound. The air-conducted concussion wave flailed every inch of his body with a single, stinging, numbing blow. As he picked himself up, he found he was trembling uncontrollably and realized, for the first time, that he was getting old.

ККККК Harper was seated on the floor and had commenced to bleed from the nose. Erickson had gotten up, his cheek was cut. He touched a hand to the wound, then stood there, regarding the blood on his fingers with a puzzled expression on his face.

ККККК "Are you hurt?" Lentz inquired inanely. "What happened?"

ККККК Harper cut in. "Gus, we've done it! We've done it! Isotope Five has turned the trick!"

ККККК Erickson looked still more bemused. "Five?" he said stupidly, "-but that wasn't Five, that was Isotope IL I put it in myself."

ККККК "You put it in? I put it in! It was Five, I tell you!"

ККККК They stood staring at each other, still confused by the explosion, and each a little annoyed at the boneheaded stupidity the other displayed in the face of the obvious. Lentz diffidently interceded.

ККККК "Wait a minute, boys," he suggested, "maybe there's a reason-Gus, you placed a quantity of the second isotope in the receiver?"

ККККК "Why, yes, certainly. I wasn't satisfied with the last run, and I wanted to check it."

ККККК Lentz nodded. "It's my fault, gentlemen," he admitted ruefully. "I came in, disturbed your routine, and both of you charged the receiver. I know Harper did, for I saw him do it with Isotope V. I'm sorry."

ККККК Understanding broke over Harper's face, and he slapped the older man on the shoulder. "Don't be sorry," he laughed; "you can come around to our lab and help us make mistakes anytime you feel in the mood- Can't he, Gus? This is the answer, Doctor Lentz, this is it!"

ККККК "But," the psychiatrist pointed out, "you don't know which isotope blew up."

ККККК "Nor care," Harper supplemented. "Maybe it was both, taken together. But we will know-this business is cracked now; we'll soon have it open." He gazed happily around at the wreckage.

ККККК In spite of Superintendent King's anxiety, Lentz refused to be hurried in passing judgment on the situation. Consequently, when be did present himself at King's office, and announced that he was ready to report, King was pleasantly surprised as well as relieved. "Well, I'm delighted," he said. "Sit down, doctor, sit down. Have a cigar. What do we do about it?"

ККККК But Lentz stuck to his perennial cigarette, and refused to be hurried. "I must have some information first: how important," he demanded, "is the power from your plant?"

ККККК King understood the implication at once. "If you are thinking about shutting down - the plant for more than a limited period, it can't be done."

ККККК "Why not? If the figures supplied me are correct, your power output is less than thirteen percent of the total power used in the country."

ККККК "Yes, that is true, but we also supply another thirteen percent second hand through the plutonium we breed here-and you haven't analyzed the items that make up the balance. A lot of it is domestic power which householders get from sunscreens located on their roofs. Another big slice is power for the moving roadways-that's sunpower again. The portion we provide here directly or indirectly is the main power source for most of the heavy industries-steel, plastics, lithics, all kinds of manufacturing and processing. You might as well cut the heart out of a man-"

ККККК "But the food industry isn't basically dependent on you?" Lentz persisted.

ККККК "No ... Food isn't basically a power industry though we do supply a certain percentage of the power used in processing. I see your point, and will go on, concede that transportation, that is to say, distribution food, could get along without us. But good heavens, Doctor, you can't stop atomic power without causing the biggest panic this country has ever seen. It's the keystone our whole industrial system."

ККККК "The country has lived through panics before, and we got past the oil shortage safely."

ККККК "Yes because sunpower and atomic power had to take the place of oil. You don't realize what would mean, Doctor. It would be worse than a war; in system like ours, one thing depends on another. If you cut off the heavy industries all at once, everything else stops too."

ККККК "Nevertheless, you had better dump the pile." The uranium in the pile was molten, its temperature bell greater than twenty-four hundred degrees centigrade. The pile could be dumped into a group of small containers when it was desired to shut it down. The mass into one container would be too small to maintain progressive atomic disintegration.

ККККК Icing glanced involuntarily at the glass-enclosed relay mounted on his office wall, by which he, as well as the engineer on duty, could dump the pile, if need be. "But ~ couldn't do that ... or rather, if I did, the plant wouldn't stay shut down. The directors would simply replace me with someone who would operate it."

ККККК "You're right, of course." Lentz silently considered the situation for some time, then said, "Superintendent, will you order a car to fly me back to Chicago?"

ККККК "You're going, doctor?"

ККККК "Yes." He took the cigarette holder from his face, and, for once, the smile of Olympian detachment was gone completely. His entire manner was sober, even tragic.

ККККК "Short of shutting down the plant, there is no solution to your problem-none whatsoever!"

ККККК "I owe you a full explanation," he continued, presently.

ККККК "You are confronted here with recurring instances of situational psychoneurosis. Roughly, the symptoms manifest themselves as anxiety neurosis, or some form of hysteria.

ККККК The partial amnesia of your secretary, Steinke, is a good example of the latter. He might be cured with shock technique, but it would hardly be a kindness, as he has achieved a stable adjustment which puts him beyond the reach of the strain he could not stand.

ККККК "That other young fellow, Harper, whose blowup was the immediate cause of you sending for me, is an anxiety case. When the cause of the anxiety was eliminated from his matrix, he at once regained full sanity. But keep a close watch on his friend, Erickson- "However, it is the cause, and prevention, of situational psychoneurosis we are concerned with here, rather than the forms in which it is manifested. In plain language, psychoneurosis situational simply refers to the common fact that, if you put a man in a situation that worries him more than he can stand, in time he blows up, one way or another.

ККККК "That is precisely the situation here. You take sensitive, intelligent young men, impress them with the fact that a single slip on their part, or even some fortuitous circumstance beyond their control, will result in the death of God knows how many other people, and then expect them to remain sane. It's ridiculous-impossible!"

ККККК "But good heavens, doctor!-there must be some answer- There must!" He got up and paced around the room. Lentz noted, with pity, that King himself was riding the ragged edge of the very condition they were discussing.

ККККК "No," he said slowly. "No ... let me explain. You don't dare entrust control to less sensitive, less socially conscious men. You might as well turn the controls over to a mindless idiot. And to psychoneurosis situational there are but two cures. The first obtains when the psychosis results from a misevaluation of environment. That cure calls for semantic readjustment. One assists the patient to evaluate correctly his environment. The worry disappears because there never was a real reason for worry in the situation itself, but simply in the wrong meaning the patient's mind had assigned to it.

ККККК "The second case is when the patient has correctly evaluated the situation, and rightly finds in it cause for extreme worry. His worry is perfectly sane and proper, but he cannot stand up under it indefinitely; it drives him crazy. The only possible cure is to change the situation. I have stayed here long enough to assure myself that such is the condition here. You engineers have correctly evaluated the public danger of this thing, and it will, with dreadful certainty, drive all of you crazy!

ККККК "The only possible solution is to dump the pile-and leave it dumped."

ККККК King had continued his nervous pacing of the floor, as if the walls of the room itself were the cage of his dilemma. Now he stopped and appealed once more to the psychiatrist. "Isn't there anything I can do?"

ККККК "Nothing to cure. To alleviate-well, possibly."

ККККК "How?"

ККККК "Situational psychosis results from adrenalin exhaustion. When a man is placed under a nervous strain, his adrenal glands increase their secretion to help compensate for the strain. If the strain is too great and lasts too long, the adrenals aren't equal to the task, and he cracks. That is what you have here. Adrenalin therapy might stave of a mental breakdown, but it most assuredly would hasten a physical breakdown. But that would be safer from a viewpoint of public welfare-even though it assumes that physicists are expendable!

ККККК "Another thing occurs to me: If you selected any new watch engineers from the membership of churches that practice the confessional, it would increase the length of their usefulness."

ККККК King was plainly surprised. "I don't follow you."

ККККК "The patient unloads most of his worry on his confessor, who is not himself actually confronted by the situation, and can stand it. That is simply an ameliorative, however. I am convinced that in this situation, eventual insanity is inevitable. But there is a lot of good sense in the confessional," he mused. "It fills a basic human heed. I think that is why the early psychoanalysts were so surprisingly successful, for all their limited knowledge." He fell silent for a while, then added, "If you will be so kind as to order a stratocab for me-"

ККККК "You've nothing more to suggest?'

ККККК "No. You had better turn your psychological staff loose on means of alleviation; they're able men, all of them."

ККККК King pressed a switch, and spoke briefly to Steinke. Turning back to Lentz, he said, "You'll wait here until your car is ready?"

ККККК Lentz judged correctly that King desired it, and agreed.

ККККК Presently the tube delivery on King's desk went "Ping!"

ККККК The superintendent removed a small white pasteboard, a calling card. He studied it with surprise and passed it over to Lentz. "I can't imagine why he should be calling on me," he observed, and added, "Would you like to meet him?"

ККККК Lentz read:

THOMAS P. HARRINGTON

Captain (Mathematics)

United States Navy

Director

U.S. Naval Observatory

ККККК "But I do know him," he said. "I'd be very pleased to see him."

ККККК Harrington was a man with something on his mind. He seemed relieved when Steinke had finished ushering him in and had returned to the outer office. He commenced to speak at once, turning to Lentz, who was nearer to him than King.

ККККК "You're King? Why, Doctor Lentz! What are you doing here?"

ККККК "Visiting," answered Lentz, accurately - but incompletely, as he shook hands. "This is Superintendent King over here. Superintendent King-Captain Harrington."

ККККК "How do you do, Captain-it's a pleasure to have you here."

ККККК "It's an honor to be here sir."

ККККК "Sit down?"

ККККК "Thanks." He accepted a chair, and laid a briefcase at a corner of King's desk. "Superintendent, you are entitle to an explanation as to why I have broken in on you Ilk this-"

ККККК "Glad to have you." In fact, the routine of formal politeness was an anodyne to King's frayed nerves.

ККККК "That's kind of you, but that secretary chap, the one that brought me in here, would it be too much to as for you to tell him to forget my name? I know it seem strange-"

ККККК "Not at all." King was mystified, but willing to grab any reasonable request of a distinguished colleague in science. He summoned Steinke to the interoffice visiphone and gave him his orders.

ККККК Lentz stood up, and indicated that he was about to leave. He caught Harrington's eye. "I think you want private palaver, Captain."

ККККК King looked from Harrington to Lentz, and back at Harrington. The astronomer showed momentary indecision, then protested, "I have no objection at all myself it's up to Doctor King. As a matter of fact," he added," might be a very good thing if you did sit in on it."

ККККК "I don't know what it is, Captain," observed Kin~ "that you want to see me about, but Doctor Lentz is a ready here in a confidential capacity."

ККККК "Good! Then that's settled .. I'll get right down I business. Doctor King, you know Destry's mechanics infinitesimals?"

ККККК "Naturally." Lentz cocked a brow at King, who chose to ignore it.

ККККК "Yes, of course. Do you remember - theorem six, an the transformation between equations thirteen and fourteen?"

ККККК "I think so, but I'd want to see them." King got up and went over to a bookcase. Harrington stayed him with a hand.

ККККК "Don't bother. I have them here." He hauled out a key, unlocked his briefcase, and drew out a large, much thumbed, loose-leaf notebook. "Here. You, too, Doctor Lentz. Are you familiar with this development?"

ККККК Lentz nodded. "I've had occasion to look into them."

ККККК "Good-I think it's agreed that the step between thirteen and fourteen is the key to the whole matter. Now the change from thirteen to fourteen looks perfectly valid and would be, in some fields. But suppose we expand it to show every possible phase of the matter, every link in the chain of reasoning."

ККККК He turned a page, and showed them the same two equations broken down into nine intermediate equations. He placed a finger under an associated group of mathematical symbols. "Do you see that? Do you see what that implies?" He peered anxiously at their faces.

ККККК King studied it, his lips moving. "Yes. .. . I -believe I do see. 'Odd... I never looked at it just that way before- yet I've studied those equations until I've dreamed about them." He turned to Lentz. "Do you agree, Doctor?"

ККККК Lentz nodded slowly. "I believe so ... Yes, I think I may say so."

ККККК Harrington should have been pleased; he wasn't. "I had hoped you could tell me I was wrong," he said, almost petulantly, "but I'm afraid there is no further doubt about it. Doctor Destry included an assumption valid in molar physics, but for which we have absolutely no assurance in atomic physics. I suppose you realize what this means to you, Doctor King?"

ККККК King's voice was a dry whisper. "Yes," he said, "yes it means that if the Big Bomb out there ever blows up, we must assume that it will all go up all at once, rather than the way Destry predicted ... and God help the human race!"

ККККК Captain Harrington cleared his throat to break the silence that followed. "Superintendent," he said, "I would not have ventured to call had it been simply a matter of disagreement as to interpretation of theoretical predictions-"

ККККК "You have something more to go on?"

ККККК "Yes, and no. Probably you gentlemen think of the Naval Observatory as being exclusively preoccupied with ephemeredes and tide tables. In a way you would be right-but we still have some time to devote to research as long as it doesn't cut into the appropriation. My special interest has always been lunar theory.

ККККК "I don't mean lunar ballistics," he continued, "I mean the much more interesting problem of its origin and history, the problem the younger Darwin struggled with, as well as my Illustrious predecessor, Captain T. J. J. See. I think that it is obvious that any theory of lunar origin and history must take into account the surface features of the moon-especially the mountains, the craters, that mark its face so prominently."

ККККК He paused momentarily, and Superintendent King put in, "Just a minute, Captain-I may be stupid, or perhaps I missed something, but-is there a connection between what we were discussing before and lunar theory?"

ККККК "Bear with me for a few moments, Doctor King," Harrington apologized; "there is a connection-at least, I'm afraid there is a connection-but I would rather present my points in their proper order before making my conclusions." They granted him an alert silence; he went on:

ККККК "Although we are in the habit of referring to the 'craters' of the moon, we know they are not volcanic craters. Superficially, they follow none of the rules of terrestrial volcanoes in appearance or distribution, but when Rutter came out in 952 with his monograph on the dynamics of vulcanology, he proved rather conclusively that the lunar craters could not be caused by anything that we know as volcanic action.

ККККК "That left the bombardment theory as the simplest hypothesis. It looks good, on the face of it, and a few minutes spent throwing pebbles in to a patch of mud will convince anyone that the lunar craters could have been formed by falling meteors.

ККККК "But there are difficulties. If the moon was struck so repeatedly, why not the earth? It hardly seems necessary to mention that the earth's atmosphere would be no protection against masses big enough to form craters like Endymion, or Plato. And if they fell after the moon was a dead world while the earth was still young enough to change its face and erase the marks of bombardment, why did the meteors avoid so nearly completely the dry basins we call the seas?

ККККК "I want to cut this short; you'll find the data and the mathematical investigations from the data here in my notes. There is one other major objection to the meteor bombardment theory: the great rays that spread from

ККККК Tycho across almost the entire surface of the moon. It makes the moon look like a crystal ball that had been struck with a hammer, and impact from - outside seems evident, but there are difficulties. The striking mass, our hypothetical meteor, must have been smaller than the present crater of Tycho, but it must have the mass and speed to crack an entire planet."

ККККК "Work it out for yourself-you must either postulate a chunk out of the core of a dwarf star, or speeds such as we have never observed within the system. It's conceivable but a far-fetched explanation"

ККККК He turned to King. "Doctor, does anything occur to you that might account for a phenomenon like Tycho?"

ККККК The Superintendent grasped the arms of his chair, then glanced at his palms. He fumbled for a handkerchief, and wiped them. "Go ahead," he said, almost inaudibly.

ККККК "Very well then-" Harrington drew out of his briefcase a large photograph of the moon-a beautiful full-moon portrait made at Lick. "I want you to imagine the moon as she might have been sometime in the past. The dark areas we call the 'Seas' are actual oceans. It has an atmosphere, perhaps a heavier gas than oxygen and nitrogen, but an active gas, capable of supporting some conceivable form of life.

ККККК "For this is an inhabited planet, inhabited by intelligent beings, beings capable of discovering atomic power and exploiting it!"

ККККК He pointed out on the photograph, near the southern limb, the lime-white circle of Tycho, with its shining, incredible, thousand-mile-long rays spreading, thrusting, jutting out from it. "Here ... here at Tycho was located their main atomic plant." He moved his finger to a point near the equator, and somewhat east of meridian-the point where three great dark areas merged, Mare Nubium, Mare Imbriwn, Oceanus Procellarum-and picked out two bright splotches surrounded also by rays, but shorter, less distinct, and wavy. "And here at Copernicus and at Kepler, on islands at the middle of a great ocean, were secondary power stations."К

ККККК He paused, and interpolated soberly, "Perhaps they knew the danger they ran, but wanted power so badly that they were willing to gamble the life of their race. Perhaps they were ignorant of the ruinous possibilities of their little machines, or perhaps their mathematicians assured them that it could not happen.

ККККК "But we will never know ... no one can ever know. For it blew up, and killed them-and it killed their planet.

ККККК "It whisked off the gassy envelope and blew it into outer space. It may even have set up a chain reaction, in that atmosphere. It blasted great chunks of the planet's crust Perhaps some of that escaped completely, too, but all that did not reach the speed of escape fell back down in time and splashed great ring-shaped craters in the land.

ККККК "The oceans cushioned the shock; only the more massive fragments formed craters through the water. Perhaps some life still remained in those ocean depths. If so, it was doomed to die-for the water, unprotected by atmospheric pressure, could not remain liquid and must inevitably escape lit time to outer space. Its life blood drained away. The planet was dead-dead by suicide!

ККККК He met the grave eyes of his two silent listeners with an expression almost of appeal. "Gentlemen-this is only a theory I realize ... only a theory, a dream, a nightmare- But it has kept me awake so many nights that I had to come tell you about it, and see if you saw it the same way I do.

ККККК As for the mechanics of it, it's all in there, in my notes. You can check it-and I pray that you find some error! But it is the only lunar theory I have examined which included all of the known data, and accounted for all of them."

ККККК He appeared to have finished; Lentz spoke up. "Suppose, Captain, suppose we check your mathematics and find no flaw-what then?"

ККККК Harrington flung out his hands. "That's what I came here to find out!"

ККККК Although Lentz had asked the question, Harrington directed the appeal to King. The superintendent looked up; his eyes met the astronomer's, wavered, and dropped again. "There's nothing to be done," he said dully, "nothing at all."

ККККК Harrington stared at him in open amazement. "But good God, man!" he burst out. "Don't you see it? That pile has got to be disassembled at once!"

ККККК "Take it easy, Captain." Lentz's calm voice was a spray of cold water. "And don't be too harsh on poor King, this worries him even more than it does you. What he means is this; we're not faced with a problem in physics, but with a political and economic situation. Let's put it this way: King can no more dump his plant than a peasant with a vineyard on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius can abandon his holdings and pauperize his family simply because there will be an eruption someday.

ККККК "King doesn't own that plant out there; he's only the custodian. If he dumps it against the wishes of the legal owners, they'll simply oust him and put in someone more amenable. No, we have to convince the owners."

ККККК "The President could make them do it," suggested Harrington. "I could get to the President-"

ККККК "No doubt you could, through your department. And you might even convince him. But could he help much?"

ККККК "Why, of course he could. He's the President!"

ККККК "Wait a minute. You're Director of the Naval Observatory; suppose you took a sledge hammer and tried to smash the big telescope-how far would you get?"

ККККК "Not very far," Farrington conceded. "We guard the big fellow pretty closely."

ККККК "Nor can the President act in an arbitrary manner," Lentz persisted. "He's not an unlimited monarch. If he shuts down this plant without due process of law, the federal courts will tie him in knots. I admit that Congress isn't helpless, since the Atomic Energy Commission takes orders from it, but-would you like to try to give a congressional committee a course in the mechanics of infinitesimals?"

ККККК Harrington readily stipulated the point. "But there is another way," he pointed out. "Congress is responsive to public opinion. What we need to do is to convince the public that the pile is a menace to everybody. That could be done without ever trying to explain things in terms of higher mathematics."

ККККК "Certainly it could," Lentz agreed. "You could go on the air with it and scare everybody half to death. You could create the damnedest panic this slightly slug-nutty country has ever seen. No, thank you. I, for one, would rather have us all take the chance of being quietly killed than bring on a mass psychosis that would destroy the culture we are building up. I think one taste of the Crazy Years is enough."

ККККК "Well, then, what do you suggest?"

ККККК Lentz considered shortly, then answered, "All I see is a forlorn hope. We've got to work on the Board of Directors and try to beat some sense in their heads."

ККККК King, who had been following the discussion with attention in spite of his tired despondency, interjected a remark. "How would you go about that?"

ККККК "I don't know," Lentz admitted. "It will take some thinking. But it seems the most fruitful line of approach. If it doesn't work, we can always fall back on Harrington's notion of publicity-I don't insist that the world commit suicide to satisfy my criteria of evaluation."

ККККК Harrington glanced at his wrist watch-a bulky affair-and whistled. "Good heavens," he exclaimed, "I forgot the time! I'm supposed officially to be at the Flag staff Observatory."

ККККК King had automatically noted the time shown by the Captain's watch as it was displayed. "But it can't be that late," he had objected. Harrington looked puzzled, then laughed.

ККККК "It isn't-not by two hours. We are in zone plus-seven; this shows zone plus-five-it's radio-synchronized with the master clock at Washington."

ККККК "Did you say radio-synchronized?"

ККККК "Yes. Clever, isn't it?" He held it out for inspection. "I call it a telechronometer; it's the only one of its sort to date. My nephew designed it for me. He's a bright one, that boy. He'll go far. That is"-his face clouded, as if the little interlude had only served to emphasize the tragedy that hung over them-"if any of us live that long!"

ККККК A signal light glowed at King's desk, and Steinke's face showed on the communicator screen. King answered him, then said, "Your car is ready, Doctor Lentz."

ККККК "Let Captain Harrington have it."

ККККК "Then you're not going back to Chicago?"

ККККК "No. The situation has changed. If you want me, I'm stringing along."

ККККК The following Friday Steinike ushered Lentz into King's office. King looked almost happy as he shook hands. "When did you ground, Doctor? I didn't expect you back for another hour, or so."

ККККК "Just now. I hired a cab instead of waiting for.. the shuttle."

ККККК "Any luck?" King demanded.

ККККК "None. The same answer they gave you: 'The Company is assured by independent experts that Destry's mechanics is valid, and sees no reason to encourage an hysterical attitude among its employees."

ККККК King tapped on his desk top, his eyes unfocused. Then, hitching himself around to face Lentz directly, he said, "Do you suppose the Chairman is right?"

ККККК "How?"

ККККК "Could the three of us, you, me, and Harrington, have gone off the deep end, slipped mentally?"

ККККК "No."

ККККК "You're sure?"

ККККК "Certain. I looked up some independent experts of my own, not retained by the Company, and had them check Harrington's work. It checks." Lentz purposely neglected to mention that he had done so partly because he was none too sure of King's present mental stability.

ККККК King sat up briskly, reached out and stabbed a push button. "I am going to make one more try," he explained, "to see if I can't throw a scare into Dixon's thick head. Steinke," he said to the communicator, "get me Mr. Dixon on the screen."

ККККК "Yes, sir."

ККККК In about two minutes the visiphone screen came to life and showed the features of Chairman Dixon. He was transmitting, not from his office, but from the boardroom of the power syndicate in Jersey City. "Yes?" he said.

ККККК "What is it, Superintendent?" His manner was somehow both querulous and affable.

ККККК "Mr. Dixon," King began, "I've called to try to impress on you the seriousness of the Company's action. I stake my scientific reputation that Harrington has proved completely-"

ККККК "Oh, that? Mr. King, I thought you understood that that was a closed matter."

ККККК "But Mr. Dixon-"

ККККК "Superintendent, please! If there was any possible legitimate cause to fear do you think I would hesitate? I have children you know, and grandchildren."

ККККК "That is just why-"

ККККК "We try to conduct the affairs of the Company with reasonable wisdom, and in the public interest. But we have other responsibilities, too. There are hundreds of thousands of little stockholders who expect us to show a reasonable return on their investment. You must not expect us to jettison a billion-dollar corporation just because you've taken up astrology. Moon theory!" He sniffed.

ККККК "Very well, Mister Chairman." King's tone was stiff.

ККККК "Don't, take it that way, Mr. King. I'm glad you called, the Board has just adjourned a special meeting. They have decided to accept you for retirement-with full pay, of course."

ККККК "I did not apply for retirement!"

ККККК "I know, Mr. King, but the Board feels that-"

ККККК "I understand. Goodbye!"

ККККК "Mr. King-"

ККККК "Goodbye!" He switched him off, and turned to Lentz. "'-with full pay,'" he quoted, "which I can enjoy in any way that I like for the rest of my life just as happy as a man in the death house!"

ККККК "Exactly," Lentz agreed. "Well, we've tried our way. I suppose we should call up Harrington now and let him try the political and publicity method."

ККККК "I suppose so," King seconded absent-mindedly. "Will you be leaving for Chicago now?"

ККККК "No . . ." said Lentz. "No.... I think I will catch the shuttle for Los Angeles and take the evening rocket for the Antipodes."

ККККК King looked surprised, but said nothing. Lentz answered the unspoken comment. "Perhaps some of us on the other side of the earth will survive. I've done all that I can here. I would rather be a live sheepherder in Australia than a dead psychiatrist in Chicago."

ККККК King nodded vigorously. "That shows horse sense. For two cents, I'd dump the pile now, and go with you."

ККККК "Not horse sense, my friend-a horse will run back into a burning barn, which is exactly what I plan not to do. Why don't you do it and come along. If you did, it would help Harrington to scare 'em to death."

ККККК "I believe I will!"

ККККК Steinke's face appeared again on the screen. "Harper and Erickson are here, Chief."

ККККК "I'm busy."

ККККК "They are pretty urgent about seeing you."

ККККК "Oh-all right," King said in a tired voice, "show them in. It doesn't matter."

ККККК They breezed in, Harper in the van. He commenced talking at once, oblivious to the superintendent's morose preoccupation. "We've got it, Chief, we've got it! And it all checks out to the umpteenth decimal!"

ККККК "You've got what? Speak English."

ККККК Harper grinned. He was enjoying his moment of triumph, and was stretching it out to savor it. "Chief, do you remember a few weeks back when I asked for an additional allotment-a special one without specifying how I was going to spend it?"

ККККК "Yes. Come on-get to the point."

ККККК "You kicked at first, but finally granted it. Remember?

ККККК Well, we've got something to show for it, all tied up in pink ribbon. It's the greatest advance in radioactivity since Hahn split the nucleus. Atomic fuel, Chief, atomic fuel, safe, concentrated, and controllable. Suitable for rockets, for power plants, for any damn thing you care to use it for."

ККККК King showed alert interest for the first time. "You mean a power source that doesn't require a pile?"

ККККК "Oh, no, I didn't say that. You use the breeder pile to make the fuel, then you use the fuel anywhere and anyhow you like, with something like ninety-two percent recovery of energy. But you could junk the power sequence, if you wanted to."

ККККК King's first wild hope of a way out of his dilemma was dashed; he subsided. "Go ahead. Tell me about it."

ККККК "Well-it's a matter of artificial radioactives. Just before I asked for that special research allotment, Erickson and I-Doctor Lentz had a finger in it too," he acknowledged with an appreciative nod to the psychiatrist, "-found two isotopes that seemed to be mutually antagonistic. That is, when we goosed 'em in the presence of each other they gave up their latent energy all at once- blew all to hell. The important point is we were using just a gnat's whisker of mass of each-the reaction didn't require a big mass to maintain it."

ККККК "I don't see," objected King, "how that could-"

ККККК "Neither do we, quite-but it works. We've kept it quiet until we were sure. We checked on what we had, and we found a dozen other fuels. Probably we'll be able to tailor-make fuels for any desired purpose. But here it is." He handed him a bound sheaf of typewritten notes which he had been carrying under his arm. "That's your copy. Look it over."

ККККК King started to do so. Lentz joined him, after a look that was a silent request for permission, which Erickson had answered with his only verbal contribution, "Sure, doc."

ККККК As King read, the troubled feelings of an acutely harassed executive left him. His dominant personality took charge, that of the scientist. He enjoyed the controlled and cerebral ecstasy of the impersonal seeker for the elusive truth. The emotions felt in his throbbing thalamus were permitted only to form a sensuous obbligato for the cold flame of cortical activity. For the time being, he was sane, more nearly completely sane than most men ever achieve at any time.

ККККК For a long period there was only an occasional grunt, the clatter of turned pages, a nod of approval. At last he put it down.

ККККК "It's the stuff," he said. "You've done it, boys. It's great; I'm proud of you."

ККККК Erickson glowed a bright pink, and swallowed. Harper's small, tense figure gave the ghost of a wriggle, reminiscent of a wire-haired terrier receiving approval. "That's fine, Chief. We'd rather hear you say that than get the Nobel Prize."

ККККК "I think you'll probably get it. However"-the proud light in his eyes died down-"I'm not going to take any action in this matter."

ККККК "Why not, Chief?" His tone was bewildered.

ККККК "I'm being retired. My successor will take over in the near future; this is too big a matter to start just before a change in administration."

ККККК "You being retired! What the bell?"

ККККК "About the same reason I took you off watch-at least, the directors think so."

ККККК "But that's nonsense! You were right to take me off the watch-list; I was getting jumpy. But you're another matter-we all depend on you."

ККККК "Thanks, Cal-but that's how it is; there's nothing to be done about it." He turned to Lentz. "I think this is the last ironical touch needed to make the whole thing pure farce," he observed bitterly. "This thing is big, bigger than we can guess at this stage-and I have to give it a miss."

ККККК "Well," Harper burst out, "I can think of something to do about it!" He strode over to King's desk and snatched up the manuscript. "Either you superintend the exploitation, or the Company can damn well get along without our discovery!" Erickson concurred belligerently.

ККККК "Wait a minute." Lentz had the floor. "Doctor Harper... have you already achieved a practical rocket fuel?"

ККККК "I said so. We've got it on hand now."

ККККК "An escape-speed fuel?" They understood his verbal shorthand a fuel that would lift a rocket free of the earth's gravitational pull.

ККККК "Sure. Why, you could take any of the Clipper rockets, refit them a trifle, and have breakfast on the moon."

ККККК "Very well. Bear with me. . . ." He obtained a sheet of paper from King, and commenced to write. They watched in mystified impatience. He continued briskly for some minutes, hesitating only momentarily. Presently he stopped, and spun the paper over to King. "Solve it!" he demanded.

ККККК King studied the paper. Lentz had assigned symbols to a great number of factors, some social, some psychological, some physical, some economic. He had thrown them together into a structural relationship, using the symbols of calculus of statement. King understood the paramathematical operations indicated by the symbols, but he was not as used to them as he was to the symbols and operations of mathematical physics. He plowed through the equations, moving his lips slightly in subconscious vocalization.

ККККК He accepted a pencil from Lentz, and completed the solution. It required several more lines, a few more equations, before they cancelled out, or rearranged themselves, into a definite answer.

ККККК He stared at this answer while puzzlement gave way to dawning comprehension and delight.

ККККК He looked up. "Erickson! Harper!" he rapped out.

ККККК "We will take your new fuel, refit a large rocket, install the breeder pile in it, and throw it into an orbit around the earth, far out in. space. There we will use it to make more fuel, safe fuel, for use on earth, with the danger from the Big Bomb itself limited to the operators actually on watch!"

ККККК There was no applause. It was not that sort of an idea; their minds were still struggling with the complex implications.

ККККК "But Chief," Harper finally managed, "how about your retirement? We're still not going to stand for it."

ККККК "Don't worry," King assured him. "It's all in there, implicit in those equations, you two, me, Lentz, the Board of Directors and just what we all have to do about it to accomplish it."

ККККК "All except the matter of time," Lentz cautioned.

ККККК "You'll note that elapsed time appears in your answer as an undetermined unknown."

ККККК "Yes.. . yes, of course. That's the chance we have to take. Let's get busy!"

ККККК Chairman Dixon called the Board of Directors to order. "This being a special meeting we'll dispense with minutes and reports," he announced. "As set forth in the call we have agreed to give the retiring superintendent two hours of our time."

ККККК "Mr. Chairman-"

ККККК "Yes, Mr. Strong?"

ККККК "I thought we had settled that matter."

ККККК "We have, Mr. Strong, but in view of Superintendent King's long and distinguished service, if he asks for a hearing, we are honor bound to grant it. You have the floor, Doctor King."

ККККК King got up, and stated briefly, "Doctor Lentz will speak for me." He sat down.

ККККК Lentz had to wait for coughing, throat-clearing, and scraping of chairs to subside. It was evident that the Board resented the outsider.

ККККК Lentz ran quickly over the main points in the argument which contended that the bomb presented an intolerable danger anywhere on the face of the earth. He moved on at once to the alternative proposal that the bomb should be located in a rocket ship, an artificial moonlet flying in a free orbit around the earth at a convenient distance- say fifteen thousand miles-while secondary power stations on earth burned a safe fuel manufactured by the bomb.

ККККК He announced the discovery the Harper-Erickson technique and dwelt on what it meant to them commercially. Each point was presented as persuasively as possible, with the full power of his engaging personality. Then he paused and waited for them to blow off steam.

ККККК They did. "Visionary-" "Unproved-" "No essential change in the situation-" The substance of it was that they were very happy to hear of the new fuel, but not particularly impressed by it. Perhaps in another twenty years, after it had been thoroughly tested and proved commercially, they might consider setting up another breeder pile outside the atmosphere. In the meantime there was no hurry. Only one director supported the scheme and he was quite evidently unpopular.

ККККК Lentz patiently and politely dealt with their objections. He emphasized the increasing incidence of occupational psychoneurosis among the engineers and the grave danger to everyone near the bomb even under the orthodox theory. He reminded them of their insurance and indemnity bond costs, and of the "squeeze" they paid state politicians. Then he changed his tone and let them have it directly and brutally. "Gentlemen," he said, "we believe that we are fighting for our lives ... our own lives, our families, and every life on the globe, if you refuse this compromise, we will fight as fiercely and with as little regard for fair play as any cornered animal." With that he made. His first move in attack. It was quite simple. He offered for their inspection the outline of a propaganda campaign on a national scale, such as any major advertising firm could carry out as a matter of routine. It was complete to the last detail, television broadcasts, spot plugs, newspaper and magazine coverage with planted editorials, dummy "citizens' committees," and-most important-a supporting whispering campaign and a letters-to-Congress organization. Every businessman there knew from experience how such things worked.

ККККК But its object was to stir up fear of the Arizona pile and to direct that fear, not into panic, but into rage against the Board of Directors personally, and into a demand that the Atomic Energy Commission take action to have the Big Bomb removed to outer space.

ККККК "This is blackmail! We'll stop you!"

ККККК "I think not," Lentz replied gently. "You may be able to keep us out of some of the newspapers, but-you can't stop the rest of it. You can't even keep us off the air-ask the Federal Communications Commission." It was true. Harrington had handled the political end and had performed his assignment well; the President was convinced.

ККККК Tempers were snapping on all sides; Dixon had to pound for order. "Doctor Lentz," he said, his own temper under taut control, "you plan to make every-one of us appear a black-hearted scoundrel with no oilier thought than personal profit, even at the expense of the lives of others. You know that is not true; this is a simple difference of opinion as to what is wise."

ККККК "I did not say it was true," Lentz admitted blandly, "but you will admit that I can convince the public that you are deliberate villains. As to it being a difference of opinion ... you are none of you atomic physicists; you are not entitled to hold opinions in this matter.

ККККК "As a matter of fact," he went on callously, "the only doubt in my mind is whether or not an enraged public will destroy your precious plant before Congress has time to exercise eminent domain, and take it away from you!"

ККККК Before they had time to think up arguments in answer and ways of circumventing him, before their hot indignation had cooled and set as stubborn resistance, he offered his gambit. He produced another lay-out for a propaganda campaign-an entirely different sort.

ККККК This time the Board of Directors was to be built up, not torn down. All of the same techniques were to be used; behind-the-scenes feature articles with plenty of human interest would describe the functions of the Company, describe it as a great public trust, administered by patriotic, unselfish statesmen of the business world. At the proper point in the campaign, the Harper-Erickson fuel would be announced, not as a semi-accidental result of the initiative of two employees, but as the long-expected end product of years of systematic research conducted under an axed policy of the Board of Directors, a policy growing naturally out of their humane determination to remove forever the menace from even the sparsely settled Arizona desert.

ККККК No mention was to be made of the danger of complete, planet-embracing catastrophe.

ККККК Lentz discussed it. He dwelt on the appreciation that would be due them from a grateful world. He invited them to make a noble sacrifice, and, with subtle misdirection, tempted them to think of themselves as heroes. He deliberately played on one of the most deep-rooted of simian instincts, the desire for approval from one's kind, deserved or not.

ККККК All the while he was playing for time, as he directed his attention from one hard case, one resistant mind, to another; He soothed and he tickled and he played on personal foibles. For the benefit of the timorous and the devoted family men, he again painted a picture of the suffering, death, and destruction that might result from their well-meant reliance on the unproved and highly questionable predictions of Destry's mathematics. Then he described in glowing detail a picture of a world free from worry but granted almost unlimited power, safe power from an invention which was theirs for this one small concession. It worked. They did not reverse themselves all at once, but a committee was appointed to investigate the feasibility of the proposed spaceship power plant. By sheer brass Lentz suggested names for the committee and Dixon confirmed his nominations, not because he wished to, particularly, but because he was caught off guard and could not think of a reason to refuse without affronting those colleagues. Lentz was careful to include his one supporter in the list.

ККККК The impending retirement of King was not mentioned by either side. Privately, Lentz felt sure that it never would be mentioned.

ККККК It worked, but there was left much to do. For the first few days, after the victory in committee, King felt much elated by the prospect of an early release from the soul killing worry. He was buoyed up by pleasant demands of manifold new administrative duties. Harper and Erickson were detached to Goddard Field to collaborate with the rocket engineers there in design of firing chambers, nozzles, fuel stowage, fuel metering, and the like. A schedule had to be worked out with the business office to permit as much use of the pile as possible to be diverted to making atomic fuel, and a giant combustion chamber for atomic fuel had to be designed and ordered to replace the pile itself during the interim between the time it was shut down on earth and the later time when sufficient local, smaller plants could be built to carry the commercial load. He was busy.

ККККК When the first activity had died down and they were settled in a new routine, pending the shutting down of the plant and its removal to outer space, King suffered an emotional reaction. There was, by then, nothing to do but wait, and tend the pile, until the crew at Goddard Field smoothed out the bugs and produced a space-worthy rocket ship.

ККККК At Goddard they ran into difficulties, overcame them, and came across more difficulties. They had never used such high reaction velocities; it took many trials to find a nozzle shape that would give reasonably high efficiency. When that was solved, and success seemed in sight, the jets burned out on a time-trial ground test. They were stalemated for weeks over that hitch.

ККККК There was another problem quite separate from the rocket problem: what to do with the power generated by the breeder pile when relocated in a satellite rocket? It was solved drastically by planning to place the pile proper outside the satellite, unshielded, and let it waste its radiant energy. It would be a tiny artificial star, shining in the vacuum of space. In the meantime research would go on for a means to harness it again and beam the power back to Earth. But only its power would be wasted; plutonium and the never atomic fuels would be recovered and rocketed back to Earth.

ККККК Back at the power plant Superintendent King could do nothing but chew his nails and wait He had not even the release of running over to Goddard Field to watch the progress of the research, for, urgently as he desired to, he felt an even stronger, an overpowering compulsion to watch over the pile more lest it heartbreakingly blow up at the last minute.

ККККК He took to hanging around the control room. He had to stop that; his unease communicated itself to his watch engineers; two of them cracked up in a single day-one of them on watch.

ККККК He must face the fact-there had been a grave upswing in psychoneurosis among his engineers since the period of watchful waiting had commenced. At first, they had tried to keep the essential facts of the plan a close secret, but it had leaked out, perhaps through some member of the investigating committee. He admitted to himself now that it had been a mistake ever to try to keep it secret-Lentz had advised against it, and the engineers not actually engaged in the change-over were bound to know that something was up.

ККККК He took all of the engineers into confidence at last, under oath of secrecy that had helped for a week or more, a week in which they were all given a spiritual lift-by the knowledge, as he had been. Then it had worn off, the reaction had set in, and the psychological observers had started disqualifying engineers for duty almost daily. They were even reporting each other as mentally unstable with great frequency; he might even be faced with a shortage of psychiatrists if that kept up, he thought to himself with bitter amusement. His engineers were already standing four-hours in every sixteen. If one more dropped out, he'd put himself on watch. That would be a relief, to tell himself the truth.

ККККК Somehow some of the civilians around about and the non-technical employees were catching on to the secret.

ККККК That mustn't go on-if it spread any further there might be a nationwide panic. But how the hell could he stop it? He couldn't.

ККККК He turned over in bed, rearranged his pillow, and tried once more to get to sleep. No good. His head ached, his eyes were balls of pain, and his brain was a ceaseless grind of useless, repetitive activity, like a disc recording stuck in one groove.

ККККК God! This was unbearable! He wondered if he were cracking up if he already had cracked up. This was worse, many times worse, than the old routine when he had simply acknowledged the danger and tried to forget it as much as possible. Not that the pile was any different-it was this five-minutes-to-armistice feeling, this waiting for the curtain to go up, this race against time with nothing to do to help. He sat up, switched on his bed lamp, and looked at the clock. Three-thirty. Not so good. He got up, went into his bathroom, and dissolved a sleeping powder in a glass of whisky and water, half and half. He gulped it down and went back to bed. Presently he dozed off.

ККККК He was running, fleeing down a long corridor. At the end lay safety he knew that, but he was so utterly exhausted that he doubted his ability to finish the race. The thing pursuing him was catching up; he forced his leaden, aching legs into greater activity. The thing behind him increased its pace, and actually touched him. His heart stopped, then pounded again. He became aware that he was screaming, shrieking in mortal terror. But he had to reach the end of that corridor, more depended on it than just himself. He had to. He had to- He had to! Then the flash came and he realized that he had lost, realized it with utter despair and utter, bitter defeat. He had failed; the pile had blown up.

ККККК The flash was his bed lamp coming on automatically; it was seven o'clock. His pajamas were soaked, chipping with sweat, and his heart still pounded. Every ragged nerve throughout his body screamed for release. It would take more than a cold shower to cure this case of the shakes.

ККККК He got to the office before the janitor was out of it. He sat there, doing nothing, until Lentz walked in on him, two hours later. The psychiatrist came in just as he was taking two small tablets from a box in his desk.

ККККК "Easy ... easy, old man," Lentz said in a slow voice. "What have you there?" He came around and gently took possession of the box.

ККККК "Just a sedative."

ККККК Lentz studied the inscription on the cover. "How many have you had today?"

ККККК "Just two, so far."

ККККК "You don't need barbiturates; you need a walk in the fresh air. Come take one with me."

ККККК "You're a fine one to talk you're smoking a cigarette that isn't lighted!"

ККККК "Me? Why, so I am! We both need that walk. Come."

ККККК Harper arrived less than ten minutes after they had left the office. Steinke was not in the outer office. He walked on through and pounded on the door of King's private office, then waited with the man who accompanied him a hard young chap with an easy confidence to his bearing. Steinke let them in.

ККККК Harper brushed on past him with a casual greeting, then checked himself when he saw that there was no one else inside.

ККККК "Where's the chief?" he demanded.

ККККК "Out. He'll be back soon."

ККККК "I'll wait. Oh-Steinke, this is Greene. Greene Steinke."

ККККК The two shook hands. "What brings you back, Cal?" Steinke asked, turning back to Harper.

ККККК 'Well.. . I guess it's all right to tell you-"

ККККК The communicator screen flashed into sudden activity, and cut him short. A face filled most of the frame. It was apparently too close to the pickup, as it was badly out of focus. "Superintendent!" it yelled in an agonized voice. "The pile-!"

ККККК A shadow flashed across the screen, they heard a dull "Smack!", and the face slid out of the screen. As it fell it revealed the control room behind it. Someone was down on the floor plates, a nameless heap. Another figure ran across the field of pickup and disappeared.

ККККК Harper snapped into action first. "That was Silard!" he shouted, "-in the control room! Come on, Steinke!" He was already in motion himself.

ККККК Steinke went dead white, but hesitated only an unmeasurable instant. He pounded sharp on Harper's heels. Greene followed without invitation, in a steady run that kept easy pace with them.

ККККК They had to wait for a capsule to unload at the tube station. Then all three of them tried to crowd into a two passenger capsule. It refused to start and moments were lost before Greene piled out and claimed another car.

ККККК The four minute trip at heavy acceleration seemed an interminable crawl. Harper was convinced that the system had broken down, when the familiar click and sigh announced their arrival at the station under the plant. They jammed each other trying to get out at the same time.

ККККК The lift was up; they did not wait for it. That was unwise; they gained no time by it, and arrived at the control level out of breath. Nevertheless, they speeded up when they reached the top, zigzagged frantically around the outer shield, and burst into the control room.

ККККК The limp figure was still on the floor, and another, also inert, was near it.

ККККК A third figure was bending over the trigger. He looked up as they came in, and charged them. They hit him together, and all three went down. It was two to one, but they got in each other's way. His heavy armor protected him from the force of their blows. He fought with senseless, savage violence.

ККККК Harper felt a bright, sharp pain; his right arm went limp and useless. The armored figure was struggling free of them. There was a shout from somewhere behind them: "Hold still!"

ККККК He saw a flash with the corner of one eye, a deafening crack hurried on top of it, and re-echoed painfully in the restricted space.

ККККК The armored figure dropped back to his knees, balanced there, and then fell heavily on his face. Greene stood in the entrance, a service pistol balanced in his hand.

ККККК Harper got up and went over to the trigger. He tried to reduce the power-level adjustment, but his right hand wouldn't carry out his orders, and his left was too clumsy.

ККККК "Steinke," he called, "come here! Take over."

ККККК Steinke hurried up, nodded as he glanced at the readings, and set busily to work.

ККККК It was thus that King found them when he bolted in a very few minutes later.

ККККК "Harper!" he shouted, while his quick glance was still taking in the situation. "What's happened?"

ККККК Harper told him briefly. He nodded. "I saw the tail end of the fight from my office Steinke!" He seemed to grasp for the first time who was on the trigger. "He can't manage the controls-" He hurried toward him.

ККККК Steinke looked up at his approach. "Chief!" he called out, "Chief! I've got my mathematics back!"

ККККК King looked bewildered, then nodded vaguely, and let him be. He turned back to Harper. "How does it happen you're here?"

ККККК "Me? I'm here to report-we've done it, Chief!"

ККККК "Eh?"

ККККК "We've finished; it's all done. Erickson stayed behind to complete the power plant installation on the big ship. I came over in the ship we'll use to shuttle between Earth and the big ship, the power plant. Four minutes from Goddard Field to here in her. That's the pilot over there." He pointed to the door, where Greene's solid form partially hid Lentz.

ККККК "Wait a minute. You say that everything is ready to install the pile in the ship? You're sure?"

ККККК "Positive. The big ship has already flown with our fuel-longer and faster than she will have to fly to reach station in her orbit; I was in it-out in space, Chief! We're all set, six ways from zero."

ККККК King stared at the dumping switch, mounted behind glass at the top of the instrument board. "There's fuel enough," he said softly, as if he were alone and speaking only to himself, "there's been fuel enough for weeks."

ККККК He walked swiftly over to the switch, smashed the glass with his fist, and pulled it.

ККККК The room rumbled and shivered as tons of molten, massive metal, heavier than gold, coursed down channels, struck against baffles, split into a dozen dozen streams, and plunged to rest in leaden receivers-to rest, safe and harmless, until it should be reassembled far out in space.

THE MAN WHO SOLD THE MOON

CHAPTER ONE

"YOU'VE GOT TO BE A BELIEVER!"

ККККК George Strong snorted at his partner's declaration. "Delos, why don't you give up? You've been singing this tune for years. Maybe someday men will get to the Moon, though I doubt it. In any case, you and I will never live to see it. The loss of the power satellite washes the matter up for our generation."

ККККК D. D. Harriman grunted. "We won't see it if we sit on our fat behinds and don't do anything to make it happen. But we can make it happen."

ККККК "Question number one: how? Question number two: why?"

ККККК "'Why?' The man asks 'why.' George, isn't there anything in your soul but discounts, and dividends? Didn't you ever sit with a girl on a soft summer night and stare up at the Moon and wonder what was there?"

ККККК "Yeah, I did once. I caught a cold."

ККККК Harriman asked the Almighty why he had been delivered into the hands of the Philistines. He then turned back to his partner. "I could tell you why, the real 'why,' but you wouldn't understand me. You want to know why in terms of cash, don't you? You want to know how Harriman & Strong and Harriman Enterprises can show a profit, don't you?"

ККККК "Yes," admitted Strong, "and don't give me any guff about tourist trade and fabulous lunar jewels. I've had it."

ККККК "You ask me to show figures on a brand-new type of enterprise, knowing I can't. It's like asking the Wright brothers at Kitty Hawk to estimate how much money Curtiss-Wright Corporation would someday make out of building airplanes. I'll put it another way, You didn't want us to go into plastic houses, did you? If you had had your way we would still be back in Kansas City, subdividing cow pastures and showing rentals."

ККККК Strong shrugged.

ККККК "How much has New World Homes made to date?"

ККККК Strong looked absent-minded while exercising the talent he brought to the partnership. "Uh . . . $172,946,004.62, after taxes, to the end of the last fiscal year. The running estimate to date is-"

ККККК "Never mind. What was our share in the take?"

ККККК "Well, uh, the partnership, exclusive of the piece you took personally and then sold to me later, has benefited from New World Homes during the same period by $1 3,010,437.20, ahead of personal taxes. Delos, this double taxation has got to stop. Penalizing thrift is a sure way to run this country straight into-"

ККККК "Forget it, forget it! How much have we made out of Skyblast Freight and Antipodes Transways?"

ККККК Strong told him.

ККККК "And yet I had to threaten you with bodily harm to get you to put up a dime to buy control of the injector patent. You said rockets were a passing fad."

ККККК "We were lucky," objected Strong. "You had no way of knowing that there would be a big uranium strike in Australia. Without it, the Skyways group would have left us in the red. For that matter New World Homes would have failed, too, if the roadtowns hadn't come along and given us a market out from under local building codes."

ККККК "Nuts on both points. Fast transportation will pay; it always has. As for New World, when ten million families need new houses and we can sell 'em cheap, they'll buy. They won't let building codes stop them, not permanently. We gambled on a certainty. Think back, George: what ventures have we lost money on and what ones have paid off? Everyone of my crack-brain ideas has made money, hasn't it? And the only times we've lost our ante was on conservative, blue-chip investments."

ККККК "But we've made money on some conservative deals, too," protested Strong.

ККККК "Not enough to pay for your yacht. Be fair about it, George; the Andes Development Company, the integrating pantograph patent, every one of my wildcat schemes I've had to drag you into-and every one of them paid."

ККККК "I've had to sweat blood to make them pay," Strong grumbled.

ККККК "That's why we are partners. I get a wildcat by the tail; you harness him and put him to work. Now we go to the Moon-and you'll make it pay."

ККККК "Speak for yourself. I'm not going to the Moon."

ККККК "I am."

ККККК "Hummph! Delos, granting that we have gotten rich by speculating on your hunches, it's a steel-clad fact that if you keep on gambling you lose your shirt. There's an old saw about the pitcher that went once too often to the well."

ККККК "Damn it, George-I'm going to the Moon! If you won't back me up, let's liquidate and I'll do it alone."

ККККК Strong drummed on his desk top. "Now, Delos, nobody said anything about not backing you up."

ККККК "Fish or cut bait. Now is the opportunity and my mind's made up. I'm going to be the Man in the Moon."

ККККК "Well . . . let's get going. We'll be late to the meeting."

ККККК As they left their joint office, Strong, always penny conscious, was careful to switch off the light. Harriman had seen him do so a thousand times; this time he commented. "George, how about a light switch that turns off automatically when you leave a room?"

ККККК "Hmm-but suppose someone were left in the room?"

ККККК "Well. . . hitch it to stay on only when someone was in the room-key the switch to the human body's heat radiation, maybe."

ККККК "Too expensive and too complicated."

ККККК "Needn't be. I'll turn the idea over to Ferguson to fiddle with. It should be no larger than the present light switch and cheap enough so that the power saved in a year will pay for it."

ККККК "How would it work?" asked Strong.

ККККК "How should I know? I'm no engineer; that's for Ferguson and the other educated laddies."

ККККК Strong objected, "It's no good commercially. Switching off a light when you leave a room is a matter of temperament. I've got it; you haven't. If a man hasn't got it, you can't interest him in such a switch."

ККККК "You can if power continues to be rationed. There is a power shortage now; and there will be a bigger one."

ККККК "Just temporary. This meeting will straighten it out."

ККККК "George, there is nothing in this world so permanent as a temporary emergency. The switch will sell."

ККККК Strong took out a notebook and stylus. "I'll call Ferguson in about it tomorrow."

ККККК Harriman forgot the matter, never to think of it again. They had reached the roof; he waved to a taxi, then turned to Strong. "How much could we realize if we unloaded our holdings in Roadways and in Belt Transport Corporation-yes, and in New World Homes?"

ККККК "Huh? Have you gone crazy?"

ККККК "Probably. But I'm going to need all the cash you can shake loose for me. Roadways and Belt Transport are no good anyhow; we should have unloaded earlier."

ККККК "You are crazy! It's the one really conservative venture you've sponsored."

ККККК "But it wasn't conservative when I sponsored it. Believe me, George, roadtowns are on their way out. They are growing moribund, just as the railroads did. In a hundred years there won't be a one left on the continent. What's the formula for making money, George?"

ККККК "Buy low and sell high."

ККККК "That's only half of it. . . your half. We've got to guess which way things are moving, give them a boost, and see that we are cut in on the ground floor. Liquidate that stuff, George; I'll need money to operate." The taxi landed; they got in and took off.

ККККК The taxi delivered them to the roof of the Hemisphere Power Building they went to the power syndicate's board room, as far below ground as the landing platform was above-in those days, despite years of peace, tycoons habitually came to rest at spots relatively immune to atom bombs. The room did not seem like a bomb shelter; it appeared to be a chamber in a luxurious penthouse, for a "view window" back of the chairman's end of the table looked out high above the city, in convincing, live stereo, relayed from the roof.

ККККК The other directors were there before them. Dixon nodded as they came in, glanced at his watch finger and said, "Well, gentlemen, our bad boy is here, we may as well begin." He took the chairman's seat and rapped for order.

ККККК "The minutes of the last meeting are on your pads as usual. Signal when ready." Harriman glanced at the summary before him and at once flipped a switch on the table top; a small green light flashed on at his place. Most of the directors did the same.

ККККК "Who's holding up the procession?" inquired Harriman, looking around. "Oh-you, George. Get a move on."

ККККК "I like to check the figures," his partner answered testily, then flipped his own switch. A larger green light showed in front of Chainnan Dixon, who then pressed a button; a transparency, sticking an inch or two above the table top in front of him lit up with the word RECORDING.

ККККК "Operations report," said Dixon and touched another switch. A female voice came out from nowhere. Harriman followed the report from the next sheet of paper at his place. Thirteen Curie-type power piles were now in operation, up five from the last meeting. The Susquehanna and Charleston piles had taken over the load previously borrowed from Atlantic Roadcity and the roadways of that city were now up to normal speed. It was expected that the Chicago-Angeles road could be restored to speed during the next fortnight. Power would continue to be rationed but the crisis was over.

ККККК All very interesting but of no direct interest to Harriman. The power crisis that had been caused by the explosion of the power satellite was being satisfactorily met-very good, but Harriman's interest in it lay in the fact that the cause of interplanetary travel had thereby received a setback from which it might not recover.

ККККК When the Harper-Erickson isotopic artificial fuels had been developed three years before it had seemed that, in addition to solving the dilemma of an impossibly dangerous power source which was also utterly necessary to the economic life of the continent, an easy means had been found to achieve interplanetary travel.

ККККК The Arizona power pile had been installed in one of the largest of the Antipodes rockets, the rocket powered with isotopic fuel created in the power pile itself, and the whole thing was placed in an orbit around the Earth. A much smaller rocket had shuttled between satellite and Earth, carrying supplies to the staff of the power pile, bringing back synthetic radioactive fuel for the power-hungry technology of Earth.

ККККК As a director of the power syndicate Harriman had backed the power satellite-with a private ax to grind: he expected to power a Moon ship with fuel manufactured in the power satellite and thus to achieve the first trip to the Moon almost at once. He had not even attempted to stir the Department of Defense out of its sleep; he wanted no government subsidy-the job was a cinch; anybody could do it-and Harriman would do it. He had the ship; shortly he would have the fuel.

ККККК The ship had been a freighter of his own Antipodes line, her chem-fuel motors replaced, her wings removed. She still waited, ready for fuel-the recommissioned Santa Maria, nee City of Brisbane.

ККККК But the fuel was slow in coming. Fuel had to be eannarked for the shuttle rocket; the power needs of a rationed continent came next-and those needs grew faster than the power satellite could turn out fuel. Far from being ready to supply him for a "useless" Moon trip, the syndicate had seized on the safe but less efficient low temperature uranium-salts and heavy water, Curie-type power piles as a means of using uranium directly to meet the ever growing need for power, rather than build and launch more satellites.

ККККК Unfortunately the Curie piles did not provide the fierce star-interior conditions necessary to breeding the isotopic fuels needed for an atomic-powered rocket. Harriman had reluctantly come around to the notion that he would have to use political pressure to squeeze the necessary priority for the fuels he wanted for the Santa Maria.

ККККК Then the power satellite had blown up.

ККККК Harriman was stirred out of his brown study by Dixon's voice. "The operations report seems satisfactory, gentlemen. If there is no objection, it will be recorded as accepted. You will note that in the next ninety days we will be back up to the power level which existed before we were forced to close down the Arizona pile."

ККККК "But with no provision for future needs," pointed out Harriman. "There have been a lot of babies born while we have been sitting here."

ККККК "Is that an objection to accepting the report, D.D.?"

ККККК "No."

ККККК "Very well. Now the public relations report-let me call attention to the first item, gentlemen. The vice-president in charge recommends a schedule of annuities, benefits, scholarships and so forth for dependents of the staff of the power satellite and of the pilot of the Charon: see appendix 'C'."

ККККК A director across from Harriman-Phineas Morgan, chairman of the food trust, Cuisine, Incorporated-protested, "What is this, Ed? Too bad they were killed of course, but we paid them skyhigh wages and carried their insurance to boot. Why the charity?"

ККККК Harriman grunted. "Pay it-I so move. It's peanuts. 'Do not bind the mouths of the kine who tread the grain.'"

ККККК "I wouldn't call better than nine hundred thousand 'peanuts,'" protested Morgan.

ККККК "Just a minute, gentlemen-" It was the vice-president in charge of public relations, himself a director. "If you'll look at the breakdown, Mr. Morgan, you will see that eighty-five percent of the appropriation will be used to publicize the gifts."

ККККК Morgan squinted at the figures. "Oh-why didn't you say so? Well, I suppose the gifts can be considered unavoidable overhead, but it's a bad precedent."

ККККК "Without them we have nothing to publicize."

ККККК "Yes, but-"

ККККК Dixon rapped smartly. "Mr. Harriman has moved acceptance. Please signal your desires." The tally board glowed green; even Morgan, after hesitation, okayed the allotment. "We have a related item next," said Dixon. "A Mrs.-uh, Garfield, through her attorneys, alleges that we are responsible for the congenital crippled condition of her fourth child. The putative facts are that her child was being born just as the satellite exploded and that Mrs. Garfield was then on the meridian underneath the satellite. She wants the court to award her half a million."

ККККК Morgan looked at Harriman. "Delos, I suppose that you will say to settle out of court."

ККККК "Don't be silly. We fight it."

ККККК Dixon looked around, surprised. "Why, D.D.? It's my guess we could settle for ten or fifteen thousand-and that was what I was about to recommend. I'm surprised that the legal department referred it to publicity."

ККККК "It's obvious why; it's loaded with high explosive. But we should fight, regardless of bad publicity. It's not like the last case; Mrs. Garfield and her brat are not our people. And any dumb fool knows you can't mark a baby by radioactivity at birth; you have to get at the germ plasm of the previous generation at least. In the third place, if we let this get by, we'll be sued for every double-yolked egg that's laid from now on. This calls for an open allotment for defense and not one damned cent for compromise."

ККККК "It might be very expensive," observed Dixon.

ККККК "It'll be more expensive not to fight. If we have to, we should buy the judge."

ККККК The public relations chief whispered to Dixon, then announced, "I support Mr. Harriman's view. That's my department's recommendation."

ККККК It was approved. "The next item," Dixon went on, "is a whole sheaf of suits arising out of slowing down the roadcities to divert power during the crisis. They alleged loss of business, loss of time, loss of this and that, but they are all based on the same issue. The most touchy, perhaps, is a stockholder's suit which claims that Roadways and this company are so interlocked that the decision to divert the power was not done in the interests of the stockholders of Roadways. Delos, this is your pidgin; want to speak on it?"

ККККК "Forget it."

ККККК "Why?"

ККККК "Those are shotgun suits. This corporation is not responsible; I saw to it that Roadways volunteered to sell the power because I anticipated this. And the directorates don't interlock; not on paper, they don't. That's why dummies were born. Forget it-for every suit you've got there, Roadways has a dozen. We'll beat them."

ККККК "What makes you so sure?"

ККККК "Well-" Harriman lounged back and hung a knee over the arm of his chair. "-a good many years ago I was a Western Union messenger boy. While waiting around the office I read everything I could lay hands on, including the contract on the back of the telegram forms. Remember those? They used to come in big pads of yellow paper; by writing a message on the face of the form you accepted the contract in the fine print on the backT only most people didn't realize that. Do you know what that contract obhgated the company to do?"

ККККК "Send a telegram, I suppose."

ККККК "It didn't promise a durn thing. The company offered to attempt to deliver the message, by camel caravan or snail back, or some equally streamlined method, if convenient, but in event of failure, the company was not responsible. I read that fine print until I knew it by heart. It was the loveliest piece of prose I had ever seen. Since then all my contracts have been worded on the same principle. Anybody who sues Roadways will find that Roadways can't be sued on the element of time, because time is not of the essence. In the event of complete non-performance-which hasn't happened yet- Roadways is financially responsible only for freight charges or the price of the personal transportation tickets. So forget it."

ККККК Morgan sat up. "D.D., suppose I decided to run up to my country place tonight, by the roadway, and there was a failure of some sort so that I didn't get there until tomorrow? You mean to say Roadways is not liable?"

ККККК Harriman grinned. "Roadways is not liable even if you starve to death on the trip. Better use your copter." He turned back to Dixon. "I move that we stall these suits and let Roadways carry the ball for us."

ККККК "The regular agenda being completed," Dixon announced later, "time is allotted for our colleague, Mr. Harriman, to speak on a subject of his own choosing. He has not listed a subject in advance, but we will listen until it is your pleasure to adjourn."

ККККК Morgan looked sourly at Harriman. "I move we adjourn."

ККККК Harriman grinned. "For two cents I'd second that and let you die of curiosity." The motion failed for want of a second. Harriman stood up.

ККККК "Mr. Chairman, friends-" He then looked at Morgan. "-and associates. As you know, I am interested in space travel."

ККККК Dixon looked at him sharply. "Not that again, Delos! If I weren't in the chair, I'd move to adjourn myself."

ККККК "'That again'," agreed Harriman. "Now and forever. Hear me out. Three years ago, when we were crowded into moving the Arizona power pile out into space, it looked as if we had a bonus in the shape of interplanetary travel. Some of you here joined with me in forming Spaceways, Incorporated, for experimentation, exploration-and exploitation.

ККККК "Space was conquered; rockets that could establish orbits around the globe could be modified to get to the Moon-and from there, anywhere! It was just a matter of doing it. The problems remaining were financial-and political.

ККККК "In fact, the real engineering problems of space travel have been solved since World World II. Conquering space has long been a matter of money and politics. But it did seem that the Harper-Erickson process, with its concomitant of a round-the-globe rocket and a practical economical rocket fuel, had at last made it a very present thing, so close indeed that I did not object when the early allotments of fuel from the satellite were earmarked for industrial power."

ККККК He looked around. "I shouldn't have kept quiet. I should have squawked and brought pressure and made a hairy nuisance of myself until you allotted fuel to get rid of me. For now we have missed our best chance. The satellite is gone; the source of fuel is gone. Even the shuttle rocket is gone. We are back where we were in 19 50. Therefore-"

ККККК He paused again. "Therefore-I propose that we build a space ship and send it to the Moon!"

ККККК Dixon broke the silence. "Delos, have you come unzipped? You just said that it was no longer possible. Now you say to build one."

ККККК "I didn't say it was impossible; I said we had missed our best chance. The time is overripe for space travel. This globe grows more crowded every day. In spite of technical advances the daily food intake on this planet is lower than it was thirty years ago-and we get 46 new babies every minute, 6;,ooo every day, 25,ooo,ooo every year. Our race is about to burst forth to the planets; if we've got the initiative Cod promised an oyster we will help it along!

ККККК "Yes, we missed our best chance-but the engineering details can be solved. The real question is who's going to foot the bill? That is why I address you gentlemen, for right here in this room is the financial capital of this planet."

ККККК Morgan stood up. "Mr. Chairman, if all company business is finished, I ask to be excused."

ККККК Dixon nodded. Harriman said, "So long, Phineas. Don't let me keep you. Now, as I was saying, it's a money problem and here is where the money is. I move we finance a trip to the Moon."

ККККК The proposal produced no special excitement; these men knew Harriman. Presently Dixon said, "Is there a second to D.D.'s proposal?"

ККККК "Just a minute, Mr. Chairman-" It was Jack Entenza, president of Two-Continents Amusement Corporation. "I want to ask Delos some questions." He turned to Harriman. "D.D., you know I strung along when you set up Spaceways. It seemed like a cheap venture and possibly profitable in educational and scientific values-I never did fall for space liners plying between planets; that's fantastic. I don't mind playing along with your dreams to a moderate extent, but how do you propose to get to the Moon? As you say, you are fresh out of fuel."

ККККК Harriman was still grinning. "Don't kid me, Jack, I know why you came along. You weren't interested in science; you've never contributed a dime to science. You expected a monopoly on pix and television for your chain. Well, you'll get 'em, if you stick with me-otherwise I'll sign up 'Recreations, Unlimited'; they'll pay just to have you in the eye."

ККККК Entenza looked at him suspiciously. "What will it cost me?"

ККККК "Your other shirt, your eye teeth, and your wife's wedding ring-unless 'Recreations' will pay more."

ККККК "Damn you, Delos, you're crookeder than a dog's hind leg."

ККККК "From you, Jack, that's a compliment. We'll do business. Now as to how I'm going to get to the Moon, that's a silly question. There's not a man in here who can cope with anything more complicated in the way of machinery than a knife and fork. You can't tell a left-handed monkey wrench from a reaction engine, yet you ask me for blue prints of a space ship.

ККККК "Well, I'll tell you how I'll get to the Moon. I'll hire the proper brain boys, give them everything they want, see to it that they have all the money they can use, sweet talk them into long hours-then stand back and watch them produce. I'll run it like the Manhattan Project-most of you remember the A-bomb job; shucks, some of you can remember the Mississippi Bubble. The chap that headed up the Manhattan Project didn't know a neutron from Uncle George-but he got results. They solved that trick four ways. That's why I'm not worried about fuel; we'll get a fuel. We'll get several fuels."

ККККК Dixon said, "Suppose it works? Seems to me you're asking us to bankrupt the company for an exploit with no real value, aside from pure science, and a one-shot entertainment exploitation. I'm not against you-I wouldn't mind putting in ten, fifteen thousand to support a worthy venture-but I can't see the thing as a business proposition."

ККККК Harriman leaned on his fingertips and stared down the long table. "Ten or fifteen thousand gum drops! Dan, I mean to get into you for a couple of megabucks at least-and before we're through you'll be hollering for more stock. This is the greatest real estate venture since the Pope carved up the New World. Don't ask me what we'll make a profit on; I can't itemize the assets-but I can lump them. The assets are a planet-a whole planet, Dan, that's never been touched. And more planets beyond it. If we can't figure out ways to swindle a few fast bucks out of a sweet set-up like that then you and I had better both go on relief. It's like having Manhattan Island offered to you for twenty-four dollars and a case of whiskey."

ККККК Dixon grunted. "You make it sound like the chance of a lifetime."

ККККК "Chance of a lifetime, nuts! This is' the greatest chance in all history. It's raining soup; grab yourself a bucket."

ККККК Next to Entenza sat Gaston P. Jones, director of Trans-America and half a dozen other banks, one of the richest men in the room. He carefully removed two inches of cigar ash, then said dryly, "Mr. Harriman, I will sell you all of my interest in the Moon, present and future, for fifty cents."

ККККК Harriman looked delighted. "Sold!"

ККККК Entenza had been pulling at his lower lip and listening with a brooding expression on his face. Now he spoke up. "Just a minute, Mr. Jones-I'll give you a dollar for it."

ККККК "Dollar fifty," answered Harriman.

ККККК "Two dollars," Entenza answered slowly.

ККККК "Five!"

ККККК They edged each other up. At ten dollars Entenza let Harriman have it and sat back, still looking thoughtful. Harriman looked happily around. "Which one of you thieves is a lawyer?" he demanded. The remark was rhetorical; out of seventeen directors the normal percentage-eleven, to be exact-were lawyers. "Hey, Tony," he continued, "draw me up an instrument right now that will tie down this transaction so that it couldn't be broken before the Throne of God. All of Mr. Jones' interests, rights, title, natural interest, future interests, interests held directly or through ownership of stock, presently held or to be acquired, and so forth and so forth. Put lots of Latin in it. The idea is that every interest in the Moon that Mr. Jones now has or may acquire is mine-for a ten spot, cash in hand paid." Harriman slapped a bill down on the table. "That right, Mr. Jones?"

ККККК Jones smiled briefly. "That's right, young fellow." He pocketed the bill. "I'll frame this for my grandchildren-to show them how easy it is to make money." Entenza's eyes darted from Jones to Harriman.

ККККК "Good!" said Harriman. "Gentlemen, Mr. Jones has set a market price for one human being's interest in our satellite. With around three billion persons on this globe that sets a price on the Moon of thirty billion dollars." He hauled out a wad of money. "Any more suckers? I'm buying every share that's offered, ten bucks a copy."

ККККК "I'll pay twenty!" Entenza rapped out.

ККККК Harriman looked at him sorrowfully. "Jack-don't do that! We're on the same team. Let's take the shares together, at ten."

ККККК Dixon pounded for order. "Gentlemen, please conduct such transactions after the meeting is adjourned. Is there a second to Mr. Harriman's motion?"

ККККК Gaston Jones said, "I owe it to Mr. Harriman to second his motion, without prejudice. Let's get on with a vote."

ККККК No one objected; the vote was taken. It went eleven to three against Harriman-Harriman, Strong, and Entenza for; all others against. Harriman popped up before anyone could move to adjourn and said, "I expected that. My real purpose is this: since the company is no longer interested in space travel, will it do me the courtesy of selling me what I may need of patents, processes, facilities, and so forth now held by the company but relating to space travel and not relating to the production of power on this planet? Our brief honeymoon with the power satellite built up a backlog; I want to use it. Nothing formal-just a vote that it is the policy of the company to assist me in any way not inconsistent with the primary interest of the company. How about it, gentlemen? It'll get me out of your hair."

ККККК Jones studied his cigar again. "I see no reason why we should not accommodate him, gentlemen . . . and I speak as the perfect disinterested party."

ККККК "I think we can do it, Delos," agreed Dixon, "only we won't sell you anything, we'll lend it to you. Then, if you happen to hit the jackpot, the company still retains an interest. Has anyone any objection?" he said to the room at large.

ККККК There was none; the matter was recorded as company policy and the meeting was adjourned. Harriman stopped to whisper with Entenza and, finally, to make an appointment. Gaston Jones stood near the door, speaking privately with Chairman Dixon. He beckoned to Strong, Harriman's partner. "George, may I ask a personal question?"

ККККК "I don't guarantee to answer. Go ahead."

ККККК "You've always struck me as a level-headed man. Tell me-why do you string along with Harriman? Why, the man's mad as a hatter."

ККККК Strong looked sheepish. "I ought to deny that, he's my friend . . . but I can't. But dawggone it! Every time Delos has a wild hunch, it turns out to be the real thing. I hate to string along-it makes me nervous-but I've learned to trust his hunches rather than another man's sworn financial report."

ККККК Jones cocked one brow. "The Midas touch, eh?"

ККККК "You could call it that."

ККККК "Well, remember what happened to King Midas-in the long run. Good day, gentlemen."

ККККК Harriman had left Entenza; Strong joined him. Dixon stood staring at them, his face very thoughtful.

CHAPTER TWO

HARRIMAN'S HOME had been built at the time when everyone who could was decentralizing and going underground. Above ground there was a perfect little Cape Cod cottage-the clapboards of which concealed armor plate- and most delightful, skillfully landscaped grounds; below ground there was four or five times as much floorspace, immune to anything but a direct hit and possessing an independent air supply with reserves for one thousand hours. During the Crazy Years the conventional wall surrounding the grounds had been replaced by a wall which looked the same but which would stop anything short of a broaching tank-nor were the gates weak points; their gadgets were as personally loyal as a well-trained dog.

ККККК Despite its fortress-like character the house was comfortable. It was also very expensive to keep up.

ККККК Harriman did not mind the expense; Charlotte liked the house and it gave her something to do. When they were first married she had lived uncomplainingly in a cramped flat over a grocery store; if Charlotte now liked to play house in a castle, Harriman did not mind.

ККККК But he was again starting a shoe-string venture; the few thousand per month of ready cash represented by the household expenses might, at some point in the game, mean the difference between success and the sheriff's bailiffs. That night at dinner, after the servants fetched the coffee, and port, he took up the matter.

ККККК "My dear, I've been wondering how you would like a few months in Florida."

ККККК His wife stared at him. "Florida? Delos, is your mind wandering? Florida is unbearable at this time of the year."

ККККК "Switzerland, then. Pick your own spot. Take a real vacation, as long as you like."

ККККК "Delos, you are up to something."

ККККК Harriman sighed. Being "up to something" was the unnameable and unforgivable crime for which any American male could be indicted, tried, convicted, and sentenced in one breath. He wondered how things had gotten rigged so that the male half of the race must always behave to suit feminine rules and feminine logic, like a snotty-nosed school boy in front of a stern teacher.

ККККК "In a way, perhaps. We've both agreed that this house is a bit of a white elephant. I was thinking of closing it, possibly even of disposing of the land- it's worth more now than when we bought it. Then, when we get around to it, we could build something more modern and a little less like a bombproof."

ККККК Mrs. Harriman was temporarily diverted. "Well, I have thought it might be nice to build another place, Delos-say a little chalet tucked away in the mountains, nothing ostentatious, not more than two servants, or three. But we won't close this place until it's built, Delos-after all, one must live somewhere."

ККККК "I was not thinking of building right away," he answered cautiously. "Why not? We're not getting any younger, Delos; if we are to enjoy the good things of life we had better not make delays. You needn't worry about it; I'll manage everything."

ККККК Harriman turned over in his mind the possibility of letting her build to keep her busy. If he earmarked the cash for her "little chalet," she would live in a hotel nearby wherever she decided to build it-and he could sell this monstrosity they were sitting in. With the nearest roadcity now less than ten miles away, the land should bring more than Charlotte's new house would cost and he would be rid of the monthly drain on his pocketbook.

ККККК "Perhaps you are right," he agreed. "But suppose you do build at once; you won't be living here; you'll be supervising every detail of the new place. I say we should unload this place; it's eating its head off in taxes, upkeep, and running expenses."

ККККК She shook her head. "Utterly out of the question, Delos. This is my home." He ground out an almost unsmoked cigar. "I'm sorry, Charlotte, but you can't have it both ways. If you build, you can't stay here. If you stay here, we'll close these below-ground catacombs, fire about a dozen of the parasites I keep stumbling over, and live in the cottage on the surface. I'm cutting expenses."

ККККК "Discharge the servants? Delos, if you think that I will undertake to make a home for you without a proper staff, you can just-"

ККККК "Stop it." He stood up and threw his napkin down. "It doesn't take a squad of servants to make a home. When we were first married you had no servants-and you washed and ironed my shirts in the bargain. But we had a home then. This place is owned by that staff you speak of. Well, we're getting rid of them, all but the cook and a handy man."

ККККК She did not seem to hear. "Delos! sit down and behave yourself. Now what's all this about cutting expenses? Are you in some sort of trouble? Are you? Answer me!"

ККККК He sat down wearily and answered, "Does a man have to be in trouble to want to cut out unnecessary expenses?"

ККККК "In your case, yes. Now what is it? Don't try to evade me."

ККККК "Now see here, Charlotte, we agreed a long time ago that I would keep business matters in the office. As for the house, we simply don't need a house this size. It isn't as if we had a passel of kids to fill up-"

ККККК "Oh! Blaming me for that again!"

ККККК "Now see here, Charlotte," he wearily began again, "I never did blame you and I'm not blaming you now. All I ever did was suggest that we both see a doctor and find out what the trouble was we didn't have any kids. And for twenty years you've been making me pay for that one remark. But that's all over and done with now; I was simply making the point that two people don't fill up twenty-two rooms. I'll pay a reasonable price for a new house, if you want it, and give you an ample household allowance." He started to say how much, then decided not to. "Or you can close this place and live in the cottage above. It's just that we are going to quit squandering money-for a while."

ККККК She grabbed the last phrase. "'For a while.' What's going on, Delos? What are you going to squander money on?" When he did not answer she went on. "Very well, if you won't tell me, I'll call George. He will tell me."

ККККК "Don't do that, Charlotte. I'm warning you. I'll-"

ККККК "You'll what!" She studied his face. "I don't need to talk to George; I can tell by looking at you. You've got the same look on your face you had when you came home and told me that you had sunk all our money in those crazy rockets."

ККККК "Charlotte, that's not fair. Skyways paid off. It's made us a mint of money."

ККККК "That's beside the point. I know why you're acting so strangely; you've got that old trip-to-the-Moon madness again. Well, I won't stand for it, do you hear? I'll stop you; I don't bave to put up with it. I'm going right down in the morning and see Mr. Kamens and find out what has to be done to make you behave yourself." The cords of her neck jerked as she spoke.

ККККК He waited, gathering his temper before going on. "Charlotte, you have no real cause for complaint. No matter what happens to me, your future is taken care of."

ККККК "Do you think I want to be a widow?"

ККККК He looked thoughtfully at her. "I wonder."

ККККК "Why- Why, you heartless beast." She stood up. "We'll say no more about it; do you mind?" She left without waiting for an answer.

ККККК His "man" was waiting for him when he got to his room. Jenkins got up hastily and started drawing Harriman's bath. "Beat it," Harriman grunted. "I can undress myself."

ККККК "You require nothing more tonight, sir?"

ККККК "Nothing. But don't go unless you feel like it. Sit down and pour yourself a drink. Ed, how long you been married?"

ККККК "Don't mind if I do." The servant helped himself. "Twenty-three years, come May, sir."

ККККК "How's it been, if you don't mind me asking?"ККККК -

ККККК "Not bad. Of course there have been times-"

ККККК "I know what you mean. Ed, if you weren't working for me, what would you be doing?"

ККККК "Well, the wife and I have talked many times of opening a little restaurant, nothing pretentious, but good. A place where a gentleman could enjoy a quiet meal of good food."

ККККК "Stag, eh?"

ККККК "No, not entirely, sir-but there would be a parlor' for gentlemen only. Not even waitresses, I'd tend that room myself."

ККККК "Better look around for locations, Ed. You're practically in business."

CHAPTER THREE

STRONG ENTERED THEIR JOINT OFFICES the next morning at a precise nine o'clock, as usual. He was startled to find Harriman there before him. For Harriman to fail to show up at all meant nothing; for him to beat the clerks in was significant.

ККККК Harriman was busy with a terrestrial globe and a book-the current Nautical Almanac, Strong observed. Harriman barely glanced up. "Morning, George. Say, who've we got a line to in Brazil?"

ККККК "Why?"

ККККК "I need some trained seals who speak Portuguese, that's why. And some who speak Spanish, too. Not to mention three or four dozen scattered around in this country. I've come across something very, very interesting. Look here. . . according to these tables the Moon only swings about twentyeight, just short of twenty-nine degrees north and south of the equator." He held a pencil against the globe and spun it. "Like that. That suggest anything?"

ККККК "No. Except that you're getting pencil marks on a sixty dollar globe."

ККККК "And you an old real estate operator! What does a man own when he buys a parcel of land?"

ККККК "That depends on the deed. Usually mineral rights and other subsurface rights are-"

ККККК "Never mind that. Suppose he buys the works, without splitting the rights: how far down does he own? How far up does he own?"

ККККК "Well, he owns a wedge down to the center of the Earth. That was settled in the slant-drilling and off-set oil lease cases. Theoretically he used to own the space above the land, too, out indefinitely, but that was modified by a series of cases after the commercial airlines came in-and a good thing, for us, too, or we would have to pay tolls every time one of our rockets took off for Australia."

ККККК "No, no, no, George! you didn't read those cases right. Right of passage was established-but ownership of the space above the land remained unchanged. And even right of passage was not absolute; you can build a thousand-foot tower on your own land right where airplanes, or rockets, or whatever, have been in the habit of passing and the ships will thereafter have to go above it, with no kick back on you. Remember how we had to lease the air south of Hughes Field to insure that our approach wasn't built up?"

ККККК Strong looked thoughtful. "Yes. I see your point. The ancient principle of land ownership remains undisturbed-down to the center of the Earth, up to infinity. But what of it? It's a purely theoretical matter. You're not planning to pay tolls to operate those spaceships you're always talking about, are you?" He grudged a smile at his own wit.

ККККК "Not on your tintype. Another matter entirely. George-who owns the Moon?"

ККККК Strong's jaw dropped, literally. "Delos, you're joking."

ККККК "I am not. I'll ask you again: if basic law says that a man owns the wedge of sky above his farm out to infinity, who owns the Moon? Take a look at this globe and tell me."

ККККК Strong looked. "But it can't mean anything, Delos. Earth laws wouldn't apply to the Moon."

ККККК "They apply here and that's where I am worrying about it. The Moon stays constantly over a slice of Earth bounded by latitude twenty-nine north and the same distance south; if one man owned all that belt of Earth-it's roughly the tropical zone-then he'd own the Moon, too, wouldn't he? By all the theories of real property ownership that our courts pay any attention to. And, by direct derivation, according to the sort of logic that lawyers like, the various owners of that belt of land have title-good vendable title-to the Moon somehow lodged collectively in them. The fact that the distribution of the title is a little vague wouldn't bother a lawyer; they grow fat on just such distributed titles every time a will is probated."

ККККК "It's fantastic!"

ККККК "George, when are you going to learn that 'fantastic' is a notion that doesn't bother a lawyer?"

ККККК "You're not planning to try to buy the entire tropical zone-that's what you would have to do."

ККККК "No," Harriman said slowly, "but it might not be a bad idea to buy right, title and interest in the Moon, as it may appear, from each of the sovereign countries in that belt. If I thought I could keep it quiet and not run the market up, I might try it. You can buy a thing awful cheap from a man if he thinks it's worthless and wants to sell before you regain your senses.

ККККК "But that's not the plan," he went on. "George, I want corporations- local corporations-in every one of those countries. I want the legislatures of each of those countries to grant franchises to its local corporation for lunar exploration, exploitation, et cetera, and the right to claim lunar soil on behalf of the country-with fee simple, naturally, being handed on a silver platter to the patriotic corporation that thought up the idea. And I want all this done quietly, so that the bribes won't go too high. We'll own the corporations, of course, which is why I need a flock of trained seals. There is going to be one hell of a fight one of these days over who owns the Moon; I want the deck stacked so that we win no matter how the cards are dealt."

ККККК "It will be ridiculously expensive, Delos. And you don't even know that you will ever get to the Moon, much less that it will be worth anything after you get there."

ККККК "We'll get there! It'll be more expensive not to establish these claims. Anyhow it need not be very expensive; the proper use of bribe money is a homoeopathic art-you use it as a catalyst. Back in the middle of the last century four men went from California to Washington with $40,000; it was all they had. A few weeks later they were broke-but Congress had awarded them a billion dollars' worth of railroad right of way. The trick is not to run up the market."

ККККК Strong shook his head. "Your title wouldn't be any good anyhow. The Moon doesn't stay in one place; it passes over owned land certainly-but so does a migrating goose."

ККККК "And nobody has title to a migrating bird. I get your point-but the Moon always stays over that one belt. If you move a boulder in your garden, do you lose title to it? Is it still real estate? Do the title laws still stand? This is like that group of real estate cases involving wandering islands in the Mississippi, George-the land moved as the river cut new channels, but somebody always owned it. In this case I plan to see to it that we are the 'somebody.'"

ККККК Strong puckered his brow. "I seem to recall that some of those island-andriparian cases were decided one way and some another."

ККККК "We'll pick the decisions that suit us. That's why lawyers' wives have mink coats. Come on, George; let's get busy."

ККККК "On what?"

ККККК "Raising the money."

ККККК "Oh." Strong looked relieved. "I thought you were planning to use our money."

ККККК "I am. But it won't be nearly enough. We'll use our money for the senior financing to get things moving; in the meantime we've got to work out ways to keep the money rolling in." He pressed a switch at his desk; the face of Saul Kamens, their legal chief of staff, sprang out at him. "Hey, Saul, can you slide in for a p0w-wow?"

ККККК "WThatever it is, just tell them 'no,'" answered the attorney. "I'll fix it."

ККККК "Good. Now come on in-they're moving Hell and I've got an option on the first ten loads."

ККККК Kamens showed up in his own good time. Some minutes later Harriman had explained his notion for claiming the Moon ahead of setting foot on it. "Besides those dummy corporations," he went on, "we need an agency that can receive contributions without having to admit any financial interest on the part of the contributor-like the National Geographic Society."

ККККК Kamens shook his head. "You can't buy the National Geographic Society."

ККККК "Damn it, who said we were going to? We'll set up our own."

ККККК "That's what I started to say."

ККККК "Good. As I see it, we need at least one tax-free, non-profit corporation headed up by the right people-we'll hang on to voting control, of course. We'll probably need more than one; we'll set them up as we need them. And we've got to have at least one new ordinary corporation, not tax-free- but it won't show a profit until we are ready. The idea is to let the nonprofit corporations have all of the prestige and all of the publicity-and the other gets all of the profits, if and when. We swap assets around between corporations, always for perfectly valid reasons, so that the non-profit corporations pay the expenses as we go along. Come to think about it, we had better have at least two ordinary corporations, so that we can let one of them go through bankruptcy if we find it necessary to shake out the water. That's the general sketch. Get busy and fix it up so that it's legal, will you?"

ККККК Kamens said, "You know, Delos, it would be a lot more honest if you did it at the point of a gun."

ККККК "A lawyer talks to me of honesty! Never mind, Saul; I'm not actually going to cheat anyone-"

ККККК "Humph!"

ККККК "-and I'm just going to make a trip to the Moon. That's what everybody will be paying for; that's what they'll get. Now fix it up so that it's legal, that's a good boy."

ККККК "I'm reminded of something the elder Vanderbilt's lawyer said to the old man under similar circumstances: 'It's beautiful the way it is; why spoil it by making it legal?' Okeh, brother gonoph, I'll rig your trap. Anything else?"

ККККК "Sure. Stick around, you might have some ideas. George, ask Montgomery to come in, will you?" Montgomery, Harriman's publicity chief, had two virtues in his employer's eyes: he was personally loyal to Harriman, and, secondly, he was quite capable of planning a campaign to convince the public that Lady Godiva wore a Caresse-brand girdle during her famous ride

ККККК or that Hercules attributed his strength to Crunchies for breakfast. He arrived with a large portfolio under his arm. "Glad you sent for me, Chief. Get a load of this-" He spread the folder open on Harriman's desk and began displaying sketches and layouts. "Kinsky's work-is that boy hot!" Harriman closed the portfolio. "What outfit is it for?"

ККККК "Huh? New World Homes."

ККККК "I don't want to see it; we're dumping New World Homes. Wait a minute-don't start to bawl. Have the boys go through with it; I want the price kept up while we unload. But open your ears to another matter." He explained rapidly the new enterprise.

ККККК Presently Montgomery was nodding. "When do we start and how much do we spend?"

ККККК "Right away and spend what you need to. Don't get chicken about expenses; this is the biggest thing we've ever tackled." Strong flinched; Harriman went on, "Have insomnia over it tonight; see me tomorrow and we'll kick it around."

ККККК "Wait a see, Chief. How are you going to sew up all those franchises from the, uh-the Moon states, those countries the Moon passes over, while a big publicity campaign is going on about a trip to the Moon and how big a thing it is for everybody? Aren't you about to paint yourself into a corner?"

ККККК "Do I look stupid? We'll get the franchise before you hand out so much as a filler-you'll get 'em, you and Kamens. That's your first job."

ККККК "Hmmm. . . ." Montgomery chewed a thumb nail. "Well, all right-I can see some angles. How soon do we have to sew it up?"

ККККК "I give you six weeks. Otherwise just mail your resignation in, written on the skin off your back."

ККККК "I'll write it right now, if you'll help me by holding a mirror."

ККККК "Damn it, Monty, I know you can't do it in six weeks. But make it fast; we can't take a cent in to keep the thing going until you sew up those franchises. If you dilly-dally, we'll all starve-and we won't get to the Moon, either."

ККККК Strong said, "D.D., why fiddle with those trick claims from a bunch of moth-eaten tropical countries? If you are dead set on going to the Moon, let's call Ferguson in and get on with the matter."

ККККК "I like your direct approach, George," Harriman said, frowning. "Mmmm back about i 84; or '46 an eager-beaver American army officer captured California. You know what the State Department did?"

ККККК "They made him hand it back. Seems he hadn't touched second base, or something. So they had to go to the trouble of capturing it all over again a few months later. Now I don't want that to happen to us. It's not enough just to set foot on the Moon and claim it; we've got to validate that claim in terrestrial courts-or we're in for a peck of trouble. Eh, Saul?"

ККККК Kamens nodded. "Remember what happened to Columbus."

ККККК "Exactly. We aren't going to let ourselves be rooked the way Columbus was."

ККККК Montgomery spat out some thumb nail. "But, Chief-you know damn well those banana-state claims won't be worth two cents after I do tie them up. Why not get a franchise right from the U.N. and settle the matter? I'd as lief tackle that as tackle two dozen cockeyed legislatures. In fact I've got an angle already-we work it through the Security Council and-"

ККККК "Keep working on that angle; we'll use it later. You don't appreciate the full mechanics of the scheme, Monty. Of course those claims are worth nothing-except nuisance value. But their nuisance value is all important. Listen: we get to the Moon, or appear about to. Every one of those countries puts up a squawk; we goose them into it through the dummy corporations they have enfranchised. Where do they squawk? To the U.N., of course. Now the big countries on this globe, the rich and important ones, are all in the northern temperate zone. They see what the claims are based on and they take a frenzied look at the globe. Sure enough, the Moon does not pass over a one of them. The biggest country of all-Russia-doesn't own a spadeful of dirt south of twenty-nine north. So they reject all the claims.

ККККК "Or do they?" Harriman went on. "The U.S. balks. The Moon passes over Florida and the southern part of Texas. Washington is in a tizzy. Should they back up the tropical countries and support the traditional theory of land title or should they throw their weight to the idea that the Moon belongs to everyone? Or should the United States try to claim the whole thing, seeing as how it was Americans who actually got there first?

ККККК "At this point we creep out from under cover. It seems that the Moon ship was owned and the expenses paid by a non-profit corporation chartered by the U.N. itself-"

ККККК "Hold it," interrupted Strong. "I didn't know that the U.N. could create corporations?"

ККККК "You'll find it can," his partner answered. "How about it, Saul?" Kamens nodded. "Anyway," Harriman continued, "I've already got the corporation. I had it set up several years ago. It can do most anything of an educational or scientific nature-and brother, that covers a lot of ground! Back to the point-this corporation, the creature of the U.N., asks its parent to declare the lunar colony autonomous territory, under the protection of the U.N. We won't ask for outright membership at first because we want to keep it simple-"

ККККК "Simple, he calls it!" said Montgomery.

ККККК "Simple. This new colony will be a de facto sovereign state, holding title to the entire Moon, and-listen closely!-capable of buying, selling, passing laws, issuing title to land, setting up monopolies, collecting tariffs, et cetera without end. And we own it."

ККККК "The reason we get all this is because the major states in the U.N. can't think up a claim that sounds as legal as the claim made by the tropical states, they can't agree among themselves as to how to split up the swag if they were to attempt brute force and the other major states aren't willing to see the United States claim the whole thing. They'll take the easy way out of their dilemma by appearing to retain title in the U.N. itself. The real title, the title controlling all economic and legal matters, will revert to us. Now do you see my point, Monty?"

ККККК Montgomery grinned. "Damned if I know if it's necessary, Chief, but I love it. It's beautiful."

ККККК "Well, I don't think so," Strong grumbled. "Delos, I've seen you rig some complicated deals-some of them so devious that they turned even my stomach-but this one is the worst yet. I think you've been carried away by the pleasure you get out of cooking up involved deals in which somebody gets double-crossed."

ККККК Harriman puffed hard on his cigar before answering, "I don't give a damn, George. Call it chicanery, call it anything you want to. I'm going to the Moon! If I have to manipulate a million people to accomplish it, I'll do it."

ККККК "But it's not necessary to do it this way."

ККККК "Well, how would you do it?"

ККККК "Me? I'd set up a straightforward corporation. I'd get a resolution in Congress making my corporation the chosen instrument of the United States-"

ККККК "Bribery?"

ККККК "Not necessarily. Influence and pressure ought to be enough. Then I would set about raising the money and make the trip."

ККККК "And the United States would then own the Moon?"

ККККК "Naturally," Strong answered a little stiffly.

ККККК Harriman got up and began pacing. "You don't see it, George, you don't see it. The Moon was not meant to be owned by a single country, even the United States."

ККККК "It was meant to be owned by you, I suppose."

ККККК "Well, if I own it-for a short while-I won't misuse it and I'll take care that others don't. Damnation, nationalism should stop at the stratosphere. Can you see what would happen if the United States lays claim to the Moon? The other nations won't recognize the claim. It will become a permanent bone of contention in the Security Council-just when we were beginning to get straightened out to the point where a man could do business planning without having his elbow jogged by a war every few years. The other nations-quite rightfully-will be scared to death of the United States. They will be able to look up in the sky any night and see the main atom-bomb rocket base of the United States staring down the backs of their necks. Are they going to hold still for it? No, sirree-they are going to try to clip off a piece of the Moon for their own national use. The Moon is too big to hold, all at once. There will be other bases established there and presently there will be the worst war this planet has ever seen-and we'll be to blame.

ККККК "No, it's got to be an arrangement that everybody will hold still for-and that's why we've got to plan it, think of all the angles, and be devious about it until we are in a position to make it work.

ККККК "Anyhow, George, if we claim it in the name of the United States, do you know where we will be, as business men?"

ККККК "In the driver's seat," answered Strong.

ККККК "In a pig's eye! We'll be dealt right out of the game. The Department of National Defense will say, 'Thank you, Mr. Harriman. Thank you, Mr. Strong. We are taking over in the interests of national security; you can go home now.' And that's just what we would have to do-go home and wait for the next atom war.

ККККК "I'm not going to do it, George. I'm not going to let the brass hats muscle in. I'm going to set up a lunar colony and then nurse it along until it is big enough to stand on its own feet. I'm telling you-all of you!-this is the biggest thing for the human race since the discovery of fire. Handled right, it can mean a new and braver world. Handle it wrong and it's a one-way ticket to Armageddon. It's coming, it's coming soon, whether we touch it or not. But I plan to be the Man in the Moon myself-and give it my personal attention to see that it's handled right."

ККККК He paused. Strong said, "Through with your sermon, Delos?"

ККККК "No, I'm not," Harriman denied testily. "You don't see this thing the right way. Do you know what we may find up there?" He swung his arm in an arc toward the ceiling. "People!"

ККККК "On the Moon?" said Kamens.

ККККК "Why not on the Moon?" whispered Montgomery to Strong.

ККККК "No, not on the Moon-at least I'd be amazed if we dug down and found anybody under that airless shell. The Moon has had its day; I was speaking of the other planets-Mars and Venus and the satellites of Jupiter. Even maybe out at the stars themselves. Suppose we do find people? Think what it will mean to us. We've been alone, all alone, the only intelligent race in the only world we know. We haven't even been able to talk with dogs or apes. Any answers we got we had to think up by ourselves, like deserted orphans. But suppose we find people, intelligent people, who have done some thinking in their own way. We wouldn't be alone any more! We could look up at the stars and never be afraid again."

ККККК He finished, seeming a little tired and even a little ashamed of his outburst, like a man surprised in a private act. He stood facing them, searching their faces.

ККККК "Gee whiz, Chief," said Montgomery, "I can use that. How about it?"

ККККК "Think you can remember it?"

ККККК "Don't need to-I flipped on your 'silent steno."

ККККК "Well, damn your eyes!"

ККККК "We'll put it on video-in a play I think."

ККККК Harriman smiled almost boyishly. "I've never acted, but if you think it'll do any good, I'm game."

ККККК "Oh, no, not you, Chief," Montgomery answered in horrified tones. "You're not the type. I'll use Basil Wilkes-Booth, I think. With his organlike voice and that beautiful archangel face, he'll really send 'em."

ККККК Harriman glanced down at his paunch and said gruffly, "O.K.-back to business. Now about money. In the first place we can go after straight donations to one of the non-profit corporations, just like endowments for colleges. Hit the upper brackets, where tax deductions really matter. How much do you think we can raise that way?"

ККККК "Very little," Strong opined. "That cow is about milked dry."

ККККК "It's never milked dry, as long as there are rich men around who would rather make gifts than pay taxes. How much will a man pay to have a crater on the Moon named after him?"

ККККК "I thought they all had names?" remarked the lawyer.

ККККК "Lots of them don't-and we have the whole back face that's not touched yet. We won't try to put down an estimate today; we'll just list it. Monty, I want an angle to squeeze dimes out of the school kids, too. Forty million school kids 'at a dime a head is $4,000,000.00-we can use that."

ККККК "Why stop at a dime?" asked Monty. "If you get a kid really interested he'll scrape together a dollar."

ККККК "Yes, but what do we offer him for it? Aside from the honor of taking part in a noble venture and so forth?"

ККККК "Mmmm. . . ." Montgomery used up more thumb nail. "Suppose we go after both the dimes and the dollars. For a dime he gets a card saying that he's a member of the Moonbeam club-"

ККККК "No, the 'Junior Spacemen'."

ККККК "O.K., the Moonbeams will be girls-and don't forget to rope the Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts into it, too. We give each kid a card; when he kicks in another dime, we punch it. When he's punched out a dollar, we give him a certificate, suitable for framing, with his name and some process engraving, and on the back a picture of the Moon."

ККККК "On the front," answered Harriman. "Do it in one print job; it's cheaper and it'll look better. We give him something else, too, a steelclad guarantee that his name will be on the rolls of the Junior Pioneers of the Moon, which same will be placed in a monument to be erected on the Moon at the landing site of the first Moon ship-in microfilm, of course; we have to watch weight."

ККККК "Fine!" agreed Montgomery. "Want to swap jobs, Chief? V/hen he gets up to ten dollars we give him a genuine, solid gold-plated shooting star pin ~nd he's a senior Pioneer, with the right to vote or something or other. And his name goes outside of the monument-microengraved on a platinum strip."

ККККК Strong looked as if he had bitten a lemon. "What happens when he reaches a hundred dollars?" he asked.

ККККК "Why, then," Montgomery answered happily, "we give him another card and he can start over. Don't worry about it, Mr. Strong-if any kid goes that high, he'll have his reward. Probably we will take him on an inspection tour of the ship before it takes off and give him, absolutely free, a picture of himself standing in front of it, with the pilot's own signature signed across the bottom by some female clerk."

ККККК "Chiseling from kids. Bah!"

ККККК "Not at all," answered Montgomery in hurt tones. "Intangibles are the most honest merchandise anyone can sell. They are always worth whatever you are willing to pay for them and they never wear out. You can take them to your grave untarnished."

ККККК "Hmmmph!"

ККККК Harriman listened to this, smiling and saying nothing. Kamens cleared his throat. "If you two ghouls are through cannibalizing the youth of the land, I've another idea."

ККККК "Spill it."

ККККК "George, you collect stamps, don't you?"

ККККК "Yes."

ККККК "How much would a cover be worth which had been to the Moon and been cancelled there?"

ККККК "Huh? But you couldn't, you know."

ККККК "I think we could get our Moon ship declared a legal post office substation without too much trouble. What would it be worth?"

ККККК "Uh, that depends on how rare they are."

ККККК "There must be some optimum number which will fetch a maximum return. Can you estimate it?"

ККККК Strong got a faraway look in his eye, then took out an old-fashioned pencil and commenced to figure. Harriman went on, "Saul, my minor success in buying a share in the Moon from Jones went to my head. How about selling building lots on the Moon?"

ККККК "Let's keep this serious, Delos. You can't do that until you've landed there."

ККККК "I am serious. I know you are thinking of that ruling back in the 'forties that such land would have to be staked out and accurately described. I want to sell land on the Moon. You figure out a way to make it legal. I'll sell the whole Moon, if I can-surface rights, mineral rights, anything."

ККККК "Suppose they want to occupy it?"

ККККК "Fine. The more the merrier. I'd like to point out, too, that we'll be in a position to assess taxes on what we have sold. If they don't use it and won't pay taxes, it reverts to us. Now you figure out how to offer it, without going to jail. You may have to advertise it abroad, then plan to peddle it personally in this country, like Irish Sweepstakes tickets."

ККККК Kamens looked thoughtful. "We could incorporate the land company in Panama and advertise by video and radio from Mexico. Do you really think you can sell the stuff?"

ККККК "You can sell snowballs in Greenland," put in Montgomery. "It's a matter of promotion."

ККККК Harriman added, "Did you ever read about the Florida land boom, Saul? People bought lots they had never seen and sold them at tripled prices without ever having laid eyes on them. Sometimes a parcel would change hands a dozen times before anyone got around to finding out that the stuff was ten-foot deep in water. We can offer bargains better than that-an acre, a guaranteed dry acre with plenty of sunshine, for maybe ten dollars-or a thousand acres at a dollar an acre. Who's going to turn down a bargain like that? Particularly after the rumor gets around that the Moon is believed to be loaded with uranium?"

ККККК "Is it?"

ККККК "How should I know? When the boom sags a little we will announce the selected location of Luna City-and it will just happen to work out that the land around the site is still available for sale. Don't worry, Saul, if it's real estate, George and I can sell it. Why, down in the Ozarks, where the land stands on edge, we used to sell both sides of the same acre." Harriman looked thoughtful. "I think we'll reserve mineral rights-there just might actually be uranium there!"

ККККК Kamens chuckled. "Delos, you are a kid at heart. Just a great big, overgrown, lovable-juvenile delinquent."

ККККК Strong straightened up. "I make it half a million," he said.

ККККК "Half a million what?" asked Harriman.

ККККК "For the cancelled philatelic covers, of course. That's what we were talking about. Five thousand is my best estimate of the number that could be placed with serious collectors and with dealers. Even then we will have to discount them to a syndicate and hold back until the ship is built and the trip looks like a probability."

ККККК "Okay," agreed Harriman. "You handle it. I'll just note that we can tap you for an extra half million toward the end."

ККККК "Don't I get a commission?" asked Kamens. "I thought of it."

ККККК "You get a rising vote of thanks-and ten acres on the Moon. Now what other sources of revenue can we hit?"

ККККК "Don't you plan to sell stock?" asked Kamens.

ККККК "I was coming to that. Of course-but no preferred stock; we don't want to be forced through a reorganization. Participating common, non-voting-"

ККККК "Sounds like another banana-state corporation to me."

ККККК "Naturally-but I want some of it on the New York Exchange, and you'll have to work that out with the Securities Exchange Commission somehow. Not too much of it-that's our show case and we'll have to keep it active and moving up."

ККККК "Wouldn't you rather I swam the Hellespont?"

ККККК "Don't be like that, Saul. It beats chasing ambulances, doesn't it?"

ККККК "I'm not sure."

ККККК "Well, that's what I want you-wups!" The screen on Harriman's desk had come to life. A girl said, "Mr. Harriman, Mr. Dixon is here. He has no appointment but he says that you want to see him."

ККККК "I thought I had that thing shut off," muttered Harriman, then pressed his key and said, "O.K., show him in."

ККККК "Very well, sir-oh, Mr. Harriman, Mr. Entenza came in just this second."

ККККК "Look who's talking," said Kamens.

ККККК Dixon came in with Entenza behind him. He sat down, looked around, started to speak, then checked himself. He looked around again, especially at Entenza.

ККККК "Go ahead, Dan," Harriman encouraged him. "'Tain't nobody here at all but just us chickens."

ККККК Dixon made up his mind. "I've decided to come in with you, D.D.," he announced. "As an act of faith I went to the trouble of getting this." He took a formal-looking instrument from his pocket and displayed it. It was a sale of lunar rights, from Phineas Morgan to Dixon, phrased in exactly the same fashion as that which Jones had granted to Harriman.

ККККК Entenza looked startled, then dipped into his own inner coat pocket. Out came three more sales contracts of the same sort, each from a director of the power syndicate. Harriman cocked an eyebrow at them. "Jack sees you and raises you two, Dan. You want to call?"

ККККК Dixon smiled ruefully. "I can just see him." He added two more to the pile, grinned and offered his hand to Entenza.

ККККК "Looks like a stand off." Harriman decided to say nothing just yet about seven telestated contracts now locked in his desk-after going to bed the night before he had been quite busy on the phone almost till midnight. "Jack, how much did you pay for those things?"

ККККК "Standish held out for a thousand; the others were cheap."

ККККК "Damn it, I warned you not to run the price up. Standish will gossip. How about you, Dan?"

ККККК "I got them at satisfactory prices."

ККККК "So you won't talk, eh? Never mind-gentlemen, how serious are you about this? How much money did you bring with you?"

ККККК Entenza looked to Dixon, who answered, "How much does it take?"

ККККК "How much can you raise?" demanded Harriman.

ККККК Dixon shrugged. "We're getting no place. Let's use figures. A hundred thousand."

ККККК Harriman sniffed. "I take it what you really want is to reserve a seat on the first regularly scheduled Moon ship. I'll sell it to you at that price."

ККККК "Let's quit sparring, Delos. How much?"

ККККК Harriman's face remained calm but he thought furiously. He was caught short, with too little information-he had not even talked figures with his chief engineer as yet. Confound it! Why had he left that phone hooked in? "Dan, as I warned you, it will cost you at least a million just to sit down in this game."

ККККК "So I thought. How much will it take to stay in the game?"

ККККК "All you've got."

ККККК "Don't be silly, Delos. I've got more than you have."

ККККК Harriman lit a cigar, his only sign of agitation. "Suppose you match us, dollar for dollar."

ККККК "For which I get two shares?"

ККККК "Okay, okay, you chuck in a buck whenever each of us does-share and share alike. But I run things."

ККККК "You run the operations," agreed Dixon. "Very well, I'll put up a million now and match you as necessary. You have no objection to me having my own auditor, of course."

ККККК "When have I ever cheated you, Dan?"

ККККК "Never and there is no need to start."

ККККК "Have it your own way-but be damned sure you send a man who can keep his mouth shut."

ККККК "He'll keep quiet. I keep his heart in a jar in my safe."

ККККК Harriman was thinking about the extent of Dixon's assets. "We just might let you buy in with a second share later, Dan. This operation will be expensive."

ККККК Dixon fitted his finger tips carefully together. "We'll meet that question when we come to it. I don't believe in letting an enterprise fold up for lack of capital."

ККККК "Good." Harriman turned to Entenza. "You heard what Dan had to say, Jack. Do you like the terms?"

ККККК Entenza's forehead was covered with sweat. "I can't raise a million that fast."

ККККК "That's all right, Jack. We don't need it this morning. Your note is good; you can take your time liquidating."

ККККК "But you said a million is just the beginning. I can't match you indefinitely; you've got to place a limit on it. I've got my family to consider."

ККККК "No annuities, Jack? No monies transferred in an irrevocable trust?"

ККККК "That's not the point. You'll be able to squeeze me-freeze me out."

ККККК Harriman waited for Dixon to say something. Dixon finally said, "We wouldn't squeeze you, Jack-as long as you could prove you had converted every asset you hold. We would let you stay in on a pro rata basis."

ККККК Harriman nodded. "That's right, Jack." He was thinking that any shrinkage in Entenza's share would give himself and Strong a clear voting majority.

ККККК Strong had been thinking of something of the same nature, for he spoke up suddenly, "I don't like this. Four equal partners-we can be deadlocked too easily."

ККККК Dixon shrugged. "I refuse to worry about it. I am in this because I am betting that Delos can manage to make it profitable."

ККККК "We'll get to the Moon, Dan!"

ККККК "I didn't say that. I am betting that you will show a profit whether we get to the Moon or not. Yesterday evening I spent looking over the public records of several of your companies; they were very interesting. I suggest we resolve any possible deadlock by giving the Director-that's you, Delos- the power to settle ties. Satisfactory, Entenza?"

ККККК "Oh, sure!"

ККККК Harriman was worried but tried not to show it. He did not trust Dixon, even bearing gifts. He stood up suddenly. "I've got to run, gentlemen. I leave you to Mr. Strong and Mr. Kamens. Come along, Monty." Kamens, he was sure, would not spill anything prematurely, even to nominal full partners. As for Strong-George, he knew, had not even let his left hand know how many fingers there were on his right.

ККККК He dismissed Montgomery outside the door of the partners' personal office and went across the hall. Andrew Ferguson, chief engineer of Harriman Enterprises, looked up as he came in. "Howdy, Boss. Say, Mr. Strong gave me an interesting idea for a light switch this morning. It did not seem practical at first but-"

ККККК "Skip it. Let one of the boys have it and forget it. You know the line we are on now."

ККККК "There have been rumors," Ferguson answered cautiously.

ККККК "Fire the man that brought you the rumor. No-send him on a special mission to Tibet and keep him there until we are through. Well, let's get on with it. I want you to build a Moon ship as quickly as possible."

ККККК Ferguson threw one leg over the arm of his chair, took out a pen knife and began grooming his nails. "You say that like it was an order to build a privy."

ККККК "Why not? There have been theoretically adequate fuels since way back in '49. You get together the team to design it and the gang to build it; you build it-I pay the bills. What could be simpler?"

ККККК Ferguson stared at the ceiling. "'Adequate fuels-'" he repeated dreamily.

ККККК "So I said. The figures show that hydrogen and oxygen are enough to get a step rocket to the Moon and back-it's just a matter of proper design."

ККККК "'Proper design,' he says," Ferguson went on ifl the same gentle voice, then suddenly swung around, jabbed the knife into the scarred desk top and bellowed, "What do you know about proper design? Where do I get the steels? What do I use for a throat liner? How in the hell do I burn enough tons of your crazy mix per second to keep from wasting all my power breaking loose? How can I get a decent mass-ratio with a step rocket? Why in the hell didn't you let me build a proper ship when we had the fuel?"

ККККК Harriman waited for him to quiet down, then said, "What do we do about it, Andy?"

ККККК "Hmmm. . . . I was thinking about it as I lay abed last night-and my old lady is sore as hell at you; I had to finish the night on the couch. In the first place, Mr. Harriman, the proper way to tackle this is to get a research appropriation from the Department of National Defense. Then you-"

ККККК "Damn it, Andy, you stick to engineering and let me handle the political and financial end of it. I don't want your advice."

ККККК "Damn it, Delos, don't go off half-cocked. This is engineering I'm talking about. The government owns a whole mass of former art about rocketry-all classified. Without a government contract you can't even get a peek at it."

ККККК "It can't amount to very much. What can a government rocket do that a Skyways rocket can't do? You told me yourself that Federal rocketry no longer amounted to anything."

ККККК Ferguson looked supercilious. "I am afraid I can't explain it in lay terms. You will have to take it for granted that we need those government research reports. There's no sense in spending thousands of dollars in doing work that has already been done."

ККККК "Spend the thousands."

ККККК "Maybe millions."

ККККК "Spend the millions. Don't be afraid to spend money. Andy, I don't want this to be a military job." He considered elaborating to the engineer the involved politics back of his decision, thought better of it. "How bad do you actually need that government stuff? Can't you get the same results by hiring engineers who used to work for the government? Or even hire them away from the government right now?"

ККККК Ferguson pursed his lips. "If you insist on hampering me, how can you expect me to get results?"

ККККК "I am not hampering you. I am telling you that this is not a government project. If you won't attempt to cope with it on those terms, let me know now, so that I can find somebody who will."

ККККК Ferguson started playing mumblety-peg on his desk top. When he got to "noses"-and missed-he said quietly, "I mind a boy who used to work for the government at White Sands. He was a very smart lad indeed-design chief of section."

ККККК "You mean he might head up your team?"

ККККК "That was the notion."

ККККК "What's his name? Where is he? Who's he working for?"

ККККК "Well, as it happened, when the government closed down White Sands, it seemed a shame to me that a good boy should be out of a job, so I placed him with Skyways. He's maintenance chief engineer out on the Coast."

ККККК "Maintenance? What a hell of a job for a creative man! But you mean he's working for us now? Get him on the screen. No-call the coast and have them send him here in a special rocket; we'll all have lunch together."

ККККК "As it happens," Ferguson said quietly, "I got up last night and called him-that's what annoyed the Missus. He's waiting outside. Coster-Bob Coster."

ККККК A slow grin spread over Harriman's face. "Andy! You black-hearted old scoundrel, why did you pretend to balk?"

ККККК "I wasn't pretending. I like it here, Mr. Harriman. Just as long as you don't interfere, I'll do my job. Now my notion is this: we'll make young Coster chief engineer of the project and give him his head. I won't joggle his elbow; I'll just read the reports. Then you leave him alone, d'you hear me? Nothing makes a good technical man angrier than to have some incompetent nitwit with a check book telling him how to do his job."

ККККК "Suits. And I don't want a penny-pinching old fool slowing him down, either. Mind you don't interfere with him, either, or I'll jerk the rug out from under you. Do we understand each other?"

ККККК "I think we do."

ККККК "Then get him in here."

ККККК Apparently Ferguson's concept of a "lad" was about age thirty-five, for such Harriman judged Coster to be. He was tall, lean, and quietly eager. Harriman braced him immediately after shaking hands with, "Bob, can you build a rocket that will go to the Moon?"

ККККК Coster took it without blinking. "Do you have a source of X-fuel?" he countered, giving the rocket man's usual shorthand for the isotope fuel formerly produced by the power satellite.

ККККК Coster remained perfectly quiet for several seconds, then answered, "I can put an unmanned messenger rocket on the face of the Moon."

ККККК "Not good enough. I want it to go there, land, and come back. Whether it lands here under power or by atmosphere braking is unimportant."

ККККК It appeared that Coster never answered promptly; Harriman had the fancy that he could hear wheels turning over in the man's head. "That would be a very expensive job."

ККККК "Who asked you how much it would cost? Can you do it?"

ККККК "I could try."

ККККК "Try, hell. Do you think you can do it? Would you bet your shirt on it? Would you be willing to risk your neck in the attempt? If you don't believe in yourself, man, you'll always lose."

ККККК "How much will you risk, sir? I told you this would be expensive-and I doubt if you have any idea how expensive."

ККККК "And I told you not to worry about money. Spend what you need; it's my job to pay the bills. Can you do it?"

ККККК "I can do it. I'll let you know later how much it will cost and how long it will take."

ККККК "Good. Start getting your team together. Where are we going to do this, Andy?" he added, turning to Ferguson. "Australia?"

ККККК "No." It was Coster who answered. "It can't be Australia; I want a mountain catapult. That will save us one step-combination."

ККККК "How big a mountain?" asked Harriman~ "Will Pikes Peak do?"

ККККК "It ought to be in the Andes," objected Ferguson. "The mountains are taller and closer to the equator. After all, we own facilities there-or the Andes Development Company does."

ККККК "Do as you like, Bob," Harriman told Coster. "I would prefer Pikes Peak, but it's up to you." He was thinking that there were tremendous business advantages to locating Earth's space port ~ i inside the United States-and he could visualize the advertising advantage of having Moon ships blast off from the top of Pikes Peak, in plain view of everyone for hundreds of miles to the East.

ККККК "I'll let you know."

ККККК "Now about salary. Forget whatever it was we were paying you; how much do you want?"

ККККК Coster actually gestured, waving the subject away. "I'll work for coffee and cakes."

ККККК "Don't be silly."

ККККК "Let me finish. Coffee and cakes and one other thing: I get to make the trip.

ККККК Harriman blinked. "Well, I can understand that," he said slowly. "In the meantime I'll put you on a drawing account." He added, "Better calculate for a three-man ship, unless you are a pilot."

ККККК "I'm not."

ККККК "Three men, then. You see, I'm going along, too."

CHAPTER FOUR

"A GOOD THING YOU DECIDED to come in, Dan," Harriman was saying, "or you would find yourself out of a job. I'm going to put an awful crimp in the power company before I'm through with this."

ККККК Dixon buttered a roll. "Really? How?"

ККККК "We'll set up high-temperature piles, like the Arizona job, just like the one that blew up, around the corner on the far face of the Moon. We'll remote-control them; if one explodes it won't matter. And I'll breed more X-fuel in a week than the company turned out in three months. Nothing personal about it; it's just that I want a source of fuel for interplanetary liners. If we can't get good stuff here, we'll have to make it on the Moon."

ККККК "Interesting. But where do you propose to get the uranium for six piles? The last I heard the Atomic Energy Commission had the prospective supply earmarked twenty years ahead."

ККККК "Uranium? Don't be silly; we'll get it on the Moon."

ККККК "On the Moon? Is there uranium on the Moon?"

ККККК "Didn't you know? I thought that was why you decided to join up with me?"

ККККК "No, I didn't know," Dixon said deliberately. "What proof have you?"

ККККК "Me? I'm no scientist, but it's a well-understood fact. Spectroscopy, or something. Catch one of the professors. But don't go showing too much interest; we aren't ready to show our hand." Harriman stood up. "I've got to run, or I'll miss the shuttle for Rotterdam. Thanks for the lunch." He grabbed his hat and left.

ККККК Harriman stood up. "Suit yourself, Mynheer van der Velde. I'm giving you and your colleagues a chance to hedge your bets. Your geologists all agree that diamonds result from volcanic action. What do you think we will find there?" He dropped a large photograph of the Moon on the Hollander's desk.

ККККК The diamond merchant looked impassively at the pictured planet, pockmarked by a thousand giant craters. "If you get there, Mr. Harriman."

ККККК Harriman swept up the picture. "We'll get there. And we'll find diamonds-though I would be the first to admit that it may be twenty years or even forty before there is a big enough strike to matter. I've come to you because I believe that the worst villain in our social body is a man who introduces a major new economic factor without planning his innovation in such a way as to permit peaceful adjustment. I don't like panics. But all I can do is warn you. Good day."

ККККК "Sit down, Mr. Harriman. I'm always confused when a man explains how he is going to do me good. Suppose you tell me instead how this is going to do you good? Then we can discuss how to protect the world market against a sudden influx of diamonds from the Moon."

ККККК Harriman sat down.

ККККК Harriman liked the Low Countries. He was delighted to locate a dog-drawn milk cart whose young master wore real wooden shoes; he happily took pictures and tipped the child heavily, unaware that the set-up was arranged for tourists. He visited several other diamond merchants but without speaking of the Moon. Among other purchases he found a brooch for Charlotte- a peace offering.

ККККК Then he took a taxi to London, planted a story with the representatives of the diamond syndicate there, arranged with his London solicitors to be insured by Lloyd's of London through a dummy, against a successful Moon flight, and called his home office. He listened to numerous reports, especially those concerning Montgomery, and found that Montgomery was in New Delhi. He called him there, spoke with him at length, then hurried to the port just in time to catch his ship. He was in Colorado the next morning.

ККККК At Peterson Field, east of Colorado Springs, he had trouble getting through the gate, even though it was now his domain, under lease. Of course he could have called Coster and gotten it straightened out at once, but he wanted to look around before seeing Coster. Fortunately the head guard knew him by sight; he got in and wandered around for an hour or more, a tn-colored badge pinned to his coat to give him freedom.

ККККК The machine shop was moderately busy, so was the foundry . . . but most of the shops were almost deserted. Harriman left the shops, went into the main engineering building. The drafting room and the loft were fairly active, as was the computation section. But there were unoccupied desks in the structures group and a churchlike quiet in the metals group and in the adjoining metallurgical laboratory. He was about to cross over into the chemicals and materials annex when Coster suddenly showed up.

ККККК "Mr. Harriman! I just heard you were here."

ККККК "Spies everywhere," remarked Harriman. "I didn't want to disturb you."

ККККК "Not at all. Let's go up to my office."

ККККК Settled there a few moments later Harriman asked, "Well-how's it going?"

ККККК Coster frowned. "All right, I guess."

ККККК Harriman noted that the engineer's desk baskets were piled high with papers which spilled over onto the desk. Before Harriman could answer, Coster's desk phone lit up and a feminine voice said sweetly, "Mr. Coster- Mr. Morgenstern is calling."

ККККК "Tell him I'm busy."

ККККК After a short wait the girl answered in a troubled voice, "He says he's just got to speak to you, sir."

ККККК Coster looked annoyed. "Excuse me a moment, Mr. Harriman-O.K., put him on."

ККККК The girl was replaced by a man who said, "Oh there you are-what was the hold up? Look, Chief, we're in a jam about these trucks. Every one of them that we leased needs an overhaul and now it turns out that the White Fleet company won't do anything about it-they're sticking to the fine print in the contract. Now the way I see it, we'd do better to cancel the contract and do business with Peak City Transport. They have a scheme that looks good to me. They guarantee to-"

ККККК "Take care of it," snapped Coster. "You made the contract and you have authority to cancel. You know that."

ККККК "Yes, but Chief, I figured this would be something you would want to pass on personally. It involves policy and-"

ККККК "Take care of it! I don't give a damn what you do as long as we have transportation when we need it." He switched off.

ККККК "Who is that man?" inquired Harriman.

ККККК "Who? Oh, that's Morgenstern, Claude Morgenstem."

ККККК "Not his name-what does he do?"

ККККК "He's one of my assistants-buildings, grounds, and transportation."

ККККК "Fire him!"

ККККК Coster looked stubborn. Before he could answer a secretary came in and stood insistently at his elbow with a sheaf of papers. He frowned, initialed them, and sent her out.

ККККК "Oh, I don't mean that as an order," Harriman added, "but I do mean it as serious advice. I won't give orders in your backyard,-but will you listen to a few minutes of advice?"

ККККК "Naturally," Coster agreed stiffly.

ККККК "Mmm . . . this your first job as top boss?"

ККККК Coster hesitated, then admitted it.

ККККК "I hired you on Ferguson's belief that you were the engineer most likely to build a successful Moon ship. I've had no reason to change my mind. But top administration ain't engineering, and maybe I can show you a few tricks there, if you'll let me." He waited. "I'm not criticizing," he added. "Top bossing is like sex; until you've had it, you don't know about it." Harriman had the mental reservation that if the boy would not take advice, he would suddenly be out of a job, whether Ferguson liked it or not.

ККККК Coster drummed on his desk. "I don't know what's wrong and that's a fact. It seems as if I can't turn anything over to anybody and have it done properly. I feel as if I were swimming in quicksand."

ККККК "Done much engineering lately?"

ККККК "I try to." Coster waved at another desk in the corner. "I work there, late at night."

ККККК "That's no good. I hired you as an engineer. Bob, this setup is all wrong. The joint ought to be jumping-and it's not. Your office ought to be quiet as a grave. Instead your office is jumping and the plant looks like a graveyard."

ККККК Coster buried his face in his hands, then looked up. "I know it. I know what needs to be done-but every time I try to tackle a technical problem some bloody fool wants me to make a decision about trucks-or telephones-or some damn thing. I'm sorry, Mr. Harriman. I thought I could do it." Harriman said very gently, "Don't let it throw you, Bob. You haven't had much sleep lately, have you? Tell you what-we'll put over a fast one on Ferguson. I'll take that desk you're at for a few days and build you a set-up to protect you against such things. I want that brain of yours thinking about reaction vectors and fuel efficiencies and design stresses, not about contracts for trucks." Harriman stepped to the door, looked around the outer office and spotted a man who might or might not be the office's chief clerk. "Hey, you! C'mere."

ККККК The man looked startled, got up, came to the door and said, "Yes?"

ККККК "I want that desk in the corner and all the stuff that's on it moved to an empty office on this floor, right away."

ККККК The clerk raised his eyebrows. "And who are you, if I may ask?"

ККККК "Damn it-"

ККККК "Do as he tells you, Weber," Coster put in.

ККККК "I want it done inside of twenty minutes," added Harriman. "Jump!" He turned back to Coster's other desk, punched the phone, and presently was speaking to the main offices of Skyways. "Jim, is your boy Jock Berkeley around? Put him on leave and send him to me, at Peterson Field, right away, special trip. I want the ship he comes in to raise ground ten minutes after we sign off. Send his gear after him." Harriman listened for a moment, then answered, "No, your organization won't fall apart if you lose Jock- or, if it does, maybe we've been paying the wrong man the top salary .

ККККК "Okay, okay, you're entitled to one swift kick at my tail the next time you catch up with me but send Jock. So long."

ККККК He supervised getting Coster and his other desk moved into another office, saw to it that the phone in the new office was disconnected, and, as an afterthought, had a couch moved in there, too. "We'll install a projector, and a drafting machine and bookcases and other junk like that tonight," he told Coster. "Just make a list of anything you need-to work on engineering. And call me if you want anything." He went back to the nominal chiefengineer's office and got happily to work trying to figure where the organization stood and what was wrong with it.

ККККК Some four hours later he took Berkeley in to meet Coster. The chief engineer was asleep at his desk, head cradled on his arms. Harriman started to back out, but Coster roused. "Oh! Sorry," he said, blushing, "I must have dozed off."

ККККК "That's why I brought you the couch," said Harriman. "It's more restful. Bob, meet Jock Berkeley. He's your new slave. You remain chief engineer and top, undisputed boss. Jock is Lord High Everything Else. From now on you've got absolutely nothing to worry about-except for the little detail of building a Moon ship."

ККККК They shook hands. "Just one thing I ask, Mr. Coster," Berkeley said seriously, "bypass me all you want to-you'll have to run the technical show-but for God's sake record it so I'll know what's going on. I'm going to have a switch placed on your desk that will operate a sealed recorder at my desk."

ККККК "Fine!" Coster was looking, Harriman thought, younger already.

ККККК "And if you want something that is not technical, don't do it yourself. Just flip a switch and whistle; it'll get done!" Berkeley glanced at Harriman. "The Boss says he wants to talk with you about the real job. I'll leave you and get busy." He left.

ККККК Harriman sat down; Coster followed suit and said, "Whew!"

ККККК "Feel better?"

ККККК "I like the looks of that fellow Berkeley."

ККККК "That's good; he's your twin brother from now on. Stop worrying; I've used him before. You'll think you're living in a well-run hospital. By the way, where do you live?"

ККККК "At a boarding house in the Springs."

ККККК "That's ridiculous. And you don't even have a place here to sleep?" Harriman reached over to Coster's desk, got through to Berkeley. "Jock-get a suite for Mr. Coster at the Broadmoor, under a phony name."

ККККК "Right."

ККККК "And have this stretch along here adjacent to his office fitted out as an apartment."

ККККК "Right. Tonight."

ККККК "Now, Bob, about the Moon ship. Where do we stand?"

ККККК They spent the next two hours contentedly running over the details of the problem, as Coster had laid them out. Admittedly very little work had been done since the field was leased but Coster had accomplished considerable theoretical work and computation before he had gotten swamped in administrative details. Harriman, though no engineer and certainly not a mathematician outside the primitive arithmetic of money, had for so long devoured everything he could find about space travel that he was able to follow most of what Coster showed him.

ККККК "I don't see anything here about your mountain catapult," he said presently.

ККККК Coster looked vexed. "Oh, that! Mr. Harriman, I spoke too quickly."

ККККК "Huh? How come? I've had Montgomery's boys drawing up beautiful pictures of what things will look like when we are running regular trips. I intend to make Colorado Springs the spaceport capital of the world. We hold the franchise of the old cog railroad now; what's the hitch?"

ККККК "Well, it's both time and money."

ККККК "Forget money. That's my pidgin."

ККККК "Time then. I still think an electric gun is the best way to get the initial acceleration for a chem-powered ship. Like this-" He began to sketch rapidly. "It enables you to omit the first step-rocket stage, which is bigger than all the others put together and is terribly inefficient, as it has such a poor mass-ratio. But what do you have to do to get it? You can't build a tower, not a tower a couple of miles high, strong enough to take the thrusts-not this year, anyway. So you have to use a mountain. Pikes Peak is as good as any; it's accessible, at least.

ККККК "But what do you have to do to use it? First, a tunnel in through the side, from Manitou to just under the peak, and big enough to take the loaded ship-"

ККККК "Lower it down from the top," suggested Harriman.

ККККК Coster answered, "I thought of that. Elevators two miles high for loaded space ships aren't exactly built out of string, in fact they aren't built out of any available materials. It's possible to gimmick the catapult itself so that the accelerating coils can be reversed and timed differently to do the job, but believe me, Mr. Harrima; it will throw you into other engineering problems quite as great . . . such as a giant railroad up to the top of the ship. And it still leaves you with the shaft of the catapult itself to be dug. It can't be as small as the ship, not like a gun barrel for a bullet. It's got to be considerably larger; you don't compress a column of air two miles high with impunity. Oh, a mountain catapult could be built, but it might take ten years-or longer."

ККККК "Then forget it. We'll build it for the future but not for this flight. No, wait-how about a surface catapult. We scoot up the side of the mountain and curve it up at the end?"

ККККК "Quite frankly, I think something like that is what will eventually be used. But, as of today, it just creates new problems. Even if we could devise an electric gun in which you could make that last curve-we can't, at present- the ship would have to be designed for terrific side stresses and all the additional weight would be parasitic so far as our main purpose is concerned, the design of a rocket ship."

ККККК "Well, Bob, what is your solution?"

ККККК Coster frowned. "Go back to what we know how to do-build a step rocket."

CHAPTER FIVE

"MONTY-"

ККККК "Yeah, Chief?"

ККККК "Have you ever heard this song?" Harriman hummed, "The Moon belongs to everyone; the best things in life are free-," then sang it, badly off key.

ККККК "Can't say as I ever have."

ККККК "It was before your time. I want it dug out again. I want it revivЌd, plugged until Hell wouldn't have it, and on everybody's lips."

ККККК "O.K." Montgomery took out his memorandum pad. "When do you want it to reach its top?"

ККККК Harriman considered. "In, say, about three months. Then I want the first phrase picked up and used in advertising slogans."

ККККК "A cinch."

ККККК "How are things in Florida, Monty?"

ККККК "I thought we were going to have to buy the whole damned legislature until we got the rumor spread around that Los Angeles had contracted to have a City-Limits-of-Los-Angeles sign planted on the Moon for publicity pix. Then they came around."

ККККК "Good." Harriman pondered. "You know, that's not a bad idea. How much do you think the Chamber of Commerce of Los Angeles would pay for such a picture?"

ККККК Montgomery made another note. "I'll look into it."

ККККК "I suppose you are about ready to crank up Texas, now that Florida is loaded?"

ККККК "Most any time now. We're spreading a few snide rumors first."

ККККК Headline from Dallas-Fort Worth Banner:

"THE MOON BELONGS TO TEXAS!!!"

ККККК "-and that's all for tonight, kiddies. Don't forget to send in those box tops, or reasonable facsimiles. Remember-first prize is a thousand-acre ranch on the Moon itself, free and clear; the second prize is a six-foot scale model of the actual Moon ship, and there are fifty, count them, fifty third prizes, each a saddle-trained Shetland pony. Your hundred word composition 'Why I want to go to the Moon' will be judged for sincerity and originality, not on literary merit. Send those boxtops to Uncle Taffy, Box 214, Juarez, Old Mexico."

ККККК Harriman was shown into the office of the president of the Moka-Coka Company ("Only a Moke is truly a coke"-~ "Drink the Cola drink with the Lift"). He paused at the door, some twenty feet from the president's desk and quickly pinned a two-inch wide button to his lapel.

ККККК Patterson Griggs looked up. "Well, this is really an honor, D.D. Do come in and-" The soft-drink executive stopped suddenly, his expression changed. "What are you doing wearing that?" he snapped. "Trying to annoy me?"

ККККК "That" was the two-inch disc; Harriman unpinned it and put it in his pocket. It was a celluloid advertising pin, in plain yellow; printed on it in black, almost covering it, was a simple 6+, the trademark of Moka-Coka's only serious rival.

ККККК "No," answered Harriman, "though I don't blame you for being irritated. I see half the school kids in the country wearing these silly buttons. But I came to give you a friendly tip, not to annoy you."

ККККК "What do you mean?"

ККККК "When I paused at your door that pin on my lapel was just the size-to you, standing at your desk-as the full Moon looks when you are standing in your garden, looking up at it. You didn't have any trouble reading what was on the pin, did you? I know you didn't; you yelled at me before either one of us stirred."

ККККК "What about it?"

ККККК "How would you feel-and what would the effect be on your sales-if there was 'six-plus' written across the face of the Moon instead of just on a school kid's sweater?"

ККККК Griggs thought about it, then said, "D.D., don't make poor jokes. I've had a bad day."

ККККК "I'm not joking. As you have probably heard around the St~reet, I'm behind this Moon trip venture. Between ourselves, Pat, it's quite an expensive undertaking, even for me. A few days ago a man came to me-you'll pardon me if I don't mention names? You can figure it out. Anyhow, this man represented a client who wanted to buy the advertising concession for the Moon. He knew we weren't sure of success; but he said his client would take the risk.

ККККК "At first I couldn't figure out what he was talking about; he set me straight. Then I thought he was kidding. Then I was shocked. Look at this-" Harriman took out a large sheet of paper and spread it on Griggs' desk. "You see the equipment is set up anywhere near the center of the Moon, as we see it. Eighteen pyrotechnics rockets shoot out in eighteen directions, like the spokes of a wheel, but to carefully calculated distances. They hit and the bombs they carry go off, spreading finely divided carbon black for calculated distances. There's no air on the Moon, you know, Pat-a fine powder will throw just as easily as a javelin. Here's your result." He turned the paper over; on the back there was a picture of the Moon, printed lightly. Overlaying it, in black, heavy print was:

ККККК "So it is that outfit-those poisoners!"

ККККК "No, no, I didn't say so! But it illustrates the point; six-plus is only two symbols; it can be spread large enough to be read on the face of the Moon."

ККККК Griggs stared at the horrid advertisement. "I don't believe it will work!"

ККККК "A reliable pyrotechnics firm has guaranteed that it will-provided I can deliver their equipment to the spot. After all, Pat, it doesn't take much of a pyrotechnics rocket to go a long distance on the Moon. Why, you could throw a baseball a couple of miles yourself-low gravity, you know."

ККККК "People would never stand for it. It's sacrilege!"

ККККК Harriman looked sad. "I wish you were right. But they stand for skywriting-and video commercials."

ККККК Griggs chewed his lip. "Well, I don't see why you come to me with it," he exploded. "You know damn well the name of my product won't go on the face of the Moon. The letters would be too small to read."

ККККК Harriman nodded. "That's exactly why I came to you. Pat, this isn't just a business venture to me; it's my heart and soul. It just made me sick to think of somebody actually wanting to use the face of the Moon for advertising. As you say, it's sacrilege. But somehow, these jackals found out I was pressed for cash. They came to me when they knew I would have to listen.

ККККК "I put them off. I promised them an answer on Thursday. Then I went home and lay awake about it. After a while I thought of you."

ККККК "Me?"

ККККК "You. You and your company. After all, you've got a good product and you need legitimate advertising for it. It occurred to me that there are more ways to use the Moon in advertising than by defacing it. Now just suppose that your company bought the same concession, but with the public-spirited promise of never letting it be used. Suppose you featured that fact in your ads? Suppose you ran pictures of a boy and girl, sitting out under the Moon, sharing a bottle of Moke? Suppose Moke was the only soft drink carried on the first trip to the Moon? But I don't have to tell you how to do it." He glanced at his watch finger. "I've got to run and I don't want to rush you. If you want to do business just leave word at my office by noon tomorrow and I'll have our man Montgomery get in touch with your advertising chief."

ККККК The head of the big newspaper chain kept him waiting the minimum time reserved for tycoons and cabinet members. Again Harriman stopped at the threshold of a large office and fixed a disc to his lapel.

ККККК "Howdy, Delos," the publisher said, "how's the traffic in green cheese today?" He then caught sight of the button and frowned. "If that is a joke, it is in poor taste."

ККККК Harriman pocketed the disc; it displayed not 6+, but the hammer-and-sickle.

ККККК "No," he said, "it's not a joke; it's a nightmare. Colonel, you and I are among the few people in this country who realize that communism is still a menace."

ККККК Sometime later they were talking as chummily as if the Colonel's chain had not obstructed the Moon venture since its inception. The publisher waved a cigar at his desk. "How did you come by those plans? Steal them?"

ККККК "They were copied," Harriman answered with narrow truth. "But they aren't important. The important thing is to get there first; we can't risk having an enemy rocket base on the Moon. For years I've had a recurrent nightmare of waking up and seeing headlines that the Russians had landed on the Moon and declared the Lunar Soviet-say thirteen men and two female scientists-and had petitioned for entrance into the U.S.S.R.-and the petition had, of course, been graciously granted by the Supreme Soviet. I used to wake up and tremble. I don't know that they would actually go through with painting a hammer and sickle on the face of the Moon, but it's consistent with their psychology. Look at those enormous posters they are always hanging up."

ККККК The publisher bit down hard on his cigar. "We'll see what we can work out. Is there any way you can speed up your take-off?"

CHAPTER SIX

"MR. HARRIMAN?"

ККККК "Yes?"

ККККК "That Mr. LeCroix is here again."

ККККК "Tell him I can't see him."

ККККК "Yes, sir-uh, Mr. Harriman, he did not mention it the other day but he says he is a rocket pilot."

ККККК "Send him around to Skyways. I don't hire pilots."

ККККК A man's face crowded into the screen, displacing Harriman's reception secretary. "Mr. Harriman-I'm Leslie LeCroix, relief pilot of the Charon."

ККККК "I don't care if you are the Angel Gab- Did you say Charon?"

ККККК "I said Charon. And I've got to talk to you."

ККККК "Come in."

ККККК Harriman greeted his visitor, offered him tobacco, then looked him over with interest. The Charon, shuttle rocket to the lost power satellite, had been the nearest thing to a space ship the world had yet seen. Its pilot, lost in the same explosion that had destroyed the satellite and the Charon had been the first, in a way, of the coming breed of spacemen.

ККККК Harriman wondered how it had escaped his attention that the Charon had alternating pilots. He had known it, of course-but somehow he had forgotten to take the fact into account. He had written off the power satellite, its shuttle rocket and everything about it, ceased to think about them. He now looked at LeCroix with curiosity.

ККККК He saw a small, neat man with a thin, intelligent face, and the big, competent hands of a jockey. LeCroix returned his inspection without embarrassment. He seemed calm and utterly sure of himself.

ККККК "Well, Captain LeCroix?"

ККККК "You are building a Moon ship."

ККККК "Who says so?"

ККККК "A Moon ship is being built. The boys all say you are behind it."

ККККК "Yes?"

ККККК "I want to pilot it."

ККККК "Why should you?"

ККККК "I'm the best man for it."

ККККК Harriman paused to let out a cloud of tobacco smoke. "If you can prove that, the billet is yours."

ККККК "It's a deal." LeCroix stood up. "I'll leave my nameand address outside."

ККККК "Wait a minute. I said 'if.' Let's talk. I'm going along on this trip myself; I want to know more about you before I trust my neck to you."

ККККК They discussed Moon flight, interplanetary travel, rocketry, what they might find on the Moon. Gradually Harriman warmed up, as he found another spirit so like his own, so obsessed with the Wonderful Dream. Subconsciously he had already accepted LeCroix; the conversation began to assume that it would be a joint venture.

ККККК After a long time Harriman said, "This is fun, Les, but I've got to do a few chores yet today, or none of us will get to the Moon. You go on out to Peterson Field and get acquainted with Bob Coster-I'll call him. If the pair of you can manage to get along, we'll talk contract." He scribbled a chit and handed it to LeCroix. "Give this to Miss Perkins as you go out and she'll put you on the payroll."

ККККК "That can wait."

ККККК "Man's got to eat."

ККККК LeCroix accepted it but did not leave. "There's one thing I don't understand, Mr. Harriman."

ККККК "Huh?"

ККККК "Why are you planning on a chemically powered ship? Not that I object; I'll herd her. But why do it the hard way? I know you had the City of Brisbane refitted for X-fuel-"

ККККК Harriman stared at him. "Are you off your nut, Les? You're asking why pigs don't have wings-there isn't any X-fuel and there won't be any more until we make some ourselves-on the Moon."

ККККК "Who told you that?"

ККККК "What do you mean?"

ККККК "The way I heard it, the Atomic Energy Commission allocated X-fuel, under treaty, to several other countries-and some of them weren't prepared to make use of it. But they got it just the same. What happened to it?"

ККККК "Oh, that! Sure, Les, several of the little outfits in Central America and South America were cut in for a slice of pie for political reasons, even though they had no way to eat it. A good thing, too-we bought it back and used it to ease the immediate power shortage." Harriman frowned. "You're right, though. I should have grabbed some of the stuff then."

ККККК "Are you sure it's all gone?"

ККККК "Why, of course, I'm- No, I'm not. I'll look into it. G'bye, Les."

ККККК His contacts were able to account for every pound of X-fuel in short order-save for Costa Rica's allotment. That nation had declined to sell back its supply because its power plant, suitable for X-fuel, had been almost finished at the time of the disaster. Another inquiry disclosed that the power plant had never been finished.

ККККК Montgomery was even then in Managua; Nicaragua had had a change in administration and Montgomery was making certain that the special position of the local Moon corporation was protected. Harriman sent him a coded message to proceed to San JosЋ, locate X-fuel, buy it and ship it back-at any cost. He then went to see the chairman of the Atomic Energy Commission.

ККККК That official was apparently glad to see him and anxious to be affable. Harriman got around to explaining that he wanted a license to do experimental work in isotopes-X-fuel, to be precise.

ККККК "This should be brought up through the usual channels, Mr. Harriman."

ККККК "It will be. This is a preliminary inquiry. I want to know your reactions."

ККККК "After all, I am not the only commissioner . . . and we almost always follow the recommendations of our technical branch."

ККККК "Don't fence with me, Carl. You know dern well you control a working majority. Off the record, what do you say?"

ККККК "Well, D.D.-off the record-you can't get any X-fuel, so why get a license?"

ККККК "Let me worry about that."

ККККК "Mmmm . . we weren't required by law to follow every millicurie of X-fuel, since it isn't classed as potentially suitable for mass weapons. Just the same, we knew what happened to it. There's none available."

ККККК Harriman kept quiet.

ККККК "In the second place, you can have an X-fuel license, if you wish-for any purpose but rocket fuel."

ККККК "Why the restriction?"

ККККК "You are building a Moon ship, aren't you?"

ККККК "Me?"

ККККК "Don't you fence with me, D.D. It's my business to know things. You can't use X-fuel for rockets, even if you can find it-which you can't." The chairman went to a vault back of his desk and returned with a quarto volume, which he laid in front of Harriman. It was titled: Theoretical Investigation into the Stability of Several Radioisotopic Fuels-With Notes on the Charon-Power-Satellite Disaster. The cover had a serial number and was stamped: SECRET.

ККККК Harriman pushed it away. "I've got no business looking at that-and I wouldn't understand it if I did."

ККККК The chairman grinned. "Very well, I'll tell you what's in it. I'm deliberately tying your hands, D.D., by trusting you with a defense secret-"

ККККК "I won't have it, I tell you!"

ККККК "Don't try to power a space ship with X-fuel, D.D. It's a lovely fuel- but it may go off like a firecracker anywhere out in space. That report tells why."

ККККК "Confound it, we ran the Charon for nearly three years!"

ККККК "You were lucky. It is the official-but utterly confidential-opinion of the government that the Charon set off the power satellite, rather than the satellite setting off the Charon. We had thought it was the other way around at first, and of course it could have been, but there was the disturbing matter of the radar records. It seemed as if the ship had gone up a split second before the satellite. So we made an intensive theoretical investigation. X-fuel is too dangerous for rockets."

ККККК "That's ridiculous! For every pound burned in the Charon there were at least a hundred pounds used in power plants on the surface. How come they didn't explode?"

ККККК "It's a matter of shielding. A rocket necessarily uses less shielding than a stationary plant, but the worst feature is that it operates out in space. The disaster is presumed to have been triggered by primary cosmic radiation. If you like, I'll call in one of the mathematical physicists to elucidate."

ККККК Harriman shook his head. "You know I don't speak the language." He considered. "I suppose that's all there is to it?"

ККККК "I'm afraid so. I'm really sorry." Harriman got up to leave. "Uh, one more thing, D.D.-you weren't thinking of approaching any of my subordinate colleagues, were you?"

ККККК "Of course not. Why should I?"

ККККК "I'm glad to hear it. You know, Mr. Harriman, some of our staff may not be the most brilliant scientists in the world-it's very hard to keep a first-class scientist happy in the conditions of government service. But there is one thing I am sure of; all of them are utterly incorruptible. Knowing that, I would take it as a personal affront if anyone tried to influence one of my people-a very personal affront."

ККККК "So?"

ККККК "Yes. By the way, I used to box light-heavyweight in college. I've kept it up."

ККККК "Hmmm . . . well, I never went to college. But I play a fair game of poker." Harriman suddenly grinned. "I won't tamper with your boys, Carl. It would be too much like offering a bribe to a starving man. Well, so long."

ККККК When Harriman got back to his office he called in one of his confidential clerks. "Take another coded message to Mr. Montgomery. Tell him to ship the stuff to Panama City, rather than to the States." He started to dictate another message to Coster, intending to tell him to stop work on the Pioneer, whose skeleton was already reaching skyward on the Colorado prairie, and shift to the Santa Maria, formerly the City of Brisbane.

ККККК He thought better of it. Take-off would have to be outside the United States; with the Atomic Energy Commission acting stuffy, it would not do to try to move the Santa Maria: it would give the show away.

ККККК Nor could she be moved without refitting her for chem-powered flight. No, he would have another ship of the Brisbane class taken out of service and sent to Panama, and the power plant of the Santa Maria could be disassembled and shipped there, too. Coster could have the new ship ready in six weeks, maybe sooner . . . and he, Coster, and LeCroix would start for the Moon!

ККККК The devil with worries over primary cosmic rays! The Charon operated for three years, didn't she? They would make the trip, they would prove it could be done, then, if safer fuels were needed, there would be the incentive to dig them out. The important thing was to do it, make the trip. If Columbus had waited for decent ships, we'd all still be in Europe. A man had to take some chances or he never got anywhere.

ККККК Contentedly he started drafting the messages that would get the new scheme underway.

ККККК He was interЌupted by a secretary. "Mr. Harriman, Mr. Montgomery wants to speak to you."

ККККК "Eh? Has he gotten my code already?"

ККККК "I don't know, sir."

ККККК "Well, put him on."

ККККК Montgomery had not received the second message. But he had news for Harriman:Costa Rica had sold all its X-fuel to the English Ministry of Power, soon after the disaster. There was not an ounce of it left, neither in Costa Rica, nor in England.

ККККК Harriman sat and moped for several minutes after Montgomery had cleared the screen. Then he called Coster. "Bob? Is LeCroix there?"

ККККК "Right here-we were about to go out to dinner together. Here he is, now."

ККККК "Howdy, Les. Les, that was a good brain storm of yours, but it didn't work. Somebody stole the baby."

ККККК "Eh? Oh, I get you. I'm sorry."

ККККК "Don't ever waste time being sorry. We'll go ahead as originally planned. We'll get there!"

ККККК "Sure we will."

CHAPTER SEVEN

FROM THE JUNE ISSUE of Popular Technics magazine: "URANIUM PROSPECTING ON THE MOON-A Fact Article about a soon-to-come Major Industry."

ККККК From HOLIDAY: "Honeymoon on the Moon-A Discussion of the Miracle Resort that your children will enjoy, as told to our travel editor."

ККККК From the American Sunday Magazine: "DIAMONDS ON THE MOON?-A World Famous Scientist Shows Why Diamonds Must Be Common As Pebbles in the Lunar Craters."

ККККК "Of course, Clem, I don't know anything about electronics, but here is the way it was explained to me. You can hold the beam of a television broadcast down to a degree or so these days, can't you?"

ККККК "Yes-if you use a big enough reflector."

ККККК "You'll have plenty of elbow room. Now Earth covers a space two degrees wide, as seen from the Moon. Sure, it's quite a distance away, but you'd have no power losses and absolutely perfect and unchanging conditions for transmission. Once you made your set-up, it wouldn't be any more expensive than broadcasting from the top of a mountain here, and a derned sight less expensive than keeping copters in the air from coast to coast, the way you're having to do now."

ККККК "It's a fantastic scheme, Delos."

ККККК "What's fantastic about it? Getting to the Moon is my worry, not yours. Once we are there, there's going to be television back to Earth, you can bet your shirt on that. It's a natural set-up for line-of-sight transmission. If you aren't interested, I'll have to find someone who is."

ККККК "I didn't say I wasn't interested."

ККККК "Well, make up your mind. Here's another thing, Clem-I don't want to go sticking my nose into your business, but haven't you had a certain amount of trouble since you lost the use of the power satellite as a relay station?"

ККККК "You know the answer; don't needle me. Expenses have gone out of sight without any improvement in revenue."

ККККК "That wasn't quite what I meant. How about censorship?"

ККККК The television executive threw up his hands. "Don't say that word! How anybody expects a man to stay in business with every two-bit wowser in the country claiming a veto over wLhat we can say and can't say and what we can show and what we can't show-it's enough to make you throw up. The whole principle is wrong; it's like demanding that grown men live on skim milk because the baby can't eat steak. If I were able to lay my hands on those confounded, prurient-minded, slimy-"

ККККК "Easy! Easy!" Harriman interrupted. "Did it ever occur to you that there is absolutely no way to interfere with a telecast from the Moon-and that boards of censorship on Earth won't have jurisdiction in any case?"

ККККК "What? Say that again."

ККККК "LIFE goes to the Moon.' LIFE-TIME Inc. is proud to announce that arrangements have been completed to bring LIFE'S readers a personally conducted tour of the first trip to our satellite. In place of the usual weekly feature 'LIFE Goes to a Party' there will commence, immediately after the return of the first successful-"

ККККК "ASSURANCE FOR THE NEW AGE"

ККККК (An excerpt from an advertisement of the North Atlantic Mutual Insurance and Liability Company)

ККККК "-the same looking-to-the-future that protected our policy-holders after the Chicago Fire, after the San Francisco Fire, after every disaster since the War of 1812, now reaches out to insure you from unexpected loss even on the Moon-"

ККККК "THE UNBOUNDED FRONTIERS OF TECHNOLOGY"

ККККК "When the Moon ship Pioneer climbs skyward on a ladder of flame, twenty-seven essential devices in her 'innards' will be powered by especiallyengineered DELTA batteries-"

ККККК "Mr. Harriman, could you come out to the field?"

ККККК "What's up, Bob?"

ККККК "Trouble," Coster answered briefly.

ККККК "What sort of trouble?"

ККККК Coster hesitated. "I'd rather not talk about it by screen. If you can't come, maybe Les and I had better come there."

ККККК "I'll be there this evening."

ККККК When Harriman got there he saw that L‘Croix's impassive face concealed bitterness, Coster looked stubborn and defensive. He waited until the three were alone in Coster's workroom before he spoke. "Let's have it, boys."

ККККК LeCroix looked at Coster. The engineer chewed his lip and said, "Mr. Harriman, you know the stages this design has been through."

ККККК "More or less."

ККККК "We had to give up the catapult idea. Then we had this-" Coster rummaged on his desk, pulled out a perspective treatment of a four-step rocket, large but rather graceful."Theoretically it was a possibility; practically it cut things too fine. By the time the stress group boys and the auxiliary group and the control group got through adding things we were forced to come to this-" He hauled out another sketch; it was basically like the first, but squattier, almost pyramidal. "We added a fifth stage as a ring around the fourth stage. We even managed to save some weight by using most of the auxiliary and control equipment for the fourth stage to control the fifth stage. And it still had enough sectional density to punch through the atmosphere with no important drag, even if it was clumsy."

ККККК Harriman nodded. "You know, Bob, we're going to have to get away from the step rocket idea before we set up a schedule run to the Moon."

ККККК "I don't see how you can avoid it with chem-powered rockets."

ККККК "If you had a decent catapult you could put a single-stage chem-powered rocket into an orbit around the Earth, couldn't you?"

ККККК "Sure."

ККККК "That's what we'll do. Then it will refuel in that orbit."

ККККК "The old space-station set-up. I suppose that makes sense-in fact I know it does. Only the ship wouldn't refuel and continue on to the Moon. The economical thing would be to have special ships that never landed anywhere make the jump from there to another fueling station around the Moon. Then-"

ККККК LeCroix displayed a most unusual impatience. "AJ1 that doesn't mean anything now. Get on with the story, Bob."

ККККК "Right," agreed Harriman.

ККККК "Well, this model should have done it. And, damn it, it still should do it." Harriman looked puzzled. "But, Bob, that's the approved design, isn't it? That's what you've got two-thirds built right out there on the field."

ККККК "Yes." Coster looked stricken. "But it won't do it. It won't work."

ККККК "Why not?"

ККККК "Because I've had to add in too much dead weight, that's why. Mr. Harriman, you aren't an engineer; you've no idea how fast the performance falls off when you have to clutter up a ship with anything but fuel and power plant. Take the landing arrangements for the fifth-stage power ring. You use that stage for a minute and a half, then you throw it away. But you don't dare take a chance of it falling on Wichita or Kansas City. We have to include a parachute sequence. Even then we have to plan on tracking it by radar and cutting the shrouds by radio control when it's over empty countryside and not too high. That means more weight, besides the parachute. By the time we are through, we don't get a net addition of a mile a second out of that stage. It's not enough."

ККККК Harriman stirred in his chair. "Looks like we made a mistake in trying to launch it from the States. Suppose we took off from someplace unpopulated, say the Brazil coast, and let the booster stages fall in the Atlantic; how much would that save you?"

ККККК Coster looked off in the distance, then took out a slide rule. "Might work."

ККККК "How much of a chore will it be to move the ship, at this stage?"

ККККК "Well . . . it would have to be disassembled completely; nothing less would do. I can't give you a cost estimate off hand, but it would be expensive."

ККККК "How long would it take?"

ККККК "Hmm. . .shucks, Mr. Harriman, I can't answer off hand. Two years- eighteen months, with luck. We'd have to prepare a site. We'd have to build shops."

ККККК Harriman thought about it, although he knew the answer in his heart. His shoe string, big as it was, was stretched to the danger point. He couldn't keep up the promotion, on talk alone, for another two years; he had to have a successful flight and soon-or the whole jerry-built financial structure would burst. "No good, Bob."

ККККК "I was afraid of that. Well, I tried to add still a sixth stage." He held up another sketch. "You see that monstrosity? I reached the point of diminishing returns. The final effective velocity is actually less with this abortion than with the five-step job."

ККККК "Does that mean you are whipped, Bob? You can't build a Moon ship?"

ККККК "No, I-"

ККККК LeCroix said suddenly, "Clear out Kansas."

ККККК "Eh?" asked Harriman.

ККККК "Clear everybody out of Kansas and Eastern Colorado. Let the fifth and fourth sections fall anywhere in that area. The third section falls in the Atlantic; the second section goes into a permanent orbit-and the ship itself goes on to the Moon. You could do it if you didn't have to waste weight on the parachuting of the fifth and fourth sections. Ask Bob."

ККККК "So? How about it, Bob?"

ККККК "That's what I said before. It was the parasitic penalties that whipped us. The basic design is all right."

ККККК "Hmmm. . . somebody hand me an Atlas." Harriman looked up Kansas and Colorado, did some rough figuring. He stared off into space, looking surprisingly, for the moment, as Coster did when the engineer was thinking about his own work. Finally he said, "It won't work."

ККККК "Why not?"

ККККК "Money. I told you not to worry about money-for the ship. But it would cost upward of six or seven million dollars to evacuate that area even for a day. We'd have to settle nuisance suits out of hand; we couldn't wait. And there would be a few diehards who just couldn't move anyhow."

ККККК LeCroix said savagely, "If the crazy fools won't move, let them take their chances."

ККККК "I know how you feel, Les. But this project is too big to hide and too big to move. Unless we protect the bystanders we'll be shut down by court order and force. I can't buy all the judges in two states. Some of them wouldn't be for sale."

ККККК "It was a nice try, Les," consoled Coster.

ККККК "I thought it might be an answer for all of us," the pilot answered.

ККККК Harriman said, "You were starting to mention another solution, Bob?" Coster looked embarrassed. "You know the plans for the ship itself-a three-man job, space and supplies for three."

ККККК "Yes. What are you driving at?"

ККККК "It doesn't have to be three men. Split the first step into two parts, cut the ship down to the bare minimum for one man and jettison the remainder. That's the only way I see to make this basic design work." He got out another sketch. "See? One man and supplies for less than a week. No airlock- the pilot stays in his pressure suit. No galley. No bunks. The bare minimum to keep one man alive for a maximum of two hundred hours. It will work."

ККККК "It will work," repeated LeCroix, looking at Coster.

ККККК Harriman looked at the sketch with an odd, sick feeling at his stomach. Yes, no doubt it would work-and for the purposes of the promotion it did not matter whether one man or three went to the Moon and returned. Just to do it was enough; he was dead certain that one successful flight would cause money to roll in so that there would be capital to develop to the point of practical, passenger-carrying ships.

ККККК The Wright brothers had started with less.

ККККК "If that is what I have to put up with, I suppose I have to," he said slowly. Coster looked relieved. "Fine! But there is one more hitch. You know the conditions under which I agreed to tackle this job-I was to go along. Now Les here waves a contract under my nose and says he has to be the pilot."

ККККК "It's not just that," LeCroix countered. "You're no pilot, Bob. You'll kill yourself and ruin the whole enterprise, just through bull-headed stubbornness."

ККККК "I'll learn to fly it. After all, I designed it. Look here, Mr. Harriman, I hate to let you in for a suit-Les says he will sue-but my contract antedates his. I intend to enforce it."

ККККК "Don't listen to him, Mr. Harriman. Let him do the suing. I'll fly that ship and bring her back. He'll wreck it."

ККККК "Either I go or I don't build the ship," Coster said flatly.

ККККК Harriman motioned both of them to keep quiet. "Easy, easy, both of you. You can both sue me if it gives you any pleasure. Bob, don't talk nonsense; at this stage I can hire other engineers to finish the job. You tell me it has to be just one man."

ККККК "That's right."

ККККК "You're looking at him."

ККККК They both stared.

ККККК "Shut your jaws," Harriman snapped. "What's funny about that? You both knew I meant to go. You don't think I went to all this trouble just to give you two a ride to the Moon, do you? I intend to go. What's wrong with me as a pilot? I'm in good health, my eyesight is all right, I'm still smart enough to learn what I have to learn. If I have to drive my own buggy, I'll do it. I won't step aside for anybody, not anybody, d'you hear me?"

ККККК Coster got his breath first. "Boss, you don't know what you are saying." Two hours later they were still wrangling. Most of the time Harriman had stubbornly sat still, refusing to answer their arguments. At last he went out of the room for a few minutes, on the usual pretext. When he came back in he said, "Bob, what do you weigh?"

ККККК "Me? A little over two hundred."

ККККК "Close to two twenty, I'd judge. Les, what do you weigh?"

ККККК "One twenty-six."

ККККК "Bob, design the ship for a net load of one hundred and twenty-six pounds."

ККККК "Huh? Now wait a minute, Mr. Harriman-"

ККККК "Shut up! If I can't learn to be a pilot in six weeks, neither can you."

ККККК "But I've got the mathematics and the basic knowledge to-"

ККККК "Shut up I said! Les has spent as long learning his profession as you have learning yours. Can he become an engineer in six weeks? Then what gave you the conceit to think that you can learn his job in that time? I'm not going to have you wrecking my ship to satisfy your swollen ego. Anyhow, you gave out the real key to it when you were discussing the design. The real limiting factor is the actual weight of the passenger or passengers, isn't it? Everything-everything works in proportion to that one mass. Right?"

ККККК "Yes, but-"

ККККК "Right or wrong?"

ККККК "Well . . . yes, that's right. I just wanted-"

ККККК "The smaller man can live on less water, he breathes less air, he occunies less space. Les goes." Harriman walked over and put a hand on Coster's shoulder. "Don't take it hard, son. It can't be any worse on you than it is on me. This trip has got to succeed-and that means you and I have got to give up the honor of being the first man on the Moon. But I promise you this: we'll go on the second trip, we'll go with Les as our private chauffeur. It will be the first of a lot of passenger trips. Look, Bob-you can be a big man in this game, if you'll play along now. How would you like to be chief engineer of the first lunar colony?"

ККККК Coster managed to grin. "It might not be so bad."

ККККК "You'd like it. Living on the Moon will be an engineering problem; you and I have talked about it. How'd you like to put your theories to work? Build the first city? Build the big observatory we'll found there? Look around and know that you were the man who had done it?"

ККККК Coster was definitely adjusting himself to it. "You make it sound good. Say, what will you be doing?"

ККККК "Me? Well, maybe I'll be the first mayor of Luna City." It was a new thought to him; he savored it. "The Honorable Delos David Harriman, Mayor of Luna City. Say, I like that! You know, I've never held any sort of public office; I've just owned things." He looked around. "Everything settled?"

ККККК "I guess so," Coster said slowly. Suddenly he stuck his hand out at LeCroix. "You fly her, Les; I'll build her."

ККККК LeCroix grabbed his hand. "It's a deal. And you and the Boss get busy and start making plans for the next job-big enough for all of us."

ККККК "Right!"

ККККК Harriman put his hand on top of theirs. "That's the way I like to hear you talk. We'll stick together and we'll found Luna City together."

ККККК "I think we ought to call it "Harriman," LeCroix said seriously.

ККККК "Nope, I've thought of it as Luna City ever since I was a kid; Luna City it's going to be. Maybe we'll put Harriman Square in the middle of it," he added.

ККККК "I'll mark it that way in the plans," agreed Coster.

ККККК Harriman left at once. Despite the solution he was terribly depressed and did not want his two colleagues to see it. It had been a Pyrrhic victory; he had saved the enterprise but he felt like an animal who has gnawed off his own leg to escape a trap.

CHAPTER EIGHT

STRONG WAS ALONE in the offices of the partnership when he got a call from Dixon. "George, I was looking for D.D. Is he there?"

ККККК "No, he's back in Washington-something about clearances. I expect him back soon."

ККККК "Hmmm. . . . Entenza and I want to see him. We're coming over." They arrived shortly. Entenza was quite evidently very much worked up over something; Dixon looked sleekly impassive as usual. After greetings Dixon waited a moment, then said, "Jack, you had some business to transact, didn't you?"

ККККК Entenza jumped, then snatched a draft from his pocket.

ККККК "Oh, yes! George, I'm not going to have to pro-rate after all. Here's my payment to bring my share up to full payment to date."

ККККК Strong accepted it. "I know that Delos will be pleased." He tucked it in a drawer.

ККККК "Well," said Dixon sharply, "aren't you going to receipt for it?"

ККККК "If Jack wants a receipt. The cancelled draft will serve." However, Strong wrote out a receipt without further comment; Entenza accepted it.

ККККК They waited a while. Presently Dixon said, "George, you're in this pretty deep, aren't you?"

ККККК "Possibly."

ККККК "Want to hedge your bets?"

ККККК "How?"

ККККК "Well, candidly, I want to protect myself. Want to sell one half of one. percent of your share?"

ККККК Strong thought about it. In fact he was worried-worried sick. The presence of Dixon's auditor had forced them to keep on a cash basis-and only Strong knew how close to the line that had forced the partners. "Why do you want it?"

ККККК "Oh, I wouldn't use it to interfere with Delos's operations. He's our man; we're backing him. But I would feel a lot safer if I had the right to call a halt if he tried to commit us to something we couldn't pay for. You know Delos; he's an incurable optimist. We ought to have some sort of a brake on him."

ККККК Strong thought about it. The thing that hurt him was that he agreed with everything Dixon said; he had stood by and watched while Delos dissipated two fortunes, painfully built up through the years. D.D. no longer seemed to care. Why, only this morning he had refused even to look at a report on the H & S automatic household switch-after dumping it on Strong.

ККККК Dixon leaned forward. "Name a price, George. I'll be generous."

ККККК Strong squared his stooped shoulders. "I'll sell-"

ККККК "Good!"

ККККК "-if Delos okays it. Not otherwise."

ККККК Dixon muttered something. Enteuza snorted. The conversation might have gone acrimoniously further, had not Harriman walked in.

ККККК No one said anything about the proposal to Strong. Strong inquired about the trip; Harriman pressed a thumb and finger together. "All in the groove! But it gets more expensive to do business in Washington every day." He turned to the others. "How's tricks? Any special meaning to the assemblage? Are we in executive session?"

ККККК Dixon turned to Entenza. "Tell him, Jack."

ККККК Entenza faced Harriman. "What do you mean by selling television rights?"

ККККК Harriman cocked a brow. "And why not?"

ККККК "Because you promised them to me, that's why. That's the original agreement; I've got it in writing."

ККККК "Better take another look at the agreement, Jack. And don't go off halfcocked. You have the exploitation rights for radio, television, and other amusement and special feature ventures in connection with the first trip to the Moon. You've still got 'em. Including broadcasts from the ship, provided we are able to make any." He decided that this was not a good time to mention that weight considerations had already made the latter impossible; the Pioneer would carry no electronic equipment of any sort not needed in astrogation. "What I sold was the franchise to erect a-television station on the Moon, later. By the way, it wasn't even an exclusive franchise, although Clem Haggerty thinks it is. If you want to buy one yourself, we can accommodate you."

ККККК "Buy it! Why you-"

ККККК "Wups! Or you can have it free, if you can get Dixon and George to agree that you are entitled to it. I won't be a tightwad. Anything else?"

ККККК Dixon cut in. "Just where do we stand now, Delos?"

ККККК "Gentlemen, you can take it for granted that the Pioneer will leave on schedule-next Wednesday. And now, if you will excuse me, I'm on my way to Peterson Field."

ККККК After he had left his three associates sat in silence for some time, Entenza muttering to himself, Dixon apparently thinking, and Strong just waiting. Presently Dixon said, "How about that fractional share, George?"

ККККК "You didn't see fit to mention it to Delos."

ККККК "I see." Dixon carefully deposited an ash. "He's a strange man, isn't he?" Strong shifted around. "Yes."

ККККК "How long have you known him?"

ККККК "Let me see-he came to work for me in-"

ККККК "He worked for you?"

ККККК "For several months. Then we set up our first company." Strong thought back about it. "I suppose he had a power complex, even then."

ККККК "No," Dixon said carefully. "No, I wouldn't call it a power complex. It's more of a Messiah complex."

ККККК Entenza looked up. "He's a crooked son of a bitch, that's what he is!"

ККККК Strong looked at him mildly. "I'd rather you wouldn't talk about him that way. I'd really rather you wouldn't."

ККККК "Stow it, Jack," ordered Dixon. "You might force George to take a poke at you. One of the odd things about him," went on Dixon, "is that he seems to be able to inspire an almost feudal loyalty. Take yourself. I know you are cleaned out, George-yet you won't let me rescue you. That goes beyond logic; it's personal."

ККККК Strong nodded. "He's an odd man. Sometimes I think he's the last of the Robber Barons."

ККККК Dixon shook his head. "Not the last. The last of them opened up the American West. He's the first of the new Robber Barons-and you and I won't see the end of it. Do you ever read Carlyle?"

ККККК Strong nodded again. "I see what you mean, the 'Hero' theory, but I don't necessarily agree with it."

ККККК "There's something to it, though," Dixon answered. "Truthfully, I don't think Delos knows what he is doing. He's setting up a new imperialism.

ККККК There'll be the devil to pay before it's cleaned up." He stood up. "Maybe we should have waited. Maybe we should have balked him-if we could have. Well, it's done. We're on the merry-go-round and we can't get off. I hope we enjoy the ride.. Come on, Jack."

CHAPTER NINE

THE COLORADO p~ArRIE was growin'~ dusky. The Sun was behind the peak and the broad white face of Luna, full and round, was rising in the east. In the middle of Peterson Field the Pioneer thrust toward the sky. A barbedwire fence, a thousand yards from its base in all directions, held back the crowds. Just inside the barrier guards patrolled restlessly. More guards circulated through the crowd. Inside the fence, close to it, trunks and trailers for camera, sound, and television equipment were parked and, at the far ends of cables, remote-control pick-ups were located both near and far from the ship on all sides. There were other trucks near the ship and a stir of organized activity.

ККККК Harriman waited in Coster's office; Coster himself was out on the field, and Dixon and Entenza had a room to themselves. LeCroix, still in a drugged sleep, was in the bedroom of Coster's on-the-job living quarters.

ККККК There was a stir and a challenge outside the door. Harriman opened it a crack. "If that's another reporter, tell him 'no.' Send him to Mr. Montgomery across the way. Captain LeCroix will grant no unauthorized interviews."

ККККК "Delos! Let me in."

ККККК "Oh-you, George. Come in. We've been hounded to death."

ККККК Strong came in and handed Harriman a large and heavy handbag. "Here it is."

ККККК "Here is what?"

ККККК "The cancelled covers for the philatelic syndicate. You forgot them. That's half a million dollars, Delos," he complained. "If I hadn't noticed them in your coat locker we'd have been in the soup."

ККККК Harriman composed his features. "George, you're a brick, that's what you are."

ККККК "Shall I put them in the ship myself?" Strong said anxiously.

ККККК "Huh? No, no. Les will handle them." He glanced at his watch. "We're about to waken him. I'll take charge of the covers." He took the bag and added, "Don't come in now. You'll have a chance to say goodbye on the field."

ККККК Harriman went next door, shut the door behind him, waited for the nurse to give the sleeping pilot a counteracting stimulant by injection, then chased her out. When he turned around the pilot was sitting up, rubbing his eyes. "How do you feel, Les?"

ККККК "Fine. So this is it."

ККККК "Yup. And we're all rooting for you, boy. Look, you've got to go out and face them in a couple of minutes. Everything is ready-but I've got a couple of things I've got to say to you."

ККККК "Yes?"

ККККК "See this bag?" Harriman rapidly explained what it was and what it signified.

ККККК LeCroix looked dismayed. "But I can't take it, Delos; It's all figured to the last ounce."

ККККК "Who said you were going to take it? Of course you can't; it must weigh sixty, seventy pounds. I just plain forgot it. Now here's what we do: for the time being I'll just hide it in here-" Harriman stuffed the bag far back into a clothes closet. "When you land, I'll be right on your tail. Then we pull a sleight-of-hand trick and you fetch it out of the ship."

ККККК LeCroix shook his head ruefully. "Delos, you beat me. Well, I'm in no mood to argue."

ККККК "I'm glad you're not; otherwise I'd go to jail for a measly half million dollars. We've already spent that money. Anyhow, it doesn't matter," he went on. "Nobody but you and me will know it-and the stamp collectors will get their money's worth." He looked at the younger man as if anxious for his approval.

ККККК "Okay, okay," LeCroix answered. "Why should I care what happens to a stamp collector-tonight? Let's get going."

ККККК "One more thing," said Harriman and took out a small cloth bag. "This you take with you-and the weight has been figured in. I saw to it. Now here is what you do with it." He gave detailed and very earnest instructions.

ККККК LeCroix was puzzled. "Do I hear you straight? I let it be found-then I tell the exact truth about what happened?"

ККККК "That's right."

ККККК "Okay." LeCroix zipped the little bag into a pocket of his coveralls. "Let's get out to the field. H-hour minus twenty-one minutes already."

ККККК Strong joined Harriman in the control blockhouse after LeCroix had gone up inside the ship. "Did they get aboard?" he demanded anxiously. "LeCroix wasn't carrying anything."

ККККК "Oh, sure," said Harriman. "I sent them ahead. Better take your place. The ready flare has already gone up."

ККККК Dixon, Entenza, the Governor of Colorado, the Vice-President of the United States, and a round dozen of V.I.P.'s were already seated at periscopes, mounted in slits, on a balcony above the control level. Strong and Harriman climbed a ladder and took the two remaining chairs.

ККККК Harriman began to sweat and realized he was trembling. Through his periscope out in front he could see the ship; from below he could hear Coster's voice, nervously checking departure station reports. Muted through a speaker by him was a running commentary of one of the newscasters reporting the show. Harriman himself was the-well, the admiral, he decided-of the operation, but there was nothing more he could do, but wait, watch, and try to pray.

ККККК A second flare arched up in the sky, burst into red and green. Five minutes.

ККККК The seconds oozed away. At minus two minutes Harriman realized that he could not stand to watch through a tiny slit; he had to be outside, take part in it himself-he had to. He climbed down, hurried to the exit of the blockhouse. Coster glanced around, looked startled, but did not try to stop him; Coster could not leave his post no matter what happened. Harriman elbowed the guard aside and went outdoors.

ККККК To the east the ship towered skyward, her slender pyramid sharp black against the full Moon. He waited.

ККККК And waited.

ККККК What had gone wrong? There had remained less than two minutes when he had come out; he was sure of that-yet there she stood, silent, dark, unmoving. There was not a sound, save the distant ululation of sirens warning the spectators behind the distant fence. Harriman felt his own heart stop, his breath dry up in his throat. Something had failed. Failure.

ККККК A single flare rocket burst from the top of the blockhouse; a flame licked at the base of the ship.

ККККК It spread, there was a pad of white fire around the base. Slowly, almost lumberingly, the Pioneer lifted, seemed to hover for a moment, balanced on a pillar of fire-then reached for the sky with acceleration so great that she was above him almost at once, overhead at the zenith, a dazzling circle of flame. So quickly was she above, rather than out in front, that it seemed as if she were arching back over him and must surely fall on him. Instinctively and futilely he threw a hand in front of his face.

ККККК The sound reached him.

ККККК Not as sound-it was a white noise, a roar in all frequencies, sonic, subsonic, supersonic, so incredibly loaded with energy that it struck him in the chest. He heard it with his teeth and with his bones as well as with his ears. He crouched his knees, bracing against it.

ККККК Following the sound at the snail's pace of a hurricane came the backwash of the splash. It ripped at his clothing, tore his breath from his lips. He stumbled blindly back, trying to reach the lee of the concrete building, was knocked down.

ККККК He picked himself up coughing and strangling and remembered to look at the sky. Straight overhead was a dwindling star. Then it was gone.

ККККК He went into the blockhouse.

ККККК The room was a babble of high-tension, purposeful confusion. Harriman's ears, still ringing, heard a speaker blare, "Spot One! Spot One to blockhouse! Step five loose on schedule-ship and step five showing separate blips-" and Coster's voice, high and angry, cutting in with, "Get Track One! Have they picked up step five yet? Are they tracking it?"

ККККК In the background the news commentator was still blowing his top. "A great day, folks, a great day! The mighty Pioneer, climbing like an angel of the Lord, flaming sword at hand, is even now on her glorious way to our sister planet. Most of you have seen her departure on your screens; I wish you could have seen it as I did, arching up into the evening sky, bearing her precious load of-"

ККККК "Shut that thing off!" ordered Coster, then to the visitors on the observation platform, "And pipe down up there! Quiet!"

ККККК The Vice-President of the United States jerked his head around, closed his mouth. He remembered to smile. The other V.I.P.'s shut up, then resumed again in muted whispers. A girl's voice cut through the silence, "Track One to Blockhouse-step five tracking high, plus two." There was a stir in the corner. There a large canvas hood shielded a heavy sheet of Plexiglass from direct light. The sheet was mounted vertically and was edge-lighted; it displayed a coordinate map of Colorado and Kansas in fine white lines; the cities and towns glowed red. Unevacuated farms were tiny warning dots of red light.

ККККК A man behind the transparent map touched it with a grease pencil; the reported location of step five shone out. In front of the map screen a youngish man sat quietly in a chair, a pear-shaped switch in his hand, his thumb lightly resting on the button. He was a bombardier, borrowed from the Air Forces; when he pressed the switch, a radio-controlled circuit in step five should cause the shrouds of step five's landing 'chute to be cut and let it plummet to Earth. He was working from radar reports aloi~e with no fancy computing bombsight to think for him. He was working almost by instinct- or, rather, by the accumulated subconscious knowledge of his trade, integrating in his brain the meager data spread before him, deciding where the tons of step five would land if he were to press his switch at any particular instant. He seemed unworried.

ККККК "Spot One to Blockhouse!" came a man's voice again. "Step four free on schedule," and almost immediately following, a deeper voice echoed, "Track Two, tracking step four, instantaneous altitude nine-five-one miles, predicted vector."

ККККК No one paid any attention to Harriman.

ККККК Under the hood the observed trajectory of step five grew in shining dots of grease, near to, but not on, the dotted line of its predicted path. Reaching out from each location dot was drawn a line at right angles, the reported altitude for that location.

ККККК The quiet man watching the display suddenly pressed down hard on his switch. He then stood up, stretched, and said, "Anybody got a cigaret?" "Track Two!" he was answered. "Step four-first impact prediction-forty miles west of Charleston, South Carolina."

ККККК "Repeat!" yelled Coster.

ККККК The speaker blared out again without pause, "Correction, correction- forty miles east, repeat east."

ККККК Coster sighed. The sigh was cut short by a report. "Spot One to Blockhouse-step three free, minus five seconds," and a talker at Coster's control desk called out, "Mr. Coster, Mister Coster-Palomar Observatory wants to talk to you."

ККККК "Tell 'em to go-no, tell 'em to wait." Immediately another voice cut in with, "Track One, auxiliary range Fox-Step one about to strike near Dodge City, Kansas~"

ККККК "How near?"

ККККК There was no answer. Presently the voice of Track One proper said, "Impact reported approximately fifteen miles southwest of Dodge City."

ККККК "Casualties?"

ККККК Spot One broke in before Track One could answer, "Step two free, step two free-the ship is now on its own."

ККККК "Mr. Coster-please, Mr. Coster-"

ККККК And a totally new voice: "Spot Two to Blockhouse-we are now tracking the ship. Stand by for reported distances and bearings. Stand by-"

ККККК "Track Two to Blockhouse-step four will definitely land in Atlantic, estimated point of impact oh-five-seven miles east of Charleston bearing ohnine-three. I will repeat-"

ККККК Coster looked around irritably. "Isn't there any drinking water anywhere in this dump?"

ККККК "Mr. Coster, please-Palomar says they've just got to talk to you."

ККККК Harriman eased over to the door and stepped out. He suddenly felt very much let down, utterly weary, and depressed.

ККККК The field looked strange without the ship. He had watched it grow; now suddenly it was gone. The Moon, still rising, seemed oblivious-and space travel was as remote a dream as it had been in his boyhood.

ККККК There were several tiny figures prowling around, the flash apron where the ship had stood-souvenir hunters, he thought contemptuously. Someone came up to him in the gloom. "Mr. Harriman?"

ККККК "Eh?"

ККККК "Hopkins-with the A.P. How about a statement?"

ККККК "Uh? No, no comment. I'm bushed."

ККККК "Oh, now, just a word. How does it feel to have backed the first successful Moon flight-if it is successful."

ККККК "It will be successful." He thought a moment, then squared his tired shoulders and said, "Tell them that this is the beginning of the human race's greatest era. Tell them that every one of them will have a chance to follow in Captain LeCroix's footsteps, seek out new planets, wrest a home for themselves in new lands. Tell them that this means new frontiers, a shot in the arm for prosperity. It means-" He ran down. "That's all tonight. I'm whipped, son. Leave me alone, will you?"

ККККК Presently C™ster came out, followed by the V.I.P.'s. Harriman went up to Coster. "Everything all right?"

ККККК "Sure. Why shouldn't it be? Track three followed him out to the limit of range-all in the groove." Coster added, "Step five killed a cow when it grounded."

ККККК "Forget it-we'll have steak for breakfast." Harriman then had to make conversation with the Governor and the Vice-President, had to escort them out to their ship. Dixon and Entenza left together, less formally; at last Coster and Harriman were alone save for subordinates too junior to constitute a strain and for guards to protect them from the crowds. "Where you headed, Bob?"

ККККК "Up to the Broadmoor and about a week's sleep. How about you?"

ККККК "if you don't mind, I'll doss down in your apartment."

ККККК "Help yourself. Sleepy pills in the bathroom."

ККККК "I won't need them." They had a drink together in Coster's quarters, talked aimlessly, then Coster ordered a copter cab and went to the hotel. Harriman went to bed, got up, read a day-old copy of the Denver Post filled with pictures of the Pioneer, finally gave up and took two of Coster's sleeping capsules.

CHAPTER TEN

SOMEONE WAS SHAKING HIM. "Mr. Harriman! Wake up-Mr. Caster is on the screen."

ККККК "Huh? Wazza? Oh, all right." He got up and padded to the phone. Caster was :ooking tousie-headea and excited. "Hey, Boss-he made it!"

ККККК "Huh? What do you mean?"

ККККК "Palomar just called me. They saw the mark and now they've spotted the ship itself. He-"

ККККК "Wait a minute, Bob. Slow up. He can't be there yet. He just left last night."

ККККК Coster looked disconcerted. "What's the matter, Mr. Harriman? Don't you feel well? He left Wednesday."

ККККК Vaguely, Harriman began to be oriented. No, the take-off had not been the night before-fuzzily he recalled a drive up into the mountains, a day spent dozing in the sun, some sort of a party at which he had drunk too much. What day was today? He didn't know. If LeCroix had landed on the Moon, then-never mind. "It's all right, Bob-I was half asleep. I guess I dreamed the take-off all over again. Now tell me the news, slowly."

ККККК Coster started over. "LeCroix has landed, just west of Archimedes crater. They can see his ship, from Palomar. Say that was a great stunt you thought up, marking the spot with carbon black. Les must have covered two acres with it. They say it shines out like a billboard, through the Big Eye."

ККККК "Maybe we ought to run down and have a look. No-later," he amended. "We'll be busy."

ККККК "I don't see what more we can do, Mr. Harriman. We've got twelve of our best ballistic computers calculating possible routes for you now."

ККККК Harriman started to tell the man to put on another twelve, switched off the screen instead. He was still at Peterson Field, with one of Skyways' best stratoships waiting for him outside, waiting to take him to whatever point on the globe LeCroix might ground. LeCroix was in the upper stratosphere, had been there for more than twenty-four hours. The pilot was slowly, cautiously wearing out his terminal velocity, dissipating the incredible kinetic energy as shock wave and radiant heat.

ККККК They had tracked him by radar around the globe and around again-and again . . . yet there was no way of knowing just where and what sort of landing the pilot would choose to risk. Harriman listened to the running radar reports and cursed the fact that they had elected to save the weight of radio equipment.

ККККК The radar figures started coming closer together. The voice broke off and started again: "He's in his landing glide!"

ККККК "Tell the field to get ready!" shouted Harriman. He held his breath and waited. After endless seconds another voice cut in with, "The Moon ship is now landing. It will ground somewhere west of Chihuahua in Old Mexico."

ККККК Harriman started for the door at a run.

ККККК Coached by radio en route, Harriman's pilot spotted the Pioneer incredibly small against the desert sand. He put his own ship quite close to it, in a beautiful landing. Harriman was fumbling at the cabin door before the ship was fairly stopped.

ККККК LeCroix was sitting on the ground, resting his back against a skid of his ship and enjoying the shade of its stubby triangular wings. A paisano sheepherder stood facing him, open-mouthed. As Harriman trotted out and lumbered toward him LeCroix stood up, flipped a cigaret butt away and said, "Hi, Boss!"

ККККК "Les!" The older man threw his arms around the younger. "It's good to see you, boy."

ККККК "It's good to see you. Pedro here doesn't speak my language." LeCroix glanced around; there was no one else nearby but the pilot of Harriman's ship. "Where's the gang? Where's Bob?"

ККККК "I didn't wait. They'll surely be along in a few minutes-hey, there they come now!" It was another stratoship, plunging in to a landing. Harriman turned to his pilot. "Bill-go over and meet them."

ККККК "Huh? They'll come, never fear."

ККККК "Do as I say."

ККККК "You're the doctor." The pilot trudged through the sand, his back expressing disapproval. LeCroix looked puzzled. "Quick, Les-help me with this."

ККККК "This" was the five thousand cancelled envelopes which were supposed to have been to the Moon. They got them out of Harriman's stratoship and into the Moon ship, there to be stowed in an empty food locker, while their actions were still shielded from the later arrivals by the bulk of the strataship. "Whew!" said Harriman. "That was close. Half a million dollars. We need it, Les."

ККККК "Sure, but look, Mr. Harriman, the di-"

ККККК "Sssh! The others are coming. How about the other business? Ready with your act?"

ККККК "Yes. But I was trying to tell you-"

ККККК "Quiet!"

ККККК It was not their colleagues; it was a shipload of reporters, camera men, mike men, commentators, technicians. They swarmed over them.

ККККК Harriman waved to them jauntily. "Help yourselves, boys. Get a lot of pictures. Climb through the ship. Make yourselves at home. Look at anything you want to. But go easy on Captain LeCroix-he's tired."

ККККК Another ship had landed, this time with Caster, Dixon and Strong. Entenza showed up in his own chartered ship and began bossing the TV, pix, and radio men, in the course of which he almost had a fight with an unauthorized camera crew. A large copter transport grounded and spilled out nearly a platoon of khaki-clad Mexican troops. Fom somewhere-out of the sand apparently-several dozen native peasants showed up. Harriman broke away from reporters, held a quick and expensive discussion with the captain of the local troops and a degree of order was restored in time to save the Pioneer from being picked to pieces.

ККККК "Just let that be!" It was LeCroix's voice, from inside the Pioneer. Harriman waited and listened. "None of your business!" the pilot's voice went on, rising higher, "and put them back!"

ККККК Harriman pushed his way to the door of the ship. "What's the trouble, Les?"

ККККК Inside the cramped cabin, hardly large enough for a TV booth, three men stood, LeCroix and two reporters. All three men looked angry. "What's the trouble, Les?" Harriman repeated.

ККККК LeCroix was holding a small cloth bag which appeared to be empty. Scattered on the pilot's acceleration rest between him and the reporters were several small, dully brilliant stones. A reporter held one such stone up to the light.

ККККК "These guys were poking their noses into things that didn't concern them," LeCroix said angrily.

ККККК The reporter looked at the stone said, "You told us to look at what we liked, didn't you, Mr. Harriman?"

ККККК "Yes."

ККККК "Your pilot here-" He jerked a thumb at LeCroix. "-apparently didn't expect us to find these. He had them hidden in the pads of his chair."

ККККК "What of it?"

ККККК "They're diamonds."

ККККК "What makes you think so?"

ККККК "They're diamonds all right."

ККККК Harriman stopped and unwrapped a cigar. Presently he said, "Those diamonds were where you found them because I put them there."

ККККК A flashlight went off behind Harriman; a voice said, "Hold the rock up higher, Jeff."

ККККК The reporter called Jeff obliged, then said, "That seems an odd thing to do, Mr. Harriman."

ККККК "I was interested in the effect of outer space radiations on raw diamonds. On my orders Captain LeCroix placed that sack of diamonds in the ship."

ККККК Jeff whistled thoughtfully. "You know, Mr. Harriman, if you did not have that explanation, I'd think LeCroix had found the rocks on the Moon and was trying to hold out on you."

ККККК "Print that and you will be sued for libel. I have every confidence in Captain LeCroix. Now give me the diamonds."

ККККК Jeff's eyebrows went up. "But not confidence enough in him to let him keep them,.maybe?"

ККККК "Give me the stones. Then get out."

ККККК Harriman got LeCroix away from the reporters as quickly as possible and into Harriman's own ship. "That's all for now," he told the news and pictures people. "See us at Peterson Field."

ККККК Once the ship raised ground he turned to LeCroix. "You did a beautiful job, Les."

ККККК "That reporter named Jeff must be sort of confused."

ККККК "Eh? Oh, that. No, I mean the flight. You did it. You're head man on this planet."

ККККК LeCroix shrugged it off. "Bob built a good ship. It was a cinch. Now about those diamonds-"

ККККК "Forget the diamonds. You've done your part. We placed those rocks in the ship; now we tell everybody we did-truthful as can be. It's not our fault if they don't believe us."

ККККК "But Mr. Harriman-"

ККККК "What?"

ККККК LeCroix unzipped a pocket in his coveralls, hauled out a soiled handkerchief, knotted into a bag. He untied it-and spilled into Harriman's hands many more diamonds than had been displayed in the ship-larger, finer diamonds.

ККККК Harriman stared at them. He began to chuckle.

ККККК Presently he shoved them back at LeCroix. "Keep them."

ККККК "I figure they belong to all of us."

ККККК "Well, keep them for us, then. And keep your mouth shut about them. No, wait." He picked out two large stones. "I'll have rings made from these two, one for you, one for me. But keep your mouth shut, or they won't be worth anything, except as curiosities."

ККККК It was quite true, he thought. Long ago the diamond syndicate had realized that diamonds in plentiful supply were worth little more than glass, except for industrial uses. Earth had more than enough for that, more than enough for jewels. If Moon diamonds were literally "common as pebbles" then they were just that-pebbles.

ККККК Not worth the expense of bringing them to earth. But now take uranium. If that were plentiful- Harriman sat back and indulged in daydreaming. Presently LeCroix said softly, "You know, Boss, it's wonderful there."

ККККК "Eh? Where?"

ККККК "Why, on the Moon of course. I'm going back. I'm going back just as soon as I can. We've got to get busy on the new ship."

ККККК "Sure, sure! And this time we'll build one big enough for all of us. This time I go, too!"

ККККК "You bet."

ККККК "Les-" The older man spoke almost diffidently. "What does it look like when you look back and see the Earth?"

ККККК "Huh? It looks like- It looks-" LeCroix stopped. "Hell's bells, Boss, there isn't any way to tell you. It's wonderful, that's all. The sky is black and-well, wait until you see the pictures I took. Better .yet, wait and see it yourself."

ККККК Harriman nodded. "But it's hard to wait."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"FIELDS OF DIAMONDS ON THE MOONU!"

"BILLIONAIRE BACKER DENIES DIAMOND STORY Says Jewels Taken Into Space for Science Reasons"

"MOON DIAMONDS: HOAX OR FACT?"

ККККК "-but consider this, friends of the invisible audience: why would anyone take diamonds to the moon? Every ounce of that ship and its cargo was calculated; diamonds would not be taken along without reason. Many scientific authorities have pronounced Mr. Harriman's professed reason an absurdity. It is easy to guess that diamonds might be taken along for the purpose of 'salting' the Moon, so to speak, with earthly jewels, with the intention of convincing us that diamonds exist on the Moon-but Mr. Harriman, his pilot Captain LeCroix, and everyone connected with the enterprise have sworn from the beginning that the diamonds did not come from the Moon. But it is an absolute certainty that the diamonds were in the space ship when it landed. Cut it how you will; this reporter is going to try to buy some lunar diamond mining stock-"

ККККК Strong was, as usual, already in the office when Harriman came in. Before the partners could speak, the screen called out, "Mr. Harriman, Rotterdam calling."

ККККК "Tell them to go plant a tulip."

ККККК "Mr. van der Velde is waiting, Mr. Harriman."

ККККК "Okay."

ККККК Harriman let the Hollander talk, then said, "Mr. van der Velde, the statements attributed to me are absolutely correct. I put those diamonds the reporters saw into the ship before it took off. They were mined right here on Earth. In fact I bought them when I came over to see you; I can prove it."

ККККК "But Mr. Harriman-"

ККККК "Suit yourself. There may be more diamonds on the Moon than you can run and jump over. I don't guarantee it. But I do guarantee that those diamonds the newspapers are talking about came from Earth."

ККККК "Mr. Harriman, why would you send diamonds to the Moon? Perhaps you intended to fool us, no?"

ККККК "Have it your own way. But I've said all along that those diamonds came from Earth. Now see here: you took an option-an option on an option, so to speak. If you want to make the second payment on that option and keep it in force, the deadline is nine o'clock Thursday, New York time, as specified in the contract. Make up your mind."

ККККК He switched off and found his partner looking at him sourly. "What's eating you?"

ККККК "I wondered about those diamonds, too, Delos. So I've been looking through the weight schedule of the Pioneer."

ККККК "Didn't know you were interested in engineering."

ККККК "I can read figures."

ККККК "Well, you found it, didn't you? Schedule F-i 7-c, two ounces, allocated to me personally."

ККККК "I found it. It sticks out like a sore thumb. But I didn't find something else."

ККККК Harriman felt a 'cold chill in his stomach. "What?"

ККККК "I didn't find a schedule for the cancelled covers." Strong stared at him.

ККККК "It must be there. Let me see that weight schedule."

ККККК "It's not there, Delos. You know, I thought it was funny when you insisted on going to meet Captain LeCroix by yourself. What happened, Delos? Did you sneak them aboard?" He continued to stare while Harriman fidgeted. "We've put over some sharp business deals-but this will be the first time that anyone can say that the firm of Harriman and Strong has cheated."

ККККК "George-I would cheat, lie, steal, beg, bribe-do anything to accomplish what we have accomplished."

ККККК Harriman got up and paced the room. "We had to have that money, or the ship would never have taken off. We're cleaned out. You know that, don't you?"

ККККК Strong nodded. "But those covers should have gone to the Moon. That's what we contracted to do."

ККККК "I just forgot it. Then it was too late to figure the weight in. But it doesn't matter. I figured that if the trip was a failure, if LeCroix cracked up, nobody would know or care that the covers hadn't gone. And I knew if he made it, it wouldn't matter; we'd have plenty of money. And we will, George, we will!"

ККККК "We've got to pay the money back."

ККККК "Now? Give me time, George. Everybody concerned is 'happy the way it is. Wait until we recover our stake; then I'll buy every one of those covers back-out of my own pocket. That's a promise."

ККККК Strong continued to sit. Harriman stopped in front of him. "I ask you, George, is it worth while to wreck an enterprise of this size for a purely theoretical point?"

ККККК Strong sighed and said, "When the time comes, use the firm's money."

ККККК "That's the spirit! But I'll use my own, I promise you."

ККККК "No, the firm's money. If we're in it together, we're in it together."

ККККК "O.K., if that's the way you want it."

ККККК Harriman turned back to his desk. Neither of the two partners had anything to say for a long while. Presently Dixon and Entenza were announced.

ККККК "Well, Jack," said Harriman. "Feel better now?"

ККККК "No thanks to you. I had to fight for what I did put on the air-and some of it was pirated as it was. Delos, there should have been a television pick-up in the ship."

ККККК "Don't fret about it. As I told you, we couldn't spare the weight this time. But there will be the next trip, and the next. Your concession is going to be worth a pile of money."

ККККК Dixon cleared his throat. "That's what we came to see you about, Delos. What are your plans?"

ККККК "Plans? We go right ahead. Les and Coster and I make the next trip. We set up a permanent base. Maybe Coster stays behind. The third trip we send a real colony-nuclear engineers, miners, hydroponics experts, communications engineers. We'll found Luna City, first city on another planet."

ККККК Dixon looked thoughtful. "And when does this begin to pay off?"

ККККК "What do you mean by 'pay off'? Do you want your capital back, or do you want to begin to see some return on your investment? I can cut it either way."

ККККК Entenza was about to say that he wanted his investment back; Dixon cut in first, "Profits, naturally. The investment is already made."

ККККК "Fine!"

ККККК "But I don't see how you expect profits. Certainly, LeCroix made the trip and got back safely. There is honor for all of us. But where are the royalties?"

ККККК "Give the crop time to ripen, Dan. Do I look worried? What are our assets?" Harriman ticked them off on his fingers. "Royalties on pictures, television, radio-."

ККККК "Those things go to Jack."

ККККК "Take a look at the agreement. He has the concession, but he pays the firm-that's all of us-for them."

ККККК Dixon said, "Shut up, Jack!" before Entenza could speak, then added, "What else? That won't pull us out of the red."

ККККК "Endorsements galore. Monty's boys are working on that. Royalties from the greatest best seller yet-I've got a ghost writer and a stenographer following LeCroix around this very minute. A franchise for the first and only space line-"

ККККК "From whom?"

ККККК "We'll get it. Kamens and Montgomery are in Paris now, working on it. I'm joining them this afternoon. And we'll tie down that franchise with a franchise from the other end, just as soon as we can get a permanent colony there, no matter how small. It will be the autonomous state of Luna, under the protection of the United Nations-and no ship will land or take off in its territory without its permission. Besides that we'll have the right to franchise a dozen other companies for various purposes-and tax them, too-just as soon as we set up the Municipal Corporation of the City of Luna under the laws of the State of Luna. We'll sell everything but vacuum- we'll even sell vacuum, for experimental purposes. And don't forgct-we'll still have a big chunk of real estate, sovereign title in us-as a state-and not yet sold. The Moon is big."

ККККК "Your ideas are rather big, too, Delos," Dixon said dryly. "But what actually happens next?"

ККККК "First we get title confirmed by the U.N. The Security Council is now in secret session; the Assembly meets tonight. Things will be popping; that's why I've got to be there. When the United Nations decides-as it will!- that its own non-profit corporation has the only real claim to the Moon, then I get busy. The poor little weak non-profit corporation is going to grant a number of things to some real honest-to-god corporations with hair on their chests-in return for help in setting up a physics research lab, an astronomical observatory, a lunography institute and some other perfectly proper nonprofit enterprises. That's our interim pitch until we get a permanent colony with its own laws. Then we-"

ККККК Dixon gestured impatiently. "Never mind the legal shenanigans, Delos. I've known you long enough to know that you can figure out such angles. What do we actually have to do next?"

ККККК "Huh? We've got to build another ship, a bigger one. Not actually bigger, but effectively bigger. Coster has started the design of a surface catapult- it will reach from Manitou Springs to the top of Pikes Peak. With it we can put a ship in free orbit around the Earth. Then we'll use such a ship to fuel more ships-it amounts to a space station, like the power station. It adds up to a way to get there on chemical power without having to throw away nine-tenths of your ship to do it."

ККККК "Sounds expensive."

ККККК "It will be. But don't worry; we've got a couple of dozen piddling little things to keep the money coming in while we get set up on a commercial basis, then we sell stock. We- sold stock before; now we'll sell a thousand dollars' worth where we sold ten before."

ККККК "And you think that will carry you through until the enterprise as a whole is on a paying basis? Face it, Delos, the thing as a whole doesn't pay off until you have ships plying between here and the Moon on a paying basis, figured in freight and passenger charges. That means customers, with cash. What is there on the Moon to ship-and who pays for it?"

ККККК "Dan, don't you believe there will be? If not, why are you here?"

ККККК "I believe in it, Delos-or I believe in you. But what's your time schedule? What's your budget? What's your prospective commodity? And please don't mention diamonds; I think I understand that caper."

ККККК Harriman chewed his cigar for a few moments. "There's one valuable commodity we'll start shipping at once."

ККККК "What?"

ККККК "Knowledge."

ККККК Entenza snorted. Strong looked puzzled. Dixon nodded. "I'll buy that. Knowledge is always worth something-to the man who knows how to exploit it. And I'll agree that the Moon is a place to find new knowledge. I'll assume that you can make the next trip pay off. What's your budget and your time table for that?"

ККККК Harriman did not answer. Strong searched his face closely. To him Harriman's poker face was as revealing as large print-he decided that his partner had been crowded into a corner. He waited, nervous but ready to back Harriman's play. Dixon went on, "From the way you describe it, Delos, I judge that you don't have money enough for your next step-and you don't know where you will get it. I believe in you, Delos-and I told you at the start that I did not believe in letting a new business die of anemia. I'm ready to buy in with a fifth share."

ККККК Harriman stared. "Look," he said bluntly, "you own Jack's share now, don't you?"

ККККК "I wouldn't say that."

ККККК "You vote it. It sticks out all over."

ККККК Entenza said, "That's not true. I'm independent. I-"

ККККК "Jack, you're a damn liar," Harriman said dispassionately. "Dan, you've got fifty percent now. Under the present rules I decide deadlocks, which gives me control as long as George sticks by me. If we sell you another share, you vote three-fifths-and are boss. Is that the deal you are looking for?"

ККККК "Delos, as I told you, I have confidence in you."

ККККК "But you'd feel happier with the whip hand. Well, I won't do it. I'll let space travel-real space travel, with established runs-wait another twenty years before I'll turn loose. I'll let us all go broke and let us live on glory before I'll turn loose. You'll have to think up another scheme."

ККККК Dixon said nothing. Harriman got up and began to pace. He stopped in front of Dixon. "Dan, if you really understood what this is all about, I'd let you have control. But you don't. You see this is just another way to money and to power. I'm perfectly willing to let you vultures get rich-but I keep control. I'm going to see this thing developed, not milked. The human race is heading out to the stars-and this adventure is going to present new problems compared with which atomic power was a kid's toy. Unless the whole matter is handled carefully, it will be fouled up. You'll foul it up, Dan, if I let you have the deciding vote in it-because you don't understand it."

ККККК He caught his breath and went on, "Take safety for instance. Do you know why I let LeCroix take that ship out instead of taking it myself? Do you think I was afraid? No! I wanted it to come back-safely. I didn't want space travel getting another set-back. Do you know why we have to have a monopoly, for a few years at least? Because every so-and-so and his brother is going to want to build a Moon ship, now that they know it can be done. Remember the first days of ocean flying? After Lindbergh did it, every so-called pilot who could lay hands on a crate took off for some over-water point. Some of them even took their kids along. And most of them landed in the drink. Airplanes get a reputation for being dangerous. A few years after that the airlines got so hungry for quick money in a highly competitive field that you couldn't pick up a paper without seeing headlines about another airliner crash.

ККККК "That's not going to happen to space travel! I'm not going to let it happen.

ККККК Space ships are too big and too expensive; if they get a reputation for being unsafe as well, we might as well have stayed in bed. I run things."

ККККК He stopped. Dixon waited and then said, "I said I believed in you, Delos. How much money do you need?"

ККККК "Eh? On what terms?"

ККККК "Your note."

ККККК "My note? Did you say my note?"

ККККК "I'd want security, of course."

ККККК Harriman swore. "I knew there was a hitch in it. Dan, you know everything I've got is tied up in this venture."

ККККК "You have insurance. You have quite a lot of insurance, I know."

ККККК "Yes, but that's all made out to my wife."

ККККК "I seem to have heard you say something about that sort of thing to Jack Entenza," Dixon said. "Come, now-if I know your tax-happy sort, you have at least one irrevocable trust, or paid-up annuities, or something, to keep Mrs. Harriman out of the poor house."

ККККК Harriman thought fiercely about it. "When's the call date on this note?"

ККККК "In the sweet bye and bye. I want a no-bankruptcy clause, of course."

ККККК "Why? Such a clause has no legal validity."

ККККК "It would be valid with you, wouldn't it?"

ККККК "Mmm . . . yes. Yes, it would."

ККККК "Then get out your policies and see how big a note you can write." Harriman looked at him, turned abruptly and went to his safe. He came back with quite a stack of long, stiff folders. They added them up together; it was an amazingly large sum-for those days. Dixon then consulted a memorandum taken from his pocket and said, "One seems to be missing- a rather large one. A North Atlantic Mutual policy, I think."

ККККК Harriman glared at him. "Am I going to have to fire every confidential clerk in my force?"

ККККК "No," Dixon said mildly, "I don't get my information from your staff. Harriman went back to the safe, got the policy and added it to the pile. Strong spoke up, "Do you want mine, Mr. Dixon?"

ККККК "No," answered Dixon, "that won't be necessary." He started stuffing the policies in his pocket. "I'll keep these, Delos, and attend to keeping up the premiums. I'll bill you of course. You can send the note and the changeof-beneficiary forms to my office. Here's your draft." He took out another slip of paper; it was the draft-already made out in the amount of the policies.

ККККК Harriman looked at it. "Sometimes," he said slowly, "I wonder who's kidding who?" He tossed the draft over to Strong. "O.K., George, take care of it. I'm off to Paris, boys. Wish me luck." He strode out as jauntily as a fox terrier.

ККККК Strong looked from the closed door to Dixon, then at the note. "I ought to tear this thing up!"

ККККК "Don't do it," advised Dixon. "You see, I really do believe in him." He added, "Ever read Carl Sandburg, George?"

ККККК "I'm not much of a reader."

ККККК "Try him some time. He tells a story about a man who started a rumor that they had struck oil in hell. Pretty soon everybody has left for hell, to get in on the boom. The man who started the rumor watches them all go, then scratches his head and says to himself that there just might be something in it, after all. So he left for hell, too."

ККККК Strong waited, finally said, "I don't get the point."

ККККК "The point is that I just want to be ready to protect myself if necessary, George-and so should you. Delos might begin believing his own rumors. Diamonds! Come, Jack."

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE ENSUING MONTHS were as busy as the period before the flight of the Pioneer (now honorably retired to the Smithsonian Institution). One engineering staff and great gangs of men were working on the catapult, two more staffs were busy with two new ships; the Mayflower, and the Colonial; a third ship was on the drafting tables. Ferguson was chief engineer for all of this; Coster, still buffered by Jock Berkeley, was engineering consultant, working where and as he chose. Colorado Springs was a boom town; the Denver-Trinidad roadcity settlements spread out at the Springs until they surrounded Peterson Field.

ККККК Harriman was as busy as a cat with two tails. The constantly expanding exploitation and promotion took eight full days a week of his time, but, by working Kamens and Montgomery almost to ulcers and by doing without sleep himself, he created frequent opportunities to run out to Colorado and talk things over with Caster.

ККККК Luna City, it was decided, would be founded on the very next trip. The Mayflower was planned for a pay-load not only of seven passengers, but with air, water and food to carry four of them over to the next trip; they would live in an aluminum Quonset-type hut, sealed, pressurized, and buried under the loose soil of Luna until-and assuming-they were succored.

ККККК The choice of the four extra passengers gave rise to another contest, another publicity exploitation-and more sale of stock. Harriman insisted that they be two married couples, over the united objections of scientific organizations everywhere. He gave in only to the extent of agreeing that there was no objection to all four being scientists, providing they constituted two married couples. This gave rise to several hasty marriages-and some divorces, after the choices were announced.

ККККК The Mayflower was the maximum size that calculations showed would be capable of getting into a free orbit around the Earth from the boost of the catapult, plus the blast of her own engines. Before she took off, four other ships, quite as large, would precede her. But they were not space ships; they were mere tankers-nameless. The most finicky of ballistic calculations, the most precise of launchings, would place them in the same orbit at the same spot. There the Mayflower would rendezvous and accept their remaining fuel.

ККККК This was the trickiest part of the entire project. If the four tankers could be placed close enough together, LeCroix, using a tiny maneuvering reserve, could bring his new ship to them. If not-well, it gets very lonely out in Space.

ККККК Serious thought was given to placing pilots in the tankers and accepting as a penalty the use of enough fuel from one tanker to permit a get-away boat, a life boat with wings, to decelerate, reach the atmosphere and brake to a landing. Caster found a cheaper way.

ККККК A radar pilot, whose ancestor was the proximity fuse and whose immediate parents could be found in the homing devices of guided missiles, was given the task of bringing the tankers together. The first tanker would not be so equipped, but th~ second tanker through its robot would smell out the first and home on it with a pint-sized rocket engine, using the smallest of vectors to bring them together. The third would home on the first two and the fourth on the group.

ККККК LeCroix shouid have no trouble-if the scheme worked.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

STRONG WANTED TO SHOW HARRIMAN the sales reports on the H & S automatic household switch; Harriman brushed them aside.

ККККК Strong shoved them back under his nose. "You'd better start taking an interest in such things, Delos. Somebody around this office had better start seeing to it that some money comes in-some money that belongs to us, personally-or you'll be selling apples on a street corner."

ККККК Harriman leaned back and clasped his hands back of his head. "George, how can you talk that way on a day like this? Is there no poetry in your soul? Didn't you hear what I said when I came in? The rendezvous worked. Tankers one and two are as close together as Siamese twins. We'll be leaving within the week."

ККККК "That's as may be. Business has to go on."

ККККК "You keep it going; I've got a date. When did Dixon say he would be over?"

ККККК "He's due now."

ККККК "Good!" Harriman bit the end off a cigar and went on, "You know, George, I'm not sorry I didn't get to make the first trip. Now I've still got it t~ do. I'm as expectant as a bridegroom-and as happy." He started to hum.

ККККК Dixon came in without Entenza, a situation that had obtained since the day Dixon had dropped the pretence that he controlled only one share. He shook hands. "You heard the news, Dan?"

ККККК "George told me."

ККККК "This is it-or almost. A week from now, more or less, I'll be on the Moon. I can hardly believe it."

ККККК Dixon sat down silently. Harriman went on, "Aren't you even going to congratulate me? Man, this is a great dayl"

ККККК Dixon said, "D.D., why are you going?"

ККККК "Huh? Don't ask foolish questions. This is what I ~have been working toward."

ККККК "It's not a foolish question. I asked why you were going. The four colonists have an obvious reason, and each is a selected specialist observer as well. LeCroix is the pilot. Coster is the man who is designing the permanent colony. But why are you going? What's your function?"

ККККК "My function? Why, I'm the guy who runs things. Shucks, I'm going to run for mayor when I get there. Have a cigar, friend-the name's Harriman. Don't forget to vote." He grinned.

ККККК Dixon did not smile. "I did not know you planned on staying."

ККККК Harriman looked sheepish. "Well, that's still up in the air. If we get the shelter built in a hurry, we may save enough in the way of supplies to let me sort of lay over until the next trip. You wouldn't begrudge me that, would you?"

ККККК Dixon looked him in the eye. "Delos, I can't let you go at all."

ККККК Harriman was too startled to talk at first. At last he managed to say, "Don't joke, Dan. I'm going. You can't stop me. Nothing on Earth can stop me."

ККККК Dixon shook his head. "I can't permit it, Delos. I've got too much sunk in this. If you go and anything happens to you, I lose it all."

ККККК "That's silly. You and George would just carry on, that's all."

ККККК "Ask George."

ККККК Strong had nothing to say. He did not seem anxious to meet Harriman's eyes. Dixon went on, "Don't try to kid your way out of it, Delos. This venture is you and you are this venture. If you get killed, the whole thing folds up. I don't say space travel folds up; I think you've already given that a boost that will carry it along even with lesser men in your shoes. But as for this venture-our company-it will fold up. George and I will have to liquidate at about half a cent on the dollar. It would take sale of patent rights to get that much. The tangible assets aren't worth anything."

ККККК "Damn it, it's the intangibles we sell. You knew that all along."

ККККК "You are the intangible asset, Delos. You are the goose that lays the golden eggs. I want you to stick around until you've laid them. You must not risk your neck in space flight until you have this thing on a profit-making basis, so that any competent manager, such as George or myself, thereafter can keep it solvent. I mean it, Delos. I've got too much in it to see you risk it in a joy ride."

ККККК Harriman stood up and pressed his fingers down on the edge of his desk. He was breathing hard. "You can't stop me!" he said slowly and forcefully. "Not all the forces of heaven or hell can stop me."

ККККК Dixon answered quietly, "I'm sorry, Delos. But I can stop you and I will. I can tie up that ship out there."

ККККК "Try it! I own as many lawyers as you do-and better ones!"

ККККК "I think you will find that you are not as popular in American courts as you once were-not since the United States found out it didn't own the Moon after all."

ККККК "Try it, I tell you. I'll break you and I'll take your shares away from you, too."

ККККК "Easy, Delos! I've no doubt you have some scheme whereby you could milk the basic company right away from George and me if you decided to. But it won't be necessary. Nor will it be necessary to tie up the ship. I want the flight to take place as much as you do. But you won't be on it, because you will decide not to go."

ККККК "I will, eh? Do I look crazy from where you sit?"

ККККК "No, on the contrary."

ККККК "Then why won't I go?"

ККККК "Because of your note that I hold. I want to collect it."

ККККК "What? There's no due date."

ККККК "No. But I want to be sure to collect it."

ККККК "Why, you dumb fool, if I get killed you collect it sooner than ever."

ККККК "Do I? You are mistaken, Delos. If you are killed-on a flight to the Moon-I collect nothing. I know; I've checked with every one of the companies underwriting you. Most of them have escape clauses covering experimental vehicles that date back to early aviation. In any case all of them will cancel and fight it out in court if you set foot inside that ship."

ККККК "You put them up to this!"

ККККК "Calm down, Delos. You'll be bursting a blood vessel. Certainly I queried them, but I was legitimately looking after my own interests. I don't want to collect on that note-not now, not by your death. I want you to pay it back out of your own earnings, by staj'ing here and nursing this company through till it's stable."

ККККК Harriman chucked his cigar, almost unsmoked and badly chewed, at a waste basket. He missed. "I don't give a hoot if you lose on it. If you hadn't stirred them up, they'd have paid without a quiver."

ККККК "But it did dig up a weak point in your plans, Delos. If space travel is to be a success, insurance will have to reach out and cover the insured anywhere."

ККККК "Confound it, one of them does now-N. A. Mutual."

ККККК "I've seen their ad and I've looked over what they claim to offer. It's just window dressing, with the usual escape clause. No, insurance will have to be revamped, all sorts of insurance."

ККККК Harriman looked thoughtful. "I'll look into it. George, call Kamens. Maybe we'll have to float our own company."

ККККК "Never mind Kamens," objected Dixon. "The point is you can't go on this trip. You have too many details of that sort to watch and plan for and nurse along."

ККККК Harriman looked back at him. "You haven't gotten it through your head, Dan, that I'm going! Tie up the ship if you can. If you put sheriffs around it, I'll have goons there to toss them aside."

ККККК Dixon looked pained. "I hate to mention this point, Delos, but I am afraid you will be stopped even if I drop dead."

ККККК "How?"

ККККК "Your wife."

ККККК "What's she got to do with it?"

ККККК "She's ready to sue for separate maintenance right now-she's found out about this insurance thing. When she hears about this present plan, she'll force you into court and force an accounting of your assets."

ККККК "You put her up to it!"

ККККК Dixon hesitated. He knew that Entenza had spilled the beans to Mrs. Harriman-maliciously. Yet there seemed no point in adding to a personal feud. "She's bright enough to have done some investigating on her own account. I won't deny I've talked to her-but she sent for me."

ККККК "I'll fight both of you!" Harriman stomped to a window, stood looking out-it was a real window; he liked to look at the sky.

ККККК Dixon came over and put a hand on his shoulder, saying softly, "Don't take it this way, Delos. Nobody's trying to keep you from your dream. But you can't go just yet; you can't let us down. We've stuck with you this far; you owe it to us to stick with us until it's done."

ККККК Harriman did not answer; Dixon went on, "If you don't feel any loyalty toward me, how about George? He's stuck with you against me, when it hurt him, when he thought you were ruining him-and you surely were, unless you finish this job. How about George, Delos? Are you going to let him down, too?"

ККККК Harriman swung around, ignoring Dixon and facing Strong. "What about it, George? Do you think I should stay behind?"

ККККК Strong rubbed his hands and chewed his lip. Finally he looked up. "It's all right with me, Delos. You do what you think is best."

ККККК Harriman stood looking at him for a long moment, his face working as if he were going to cry. Then he said huskily, "Okay, you rats. Okay. I'll stay behind."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

IT WAS ONE OF THOSE GLORIOUS EVENINGS so common in the Pikes Peak region, after a day in which the sky has been well scrubbed by thunderstorms. The track of the catapult crawled in a straight line up the face of the mountain, whole shoulders having been carved away to permit it. At the temporary space port, still raw from construction, Harriman, in company with visiting notables, was saying good-bye to the passengers and crew of the Mayflower.

ККККК The crowds came right up to the rail of the catapult. There was no need to keep them back from the ship; the jets would not blast until she was high over the peak. Only the ship itself was guarded, the ship and the gleaming rails.

ККККК Dixon and Strong, together for company and mutual support, hung back at the edge of the area roped off for passengers and officials. They watched Harriman jollying those about to leave: "Good-bye, Doctor. Keep an eye on him, Janet. Don't let him go looking for Moon Maidens." They saw him engage Coster in private conversation, then clap the younger man on the back.

ККККК "Keeps his chin up, doesn't he?" whispered Dixon.

ККККК "Maybe we should have let him go," answered Strong.

ККККК "Eh? Nonsense! We've got to have him. Anyway, his place in history is secure."

ККККК "He doesn't care about history," Strong answered seriously, "he just wants to go to the Moon."

ККККК "Well, confound it-he can go to the Moon . . . as soon as he gets his job done. After all, it's his job. He made it."

ККККК "I know."

ККККК Harriman turned around, saw them, started toward them. They shut up. "Don't duck," he said jovially. "It's all right. I'll go on the next trip. By then I plan to have it running itself. You'll see." He turned back toward the Mayflower. "Quite a sight, isn't she?"

ККККК The outer door was closed; ready lights winked along the track and from the control tower. A siren sounded.

ККККК Harriman moved a step or two closer.

ККККК "There she goes!"

ККККК It was a shout from the whole crowd. The great ship started slowly, softly up the track, gathered speed, and shot toward the distant peak. She was already tiny by the time she curved up the face and burst into the sky.

ККККК She hung there a split second, then a plume of light exploded from her tail. Her jets had fired.

ККККК Then she was a shining light in the sky, a ball of flame, then-nothing. She was gone, upward and outward, to her rendezvous with her tankers.

ККККК The crowd had pushed to the west end of the platform as the ship swarmed up the mountain. Harriman had stayed where he was, nor had Dixon and Strong followed the crowd. The three were alone, Harriman most alone for he did not seem aware that the others were near him. He was watching the sky.

ККККК Strong was watching him. Presently Strong barely whispered to Dixon, "Do you read the Bible?"

ККККК "Some."

ККККК "He looks as Moses must have looked, when he gazed out over the promised land."

ККККК Harriman dropped his eyes from the sky and saw them. "You guys still here?" he said. "Come on-there's work to be done."

ККККК Delilah and the Space-Rigger

ККККК SURE, WE HAD TROUBLE building Space Station One-but the trouble was people.

ККККК Not that building a station twenty-two thousand three hundred miles out in space is a breeze. It was an engineering feat bigger than the Panama Canal or the Pyramids-or even the Susquehanna Power Pile. But "Tiny" Larsen built her and a job Tiny tackles gets built.

ККККК I first saw Tiny playing guard on a semi-pro team, working his way through Oppenheimer Tech. He worked summers for me thereafter till he graduated. He stayed in construction and eventually I went to work for him.

ККККК Tiny wouldn't touch a job unless he was satisfied with the engineering. The Station had jobs designed into it that called for six-armed monkeys instead of grown men in space suits. Tiny spotted such boners; not a ton of material went into the sky until the specs and drawings suited him.

ККККК But it was people that gave us the headaches. We bad a sprinkling of married men, but the rest were wild kids, attracted by high pay and adventure. Some were busted spacemen. Some were specialists, like electricians and instrument men. About half were deep-sea divers, used to working in pressure suits. There were sandhogs and riggers and welders and ship fitters and two circus acrobats.

ККККК We fired four of them for being drunk on the job; Tiny had to break one stiff's arm before he would stay fired. What worried us was where did they get it? Turned out a ship fitter had rigged a heatless still, using the vacuum around us. He was making vodka from potatoes swiped from the commissary. I hated to let him go, but he was too smart.

ККККК Since we were falling free in a 24-hour circular orbit, with everything weightless and floating, you'd think that shooting craps was impossible. But a radioman named Peters figured a dodge to substitute steel dice and a magnetic field. He also eliminated the element of chance, so we fired him.

ККККК We planned to ship him back in the next supply ship, the R.S. Half Moon. I was in Tiny's office when she blasted to match our orbit. Tiny swam to the view port "Send for Peters, Dad," he said, "and give him the old heave ho. Who's his relief?"

ККККК "Party named G. Brooks McNye," I told him.

ККККК A line came snaking over from the ship. Tiny said, "I don't believe she's matched." He buzzed the radio shack for the ship's motion relative to the Station. The answer didn't please him and he told them to call the Half Moon.

ККККК Tiny waited until the screen showed the rocket ship.

ККККК C.O. "Good morning, Captain. Why have you placed a line on us?"

ККККК "For cargo, naturally. Get your hopheads over here. I want to blast off before we enter the shadow." The Station spent about an hour and a quarter each day passing through Earth's shadow; we worked two eleven-hour shifts and skipped the dark period, to avoid rigging lights and heating suits.

ККККК Tiny shook his head. "Not until you've matched course and speed with us."

ККККК "I am matched!"

ККККК "Not to specification, by my instruments."

ККККК "Have a heart, Tiny! I'm short on maneuvering fuel. If I juggle this entire ship to make a minor correction on a few lousy tons of cargo, I'll be so late I'll have to put down on a secondary field. I may even have to make a dead-stick landing." In those days all ships had landing wings.

ККККК "Look, Captain," Tiny said sharply, "the only purpose of your lift was to match orbits for those same few lousy tons. I don't care if you land in Little America on a pogo stick. The first load here was placed with loving care in the proper orbit, and I'm making every other load match. Get that covered wagon into the groove."

ККККК "Very well, Superintendent!" Captain Shields said stiffly. "Don't be sore, Don," Tiny said softly. "By the way, you've got a passenger for me?"

ККККК "Oh, yes, so I have!" Shields' face broke out in a grin.

ККККК "Well, keep him aboard until we unload. Maybe we can beat the shadow yet."

ККККК "Fine, fine! After all, why should I add to your troubles?" The skipper switched off, leaving my boss looking puzzled.

ККККК We didn't have time to wonder at his words. Shields whipped his ship around on gyros, blasted a second or two, and put her dead in space with us pronto-and used very little fuel, despite his bellyaching. I grabbed every man we could spare and managed to get the cargo clear before we swung into Earth's shadow. Weightlessness is an unbelievable advantage in handling freight; we gutted the Half Moon-by hand, mind you-in fifty-four minutes.

ККККК The stuff was oxygen tanks, loaded, and aluminum mirrors to shield them, panels of outer skin-sandwich stuff of titanium alloy sheet with foamed glass filling-and cases of jato units to spin the living quarters. Once it was all out and snapped to our cargo line I sent the men back by the same line-I won't let a man work outside without a line no matter how space happy he figures he is. Then I told Shields to send over the passenger and cast off.

ККККК This little guy came out the ship's air lock, and hooked on to the ship's line. Handling himself like he was used to space, he set his feet and dived, straight along the stretched line, his snap hook running free. I hurried back and motioned him to follow me. Tiny, the new man, and I reached the air locks together.

ККККК Besides the usual cargo lock we had three Kwikloks. A Kwiklok is an Iron Maiden without spikes; it fits a man in a suit, leaving just a few pints of air to scavenge, and cycles automatically. A big time saver in changing shifts. I passed through the middle-sized one; Tiny, of course, used the big one. Without hesitation the new man pulled himself into the small one.

ККККК We went into Tiny's office. Tiny strapped down, and pushed his helmet back. "Well, McNye," he said. "Glad to have you with us."

ККККК The new radio tech opened his helmet. I heard a low, pleasant voice answer, "Thank you."

ККККК I stared and didn't say anything. From where I was I could see that the radio tech was wearing a hair ribbon.

ККККК I thought Tiny would explode. He didn't need to see the hair ribbon; with the helmet up it was clear that the new "man" was as female as Venus deMilo. Tiny sputtered, then he was unstrapped and diving for the view port. "Dad!" he yelled. "Get the radio shack. Stop that ship!"

ККККК But the Half Moon was already a ball of fire in the distance. Tiny looked dazed. "Dad," he said, "who else knows about this?"

ККККК "Nobody, so far as I know."

ККККК He thought a bit. "We've got to keep her out of sight.

ККККК That's it-we keep her locked up and out of sight until the next ship matches in." He didn't look at her.

ККККК "What in the world are you talking about?" McNye's voice was higher and no longer pleasant.

ККККК Tiny glared. "You, that's what. What are you-a stowaway?'

ККККК "Don't be silly! I'm G. B. McNye, electronics engineer. Don't you have my papers?"

ККККК Tiny turned to me. "Dad, this is your fault. How in Chr- pardon me, Miss. How did you let them send you a woman? Didn't you even read the advance report on her?"

ККККК "Me?" I said. "Now see here, you big squarehead! Those forms don't show sex; the Fair Employment Commission won't allow it except where it's pertinent to the job."

ККККК "You're telling me it's not pertinent to the job here?"

ККККК "Not by job classification it ain't. There's lots of female radio and radar men, back Earthside."

ККККК "This isn't Earthside." He had something. He was thinking of those two-legged wolves swarming over the job outside. And G. B. McNye was pretty. Maybe eight months of no women at all affected my judgment, but she would pass.

ККККК "I've even heard of female rocket pilots," I added, for spite.

ККККК "I don't care if you've heard of female archangels; I'll have no women here!"

ККККК "Just a minute!" If I was riled, she was plain sore. "You're the construction superintendent, are you not?"

ККККК "Yes," Tiny admitted.

ККККК "Very well, then, how do you know what sex I am?'

ККККК "Are you trying to deny that you are a woman?"

ККККК "Hardly! I'm proud of it. But officially you don't know what sex G. Brooks McNye is. That's why I use 'G' instead of Gloria. I don't ask favors."

ККККК Tiny grunted. "You won't get any. I don't know how you sneaked in, but get this, McNye, or Gloria, or whatever. you're fired. You go back on the next ship. Meanwhile we'll try to keep the men from knowing we've got a woman aboard."

ККККК I could see her count ten. "May I speak," she said finally, "or does your Captain Bligh act extend to that, too?"

ККККК "Say your say."

ККККК "I didn't sneak in. I am on the permanent staff of the Station, Chief Communications Engineer. I took this vacancy myself to get to know the equipment while it was being installed. I'll live here eventually; I see no reason not to start now."

ККККК Tiny waved it away. "There'll be men and women both here some day. Even kids. Right now it's stag and it'll stay that way."

ККККК "We'll see. Anyhow, you can't fire me; radio personnel don't work for you." She had a point; communicators and some other specialists were lent to the contractors, Five Companies, Incorporated, by Harriman Enterprises.

ККККК Tiny snorted. "Maybe I can't fire you; I can send you home. Requisitioned personnel must be satisfactory to the contractor, meaning me. Paragraph Seven, clause M; I wrote that clause myself."

ККККК "Then you know that if requisitioned personnel are refused without cause the contractor bears the replacement cost"

ККККК "I'll risk paying your fare home, but I won't have you here."

ККККК "You are most unreasonable!"

ККККК "Perhaps, but I'll decide what's good for the job. I'd rather have a dope peddler than have a woman sniffing around my boys!"

ККККК She gasped. Tiny knew he had said too much; he added, "Sorry, Miss. But that's it. You'll' stay under cover until I can get rid of you."

ККККК Before she could speak I cut in. "Tiny-look behind you!" Staring in the port was one of the riggers, his eyes bugged out. Three or four more floated up and joined him.

ККККК Then Tiny zoomed up to the port and they scattered like minnows. He scared them almost out of their suits; I thought he was going to shove his fists through the quartz.

ККККК He came back looking whipped. "Miss," he said, pointing, "wait in my room." When she was gone he added, "Dad, what'll we do?"

ККККК I said, "I thought you had made up your mind, Tiny."

ККККК "I have," he answered peevishly. "Ask the Chief Inspector to come in, will you?"

ККККК That showed how far gone he was. The inspection gang belonged to Harriman Enterprises, not to us, and Tiny rated them mere nuisances. Besides, Tiny was an Oppenheimer graduate; Dalrymple was from M.I.T.

ККККК He came in, brash and cheerful. "Good morning, Superintendent. Morning, Mr. Witherspoon. What can I do for you?"

ККККК Glumly, Tiny told the story. Dalrymple looked smug. "She's right, old man. You can send her back and even specify a male relief. But I can hardly endorse 'for proper cause' now, can I?"

ККККК "Damnation. Dalrymple, we can't have a woman around here!"

ККККК "A moot point. Not covered by contract, y'know."

ККККК "If your office hadn't sent us a crooked gambler as her predecessor I wouldn't be in this am!"

ККККК "There, there! Remember the old blood pressure. Suppose we leave the endorsement open and arbitrate the cost. That's fair, eh?"

ККККК "I suppose so. Thanks."

ККККК "Not at all. But consider this: when you rushed Peters off before interviewing the newcomer, you cut yourself down to one operator. Hammond can't stand watch twenty-four hours a day."

ККККК "He can sleep in the shack. The alarm will wake him."

ККККК "I can't accept that. The home office and ships' frequencies must be guarded at all times. Harriman Enterprises has supplied a qualified operator; I am afraid you must use her for the time being."

ККККК Tiny will always cooperate with the inevitable; he said quietly, "Dad, she'll take first shift. Better put the married men on that shift."

ККККК Then he called her in. "Go to the radio shack and start makee-learnee, so that Hammond can go off watch soon. Mind what he tells you. He's a good man."

ККККК "I know," she said briskly. "I trained him."

ККККК Tiny bit his lip. The C.I. said, "The Superintendent doesn't bother with trivia-I'm Robert Dalrymple, Chief Inspector. He probably didn't introduce his assistant either-Mr. Witherspoon."

ККККК "Call me Dad," I said.

ККККК She smiled and said, "Howdy, Dad." I felt warm clear through. She went on to Dalrymple, "Odd that we haven't met before."

ККККК Tiny butted in. "McNye, you'll sleep in my room-"

ККККК She raised her eyebrows; he went on angrily, "Oh, I'll get my stuff out-at once. And get this: keep the door locked, off shift.'

ККККК "You're darn tootin' I will!"

ККККК Tiny blushed.

ККККК I was too busy to see much of Miss Gloria. There was cargo to stow, the new tanks to install and shield. That left the most worrisome task of all: putting spin on the living quarters. Even the optimists didn't expect much interplanetary traffic for some years; nevertheless Harriman Enterprises wanted to get some activities moved in and paying rent against their enormous investment.

ККККК I.T.&T. had leased space for a microwave relay station several million a year from television alone. The Weather Bureau was itching to set up its hemispheric integrating station; Palomar Observatory had a concession (Harriman Enterprises donated that space); the Security Council had, some hush-hush project; Fermi Physical Labs and Kettering Institute each had space-a dozen tenants wanted to move in now, or sooner, even if we never completed accommodations for tourists and travelers.

ККККК There were time bonuses in it for Five Companies, Incorporated-and their help. So we were in a hurry to get spin on the quarters.

ККККК People who have never been out have trouble getting through their heads-at least I had-that there is no feeling of weight, no up and down, in a free orbit in space. There's' Earth, round and beautiful, only twenty-odd thousand miles away, close enough to brush your sleeve. You know it's pulling you towards it. Yet you feel no weight, absolutely none. You float..

ККККК Floating is fine for some types of work, but when it's time to eat, or play cards, or bathe, it's good to feel weight on your feet. Your dinner stays quiet and you feel more natural.

ККККК You've seen pictures of the Station-a huge cylinder, like a bass drum, with ships' nose pockets dimpling its sides. Imagine a snare drum, spinning around inside the bass drum; that's the living quarters, with centrifugal force pinch-hitting for gravity. We could have spun the whole Station but you can't berth a ship against a whirling dervish.

ККККК So we built a spinning part for creature comfort and an outer, stationary part for docking, tanks, storerooms, and the like. You pass from one to the other at the hub. When Miss Gloria joined us the inner part was closed in and pressurized, but the rest was a skeleton of girders.

ККККК Mighty pretty though, a great network of shiny struts and ties against black sky and stars-titanium alloy 1403, light, strong, and non-corrodible. The Station is flimsy compared with a ship, since it doesn't have to take blastoff stresses. That meant we didn't dare put on spin by violent means-which is where jato units come in.

ККККК "Jato"-Jet Assisted Take-Off-rocket units invented to give airplanes a boost. Now we use them wherever a controlled push is needed, say to get a truck out of the mud on a dam job. We mounted four thousand. of them around the frame of the living quarters, each one placed just so. They were wired up and ready to fire when Tiny came to me looking worried. "Dad," he said, "let's drop everything and finish compartment D-ll3."

ККККК "Okay," I said. D-l13 was in the non-spin part.

ККККК "Rig an air lock and stock it with two weeks supplies."

ККККК "That'll change your mass distribution for spin," I suggested.

ККККК "I'll refigure it next dark period. Then we'll shift jatos."

ККККК When Dalrymple heard about it he came charging around. It meant a delay in making rental space available. "What's the idea?"

ККККК Tiny stared at him. They had been cooler than ordinary lately; Dalrymple had been finding excuses to seek out Miss Gloria. He had to pass through Tiny's office to reach her temporary room, and Tiny had finally told him to get out and stay out. "The idea," Tiny said slowly, "is to have a pup tent in case the house burns."

ККККК "What do you mean?"

ККККК "Suppose we fire up the jatos and the structure cracks? Want to hang around in a space suit until a ship happens by?"

ККККК "That's silly. The stresses have been calculated."

ККККК "That's what the man said when the bridge fell. We'll do it my way."

ККККК Dalrymple stormed off.

ККККК Tiny's efforts to keep Gloria fenced up were sort of pitiful. In the first place, the radio tech's biggest job was repairing suit walkie-talkies, done on watch. A rash of such troubles broke out-on her shift. I made some shift transfers and docked a few for costs, too; it's not proper maintenance when a man deliberately busts his aerial.

ККККК There were other symptoms. It became stylish to shave. Men started wearing shirts around quarters and bathing increased to where I thought I would have to rig another water still.

ККККК Came the shift when D-l13 was ready and the jatos readjusted. I don't mind saying I was nervous. All hands were ordered out of the quarters and into suits. They perched around the girders and waited.

ККККК Men in space suits all look alike; we used numbers and colored armbands. Supervisors had two antennas, one for a gang frequency, one for the supervisors' circuit. With Tiny and me the second antenna hooked back through the radio shack and to all the gang frequencies-a broadcast.

ККККК The supervisors had reported their men clear of the fireworks and I was about to give Tiny the word, when this figure came climbing through the girders, inside the danger zone. No safety line. No armband. One antenna.

ККККК Miss Gloria, of course. Tiny hauled her out of the blast zone, and anchored her with his own safety line. I heard his voice, harsh in my helmet: "Who do you think you are? A sidewalk superintendent?"

ККККК And her voice: "What do you expect me to do? Go park on, a star?"

ККККК "I told you to stay away from the job. If you can't obey orders, I'll lock you up."

ККККК I reached him, switched off my radio and touched helmet. "Boss! Boss!" I said. "You're broadcasting!"

ККККК "Oh-" he says, switches off, and touches helmets with her. We could still hear her; she didn't switch off. "Why, you big baboon, I came outside because you sent a search party to clear everybody out," and, "How would I know about a safety line rule? You've kept me penned up." And finally, "We'll see!"

ККККК I dragged him away and he told the boss electrician to go ahead. Then we forgot the row for we were looking at the prettiest fireworks ever seen, a giant St. Catherine's wheel, rockets blasting all over it. Utterly soundless, out there in space-but beautiful beyond compare.

ККККК The blasts died away and there was the living quarters, spinning true as a flywheel-Tiny and I both let out sighs of relief. We all went back inside then to see what weight tasted like.

ККККК It tasted funny. I went through the shaft and started down the ladders, feeling myself gain weight as I neared the rim. I felt seasick, like the first time I experienced no weight. I could hardly walk and my calves cramped.

ККККК We inspected throughout, then went to the office and sat down. It felt good, just right for comfort, one-third gravity at the rim. Tiny rubbed his chair arms and grinned, "Beats being penned up in D-113."

ККККК "Speaking of being penned up," Miss Gloria said, walking in, "may I have a word with you, Mr. Larsen?"

ККККК "Uh? Why, certainly. Matter of fact, I wanted to see you. I owe you an apology, Miss McNye.'I was-"

ККККК "Forget it," she cut in. "You were on edge. But I want to know this: how long are you going to keep up this nonsense, of trying to chaperone me?"

ККККК He studied her. "Not long. Just till your relief arrives."

ККККК "So? Who is the shop steward around here?"

ККККК "A shipfitter named McAndrews. But you can't use him. You're a staff member."

ККККК "Not in the job I'm filling. I am going to talk to him. You're discriminating against me, and in my off time at that."

ККККК "Perhaps, but you will find I have the authority. Legally I'm a ship's captain, while on this job. A captain in space has wide discriminatory powers."

ККККК "Then you should use them with discrimination!" He grinned. "Isn't that what you just said I was doing?" We didn't hear from the shop steward, but Miss Gloria started doing as she pleased. She showed up at the movies, next off shift, with Dalrymple. Tiny left in the middle-good show, too; Lysistrata Goes to Town, relayed up from New York.

ККККК As she was coming back alone he stopped her, having seen to it that I was present. "Umm-Miss McNye. . . ."

ККККК "Yes?"

ККККК "I think you should know, uh, well...Chief Inspector Dalrymple is a married man."

ККККК "Are you suggesting that my conduct has been improper?"

ККККК "No, but-"

ККККК "Then mind your own business!" Before he could answer she added, "It might interest you that he told me about your four children."

ККККК Tiny sputtered. "Why. . . why, I'm not even married!"

ККККК "So? That makes it worse, doesn't it?" She swept out.

ККККК Tiny quit trying to keep her in her room, but told her to notify him whenever she left it. It kept him busy riding herd on her. I refrained from suggesting that he get Dalrymple to spell him.

ККККК But I was surprised when he told me to put through the order dismissing her. I had been pretty sure he was going to drop it.

ККККК "What's the charge?" I asked. "Insubordination!"

ККККК I kept mum. He said, "Well, she won't take orders."

ККККК "She does her work okay. You give her orders you wouldn't give to one of the men and that a man wouldn't take."

ККККК "You disagree with my orders?"

ККККК "That's not the point. You can't prove the charge, Tiny."

ККККК "Well, charge her with being female! I can prove that."

ККККК I didn't say anything. "Dad," he added wheedlingly, "you know how to write it. No personal animus against Miss McNye, but it is felt that as a matter of policy, and so forth and so on."

ККККК I wrote it and gave it to Hammond privately. Radio techs are sworn to secrecy but it didn't surprise me when I was stopped by O'Connor, one of our best metalsmiths. "Look, Dad, is it true that the Old Man is getting rid of Brooksie?"

ККККК "Brooksie?"

ККККК "Brooksie McNye, she says to call her Brooks. Is it true?" I admitted it, then went on, wondering if I should have lied.

ККККК It takes four hours, about, for a ship to lift from Earth. The shift before the Pole Star was due, with Miss Gloria's relief, the timekeeper brought me two separation slips. Two men were nothing; we averaged more each ship. An hour later he reached me by supervisors circuit, and asked me to come to the time office. I was out on the rim inspecting a weld job; I said no. "Please, Mr. Witherspoon," he begged, "you've got to." When one of the boys doesn't call me 'Dad,' it means something. I went.

ККККК There was a queue like mail call outside his door; I went in and he shut the door on them. He handed me a double handful of separation slips. "What in the great depths of night is this?" I asked.

ККККК "There's dozens more I ain't had time to write up yet."

ККККК None of the slips had any reason given-just "own choice." "Look, Jimmie what goes on here?"

ККККК "Can't you dope it out, Dad? Shucks, I'm turning in one, too."

ККККК I told him my guess and he admitted it. So I took the slips, called Tiny and told him for the love of Heaven to come to his office.

ККККК Tiny chewed his lip considerable. "But, Dad, they can't strike. It's a non-strike contract with bonds from every union concerned."

ККККК "It's no strike, Tiny. You can't stop a man from quitting."

ККККК "They'll pay their own fares back, so help me!"

ККККК "Guess again. Most of 'em have worked long enough for the free ride."

ККККК "We'll have to hire others quick, or we'll miss our date."

ККККК "Worse than that, Tiny, we won't finish. By next dark period you won't even have a maintenance crew."

ККККК "I've never had a gang of men quit me. I'll talk to them."

ККККК "No good, Tiny. You're up against something too strong for you."

ККККК "You're against me, Dad?"

ККККК "I'm never against you, Tiny."

ККККК He said, "Dad, you think I'm pig-headed, but I'm right. You can't have one woman among several hundred men. It drives 'em nutty."

ККККК I didn't say it affected him the same way; I said, "Is that bad?"

ККККК "Of course. I can't let the job be ruined to humor one woman."

ККККК "Tiny, have you looked at the progress charts lately?"

ККККК "I've hardly had time to-what about them?"

ККККК I knew why he hadn't had time. "You'll have trouble proving Miss Gloria interfered with the job. We're ahead of schedule."

ККККК "We are?"

ККККК While he was studying the charts I put an arm around his shoulder. "Look, son," I said, "sex has been around our planet a long time. Earthside, they never get away from it, yet some pretty big jobs get built anyhow. Maybe we'll just have to learn to live with it here, too. Matter of fact, you had the answer a minute ago."

ККККК "I did? I sure didn't know it."

ККККК "You said, 'You can't have one woman among several hundred men. Get me?"

ККККК "Huh? No, I don't. Wait a minute! Maybe I do."

ККККК "Ever tried ju jitsu? Sometimes you win by relaxing."

ККККК "Yes. Yes!"

ККККК "When you can't beat 'em, you join 'em."

ККККК He buzzed the radio shack. "Have Hammond relieve you, McNye, and come to my office."

ККККК He did it handsomely, stood up and made a speech-he'd been wrong, taken him a long time to see it, hoped there were no hard feelings, etc. He was instructing the home office to see how many jobs could be filled at once with female help. "Don't forget married couples," I put in mildly, "and better ask for some older women, too."

ККККК "I'll do that," Tiny agreed. "Have I missed anything, Dad?"

ККККК "Guess not. We'll have to rig quarters, but there's time."

ККККК "Okay. I'm telling them to hold the Pole Star, Gloria, so they can send us a few this trip."

ККККК "That's fine" She looked really happy.

ККККК

ККККК He chewed his lip. "I've a feeling I've missed something. Hmm-I've got it. Dad, tell them to send up a chaplain for the Station, as soon as possible. Under the new policy we may need one anytime." I thought so, too.

ККККК Space Jockey

JUST AS THEY WERE LEAVING the telephone called his name. "Don't answer it," she pleaded. "We'll miss the curtain."

ККККК "Who is it?" he called out. The viewplate lighted; he recognized Olga Pierce, and behind her the Colorado Springs office of Trans-Lunar Transit.

ККККК "Calling Mr. Pemberton. Calling-Oh, it's you, Jake. You're on. Flight 27, Supra-New York to Space Terminal. I'll have a copter pick you up in twenty minutes."

ККККК "How come?" he protested. "I'm fourth down on the call board."

ККККК "You were fourth down. Now you are standby pilot to Hicks-and he just got a psycho down-check."

ККККК "Hicks got psychoed? That's silly!"

ККККК "Happens to the best, chum. Be ready. "Bye now."

ККККК His wife was twisting sixteen dollars worth of lace handkerchief to a shapeless mass. "Jake, this is ridiculous. For three months I haven't seen enough of you to know what you look like."

ККККК "Sorry, kid. Take Helen to the show."

ККККК "Oh, Jake, I don't care about the show; I wanted to get you where they couldn't reach you for once."

ККККК "They would have called me at the theater."

ККККК "Oh, no! I wiped out the record you'd left."

ККККК "Phyllis! Are you trying to get me fired?"

ККККК "Don't look at me that way." She waited, hoping that he would speak, regretting the side issue, and wondering how to tell him that her own fretfulness was caused, not by disappointment, but by gnawing worry for his safety every time he went out into space.

ККККК She went on desperately, "You don't have to take this flight, darling; you've been on Earth less than the time limit. Please, Jake!"

ККККК He was peeling off his tux. "I've told you a thousand times: a pilot doesn't get a regular run by playing space-lawyer with the rule book. Wiping out my follow-up message-why did you do it, Phyllis? Trying to ground me?"

ККККК "No, darling, but I thought just this once-"

ККККК "When they offer me a flight I take it." He walked stiffly out of the room.

ККККК He came back ten minutes later, dressed for space and apparently in good humor; he was whistling: "-the caller called Casey at half past four; he kissed his-" He broke off when he saw her face, and set his mouth. "Where's my coverall?"

ККККК "I'll get it. Let me fix you something to eat."

ККККК 'You know I can't take high acceleration on a full stomach. And why lose thirty bucks to lift another pound?"

ККККК Dressed as he was, in shorts, singlet, sandals, and pocket belt, he was already good for about minus-fifty pounds in weight bonus; she started to tell him the weight penalty on a sandwich and -a cup of coffee did not matter to them, but it was just one more possible cause for misunderstanding.

ККККК Neither of them said much until the taxicab clumped on the roof. He kissed her goodbye and told her not to come outside. She obeyed-until she heard the helicopter take off. Then she climbed to the roof and watched it out of sight.

ККККК The traveling-public gripes at the lack of direct Earth-to-Moon service, but it takes three types of rocket ships and two space-station changes to make a fiddling quarter-million-mile jump for a good reason: Money.

ККККК The Commerce Commission has set the charges for the present three-stage lift from here to the Moon at thirty dollars a pound. Would direct service be cheaper?К A ship designed to blast off from Earth, make an airless landing on the Moon, return and make an atmosphere landing, would be so cluttered up with heavy special equipment used only once in the trip that it could not show a profit at a thousand dollars a pound! Imagine combining a ferry boat, a subway train, and an express elevator. So Trans-Lunar uses rockets braced for catapulting, and winged for landing on return to Earth to make the terrific lift from Earth to our satellite station Supra-New York. The long middle lap, from there to where Space Terminal circles the Moon, calls for comfort-but no landing gear. The Flying Dutchman and the Philip Nolan never land; they were even assembled in space, and they resemble winged rockets like the Skysprite and the Firefly as little as a Pullman train resembles a parachute.

ККККК The Moonbat and the Gremlin are good only for the jump from Space Terminal down to Luna . . . no wings, cocoon-like acceleration-and-crash hammocks, fractional controls on their enormous jets.

ККККК The change-over points would not have to be more than air-conditioned tanks. Of course Space Terminal is quite a city, what with the Mars and Venus traffic, but even today Supra-New York is still rather primitive, hardly more than a fueling point and a restaurant-waiting room. It has only been the past five years that it has even been equipped to offer the comfort of one-gravity centrifuge service to passengers with queasy stomachs.

ККККК Pemberton weighed in at the spaceport office, then hurried over to where the Skysprite stood cradled in the catapult. He shucked off his coverall, shivered as he handed it to the gateman, and ducked inside. He went to his acceleration hammock and went to sleep; the lift to Supra-New York was not his worry-his job was deep space.

ККККК He woke at the surge of the catapult and the nerve-tingling rush up the face of Pikes Peak. When the Skysprite went into free flight, flung straight up above the Peak, Pemberton held his breath; if the rocket jets failed to fire, the ground-to-space pilot must try to wrestle her into a glide and bring her down, on her wings.

ККККК The rockets roared on time; Jake went back to sleep.

ККККК When the Skysprite locked in with Supra-New York, Pemberton went to the station's stellar navigation room. He was pleased to find Shorty Weinstein, the computer, on duty. Jake trusted Shorty's computations-a good thing when your ship, your passengers, and your own skin depend thereon. Pemberton had to be a better than average mathematician himself in order to be a pilot; his own limited talent made him appreciate the genius of those who computed the orbits.

ККККК "Hot Pilot Pemberton, the Scourge of the Spaceways - Hi!" Weinstein handed him a sheet of paper.

ККККК Jake looked at it, then looked amazed. "Hey, Shorty- you've made a mistake."

ККККК "Huh? Impossible. Mabel can't make mistakes." Weinstein gestured at the giant astrogation computer filling the far wall.

ККККК "You made a mistake. You gave me an easy fix - 'Vega, Antares, Regulus.' You make things easy for the pilot and your guild'll chuck you out." Weinstein looked sheepish but pleased. "I see I don't blast off for seventeen hours. I could have taken the morning freight." Jake's thoughts went back to Phyllis.

ККККК "UN canceled the morning trip."

ККККК "Oh-" Jake shut up, for he knew Weinstein knew as little as he did. Perhaps the flight would have passed too close to an A-bomb rocket, circling the globe like a policeman. The General Staff of the Security Council did not give out information about the top secrets guarding the peace of the planet. Pemberton shrugged. "Well, if I'm asleep, call me three hours minus."

ККККК "Right. Your tape will be ready."

ККККК While he slept, the Flying Dutchman nosed gently into her slip, sealed her airlocks to the Station, discharged passengers and freight from Luna City. When he woke, her holds were filling, her fuel replenished, and passengers boarding. He stopped by the post office radio desk, looking for a letter from Phyllis. Finding none, he told himself that she would have sent it to Terminal. He went on into the restaurant, bought the facsimile Herald-Tribune, and settled down grimly to enjoy the comics and his breakfast.

ККККК A man sat down opposite him and proceeded to plague him with silly questions about rocketry, topping it by misinterpreting the insignia embroidered on Pemberton's singlet and miscalling him "Captain." Jake hurried through breakfast to escape him, then picked up the tape from his automatic pilot, and went aboard the Flying Dutchman.

ККККК After reporting to the Captain he went to the control room, floating and pulling himself along by the handgrips. He buckled himself into the pilot's chair and started his check off.

ККККК Captain Kelly drifted in and took the other chair as Pemberton was finishing his checking runs on the ballistic tracker. "Have a Camel, Jake."

ККККК "I'll take a rain check." He continued. Kelly watched him with a slight frown. Like captains and pilots on Mark Twain's Mississippi-and for the same reasons-a spaceship captain bosses his ship, his crew, his cargo, and his passengers, but the pilot is the final, legal, and unquestioned boss of how the ship is handled from blast-off to the end of the trip. A captain may turn down a given pilot-nothing more. Kelly fingered a slip of paper tucked in his pouch and turned over in his mind the words with which the Company psychiatrist on duty had handed it to him.

ККККК "I'm giving this pilot clearance, Captain, but you need not accept it."

ККККК "Pemberton's a good man. What's wrong?"

ККККК The psychiatrist thought over what he had observed while posing as a silly tourist bothering a stranger at breakfast. "He's a little more anti-social than his past record shows. Something on his mind. Whatever it is, he can tolerate it for the present. We'll keep an eye on him."

ККККК Kelly had answered, "Will you come along with him as pilot?"

ККККК "If you wish."

ККККК "Don't bother-I'll take him. No need to lift a deadhead." Pemberton fed Weinstein's tape into the robot-pilot, then turned to Kelly. "Control ready, sir."

ККККК "Blast when ready, Pilot." Kelly felt relieved when he heard himself make the irrevocable decision.

ККККК Pemberton signaled the Station to cast loose. The great ship was nudged out by an expanding pneumatic ram until she swam in space a thousand feet away, secured by a single line. He then turned the ship to its blast-off direction by causing a flywheel, mounted on gimbals at the ship's center of gravity, to spin rapidly. The ship spun slowly in the opposite direction, by grace of Newton's Third Law of Motion.

ККККК Guided by the tape, the robot-pilot tilted prisms of the pilot's periscope so that Vega, Antares, and Regulus would shine as one image when the ship was headed right; Pemberton nursed the ship to that heading . . . fussily; a mistake of one minute of arc here meant two hundred miles at destination.

ККККК When the three images made a pinpoint, he stopped the flywheels and locked in the gyros. He then checked the heading of his ship by direct observation of each of the stars, just as a salt-water skipper uses a sextant, but with incomparably more accurate instruments. This told him nothing about the correctness of the course Weinstein had ordered-he had to take that as Gospel-but it assured him that the robot and its tape were behaving as planned. Satisfied, he cast off the last line.

ККККК Seven minutes to go-Pemberton flipped the switch permitting the robot-pilot to blast away when its clock told it to. He waited, hands poised over the manual controls, ready to take over if the robot failed, and felt the old, inescapable sick excitement building up inside him.

ККККК Even as adrenaline poured into him, stretching his time sense, throbbing in his ears, his mind kept turning back to Phyllis.

ККККК He admitted she had a kick coming-spacemen shouldn't marry. Not that she'd starve if he messed up a landing, but a gal doesn't want insurance; she wants a husband-minus six minutes. If he got a regular run she could live in Space Terminal.

ККККК No good-idle women at Space Terminal went bad. Oh, Phyllis wouldn't become a tramp or a rum bum; she'd just go bats.

ККККК Five minutes more-he didn't care much for Space Terminal himself. Nor for space! "The Romance of Interplanetary Travel" - it looked well in print, but he knew what it was: A job. Monotony. No scenery. Bursts of work, tedious waits. No home life.

ККККК Why didn't he get an honest job and stay home nights?

ККККК He knew! Because he was a space jockey and too old to change.

ККККК What chance has a thirty-year-old married man, used to important money, to change his racket? (Four minutes) He'd look good trying to sell helicopters on commission, now, wouldn't he?

ККККК Maybe he could buy a piece of irrigated land and - Be your age, chum! You know as much about farming as a cow knows about cube root! No, he had made his bed when he picked rockets during his training hitch. If he had bucked for the electronics branch, or taken a 01 scholarship-too late now. Straight from the service into Harriman's Lunar Exploitations, hopping ore on Luna. That had torn it.

ККККК "How's it going, Doc?" Kelly's voice was edgy.

ККККК "Minus two minutes some seconds." Damnation-Kelly knew better than to talk to the pilot on minus time.

ККККК He caught a last look through the periscope. Antares seemed to have drifted. He unclutched the gyro, tilted and spun the flywheel, braking it savagely to a stop a moment later. The image was again a pinpoint. He could not have explained what he did: it was virtuosity, exact juggling, beyond textbook and classroom.

ККККК Twenty seconds . . . across the chronometer's face beads of light trickled the seconds away while he tensed, ready to fire by hand, or even to disconnect and refuse the trip if his judgment told him to. A too-cautious decision might cause Lloyds' to cancel his bond; a reckless decision could cost his license or even his life-and others.

ККККК But he was not thinking of underwriters and licenses, nor even of lives. In truth he was not thinking at all; he was feeling, feeling his ship, as if his nerve ends extended into every part of her. Five seconds . . . the safety disconnects clicked out. Four seconds . . . three seconds. . . two seconds. . . one-

ККККК He was stabbing at the hand-fire button when the roar hit him.

ККККК Kelly relaxed to the pseudo-gravity of the blast and watched. Pemberton was soberly busy, scanning dials, noting time, checking his progress by radar bounced off Supra-New York. Weinstein's figures, robot-pilot, the ship itself, all were clicking together.

ККККК Minutes later, the critical instant neared when the robot should cut the jets. Pemberton poised a finger over the hand cut-off, while splitting his attention among radarscope, accelerometer, periscope, and chronometer. One instant they were roaring along on the jets; the next split second the ship was in free orbit, plunging silently toward the Moon. So perfectly matched were human and robot that Pemberton himself did not know which had cut the power.

ККККК He glanced again at the board, then unbuckled. "How about that cigarette, Captain? And you can let your passengers unstrap."

ККККК No co-pilot is needed in space and most pilots would rather share a toothbrush than a control room. The pilot works about an hour at blast off, about the same before contact, and loafs during free flight, save for routine checks and corrections. Pemberton prepared to spend one hundred and four hours eating, reading, writing letters, and sleeping-especially sleeping.

ККККК When the alarm woke him, he checked the ship's position, then wrote to his wife. "Phyllis my dear," he began, "I don't blame you for being upset at missing your night out. I was disappointed, too. But bear with me, darling, I should be on a regular run before long. In less than ten years I'll be up for retirement and we'll have a chance to catch up on bridge and golf and things like that. I know it's pretty hard to-"

ККККК The voice circuit cut in "Oh, Jake-put on your company face. I'm bringing a visitor to the control room."

ККККК "No visitors in the control room, Captain."

ККККК "Now, Jake. This lunkhead has a letter from Old Man Harriman himself. 'Every possible courtesy-' and so forth."

ККККК Pemberton thought quickly. He could refuse-but there was no sense in offending the big boss. "Okay, Captain. Make it short."

ККККК The visitor was a man, jovial, oversize-Jake figured him for an eighty pound weight penalty. Behind him a thirteen year-old male counterpart came zipping through the door and lunged for the control console. Pemberton snagged him by the arm and forced himself to speak pleasantly. "Just hang on to that bracket, youngster. I don't want you to bump your head."

ККККК "Leggo me! Pop-make him let go."

ККККК Kelly cut in. "I think he had best hang on, Judge."

ККККК "Umm, uh-very well. Do as the Captain says, Junior."

ККККК "Aw, gee, Pop!"

ККККК "Judge Schacht, this is First Pilot Pemberton," Kelly said rapidly. "He'll show you around."

ККККК "Glad to know you, Pilot. Kind of you, and all that."

ККККК "What would you like to see, Judge?" Jake said carefully.

ККККК "Oh, this and that. It's for the boy-his first trip. I'm an old spacehound myself-probably more hours than half your crew." He laughed. Pemberton did not.

ККККК "There's not much to see in free flight."

ККККК "Quite all right. We'll just make ourselves at home-eh, Captain?"

ККККК "I wanna sit in the control seat," Schacht Junior announced.

ККККК Pemberton winced. Kelly said urgently, "Jake, would you mind outlining the control system for the boy? Then we'll go."

ККККК "He doesn't have to show me anything. I know all about it. I'm a Junior Rocketeer of America-see my button?" The boy shoved himself toward the control desk.

ККККК Pemberton grabbed him, steered him into the pilot's chair, and strapped him in. He then flipped the board's disconnect.

ККККК "Whatcha doing?"

ККККК "I cut off power to the controls so I could explain them."

ККККК "Aintcha gonna fire the jets?"

ККККК "No." Jake started a rapid description of the use and purpose of each button, dial, switch, meter, gimmick, and scope.

ККККК Junior squirmed. "How about meteors?" he demanded.

ККККК "Oh, that-maybe one collision in half a million EarthMoon trips. Meteors are scarce."

ККККК "So what? Say you hit the jackpot? You're in the soup."

ККККК "Not at all. The anti-collision radar guards all directions five hundred miles out. If anything holds a steady bearing for three seconds, a direct hook-up starts the jets. First a warning gong so that everybody can grab something solid, then one second later - Boom! - We get out of there fast."

ККККК "Sounds corny to me. Lookee, I'll show you how Commodore Cartwright did it in The Comet Busters-"

ККККК "Don't touch those controls!"

ККККК "You don't own this ship. My pop says-"

ККККК "Oh, Jake!" Hearing his name; Pemberton twisted, fish-like, to face Kelly.

ККККК "Jake, Judge Schacht would like to know-" From the corner of his eye Jake saw the boy reach for the board. He turned, started to shout-acceleration caught him, while the jets roared in his ear.

ККККК An old spacehand can usually recover, catlike, in an unexpected change from weightlessness to acceleration. But Jake had been grabbing for the boy, instead of for anchorage. He fell back and down, twisted to try to avoid Schacht, banged his head on the frame of the open air-tight door below, and fetched up on the next deck, out cold. - Kelly was shaking him. ".You all right, Jake?"

ККККК He sat up. "Yeah. Sure." He became aware of the thunder, the shivering deckplates. "The jets! Cut the power!"

ККККК He shoved Kelly aside and swarmed up into the control room, jabbed at the cut-off button. In sudden ringing silence, they were again weightless.

ККККК Jake turned, unstrapped Schacht Junior, and hustled him to Kelly. "Captain, please remove this menace from my control room."

ККККК "Leggo! Pop-he's gonna hurt me!"

ККККК The elder Schacht bristled at once. "What's the meaning of this? Let go of my son!"

ККККК "Your precious son cut in the jets."

ККККК "Junior-did you do that?"

ККККК The boy shifted his eyes. "No, Pop. It . . . it was a meteor."

ККККК Schacht looked puzzled. Pemberton snorted. "I had just told him how the radar-guard can blast to miss a meteor. He's lying."

ККККК Schacht ran through the process he called "making up his mind", then answered, "Junior never lies. Shame on you, a grown man, to try to put the blame on a helpless boy. I shall report you, sir. Come, Junior."

ККККК Jake grabbed his arm. "Captain, I want those controls photographed for fingerprints before this man leaves the room. It was not a meteor; the controls were dead, until this boy switched them on. Furthermore the anti-collision circuit sounds an alarm."

ККККК Schacht looked wary. "This is ridiculous. I simply objected to the slur on my son's character. No harm has been done."

ККККК "No harm, eh? How about broken arms-or necks? And wasted fuel, with more to waste before we're back in the groove. Do you know, Mister 'Old Spacehound,' just how precious a little fuel will be when we try to match orbits with Space Terminal-if we haven't got it? We may have to dump cargo to save the ship, cargo at $60,000 a ton on freight charges alone. Fingerprints will show the Commerce Commission whom to nick for it."

ККККК When they were alone again Kelly asked anxiously, "You won't really have to jettison? You've got a maneuvering reserve."

ККККК "Maybe we can't even get to Terminal. How long did she blast?"

ККККК Kelly scratched his head. "I was woozy myself."

ККККК "We'll open the accelerograph and take a look."

ККККК Kelly brightened. "Oh, sure! If the brat didn't waste too much, then we just swing ship and blast back the same length of time."

ККККК Jake shook his head. "You forgot the changed mass-ratio."

ККККК "Oh ... oh, yes!" Kelly looked embarrassed. Mass-ratio under power, the ship lost the weight of fuel burned. The thrust remained constant; the mass it pushed shrank. Getting back to proper position, course, and speed became a complicated problem in the calculus of ballistics. "But you can do it, can't you?"

ККККК "I'll have to. But I sure wish I had Weinstein here."

ККККК Kelly left to see about his passengers; Jake got to work. He checked his situation by astronomical observation and by radar. Radar gave him all three factors quickly but with limited accuracy. Sights taken of Sun, Moon, and Earth gave him position, but told nothing of course and speed, at that time-nor could he afford to wait to take a second group of sights for the purpose.

ККККК Dead reckoning gave him an estimated situation, by adding Weinstein's predictions to the calculated effect of young Schacht's meddling. This checked fairly well with the radar and visual observations, but still he had no notion of whether or not he could get back in the groove and reach his destination; it was now necessary to calculate what it would stake and whether or not the remaining fuel would be enough to brake his speed and match orbits.

ККККК In space, it does no good to reach your journey's end if you flash on past at miles per second, or even crawling along at a few hundred miles per hour. To catch an egg on a plate - don't bump!

ККККК He started doggedly to work to compute how to do it using the least fuel, but his little Marchant electronic calculator was no match for the tons of IBM computer at Supra-New York, nor was he Weinstein. Three hours later he had an answer of sorts. He called Kelly. "Captain? You can start by jettisoning Schacht & Son."

ККККК "I'd like to. No way out, Jake?"

ККККК "I can't promise to get your ship in safely without dumping. Better dump now, before we blast. It's cheaper."

ККККК Kelly hesitated; he would as cheerfully lose a leg. "Give me time to pick out what to dump."

ККККК "Okay." Pemberton returned sadly to his figures, hoping to find a saving mistake, then thought better of it. He called the radio room. "Get me Weinstein at Supra-New York."

ККККК "Out of normal range."

ККККК "I know that. This is the Pilot. Safety priority-urgent. Get a tight beam on them and nurse it."

ККККК "Uh . . . aye aye, sir. I'll try."

ККККК Weinstein was doubtful. "Cripes, Jake, I can't pilot you."

ККККК "Dammit, you can work problems for me!"

ККККК "What good is seven-place accuracy with bum data?"

ККККК "Sure, sure. But you know what instruments I've got; you know about how well I can handle them. Get me a better answer."

ККККК "I'll try." Weinstein called back four hours later. "Jake? Here's the dope: You planned to blast back to match your predicted speed, then made side corrections for position. Orthodox but uneconomical. Instead I had Mabel solve for it as one maneuver."

ККККК "Good!"

ККККК "Not so fast. It saves fuel but not enough. You can't possibly get back in your old groove - and then match T without dumping."

ККККК Pemberton let it sink in, then said, "I'll tell Kelly."

ККККК "Wait a minute, Jake. Try this. Start from scratch."

ККККК "Huh?"

ККККК "Treat it as a brand-new problem. Forget about the orbit on your tape. With your present course, speed, and position compute the cheapest orbit to match with Terminal's. Pick it!, new groove."

ККККК Pemberton felt foolish. "I never thought of that."

ККККК "Of course not. With the ship's little one-lung calculator it'd take you three weeks to solve it. You set to record?"

ККККК "Sure."

ККККК "Here's your data." Weinstein started calling it off. When they had checked it, Jake said, "That'll get me there?"

ККККК "Maybe. If the data you gave me is up to your limit of accuracy; if you can follow instructions as exactly as a robot, if you can blast off and make contact so precisely that you don't need side corrections, then you might squeeze home. Maybe. Good luck, anyhow." The wavering reception muffled their goodbyes.

ККККК Jake signaled Kelly. "Don't jettison, Captain. Have your passengers strap down. Stand by to blast. Minus fourteen minutes."

ККККК "Very well, Pilot."

ККККК The new departure made and checked, he again had time to spare. He took out his unfinished letter, read it, then tore it up.

ККККК "Dearest Phyllis," he started again, "I've been doing some hard thinking this trip and have decided that I've just been stubborn. What am I doing way out here? I like my home. I like to see my wife.

ККККК "Why should I risk my neck and your peace of mind to herd junk through the sky? Why hang around a telephone - waiting to chaperon fatheads to the Moon -numbskulls who couldn't pilot a rowboat and should have stayed at home in the first place?

ККККК "Money, of course. I've been afraid to risk a change. I won't find another job that will pay half as well, but, if you are game, I'll ground myself and we'll start over. All my love, "Jake"

ККККК He put it away and went to sleep, to dream that an entire troop of Junior Rocketeers had been quartered in his control room.

ККККК The closeup view of the Moon is second only to the spaceside view of the Earth as a tourist attraction; nevertheless Pemberton insisted that all passengers strap down during the swing around to Terminal. With precious little fuel for the matching maneuver, he refused to hobble his movements to please sightseers.

ККККК Around the bulge of the Moon, Terminal came into sight - by radar only, for the ship was tail foremost. After each short braking blast Pemberton caught a new radar fix, then compared his approach with a curve he had plotted from Weinstein's figures-with one eye on the time, another on the 'scope, a third on the plot, and a fourth on his fuel gages.

ККККК "Well, Jake?" Kelly fretted. "Do we make it?"

ККККК "How should I know? You be ready to dump." They had agreed on liquid oxygen as the cargo to dump, since it could be let boil out through the outer valves, without handling.

ККККК "Don't say it, Jake."

ККККК "Damn it-I won't if I don't have to." He was fingering his controls again; the blast chopped off his words. When it stopped, the radio maneuvering circuit was calling him.

ККККК "Flying Dutchman, Pilot speaking," Jake shouted back.

ККККК "Terminal Control-Supro reports you short on fuel."

ККККК "Right."

ККККК "Don't approach. Match speeds outside us. We'll send a transfer ship to refuel you and pick up passengers."

ККККК "I think I can make it."

ККККК "Don't try it. Wait for refueling."

ККККК "Quit telling me how to pilot my ship!" Pemberton switched off the circuit, then stared at the board, whistling morosely. Kelly filled in the words in his mind: "Casey said to the fireman, 'Boy, you better jump, cause two locomotives are agoing to bump!'"

ККККК "You going in the slip anyhow, Jake?"

ККККК "Mmm-no, blast it. I can't take a chance of caving in the side of Terminal, not with passengers aboard. But I'm not going to match speeds fifty miles outside and wait for a piggyback."

ККККК He aimed for a near miss just outside Terminal's orbit, conning by instinct, for Weinstein's figures meant nothing by now. His aim was good; he did not have to waste his hoarded fuel on last minute side corrections to keep from hitting Terminal. When at last he was sure of sliding safely on past if unchecked, he braked once more. Then, as he started to cut off the power, the jets coughed, sputtered, and quit.

ККККК The Flying Dutchman floated in space, five hundred yards outside Terminal, speeds matched.

ККККК Jake switched on the radio. "Terminal-stand by for my line. I'll warp her in."

ККККК He had filed his report, showered, and was headed for the post office to radiostat his letter, when the bullhorn summoned him to the Commodore-Pilot's office. Oh, oh, he told himself, Schacht has kicked the Brass-I wonder just how much stock that bliffy owns? And there's that other matter - getting snotty with Control.

ККККК He reported stiffly. "First Pilot Pemberton, sir."

ККККК Commodore Soames looked up. "Pemberton-oh, yes. You hold two ratings, space-to-space and airless-landing."

ККККК Let's not stall around, Jake told himself. Aloud he said, "I have no excuses for anything this last trip. If the Commodore does not approve the way I run my control room, he may have my resignation."

ККККК "What are you talking about?"

ККККК "I, well-don't you have a passenger complaint on me?"

ККККК "Oh, that!" Soames brushed it aside. "Yes, he's been here. But I have Kelly's report, too-and your chief jetman's, and a special from Supra-New York. That was crack piloting, Pemberton."

ККККК "You mean there's no beef from the Company"

ККККК "When have I failed to back up my pilots? You were perfectly right; I would have stuffed him out the air lock. Let's get down to business: You're on the space-to-space board, but I want to send a special to Luna City. Will you take it, as a favor to me?"

ККККК Pemberton hesitated; Soames went on, "That oxygen you saved is for the Cosmic Research Project. They blew the seals on the north tunnel and lost tons of the stuff. The work is stopped-about $130,000 a day in overhead, wages, and penalties. The Gremlin is here, but no pilot until the Moonbat gets in-except you. Well?"

ККККК "But I-look, Commodore, you can't risk people's necks on a jet landing of mine. I'm rusty; I need a refresher and a checkout."

ККККК "No passengers, no crew, no captain-your neck alone."

ККККК "I'll take her."

ККККК Twenty-eight minutes later, with the ugly, powerful hull of the Gremlin around him, he blasted away. One strong shove to kill her orbital speed and let her fall toward the Moon, then no more worries until it came time to "ride 'er down on her tail".

ККККК He felt good-until he hauled out two letters, the one he had failed to send, and one from Phyllis, delivered at Terminal.

ККККК The letter from Phyllis was affectionate-and superficial. She did not mention his sudden departure; she ignored his profession completely. The letter was a model of correctness, but it worried him.

ККККК He tore up both letters and started another. It said, in part: "-never said so outright, but you resent my job.

ККККК "I have to work to support us. You've got a job, too. It's an old, old job that women have been doing a long time-crossing the plains in covered wagons, waiting for ships to come back from China, or waiting around a mine head after an explosion-kiss him goodbye with a smile, take care of him at home.

ККККК "You married a spaceman, so part of your job is to accept my job cheerfully. I think you can do it, when you realize it. I hope so, for the way things have been going won't do for either of us. Believe me, I love you. Jake"

ККККК He brooded on it until time to bend the ship down for his approach. From twenty miles altitude down to one mile he let the robot brake her, then shifted to manual while still falling slowly. A perfect airless-landing would be the reverse of the take-off of a war rocket-free fall, then one long blast of the jets, ending with the ship stopped dead as she touches the ground. In practice a pilot must feel his way down, not too slowly; a ship could burn all the fuel this side of Venus fighting gravity too long.

ККККК Forty seconds later, falling a little more than 140 miles per hour, he picked up in his periscopes the thousand-foot static towers. At 300 feet he blasted five gravities for more than a second, cut it, and caught her with a one-sixth gravity, Moon-normal blast. Slowly he eased this off, feeling happy.

ККККК The Gremlin hovered, her bright jet splashing the soil of the Moon, then settled with dignity to land without a jar.

ККККК The ground crew took over; a sealed runabout jeeped Pemberton to the tunnel entrance. Inside Luna City, he found himself paged before he finished filing his report. When he took the call, Soames smiled at him from the viewpl‡te. "I saw that landing from the field pick-up, Pemberton. You don't need a refresher course."

ККККК Jake blushed. "Thank you, sir."

ККККК "Unless you are dead set on space-to-space, I can use you on the regular Luna City run. Quarters here or Luna City? Want it?"

ККККК He heard himself saying, "Luna City. I'll take it."

ККККК He tore up his third letter as he walked into Luna City post office. At the telephone desk he spoke to a blonde in a blue moonsuit. "Get me Mrs. Jake Pemberton, Suburb six-four-oh-three, Dodge City, Kansas, please."

ККККК She looked him over. "You pilots sure spend money."

ККККК "Sometimes phone calls are cheap. Hurry it, will you?"

ККККК Phyllis was trying to phrase the letter she felt she should have written before. It was easier to say in writing that she was not complaining of loneliness nor lack of fun, but that she could not stand the strain of worrying about his safety. But then she found herself quite unable to state the logical conclusion. Was she prepared to face giving him up entirely if he would not give up space? She truly did not know . . . the phone call was a welcome interruption.

ККККК The viewplate stayed blank. "Long distance," came a thin voice. "Luna City calling."

ККККК Fear jerked at her heart. "Phyllis Pemberton speaking."

ККККК An interminable delay-she knew it took nearly three seconds for radio waves to make the Earth-Moon round trip, but she did not remember it and it would not have reassured her. All she could see was a broken home, herself a widow, and Jake, beloved Jake, dead in space. "Mrs. Jake Pemberton?"

ККККК "Yes, yes! Go ahead." Another wait-had she sent him away in a bad temper, reckless, his judgment affected? Had he died out there, remembering only that she fussed at him for leaving her to go to work? Had she failed him when he needed her? She knew that her Jake could not be tied to apron strings; men - grown-up men, not mammas' boys - had to break away from mother's apron strings. Then why had she tried to tie him to hers?К She had known better; her own mother had warned her not to try it.

ККККК She prayed.

ККККК Then another voice, one that weakened her knees with relief: "That you, honey?"

ККККК "Yes, darling, yes! What are you doing on the Moon?"

ККККК "It's a long story. At a dollar a second it will keep. What I want to know is-are you willing to come to Luna City?"

ККККК It was Jake's turn to suffer from the inevitable lag in reply. He wondered if Phyllis were stalling, unable to make up her mind. At last he heard her say, "Of course, darling. When do I leave?"

ККККК "When-say, don't you even want to know why?"

ККККК She started to say that it did not matter, then said, "Yes, tell me." The lag was still present but neither of them cared. He told her the news, then added, "Run over to the Springs and get Olga Pierce to straighten out the red tape for you. Need my help to pack?"

ККККК She thought rapidly. Had he meant to come back anyhow, he would not have asked. "No. I can manage."

ККККК "Good girl. I'll radiostat you a long letter about what to bring and so forth. I love you. 'Bye now!"

ККККК "Oh, I love you, too. Goodbye, darling."

ККККК Pemberton came out of the booth whistling. Good girl, Phyllis. Staunch. He wondered why he had ever doubted her.

Requiem

ККККК On a high hill in Samoa there is a grave. Inscribed on the marker are these words:

ККККК ККККК "Under the wide and starry sky

ККККК ККККК Dig my grave and let me lie

ККККК ККККК Glad did I live and gladly die

ККККК ККККК And I lay me down with a will!

ККККК ККККК "This be the verse which you grave for me:

ККККК ККККК 'Here he lies where he longed to be,

ККККК ККККК Home is the sailor, home from the sea,

ККККК ККККК And the hunter home from the hill.'"

ККККК These lines appear another place -- scrawled on a shipping tag torn from a compressed-air container, and pinned to the ground with a knife.

ККККК It wasn't much of a fair, as fairs go. The trottin' races didn't promise much excitement, even though several entries claimed the blood of the immortal Dan Patch. The tents and concession booths barely covered the circus grounds, and the pitchmen seemed discouraged.

ККККК D.D. Harriman's chauffeur could not see any reason for stopping. They were due in Kansas City for a directors' meeting, that is to say, Harriman was. The chauffeur had private reasons for promptness, reasons involving darktown society on Eighteenth Street. But the Boss not only stopped, but hung around.

ККККК Bunting and a canvas arch made the entrance to a large enclosure beyond the race track. Red and gold letters announced:

ККККК ККККК This way to the MOON ROCKET!!!!

ККККККККККК ККККК See it in actual flight!

ККККККККККК КК Public Demonstration Flights

ККККККККККК КККККККК Twice Daily

ККККК ККККК This is the ACTUAL TYPE used by the

ККККККККККК К First Man to reach the MOON!!!

ККККККККККК КК YOU can ride in it!! -- $50.OO

ККККК A boy, nine or ten years old, hung around the entrance and stared at the posters.

ККККК "Want to see the ship, son?"

ККККК The kid's eyes shone. "Gee, mister. I sure would."

ККККК "So would I. Come on." Harriman paid out a dollar for two pink tickets which entitled them to enter the enclosure and examine the rocket ship. The kid took his and ran on ahead with the single-mindedness of youth. Harriman looked over the stubby curved lines of the ovoid body. He noted with a professional eye that she was a single-jet type with fractional controls around her midriff. He squinted through his glasses at the name painted in gold on the carnival red of the body, _Care Free_. He paid another quarter to enter the control cabin.

ККККК When his eyes had adjusted to the gloom caused by the strong ray filters of the ports he let them rest lovingly on the keys of the console and the semi-circle of dials above. Each beloved gadget was in its proper place. He knew them, graven in his heart.

ККККК While he mused over the instrument board, with the warm liquid of content soaking through his body, the pilot entered and touched his arm.

ККККК "Sorry, sir. We've got to cast loose for the flight."

ККККК "Eh?" Harriman started, then looked at the speaker. Handsome devil, with a good skull and strong shoulders, reckless eyes and a self-indulgent mouth, but a firm chin. "Oh, excuse me, Captain."

ККККК "Quite all right."

ККККК "Oh, I say, Captain, er, uh. . ."

ККККК "McIntyre."

ККККК "Captain McIntyre, could you take a passenger this trip?" The old man leaned eagerly toward him.

ККККК "Why, yes, if you wish. Come along with me." He ushered Harriman into a shed marked OFFICE which stood near the gate. "Passenger for a check over, doc."

ККККК Harriman looked startled but permitted the medico to run a stethoscope over his thin chest, and to strap a rubber bandage around his arm. Presently he unstrapped it, glanced at McIntyre, and shook his head.

ККККК "No go, doc?"

ККККК "That's right, Captain."

ККККК Harriman looked from face to face. "My heart's all right -- that's just a flutter."

ККККК The physician's brows shot up. "Is it? But it's not just your heart; at your age your bones are brittle, too brittle to risk a take-off."

ККККК "Sorry, sir," added the pilot, "but the Bates County Fair Association pays the doctor here to see to it that I don't take anyone up who might be hurt by the acceleration."

ККККК The old man's shoulders drooped miserably. "I rather expected it."

ККККК "Sorry, sir." McIntyre turned to go, but Harriman followed him out.

ККККК "Excuse me, Captain--"

ККККК "Yes?"

ККККК "Could you and your, uh, engineer have dinner with me after your flight?"

ККККК The pilot looked at him quizzically. "I don't see why not. Thanks."

ККККК "Captain McIntyre, it is difficult for me to see why anyone would quit the Earth-Moon run." Fried chicken and hot biscuits in a private dining room of the best hotel the little town of Butler afforded, three-star Hennessey and Corona-Coronas had produced a friendly atmosphere in which three men could talk freely.

ККККК "Well, I didn't like it."

ККККК "Aw, don't give him that, Mac -- you know damn well it was Rule G that got you." McIntyre's mechanic poured himself another brandy as he spoke.

ККККК McIntyre looked sullen. "Well, what if I did take a couple o' drinks? Anyhow, I could have squared that -- it was the damn persnickety regulations that got me fed up. Who are you to talk? -- Smuggler!"

ККККК "Sure I smuggled! Who wouldn't with all those beautiful rocks just aching to be taken back to Earth. I had a diamond once as big as... But if I hadn't been caught I'd be in Luna City tonight. And so would you, you drunken blaster ... with the boys buying us drinks, and the girls smiling and making suggestions..." He put his face down and began to weep quietly.

ККККК McIntyre shook him. "He's drunk."

ККККК "Never mind." Harriman interposed a hand. "Tell me, are you really satisfied not to be on the run any more?"

ККККК McIntyre chewed his lip. "No, he's right of course. This barnstorming isn't what it's all cracked up to be. We've been hopping junk at every pumpkin doin's up and down the Mississippi valley -- sleeping in tourist camps, and eating at grease burners. Half the time the sheriff has an attachment on the ship, the other half the Society for the Prevention of Something or Other gets an injunction to keep us on the ground. It's no sort of a life for a rocket man."

ККККК "Would it help any for you to get to the Moon?"

ККККК "Well. . . Yes. I couldn't get back on the Earth-Moon run, but if I was in Luna City, I could get a job hopping ore for the Company -- they're always short of rocket pilots for that, and they wouldn't mind my record. If I kept my nose clean, they might even put me back on the run, in time."

ККККК Harriman fiddled with a spoon, then looked up. "Would you young gentlemen be open to a business proposition?"

ККККК "Perhaps. What is it?"

ККККК "You own the _Care Free_?"

ККККК "Yeah. That is, Charlie and I do -- barring a couple of liens against her. What about it?"

ККККК "I want to charter her... for you and Charlie to take me to the Moon!"

ККККК Charlie sat up with a jerk. "D'joo hear what he said, Mac? He wants us to fly that old heap to the Moon!"

ККККК McIntyre shook his head. "Can't do it, Mister Harriman. The old boat's worn out. You couldn't convert to escape fuel. We don't even use standard juice in her -- just gasoline and liquid air. Charlie spends all of his time tinkering with her at that She's going to blow up some day."

ККККК "Say, Mister Harriman," put in Charlie, "what's the matter with getting an excursion permit and going in a Company ship?"

ККККК "No, son," the old man replied, "I can't do that. You know the conditions under which the U. N. granted the Company a monopoly on lunar exploitation -- no one to enter space who was not physically qualified to stand up under it. Company to take full responsibility for the safety and health of all citizens beyond the stratosphere. The official reason for granting the franchise was to avoid unnecessary loss of life during the first few years of space travel."

ККККК "And you can't pass the physical exam?" Harriman shook his head.

ККККК "Well, what the hell -- if you can afford to hire us, why don't you just bribe yourself a brace of Company docs? It's been done before."

ККККК Harriman smiled ruefully. "I know it has, Charlie, but it won't work for me. You see, I'm a tad too prominent. My full name is Delos D. Harriman."

ККККК "What? You are old D.D.? But hell's bells, you own a big slice of the Company yourself -- you practically are the Company; you ought to be able to do anything you like, rules or no rules."

ККККК "That is a not unusual opinion, son, but it is incorrect. Rich men aren't more free than other men; they are less free, a good deal less free. I tried to do what you suggest, but, the other directors would not permit me. They are afraid of losing their franchise. It costs them a good deal in -- uh -- political contact expenses to retain it, as it is."

ККККК "Well, I'll be a-- Can you tie that, Mac? A guy with lots of dough, and he can't spend it the way he wants to." McIntyre did not answer, but waited for Harriman to continue.

ККККК "Captain McIntyre, if you had a ship, would you take me?"

ККККК McIntyre rubbed his chin. "It's against the law."

ККККК "I'd make it worth your while."

ККККК "Sure he would, Mr. Harriman. Of course you would, Mac. Luna City! Oh, baby!"

ККККК "Why do you want to go to the Moon so badly, Mister Harriman?"

ККККК "Captain, it's the one thing I've really wanted to do all my life -- ever since I was a young boy. I don't know whether I can explain it to you, or not. You young fellows have grown up to rocket travel the way I grew up to aviation. I'm a great deal older than you are, at least fifty years older. When I was a kid practically nobody believed that men would ever reach the Moon. You've seen rockets all your lives, and the first to reach the Moon got there before you were a young boy. When I was a boy they laughed at the idea.

ККККК "But I believed -- I believed. I read Verne, and Wells, and Smith, and I believed that we could do it -- that we would do it. I set my heart on being one of the men to walk the surface of the Moon, to see her other side, and to look back on the face of the Earth, hanging in the sky.

ККККК "I used to go without my lunches to pay my dues in the American Rocket Society, because I wanted to believe that I was helping to bring the day nearer when we would reach the Moon. I was already an old man when that day arrived. I've lived longer than I should, but I would not let myself die... I will not! -- until I have set foot on the Moon."

ККККК McIntyre stood up and put out his hand. "You find a ship, Mister Harriman. I'll drive 'er."

ККККК "Atta' boy, Mac! I told you he would, Mister Harriman."

ККККК Harriman mused and dozed during the half-hour run to the north into Kansas City, dozed in the light troubled sleep of old age. Incidents out of a long life ran through his mind in vagrant dreams. There was that time... oh, yes, 1910 ... A little boy on a warm spring night;

ККККК "What's that, Daddy?" -- "That's Halley's comet, Sonny." -- "Where did it come from?" -- "I don't know, Son. From way out in the sky somewhere." -- "It's _beyoootiful_, Daddy. I want to touch it." -- "'Fraid not, Son."

ККККК "Delos, do you mean to stand there and tell me you put the money we had saved for the house into that crazy rocket company?" -- "Now, Charlotte, please! It's not crazy; it's a sound business investment. Someday soon rockets will fill the sky. Ships and trains will be obsolete. Look what happened to the men that had the foresight to invest in Henry Ford." -- "We've been all over this before." -- "Charlotte, the day will come when men will rise up off the Earth and visit the Moon, even the planets. This is the beginning." -- "Must you shout?" -- "I'm sorry, but--" -- "I feel a headache coming on. Please try to be a little quiet when you come to bed."

ККККК He hadn't gone to bed. He had sat out on the veranda all night long, watching the full Moon move across the sky. There would be the devil to pay in the morning, the devil and a thin-lipped silence. But he'd stick by his guns. He'd given in on most things, but not on this. But the night was his. Tonight he'd be alone with his old friend. He searched her face. Where was Mare Crisium? Funny, he couldn't make it out. He used to be able to see it plainly when he was a boy. Probably needed new glasses -- this constant office work wasn't good for his eyes.

ККККК But he didn't need to see, he knew where they all were; Crisium, Mare Fecunditatis, Mare Tranquilitatis -- that one had a satisfying roll! -- the Apennines, the Carpathians, old Tycho with it's mysterious rays.

ККККК Two hundred and forty thousand miles -- ten times around the Earth. Surely men could bridge a little gap like that. Why, he could almost reach out and touch it, nodding there behind the elm trees. Not that he could help. He hadn't the education.

ККККК "Son, I want to have a little serious talk with you." -- "Yes, Mother." -- "I know you had hoped to go to college next year--" (Hoped! He had lived for it. The University of Chicago to study under Moulton, then on to the Yerkes Observatory to work under the eye of Dr. Frost himself) -- "and I had hoped so too. But with your father gone, and the girls growing up, it's harder to make ends meet. You've been a good boy, and worked hard to help out. I know you'll understand." -- "Yes, Mother."

ККККК "Extra! Extra! STRATOSPHERE ROCKET REACHES PARIS. Read aaaaallllll about 't." The the little man in the bifocals snatched at the paper and hurried back to the office. -- "Look at this, George." -- "Huh? Hmm, interesting, but what of it?" -- "Can't you see? The next stage is to the Moon!" -- "God, but you're a sucker, Delos. The trouble with you is, you read too many of those trashy magazines. Now I caught my boy reading one of 'em just last week, _Stunning Stories_, or some such title, and dressed him down proper. Your folks should have done you the same favor." -- Harriman squared his narrow, middle-aged shoulders. "They will so reach the Moon!" -- His partner laughed. "Have it your own way. If baby wants the Moon, papa bring it for him. But you stick to your discounts and commissions; that's where the money is."

ККККК The big car droned down the Paseo, and turned off on Armour Boulevard. Old Harriman stirred uneasily in his sleep and muttered to himself.

ККККК "But Mister Harriman--" The young man with the notebook was plainly perturbed. The old man grunted.

ККККК "You heard me. Sell 'em. I want every share I own realized in cash as rapidly as possible; Spaceways, Spaceways Provisioning Company, Artemis Mines, Luna City Recreations, the whole lot of them."

ККККК "It will depress the market. You won't realize the full value of your holdings."

ККККК "Don't you think I know that? I can afford it."

ККККК "What about the shares you had earmarked for Richardson Observatory, and for the Harriman Scholarships?"

ККККК "Oh, yes. Don't sell those. Set up a trust. Should have done it long ago. Tell young Kamens to draw up the papers. He knows what I want"

ККККК The interoffice visor flashed into life. "The gentlemen are here, Mr. Harriman."

ККККК "Send 'em in. That's all, Ashley. Get busy." Ashley went out as McIntyre and Charlie entered. Harriman got up and trotted forward to greet them.

ККККК "Come in, boys, come in. I'm so glad to see you. Sit down. Sit down. Have a cigar."

ККККК "Mighty pleased to see you, Mr. Harriman," acknowledged Charlie. "In fact, you might say we need to see you."

ККККК "Some trouble, gentlemen?" Harriman glanced from face to face. McIntyre answered him.

ККККК "You still mean that about a job for us, Mr. Harriman?"

ККККК "Mean it? Certainly, I do. You're not backing out on me?"

ККККК "Not at all. We need that job now. You see the _Care Free_ is lying in the middle of the Osage River, with her jet split clear back to the injector."

ККККК "Dear me! You weren't hurt?"

ККККК "No, aside from sprains and bruises. We jumped."

ККККК Charlie chortled. "I caught a catfish with my bare teeth."

ККККК In short order they got down to business. "You two will have to buy a ship for me. I can't do it openly; my colleagues would figure out what I mean to do and stop me. I'll supply you with all the cash you need. You go out and locate some sort of a ship that can be refitted for the trip. Work, up some good story about how you are buying it for some playboy as a stratosphere yacht, or that you plan to establish an arctic-antarctic tourist route. Anything as long as no one suspects that she is being-outfitted for space flight.

ККККК "Then, after the Department of Transport licenses her for strato flight, you move out to a piece of desert out west -- I'll find a likely parcel of land and buy it -- and then I'll join you. Then we'll install the escape-fuel tanks, change the injectors, and timers, and so forth, to fit her for the hop. How about it?"

ККККК McIntyre looked dubious. "It'll take a lot of doing. Charlie, do you think you can accomplish that changeover without a dockyard and shops?"

ККККК "Me? Sure I can -- with your thick-fingered help. Just give me the tools and materials I want, and don't hurry me too much. Of course, it won't be fancy--"

ККККК "Nobody wants it to be fancy. I just want a ship that won't blow when I start slapping the keys. Isotope fuel is no joke."

ККККК "It won't blow, Mac."

ККККК "That's what you thought about the _Care Free_."

ККККК "That ain't fair, Mac. I ask you, Mr. Harriman -- That heap was junk, and we knew it. This'll be different. We're going to spend some dough and do it right. Ain't we, Mr. Harriman?"

ККККК Harriman patted him on the shoulder. "Certainly we are, Charlie. You can have all the money you want. That's the least of our worries. Now do the salaries and bonuses I mentioned suit you? I don't want you to be short."

ККККК "--as you know, my clients are his nearest relatives and have his interests at heart. We contend that Mr. Harriman's conduct for the past several weeks, as shown by the evidence here adduced, gives clear indication that a mind, once brilliant in the world of finance, has become senile. It is, therefore, with the deepest regret that we pray this honorable court, if it pleases, to declare Mr. Harriman incompetent and to assign a conservator to protect his financial interests and those of his future heirs and assigns." The attorney sat down, pleased with himself.

ККККК Mr. Kamens took the floor. "May it please the court, if my esteemed friend is quite through, may I suggest that in his last few words be gave away his entire thesis. '--the financial interests of future heirs and assigns.' It is evident that the petitioners believe that my client should conduct his affairs in such a fashion as to insure that his nieces and nephews, and their issue, will be supported in unearned luxury for the rest of their lives. My client's wife has passed on, he has no children. It is admitted that he has provided generously for his sisters and their children in times past, and that he has established annuities for such near kin as are without means of support.

ККККК "But now like vultures, worse than vultures, for they are not content to let him die in peace, they would prevent my client from enjoying his wealth in whatever manner best suits him for the few remaining years of his life. It is true that he has sold his holdings; is it strange that an elderly man should wish to retire? It is true that he suffered some paper losses in liquidation. 'The value of a thing is what that thing will bring.' He was retiring and demanded cash. Is there anything strange about that?

ККККК "It is admitted that he refused to discuss his actions with his so-loving kinfolk. What law, or principle, requires a man to consult with his nephews on anything?

ККККК "Therefore, we pray that this court will confirm my client in his right to do what he likes with his own, deny this petition, and send these meddlers about their business."

ККККК The judge took off his spectacles .and polished them thoughtfully.

ККККК "Mr. Kamens, this court has as high a regard for individual liberty as you have, and you may rest assured that any action taken will be solely in the interests of your client. Nevertheless, men do grow old, men do become senile, and in such cases must be protected.

ККККК "I shall take this matter under advisement until tomorrow. Court is adjourned."

ККККК From the Kansas City Star:

ККККК "ECCENTRIC MILLIONAIRE DISAPPEARS"

ККККК "--failed to appear for the adjourned hearing. The bailiffs returned from a search of places usually frequented by Harriman with the report that he had not been seen since the previous day. A bench warrant under contempt proceedings has been issued and--"

ККККК A desert sunset is a better stimulant for the appetite than a hot dance orchestra. Charlie testified to this by polishing the last of the ham gravy with a piece of bread. Harriman handed each of the younger men cigars and took one himself.

ККККК "My doctor claims that these weeds are bad for my heart condition," he remarked as he lighted it, "but I've felt so much better since I joined you boys here on the ranch that I am inclined to doubt him." He exhaled a cloud of blue-grey smoke and resumed. "I don't think a man's health depends so much on what he does as on whether he wants to do it. I'm doing what I want to do."

ККККК "That's all a man can ask of life," agreed McIntyre.

ККККК "How does the work look now, boys?"

ККККК "My end's in pretty good shape," Charlie answered. "We finished the second pressure tests on the new tanks and the fuel lines today. The ground tests are all done, except the calibration runs. Those won't take long -- just the four hours to make the runs if I don't run into some bugs. How about you, Mac?"

ККККК McIntyre ticked them off on his fingers. "Food supplies and water on board. Three vacuum suits, a spare, and service kits. Medical supplies. The buggy already had all the standard equipment for strato flight. The late lunar ephemerides haven't arrived as yet."

ККККК "When do you expect them?"

ККККК "Any time -- they should be here now. Not that it matters. This guff about how hard it is to navigate from here to the Moon is hokum to impress the public. After all you can see your destination -- it's not like ocean navigation. Gimme a sextant and a good radar and I'll set you down any place on the Moon you like, without cracking an almanac or a star table, just from a general knowledge of the relative speeds involved."

ККККК "Never mind the personal buildup, Columbus," Charlie told him, "we'll admit you can hit the floor with your hat. The general idea is, you're ready to go now. Is that right?"

ККККК "That's it."

ККККК "That being the case, I could run those tests tonight. I'm getting jumpy -- things have been going too smoothly. If you'll give me a hand, we ought to be in bed by midnight."

ККККК "O.K., when I finish this cigar."

ККККК They smoked in silence for a while, each thinking about the coming trip and what it meant to him. Old Harriman tried to repress the excitement that possessed him at the prospect of immediate realization of his life-long dream.

ККККК "Mr. Harriman--"

ККККК "Eh? What is it, Charlie?"

ККККК "How does a guy go about getting rich, like you did?"

ККККК "Getting rich? I can't say; I never tried to get rich. I never wanted to be rich, or well known, or anything like that."

ККККК "Huh?"

ККККК "No, I just wanted to live a long time and see it all happen. I wasn't unusual; there were lots of boys like me -- radio hams, they were, and telescope builders, and airplane amateurs. We had science clubs, and basement laboratories, and science-fiction leagues -- the kind of boys who thought there was more romance in one issue of the _Electrical Experimenter_ than in all the books Dumas ever wrote. We didn't want to be one of Horatio Alger's Get-Rich heroes either, we wanted to build space ships. Well, some of us did."

ККККК "Jeez, Pop, you make it sound exciting."

ККККК "It was exciting, Charlie. This has been a wonderful, romantic century, for all of its bad points. And it's grown more wonderful and more exciting every year. No, I didn't want to be rich; I just wanted to live long enough to see men rise up to the stars, and, if God was good to me, to go as far as the Moon myself." He carefully deposited an inch of white ash in a saucer. "It has been a good life. I haven't any complaints."

ККККК McIntyre pushed back his chair. "Come on, Charlie, if you're ready."

ККККК They all got up. Harriman started to speak, then grabbed at his chest, his face a dead grey-white. "Catch him, Mac!"

ККККК "Where's his medicine?"

ККККК "In his vest pocket."

ККККК They eased him over to a couch, broke a small glass capsule in a handkerchisf, and held it under his nose. The volatile released by the capsule seemed to bring a little color into his face. They did what little they could for him, then waited for him to regain consciousness.

ККККК Charlie broke the uneasy silence. "Mac, we ain't going through with this."

ККККК "Why not?"

ККККК "It's murder. He'll never stand up under the initial acceleration."

ККККК "Maybe not, but it's what he wants to do. You heard him."

ККККК "But we oughtn't to let him."

ККККК "Why not? It's neither your business, nor the business of this damn paternalistic government, to tell a man not to risk his life doing what he really wants to do."

ККККК "All the same, I don't feel right about it. He's such a swell old duck."

ККККК "Then what d'yuh want to do with him -- send him back to Kansas City so those old harpies can shut him up in a laughing academy till he dies of a broken heart?"

ККККК "N-no-o-o -- not that."

ККККК "Get out there, and make your set-up for those test runs. I'll be along."

ККККК A wide-tired desert runabout rolled in the ranch yard gate the next morning and stopped in front of the house. A heavy-set man with a firm, but kindly, face climbed out and spoke to McIntyre, who approached to meet him.

ККККК "You James Mcintyre?"

ККККК "What about it?"

ККККК "I'm the deputy federal marshal hereabouts. I got a warrant for your arrest."

ККККК "What's the charge?"

ККККК "Conspiracy to violate the Space Precautionary Act."

ККККК Charlie joined the pair. "What's up, Mac?"

ККККК The deputy answered. "You'd be Charles Cummings, I guess. Warrant here for you. Got one for a man named Harriman, too, and a court order to put seals on your space ship."

ККККК "We've no space ship."

ККККК "What d'yuh keep in that big shed?"

ККККК "Strato yacht."

ККККК "So? Well, I'll put seals on her until a space ship comes along. Where's Harriman?"

ККККК "Right in there." Charlie obliged by pointing, ignoring McIntyre's scowl.

ККККК The deputy turned his head. Charlie couldn't have missed the button by a fraction of an inch for the deputy collapsed quietly to the ground. Charlie stood over him, rubbing his knuckles and mourning.

ККККК "Damn it to hell -- that's the finger I broke playing shortstop. I'm always hurting that finger."

ККККК "Get Pop into the cabin," Mac cut him short, "and strap him into his hammock."

ККККК "Aye aye, Skipper."

ККККК They dragged the ship by tractor out of the hangar, turned, and went out the desert plain to find elbow room for the take-off. They climbed in. McIntyre saw the deputy from his starboard conning port. He was staring disconsolately after them.

ККККК Mcintyre fastened his safety belt, settled his corset, and spoke into the engineroom speaking tube. "All set, Charlie?"

ККККК "All set, Skipper. But you can't raise ship yet, Mac -- _She ain't named!_"

ККККК "No time for your superstitions!"

ККККК Harriman's thin voice reached them. "Call her the _Lunatic_ -- It's the only appropriate name!"

ККККК McIntyre settled his head into the pads, punched two keys, then three more in rapid succession, and the _Lunatic_ raised ground.

ККККК "How are you, Pop?"

ККККК Charlie searched the old man's face anxiously. Harriman licked his lips and managed to speak. "Doing fine, son. Couldn't be better."

ККККК "The acceleration is over; it won't be so bad from here on. I'll unstrap you so you can wiggle around a little. But I think you'd better stay in the hammock." He tugged at buckles. Harriman partially repressed a groan.

ККККК "What is it, Pop?"

ККККК "Nothing. Nothing at all. Just go easy on that side."

ККККК Charlie ran his fingers over the old man's side with the sure, delicate touch of a mechanic. "You ain't foolin' me none, Pop. But there isn't much I can do until we ground."

ККККК "Charlie--"

ККККК "Yes, Pop?"

ККККК "Can't I move to a port? I want to watch the Earth."

ККККК "Ain't nothin' to see yet; the ship hides it. As soon as we turn ship, I'll move you. Tell you what; I'll give you a sleepy pill, and then wake you when we do."

ККККК "No!"

ККККК "Huh?"

ККККК "I'll stay awake."

ККККК "Just as you say, Pop."

ККККК Charlie clambered monkey fashion to the nose of the ship, and anchored to the gymbals of the pilot's chair. McIntyre questioned him with his eyes.

ККККК "Yeah, he's alive all right," Charlie told him, "but he's in bad shape."

ККККК "How bad?"

ККККК "Couple of cracked ribs anyhow. I don't know what else. I don't know whether he'll last out the trip, Mac. His heart was pounding something awful."

ККККК "He'll last, Charlie. He's tough."

ККККК "Tough? He's delicate as a canary."

ККККК "I don't mean that. He's tough way down inside where it counts."

ККККК "Just the same you'd better set her down awful easy if you want to ground with a full complement aboard."

ККККК "I will. I'll make one full swing around the Moon and ease her in on an involute approach curve. We've got enough fuel, I think."

ККККК They were now in a free orbit; after McIntyre turned ship, Charlie went back, unslung the hammock, and moved Harriman, hammock and all, to a side port. Mcliityre steadied the ship about a transverse axis so that the tail pointed toward the sun, then gave a short blast on two tangential jets opposed in couple to cause the ship to spin slowly about her longitudinal axis, and thereby create a slight artificial gravity. The initial weightlessness when coasting commenced had knotted the old man with the characteristic nausea of free flight, and the pilot wished to save his passenger as much discomfort as possible.

ККККК But Harriman was not concerned with the condition of his stomach. There it was, all as he had imagined it so many times.

ККККК The Moon swung majestically past the view port, wider than he had ever seen it before, all of her familiar features cameo clear. She gave way to the Earth as the ship continued its slow swing, the Earth itself as he had envisioned her, appearing like a noble moon, many times as wide as the Moon appears to the Earthbound, and more luscious, more sensuously beautiful than the silver Moon could be. It was sunset near the Atlantic seaboard -- the line of shadow cut down the coast line of North America, slashed through Cuba, and obscured all but the west coast of South America. He savored the mellow blue of the Pacific Ocean, felt the texture of the soft green and brown of the continents, admired the blue-white cold of the polar caps. Canada and the northern states were obscured by cloud, a vast low pressure area that spread across the continent. It shone with an even more satisfactory dazzling white than the polar caps.

ККККК As the ship swung slowly, around, Earth would pass from view, and the stars would march across the port the same stars he had always known, but steady, brighter, and unwinking against a screen of perfect, live black. Then the Moon would swim into view again to claim his thoughts.

ККККК He was serenely happy in a fashion not given to most men, even in a long lifetime. He felt as if he were every man who has ever lived, looked up at the stars, and longed.

ККККК As the long hours came and went he watched and dozed and dreamed. At least once he must have fallen into deep sleep, or possibly delirium, for he came to with a start, thinking that his wife, Charlotte, was calling to him. "Delos!" the voice had said. "Delos! Come in from there! You'll catch your death of cold in that night air."

ККККК Poor Charlotte! She had been a good wife to him, a good wife. He was quite sure that her only regret in dying had been her fear that he could not take proper care of himself. It had not been her fault that she had not shared his dream, and his need.

ККККК Charlie rigged the hammock in such a fashion that Harriman could watch from the starboard port when they swung around the far face of the Moon. He picked out the landmarks made familiar to him by a thousand photographs with nostalgic pleasure, as if he were returning to his own country. Mcintyre brought her slowly down as they came back around to the Earthward face, and prepared to land east of Mare Fecunditatis, about ten miles from Luna City.

ККККК It was not a bad landing, all things considered. He had to land without coaching from the ground, and he had no second pilot to watch the radar for him. In his anxiety to make it gentle he missed his destination by some thirty miles, but he did his cold-sober best. But at that it was bumpy. As they grounded and the pumice dust settled around them, Charlie came up to the control station.

ККККК "How's our passenger?" Mac demanded.

ККККК "I'll see, but I wouldn't make any bets. That landing stunk, Mac."

ККККК "Damn it, I did my best."

ККККК "I know you did, Skipper. Forget it."

ККККК But the passenger was alive and conscious although bleeding from the nose and with a pink foam on his lips. He was feebly trying to get himself out of his cocoon. They helped him, working together.

ККККК "Where are the vacuum suits?" was his first remark.

ККККК "Steady, Mr. Harriman. You can't go out there yet. We've got to give you some first aid."

ККККК "_Get me that suit!_ First aid can wait."

ККККК Silently they did as he ordered. His left leg was practically useless, and they had to help him through the lock, one on each side. But with his inconsiderable mass having a lunar weight of only twenty pounds, he was no burden.. They found a place some fifty yards from the ship where they could prop him up and let him look, a chunk of scoria supporting his head.

ККККК Mcintyre put his helmet against the old man's and spoke. "We'll leave you here to enjoy the view while we get ready for the trek into town. It's a forty-miler, pretty near, and we'll have to break out spare air bottles and rations and stuff. We'll be back soon."

ККККК Harriman nodded without answering, and squeezed their gauntlets with a grip that was surprisingly strong.

ККККК He sat very quietly, rubbing his hands against the soil of the Moon and sensing the curiously light pressure of his body against the ground. At long last there was peace in his heart. His hurts had ceased to pain him. He was where he had longed to be -- he had followed his need.

ККККК Over the western horizon hung the Earth at last quarter, a green-blue giant moon. Overhead the Sun shone down from a black and starry sky. And underneath the Moon, the soil of the Moon itself. He was on the Moon!

ККККК He lay back still while a bath of content flowed over him like a tide at flood, and soaked to his very marrow.

ККККК His attention strayed momentarily, and he thought once again that his name was called. Silly, he thought, I'm getting old -- my mind wanders.

ККККК Back in the cabin Charlie and Mac were rigging shoulder yokes on a stretcher. "There. That will do," Mac commented. "We'd better stir Pop out; we ought to be going."

ККККК "I'll get him," Charlie replied. "I'll just pick him up and carry him. He don't weigh nothing."

ККККК Charlie was gone longer than Mcintyre had expected him to be. He returned alone. Mac waited for him to close the lock, and swing back his helmet. "Trouble?"

ККККК "Never mind the stretcher, Skipper. We won't be needin' it.

ККККК "Yeah, I mean it," he continued. "Pop's done for. I did what was necessary."

ККККК Mcintyre bent down without a word and picked up the wide skis necessary to negotiate the powdery ash. Charlie followed his example. Then they swung the spare air bottles over their shoulders, and passed out through the lock.

ККККК They didn't bother to close the outer door of the lock behind them.

ККККК The Long Watch

"Nine ships blasted off from Moon Base. Once in space, eight of them formed a globe around the smallest. They held this formation all the way to Earth.

"The small ship displayed the insignia of an admiral-yet there was no living thing of any sort in her. She was not even a passenger ship, but a drone, a robot ship intended for radioactive cargo. This trip she carried nothing but a lead coffin - and a Geiger counter that was never quiet." -from the editorial After Ten Years, film 38, 17 June 2009, Archives of the N.Y. Times

ККККК JOHNNY DAHLQUIST blew smoke at the Geiger counter. He grinned wryly and tried it again. His whole body was radioactive by now. Even his breath, the smoke from his cigarette, could make the Geiger counter scream. How long had he been here? Time doesn't mean much on the Moon. Two days? Three? A week? He let his mind run back: the last clearly marked time in his mind was when the Executive Officer had sent for him, right after breakfast - "Lieutenant Dahlquist, reporting to the Executive Officer."

ККККК Colonel Towers looked up. "Ah, John Ezra. Sit down, Johnny. Cigarette?"

ККККК Johnny sat down, mystified but flattered. He admired Colonel Towers, for his brilliance, his ability to dominate, and for his battle record. Johnny had no battle record; he had been commissioned on completing his doctor's degree in nuclear physics and was now junior bomb officer of Moon Base.

ККККК The Colonel wanted to talk politics; Johnny was puzzled. Finally Towers had come to the point; it was not safe (so he said) to leave control of the world in political hands; power must be held by a scientifically selected group. In short - The Patrol.

ККККК Johnny was startled rather than shocked. As an abstract idea, Towers' notion sounded plausible. The League of Nations had folded up; what would keep the United Nations from breaking up, too, and thus lead to another World War. "And you know how bad such a war would be, Johnny."

ККККК Johnny agreed. Towers said he was glad that Johnny got the point. The senior bomb officer could handle the work, but it was better to have both specialists.

ККККК Johnny sat up with a jerk. "You are going to do something about it?" He had thought the Exec was just talking.

ККККК Towers smiled. "We're not politicians; we don't just talk. We act."

ККККК Johnny whistled. "When does this start?"

ККККК Towers flipped a switch. Johnny was startled to hear his own voice, then identified the recorded conversation as having taken place in the junior officers' messroom. A political argument he remembered, which he had walked out on... a good thing, too! But being spied on annoyed him.

ККККК Towers switched it off. "We have acted," he said. "We know who is safe and who isn't. Take Kelly-" He waved at the loudspeaker. "Kelly is politically unreliable. You noticed he wasn't at breakfast?"

ККККК "Huh? I thought he was on watch."

ККККК "Kelly's watch-standing days are over. Oh, relax; he isn't hurt."

ККККК Johnny thought this over. "Which list am I on?" he asked. "Safe or unsafe?"

ККККК "Your name has a question mark after it. But I have said all along that you could be depended on." He grinned engagingly. "You won't make a liar of me, Johnny?"

ККККК Dahlquist didn't answer; Towers said sharply, "Come now - what do you think of it? Speak up."

ККККК "Well, if you ask me, you've bitten off more than you can chew. While it's true that Moon Base controls the Earth, Moon Base itself is a sitting duck for a ship. One bomb - blooie!"

ККККК Towers picked up a message form and handed it over; it read: I HAVE YOUR CLEAN LAUNDRY-ZACK. "That means every bomb in the Trygve Lie has been put out of commission. I have reports from every ship we need worry about." He stood up. "Think it over and see me after lunch. Major Morgan needs your help right away to change control frequencies on the bombs."

ККККК "The control frequencies?"

ККККК "Naturally. We don't want the bombs jammed before they reach their targets."

ККККК "What? You said the idea was to prevent war."

ККККК Towers brushed it aside. "There won't, be a war-just a psychological demonstration, an unimportant town or two. A little bloodletting to save an all-out war. Simple arithmetic."

ККККК He put a hand on Johnny's shoulder. "You aren't squeamish, or you wouldn't be a bomb officer. Think of it as a surgical operation. And think of your family."

ККККК Johnny Dahlquist had been thinking of his family. "Please, sir, I want to see the Commanding Officer."

ККККК Towers frowned. "The Commodore is not available. As you know, I speak for him. See me again-after lunch."

ККККК The Commodore was decidedly not available; the Commodore was dead. But Johnny did not know that.

ККККК Dahlquist walked back to the messroom, bought cigarettes, sat down and had a smoke. He got up, crushed out the butt, and headed for the Base's west airlock. There he got into his space suit and went to the lockmaster. "Open her up, Smitty."

ККККК The marine looked surprised. "Can't let anyone out on the surface without word from Colonel Towers, sir. Hadn't you heard?"

ККККК "Oh, yes! Give me your order book." Dahlquist took it, wrote a pass for himself, and signed it "by direction of Colonel Towers." He added, "Better call the Executive Officer and check it."

ККККК The lockmaster read it and stuck the book in his pocket. "Oh, no, Lieutenant. Your word's good."

ККККК "Hate to disturb the Executive Officer, eh? Don't blame you." He stepped in, closed the inner door, and waited for the air to be sucked out.

ККККК Out on the Moon's surface he blinked at the light and hurried to the track-rocket terminus; a car was waiting. He squeezed in, pulled down the hood, and punched the starting button. The rocket car flung itself at the hills dived through and came out on a plain studded with projectile rockets, like candles on a cake. Quickly it dived into a second tunnel through more hills. There was a stomach-wrenching deceleration and the car stopped at the underground atom-bomb armory.

ККККК As Dahlquist climbed out he switched on his walkie-talkie. The space-suited guard at the entrance came to port-arms. Dahlquist said, "Morning, Lopez," and walked by him to the airlock. He pulled it open. . .

ККККК The guard motioned him back. "Hey! Nobody goes in without the Executive Officer's say-so." He shifted his gun, fumbled in his pouch and got out a paper. "Read it, Lieutenant."

ККККК Dahlquist waved it away. "I drafted that order myself. You read it; you've misinterpreted it."

ККККК "I don't see how, Lieutenant."

ККККК Dahlquist snatched the paper, glanced at it, then pointed to a line. "See? '-except persons specifically designated by the Executive Officer.' That's the bomb officers, Major Morgan and me."

ККККК The guard looked worried. Dahlquist said, "Damn it, look up 'specifically designated' - it's under 'Bomb Room, Security, Procedure for' in your standing orders. Don't tell me you left them in the barracks!"

ККККК "Oh, no, sir! I've got 'em." The guard reached into his pouch. Dahlquist gave him back the sheet; the guard took it, hesitated, then leaned his weapon against his hip, shifted the paper to his left hand, and dug into his pouch with his right.

ККККК Dahlquist grabbed the gun, shoved it between the guard's legs, and jerked. He threw the weapon away and ducked into the airlock. As he slammed the door he saw the guard struggling to his feet and reaching for his side arm. He dogged the outer door shut and felt a tingle in his fingers as a slug struck the door.

ККККК He flung himself at the inner door, jerked the spill lever, rushed back to the outer door and hung his weight on the handle. At once he could feel it stir. The guard was lifting up; the lieutenant was pulling down, with only his low Moon weight to anchor him. Slowly the handle raised before his eyes.

ККККК Air from the bomb room rushed into the lock through the spill valve. Dahlquist felt his space suit settle on his body as the pressure in the lock began to equal the pressure in the suit. He quit straining and let the guard raise the handle. It did not matter; thirteen tons of air pressure now held the door closed.

ККККК He latched open the inner door to the bomb room, so that it could not swing shut. As long as it was open, the airlock could not operate; no one could enter.

ККККК Before him in the room, one for each projectile rocket, were the atom bombs, spaced in rows far enough apart to defeat any faint possibility of spontaneous chain reaction. They were the deadliest things in the known universe, but they were his babies. He had placed himself between them and anyone who would misuse them.

ККККК But, now that he was here, he had no plan to use his temporary advantage.

ККККК The speaker on the wall sputtered into life. "Hey! Lieutenant! What goes on here? You gone crazy?" Dahlquist did not answer. Let Lopez stay confused-it would take him that much longer to make up his mind what to do. And Johnny Dahlquist needed as many minutes as he could squeeze. Lopez went on protesting. Finally he shut up.

ККККК Johnny had followed a blind urge not to let the bombs - his bombs! - be used for "demonstrations on unimportant towns." But what to do next? Well, Towers couldn't get through the lock. Johnny would sit tight until hell froze over.

ККККК Don't kid yourself, John Ezra! Towers could get in. Some high explosive against the outer door-then the air would whoosh out, our boy Johnny would drown in blood from his burst lungs-and the bombs would be sitting there, unhurt. They were built to stand the jump from Moon to Earth; vacuum would not hurt them at all.

ККККК He decided to stay in his space suit; explosive decompression didn't appeal to him. Come to think about it, death from old age was his choice.

ККККК Or they could drill a hole, let out the air, and open, the door without wrecking the lock. Or Towers might even have a new airlock built outside the old. Not likely, Johnny thought; a coup d'etat depended on speed. Towers was almost sure to take the quickest way-blasting. And Lopez was probably calling the Base right now. Fifteen minutes for Towers to suit up and get here, maybe a short dicker-then whoosh! the party is over.

ККККК Fifteen minutes - In fifteen minutes the bombs might fall back into the hands of the conspirators; in fifteen minutes he must make the bombs unusable.

ККККК An atom bomb is just two or more pieces of fissionable metal, such as plutonium. Separated, they are no more explosive than a pound of butter; slapped together, they explode. The complications lie in the gadgets and circuits and gun used to slap them together in the exact way and at the exact time and place required.

ККККК These circuits, the bomb's "brain," are easily destroyed - but the bomb itself is hard to destroy because of its very simplicity. Johnny decided to smash the "brains" - and quickly!

ККККК The only tools at hand were simple ones used in handling the bombs. Aside from a Geiger counter, the speaker on the walkie-talkie circuit, a television rig to the base, and the bombs themselves, the room was bare. A bomb to be worked on was taken elsewhere-not through fear of explosion, but to reduce radiation exposure for personnel. The radioactive material in a bomb is buried in a "tamper" - in these bombs, gold. Gold stops alpha, beta, and much of the deadly gamma radiation - but not neutrons.

ККККК The slippery, poisonous neutrons which plutonium gives off had to escape, or a chain reaction - explosion! - would result. The room was bathed in an invisible, almost undetectable rain of neutrons. The place was unhealthy; regulations called for staying in it as short a time as possible.

ККККК The Geiger counter clicked off the "background" radiation, cosmic rays, the trace of radioactivity in the Moon's crust, and secondary radioactivity set up all through the room by neutrons. Free neutrons have the nasty trait of infecting what they strike, making it radioactive, whether it be concrete wall or human body. In time the room would have to be abandoned.

ККККК Dahlquist twisted a knob on the Geiger counter; the instrument stopped clicking. He had used a suppressor circuit to cut out noise of "background" radiation at the level then present. It reminded him uncomfortably of the danger of staying here. He took out the radiation exposure film all radiation personnel carry; it was a direct-response type and had been fresh when he arrived. The most sensitive end was faintly darkened already. Half way down the film a red line crossed it. Theoretically, if the wearer was exposed to enough radioactivity in a week to darken the film to that line, he was, as Johnny reminded himself, a "dead duck".

ККККК Off came the cumbersome space suit; what he needed was speed. Do the job and surrender-better to be a prisoner than to linger in a place as "hot" as this.

ККККК He grabbed a ball hammer from the tool rack and got busy, pausing only to switch off the television pick-up. The first bomb bothered him. He started to smash the covet plate of the "brain," then stopped, filled with reluctance. All his life he had prized fine apparatus.

ККККК He nerved himself and swung; glass tinkled, metal creaked. His mood changed; he began to feel a shameful pleasure in destruction. He pushed on with enthusiasm, swinging, smashing, destroying!

ККККК So intent was he that he did not at first hear his name called. "Dahlquist! Answer me! Are you there?"

ККККК He wiped sweat and looked at the TV screen. Towers' perturbed features stared out.

ККККК Johnny was shocked to find that he had wrecked only six bombs. Was he going to be caught before he could finish? Oh, no! He had to finish. Stall, son, stall! "Yes, Colonel? You called me?"

ККККК "I certainly did! What's the meaning of this?"

ККККК "I'm sorry, Colonel."

ККККК Towers' expression relaxed a little. "Turn on your pick-up, Johnny, I can't see you. What was that noise?"

ККККК "The pick-up is on," Johnny lied. "It must be out of order. That noise-uh, to tell the truth, Colonel, I was fixing things so that nobody could get in here."

ККККК Towers hesitated, then said firmly, "I'm going to assume that you are sick and send you to the Medical Officer. But I want you to come out of there, right away. That's an order, Johnny."

ККККК Johnny answered slowly. "I can't just yet, Colonel. I came here to make up my mind and I haven't quite made it up. You said to see you after lunch."

ККККК "I meant you to stay in your quarters."

ККККК "Yes, sir. But I thought I ought to stand watch on the bombs, in case I decided you were wrong."

ККККК "It's not for you to decide, Johnny. I'm your superior officer. You are sworn to obey me."

ККККК "Yes, sir." This was wasting time; the old fox might have a squad on the way now. "But I swore to keep the peace, too. Could you come out here and talk it over with me? I don't want to do the wrong thing."

ККККК Towers smiled. "A good idea, Johnny. You wait there. I'm sure you'll see the light." He switched off.

ККККК "There," said Johnny. "I hope you're convinced that I'm a half-wit-you slimy mistake!" He picked up the hammer, ready to use the minutes gained.

ККККК He stopped almost at once; it dawned on him that wrecking the "brains" was not enough. There were no spare "brains," but there was a well-stocked electronics shop. Morgan could jury-rig control circuits for bombs. Why, he could himself - not a neat job, but one that would work. Damnation! He would have to wreck the bombs themselves - and in the next ten minutes.

ККККК But a bomb was solid chunks of metal, encased in a heavy tamper, all tied in with a big steel gun. It couldn't be done - not in ten minutes.

ККККК Damn!

ККККК Of course, there was one way. He knew the control circuits; he also knew how to beat them. Take this bomb: if he took out the safety bar, unhooked the proximity circuit, shorted the delay circuit, and cut in the arming circuit by hand - then unscrewed that and reached in there, he could, with just a long, stiff wire, set the bomb off.

ККККК Blowing the other bombs and the valley itself to Kingdom Come.

ККККК Also Johnny Dahlquist. That was the rub.

ККККК All this time he was doing what he had thought out, up to the step of actually setting off the bomb. Ready to go, the bomb seemed to threaten, as if crouching to spring. He stood up, sweating.

ККККК He wondered if he had the courage. He did not want to funk - and hoped that he would. He dug into his jacket and took out a picture of Edith and the baby. "Honeychild," he said, "if I get out of this, I'll never even try to beat a red light." He kissed the picture and put it back. There was nothing to do but wait.

ККККК What was keeping Towers? Johnny wanted to make sure that Towers was in blast range. What a joke on the jerk! Me sitting here, ready to throw the switch on him. The idea tickled him; it led to a better: why blow himself up - alive?

ККККК There was another way to rig it - a "dead man" control. Jigger up some way so that the last step, the one that set off the bomb, would not happen as long as he kept his hand on a switch or a lever or something. Then, if they blew open the door, or shot him, or anything - up goes the balloon!

ККККК Better still, if he could hold them off with the threat of it, sooner or later help would come - Johnny was sure that most of the Patrol was not in this stinking conspiracy - and then: Johnny comes marching home! What a reunion! He'd resign and get a teaching job; he'd stood his watch.

ККККК All the while, he was working. Electrical? No, too little time. Make it a simple mechanical linkage. He had it doped out but had hardly begun to build it when the loudspeaker called him. "Johnny?"

ККККК "That you, Colonel?" His hands kept busy.

ККККК "Let me in."

ККККК "Well, now, Colonel, that wasn't in the agreement." Where in blue blazes was something to use as a long lever?

ККККК "I'll come in alone, Johnny, I give you my word. We'll talk face to face."

ККККК His word! "We can talk over the speaker, Colonel." Hey, that was it-a yardstick, hanging on the tool rack.

ККККК "Johnny, I'm warning you. Let me in, or I'll blow the door off."

ККККК A wire-he needed a wire, fairly long and stiff. He tore the antenna from his suit. "You wouldn't do that, Colonel. It would ruin the bombs."

ККККК "Vacuum won't hurt the bombs. Quit stalling."

ККККК "Better check with Major Morgan. Vacuum won't hurt them; explosive decompression would wreck every circuit." The Colonel was not a bomb specialist; he shut up for several minutes. Johnny went on working.

ККККК "Dahlquist," Towers resumed, "that was a clumsy, lie. I checked with Morgan. You have sixty seconds to get into your suit, if you aren't already. I'm going to blast the door."

ККККК "No, you won't," said Johnny. "Ever hear of a 'dead man' switch?" Now for a counterweight-and a sling.

ККККК "Eh? What do you mean?"

ККККК "I've rigged number seventeen to set off by hand. But I put in a gimmick. It won't blow while I hang on to a strap I've got in my hand. But if anything happens to me - up she goes! You are about fifty feet from the blast center. Think it over."

ККККК There was a short silence. "I don't believe you."

ККККК "No? Ask Morgan. He'll believe me. He can inspect it, over the TV pickup." Johnny lashed the belt of his space suit to the end of the yardstick.

ККККК "You said the pick-up was out of order."

ККККК "So I lied. This time I'll prove it. Have Morgan call me."

ККККК Presently Major Morgan's face appeared. "Lieutenant Dahlquist?"

ККККК "Hi, Stinky. Wait a sec." With great care Dahlquist made one last connection while holding down the end of the yardstick. Still careful, he shifted his grip to the belt, sat down on the floor, stretched an arm and switched on the TV pick-up, "Can you see me, Stinky?"

ККККК "I can see you," Morgan answered stiffly. "What is this nonsense?"

ККККК "A little surprise I whipped up." He explained it-what circuits he had cut out, what ones had been shorted, just how the jury-rigged mechanical sequence fitted in.

ККККК Morgan nodded. "But you're bluffing, Dahlquist. I feel sure that you haven't disconnected the 'K' circuit. You don't have the guts to blow yourself up."

ККККК Johnny chuckled. "I sure haven't. But that's the beauty of it. It can't go off, so long as I am alive. If your greasy boss, ex-Colonel Towers, blasts the door, then I'm dead and the bomb goes off. It won't matter to me, but it will to him. Better tell him." He switched off.

ККККК Towers came on over the speaker shortly. "Dahlquist?"

ККККК "I hear you."

ККККК "There's no need to throw away your life. Come out and you will be retired on full pay. You can go home to your family. That's a promise."

ККККК Johnny got mad. "You keep my family out of this!"

ККККК "Think of them, man."

ККККК "Shut up. Get back to your hole. I feel a need to scratch and this whole shebang might just explode in your lap."

ККККК JOHNNY SAT UP with a start. He had dozed, his hand hadn't let go the sling, but he had the shakes when he thought about it.

ККККК Maybe he should disarm the bomb and depend on their not daring to dig him out? But Towers' neck was already in hock for treason; Towers might risk it. If he did and the bomb were disarmed, Johnny would be dead and Towers would have the bombs. No, he had gone this far; he wouldn't let his baby girl grow up in a dictatorship just to catch some sleep.

ККККК He heard the Geiger counter clicking and remembered having used the suppressor circuit The radioactivity in the room must be increasing, perhaps from scattering the "brain" circuits-the circuits were sure to be infected; they had lived too long too close to plutonium. He dug out his film.

ККККК The dark area was spreading toward the red line.

ККККК He put it back and said, "Pal, better break this deadlock or you are going to shine like a watch dial." It was a figure of speech; infected animal tissue does not glow-it simply dies, slowly.

ККККК The TV screen lit up; Towers' face appeared. "Dahlquist? I want to talk to you."

ККККК "Go fly a kite."

ККККК "Let's admit you have us inconvenienced."

ККККК "Inconvenienced, hell-I've got you stopped."

ККККК "For the moment I'm arranging to get more bombs-"

ККККК "Liar."

ККККК "-but you are slowing us up. I have a proposition."

ККККК "Not interested."

ККККК "Wait. When this is over I will be chief of the world government. If you cooperate, even now, I will make you my administrative head."

ККККК Johnny told him what to do with it. Towers said, "Don't be stupid. What do you gain by dying?"

ККККК Johnny grunted. "Towers, what a prime stinker you are. You spoke of my family. I'd rather see them dead than living under a two-bit Napoleon like you. Now go away-I've got some thinking to do."

ККККК Towers switched off.

ККККК Johnny got out his film again. It seemed no darker but it reminded, him forcibly that time was running out. He was hungry and thirsty-and he could not stay awake forever. It took four days to get a ship up from Earth; he could not expect rescue any sooner. And he wouldn't last four days-once the darkening spread past the red line he was a goner.

ККККК His only chance was to wreck the bombs beyond repair, and get out-before that film got much darker.

ККККК He thought about ways, then got busy. He hung a weight on the sling, tied a line to it. If Towers blasted the door, he hoped to jerk the rig loose before he died.

ККККК There was a simple, though arduous, way to wreck the bombs beyond any capacity of Moon Base to repair them. The heart of each was two hemispheres of plutonium, their flat surfaces polished smooth to permit perfect contact when slapped together. Anything less would prevent the chain reaction on which atomic explosion depended.

ККККК Johnny started taking apart one of the bombs.

ККККК He had to bash off four lugs, then break the glass envelope around the inner assembly. Aside from that the bomb came apart easily. At last he had in front of him two gleaming, mirror-perfect half globes.

ККККК A blow with the hammer-and one was no longer perfect. Another blow and the second cracked like glass; he had tapped its crystalline structure just right.

ККККК Hours later, dead tired, he went back to the armed bomb. Forcing himself to steady down, with extreme care he disarmed it. Shortly its silvery hemispheres too were useless. There was no longer a usable bomb in the room-but huge fortunes in the most valuable, most poisonous, and most deadly metal in the known world were spread around the floor.

ККККК Johnny looked at the deadly stuff. "Into your suit and out of here, son," he said aloud. "I wonder what Towers will say?"

ККККК He walked toward the rack, intending to hang up the hammer. As he passed, the Geiger counter chattered wildly.

ККККК Plutonium hardly affects a Geiger counter; secondary infection from plutonium does. Johnny looked at the hammer, then held it closer to the Geiger counter. The counter screamed...

ККККК Johnny tossed it hastily away and started back toward his suit.

ККККК As he passed the counter it chattered again. He stopped short.

ККККК He pushed one hand close to the counter. Its clicking picked up to a steady roar. Without moving he reached into his pocket and took out his exposure film.

ККККК It was dead black from end to end.

ККККК PLUTONIUM TAKEN into the body moves quickly to bone marrow. Nothing can be done; the victim is finished. Neutrons from it smash through the body, ionizing tissue, transmuting atoms into radioactive isotopes, destroying and killing. The fatal dose is unbelievably small; a mass a tenth the size of a grain of table salt is more than enough-a dose small enough to enter through the tiniest scratch. During the historic "Manhattan Project" immediate high amputation was considered the only possible first-aid measure.

ККККК Johnny knew all this but it no longer disturbed him. He sat on the floor, smoking a hoarded cigarette, and thinking. The events of his long watch were running through his mind.

ККККК He blew a puff of smoke at the Geiger counter and smiled without humor to hear it chatter more loudly. By now even his breath was "hot" carbon-14, he supposed, exhaled from his blood stream as carbon dioxide. It did not matter.

ККККК There was no longer any point in surrendering, nor would he give Towers the satisfaction-he would finish out this watch right here. Besides, by keeping up the bluff that one bomb was ready to blow, he could stop them from capturing the raw material from which bombs were made. That might be important in the long run.

ККККК He accepted, without surprise, the fact that he was not unhappy. There was a sweetness about having no further worries of any sort. He did not hurt, he was not uncomfortable, he was no longer even hungry. Physically he still felt fine and his mind was at peace. He was dead - he knew that he was dead; yet for a time he was able to walk and breathe and see and feel.

ККККК He was not even lonesome. He was not alone; there were comrades with him - the boy with his finger in the dike, Colonel Bowie, too ill to move but insisting that he be carried across the line, the dying Captain of the Chesapeake still with deathless challenge on his lips, Rodger Young peering into the gloom. They gathered about him in the dusky bomb room.

ККККК And of course there was Edith. She was the only one he was aware of. Johnny wished that he could see her face more clearly. Was she angry? Or proud and happy?

ККККК Proud though unhappy - he could see her better now and even feel her hand. He held very still.

ККККК Presently his cigarette burned down to his fingers. He took a final puff, blew it at the Geiger counter, and put it out. It was his last. He gathered several butts and fashioned a roll-your-own with a bit of paper found in a pocket. He lit it carefully and settled back to wait for Edith to show up again. He was very happy.

ККККК He was still propped against the bomb case, the last of his salvaged cigarettes cold at his side, when the speaker called out again. "Johnny? Hey, Johnny! Can you hear me? This is Kelly. It's all over. The Lafayette landed and Towers blew his brains out. Johnny? Answer me."

ККККК When they opened the outer door, the first man in carried a Geiger counter in front of him on the end of a long pole. He stopped at the threshold and backed out hastily. "Hey, chief!" he called. "Better get some handling equipment - uh, and a lead coffin, too."

ККККК "Four days it took the little ship and her escort to reach Earth. Four days while all of Earth's people awaited her arrival. For ninety-eight hours all commercial programs were off television; instead there was an endless dirge - the Dead March from Saul, the Valhalla theme, Going Home, the Patrol's own Landing Orbit.

ККККК "The nine ships landed at Chicago Port. A drone tractor removed the casket from the small ship; the ship was then refueled and blasted off in an escape trajectory, thrown away into outer space, never again to be used for a lesser purpose.

ККККК "The tractor progressed to the Illinois town where Lieutenant Dahlquist had been born, while the dirge continued. There it placed the casket on a pedestal, inside a barrier marking the distance of safe approach. Space marines, arms reversed and heads bowed, stood guard around it; the crowds stayed outside this circle. And still the dirge continued.

ККККК "When enough time had passed, long, long after the heaped flowers had withered, the lead casket was enclosed in marble, just as you see it today."

Gentlemen, Be Seated

ККККК IT TAKES both agoraphobes and claustrophobes to colonize the Moon. Or make it agoraphiles and claustrophiles, for the men who go out into space had better not have phobias. If anything on a planet, in a planet, or in the empty reaches around the planets can frighten a man, he should stick to Mother Earth. A man who would make his living away from terra firma must be willing to be shut up in a cramped spaceship, knowing that it may become his coffin, and yet he must be undismayed by the wide-open spaces of space itself. Spacemen-men who work in space, pilots and jetmen and astrogators and such-are men who like a few million miles of elbow room.

ККККК On the other hand the Moon colonists need to be the sort who feel cozy burrowing around underground like so many pesky moles.

ККККК On my second trip to Luna City I went over to Richardson Observatory both to see the Big Eye and to pick up a story to pay for my vacation. I flashed my Journalists' Guild card, sweet-talked a bit, and ended with the paymaster showing me around. We went out the north tunnel, which was then being bored to the site of the projected coronascope.

ККККК It was a dull trip-climb on a scooter, ride down a completely featureless tunnel, climb off and go through an airlock, get on another scooter and do it all over again. Mr. Knowles filled in with sales talk. "This is temporary," he explained. "When we get the second tunnel dug, we'll cross-connect, take out the airlocks, put a northbound slidewalk in this one, a southbound slidewalk in the other one, and you'll make the trip in less than three minutes. Just like Luna City-or Manhattan."

ККККК "Why not take out the airlocks now?" I asked, as we entered another airlock-about the seventh. "So far, the pressure is the same on each side of each lock."

ККККК Knowles looked at me quizzically. "You wouldn't take advantage of a peculiarity of this planet just to work up a sensational feature story?"

ККККК I was irked. "Look here," I told him. "I'm as reliable as the next word-mechanic, but if something is not kosher about this project let's go back right now and forget it. I won't hold still for censorship."

ККККК "Take it easy, Jack," he said mildly-it was the first time he had used my first name; I noted it and discounted it. "Nobody's going to censor you. We're glad to cooperate with you fellows, but the Moon's had too much bad publicity now-publicity it didn't deserve."

ККККК I didn't say anything.

ККККК "Every engineering job has its own hazards," he insisted, "and its advantages, too. Our men don't get malaria and they don't have to watch out for rattlesnakes. I can show you figures that prove it's safer to be a sandhog in the Moon than it is to be a file clerk in Des Moines-all things considered. For example, we rarely have any broken bones in the Moon; the gravity is so low-while that Des Moines file clerk takes his life in his hands every time he steps in or out of his bathtub."

ККККК "Okay, okay," I interrupted, "so the place is safe. What's the catch?"

ККККК "It is safe. Not company figures, mind you, nor Luna City Chamber of Commerce, but Lloyd's of London."

ККККК "So you keep unnecessary airlocks. Why?"

ККККК He hesitated before he answered, "Quakes."

ККККК Quakes. Earthquakes-moonquakes, I mean. I glanced at the curving walls sliding past and I wished I were in Des Moines. Nobody wants to be buried alive, but to have it happen in the Moon-why, you wouldn't stand a chance. No matter how quick they got to you, your lungs would be ruptured. No air.

ККККК "They don't happen very often," Knowles went on, "but we have to be prepared. Remember, the Earth is eighty times the mass of the Moon, so the tidal stresses here are eighty times as great as the Moon's effect on Earth tides."

ККККК "Come again," I said. "There isn't any water on the Moon. How can there be tides?"

ККККК "You don't have to have water to have tidal stresses. Don't worry about it; just accept it. What you get is unbalanced stresses. They can cause quakes."

ККККК I nodded. "I see. Since everything in the Moon has to be sealed airtight, you've got to watch out for quakes. These airlocks are to confine your losses." I started visualizing myself as one of the losses.

ККККК "Yes and no. The airlocks would limit an accident all right, if there was one-which there won't be-this place is safe. Primarily they let us work on a section of the tunnel at no pressure without disturbing the rest of it. But they are more than that; each one is a temporary expansion joint. You can tie a compact structure together and let it ride out a quake, but a thing as long as this tunnel has to give, or it will spring a leak. A flexible seal is hard to accomplish in the Moon."

ККККК "What's wrong with rubber?" I demanded. I was feeling jumpy enough to be argumentative. "I've got a ground-car back home with two hundred thousand miles on it, yet I've never touched the tires since they were sealed up in Detroit."

ККККК Knowles sighed. "I should have brought one of the engineers along, Jack. The volatiles that keep rubbers soft tend to boil away in vacuum and the stuff gets stiff. Same for the flexible plastics. When you expose them to low temperature as well they get brittle as eggshells."

ККККК The scooter stopped as Knowles was speaking and we got off just in time to meet half a dozen men coming out of the next airlock. They were wearing spacesuits, or, more properly, pressure suits, for they had hose connections instead of oxygen bottles, and no sun visors. Their helmets were thrown back and each man had his head pushed through the opened zipper in the front of his suit, giving him a curiously two headed look. Knowles called out, "Hey, Konski!"

ККККК One of the men turned around. He must have been six feet two and fat for his size. I guessed him at three hundred pounds, earthside. "It's Mr. Knowles," he said happily. "Don't tell me I've gotten a raise."

ККККК "You're making too much money now, Fatso. Shake hands with Jack Arnold. Jack, this is Fatso Konski-the best sandhog in four planets."

ККККК "Only four?" inquired Konski. He slid his right arm out of his suit and stuck his bare hand into mine. I said I was glad to meet him and tried to get my hand back before he mangled It.

ККККК "Jack Arnold wants to see how you seal these tunnels," Knowles went on. "Come along with us."

ККККК Konski stared at the overhead. "Well, now that you mention it, Mr. Knowles, I've just finished my shift."

ККККК Knowles said, "Fatso, you're a money grubber and inhospitable as well. Okay-time-and-a-half." Konski turned and started unsealing the airlock.

ККККК The tunnel beyond looked much the same as the section we had left except that there were no scooter tracks and the lights were temporary, rigged on extensions. A couple of hundred feet away the tunnel was blocked by a bulkhead with a circular door in it. The fat man followed my glance. "That's the movable lock," he explained. "No air beyond it. We excavate just ahead of it."

ККККК "Can I see where you've been digging?"

ККККК "Not without we go back and get you a suit."

ККККК I shook my head. There were perhaps a dozen bladder-like objects in the tunnel, the size and shape of toy balloons. They seemed to displace exactly their own weight of air; they floated without displaying much tendency to rise or settle. Konski batted one out of his way and answered me before I could ask. "This piece of tunnel was pressurized today," he told me. "These tag-alongs search out stray leaks. They're sticky inside. They get sucked up against a leak, break, and the goo gets sucked in, freezes and seals the leak."

ККККК "Is that a permanent repair?" I wanted to know.

ККККК "Are you kidding? It just shows the follow-up man where to weld."

ККККК "Show him a flexible joint," Knowles directed.

ККККК "Coming up." We paused half-way down the tunnel and Konski pointed to a ring segment that ran completely around the tubular tunnel. "We put in a flex joint every hundred feet. It's glass cloth, gasketed onto the two steel sections it joins. Gives the tunnel a certain amount of springiness."

ККККК "Glass cloth? To make an airtight seal?" I objected.

ККККК "The cloth doesn't seal; it's for strength. You got ten layers of cloth, with a silicone grease spread between the layers. It gradually goes bad, from the outside in, but it'll hold five years or more before you have to put on another coat."

ККККК I asked Konski how he liked his job, thinking I might get some story. He shrugged. "It's all right. Nothing to it. Only one atmosphere of pressure. Now you take when I was working under the Hudson-"

ККККК "And getting paid a tenth of what you get here," put in Knowles.

ККККК "Mr. Knowles, you grieve me," Konski protested. "It ain't the money; it's the art of the matter. Take Venus. They pay as well on Venus and a man has to be on his toes. The muck is so loose you have to freeze it. It takes real caisson men to work there. Half of these punks here are just miners; a case of the bends would scare 'em silly."

ККККК "Tell him why you left Venus, Fatso."

ККККК Konski expressed dignity. "Shall we examine the movable shield, gentlemen?" he asked.

ККККК We puttered around a while longer and I was ready to go back. There wasn't much to see, and the more I saw of the place the less I liked it. Konski was undogging the door of the airlock leading back when something happened.

ККККК I was down on my hands and knees and the place was pitch dark. Maybe I screamed-I don't know. There was a ringing in my ears. I tried to get up and then stayed where I was. It was the darkest dark I ever saw, complete blackness. I thought I was blind.

ККККК A torchlight beam cut through it, picked me out, and then moved on. "What was it?" I shouted. "What happened? Was it a quake?"

ККККК "Stop yelling," Konski's voice answered me casually. "That was no quake, it was some sort of explosion. Mr. Knowles-you all right?"

ККККК "I guess so." He gasped for breath. "What happened?"

ККККК "Dunno. Let's look around a bit." Konski stood up and poked his beam around the tunnel, whistling softly. His light was the sort that has to be pumped; it flickered.

ККККК "Looks tight, but I hear-Oh, oh! Sister!" His beam was focused on a part of the flexible joint, near the floor.

ККККК The "tag-along" balloons were gathering at this spot. Three were already there; others were drifting in slowly. As we watched, one of them burst and collapsed in a sticky mass that marked the leak.

ККККК The hole sucked up the burst balloon and began to hiss. Another rolled onto the spot, joggled about a bit, then it, too, burst. It took a little longer this time for the leak to absorb and swallow the gummy mass.

ККККК Konski passed me the light. "Keep pumping it, kid." He shrugged his right arm out of the suit and placed his bare hand over the spot where, at that moment, a third bladder burst.

ККККК "How about it, Fats?" Mr. Knowles demanded.

ККККК "Couldn't say. Feels like a hole as big as my thumb. Sucks like the devil."

ККККК "How could you get a hole like that?"

ККККК "Search me. Poked through from the outside, maybe."

ККККК "You got the leak checked?"

ККККК "I think so. Go back and check the gage. Jack, give him the light."

ККККК Knowles trotted back to the airlock. Presently he sang out, "Pressure steady!"

ККККК "Can you read the vernier?" Konski called to him.

ККККК "Sure. Steady by the vernier."

ККККК "How much we lose?"

ККККК "Not more than a pound or two. What was the pressure before?"

ККККК "Earth-normal."

ККККК "Lost a pound four tenths, then."

ККККК "Not bad. Keep on going, Mr. Knowles. There's a tool kit just beyond the lock in the next section. Bring me back a number three patch, or bigger."

ККККК "Right." We heard the door open and clang shut, and we were again in total darkness. I must have made some sound for Konski told me to keep my chin up.

ККККК Presently we heard the door, and the blessed light shone out again. "Got it?" said Konski.

ККККК "No, Fatso. No . . ." Knowles' voice was shaking. "There's no air on the other side. The other door wouldn't open."

ККККК "Jammed, maybe?"

ККККК "No, I checked the manometer. There's no pressure in the next section."

ККККК Konski whistled again. "Looks like we'll wait till they come for us. In that case-- Keep the light on me, Mr. Knowles. Jack, help me out of this suit."

ККККК "What are you planning to do?"

ККККК "If I can't get a patch, I got to make one, Mr. Knowles. This suit is the only thing around." I started to help him-a clumsy job since he had to keep his hand on the leak.

ККККК "You can stuff my shirt in the hole," Knowles suggested.

ККККК "I'd as soon bail water with a fork. It's got to be the suit; there's nothing else around that will hold the pressure." When he was free of the suit, he had me smooth out a portion of the back, then, as he snatched his hand away, I slapped the suit down over the leak. Konski promptly sat on it. "There," he said happily, "we've got it corked. Nothing to do but wait."

ККККК I started to ask him why he hadn't just sat down on the leak while wearing the suit; then I realized that the seat of the suit was corrugated with insulation-he needed a smooth piece to seal on to the sticky stuff left by the balloons.

ККККК "Let me see your hand," Knowles demanded.

ККККК "It's nothing much." But Knowles examined it anyway. I looked at it and got a little sick. He had a mark like a stigma on the palm, a bloody, oozing wound. Knowles made a compress of his handkerchief and then used mine to tie it in place.

ККККК "Thank you, gentlemen," Konski told us, then added, "we've got time to kill. How about a little pinochle?"

ККККК "With your cards?" asked Knowles.

ККККК "Why, Mr. Knowles! Well-never mind. It isn't right for paymasters to gamble anyhow. Speaking of paymasters, you realize this is pressure work now, Mr. Knowles?"

ККККК "For a pound and four tenths differential?"

ККККК "I'm sure the union would take that view-in the circumstances."

ККККК "Suppose I sit on the leak?"

ККККК "But the rate applies to helpers, too."

ККККК "Okay, miser-triple-time it is."

ККККК "That's more like your own sweet nature, Mr. Knowles. I hope it's a nice long wait."

ККККК "How long a wait do you think it will be, Fatso?"

ККККК "Well, it shouldn't take them more than an hour, even if they have to come all the way from Richardson."

ККККК "Hmm ... what makes you think they will be looking for us?"

ККККК "Huh? Doesn't your office know where you are?"

ККККК "I'm afraid not. I told them I wouldn't be back today."

ККККК Konski thought about it. "I didn't drop my time card. They'll know I'm still inside."

ККККК "Sure they will-tomorrow, when your card doesn't show up at my office."

ККККК "There's that lunkhead on the gate. He'll know he's got three extra inside."

ККККК "Provided he remembers to tell his relief. And provided he wasn't caught in it, too."

ККККК "Yes, I guess so," Konski said thoughtfully. "Jack-better quit pumping that light. You just use up more oxygen."

ККККК We sat there in the darkness for quite a long time, speculating about what had happened. Konski was sure it was an explosion; Knowles said that it put him in mind of a time when he had seen a freight rocket crash on take off. When the talk started to die out, Konski told some stories. I tried to tell one, but I was so nervous-so afraid, I should say-that I couldn't remember the snapper. I wanted to scream.

ККККК After a long silence Konski said, "Jack, give us the light again. I got something figured out."

ККККК "What is it?" Knowles asked.

ККККК "If we had a patch, you could put on my suit and go for help."

ККККК "There's no oxygen for the suit."

ККККК "That's why I mentioned you. You're the smallest-there'll be enough air in the suit itself to take you through the next section."

ККККК "Well-okay. What are you going to use for a patch?"

ККККК "I'm sitting on it."

ККККК "Huh?"

ККККК "This big broad, round thing I'm sitting on. I'll take my pants off. If I push one of my hams against that hole, I'll guarantee you it'll be sealed tight."

ККККК "But-No, Fats, it won't do. Look what happened to your hand. You'd hemorrhage through your skin and bleed to death before I could get back."

ККККК "I'll give you two to one I wouldn't-for fifty, say."

ККККК "If I win, how do I collect?"

ККККК "You're a cute one, Mr. Knowles. But look-I've got two or three inches of fat padding me. I won't bleed much-a strawberry mark, no more."

ККККК Knowles shook his head. "It's not necessary. If we keep quiet, there's air enough here for several days."

ККККК "It's not the air, Mr. Knowles. Noticed it's getting chilly?"

ККККК I had noticed, but hadn't thought about it. In my misery and funk being cold didn't seem anything more than appropriate. Now I thought about it. When we lost the power line, we lost the heaters, too. It would keep getting colder and colder ... and colder.

ККККК Mr. Knowles saw it, too. "Okay, Fats. Let's get on with it."

ККККК I sat on the suit while Konski got ready. After he got his pants off he snagged one of the tag-alongs, burst it, and smeared the sticky insides on his right buttock. Then he turned to me. "Okay, kid-up off the nest." We made the swap-over fast, without losing much air, though the leak hissed angrily. "Comfortable as an easy chair, folks." He grinned.

ККККК Knowles hurried into the suit and left, taking the light with him. We were in darkness again.

ККККК After a while, I heard Konski's voice. "There a game we can play in the dark, Jack. You play chess?"

ККККК "Why, yes-play at it, that is."

ККККК "A good game. Used to play it in the decompression chamber when I was working under the Hudson. What do you say to twenty on a side, just to make it fun?"

ККККК "Uh? Well, all right." He could have made it a thousand; I didn't care.

ККККК "Fine. King's pawn to king three."

ККККК "Uh-king's pawn to king's four."

ККККК "Conventional, aren't you? Puts me in mind of a girl I knew in Hoboken--" What he told about her bad nothing to do with chess, although it did prove she was conventional, in a manner of speaking. "King's bishop to queen's bishop four. Remind me to tell you about her sister, too. Seems she hadn't always been a redhead, but she wanted people to think so. So she-sorry. Go ahead with your move."

ККККК I tried to think but my head was spinning. "Queen's pawn to queen three."

ККККК "Queen to king's bishop three. Anyhow, she--" He went on in great detail. It wasn't new and I doubt if it ever happened to him, but it cheered me up. I actually smiled, there in the dark. "It's your move," he added.

ККККК "Oh." I couldn't remember the board. I decided to get ready to castle, always fairly safe in the early game. "Queen's knight to queen's bishop three."

ККККК "Queen advances to capture your king's bishop's pawn-checkmate. You owe me twenty, Jack."

ККККК "Huh? Why that can't be!"

ККККК "Want to run over the moves?" He checked them off.

ККККК I managed to visualize them, then said, "Why, I'll be a dirty name! You hooked me with a fool's mate!"

ККККК He chuckled. "You should have kept your eye on my queen instead of on the redhead."

ККККК I laughed out loud. "Know any more stories?"

ККККК "Sure." He told another. But when I urged him to go on, he said, "I think I'll just rest a little while, Jack."

ККККК I got up. "You all right, Fats?" He didn't answer; I felt my way over to him in the dark. His face was cold and he didn't speak when I touched him. I could hear his heart faintly when I pressed an ear to his chest, but his hands and feet were like ice.

ККККК I had to pull him loose; he was frozen to the spot. I could feel the ice, though I knew it must be blood. I started to try to revive him by rubbing him, but the hissing of the leak brought me up short. I tore off my own trousers, had a panicky time before I found the exact spot in the dark, and sat down on it, with my right buttock pressed firmly against the opening.

ККККК It grabbed me like a suction cup, icy cold. Then it was fire spreading through my flesh. After a time I couldn't feel anything at all, except a dull ache and coldness.

ККККК There was a light someplace. It flickered on, then went out again. I heard a door clang. I started to shout.

ККККК "Knowles!" I Screamed. "Mr. Knowles!"

ККККК The light flickered on again. "Coming, Jack--"

ККККК I started to blubber. "Oh, you made it! You made it."

ККККК "I didn't make it, Jack. I couldn't reach the next section. When I got back to the lock I passed out." He stopped to wheeze. "There's a crater--" The light flickered off and fell clanging to the floor. "Help me, Jack," he said querulously. "Can't you see I need help? I tried to--"

ККККК I heard him stumble and fall. I called to him, but he didn't answer.

ККККК I tried to get up, but I was stuck fast, a cork in a bottle . . .

ККККК I came to, lying face down-with a clean sheet under me. "Feeling better?" someone asked. It was Knowles, standing by my bed, dressed in a bathrobe.

ККККК "You're dead," I told him.

ККККК "Not a bit." He grinned. "They got to us in time."

ККККК "What happened?" I stared at him, still not believing my eyes.

ККККК "Just like we thought-a crashed rocket. An unmanned mail rocket got out of control and hit the tunnel."

ККККК "Where's Fats?"

ККККК "Hi!"

ККККК I twisted my head around; it was Konski, face down like myself.

ККККК "You owe me twenty," he said cheerfully.

ККККК "I owe you--" I found I was dripping tears for no good reason. "Okay, I owe you twenty. But you'll have to come to Des Moines to collect it."

ККККК The Black Pits of Luna

ККККК THE MORNING after we got to the Moon we went over to Rutherford. Dad and Mr. Latham - Mr. Latham is the man from the Harriman Trust that Dad came to Luna City to see.

ККККК Dad and Mr. Latham had to go anyhow, on business. I got Dad to promise I could go along because it looked like just about my only chance to get out on the surface of the Moon. Luna City is all right, I guess, but I defy you to tell a corridor in Luna City from the sublevels in New York-except that you're light on your feet, of course.

ККККК When Dad came into our hotel suite to say we were ready to leave, I was down on the floor, playing mumblety-peg with my kid brother. Mother was lying down and had asked me to keep the runt quiet. She had been dropsick all the way out from Earth and I guess she didn't feel very good. The runt had been fiddling with the lights, switching them from "dusk" to "desert suntan" and back again. I collared him and sat him down on the floor.

ККККК Of course, I don't play mumblety-peg any more, but, on the Moon, it's a right good game. The knife practically floats and you can do all kinds of things with it. We made up a lot of new rules.

ККККК Dad said, "Switch in plans, my dear. We're leaving for Rutherford right away. Let's pull ourselves together."

ККККК Mother said, "Oh, mercy me-I don't think I'm up to it. You and Dickie run along. Baby Darling and I will just spend a quiet day right here."

ККККК Baby Darling is the runt.

ККККК I could have told her it was the wrong approach. He nearly put my eye out with the knife and said, "Who? What? I'm going too. Let's go!"

ККККК Mother said, "Oh, now, Baby Darling-don't cause Mother Dear any trouble, We'll go to the movies, just you and I."

ККККК The runt is seven years younger than I am, but don't call him "Baby Darling" if you want to get anything out of him. He started to bawl. "You said I could go!" he yelled.

ККККК "No, Baby Darling. I haven't mentioned it to you. I-"

ККККК "Daddy said I could go!"

ККККК "Richard, did you tell Baby he could go?"

ККККК "Why, no, my dear, not that I recall. Perhaps I-"

ККККК The kid cut in fast. "You said I could go anywhere Dickie went. You promised me you promised me you promised me." Sometimes you have to hand it to the runt; he had them jawing about who told him what in nothing flat. Anyhow, that is how twenty minutes later, the four of us were up at the rocket port with Mr. Lathani and climbing into the shuttle for Rutherford.

ККККК The trip only takes about ten minutes and you don't see much, just a glimpse of the Earth while the rocket is still near Luna City and then not even that, since the atom plants where we were going are all on the back side of the Moon, of course. There were maybe a dozen tourists along and most of them were dropsick as soon as we went into free flight. So was Mother. Some people never will get used to rockets.

ККККК But Mother was all right as soon as we grounded and were inside again. Rutherford isn't like Luna City; instead of extending a tube out to the ship, they send a pressurized car out to latch on to the airlock of the rocket, then you jeep back about a mile to the entrance to underground. I liked that and so did the runt. Dad had to go off on business with Mr. Latham, leaving Mother and me and the runt to join up with the party of tourists for the trip through the laboratories.

ККККК It was all right but nothing to get excited about. So far as I can see, one atomics plant looks about like another; Rutherford could just as well have been. the main plant outside Chicago. I mean to say everything that is anything is out of sight, covered up, shielded. All you get to see are some dials and instrument boards and people watching them. Remote control stuff, like Oak Ridge. The guide tells you about the experiments going on and they show you some movies - that's all.

ККККК I liked our guide. He looked like Tom Jeremy in The Space Troopers. I asked him if he was a spaceman and he looked at me kind of funny and said, no, that he was just a Colonial Services ranger. Then he asked me where I went to school and if I belonged to the Scouts. He said he was scoutmaster of Troop One, Rutherford City, Moonbat Patrol.

ККККК I found out there was just the one patrol-not many scouts on the Moon, I suppose.

ККККК Dad and Mr. Latham joined us just as we finished the tour while Mr. Perrin - that's our guide - was announcing the trip outside. "The conducted tour of Rutherford," he said, talking as if it were a transcription, "includes a trip by spacesuit out on the surface of the Moon, without extra charge, to see the Devil's Graveyard and the site of the Great Disaster of 1984. The trip is optional. There is nothing particularly dangerous about it and we've never had any one hurt, but the Commission requires that you sign a separate release for your own safety if you choose to make this trip. The trip takes about one hour. Those preferring to remain behind will find movies and refreshments in the coffee shop."

ККККК Dad was rubbing his hands together. "This is for me," he announced. "Mr. Latham, I'm glad we got back in time. I wouldn't have missed this for the world."

ККККК "You'll enjoy it," Mr. Latham agreed, "and so will you, Mrs. Logan. I'm tempted to come along myself."

ККККК "Why don't you?' Dad asked.

ККККК "No, I want to have the papers ready for you and the Director to sign when you get back and before you leave for Luna City."

ККККК "Why knock yourself out?" Dad urged him. "If a man's word is no good, his signed contract is no better. You can mail the stuff to me at New York."

ККККК Mr. Latham shook his head. "No, really - I've been out on the surface dozens of times. But I'll come along and help you into your spacesuits."

ККККК Mother said, "Oh dear," she didn't think she'd better go; she wasn't sure she could stand the thought of being shut up in a spacesuit and besides glaring sunlight always gave her a headache.

ККККК Dad said, "Don't be silly, my dear; it's the chance of a lifetime," and Mr. Latham told her that the filters on the helmets kept the light from being glaring. Mother always objects and then gives in. I suppose women just don't have any force of character. Like the night before - earth-night, I mean, Luna City time - she had bought a fancy moonsuit to wear to dinner in the Earth-View room at the hotel, then she got cold feet. She complained to Dad that she was too plump to dare to dress like that.

ККККК Well, she did show an awful lot of skin. Dad said, "Nonsense, my dear. You look ravishing." So she wore it and had a swell time, especially when a pilot tried to pick her up.

ККККК It was like that this time. She came along. We went into the outfitting room and I looked around while Mr. Perrin was getting them all herded in and having the releases signed. There was the door to the airlock to the surface at the far end, with a bull's-eye window in it and another one like it in the door beyond. You could peek through and see the surface of the Moon beyond, looking hot and bright and sort of improbable, in spite of the amber glass in the windows. And there was a double row of spacesuits hanging up, looking like empty men. I snooped around until Mr. Perrin got around to our party.

ККККК "We can arrange to leave the youngster in the care of the hostess in the coffee shop," he was telling Mother. He reached down and tousled the runt's hair. The runt tried to bite him and he snatched his hand away in a hurry.

ККККК "Thank you, Mr. Perkins," Mother said, "I suppose that's best-though perhaps I had better stay behind with him."

ККККК "'Perrin' is the name," Mr. Perrin said mildly. "It won't be necessary. The hostess will take good care of him."

ККККК Why do adults talk in front of kids as if they couldn't understand English? They should have just shoved him into the coffee shop. By now the runt knew he was being railroaded. He looked around belligerently. "I go, too," he said loudly. "You promised me."

ККККК "Now Baby Darling," Mother tried to stop him. "Mother Dear didn't tell you-" But she was just whistling to herself; the runt turned on the sound effects.

ККККК "You said I could go where Dickie went; you promised me when I was sick. You promised me you promised me-" and on and on, his voice getting higher and louder all the time.

ККККК Mr. Perrin looked embarrassed. Mother said, "Richard, you'll just have to deal with your child. After all, you were the one who promised him."

ККККК "Me, dear?" Dad looked surprised. "Anyway, I don't see anything so complicated about it. Suppose we did promise him that he could do what Dickie does-we'll simply take him along; that's all."

ККККК Mr. Perrin cleared his throat. "I'm afraid not. I can outfit your older son with a woman's suit; he's tall for his age. But we just don't make any provision for small children."

ККККК Well, we were all tangled up in a mess in no time at all. The runt can always get Mother to go running in circles. Mother has the same effect on Dad. He gets red in the face and starts laying down the law to me. It's sort of a chain reaction, with me on the end and nobody to pass it along to. They came out with a very simple solution - I was to stay behind and take care of Baby Darling brat!

ККККК "But, Dad, you said-" I started in.

ККККК "Never mind!" he cut in. "I won't have this family disrupted in a public squabble. You heard what your mother said."

ККККК I was desperate. "Look, Dad," I said, keeping my voice low, "if I go back to Earth without once having put on a spacesuit and set foot on the surface, you'll just have to find another school to send me to. I won't go back to Lawrenceville; I'd be the joke of the whole place."

ККККК "We'll settle that when we get home."

ККККК "But, Dad, you promised me specifically-"

ККККК "That'll be enough out of you, young man. The matter is closed."

ККККК Mr. Lathain had been standing near by, taking it in but keeping his mouth shut. At this point he cocked an eyebrow at Dad and said very quietly, "Well, R.J., I thought your word was your bond?"

ККККК I wasn't supposed to hear it and nobody else did - a good thing, too, for it doesn't do to let Dad know that you know that he's wrong; it just makes him worse. I changed the subject in a hurry. "Look, Dad, maybe we all can go out. How about that suit over there?" I pointed at a rack that was inside a railing with a locked gate on it. The rack had a couple of dozen suits on it and at the far end, almost out of sight, was a small suit - the boots on it hardly came down to the waist of the suit next to it.

ККККК "Huh?" Dad brightened up. "Why, just the thing! Mr. Perrin! Oh, Mr. Perrin-here a minute! I thought you didn't have any small suits, but here's one that I think will fit."

ККККК Dad was fiddling at the latch of the railing gate. Mr. Perrin stopped him. "We can't use that suit, sir."

ККККК "Uh? Why not?"

ККККК "All the suits inside the railing are private property, not for rent."

ККККК "What? Nonsense-Rutherford is a public enterprise. I want that suit for my child."

ККККК "Well, you can't have it."

ККККК "I'll speak to the Director."

ККККК "I'm afraid you'll have to. That suit was specially built for his daughter."

ККККК And that's just what they did. Mr. Latham got the Director on the line, Dad talked to him, then the Director talked to Mr. Perrin, then he talked to Dad again. The Director didn't mind lending the suit, not to Dad, anyway, but he wouldn't order Mr. Perrin to take a below-age child outside.

ККККК Mr. Perrin was feeling stubborn and I don't blame him, but Dad soothed his feathers down and presently we were all climbing into our suits and getting pressure checks and checking our oxygen supply and switching on our walkie-talkies. Mr. Perrin was calling the roll by radio and reminding us that we were all on the same circuit, so we had better let him do most of the talking and not to make casual remarks or none of us would be able to hear. Then we were in the airlock and he was warning us to stick close together and not try to see how fast we could run or how high we could jump. My heart was rocking around in my chest.

ККККК The outer door of the lock opened and we filed out on the face of the Moon. It was just as wonderful as I dreamed it would be, I guess, but I was so excited that I hardly knew it at the time. The glare of the sun was the brightest thing I ever saw and the shadows so inky black you could hardly see into them. You couldn't hear anything but voices over your radio and you could reach down and switch off that.

ККККК The pumice was soft and kicked up around our feet like smoke, settling slowly, falling in slow motion. Nothing else moved. It was the deadest place you can imagine.

ККККК We stayed on a path, keeping close together for company, except twice when I had to take out after the runt when he found out he could jump twenty feet. I wanted to smack him, but did you ever try to smack anybody wearing a spacesuit? It's no use.

ККККК Mr. Perrin told us to halt presently and started his talk. "You are now in the Devil's Graveyard. The twin spires behind you are five thousand feet above the floor of the plain and have never been scaled. The spires, or monuments, have been named for apocryphal or mythological characters because of the fancied resemblance of this fantastic scene to a giant cemetery. Beelzebub, Thor, Siva, Cain, Set-" He pointed around us. "Lunologists are not agreed as to the origin of the strange shapes. Some claim to see indications of the action of air and water as well as volcanic action. If so, these spires must have been standing for an unthinkably long period, for today, as you see, the Moon-" It was the same sort of stuff you can read any month in Spaceways Magazine, only we were seeing it and that makes a difference, let me tell you.

ККККК The spires reminded me a bit of the rocks below the lodge in the Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs when we went there last summer, only these spires were lots bigger and, instead of blue sky, there was just blackness and hard, sharp stars overhead. Spooky.

ККККК Another ranger bad come with us, with a camera. Mr. Perrin tried to say something else, but the runt had started yapping away and I had to switch off his radio before anybody could hear anything. I kept it switched off until Mr. Perrin finished talking.

ККККК He wanted us to line up for a picture with the spires and the black sky behind us for a background. "Push your faces forward in your helmets so that your features will show. Everybody look pretty. There!" he added as the other guy snapped the shot. "Prints will be ready when you return, at ten dollars a copy."

ККККК I thought it over. I certainly needed one for my room at school and I wanted one to give to - anyhow, I needed another one. I had eighteen bucks left from my birthday money; I could sweet-talk Mother for the balance. So I ordered two of them.

ККККК We climbed a long rise and suddenly we were staring out across the crater, the disaster crater, all that was left of the first laboratory. It stretched away from us, twenty miles across, with the floor covered with shiny, bubbly green glass instead of pumice. There was a monument. I read it:

ККККК HERE ABOUT YOU ARE THE MORTAL REMAINS OF

ККККК ККККК Kurt Schaeffer

ККККК ККККК Maurice Feinstein

ККККК ККККК Thomas Dooley

ККККК ККККК Hazel Hayakawa

ККККК ККККК Cl. Washington Slappey

ККККК ККККК Sam Houston Adams

ККККК WHO DIED FOR THE TRUTH THAT MAKES MEN FREE

ККККК On the Eleventh Day of August 1984

ККККК I felt sort of funny and backed away and went to listen to Mr. Perrin. Dad and some of the other men were asking him questions. "They don't know exactly," he was saying. "Nothing was left. Now we telemeter all the data back to Luna City, as it comes off the instruments, but that was before the line-of-sight relays were set up."

ККККК "What would have happened," some man asked, "if this blast had gone off on Earth?"

ККККК "I'd hate to try to tell you-but that's why they put the lab here, back of the Moon." He glanced at his watch. "Time to leave, everybody." They were milling around, heading back down toward the path, when Mother screamed.

ККККК "Baby! Where's Baby Darling?"

ККККК I was startled but I wasn't scared, not yet. The runt is always running around, first here and then there, but he doesn't go far away, because he always wants to have somebody to yap to.

ККККК My father had one arm around Mother; he signaled to me with the other. "Dick," he snapped, his voice sharp in my earphones, "what have you done with your brother?'

ККККК "Me?" I said. "Don't look at me-the last I saw Mother had him by the hand, walking up the hill here."

ККККК "Don't stall around, Dick. Mother sat down to rest when we got here and sent him to you."

ККККК "Well, if she did, he never showed up." At that, Mother started to scream in earnest. Everybody had been listening, of course-they had to; there was just the one radio circuit. Mr. Perrin stepped up and switched off Mother's talkie, making a sudden silence.

ККККК "Take care of your wife, Mr. Logan," he ordered, then added, "When did you see your child last?"

ККККК Dad couldn't help him any; when they tried switching Mother back into the hook-up, they switched her right off again. She couldn't help and she deafened us.К Mr. Perrin addressed the rest of us. "Has anyone seen the small child we had with us? Don't answer unless you have something to contribute. Did anyone see him wander away?"

ККККК Nobody had. I figured he probably ducked out when everybody was looking at the crater and had their backs to him. I told Mr. Perrin so. "Seems likely," he agreed. "Attention, everybody! I'm going to search for the child. Stay right where you are. Don't move away from this spot. I won't be gone more than ten minutes."

ККККК "Why don't we all go?" somebody wanted to know.

ККККК "Because," said Mr. Perrin, "right now I've - only got one lost. I don't want to make it a dozen." Then he left, taking big easy lopes that covered fifty feet at a step.

ККККК Dad started to take out after him, then thought better of it, for Mother suddenly keeled over, collapsing at the knees and floating gently to the ground. Everybody started talking at once. Some idiot wanted to take her helmet off, but Dad isn't crazy. I switched off my radio so I could hear myself think and started looking around, not leaving the crowd but standing up on the lip of the crater and trying to see as much as I could.

ККККК I was looking back the way we had come; there was no sense in looking at the crater-if he had been in there he would have shown up like a fly on a plate.

ККККК Outside the crater was different; you could have hidden a regiment within a block of us, rocks standing up every which way, boulders big as houses with blow holes all through them, spires, gulleys-it was a mess. I could see Mr. Perrin every now and then, casting around like a dog after a rabbit, and making plenty of time. He was practically flying. When he came to a big boulder he would jump right over it, leveling off face down at the top of his jump, so he could see better.

ККККК Then he was heading back toward us and I switched my radio back on. There was still a lot of talk. Somebody was saying, "We've got to find him before sundown," and somebody else answered, "Don't be silly; the sun won't be down for a week. It's his air supply, I tell you. These suits are only good for four hours." The first voice said, "Oh!" then added softly, "like a fish out of water-" It was then I got scared.

ККККК A woman's voice, sounding kind of choked, said, "The poor, poor darling! We've got to find him before he suffocates," and my father's voice cut in sharply, "Shut up talking that way!" I could hear somebody sobbing. It might have been Mother.

ККККК Mr. Perrin was almost up to us and he cut in, "Silence everybody! I've got to call the base," and he added urgently, "Perrin, calling airlock control; Perrin, calling airlock control!"

ККККК A woman's voice answered, "Come in, Perrin." He told her what was wrong and added, "Send out Smythe to take this party back in. I'm staying. I want every ranger who's around and get me volunteers from among any of the experienced Moon hands. Send out a radio direction-finder by the first ones to leave."

ККККК We didn't wait long, for they came swarming toward us like grasshoppers. They must have been running forty or fifty miles an hour. It would have been something to see, if I hadn't been so sick at my stomach.

ККККК Dad put up an argument about going back, but Mr. Perrin shut him up. "If you hadn't been so confounded set on having your own way, we wouldn't be in a mess. If you had kept track of your kid, he wouldn't be lost. I've got kids of my own; I don't let 'em go out on the face of the Moon when they're too young to take care of themselves. You go on back - I can't be burdened by taking care of you, too."

ККККК I think Dad might even have gotten in a fight with him if Mother hadn't gotten faint again. We went on back with the party.

ККККК The next couple of hours were pretty awful. They let us sit just outside the control room where we could hear Mr. Perrin directing the search, over the loudspeaker. I thought at first that they would snag the runt as soon as they started using the radio direction-finder-pick up his power hum, maybe, even if he didn't say anything-but no such luck; they didn't get anything with it. And the searchers didn't find anything either.

ККККК A thing that made it worse was that Mother and Dad didn't even try to blame me. Mother was crying quietly and Dad was consoling her, when he looked over at me with an odd expression. I guess he didn't really see me at all, but I thought he was thinking that if I hadn't insisted on going out on the surface this wouldn't have happened. I said, "Don't go looking at me, Dad. Nobody told me to keep an eye on him. I thought he was with Mother."

ККККК Dad just shook his head without answering. He was looking tired and sort of shrunk up. But Mother, instead of laying in to me and yelling, stopped her crying and managed to smile. "Come here, Dickie," she said, and put her other arm around me. "Nobody blames you, Dickie. Whatever happens, you weren't at fault. Remember that, Dickie."

ККККК So I let her kiss me and then sat with them for a while, but I felt worse than before. I kept thinking about the runt, somewhere out there, and his oxygen running out. Maybe it wasn't my fault, but I could have prevented it and I knew it. I shouldn't have depended on Mother to look out for him; she's no good at that sort of thing. She's the kind of person that would mislay her head if it wasn't knotted on tight - the ornamental sort. Mother's good, you understand, but she's not practical. She would take it pretty hard if the runt didn't come back. And so would Dad-and so would I. The runt is an awful nuisance, but it was going to seem strange not to have him around underfoot. I got to thinking about that remark, "Like a fish out of water." I accidentally busted an aquarium once; I remember yet how they looked. Not pretty. If the runt was going to die like that - I shut myself up and decided I just had to figure out some way to help find him.

ККККК After a while I had myself convinced that I could find him if they would just let me help look. But they wouldn't of course.

ККККК Dr. Evans the Director showed up again-he'd met us when we first came in - and asked if there was anything he could do for us and how was Mrs. Logan feeling? "You know I wouldn't have had this happen for the world," he added. "We're doing all we can. I'm having some ore-detectors shot over from Luna City. We might be able to spot the child by the metal in his suit."

ККККК Mother asked how about bloodhounds and Dr. Evans didn't even laugh at her. Dad suggested helicopters, then corrected himself and made it rockets. Dr. Evans pointed out that it was impossible to examine the ground closely from a rocket.

ККККК I got him aside presently and braced him to let me join the hunt. He was polite but unimpressed, so I insisted. "What makes you think you can find him?", he asked me. "We've got the most experienced Moon men available out there now. I'm afraid, son, that you would get yourself lost or hurt if you tried to keep up with them. In this country, if you once lose sight of landmarks, you can get hopelessly lost."

ККККК "But look, Doctor," I told him, "I know the runt-I mean my kid brother, better than anyone else in the world. I won't get lost-I mean I will get lost but just the way he did. You can send somebody to follow me."

ККККК He thought about it. "It's worth trying," he said suddenly. "I'll go with you. Let's suit up."

ККККК We made a fast trip out, taking thirty-foot strides-the best I could manage even with Dr. Evans hanging on to my belt to keep me from stumbling. Mr. Perrin was expecting us. He seemed dubious about my scheme. "Maybe the old 'lost mule' dodge will work," he admitted, "but I'll keep the regular search going just the same. Here, Shorty, take this flashlight. You'll need it in the shadows."

ККККК I stood on the edge of the crater and tried to imagine I was the runt, feeling bored and maybe a little bit griped at the lack of attention. What would I do next?

ККККК I went skipping down the slope, not going anywhere in particular, the way the runt would have done. Then I stopped and looked back, to see if Mother and Daddy and Dickie had noticed me. I was being followed all right; Dr. Evans and Mr. Perrin were close behind me. I pretended that no one was looking and went on. I was pretty close to the first rock outcroppings by now and I ducked behind the first one I came to. It wasn't high enough to hide me but it would have covered the runt. It felt like what he would do; he loved to play hide-and-go-seek - it made him the center of attention.

ККККК I thought about it. When the runt played that game, his notion of hiding was always to crawl under something, a bed, or a sofa, or an automobile, or even under the sink. I looked around. There were a lot of good places; the rocks were filled with blow holes and overhangs. I started working them over. It seemed hopeless; there must have been a hundred such places right around close.

ККККК Mr. Perrin came up to me as I was crawling out of the fourth tight spot. "The men have shined flashlights around in every one of these places," he told me. "I don't think it's much use, Shorty."

ККККК "Okay," I said, but I kept at it. I knew I could get at spots a grown man couldn't reach; I just hoped the runt hadn't picked a spot I couldn't reach.

ККККК It went on and on and I was getting cold and stiff and terribly tired. The direct sunlight is hot on the Moon, but the second you get in the shade, it's cold. Down inside those rocks it never got warm at all. The suits they gave us tourists are well enough insulated, but the extra insulation is in the gloves and the boots and the seats of the pants-and I had been spending most of my time down on my stomach, wiggling into tight places.

ККККК I was so numb I could hardly move and my whole front felt icy. Besides, it gave me one more thing to worry about - how about the runt? Was he cold, too?

ККККК If it hadn't been for thinking how those fish looked and how, maybe, the runt would be frozen stiff before I could get to him, I would have quit. I was about beat. Besides, it's rather scary down inside those holes-you don't know what you'll come to next.

ККККК Dr. Evans took me by the arm as I came out of one of them, and touched his helmet to mine, so that I got his voice directly. "Might as well give up, son. You're knocking your self out and you haven't covered an acre." I pulled away from him.

ККККК The next place was a little overhang, not a foot off the ground. I flashed a light into it. It was empty and didn't seem to go anywhere. Then I saw there was a turn in it. I got down flat and wiggled in. The turn opened out a little and dropped off. I didn't think it was worthwhile to go any deeper as the runt wouldn't have crawled very far in the dark, but I scrunched ahead a little farther and flashed the light down.

ККККК I saw a boot sticking out.

ККККК That's about all there is to it. I nearly bashed in my helmet getting out of there, but I was dragging the runt after me. He was limp as a cat and his face was funny. Mr. Perrin and Dr. Evans were all over me as I came out, pounding me on the back and shouting. "Is he dead, Mr. Perrin?" I asked, when I could get my breath. "He looks awful bad."

ККККК Mr. Perrin looked him over. "No . . . I can see a pulse in his throat. Shock and exposure, but this suit was specially built-we'll get him back fast." He picked the runt up in his arms and I took out after him.

ККККК Ten minutes later the runt was wrapped in blankets and drinking hot cocoa. I had some, too. Everybody was talking at once and Mother was crying again, but she looked normal and Dad had filled out.

ККККК He tried to write out a check for Mr. Perrin, but he brushed it off. "I don't need any reward; your boy found him.

ККККК "You can do me just one favor-"

ККККК "Yes?" Dad was all honey.

ККККК "Stay off the Moon. You don't belong here; you're not the pioneer type."

ККККК Dad took it. "I've already promised my wife that," he said without batting an eye. "You needn't worry."

ККККК I followed Mr. Perrin as he left and said to him privately, "Mr. Perrin-I just wanted to tell you that I'll be back, if you don't mind."

ККККК He shook hands with me and said, "I know you will, Shorty."

ККККК "It's Great to Be Back!"

"HURRY UP, ALLAN!" Home-back to Earth again! Her heart was pounding.

ККККК "Just a second." She fidgeted while her husband checked over a bare apartment. Earth-Moon freight rates made it silly to ship their belongings; except for the bag he carried, they had converted everything to cash. Satisfied, he joined her at the lift; they went on up to the administration level and there to a door marked: LUNA CITY COMMUNITY ASSOCIATION-Anna Stone, Service Manager.

ККККК Miss Stone accepted their apartment keys grimly. "Mr. and Mrs. MacRae. So you're actually leaving us?"

ККККК Josephine bristled. "Think we'd change our minds?"

ККККК The manager shrugged. "No. I knew nearly three years ago that you would go back-from your complaints."

ККККК "From my comp- Miss Stone, I've been as patient about the incredible inconveniences of this, this pressurized rabbit warren as anyone. I don't blame you personally, but-"

ККККК "Take it easy, Jo!" her husband cautioned her.

ККККК Josephine flushed. "Sorry, Miss Stone."

ККККК "Never mind. We just see things differently. I was here when Luna City was three air-sealed Quonset huts connected by tunnels you crawled through, on your knees." She stuck out a square hand. "I hope you enjoy being groundhogs again, I honestly do. Hot jets, good luck, and a safe landing."

ККККК Back in the lift, Josephine sputtered. "'Groundhogs' indeed! Just because we prefer our native planet, where a person can draw a breath of fresh air-"

ККККК "You use the term," Allan pointed out.

ККККК "But I use it about people who've never been off Terra."

ККККК "We've both said more than once that we wished we had had sense enough never to have left Earth. We're groundhogs at heart, Jo."

ККККК "Yes, but- Oh, Allan, you're being obnoxious. This is the happiest day of my life. Aren't you glad to be going home? Aren't you?"

ККККК "Of course I am. It'll be great to be back. Horseback riding. Skiing."

ККККК "And opera. Real, live grand opera. Allan, we've simply got to have a week or two in Manhattan before we go to the country."

ККККК "I thought you wanted to feel rain on your face."

ККККК "I want that, too. I want it all at once and I can't wait. Oh, darling, it's like getting out of jail." She clung to him.

ККККК He unwound her as the lift stopped. "Don't blubber."

ККККК "Allan, you're a beast," she said dreamily. "I'm so happy." They stopped again, in bankers' row. The clerk in the National City Bank office had their transfer of account ready. "Going home, eh? Just sign there, and your print. I envy you. Hunting, fishing."

ККККК "Surf bathing is more my style. And sailing."

ККККК "I," said Jo, "simply want to see green trees and blue sky." The clerk nodded. "I know what you mean. It's long ago and far away. Well, have fun. Are you taking three months or six?"

ККККК "We're not coming back," Allan stated flatly. "Three years of living like a fish in an aquarium is enough."

ККККК "So?" The clerk shoved the papers toward him and added without expression, "Well-hot jets."

ККККК "Thanks." They went on up to the subsurface level and took the cross-town slidewalk out to the rocket port. The slidewalk tunnel broke the surface at one point, becoming a pressurized shed; a view window on the west looked out on the surface of the Moon-and, beyond the hills, the Earth.

ККККК The sight of it, great and green and bountiful, against, the black lunar sky and harsh, unwinking stars, brought quick tears to Jo's eyes. Home-that lovely planet was hers! Allan looked at it more casually, noting the Greenwich. The sunrise Line had just touched South America-must be about eight twenty; better hurry.

ККККК They stepped off the slidewalk into the arms of some of their friends, waiting to see them off. "Hey-where have you Lugs been? The Gremlin blasts off in seven minutes."

ККККК "But we aren't going in it," MacRae answered. "No, siree."

ККККК "What? Not going? Did you change your minds?"

ККККК Josephine laughed. "Pay no attention to him, Jack. We're going in the express instead; we swapped reservations. So we've got twenty minutes yet."

ККККК "Well! A couple of rich tourists, eh?"

ККККК "Oh, the extra fare isn't so much and I didn't want to make two changes and spend a week in space when we could be home in two days." She rubbed her bare middle significantly.

ККККК "She can't take free flight, Jack," her husband explained.

ККККК "Well, neither can I - I was sick the whole trip out. Still, I don't think you'll be sick, Jo; you're used to Moon weight now."

ККККК "Maybe," she agreed, "but there is a lot of difference between one-sixth gravity and no gravity."

ККККК Jack Crail's wife cut in. "Josephine MacRae, are you going to risk your life in an atomic-powered ship?"

ККККК "Why not, darling? You work in an atomics laboratory."

ККККК "Hummph! In the laboratory we take precautions. The Commerce Commission should never have licensed the expresses. I may be old-fashioned, but I'll go back the way I came, via Terminal and Supra-New York, in good old reliable fuel-rockets."

ККККК "Don't try to scare her, Emma," Crail objected. "They've worked the bugs out of those ships."

ККККК "Not to my satisfaction. I-"

ККККК "Never mind," Allan interrupted her. "The matter is settled, and we've still got to get over to the express launching site. Good-by, everybody! Thanks for the send-off. It's been grand knowing you. If you come back to God's country, look us up."

ККККК "Good-by, kids!" "Good-by, Jo-good-by, Allan." "Give my regards to Broadway!" "So long-be sure to write." "Good-by." "Aloha-hot jets!" They showed their tickets, entered the air lock, and climbed into the pressurized shuttle between Leyport proper and the express launching site. "Hang on, 'folks," the shuttle operator called back over his shoulder; Jo and Allan hurriedly settled into the cushions. The lock opened; the tunnel ahead was airless. Five minutes later they were climbing out twenty miles away, beyond the hills that shielded the lid of Luna City from the radioactive splash of the express ships.

ККККК In the Sparrowhawk they shared a compartment with a missionary family. The Reverend Doctor Simmons felt obliged to explain why he was traveling in luxury. "It's for the child," he told them, as his wife strapped the baby girl into a small acceleration couch rigged stretcher-fashion between her parents' couches. "Since she's never been in space, we daren't take a chance of her being sick for days on end." They all strapped down at the warning siren. Jo felt her heart begin to pound. At last ... at long last!

ККККК The jets took hold, mashing them into the cushions. Jo had not known she could feel so heavy. This was worse, much worse, than the trip out. The baby cried as long as acceleration lasted, in wordless terror and discomfort.

ККККК After an interminable time they were suddenly weightless, as the ship went into free flight. When the terrible binding weight was free of her chest, Jo's heart felt as light as her body. Allan threw off his upper strap and sat up. "How do you feel, kid?"

ККККК "Oh, I feel fine!" Jo unstrapped and faced him. Then she hiccoughed. "That is, I think I do."

ККККК Five minutes later she was not in doubt; she merely wished to die. Allan swam out of the compartment and located the ship's surgeon, who gave her an injection. Allan waited until she had succumbed to the drug, then left for the lounge to try his own cure for spacesickness - Mothersill's Seasick Remedy washed down with champagne. Presently he had to admit that these two sovereign remedies did not work for him-or perhaps he should not have mixed them.

ККККК Little Gloria Simmons was not spacesick. She thought being weightless was fun, and went bouncing off floorplate, overhead, and bulkhead like a dimpled balloon. Jo feebly considered strangling the child, if she floated within reach-but it was too much effort.

ККККК Deceleration, logy as it made them feel, was welcome relief after nausea-except to little Gloria. She cried again, in fear and hurt, while her mother tried to explain. Her father prayed.

ККККК After a long, long time came a slight jar and the sound of the siren. Jo managed to raise her head. "What's the matter? Is there an accident?"

ККККК "I don't think so. I think we've landed."

ККККК 'We can't have! We're still braking-I'm heavy as lead."

ККККК Allan grinned feebly. "So am I. Earth gravity-remember?"

ККККК The baby continued to cry.

ККККК They said good-by to the missionary family, as Mrs. Simmons decided to wait for a stewardess from the skyport. The MacRaes staggered out of the ship, supporting each other. "It can't be just the gravity," Jo protested, her feet caught in invisible quicksand. "I've taken Earth-normal acceleration in the centrifuge at the 'Y', back home-I mean back in Luna City. We're weak from spacesickness."

ККККК Allan steadied himself. "That's it. We haven't eaten anything for two days."

ККККК "Allan-didn't you eat anything either?'

ККККК "No. Not permanently, so tospy. Are you hungry?"

ККККК "Starving."

ККККК "How about dinner at Kean's Chophouse?"

ККККК "Wonderful. Oh, Allan, we're back!" Her tears started again.

ККККК They glimpsed the Simmonses once more, after chuting down the Hudson Valley and into Grand Central Station. While they were waiting at the tube dock for their bag, Jo saw the Reverend Doctor climb heavily out of the next tube capsule, carrying his daughter and followed by his wife. He set the child down carefully. Gloria stood for a moment, trembling on her pudgy legs, then collapsed to the dock. She lay there, crying thinly.

ККККК A spaceman-pilot, by his uniform-stopped and looked pityingly at the child. "Born in the Moon?" he asked.

ККККК "Why yes, she was, sir." Simmons' courtesy transcended his troubles.

ККККК "Pick her up and carry her. She'll have to learn to walk all over again." The spaceman shook his head sadly and glided away. Simmons looked still more troubled, then sat down on the dock beside his child, careless of the dirt.

ККККК Jo felt too weak to help. She looked around for Allan, but he was busy; their bag had arrived. It was placed at his feet and he started to pick it up, and then felt suddenly silly. It seemed nailed to the dock. He knew what was in it, rolls of microfilm and colorfilm, a few souvenirs, toilet articles, various irreplaceables-fifty pounds of mass. It couldn't weigh what it seemed to.

ККККК But it did. He had forgotten what fifty pounds weigh on Earth.

ККККК "Porter, mister?' The speaker was grey-haired and thin, but he scooped up the bag quite casually. Allan called out, "Come along, Jo." and followed him, feeling foolish. The porter slowed to match Allan's labored steps.

ККККК "Just down from the Moon?" he asked.

ККККК "Why, yes."

ККККК "Got a reservation?"

ККККК "No."

ККККК "You stick with me. I've got a friend on the desk at the Commodore." He led them to the Concourse slidewalk and thence to the hotel.

ККККК They were too weary to dine out; Allan had dinner sent to their room. Afterward, Jo fell asleep in a hot tub and he had trouble getting her out-she liked the support the water gave her. But he persuaded her that a rubber-foam mattress was nearly as good. They got to sleep very early.

ККККК She woke up, struggling, about four in the morning. "Allan. Allan!"

ККККК "Huh? What's the matter?" His hand fumbled at the light switch.

ККККК "Uh . . . nothing I guess. I dreamed I was back in the ship. The jets had run away with her. Allan, what makes it so stuffy in here? I've got a splitting headache."

ККККК "Huh? It can't be stuffy. This joint is air-conditioned." He sniffed the air. "I've got a headache, too," he admitted.

ККККК "Well, do something. Open a window."

ККККК He stumbled out of bed, shivered when the outer air hit him, and hurried back under the covers. He was wondering whether he could get to sleep with the roar of the city pouring in through the window when his wife spoke again. "Allan?"

ККККК "Yes. What is it?"

ККККК "Honey, I'm cold. May I crawl in with you?"

ККККК "Sure."

ККККК The sunlight streamed in the window, warm and mellow. When it touched his eyes, he woke and found his wife awake beside him. She sighed and snuggled. "Oh, darling, look! Blue sky-we're home. I'd forgotten how lovely it is."

ККККК "It's great to be back, all right. How do you feel?"

ККККК "Much better. How are you?"

ККККК "Okay, I guess." He pushed off the covers.

ККККК Jo squealed and jerked them back. "Don't do that!"

ККККК "Huh?"

ККККК "Mama's great big boy is going to climb out and close that window while mamma stays here under the covers."

ККККК "Well-all right." He could walk more easily than the night before-but it was good to get back into bed. Once there, he faced the telephone and shouted, at it, "Service!"

ККККК "Order, please," it answered in a sweet contralto.

ККККК "Orange juice and coffee for two-extra coffee-six eggs, scrambled medium, and whole-wheat toast. And send up a Times, and the Saturday Evening Post."

ККККК "Ten minutes."

ККККК "Thank you." The delivery cupboard buzzed while he was shaving. He answered it and served Jo breakfast in bed. Breakfast over, he laid down his newspaper and said, "Can you pull your nose out of that magazine?"

ККККК "Glad to. The darn thing is too big and heavy to hold."

ККККК "Why don't you have the stat edition mailed to you from Luna City? Wouldn't cost more than eight or nine times as much."

ККККК "Don't be silly. What's on your mind?"

ККККК "How about climbing out of that frosty little nest and going with me to shop for clothes?"

ККККК "Uh-uh. No, I am not going outdoors in a moonsuit."

ККККК "'Fraid of being stared at? Getting prudish in your old age?"

ККККК "No, me lord, I simply refuse to expose myself to the outer air in six ounces of nylon and a pair of sandals. I want some warm clothes first." She squirmed further down under the covers.

ККККК "The Perfect Pioneer Woman. Going to have fitters sent up?"

ККККК "We can't afford that. Look - you're going anyway. Buy me just any old rag so long as it's warm."

ККККК MacRae looked stubborn. "I've tried shopping for you before."

ККККК "Just this once - please. Run over to Saks and pick out a street dress in a blue wool jersey, size ten. And a pair of nylons."

ККККК "Well-all right."

ККККК "That's a lamb. I won't be loafing. I've a list as long as your arm of people I've promised to call up, look 'up, have lunch with."

ККККК He attended to his own shopping first; his sensible shorts and singlet seemed as warm as a straw hat in a snowstorm. It was not really cold and was quite balmy in the sun, but it seemed cold to a man used to a never-failing seventy-two degrees. He tried to stay underground, or stuck to the roofed-over section of Fifth Avenue.

ККККК He suspected that the salesmen had outfitted him in clothes that made him look like a yokel But they were warm. They were also heavy; they added to the pain across his chest and made him walk even more unsteadily. He wondered how long it would be before he got his ground-legs.

ККККК A motherly saleswoman took care of Jo's order and sold him a warm cape for her as well. He headed back, stumbling under his packages, and trying futilely to flag a ground-taxi. Everyone seemed in such a hurry! Once he was nearly knocked down by a teen-aged boy who said, "Watch it, Gramps!" and rushed off, before he could answer.

ККККК He got back, aching all over and thinking about a hot bath. He did not get it; Jo had a visitor. "Mrs. Appleby, my husband-Allan, this is Emma Crail's mother."

ККККК "Oh, how do you do, Doctor-or should it be 'Professor'?"

ККККК "Mister-"

ККККК "-when I heard you were in town I just couldn't wait to hear all about my poor darling. How is she? Is she thin? Does she look well? These modern girls-I've told her time and again that she must get out of doors-I walk in the Park every day-and look at me. She sent me a picture-I have it here somewhere; at least I think I have-and she doesn't look a bit well, undernourished. Those synthetic foods-"

ККККК "She doesn't eat synthetic foods, Mrs. Appleby."

ККККК "-must be quite impossible, I'm sure, not to mention the taste. What were you saying?'

ККККК "Your daughter doesn't live on synthetic foods," Allan repeated. "Fresh fruits and vegetables are one thing we have almost too much of in Luna City. The air-conditioning plant, you know."

ККККК "That's just what I was saying. I confess I don't see just how you get food out of air-conditioning machinery on the Moon-"

ККККК "In the Moon, Mrs. Appleby."

ККККК "-but it can't be healthy. Our air-conditioner at home is always breaking down and making the most horrible smells - simply unbearable, my dears-you'd think they could build a simple little thing like an air-conditioner so that-though of course if you expect them to manufacture synthetic foods as well-" "Mm. Appleby-"

ККККК "Yes, Doctor? What were you saying? Don't let me-"

ККККК "Mrs. Appleby," MacRae said desperately, "the airconditioning plant in Luna City is a hydroponic farm, tanks of growing plants, green things. The plants take the carbon dioxide out of the air and put oxygen back in."

ККККК "But- Are you quite sure, Doctor? I'm sure Emma said-"

ККККК "Quite sure."

ККККК "Well . . . I don't pretend to understand these things, I'm the artistic type. Poor Herbert often said-Herbert was Emma's father; simply wrapped up in his engineering though I always saw to it that he heard good music and saw the reviews of the best books. Emma takes after her father, I'm afraid-I do wish she would give up that silly work she is in. Hardly the sort of work for a woman, do you think, Mrs. MacRae? All those atoms and neuters and things floating around in the air. I read all about it in the Science Made Simple column in the-"

ККККК "She's quite good at it and she seems to like it."

ККККК "Well, yes, I suppose. That's the important thing, to be happy at what you are doing no matter how silly it is. But I worry about the child-buried away from civilization, no one of her own sort to talk to, no theaters, no cultural life, no society-"

ККККК "Luna City has stereo transcriptions of every successful Broadway play." Jo's voice had a slight edge.

ККККК "Oh! Really? But it's not just going to the theater, my dear; it's the society of gentlefolk. Now when I was a girl, my parents-"

ККККК Allan butted in, loudly. "One o'clock. Have you had lunch, my dear?'

ККККК Mrs. Appleby sat up with a jerk. "Oh, heavenly days - I simply must fly. My dress designer-such a tyrant, but a genius; I must give you her address. It's been charming, my dears, and I can't thank you too much for telling me all about my poor darling. I do wish she would be sensible like you two; she knows I'm always ready to make a home for her-and her husband, for that matter. Now do come and see me, often. I love to talk to people who've been on the Moon-"

ККККК "In the Moon."

ККККК "It makes me feel closer to my darling. Good-by, then."

ККККК With the door locked behind her, Jo said, "Allan, I need a drink."

ККККК "I'll join you."

ККККК Jo cut her shopping short; it was too tiring. By four o'clock they were driving in Central Park, enjoying fall scenery to the lazy clop-clop of home's hoofs. The helicopters, the pigeons, the streak in the sky where the Antipodes rocket had passed, made a scene idyllic in beauty and serenity. Jo swallowed a lump in her throat and whispered, "Allan, isn't it beautiful?"

ККККК "Sure is. It's great to be back. Say, did you notice they've torn up 42nd Street again?"

ККККК Back in their room, Jo collapsed on her bed, while Allan took off his shoes. He sat, rubbing his feet, and remarked, "I'm going barefooted all evening. Golly, how my feet hurt!"

ККККК "So do mine. But we're going to your father's, my sweet."

ККККК "Huh? Oh, damn, I forgot. Jo, whatever possessed you? Call him up and postpone it. We're still half dead from the trip."

ККККК "But, Allan, he's invited a lot of your friends."

ККККК "Balls of fire and cold mush! I haven't any real friends in New York. Make it next week."

ККККК "'Next week' . . . hmm . . . look, Allan, let's go out to the country right away." Jo's parents had left her a tiny place in Connecticut, a worn-out farm.

ККККК "I thought you wanted a couple of weeks of plays and music first. Why the sudden change?"

ККККК "I'll show you." She went to the window, open since noon. "Look at that window sill." She drew their initials in the grime. "Allan, this city is filthy."

ККККК "You can't expect ten million people not to kick up dust."

ККККК "But we're breathing that stuff into our lungs. What's happened to the smog-control laws?'

ККККК "That's not smog; that's normal city dirt."

ККККК "Luna City was never like this. I could wear a white outfit there till I got tired of it. One wouldn't last a day here."

ККККК "Manhattan doesn't have a roof-and precipitrons in every air duct."

ККККК "Well, it should have. I either freeze or suffocate."

ККККК "I thought you were anxious to feel rain on your face?'

ККККК "Don't be tiresome. I want it out in the clean, green country."

ККККК "Okay. I want to start my book anyhow. I'll call your real estate agent."

ККККК "I called him this morning. We can move in anytime; he started fixing up the place when he got my letter."

ККККК It was a stand-up supper at his father's home though Jo sat down at once and let food be fetched. Allan wanted to sit down, but his status as guest of honor forced him to stay on his aching feet. His father buttonholed him at the buffet. "Here, son, try this goose liver. It ought to go well after a diet of green cheese."

ККККК Allan agreed that it was good.

ККККК "See here, son, you really ought to tell these folks about your trip."

ККККК "No speeches, Dad. Let 'em read the National Geographic."

ККККК "Nonsense!" He turned around. "Quiet, everybody! Allan is going to tell us how the Lunatics live."

ККККК Allan bit his lip. To be sure, the citizens of Luna City used the term to each other, but it did not sound the same here. "Well, really, I haven't anything to say. Go on and eat."

ККККК "You talk and we'll eat." "Tell us about Looney City." "Did you see the Man-in-the-Moon?" "Go on, Allan, what's it like to live on the Moon?"

ККККК "Not 'on the Moon'-in the Moon."

ККККК "What's the difference?"

ККККК "Why, none, I guess." He hesitated; there was really no way to explain why the Moon colonists emphasized that they lived under the surface of the satellite planet-but it irritated him the way "Frisco" irritates a San Franciscan. "'In the Moon' is the way we say it. We don't spend much time on the surface, except for the staff at Richardson Observatory, and the prospectors, and so forth. The living quarters are underground, naturally."

ККККК "Why 'naturally'? Afraid of meteors?"

ККККК "No more than you are afraid of lightning. We go underground for insulation against heat and cold and as support for pressure sealing. Both are cheaper and easier underground. The soil is easy to work and the interstices act like vacuum in a thermos bottle. It is vacuum."

ККККК "But Mr. MacRae," a serious-looking lady inquired, "doesn't it hurt your ears to live under pressure?'

ККККК Allan fanned the air. "It's the same pressure here-fifteen pounds."

ККККК She looked puzzled, then said, "Yes, I suppose so, but it is a little hard to imagine. I think it would terrify me to be sealed up in a cave. Suppose you had a blow-out?"

ККККК "Holding fifteen pounds pressure is no problem; engineers work in thousands of pounds per square inch. Anyhow, Luna City is compartmented like a ship. It's safe enough. The Dutch live behind dikes; down in Mississippi they have levees. Subways, ocean liners, aircraft-they're all artificial ways of living. Luna City seems strange just because it's far away."

ККККК She shivered. "It scares me."

ККККК A pretentious little man pushed his way forward. "Mr. MacRae-granted that it is nice for science and all that, why should taxpayers' money be wasted on a colony on the Moon?"

ККККК "You seem to have answered yourself," Allan told him slowly.

ККККК "Then how do you justify it? Tell me that, sir."

ККККК "It isn't necessary to justify it; the Lunar colony has paid for itself several times over. The Lunar corporations are all paying propositions. Artemis Mines, Spaceways, Spaceways Provisioning Corporation, Diana Recreations, Electronics Research Company, Lunar Biological Labs, not to mention all of Rutherford - look 'em up. I'll admit the Cosmic Research Project nicks the taxpayer a little, since it's a joint enterprise of the Harriman Foundation and the government."

ККККК "Then you admit it. It's the principle of the thing."

ККККК Allan's feet were hurting him very badly indeed. "What principle? Historically, research has always paid off." He turned his back and looked for some more goose liver.

ККККК A man touched him on the arm; Allan recognized an old schoolmate. "Allan, old boy, congratulations on the way you ticked off old Beetle. He's been needing it-I think he's some sort of a radical."

ККККК Allan grinned. "I shouldn't have lost my temper."

ККККК "A good job you did. Say, Allan, I'm going to take a couple of out-of-town buyers around to the hot spots tomorrow night. Come along."

ККККК "Thanks a lot, but we're going out in the country."

ККККК "Oh, you can't afford to miss this party. After all, you've been buried on the Moon; you owe yourself some relaxation after that deadly monotony."

ККККК Allan felt his cheeks getting warm. "Thanks just the same, but-ever seen the Earth View Room in Hotel Moon Haven?'

ККККК "No. Plan to take the trip when I've made my pile, of course."'

ККККК "Well, there's a night club for you. Ever see a dancer leap thirty feet into the air and do slow rolls, on the way down? Ever try a lunacy cocktail? Ever see a juggler work in low gravity?" Jo caught his eye across the room. "Er . . . excuse me, old man. My wife wants me." He turned away, then flung back over his shoulder, "Moon Haven itself isn't just a spaceman's dive, by the way-it's recommended by the Duncan Hines Association."

ККККК Jo was very pale. "Darling, you've got to get me out of here. I'm suffocating. I'm really ill."

ККККК "Suits." They made their excuses.

ККККК Jo woke up with a stuffy cold, so they took a cab directly to her country place. There were low-lying clouds under them, but the weather was fine above. The sunshine and the drowsy beat of the rotors regained for them the joy of homecoming,

ККККК Allan broke the lazy reverie. "Here's a funny thing, Jo. You couldn't hire me to go back to the Moon-but last night I found myself defending the Loonies every time I opened my mouth."

ККККК She nodded. "I know. Honest to Heaven, Allan, some people act as if the Earth were flat. Some of them don't really believe in anything, and some of them are so matter-of-fact that you know they don't really understand-and I don't know which sort annoys me the more."

ККККК It was foggy when they landed, but the house was clean, the agent had laid a fire and had stocked the refrigerator. They were sipping hot punch and baking the weariness out of their bones' within ten minutes after the copter grounded. "This," said Allan, stretching, "is all right. It really is great to be back."

ККККК "Uh-huh. All except the highway." A new express and freight superhighway now ran not fifty yards from the house. They could hear the big diesels growling as they struck the grade.

ККККК "Forget the highway. Turn your back and you stare straight into the woods."

ККККК They regained their ground-legs well enough to enjoy short walks in the woods; they were favored with a long, warm Indian summer; the cleaning woman was efficient and taciturn. Allan worked on the results of three years research preparatory to starting his book. Jo helped him with the statistical work, got reacquainted with the delights of cooking, dreamed, and rested.

ККККК It was the day of the first frost that the toilet stopped up.

ККККК The village plumber was persuaded to show up the next day. Meanwhile they resorted to a homely little building, left over from another era and still standing out beyond the woodpile. It was spider-infested and entirely too well ventilated.

ККККК The plumber was not encouraging. "New septic tank. New sewer pipe. Pay you to get new fixtures at the same time. Fifteen, sixteen hundred dollars. Have to do some calculating."

ККККК "That's all right," Allan told him. "Can you start today?'

ККККК The man laughed. "I can see plainly, Mister, that you don't know what it is to get materials and labor these days. Next spring--soon as the frost is out of the ground."

ККККК "That's impossible, man. Never mind the cost. Get it done."

ККККК The native shrugged. "Sorry not to oblige you. Good day." When he left, Jo exploded. "Allan, he doesn't want to help us."

ККККК "Well-maybe. I'll try to get someone from Norwalk, or even from the City. You can't trudge through the snow out to that Iron Maiden all winter."

ККККК "I hope not."

ККККК "You must not. You've already had one cold." He stared morosely at the fire. "I suppose I brought it on by my misplaced sense of humor."

ККККК "How?"

ККККК "Well, you know how we've been subjected to steady kidding ever since it got noised around that we were colonials. I haven't minded much, but some of it rankled. You remember I went into the village by myself last Saturday?"

ККККК "Yes. What happened?"

ККККК "They started in on me in the barbershop. I let it ride at first, then the worm turned. I started talking about the Moon, sheer double-talk--corny old stuff like the vacuum worms and the petrified air. It was some time before they realized I was ribbing them-and when they did, nobody laughed. Our friend the rustic sanitary engineer was one of the group. I'm sorry."

ККККК "Don't be." She kissed him. "If I have to tramp through the snow, it will cheer me that you gave them back some of their sass."

ККККК The plumber from Norwalk was more helpful, but rain, and then sleet, slowed down the work. They both caught colds. On the ninth miserable day Allan was working at his desk when he heard Jo come in the back door, returning from a shopping trip. He turned back to his work, then presently became aware that she had not come in to say "hello." He went to investigate.

ККККК He found her collapsed on a kitchen chair, crying quietly. "Darling," he said urgently, "honey baby, whatever is the matter?"

ККККК She looked up. "I didn't bead to led you doe."

ККККК "Blow your nose. Then wipe your eyes. What do you mean, 'you didn't mean to let me know'. What happened?"

ККККК She let it out, punctuated with her handkerchief. First, the grocer had said he had no cleansing tissues; then, when she pointed to them, had stated that they were "sold". Finally, he had mentioned "bringing outside labor into town and taking the bread out of the mouths of honest folk".

ККККК Jo had blown up and had rehashed the incident of Allan and the barbershop wits. The grocer had simply grown more stiff. "'Lady,' he said to me, 'I don't know whether you and your husband have been to the Moon or not, and I don't care. I don't take much stock in such things. In any case, I don't need your trade.' Oh, Allan, I'm so unhappy."

ККККК "Not as unhappy as he's going to be! Where's my hat?"

ККККК "Allan! You're not leaving this house. I won't have you fighting."

ККККК "I won't have him bullying you."

ККККК "He won't again. Oh my dear, I've tried so hard, but I can't stay here any longer. It's not just the villagers; it's the cold and the cockroaches and always having, a runny nose. I'm tired out and my feet hurt all the time." She started to cry again.

ККККК "There, there! We'll leave, honey. We'll go to Florida. I'll finish my book while you lie in the sun."

ККККК "Oh, I don't want to go to Florida. I want to go home."

ККККК "Huh? You mean-back to Luna City?"

ККККК "Yes. Oh, dearest, I know you don't want to, but I can't stand it any longer. It's not just the dirt and the cold and the comic-strip plumbing-it's not being understood. It wasn't any better in New York. These groundhogs don't know anything."

ККККК He grinned at her. "Keep sending, kid; I'm on your frequency."

ККККК "Allan!"

ККККК He nodded. "I found out I was a Loony at heart quite a while ago-but I was afraid to tell you. My feet hurt, too- and I'm damn sick of being treated like a freak. I've tried to be tolerant, but I can't stand groundhogs. I miss the folks in dear old Luna. They're civilized."

ККККК She nodded. "I guess it's prejudice, but I feel the same way."

ККККК "It's not prejudice. Let's be honest. What does it take to get to Lana City?"

ККККК "A ticket."

ККККК "Smarty pants. I don't mean as a tourist; I mean to get a job there. You know the answer: Intelligence. It costs a lot to send a man to the Moon and more to keep him there. To pay off, he has to be worth a lot. High I.Q., good compatibility index, superior education-everything that makes a person pleasant and easy and interesting to have around. We've been spoiled; the ordinary human cussedness that groundhogs take for granted, we now find intolerable, because Loonies are different. The fact that Luna City is the most comfortable environment man ever built for himself is beside the point-it's the people who count. Let's go home."

ККККК He went to the telephone-an old-fashioned, speech-only rig-and called the Foundation's New York office. While he was waiting, truncheon-like "receiver" to his ear, she said, "Suppose they won't have us?"

ККККК "That's what worries me." They knew that the Lunar companies rarely rehired personnel who had once quit; the physical examination was reputed to be much harder the second time.

ККККК "Hello . . . hello. Foundation? May I speak to the recruiting office? . . . hello-I can't turn on my view plate; this instrument is a hangover from the dark ages. This is Allan MacRae, physical chemist, contract number 1340729. And my wife, Josephine MacRae, 1340730. We want to sign up again. I said we wanted to sign up again . . . okay, I'll wait."

ККККК "Pray, darling, pray!"

ККККК "I'm praying- How's that! My appointment's still vacant? Fine, fine! How about my wife?" He listened with a worried look; Jo held her breath. Then he cupped the speaker. "Hey, Jo-your job's filled. They want to know if you'll take an interim job as a junior accountant?"

ККККК "Tell 'em 'yes!'"

ККККК "That'll be fine. When can we take our exams? That's fine, thanks. Good-by." He hung up and turned to his wife. "Physical and psycho as soon as we like; professional exams waived."

ККККК "What are we waiting for?"

ККККК "Nothing." He dialed the Norwalk Copter Service. "Can you run us into Manhattan? Well, good grief, don't you have radar? All right, all right, g'by!" He snorted. "Cabs all grounded by the weather. I'll call New York and try to get a modern cab."

ККККК Ninety minutes later they landed on top of Harriman Tower.

ККККК The psychologist was very cordial. "Might as well get this over before you have your chests thumped. Sit down. Tell me about yourselves." He drew them out, nodding from time to time. "I see. Did you ever get the plumbing repaired?"

ККККК "Well, it was being fixed."

ККККК "I can sympathize with your foot trouble, Mrs. MacRae; my arches always bother me here. That's your real reason, isn't it?"

ККККК "Oh, no!"

ККККК "Now, Mrs. MacRae-"

ККККК "Really it's not---truly. I want people to talk to who know what I mean. All that's really wrong with me is that I'm homesick for my own sort. I want to go home-and I've got to have this job to get there. - I'll steady down, I know I will."

ККККК The doctor looked grave. "How about you, Mr. MacRae?"

ККККК "Well-it's about the same story. I've been trying to write a book, but I can't work. I'm homesick. I want to go back."

ККККК Feldman suddenly smiled. "It won't be too difficult."

ККККК "You mean we're in? If we pass the physical?"

ККККК "Never mind the physical-your discharge examinations are recent enough. Of course you'll have to go out to Arizona for reconditioning and quarantine. You're probably wondering why it seems so easy when it is supposed to be so hard. It's really simple: We don't want people lured back by the high pay. We do want people who will be happy and as permanent as possible-in short, we want people who think of Luna City as 'home.' Now that you're 'Moonstruck,' we want you back." He stood up and shoved out his hand.

ККККК Back in the Commodore that night, Jo was struck by a thought. "Allan-do you suppose we could get our own apartment back?"

ККККК "Why, I don't know. We could send old lady Stone a radio."

ККККК "Call her up instead, Allan. We can afford it."

ККККК "All right! I will!"

ККККК It took about ten minutes to get the circuit through. Miss Stone's face looked a trifle less grim when she recognized them.

ККККК "Miss Stone, we're coming home!"

ККККК There was the usual three-second lag, then-"Yes, I know. It came over the tape about twenty minutes ago."

ККККК "Oh. Say, Miss Stone, is our old apartment vacant?" They waited.

ККККК "I've held it; I knew you'd come back-after a bit. Welcome home, Loonies."

ККККК When the screen cleared, Jo said, "What did she mean, Allan?"

ККККК "Looks like we're in, kid. Members of the Lodge."

ККККК "I guess so-oh, Allan, look!" She had stepped to the window; scudding clouds had just uncovered the Moon. It was three days old and Mare Fecunditatis-the roll of hair at the back of the Lady-in-the-Moon's head-was cleared by the Sunrise line. Near the right-hand edge of that great, dark "sea" was a tiny spot, visible only to their inner eyes-Luna City.

ККККК The crescent hung, serene and silvery, over the tall buildings. "Darling, isn't it beautiful?"

ККККК "Certainly is. It'll be great to be back. Don't get your nose all runny."

We Also Walk Dogs

ККККК "General services -- Miss Cormet speaking!" She addressed the view screen with just the right balance between warm hospitable friendliness and impersonal efficiency. The screen flickered momentarily, then built up a stereo-picture of a dowager, fat and fretful, overdressed and underexercised.

ККККК "Oh, my dear," said the image, "I'm so upset. I wonder if you can help me."

ККККК "I'm sure we can," Miss Cormet purred as she quickly estimated the cost of the woman's gown and jewels (if real -- she made a mental reservation) and decided that here was a client that could be profitable. "Now tell me your trouble. Your name first, if you please." She touched a button on the horseshoe desk which enclosed her, a button marked CREDIT DEPARTMENT.

ККККК "But it's all so _involved_," the image insisted. "Peter _would_ go and break his hip." Miss Cormet immediately pressed the button marked MEDICAL. "I've _told_ him that polo is dangerous. You've no idea, my dear, how a mother suffers. And just at this time, too. It's so inconvenient--"

ККККК "You wish us to attend him? Where is he now?"

ККККК "Attend him? Why, how silly! The Memorial Hospital will do that. We've endowed them enough, I'm sure. It's my dinner party I'm worried about. The Principessa will be so annoyed."

ККККК The answer light from the Credit Department was blinking angrily. Miss Cormet headed her off. "Oh, I see. We'll arrange it for you. Now, your name, please, and your address and present location."

ККККК "But don't you _know_ my name?"

ККККК "One might guess," Miss Cormet diplomatically evaded, "but General Services always respects the privacy of its clients."

ККККК "Oh, yes, of course. How considerate. I am Mrs. Peter van Hogbein Johnson." Miss Cormet controlled her reaction. No need to consult the Credit Department for this one. But its transparency flashed at once, rating AAA -- unlimited. "But I don't see what you can do," Mrs Johnson continued. "I can't be two places at once."

ККККК "General Services likes difficult assignments," Miss Cormet assured her. "Now -- if you will let me have the details. . ."

ККККК She wheedled and nudged the woman into giving a fairly coherent story. Her son, Peter III, a slightly shopworn Peter Pan, whose features were familiar to Grace Gormet through years of stereogravure, dressed in every conceivable costume affected by the richly idle in their pastimes, had been so thoughtless as to pick the afternoon before his mother's most important social function to bung himself up -- seriously. Furthermore, he had been so thoughtless as to do so half a continent away from his mater.

ККККК Miss Cormet gathered that Mrs. Johnson's technique for keeping her son safely under thumb required that she rush to his bedside at once, and, incidentally, to select his nurses. But her dinner party that evening represented the culmination of months of careful maneuvering. What was she to do?

ККККК Miss Cormet reflected to herself that the prosperity of General Services and her own very substantial income was based largely on the stupidity, lack of resourcefulness, and laziness of persons like this silly parasite, as she explained that General Services would see that her party was a smooth, social success while arranging for a portable full-length stereo screen to be installed in her drawing room in order that she might greet her guests and make her explanations while hurrying to her son's side. Miss Cormet would see that a most adept social manager was placed in charge, one whose own position in society was irreproachable and whose connection with General Services was known to no one. With proper handling the disaster could be turned into a social triumph, enhancing Mrs. Johnson's reputation as a clever hostess and as a devoted mother.

ККККК "A sky car will be at your door in twenty minutes," she added, as she cut in the circuit marked TRANSPORTATION, "to take you to the rocket port. One of our young men will be with it to get additional details from you on the way to the port. A compartment for yourself and a berth for your maid will be reserved on the 16:45 rocket for Newark. You may rest easy now. General Services will do your worrying."

ККККК "Oh, thank you, my dear. You've been such a help. You've no idea of the _responsibilities_ a person in my position has.'

ККККК Miss Cormet cluck-clucked in professional sympathy while deciding that this particular girl was good for still more fees. "You _do_ look exhausted, madame," she said anxiously. "Should I not have a masseuse accompany you on the trip? Is your health at all delicate? Perhaps a physician would be still better."

ККККК "How thoughtful you are!"

ККККК "I'll send both," Miss Cormet decided, and switched off, with a faint regret that she had not suggested a specially chartered rocket. Special service, not listed in the master price schedule, was supplied on a cost-plus basis. In cases like this "plus" meant all the traffic would bear.

ККККК She switched to EXECUTIVE; an alert-eyed young man filled the screen. "Stand by for transcript, Steve," she said. "Special service, triple-A. I've started the immediate service."

ККККК His eyebrows lifted. "Triple-A -- bonuses?"

ККККК "Undoubtedly. Give this old battleaxe the works -- smoothly. And look -- the client's son is laid up in a hospital. Check on his nurses. If any one of them has even a shred of sex-appeal, fire her out and put a zombie in."

ККККК "Gotcha, kid. Start the transcript."

ККККК She cleared her screen again; the "available-for-service" light in her booth turned automatically to green, then almost at once turned red again and a new figure built up in her screen.

ККККК No stupid waster this. Grace Cormet saw a well-kempt man in his middle forties, flat-waisted, shrewd-eyed, hard but urbane. The cape of his formal morning clothes was thrown back with careful casualness. "General Services," she said. "Miss Cormet speaking."

ККККК "Ah, Miss Cormet," he began, "I wish to see your chief."

ККККК "Chief of switchboard?"

ККККК "No, I wish to see the President of General Services."

ККККК "Will you tell me what it is you wish? Perhaps I can help you."

ККККК "Sorry, but I can't make explanations. I must see him, at once."

ККККК "And General Services is sorry. Mr. Clare is a very busy man; it is impossible to see him without appointment and without explanation."

ККККК "Are you recording?"

ККККК "Certainly."

ККККК "Then please cease doing so."

ККККК Above the console, in sight of the client, she switched off the recorder. Underneath the desk she switched it back on again. General Services was sometimes asked to perform illegal acts; its confidential employees took no chances. He fished something out from the folds of his chemise and held it out to her. The stereo effect made it appear as if he were reaching right out through the screen.

ККККК Trained features masked her surprise -- it was the sigil of a planetary official, and the color of the badge was green.

ККККК "I will arrange it," she said.

ККККК "Very good. Can you meet me and conduct me in from the waiting room? In ten minutes?"

ККККК "I will be there, Mister . . . Mister--" But he had cut off.

ККККК Grace Cormet switched to the switchboard chief and called for relief. Then, with her board cut out of service, she removed the spool bearing the clandestine record of the interview, stared at it as if undecided, and after a moment, dipped it into an opening in the top of the desk where a strong magnetic field wiped the unfixed patterns from the soft metal.

ККККК A girl entered the booth from the rear. She was blond, decorative, and looked slow and a little dull. She was neither. "Okay, Grace," she said. "Anything to turn over?"

ККККК "No. Clear board."

ККККК "'S matter? Sick?"

ККККК "No." With no further explanation Grace left the booth, went on out past the other booths housing operators who handled unlisted services and into the large hail where the hundreds of catalogue operators worked. These had no such complex equipment as the booth which Grace had quitted. One enormous volume, a copy of the current price list of all of General Services' regular price-marked functions, and an ordinary look-and-listen enabled a catalogue operator to provide for the public almost anything the ordinary customer could wish for. If a call was beyond the scope of the catalogue it was transferred to the aristocrats of resourcefulness, such as Grace.

ККККК She took a short cut through the master files room, walked down an alleyway between dozens of chattering punched-card machines, and entered the foyer of that level. A pneumatic lift bounced her up to the level of the President's office. The President's receptionist did not stop her, nor, apparently, announce her. But Grace noted that the girl's hands were busy at the keys of her voder.

ККККК Switchboard operators do not walk into the offices of the president of a billion-credit corporation. But General Services was not organized like any other business on the planet. It was a _sui generis_ business in which special training was a commodity to be listed, bought, and sold, but general resourcefulness and a ready wit were all important. In its hierarchy Jay Clare, the president, came first, his handyman, Saunders Francis, stood second, and the couple of dozen operators, of which Grace was one, who took calls on the unlimited switchboard came immediately after. They, and the field operators who handled the most difficult unclassified commissions -- one group in fact, for the unlimited switchboard operators and the unlimited field operators swapped places indiscriminately.

ККККК After them came the tens of thousands of other employees spread over the planet, from the chief accountant, the head of the legal department, the chief clerk of the master files on down through the local managers. the catalogue operators to the last classified part time employee -- stenographers prepared to take dictation when and where ordered, gigolos ready to fill an empty place at a dinner, the man who rented both armadillos and trained fleas.

ККККК Grace Cormet walked into Mr. Clare's office. It was the only room in the building not cluttered up with electromechanical recording and communicating equipment. It contained nothing but his desk (bare), a couple of chairs, and a stereo screen, which, when not in use, seemed to be Krantz' famous painting "The Weeping Buddha". The original was in fact in the sub-basement, a thousand feet below.

ККККК "Hello, Grace," he greeted her, and shoved a piece of paper at her. "Tell me what you think of that. Sance says it's lousy." Saunders Francis turned his mild pop eyes from his chief to Grace Cormet, but neither confirmed nor denied the statement.

ККККК Miss Cormet read:

ККККККККККК ККККК CAN YOU AFFORD IT?

ККККККККККК ККК Can You Afford GENERAL SERVICES?

ККККК ККККК Can You Afford NOT to have General Services ? ? ? ? ?

ККККК ККК In this jet-speed age can you afford to go on wasting

ККККК ККК time doing your own shopping, paying bills yourself,

ККККК ККК taking care of your living compartment?

ККККК ККККК We'll spank the baby and feed the cat.

ККККК ККККК We'll rent you a house and buy your shoes.

ККККК ККК We'll write to your mother-in-law and add up your check stubs.

ККККК ККК К ККККNo job too large; No job too small --

ККККККККККК ККК and all amazingly Cheap!

ККККККККККК ККККК GENERAL SERVICES

ККККККККККК ККККК Dial H-U-R-R-Y -- U-P

ККККККККККК ККККК P.S. WE ALSO WALK DOGS

ККККК "Well?" said Clare.

ККККК "Sance is right. It smells."

ККККК "Why?"

ККККК "Too logical. Too verbose. No drive."

ККККК "What's your idea of an ad to catch the marginal market?"

ККККК She thought a moment, then borrowed his stylus and wrote:

ККККК ККККК DO YOU WANT SOMEBODY MURDERED?

ККККК ККККК (Then _don't_ call GENERAL SERVICES)

ККККК ККККК But for _any_ other job dial HURRY-UP - _It pays_!

ККККК ККККК P.S. We also walk dogs.

ККККК "Mmmm . . . well, maybe," Mr. Clare said cautiously. "We'll try it. Sance, give this a type B coverage, two weeks, North America, and let me know how it takes." Francis put it away in his kit, still with no change in his mild expression. "Now as I was saying--"

ККККК "Chief," broke in Grace Cormet. "I made an appointment for you in--"К She glanced at her watchfinger. "--exactly two minutes and forty seconds. Government man."

ККККК "Make him happy and send him away. I'm busy."

ККККК "Green Badge."

ККККК He looked up sharply. Even Francis looked interested. "So?" Clare remarked. "Got the interview transcript with you?"

ККККК "I wiped it."

ККККК "You did? Well, perhaps you know best. I like your hunches. Bring him in."

ККККК She nodded thoughtfully and left.

ККККК She found her man just entering the public reception room and escorted him past half a dozen gates whose guardians would otherwise have demanded his identity and the nature of his business. When he was seated in Clare's office, he looked around. "May I speak with you in private, Mr. Clare?"

ККККК "Mr. Francis is my right leg. You've already spoken to Miss Cormet."

ККККК "Very well." He produced the green sigil again and held it out. "No names are necessary just yet. I am sure of your discretion."

ККККК The President of General Services sat up impatiently. "Let's get down to business. You are Pierre Beaumont, Chief of Protocol. Does the administration want a job done?"

ККККК Beaumont was unperturbed by the change in pace. "You know me. Very well. We'll get down to business. The government may want a job done. In any case our discussion must not be permitted to leak out--"

ККККК "All of General Services relations are confidential."

ККККК "This is not confidential; this is secret." He paused.

ККККК "I understand you," agreed Clare. "Go on."

ККККК "You have an interesting organization here, Mr. Clare. I believe it is your boast that you will undertake any commission whatsoever -- for a price."

ККККК "If it is legal."

ККККК "Ah, yes, of course. But legal is a word capable of interpretation. I admired the way your company handled the outfitting of the Second Plutonian Expedition. Some of your methods were, ah, ingenious."

ККККК "If you have any criticism of our actions in that case they are best made to our legal department through the usual channels."

ККККК Beaumont pushed a palm in his direction. "Oh, no, Mr. Clare -- please! You misunderstand me. I was not criticising; I was admiring. Such resource! What a diplomat you would have made!"

ККККК "Let's quit fencing. What do you want?"

ККККК Mr. Beaumont pursed his lips. "Let us suppose that you had to entertain a dozen representatives of each intelligent race in this planetary system and you wanted to make each one of them completely comfortable and happy. Could you do it?"

ККККК Clare thought aloud. "Air pressure, humidity, radiation densities, atmosphere, chemistry, temperatures, cultural conditions -- those things are all simple. But how about acceleration? We could use a centrifuge for the Jovians, but Martians and Titans -- that's another matter. There is no way to reduce earth-normal gravity. No, you would have to entertain them out in space, or on Luna. That makes it not our pigeon; we never give service beyond the stratosphere."

ККККК Beaumont shook his head. "It won't be beyond the stratosphere. You may take it as an absolute condition that you are to accomplish your results on the surface of the Earth."

ККККК "Why?"

ККККК "Is it the custom of General Services to inquire why a client wants a particular type of service?"

ККККК "No. Sorry."

ККККК "Quite all right. But you do need more information in order to understand what must be accomplished and why it must be secret. There will be a conference, held on this planet, in the near future -- ninety days at the outside. Until the conference is called no suspicion that it is to be held must be allowed to leak out. If the plans for it were to be anticipated in certain quarters, it would be useless to hold the conference at all. I suggest that you think of this conference as a roundtable of leading, ah, scientists of the system, about of the same size and makeup as the session of the Academy held on Mars last spring. You are to make all preparations for the entertainments of the delegates, but you are to conceal these preparations in the ramifications of your organization until needed. As for the details--"

ККККК But Clare interrupted him. "You appear to have assumed that we will take on this commission. As you have explained it, it would involve us in a ridiculous failure. General Services does not like failures. You know and I know that low-gravity people cannot spend more than a few hours in high gravity without seriously endangering their health. Interplanetary get-togethers are always held on a low-gravity planet and always will be."

ККККК "Yes," answered Beaumont patiently, "they always have been. Do you realize the tremendous diplomatic handicap which Earth and Venus labor under in consequence?"

ККККК "I don't get it."

ККККК "It isn't necessary that you should. Political psychology is not your concern. Take it for granted that it does and that the Administration is determined that this conference shall take place on Earth."

ККККК "Why not Luna?"

ККККК Beaumont shook his head. "Not the same thing at all. Even though we administer it, Luna City is a treaty port. Not the same thing, psychologically."

ККККК Clare shook his head. "Mr. Beaumont, I don't believe that you understand the nature of General Services, even as I fail to appreciate the subtle requirements of diplomacy. We don't work miracles and we don't promise to. We are just the handy-man of the last century, gone speed-lined and corporate. We are the latter day equivalent of the old servant class, but we are not Aladdin's genie. We don't even maintain research laboratories in the scientific sense. We simply make the best possible use of modern advances in communications and organization to do what already can be done." He waved a hand at the far wall, on which there was cut in intaglio the time-honored trademark of the business -- a Scottie dog, pulling against a leash and sniffing at a post. "_There_ is the spirit of the sort of work we do. We walk dogs for people who are too busy to walk 'em themselves. My grandfather worked his way through college walking dogs. I'm still walking them. I don't promise miracles, nor monkey with politics."

ККККК Beaumont fitted his fingertips carefully together. "You walk dogs for a fee. But of course you do -- you walk my pair. Five minim-credits seems rather cheap."

ККККК "It is. But a hundred thousand dogs, twice a day, soon runs up the gross take."

ККККК "The 'take' for walking this 'dog' would be considerable."

ККККК "How much?" asked Francis. It was his first sign of interest. Beaumont turned his eyes on him. "My dear sir, the outcome of this, ah, roundtable should make a difference of literally hundreds of billions of credits to this planet. We will not bind the mouth of the kine that treads the corn, if you pardon the figure of speech."

ККККК "How much?"

ККККК "Would thirty percent over cost be reasonable?"

ККККК Francis shook his head. "Might not come to much."

ККККК "Well, I certainly won't haggle. Suppose we leave it up to you gentlemen -- your pardon, Miss Cormet! -- to decide what the service is worth. I think I can rely on your planetary and racial patriotism to make it reasonable and proper."

ККККК Francis sat back, said nothing, but looked pleased.

ККККК "Wait a minute," protested Clare. "We haven't taken this job."

ККККК "We have discussed the fee," observed Beaumont.

ККККК Clare looked from Francis to Grace Cormet, then examined his fingernails. "Give me twenty-four hours to find out whether or not it is possible," he said finally, "and I'll tell you whether or not we will walk your dog."

ККККК "I feel sure," answered Beaumont, "that you will." He gathered his cape about him.

ККККК "Okay, masterminds," said Clare bitterly, "you've bought it."

ККККК "I've been wanting to get back to field work," said Grace.

ККККК "Put a crew on everything but the gravity problem," suggested Francis. "It's the only catch. The rest is routine."

ККККК "Certainly," agreed Clare, "but you had better deliver on that. If you can't, we are out some mighty expensive preparations that we will never be paid for. Who do you want? Grace?"

ККККК "I suppose so," answered Francis. "She can count up to ten."

ККККК Grace Cormet looked at him coldly. "There are times, Sance Francis, when I regret having married you."

ККККК "Keep your domestic affairs out of the office," warned Clare. "Where do you start?"

ККККК "Let's find out who knows most about gravitation," decided Francis. "Grace, better get Doctor Krathwohl on the screen."

ККККК "Right," she acknowledged, as she stepped to the stereo controls. "That's the beauty about this business. You don't have to know anything; you just have to know where to find out."

ККККК Dr. Krathwohl was a part of the permanent staff of General Services. He had no assigned duties. The company found it worthwhile to support him in comfort while providing him with an unlimited drawing account for scientific journals and for attendance at the meetings which the learned hold from time to time. Dr Krathwohl lacked the single-minded drive of the research scientist; he was a dilettante by nature.

ККККК Occasionally they asked him a question. It paid.

ККККК "Oh, hello, my dear!" Doctor Krathwohl's gentle face smiled out at her from the screen. "Look -- I've just come across the most amusing fact in the latest issue of _Nature_. It throws a most interesting sidelight on Brownlee's theory of--"

ККККК "Just a second, Doc," she interrupted. "I'm kinda in a hurry."

ККККК "Yes, my dear?"

ККККК "Who knows the most about gravitation?"

ККККК "In what way do you mean that? Do you want an astrophysicist, or do you want to deal with the subject from a standpoint of theoretical mechanics? Farquarson would be the man in the first instance, I suppose."

ККККК "I want to know what makes it tick."

ККККК "Field theory, eh? In that case you don't want Farquarson. He is a descriptive ballistician, primarily. Dr. Julian's work in that subject is authoritative, possibly definitive."

ККККК "Where can we get hold of him?"

ККККК "Oh, but you can't. He died last year, poor fellow. A great loss."

ККККК Grace refrained from telling him how great a loss and asked, "Who stepped into his shoes?"

ККККК "Who what? Oh, you were jesting! I see. You want the name of the present top man in field theory. I would say O'Neil."

ККККК "Where is he?"

ККККК "I'll have to find out. I know him slightly -- a difficult man."

ККККК "Do, please. In the meantime who could coach us a bit on what it's all about?"

ККККК "Why don't you try young Carson, in our engineering department? He was interested in such things before he took a job with us. Intelligent chap -- I've had many an interesting talk with him."

ККККК "I'll do that. Thanks, Doc. Call the Chief's office as soon as you have located O'Neil. Speed." She cut off.

ККККК Carson agreed with Krathwohl's opinion, but looked dubious. "O'Neil is arrogant and non-cooperative. I've worked under him. But he undoubtedly knows more about field theory and space structure than any other living man."

ККККК Carson had been taken into the inner circle, the problem explained to him. He had admitted that he saw no solution. "Maybe we are making something hard out of this," Clare suggested. "I've got some ideas. Check me if I'm wrong, Carson."

ККККК "Go ahead, Chief."

ККККК "Well, the acceleration of gravity is produced by the proximity of a mass -- right? Earth-normal gravity being produced by the proximity of the Earth. Well, what would be the effect of placing a large mass just over a particular point on the Earth's surface. Would not that serve to counteract the pull of the Earth?"

ККККК "Theoretically, yes. But it would have to be a damn big mass."

ККККК "No matter."

ККККК "You don't understand, Chief. To offset fully the pull of the Earth at a given point would require another planet the size of the Earth in contact with the Earth at that point. Of course since you don't want to cancel the pull completely, but simply to reduce it, you gain a certain advantage through using a smaller mass which would have its center of gravity closer to the point in question than would be the center of gravity of the Earth. Not enough, though. While the attraction builds up inversely as the square of the distance -- in this case the half-diameter -- the mass and the consequent attraction drops off directly as the cube of the diameter."

ККККК "What does that give us?"

ККККК Carson produced a slide rule and figured for a few moments. He looked up. "I'm almost afraid to answer. You would need a good-sized asteroid, of lead, to get anywhere at all."

ККККК "Asteroids have been moved before this."

ККККК "Yes, but what is to hold it up? No, Chief, there is no conceivable source of power, or means of applying it, that would enable you to hang a big planetoid over a particular spot on the Earth's surface and keep it there."

ККККК "Well, it was a good idea while it lasted," Clare said pensively. Grace's smooth brow had been wrinkled as she followed the discussion. Now she put in, "I gathered that you could use an extremely heavy small mass more effectively. I seem to have read somewhere about some stuff that weighs tons per cubic inch."

ККККК "The core of dwarf stars," agreed Carson. "All we would need for that would be a ship capable of going light-years in a few days, some way to mine the interior of a star, and a new space-time theory."

ККККК "Oh, well, skip it."

ККККК "Wait a minute," Francis observed. "Magnetism is a lot like gravity, isn't it?"

ККККК "Well -- yes."

ККККК "Could there be some way to maqnetize these gazebos from the little planets? Maybe something odd about their body chemistry?"

ККККК "Nice idea," agreed Carson, "but while their internal economy is odd, it's not that odd. They are still organic."

ККККК "I suppose not. If pigs had wings they'd be pigeons."

ККККК The stereo annunciator blinked. Doctor Krathwohl announced that O'Neil could be found at his summer home in Portage, Wisconsin. He had not screened him and would prefer not to do so, unless the Chief insisted.

ККККК Clare thanked him and turned back to the others. "We are wasting time," he announced. "After years in this business we should know better than to try to decide technical questions. I'm not a physicist and I don't give a damn how gravitation works. That's O'Neil's business. And Carson's. Carson, shoot up to Wisconsin and get O'Neil on the job."

ККККК "Me?"

ККККК "You. You're an operator for this job -- with pay to match. Bounce over to the port -- there will be a rocket and a credit facsimile waiting for you. You ought to be able to raise ground in seven or eight minutes."

ККККК Carson blinked. "How about my job here?"

ККККК "The engineering department will be told, likewise the accounting. Get going."

ККККК Without replying Carson headed for the door. By the time he reached it he was hurrying.

ККККК Carson's departure left them with nothing to do until he reported back -- nothing to do, that is, but to start action on the manifold details of reproducing the physical and cultural details of three other planets and four major satellites, exclusive of their characteristic surface-normal gravitational accelerations. The assignment, although new, presented no real difficulties -- to General Services. Somewhere there were persons who knew all the answers to these matters. The vast loose organization called General Services was geared to find them, hire them, put them to work. Any of the unlimited operators and a considerable percent of the catalogue operators could take such an assignment and handle it without excitement nor hurry.

ККККК Francis called in one unlimited operator. He did not even bother to select him, but took the first available on the ready panel -- they were all "Can do!" people. He explained in detail the assignment, then promptly forgot about it. It would be done, and on time. The punched-card machines would chatter a bit louder, stereo screens would flash, and bright young people in all parts of the Earth would drop what they were doing and dig out the specialists who would do the actual work.

ККККК He turned back to Clare, who said, "I wish I knew what Beaumont is up to. Conference of scientists -- phooey!"

ККККК "I thought you weren't interested in politics, Jay."

ККККК "I'm not. I don't give a hoot in hell about politics, interplanetary or otherwise, except as it affects this business. But if I knew what was being planned, we might be able to squeeze a bigger cut out of it."

ККККК "Well," put in Grace, "I think you can take it for granted that the real heavy-weights from all the planets are about to meet and divide Gaul into three parts."

ККККК "Yes, but who gets cut out?"

ККККК "Mars, I suppose."

ККККК "Seems likely. With a bone tossed to the Venerians. In that case we might speculate a little in Pan-Jovian Trading Corp."

ККККК "Easy, son, easy," Francis warned. "Do that, and you might get people interested. This is a hush-hush job."

ККККК "I guess you're right. Still, keep your eyes open. There ought to be some way to cut a slice of pie before this is over."

ККККК Grace Cormet's telephone buzzed. She took it out of her pocket and said, "Yes?"

ККККК "A Mrs. Hogbein Johnson wants to speak to you."

ККККК "You handle her. I'm off the board."

ККККК "She won't talk to anyone but you."

ККККК "All right. Put her on the Chief's stereo, but stay in parallel yourself. You'll handle it after I've talked to her."

ККККК The screen came to life, showing Mrs. Johnson's fleshy face alone, framed in the middle of the screen in flat picture. "Oh, Miss Cormet," she moaned, "some dreadful mistake has been made. There is no stereo on this ship."

ККККК "It will be installed in Cincinnati. That will be in about twenty minutes."

ККККК "You are sure?"

ККККК "Quite sure."

ККККК "Oh, thank you! It's such a relief to talk with you. Do you know, I'm thinking of making you my social secretary."

ККККК "Thank you,' Grace said evenly; `but I am under contract."

ККККК "But how stupidly tiresome! You can break it."

ККККК "No, I'm sorry Mrs. Johnson. Good-bye." She switched off the screen and spoke again into her telephone. "Tell Accounting to double her fee. And I won't speak with her again." She cut off and shoved the little instrument savagely back into her pocket. "Social secretary!"

ККККК It was after dinner and Clare had retired to his living apartment before Carson called back. Francis took the call in his own office.

ККККК "Any luck?" he asked, when Carson's image had built up.

ККККК "Quite a bit. I've seen O'Neil."

ККККК "Well? Will he do it?"

ККККК "You mean can he do it, don't you?"

ККККК "Well -- can he?"

ККККК "Now that is a funny thing -- I didn't think it was theoretically possible. But after talking with him, I'm convinced that it is. O'Neil has a new outlook on field theory -- stuff he's never published. The man is a genius."

ККККК "I don't care," said Francis, "whether he's a genius or a Mongolian idiot -- can he build some sort of a gravity thinner-outer?"

ККККК "I believe he can. I really do believe he can."

ККККК "Fine. You hired him?"

ККККК "No. That's the hitch. That's why I called back. It's like this: I happened to catch him in a mellow mood, and because we had worked together once before and because I had not aroused his ire quite as frequently as his other assistants he invited me to stay for dinner. We talked about a lot of things (you can't hurry him) and I broached the proposition. It interested him mildly -- the idea, I mean; not the proposition -- and he discussed the theory with me, or, rather, at me. But he won't work on it."

ККККК "Why not? You didn't offer him enough money. I guess I'd better tackle him."

ККККК "No, Mr. Francis, no. You don't understand. He's not interested in money. He's independently wealthy and has more than he needs for his research, or anything else he wants. But just at present he is busy on wave mechanics theory and he just won't be bothered with anything else."

ККККК "Did you make him realize it was important?"

ККККК "Yes and no. Mostly no. I tried to, but there isn't anything important to him but what he wants. It's a sort of intellectual snobbishness. Other people simply don't count."

ККККК "All right," said Francis. "You've done well so far. Here's what you do: After I switch off, you call EXECUTIVE and make a transcript of everything you can remember of what he said about gravitational theory. We'll hire the next best men, feed it to them, and see if it gives them any ideas to work on. In the meantime I'll put a crew to work on the details of Dr O'Neil's background. He'll have a weak point somewhere; it's just a matter of finding it. Maybe he's keeping a woman somewhere--"

ККККК "He's long past that."

ККККК "--or maybe he has a by-blow stashed away somewhere. We'll see. I want you to stay there in Portage. Since you can't hire him, maybe you can persuade him to hire you. You're our pipeline, I want it kept open. We've got to find something he wants, or something he is afraid of."

ККККК "He's not afraid of _anything_. I'm positive about that."

ККККК "Then he wants something. If it's not money, or women, it's something else. It's a law of nature."

ККККК "I doubt it," Carson replied slowly. "Say! Did I tell you about his hobby?"

ККККК "No. What is it?"

ККККК "It's china. In particular, Ming china. He has the best collection in the world, I'd guess. But I know what he wants!"

ККККК "Well, spill it, man, spill it. Don't be dramatic."

ККККК "It's a little china dish, or bowl, about four inches across and two inches high. It's got a Chinese name that means 'Flower of Forgetfulness.'"

ККККК "Hmmm -- doesn't seem significant. You think he wants it pretty bad?"

ККККК "I know he does. He has a solid colorgraph of it in his study, where he can look at it. But it hurts him to talk about it."

ККККК "Find out who owns it and where it is."

ККККК "I know. British Museum. That's why he can't buy it."

ККККК "So?" mused Francis. "Well, you can forget it. Carry on."

ККККК Clare came down to Francis' office and the three talked it over. "I guess we'll need Beaumont on this," was his comment when he had heard the report. "It will take the Government to get anything loose from the British Museum." Francis looked morose. "Well -- what's eating you? What's wrong with that?"

ККККК "I know," offered Grace. "You remember the treaty under which Great Britain entered the planetary confederation?"

ККККК "I was never much good at history."

ККККК "It comes to this: I doubt if the planetary government can touch anything that belongs to the Museum without asking the British Parliament."

ККККК "Why not? Treaty or no treaty, the planetary government is sovereign. That was established in the Brazilian Incident."

ККККК "Yeah, sure. But it could cause questions to be asked in the House of Commons and that would lead to the one thing Beaumont wants to avoid at all costs -- publicity."

ККККК "Okay. What do you propose?"

ККККК "I'd say that Sance and I had better slide over to England and find out just how tight they have the 'Flower of Forgetfulness' nailed down -- and who does the nailing and what his weaknesses are."

ККККК Clare's eyes travelled past her to Francis, who was looking blank in the fashion that indicated assent to his intimates. "Okay," agreed Clare, "it's your baby. Taking a special?"

ККККК "No, we've got time to get the midnight out of New York. Bye-bye."

ККККК "Bye. Call me tomorrow."

ККККК When Grace screened the Chief the next day he took one look at her and exclaimed, "Good Grief, kid! What have you done to your hair?"

ККККК "We located the guy," she explained succinctly. "His weakness is blondes."

ККККК "You've had your skin bleached, too."

ККККК "Of course. How do you like it?"

ККККК "It's stupendous -- though I preferred you the way you were. But what does Sance think of it?"

ККККК "He doesn't mind -- it's business. But to get down to cases, Chief, there isn't much to report. This will have to be a lefthanded job. In the ordinary way, it would take an earthquake to get anything out of that tomb."

ККККК "Don't do anything that can't be fixed!"

ККККК "You know me, Chief. I won't get you in trouble. But it will be expensive."

ККККК "Of course."

ККККК "That's all for now. I'll screen tomorrow."

ККККК She was a brunette again the next day. "What is this?" asked Clare. "A masquerade?"

ККККК "I wasn't the blonde he was weak for," she explained, "but I found the one he was interested in."

ККККК "Did it work out?"

ККККК "I think it will. Sance is having a facsimile integrated now. With luck, we'll see you tomorrow."

ККККК They showed up the next day, apparently empty handed. "Well?" said Clare, "well?"

ККККК "Seal the place up, Jay," suggested Francis. "Then we'll talk." Clare flipped a switch controlling an interference shield which rendered his office somewhat more private than a coffin. "How about it?" he demanded. "Did you get it?"

ККККК "Show it to him, Grace."

ККККК Grace turned her back, fumbled at her clothing for a moment, then turned around and placed it gently on the Chief's desk.

ККККК It was not that it was beautiful -- it was beauty. Its subtle simple curve had no ornamentation, decoration would have sullied it. One spoke softly in its presence, for fear a sudden noise would shatter it.

ККККК Clare reached out to touch it, then thought better of it and drew his hand back. But he bent his head over it and stared down into it. It was strangely hard to focus -- to allocate -- the bottom of the bowl. It seemed as if his sight sank deeper and ever deeper into it, as if he were drowning in a pool of light.

ККККК He jerked up his head and blinked. "God," he whispered, "God -- I didn't know such things existed."

ККККК He looked at Grace and looked away to Francis. Francis had tears in his eyes, or perhaps his own were blurred.

ККККК "Look, Chief," said Francis. "Look -- couldn't we just keep it and call the whole thing off?"

ККККК "There's no use talking about it any longer," said Francis wearily. "We can't keep it, Chief. I shouldn't have suggested it and you shouldn't have listened to me. Let's screen O'Neil."

ККККК "We might just wait another day before we do anything about it," Clare ventured. His eyes returned yet again to the "Flower of Forgetfulness."

ККККК Grace shook her head. "No good. It will just be harder tomorrow. I _know_." She walked decisively over to the stereo and manipulated the controls.

ККККК O'Neil was annoyed at being disturbed and twice annoyed that they had used the emergency signal to call him to his disconnected screen.

ККККК "What is this?" he demanded. "What do you mean by disturbing a private citizen when he has disconnected? Speak up and it had better be good, or, so help me, I'll sue you!"

ККККК "We want you to do a little job of work for us, Doctor," Clare began evenly.

ККККК "What!" O'Neil seemed almost too surprised to be angry. "Do you mean to stand there, sir, and tell me that you have invaded the privacy of my home to ask me to work for you?"

ККККК "The pay will be satisfactory to you."

ККККК O'Neil seemed to be counting up to ten before answering. "Sir," he said carefully, "there are men in the world who seem to think they can buy anything, or anybody. I grant you that they have much to go on in that belief. But I am not for sale. Since you seem to be one of those persons, I will do my best to make this interview expensive for you. You will hear from my attorneys. Good night!"

ККККК "Wait a moment," Clare said urgently. "I believe that you are interested in china--"

ККККК "What if I am?"

ККККК "Show it to him, Grace." Grace brought the "Flower of Forgetfulness" up near the screen, handling it carefully, reverently. O'Neil said nothing. He leaned forward and stared. He seemed to be about to climb through the screen. "Where did you get it?" he said at last.

ККККК "That doesn't matter."

ККККК "I'll buy it from you - at your own price."

ККККК "It's not for sale. But you may have it -- if we can reach an agreement."

ККККК O'Neil eyed him. "It's stolen property."

ККККК "You're mistaken. Nor will you find anyone to take an interest in such a charge. Now about this job--"

ККККК O'Neil pulled his eyes away from the bowl. "What is it you wish me to do?"

ККККК Clare explained the problem to him. When he had concluded O'Neil shook his head. "That's ridiculous," he said.

ККККК "We have reason to feel that is theoretically possible."

ККККК "Oh, certainly! It's theoretically possible to live forever, too. But no one has ever managed it."

ККККК "We think you can do it."

ККККК "Thank you for nothing. Say!" O'Neil stabbed a finger at him out of the screen. "You set that young pup Carson on me!"

ККККК "He was acting under my orders."

ККККК "Then, sir, I do not like your manners."

ККККК "How about the job? And this?" Clare indicated the bowl. O'Neil gazed at it and chewed his whiskers. "Suppose," he said, at last, "I make an honest attempt, to the full extent of my ability, to supply what you want -- and I fail."

ККККК Clare shook his head. "We pay only for results. Oh, your salary, of course, but not _this_. This is a bonus in addition to your salary, _if_ you are successful."

ККККК O'Neil seemed about to agree, then said suddenly, "You may be fooling me with a colorgraph. I can't tell through this damned screen."

ККККК Clare shrugged. "Come and see for yourself."

ККККК "I shall. I will. Stay where you are. Where are you? Damn it, sir, what's your name?"

ККККК He came storming in two hours later. "You've tricked me! The 'Flower' is still in England. I've investigated. I'll . . . I'll punish you, sir, with my own two hands."

ККККК "See for yourself," answered Clare. He stepped aside, so that his body no longer obscured O'Neil's view of Clare's desk top.

ККККК They let him look. They respected his need for quiet and let him look. After a long time he turned to them, but did not speak.

ККККК "Well?" asked Clare.

ККККК "I'll build your damned gadget," he said huskily. "I figured out an approach on the way here."

ККККК Beaumont came in person to call the day before the first session of the conference. "Just a social call, Mr. Clare," he stated. "I simply wanted to express to you my personal appreciation for the work you have done. And to deliver this." "This" turned out to be a draft on the Bank Central for the agreed fee. Clare accepted it, glanced at it, nodded, and placed it on his desk.

ККККК "I take it, then," he remarked, "that the Government is satisfied with the service rendered."

ККККК "That is putting it conservatively," Beaumont assured him. "To be perfectly truthful, I did not think you could do so much. You seem to have thought of everything. The Callistan delegation is out now, riding around and seeing the sights in one of the little tanks you had prepared. They are delighted. Confidentially, I think we can depend on their vote in the coming sessions."

ККККК "Gravity shields working all right, eh?"

ККККК "Perfectly. I stepped into their sightseeing tank before we turned it over to them. I was as light as the proverbial feather. Too light -- I was very nearly spacesick." He smiled in wry amusement. "I entered the Jovian apartments, too. That was quite another matter."

ККККК "Yes, it would be," Clare agreed. "Two and a half times normal weight is oppressive to say the least."

ККККК "It's a happy ending to a difficult task. I must be going. Oh, yes, one other little matter -- I've discussed with Doctor O'Neil the possibility that the Administration may be interested in other uses for his new development. In order to simplify the matter it seems desirable that you provide me with a quit-claim to the O'Neil effect from General Services."

ККККК Clare gazed thoughtfully at the "Weeping Buddha" and chewed his thumb. "No," he said slowly, "no. I'm afraid that would be difficult."

ККККК "Why not?" asked Beaumont. "It avoids the necessity of adjudication and attendant waste of time. We are prepared to recognize your service and recompense you."

ККККК "Hmmm. I don't believe you fully understand the situation, Mr. Beaumont. There is a certain amount of open territory between our contract with Doctor O'Neil and your contract with us. You asked of us certain services and certain chattels with which to achieve that service. We provided them -- for a fee. All done. But our contract with Doctor O'Neil made him a full-time employee for the period of his employment. His research results and the patents embodying them are the property of General Services."

ККККК "Really?" said Beaumont. "Doctor O'Neil has a different impression."

ККККК "Doctor O'Neil is mistaken. Seriously, Mr. Beaumont -- you asked us to develop a siege gun, figuratively speaking, to shoot a gnat. Did you expect us, as businessmen, to throw away the siege gun after one shot?"

ККККК "No, I suppose not. What do you propose to do?"

ККККК "We expect to exploit the gravity modulator commercially. I fancy we could get quite a good price for certain adaptations of it on Mars."

ККККК "Yes. Yes, I suppose you could. But to be brutally frank, Mr. Clare, I am afraid that is impossible. it is a matter of imperative public policy that this development be limited to terrestrials. In fact, the administration would find it necessary to intervene and make it government monopoly."

ККККК "Have you considered how to keep O'Neil quiet?"

ККККК "In view of the change in circumstances, no. What is your thought?"

ККККК "A corporation, in which he would hold a block of stock and be president. One of our bright young men would be chairman of the board." Clare thought of Carson. "There would be stock enough to go around," he added, and watched Beaumont's face.

ККККК Beaumont ignored the bait. "I suppose that this corporation would be under contract to the Government -- its sole customer?"

ККККК "That is the idea."

ККККК "Hmmm . . . yes, it seems feasible. Perhaps I had better speak with Doctor O'Neil."

ККККК "Help yourself."

ККККК Beaumont got O'Neil on the screen and talked with him in low tones. Or, more properly, Beaumont's tones were low. O'Neil displayed a tendency to blast the microphone. Clare sent for Francis and Grace and explained to them what had taken place.

ККККК Beaumont turned away from the screen. "The Doctor wishes to speak with you, Mr. Clare."

ККККК O'Neil looked at him frigidly. "What is this claptrap I've had to listen to, sir? What's this about the O'Neil effect being your property?"

ККККК "It was in your contract, Doctor. Don't you recall?"

ККККК "Contract! I never read the damned thing. But I can tell you this: I'll take you to court. I'll tie you in knots before I'll let you make a fool of me that way."

ККККК "Just a moment, Doctor, please!" Clare soothed. "We have no desire to take advantage of a mere legal technicality, and no one disputes your interest. Let me outline what I had in mind--" He ran rapidly over the plan. O'Neil listened, but his expression was still unmollified at the conclusion.

ККККК "I'm not interested," he said gruffly. "So far as I am concerned the Government can have the whole thing. And I'll see to it."

ККККК "I had not mentioned one other condition," added Clare.

ККККК "Don't bother."

ККККК "I must. This will be just a matter of agreement between gentlemen, but it is essential. You have custody of the 'Flower of Forgetfulness.'"

ККККК O'Neil was at once on guard. "What do you mean, 'custody.' I own it. Understand me -- own it."

ККККК "'Own it,'" repeated Clare. "Nevertheless, in return for the concessions we are making you with respect to your contract, we want something in return."

ККККК "What?" asked O'Neil. The mention of the bowl had upset his confidence.

ККККК "You own it and you retain possession of it. But I want your word that I, or Mr. Francis, or Miss Cormet, may come look at it from time to time -- frequently."

ККККК O'Neil looked unbelieving. "You mean that you simply want to come to _look_ at it?"

ККККК "That's all."

ККККК "Simply to _enjoy_ it?"

ККККК "That's right."

ККККК O'Neil looked at him with new respect. "I did not understand you before, Mr Clare. I apologize. As for the corporation nonsense -- do as you like. I don't care. You and Mr Francis and Miss Cormet may come to see the 'Flower' whenever you like. You have my word."

ККККК "Thank you, Doctor O'Neil -- for all of us." He switched off as quickly as could be managed gracefully.

ККККК Beaumont was looking at Clare with added respect, too. "I think," he said, "that the next time I shall not interfere with your handling of the details. I'll take my leave. Adieu, gentlemen - and Miss Cormet."

ККККК When the door had rolled down behind him Grace remarked, "That seems to polish it off."

ККККК "Yes," said Clare. "We've 'walked his dog' for him; O'Neil has what he wants; Beaumont got what he wanted, and more besides."

ККККК "Just what is he after?"

ККККК "I don't know, but I suspect that he would like to be first president of the Solar System Federation, if and when there is such a thing. With the aces we have dumped in his lap, he might make it. Do you realize the potentialities of the O'Neil effect?"

ККККК "Vaguely," said Francis.

ККККК "Have you thought about what it will do to space navigation? Or the possibilities it adds in the way of colonization? Or its recreational uses? There's a fortune in that alone."

ККККК "What do we get out of it?"

ККККК "What do we get out of it? Money, old son. Gobs and gobs of money. There's always money in giving people what they want." He glanced up at the Scottie dog trademark.

ККККК "Money," repeated Francis. "Yeah, I suppose so."

ККККК "Anyhow," added Grace, "we can always go look at the 'Flower.'"

Searchlight

'Will she hear you?'

ККККК 'If she's on this face of the Moon. If she was able to get out of the ship. If her suit radio wasn't damaged. If she has it turned on. If she is alive. Since the ship is silent and no radar beacon has been spotted, it is unlikely that she or the pilot lived through it.'

ККККК 'She's got to be found! Stand by, Space Station. Tycho Base, acknowledge.'

ККККК Reply lagged about three seconds, Washington to Moon and back. 'Lunar Base, Commanding General.'

ККККК 'General, put every man on the Moon out searching for Betsy!'

ККККК Speed-of-light lag made the answer sound grudging. 'Sir, do you know how big the Moon is?'

ККККК ~No matter! Betsy Barnes is there somewhere - so every man is to search until she is found. If she's dead, your precious pilot would be better off dead, too!'

ККККК 'Sir, the Moon is almost fifteen million square miles. If I used every man I have, each would have over a thousand square miles to search. I gave Betsy my best pilot. I won't listen to threats against him when he can't answer back. Not from anyone, sir! I'm sick of being told what to do by people who don't know Lunar conditions. My advice - my official advice sir is to let Meridian Station try. Maybe they can Work a miracle.'

ККККК The answer rapped back, 'Very well, General! I'll speak to you later. Meridian Station! Report your plans.' Elizabeth Barnes, 'Blind Betsy', child genius of the piano, had been making a USO tour of the Moon. She 'wowed 'em' at Tycho Base, then lifted by jeep rocket for Farside Hardbase, to entertain our lonely missilemen behind the Moon. She should have been there in an hour. Her pilot was a safety pilot; such ships shuttled unpiloted between Tycho and Farside daily.

ККККК After lift-off her ship departed from its programming, was lost by Tycho's radars. It was.. . somewhere.

ККККК Not in space, else it would be radioing for help and its radar beacon would be seen by other ships, space stations, surface bases. It had crashed - or made emergency landing - somewhere on the vastness of Luna.

'Meridian Space Station, Director speaking - ' Lag was unnoticeable; radio bounce between Washington and the station only 22,300 miles up was only a quarter second. 'We've patched Earthside stations to blanket the Moon with our call. Another broadcast blankets the far side from Station Newton at the three-body stable position. Ships from Tycho are orbiting the Moon's rim - that band around the edge which is in radio shadow from us and from the Newton. If we hear-'

ККККК 'Yes, yes! How about radar search?'

ККККК 'Sir, a rocket on the surface looks to radar like a million other features the same size. Our one chance is to get them to answer . . . if they can. Ultrahigh-resolution radar might spot them in months - but suits worn in those little rockets carry only six hours air. We are praying they will hear and answer.'

ККККК 'When they answer, you'll slap a radio direction finder on them. Eh?'

ККККК 'No, sir.'

ККККК 'In God's name, why not?'

ККККК 'Sir, a direction finder is useless for this job. It would tell us only that the signal came from the Moon - which doesn't help.'

ККККК 'Doctor, you're saying that you might hear Betsy - and not know where she is?'

ККККК 'We're as blind as she is. We hope that she will be able to lead us to her. . . if she hears us.'

ККККК 'How?'

ККККК 'With a Laser. An intense, very tight beam of light. She'll hear it-'

ККККК 'Hear a beam of light?'

ККККК 'Yes, sir. We are jury-rigging to scan like radar - that won't show anything. But we are modulating it to give a carrier wave in radio frequency, then modulating that into audio frequency-and controlling that by a piano. If she hears us, we'll tell her to listen while we scan the Moon and run the scale on the piano -,

ККККК 'All this while a little girl is dying?'

ККККК 'Mister President - shut up!'

ККККК 'Who was THAT?'

ККККК 'I'm Betsy's father. They've patched me from Omaha. Please, Mr President, keep quiet and let them work. I want my daughter back.'

ККККК The President answered tightly, 'Yes, Mr Barnes. Go ahead, Director. Order anything you need.'

In Station Meridian the director wiped his face. 'Getting anything?'

ККККК 'No. Boss, can't something be done about that Rio station? It's sitting right on the frequency!'

ККККК 'We'll drop a brick on them. Or a bomb. Joe, tell the President'

ККККК 'I heard, Director. They'll be silenced!'

'Sh! Quiet! Betsy - do you hear me?' The operator looked intent, made an adjustment.

ККККК From a speaker came a girl's light, sweet voice: ' - to hear somebody! Gee, I'm glad! Better come quick - the Major is hurt.'

ККККК The Director jumped to the microphone. 'Yes, Betsy, we'll hurry. You've got to help us. Do you know where you are?'

ККККК 'Somewhere on the Moon, I guess. We bumped hard and I was going to kid him about it when the ship fell over. I got unstrapped and found Major Peters and he isn't moving. Not dead - I don't think so; his suits puffs out like mine and I hear something when I push my helmet against him. I just now managed to get the door open.' She added, 'This can't be Farside; it's supposed to be night there. I'm in sunshine, I'm sure. This suit is pretty hot.'

ККККК 'Betsy, you must stay outside. You've got to be where you can see us.'

ККККК She chuckled. 'That's a good one. I see with my ears.'

ККККК Yes. You'll see us, with your ears. Listen, Betsy. We're going to scan the Moon with a beam of light. You'll hear it as a piano note. We've got the Moon split into the eighty-eight piano notes. When you hear one, yell, "Now!" Then tell us what note you heard. Can you do that?'

ККККК 'Of course,' she said confidently, 'if the piano is in tune.'

ККККК 'It is. All right, we're starting -' 'Now!'

ККККК 'What note, Betsy?'

ККККК 'E flat, the first octave above middle C.' 'This note, Betsy?'

ККККК 'That's what I said.'

ККККК The Director called out, 'Where's that on the grid? In Mare Nubium? Tell the General!' He said to the microphone, 'We're finding you, Betsy honey! Now we scan just that part you're on.

ККККК We change setup. Want to talk to your Daddy meanwhile?'

ККККК 'Gosh! Could I?'

ККККК 'Yes indeed!'

ККККК Twenty minutes later he cut' in and heard: '- of course not, Daddy. Oh, a teensy bit scared when the ship fell. But people take care of me, always have.'

ККККК 'Betsy?'

ККККК 'Yes, sir?'

ККККК 'Be ready to tell us again.'

'Now!' She added, 'That's a bullfrog G, three octaves down.'

ККККК 'This note?'

ККККК 'That's right.'

ККККК 'Get that on the grid and tell the General to get his ships up! That cuts it to a square ten miles on a side! Now, Betsy - we know almost where you are. We are going to focus still closer. Want to go inside and cool off?'

ККККК 'I'm not too hot. Just sweaty.'

Forty minutes later the General's voice rang out: 'They've spotted the ship! They see her waving!'

Ordeal in Space

ККККК Maybe we should never have ventured out into space. Our race has but two basic, innate fears; noise and the fear of falling. Those terrible heights - Why should any man in his right mind let himself be placed where he could fall . . . and fall . . . and fall - But all spacemen are crazy. Everybody knows that.

ККККК The medicos had been very kind, he supposed. 'You're lucky. You want to remember that, old fellow. You're still young and your retired pay relieves you of all worry about your future. You've got both arms and legs and are in fine shape.'

ККККК 'Fine shape!' His voice was unintentionally contemptuous.

ККККК 'No, I mean it,' the chief psychiatrist had persisted gently. 'The little quirk you have does you no harm at all - except that you can't go into space again. I can't honestly call acrophobia a neurosis; fear of falling is normal and sane. You've just got it a little more strongly than most - but that is not abnormal, in view of what you have been through.'

ККККК The reminder set him to shaking again. He closed his eyes and saw the stars wheeling below him again. He was falling, falling endlessly. The psychiatrist's voice came through to him and pulled him back. 'Steady, old man! Look around you.'

ККККК 'Sorry.'

ККККК 'Not at all. Now tell me, what do you plan to do?'

ККККК 'I don't know. Get a job, I suppose.'

ККККК 'The Company will give you a job, you know.'

ККККК He shook his head. 'I don't want to hang around a spaceport.' Wear a little button in his shirt to show that he was once a man, be addressed by a courtesy title of captain, claim the privileges of the pilots' lounge on the basis of what he used to be, hear the shop talk die down whenever he approached a group, wonder what they were saying behind his back - no, thank you!

ККККК 'I think you're wise. Best to make a clean break, for a while at least, until you are feeling better.'

ККККК 'You think I'll get over it?'

ККККК The psychiatrist pursed his lips. 'Possible. It's functional, you know. No trauma.'

ККККК 'But you don't think so?'

ККККК 'I didn't say that. I honestly don't know. We still know very little about what makes a man tick.'

ККККК 'I see. Well, I might as well be leaving.'

ККККК The psychiatrist stood up and shoved out his hand. 'Holler if you want anything. And come back to see us in any case.'

ККККК 'Thanks.'

ККККК 'You're going to be all right. I know it.'

ККККК But the psychiatrist shook his head as his patient walked out. The man did not walk like a spaceman; the easy, animal self-confidence was gone.

ККККК Only a small part of Great New York was roofed over in those days; he stayed underground until he was in that section, then sought out a passageway lined with bachelor rooms. He stuck a coin in the slot of the first one which displayed a lighted 'vacant' sign, chucked his jump bag inside, and left. The monitor at the intersection gave him the address of the nearest placement office. He went there, seated himself at an interview desk, stamped in his finger prints, and started filling out forms. It gave him a curious back-to-the-beginning feeling; he had not looked for a job since pre-cadet days.

ККККК He left filling in his name to the last and hesitated even then. He had had more than his bellyful of publicity; he did not want to be recognized; he certainly did not want to be throbbed over - and most of all he did not want anyone telling him he was a hero. Presently he printed in the name 'William Saunders' and dropped the forms in the slot.

ККККК He was well into his third cigarette and getting ready to strike another when the screen in front of him at last lighted up. He found himself staring at a nice-looking brunette. 'Mr. Saunders,' the image said, will you come inside, please? Door seventeen.'

ККККК The brunette in person was there to offer him a seat and a cigarette. 'Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Saunders. I'm Miss Joyce. I'd like to talk with you about your application.' He settled himself and waited, without speaking.

ККККК When she saw that he did not intend to speak, she added, 'Now take this name "William Saunders" which you have given us - we know who you are, of course, from your prints.

ККККК 'I suppose so.'

ККККК 'Of course I know what everybody knows about you, but your action in calling yourself "William Saunders", Mr. -'

ККККК 'Saunders.'

ККККК '- Mr. Saunders, caused me to query the files.' She held up a microfilm spool, turned so that he might read his own name on it. 'I know quite a lot about you now - more than the public knows and more than you saw fit to put into your application. It's a good record, Mr. Saunders.'

ККККК 'Thank you.'

ККККК 'But I can't use it in placing you in a job. I can't even refer to it if you insist on designating yourself as "Saunders".'

ККККК 'The name is Saunders.' His voice was flat, rather than emphatic.

ККККК 'Don't be hasty, Mr. Saunders. There are many positions in which the factor of prestige can be used quite legitimately to obtain for a client a much higher beginning of pay than-'

ККККК 'I'm not interested.'

ККККК She looked at him and decided not to insist. 'As you wish. If you will go to reception room B, you can start your classification and skill tests.'

ККККК 'Thank you.'

ККККК 'If you should change your mind later, Mr. Saunders, we will be glad to reopen the case. Through that door, please.'

ККККК Three days later found him at work for a small firm specializing in custom-built communication systems. His job was calibrating electronic equipment. It was soothing work, demanding enough to occupy his mind, yet easy for a man of his training and experience. At the end of his three months' probation he was promoted out of the helper category.

ККККК He was building himself a well-insulated rut, working, sleeping, eating, spending an occasional evening at the public library or working out at the YMCA - and never, under any circumstances, going out under the open sky nor up to any height, not even a theater balcony.

ККККК He tried to keep his past life shut out of his mind, but his memory of it was still fresh; he would find himself daydreaming - the star-sharp, frozen sky of Mars, or the roaring night life of Venusburg. He would see again the swollen, ruddy bulk of Jupiter hanging over the port on Ganymede, its oblate bloated shape impossibly huge and crowding the sky.

ККККК Or he might, for a time, feel again the sweet quiet of the long watches on the lonely reaches between the planets. But such reveries were dangerous; they cut close to the edge of his new peace of mind. It was easy to slide over and find himself clinging for life to his last handhold on the steel sides of the Valkyrie, fingers numb and failing, and nothing below him but the bottomless well of space.

ККККК Then he would come back to Earth, shaking uncontrollably and gripping his chair or the workbench.

ККККК The first time it had happened at work he had found one of his benchmates, Joe Tully, staring at him curiously. 'What's the trouble, Bill?' he had asked. 'Hangover?'

ККККК 'Nothing,' he had managed to say. 'Just a chill.'

ККККК 'You better take a pill. Come on - let's go to lunch.'

ККККК Tully led the way to the elevator; they crowded in. Most of the employees - even the women - preferred to go down via the drop chute, but Tully always used the elevator. 'Saunders', of course, never used the drop chute; this had eased them into the habit of lunching together. He knew that the chute was safe, that, even if the power should fail, safety nets would snap across at each floor level - but he could not force himself to step off the edge.

ККККК Tully said publicly that a drop-chute landing hurt his arches, but he confided privately to Saunders that he did not trust automatic machinery. Saunders nodded understandingly but said nothing. It warmed him toward Tully. He began feeling friendly and not on the defensive with another human being for the first time since the start of his new life. He began to want to tell Tully the truth about himself. If he could be sure that Joe would not insist on treating him as a hero - not that he really objected to the role of hero. As a kid, hanging around spaceports, trying to wangle chances to go inside the ships, cutting classes to watch take-offs, he had dreamed of being a 'hero' someday, a hero of the spaceways, returning in triumph from some incredible and dangerous piece of exploration. But he was troubled by the fact that he still had the same picture of what a hero should look like and how he should behave; it did not include shying away from open windows, being fearful of walking across an open square, and growing too upset to speak at the mere thought of boundless depths of space.

ККККК Tully invited him home for dinner. He wanted to go, but fended off the invitation while he inquired where Tully lived. The Shelton Homes, Tully told him, naming one of those great, boxlike warrens that used to disfigure the Jersey flats. 'It's a long way to come back,' Saunders said doubtfully, while turning over in his mind ways to get there without exposing himself to the things he feared.

ККККК 'You won't have to come back,' Tully assured him. 'We've got a spare room. Come on. My old lady does her own cooking - that's why I keep her.'

ККККК 'Well, all right,' he conceded. 'Thanks, Joe.' The La Guardia Tube would take him within a quarter of a mile; if he could not find a covered way he would take a ground cab and close the shades.

ККККК Tully met him in the hail and apologized in a whisper. 'Meant to have a young lady for you, Bill. Instead we've got my brother-in-law. He's a louse. Sorry.'

ККККК 'Forget it, Joe. I'm glad to be here.' He was indeed. The discovery that Bill's flat was on the thirty-fifth floor had dismayed him at first, but he was delighted to find that he had no feeling of height. The lights were on, the windows occulted, the floor under him was rock solid; he felt warm and safe. Mrs. Tully turned out in fact to be a good cook, to his surprise - he had the bachelor's usual distrust of amateur cooking. He let himself go to the pleasure of feeling at home and safe and wanted; he managed not even to hear most of the aggressive and opinionated remarks of Joe's in-law.

ККККК After dinner he relaxed in an easy chair, glass of beer in hand, and watched the video screen. It was a musical comedy; he laughed more heartily than he had in months. Presently the comedy gave way to a religious program, the National Cathedral Choir; he let it be, listening with one ear and giving some attention to the conversation with the other.

ККККК The choir was more than half way through Prayer for Travelers before he became fully aware of what they were singing:

Hear us when we pray to Thee

For those in peril on the sea.

'Almighty Ruler of them all

Whose power extends to great and small,

Who guides the stars and steadfast law,

Whose least creation fills with awe;

Oh, grant Thy mercy and Thy grace

To those who venture into space.'

ККККК He wanted to switch it off, but he had to hear it out, he could not stop listening to it, though it hurt him in his heart with the unbearable homesickness of the hopelessly exiled. Even as a cadet this one hymn could fill his eyes with tears; now he kept his face turned away from the others to try to hide from them the drops wetting his cheeks.

ККККК When the choir's 'amen' let him do so he switched quickly to some other - any other - program and remained bent over the instrument, pretending to fiddle with it, while he composed his features. Then he turned back to the company, outwardly serene, though it seemed to him that anyone could see the hard, aching knot in his middle.

ККККК The brother-in-law was still sounding off.

ККККК 'We ought to annex 'em,' he was saying. 'That's what we ought to do. Three-Planets Treaty - what a lot of ruddy rot! What right have they got to tell us what we can and can't do on Mars?'

ККККК 'Well, Ed,' Tully said mildly, 'it's their planet, isn't it? They were there first.'

ККККК Ed brushed it aside. 'Did we ask the Indians whether or not they wanted us in North America? Nobody has any right to hang on to something he doesn't know how to use. With proper exploitation -'

ККККК 'You been speculating, Ed?'

ККККК 'Huh? It wouldn't be speculation if the government wasn't made up of a bunch of weak-spined old women. "Rights of Natives", indeed. What rights do a bunch of degenerates have?'

ККККК Saunders found himself contrasting Ed Schultz with Knath Sooth, the only Martian he himself had ever known well. Gentle Knath, who had been old before Ed was born, and yet was rated as young among his own kind. Knath... why, Knath could sit for hours with a friend or trusted acquaintance, saying nothing, needing to say nothing. 'Growing together' they called it - his entire race had so grown together that they had needed no government, until the Earthman came.

ККККК Saunders had once asked his friend why he exerted himself so little, was satisfied with so little. More than an hour passed and Saunders was beginning to regret his inquisitiveness when Knath replied, 'My fathers have labored and I am weary.'

ККККК Saunders sat up and faced the brother-in-law. 'They are not degenerate.'

ККККК 'Huh? I suppose you are an expert!'

ККККК 'The Martians aren't degenerate, they're just tired,' Saunders persisted.

ККККК Tully grinned. His brother-in-law saw it and became surly. 'What gives you the right to an opinion? Have you ever been to Mars?'

ККККК Saunders realized suddenly that he had let his censors down. 'Have you?' he answered cautiously.

ККККК 'That's beside the point. The best minds all agree -' Bill let him go on and did not contradict him again. It was a relief when Tully suggested that, since they all had to be up early, maybe it was about time to think about beginning to get ready to go to bed.

ККККК He said goodnight to Mrs. Tully and thanked her for a wonderful dinner, then followed Tully into the guest room. 'Only way to get rid of that family curse we're saddled with, Bill,' he apologized. 'Stay up as long as you like.' Tully stepped to the window and opened it. 'You'll sleep well here. We're up high enough to get honest-to-goodness fresh air.' He stuck his head out and took a couple of big breaths. 'Nothing like the real article,' he continued as he withdrew from the window. 'I'm a country boy at heart. What's the matter, Bill?'

ККККК 'Nothing. Nothing at all.'

ККККК 'I thought you looked a little pale. Well, sleep tight. I've already set your bed for seven; that'll give us plenty of time.'

ККККК 'Thanks, Joe. Goodnight.' As soon as Tully was out of the room he braced himself, then went over and closed the window. Sweating, he turned away and switched the ventilation back on. That done, he sank down on the edge of the bed.

ККККК He sat there for a long time, striking one cigarette after another. He knew too well that the peace of mind he thought he had regained was unreal. There was nothing left to him but shame and a long, long hurt. To have reached the point where he had to knuckle under to a tenth-rate knothead like Ed Schultz - it would have been better if he had never come out of the Valkyrie business.

ККККК Presently he took five grains of 'Fly-Rite' from his pouch, swallowed it, and went to bed. He got up almost at once, forced himself to open the window a trifle, then compromised by changing the setting of the bed so that it would not turn out the lights after he got to sleep.

ККККК He had been asleep and dreaming for an indefinitely long time. He was back in space again - indeed, he had never been away from it. He was happy, with the full happiness of a man who has awakened to find it was only a bad dream.

ККККК The crying disturbed his serenity. At first it made him only vaguely uneasy, then he began to feel in some way responsible - he must do something about it. The transition to falling had only dream logic behind it, but it was real to him. He was grasping, his hands were slipping, had slipped - and there was nothing under him but the black emptiness of space - He was awake and gasping, on Joe Tully's guest-room bed; the lights burned bright around him.

ККККК But the crying persisted.

ККККК He shook his head, then listened. It was real all right. Now he had it identified - a cat, a kitten by the sound of it.

ККККК He sat up. Even if he had not had the spaceman's traditional fondness for cats, he would have investigated. However, he liked cats for themselves, quite aside from their neat shipboard habits, their ready adaptability to changing accelerations, and their usefulness in keeping the ship free of those other creatures that go wherever man goes. So he got up at once and looked for this one.

ККККК A quick look around showed him that the kitten was not in the room, and his ear led him to the correct spot; the sound came in through the slightly opened window. He shied off, stopped, and tried to collect his thoughts.

ККККК He told himself that it was unnecessary to do anything more; if the sound came in through the window, then it must be because it came out of some nearby window. But he knew that he was lying to himself; the sound was close by. In some impossible way the cat was just outside his window, thirty-five stories above the street.

ККККК He sat down and tried to strike a cigarette, but the tube broke in his fingers. He let the fragments fall to the floor, got up and took six nervous steps toward the window, as if he were being jerked along. He sank down to his knees, grasped the window and threw it wide open, then clung to the windowsill, his eyes tight shut.

ККККК After a time the sill seemed to steady a bit. He opened his eyes, gasped, and shut them again. Finally he opened them again, being very careful not to look out at the stars, not to look down at the street. He had half expected to find the cat on a balcony outside his room - it seemed the only reasonable explanation. But there was no balcony, no place at all where a cat could reasonably be.

ККККК However, the mewing was louder than ever. It seemed to come from directly under him. Slowly he forced his head out, still clinging to the sill, and made himself look down. Under him, about four feet lower than the edge of the window, a narrow ledge ran around the side of the building. Seated on it was a woe-begone ratty-looking kitten. It stared up at him and meowed again.

ККККК It was barely possible that, by clinging to the sill with one hand and making a long arm with the other, he could reach it without actually going out the window, he thought - if he could bring himself to do it. He considered calling Tully, then thought better of it. Tully was shorter than he was, had less reach. And the kitten had to be rescued now, before the fluff-brained idiot jumped or fell.

ККККК He tried for it. He shoved his shoulders out, clung with his left arm and reached down with his right. Then he opened his eyes and saw that he was a foot or ten inches away from the kitten still. It sniffed curiously in the direction of his hand.

ККККК He stretched till his bones cracked. The kitten promptly skittered away from his clutching fingers, stopping a good six feet down the ledge. There it settled down and commenced washing its face.

ККККК He inched back inside and collapsed, sobbing, on the floor underneath the window. 'I can't do it,' he whispered. 'I can't do it. Not again -'

ККККК The Rocket Ship Valkyrie was two hundred and forty-nine days out from Earth-Luna Space Terminal and approaching Mars Terminal on Deimos, outer Martian satellite. William Cole, Chief Communications Officer and relief pilot, was sleeping sweetly when his assistant shook him. 'Hey! Bill! Wake up - we're in a jam.'

ККККК 'Huh? Wazzat?' But he was already reaching for his socks. 'What's the trouble, Tom?'

ККККК Fifteen minutes later he knew that his junior officer had not exaggerated; he was reporting the facts to the Old Man - the primary piloting radar was out of whack. Tom Sandburg had discovered it during a routine check, made as soon as Mars was inside the maximum range of the radar pilot. The captain had shrugged. 'Fix it, Mister - and be quick about it. We need it.'

ККККК Bill Cole shook his head. 'There's nothing wrong with it, Captain - inside. She acts as if the antenna were gone completely.'

ККККК 'That's impossible. We haven't even had a meteor alarm.'

ККККК 'Might be anything, Captain. Might be metal fatigue and it just fell off. But we've got to replace that antenna. Stop the spin on the ship and I'll go out and fix it. I can jury-rig a replacement while she loses her spin.'

ККККК The Valkyrie was a luxury ship, of her day. She was assembled long before anyone had any idea of how to produce an artificial gravity field. Nevertheless she had pseudogravity for the comfort of her passengers. She spun endlessly around her main axis, like a shell from a rifled gun; the resulting angular acceleration - miscalled 'centrifugal force' - kept her passengers firm in their beds, or steady on their feet. The spin was started as soon as her rockets stopped blasting at the beginning of a trip and was stopped only when it was necessary to maneuver into a landing. It was accomplished, not by magic, but by reaction against the contrary spin of a flywheel located on her centerline.

ККККК The captain looked annoyed. 'I've started to take the spin off, but I can't wait that long. Jury-rig the astrogational radar for piloting.'

ККККК Cole started to explain why the astrogational radar could not be adapted to short-range work, then decided not to try. 'It can't be done, sir. It's a technical impossibility.'

ККККК 'When I was your age I could jury-rig anything! Well, find me an answer, Mister. I can't take this ship down blind. Not even for the Harriman Medal.'

ККККК Bill Cole hesitated for a moment before replying. 'I'll have to go out while she's still got spin on her, Captain, and make the replacement. There isn't any other way to do it.'

ККККК The captain looked away from him, his jaw muscles flexed. 'Get the replacement ready. Hurry up about it.'

ККККК Cole found the captain already at the airlock when he arrived with the gear he needed for the repair. To his surprise the Old Man was suited up. 'Explain to me what I'm to do,' he ordered Bill.

ККККК 'You're not going out, sir?' The captain simply nodded.

ККККК Bill took a look at his captain's waist line, or where his waist line used to be. Why, the Old Man must be thirty-five if he was a day! 'I'm afraid I can't explain too clearly. I had expected to make the repair myself.'

ККККК 'I've never asked a man to do a job I wouldn't do myself. Explain it to me.'

ККККК 'Excuse me, sir - but can you chin yourself with one hand?'

ККККК 'What's that got to do with it?'

ККККК 'Well, we've got forty-eight passengers, sir, and -' 'Shut up!'

ККККК Sandburg and he, both in space suits, helped the Old Man down the hole after the inner door of the lock was closed and the air exhausted. The space beyond the lock was a vast, starflecked emptiness. With spin still on the ship, every direction outward was 'down', down for millions of uncounted miles. They put a safety line on him, of course - nevertheless it gave him a sinking feeling to see the captain's head disappear in the bottomless, black hole.

ККККК The line paid out steadily for several feet, then stopped. When it had been stopped for several minutes, Bill leaned over and touched his helmet against Sandburg's. 'Hang on to my feet. I'm going to take a look.'

ККККК He hung head down out the lock and looked around. The captain was stopped, hanging by both hands, nowhere near the antenna fixture. He scrambled back up and reversed himself. 'I'm going out.'

ККККК It was no great trick, he found, to hang by his hands and swing himself along to where the captain was stalled. The Valkyrie was a space-to-space ship, not like the sleek-sided jobs we see around earthports; she was covered with handholds for the convenience of repairmen at the terminals. Once he reached him, it was possible, by grasping the safe steel rung that the captain clung to, to aid him in swinging back to the last one he had quitted. Five minutes later Sandburg was pulling the Old Man up through the hole and Bill was scrambling after him.

ККККК He began at once to unbuckle the repair gear from the captain's suit and transfer it to his own. He lowered himself back down the hole and was on his way before the older man had recovered enough to object, if he still intended to.

ККККК Swinging out to where the antenna must be replaced was not too hard, though he had all eternity under his toes. The suit impeded him a little - the gloves were clumsy - but he was used to spacesuits. He was a little winded from helping the captain, but he could not stop to think about that. The increased spin bothered him somewhat; the airlock was nearer the axis of spin than was the antenna - he felt heavier as he moved out.

ККККК Getting the replacement antenna shipped was another matter. It was neither large nor heavy, but he found it impossible to fasten it into place. He needed one hand to cling by, one to hold the antenna, and one to handle the wrench. That left him shy one hand, no matter how he tried it.

ККККК Finally he jerked his safety line to signal Sandburg for more slack. Then he unshackled it from his waist, working with one hand, passed the end twice through a handhold and knotted it; he left about six feet of it hanging free. The shackle on the free end he fastened to another handhold. The result was a loop, a bight, an improvised bosun's chair, which would support his weight while he man-handled the antenna into place. The job went fairly quickly then.

ККККК He was almost through. There remained one bolt to fasten on the far side, away from where he swung. The antenna was already secured at two points and its circuit connection made. He decided he could manage it with one hand. He left his perch and swung over, monkey fashion.

ККККК The wrench slipped as he finished tightening the bolt; it slipped from his grasp, fell free. He watched it go, out and out and out, down and down and down, until it was so small he could no longer see it. It made him dizzy to watch it, bright in the sunlight against the deep black of space. He had been too busy to look down, up to now.

ККККК He shivered. 'Good thing I was through with it,' he said. 'It would be a long walk to fetch it.' He started to make his way back.

ККККК He found that he could not.

ККККК He had swung past the antenna to reach his present position, using a grip on his safety-line swing to give him a few inches more reach. Now the loop of line hung quietly, just out of reach. There was no way to reverse the process.

ККККК He hung by both hands and told himself not to get panicky - he must think his way out. Around the other side? No, the steel skin of the Valkyrie was smooth there - no handhold for more than six feet. Even if he were not tired - and he had to admit that he was, tired and getting a little cold - even if he were fresh, it was an impossible swing for anyone not a chimpanzee.

ККККК He looked down - and regretted it.

ККККК There was nothing below him but stars, down and down, endlessly. Stars, swinging past as the ship spun with him, emptiness of all time and blackness and cold.

ККККК He found himself trying to hoist himself bodily onto the single narrow rung he clung to, trying to reach it with his toes. It was a futile, strength-wasting excess. He quieted his panic sufficiently to stop it, then hung limp.

ККККК It was easier if he kept his eyes closed. But after a while he always had to open them and look. The Big Dipper would swing past and then, presently, Orion. He tried to compute the passing minutes in terms of the number of rotations the ship made, but his mind would not work clearly, and, after a while, he would have to shut his eyes.

ККККК His hands were becoming stiff - and cold. He tried to rest them by hanging by one hand at a time. He let go with his left hand, felt pins-and-needles course through it, and beat it against his side. Presently it seemed time to spell his right hand.

ККККК He could no longer reach up to the rung with his left hand. He did not have the power left in him to make the extra pull; he was fully extended and could not shorten himself enough to get his left hand up.

ККККК He could no longer feel his right hand at all.

ККККК He could see it slip. It was slipping - The sudden release in tension let him know that he was falling falling. The ship dropped away from him.

ККККК He came to with the captain bending over him. 'Just keep quiet, Bill.'

ККККК 'Where -,

ККККК 'Take it easy. The patrol from Deimos was already close by when you let go. They tracked you on the 'scope, matched orbits with you, and picked you up. First time in history, I guess. Now keep quiet. You're a sick man - you hung there more than two hours, Bill.'

ККККК The meowing started up again, louder than ever. He got up on his knees and looked out over the windowsill. The kitten was still away to the left on the ledge. He thrust his head cautiously out a little further, remembering not to look at anything but the kitten and the ledge. 'Here, kitty!' he called. 'Here, kit-kit-kitty! Here, kitty, come kitty!'

ККККК The kitten stopped washing and managed to look puzzled.

ККККК 'Come, kitty,' he repeated softly. He let go the windowsill with his right hand and gestured toward it invitingly. The kitten approached about three inches, then sat down. 'Here, kitty,' he pleaded and stretched his arm as far as possible.

ККККК The fluff ball promptly backed away again.

ККККК He withdrew his arm and thought about it. This was getting nowhere, he decided. If he were to slide over the edge and stand on the ledge, he could hang on with one arm and be perfectly safe. He knew that, he knew it would be safe - he needn't look down!

ККККК He drew himself back inside, reversed himself, and, with great caution, gripping the sill with both arms, let his legs slide down the face of the building. He focused his eyes carefully on the corner of the bed.

ККККК The ledge seemed to have been moved. He could not find it, and was beginning to be sure that he had reached past it, when he touched it with one toe - then he had both feet firmly planted on it. It seemed about six inches wide. He took a deep breath.

ККККК Letting go with his right arm, he turned and faced the kitten. It seemed interested in the procedure but not disposed to investigate more closely. If he were to creep along the ledge, holding on with his left hand, he could just about reach it from the corner of the window - He moved his feet one at a time, baby fashion, rather than pass one past the other. By bending his knees a trifle, and leaning, he could just manage to reach it. The kitten sniffed his groping fingers, then leaped backward. One tiny paw missed the edge; it scrambled and regained its footing. 'You little idiot!' he said indignantly, 'do you want to bash your brains out?'

ККККК 'If any,' he added. The situation looked hopeless now; the baby cat was too far away to be reached from his anchorage at the window, no matter how he stretched. He called 'Kitty, kitty' rather hopelessly, then stopped to consider the matter.

ККККК He could give it up.

ККККК He could prepare himself to wait all night in the hope that the kitten would decide to come closer. Or he could go get it.

ККККК The ledge was wide enough to take his weight. If he made himself small, flat to the wall, no weight rested on his left arm. He moved slowly forward, retaining the grip on the window as long as possible, inching so gradually that he hardly seemed to move. When the window frame was finally out of reach, when his left hand was flat to smooth wall, he made the mistake of looking down, down, past the sheer wall at the glowing pavement far below.

ККККК He pulled his eyes back and fastened them on a spot on the wall, level with his eyes and only a few feet away. He was still there!

ККККК And so was the kitten. Slowly he separated his feet, moving his right foot forward, and bent his knees. He stretched his right hand along the wall, until he was over and a little beyond the kitten.

ККККК He brought it down in a sudden swipe, as if to swat a fly. He found himself with a handful of scratching, biting fur.

ККККК He held perfectly still then, and made no attempt to check the minor outrages the kitten was giving him. Arms still outstretched, body flat to the wall, he started his return. He could not see where he was going and could not turn his head without losing some little of his margin of balance. It seemed a long way back, longer than he had come, when at last the fingertips of his left hand slipped into the window opening.

ККККК He backed up the rest of the way in a matter of seconds, slid both arms over the sill, then got his right knee over. He rested himself on the sill and took a deep breath. 'Man!' he said aloud. 'That was a tight squeeze. You're a menace to traffic, little cat.'

ККККК He glanced down at the pavement. It was certainly a long way down - looked hard, too.

ККККК He looked up at the stars. Mighty nice they looked and mighty bright. He braced himself in the window frame, back against one side, foot pushed against the other, and looked at them. The kitten settled down in the cradle of his stomach and began to buzz. He stroked it absent-mindedly and reached for a cigarette. He would go out to the port and take his physical and his psycho tomorrow, he decided. He scratched the kitten's ears. 'Little fluff head,' he said, 'how would you like to take a long, long ride with me?'

The Green Hills of Earth

ККККК This is the story of Rhysling, the Blind Singer of the Spaceways -- but not the official version. You sang his words in school:

ККККК ККККК "I pray for one last landing

ККККК ККККК On the globe that gave me birth;

ККККК ККККК Let me rest my eyes on the fleecy skies

ККККК ККККК And the cool, green hills of Earth."

ККККК Or perhaps you sang in French, or German. Or it might have been Esperanto, while Terra's rainbow banner rippled over your head.

ККККК The language does not matter -- it was certainly an Earth tongue. No one has ever translated "Green Hills" into the lisping Venerian speech; no Martian ever croaked and whispered it in the dry corridors. This is ours. We of Earth have exported everything from Hollywood crawlies to synthetic radioactives, but this belongs solely to Terra, and to her sons and daughters wherever they may be.

ККККК We have all heard many stories of Rhysling. You may even be one of the many who have sought degrees, or acclaim, by scholarly evaluations of his published works - _Songs of the Spaceways_, _The Grand Canal and other Poems_, _High and Far_, and _"UP SHIP!"_

ККККК Nevertheless, although you have sung his songs and read his verses, in school and out your whole life, it is at least an even money bet -- unless you are a spaceman yourself -- that you have never even heard of most of Rhysling's unpublished songs, such items as _Since the Pusher Met My Cousin_, _That Red-Headed Venusburg Gal_, _Keep Your Pants On, Skipper_, or _A Space Suit Built for Two_.

ККККК Nor can we quote them in a family magazine.

ККККК Rhysling's reputation was protected by a careful literary executor and by the happy chance that he was never interviewed. _Songs of the Spaceways_ appeared the week he died; when it became a best seller, the publicity stories about him were pieced together from what people remembered about him plus the highly colored handouts from his publishers.

ККККК The resulting traditional picture of Rhysling is about as authentic as George Washington's hatchet or King Alfred's cakes.

ККККК In truth you would not have wanted him in your parlor; he was not socially acceptable. He had a permanent case of sun itch, which he scratched continually, adding nothing to his negligible beauty.

ККККК Van der Voort's portrait of him for the Harriman Centennial edition of his works shows a figure of high tragedy, a solemn mouth, sightless eyes concealed by black silk bandage. He was never solemn! His mouth was always open, singing, grinning, drinking, or eating. The bandage was any rag, usually dirty. After he lost his sight he became less and less neat about his person.

ККККК "Noisy" Rhysling was a jetman, second class, with eyes as good as yours, when he signed on for a ioop trip to the Jovian asteroids in the RS _Goshawk_. The crew signed releases for everything in those days; a Lloyd's associate would have laughed in your face at the notion of insuring a spaceman. The Space Precautionary Act had never been heard of, and the Company was responsible only for wages, if and when. Half the ships that went further than Luna City never came back. Spacemen did not care; by preference they signed for shares, and any one of them would have bet you that he could jump from the 200th floor of Harriman Tower and ground safely, if you offered him three to two and allowed him rubber heels for the landing.

ККККК Jetmen were the most carefree of the lot, and the meanest. Compared with them the masters, the radarmen, and the astrogators (there were no supers nor stewards in those days) were gentle vegetarians. Jetmen knew too much. The others trusted the skill of the captain to get them down safely; jetmen knew that skill was useless against the blind and fitful devils chained inside their rocket motors.

ККККК The _Goshawk_ was the first of Harriman's ships to be converted from chemical fuel to atomic power-piles -- or rather the first that did not blow up. Rhysling knew her well; she was an old tub that had plied the Luna City run, Supra-New York space station to Leyport and back, before she was converted for deep space. He had worked the Luna run in her and had been along on the first deep space trip, Drywater on Mars -- and back, to everyone's surprise.

ККККК He should have made chief engineer by the time he signed for the Jovian loop trip, but, after the Drywater pioneer trip, he had been fired, blacklisted, and grounded at Luna City for having spent his time writing a chorus and several verses at a time when he should have been watching his gauges. The song was the infamous _The Skipper is a Father to his Crew_, with the uproariously unprintable final couplet.

ККККК The blacklist did not bother him. He won an accordion from a Chinese barkeep in Luna City by cheating at onethumb and thereafter kept going by singing to the miners for drinks and tips until the rapid attrition in spacemen caused the Company agent there to give him another chance. He kept his nose clean on the Luna run for a year or two, got back into deep space, helped give Venusburg its original ripe reputation, strolled the banks of the Grand Canal when a second colony was established at the ancient Martian capital, and froze his toes and ears on the second trip to Titan.

ККККК Things moved fast in those days. Once the power-pile drive was accepted the number of ships that put out from the LunaTerra system was limited only by the availability of crews. Jetmen were scarce; the shielding was cut to a minimum to save weight and few married men cared to risk possible exposure to radioactivity. Rhysling did not want to be a father, so jobs were always open to him during the golden days of the claiming boom. He crossed and recrossed the system, singing the doggerel that boiled up in his head and chording it out on his accordion.

ККККК The master of the _Goshawk_ knew him; Captain Hicks had been astrogator on Rhysling's first trip in her. "Welcome home, Noisy," Hicks had greeted him. "Are you sober, or shall I sign the book for you?"

ККККК "You can't get drunk on the bug juice they sell here, Skipper." He signed and went below, lugging his accordion.

ККККК Ten minutes later he was back. "Captain," he stated darkly, "that number two jet ain't fit. The cadmium dampers are warped."

ККККК "Why tell me? Tell the Chief."

ККККК "I did, but he says they will do. He's wrong."

ККККК The captain gestured at the book. "Scratch out your name and scram. We raise ship in thirty minutes."

ККККК Rhysling looked at him, shrugged, and went below again.

ККККК It is a long climb to the Jovian planetoids; a Hawk-class clunker had to blast for three watches before going into free flight. Rhysling had the second watch. Damping was done by hand then, with a multiplying vernier and a danger gauge. When the gauge showed red, he tried to correct it -- no luck.

ККККК Jetmen don't wait; that's why they are jetmen. He slapped the emergency discover and fished at the hot stuff with the tongs. The lights went out, he went right ahead. A jetman has to know his power room the way your tongue knows the inside of your mouth.

ККККК He sneaked a quick look over the top of the lead baffle when the lights went out. The blue radioactive glow did not help him any; he jerked his head back and went on fishing by touch.

ККККК When he was done he called over the tube, "Number two jet out. And for crissake get me some light down here!"

ККККК There was light -- the emergency circuit -- but not for him. The blue radioactive glow was the last thing his optic nerve ever responded to.

"As Time and Space come bending back to shape this starspecked scene,

The tranquil tears of tragic joy still spread their silver sheen;

Along the Grand Canal still soar the fragile Towers of Truth;

Their fairy grace defends this place of Beauty, calm and couth.

"Bone-tired the race that raised the Towers, forgotten are their lores,

Long gone the gods who shed the tears that lap these crystal shores.

Slow heats the time-worn heart of Mars beneath this icy sky;

The thin air whispers voicelessly that all who live must die --

"Yet still the lacy Spires of Truth sing Beauty's madrigal

And she herself will ever dwell along the Grand Canal!"

ККККК -- from The Grand Canal, by permission of Lux Transcriptions, Ltd., London and Luna City

ККККК On the swing back they set Rhysling down on Mars at Drywater; the boys passed the hat and the skipper kicked in a half month's pay. That was all -- finish -- just another space bum who had not had the good fortune to finish it off when his luck ran out. He holed up with the prospectors and archeologists at How-Far? for a month or so, and could probably have stayed forever in exchange for his songs and his accordion playing. But spacemen die if they stay in one place; he hooked a crawler over to Drywater again and thence to Marsopolis.

ККККК The capital was well into its boom; the processing plants lined the Grand Canal on both sides and roiled the ancient waters with the filth of the runoff. This was before the TriPlanet Treaty forbade disturbing cultural relics for commerce; half the slender, fairylike towers had been torn down, and others were disfigured to adapt them as pressurized buildings for Earthmen.

ККККК Now Rhysling had never seen any of these changes and no one described them to him; when he "saw" Marsopolis again, he visualized it as it had been, before it was rationalized for trade. His memory was good. He stood on the riparian esplanade where the ancient great of Mars had taken their ease and saw its beauty spreading out before his blinded eyes -- ice blue plain of water unmoved by tide, untouched by breeze, and reflecting serenely the sharp, bright stars of the Martian sky, and beyond the water the lacy buttresses and flying towers of an architecture too delicate for our rumbling, heavy planet.

ККККК The result was _Grand Canal_.

ККККК The subtle change in his orientation which enabled him to see beauty at Marsopolis where beauty was not now began to affect his whole life. All women became beautiful to him. He knew them by their voices and fitted their appearances to the sounds. It is a mean spirit indeed who will speak to a blind man other than in gentle friendliness; scolds who had given their husbands no peace sweetened their voices to Rhysling.

ККККК It populated his world with beautiful women and gracious men. _Dark Star Passing_, _Berenice's Hair_, _Death Song of a Wood's Colt_, and his other love songs of the wanderers, the womenless men of space, were the direct result of the fact that his conceptions were unsullied by tawdry truths. It mellowed his approach, changed his doggerel to verse, and sometimes even to poetry.

ККККК He had plenty of time to think now, time to get all the lovely words just so, and to worry a verse until it sang true in his head. The monotonous beat of _Jet Song_ --

ККККК When the field is clear, the reports all seen,

ККККК When the lock sighs shut, when the lights wink green,

ККККК When the check-off's done, when it's time to pray,

ККККК When the Captain nods, when she blasts away --

ККККК ККККК Hear the jets!

ККККК ККККК Hear them snarl at your back

ККККК ККККК When you're stretched on the rack;

ККККК ККККК Feel your ribs clamp your chest,

ККККК ККККК Feel your neck grind its rest.

ККККК ККККК Feel the pain in your ship,

ККККК ККККК Feel her strain in their grip.

ККККК ККККК Feel her rise! Feel her drive!

ККККК ККККК Straining steel, come alive,

ККККК ККККК On her jets!

--came to him not while he himself was a jetman but later while he was hitch-hiking from Mars to Venus and sitting out a watch with an old shipmate.

ККККК At Venusburg he sang his new songs and some of the old, in the bars. Someone would start a hat around for him; it would come back with a minstrel's usual take doubled or tripled in recognition of the gallant spirit behind the bandaged eyes.

ККККК It was an easy life. Any space port was his home and any ship his private carriage. No skipper cared to refuse to lift the extra mass of blind Rhysling and his squeeze box; he shuttled from Venusburg to Leyport to Drywater to New Shanghai, or back again, as the whim took him.

ККККК He never went closer to Earth than Supra-New York Space Station. Even when signing the contract for _Songs of the Spaceways_ he made his mark in a cabin-class liner somewhere between Luna City and Ganymede. Horowitz, the original publisher, was aboard for a second honeymoon and heard Rhysling sing at a ship's party. Horowitz knew a good thing for the publishing trade when he heard it; the entire contents of _Songs_ were sung directly into the tape in the communications room of that ship before he let Rhysling out of his sight. The next three volumes were squeezed out of Rhysling at Venusburg, where Horowitz had sent an agent to keep him liquored up until he had sung all he could remember.

ККККК _UP SHIP!_ is not certainly authentic Rhysling throughout. Much of it is Rhysling's, no doubt, and _Jet Song_ is unquestionably his, but most of the verses were collected after his death from people who had known him during his wanderings.

ККККК _The Green Hills of Earth_ grew through twenty years. The earliest form we know about was composed before Rhysling was blinded, during a drinking bout with some of the indentured men on Venus. The verses were concerned mostly with the things the labor clients intended to do back on Earth if and when they ever managed to pay their bounties and thereby be allowed to go home. Some of the stanzas were vulgar, some were not, but the chorus was recognizably that of _Green Hills_.

ККККК We know exactly where the final form of _Green Hills_ came from, and when.

ККККК There was a ship in at Venus Ellis Isle which was scheduled for the direct jump from there to Great Lakes, Illinois. She was the old _Falcon_, youngest of the Hawk class and the first ship to apply the Harriman Trust's new policy of extra-fare express service between Earth cities and any colony with scheduled stops.

ККККК Rhysling decided to ride her back to Earth. Perhaps his own song had gotten under his skin -- or perhaps he just hankered to see his native Ozark's one more time.

ККККК The Company no longer permitted deadheads: Rhysling knew this but it never occurred to him that the ruling might apply to him. He was getting old, for a spaceman, and just a little matter of fact about his privileges. Not senile -- he simply knew that he was one of the landmarks in space, along with Halley's Comet, the Rings, and Brewster's Ridge. He walked in the crew's port, went below, and made himself at home in the first empty acceleration couch.

ККККК The Captain found him there while making a last minute tour of his ship. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

ККККК "Dragging it back to Earth, Captain." Rhysling needed no eyes to see a skipper's four stripes.

ККККК "You can't drag in this ship; you know the rules. Shake a leg and get out of here. We raise ship at once." The Captain was young; he had come up after Rhysling's active time, but Rhysling knew the type -- five years at Harriman Hall with only cadet practice trips instead of solid, deep space experience. The two men did not touch in background nor spirit; space was changing.

ККККК "Now, Captain, you wouldn't begrudge an old man a trip home."

ККККК The officer hesitated -- several of the crew had stopped to listen. "I can't do it. 'Space Precautionary Act, Clause Six: No one shall enter space save as a licensed member of a crew of a chartered vessel, or as a paying passenger of such a vessel under such regulations as may be issued pursuant to this act.' Up you get and out you go."

ККККК Rhysling lolled back, his hands under his head. "If I've got to go, I'm damned if I'll walk. Carry me."

ККККК The Captain bit his lip and said, "Master-at-Arms! Have this man removed."

ККККК The ship's policeman fixed his eyes on the overhead struts. "Can't rightly do it, Captain. I've sprained my shoulder." The other crew members, present a moment before, had faded into the bulkhead paint.

ККККК "Well, get a working party!"

ККККК "Aye, aye, sir." He, too, went away.

ККККК Rhysling spoke again. "Now look, Skipper -- let's not have any hard feelings about this. You've got an out to carry me if you want to -- the 'Distressed Spaceman' clause."

ККККК "'Distressed Spaceman', my eye! You're no distressed spaceman; you're a space-lawyer. I know who you are; you've been bumming around the system for years. Well, you won't do it in my ship. That clause was intended to succor men who had missed their ships, not to let a man drag free all over space."

ККККК "Well, now, Captain, can you properly say I haven't missed my ship? I've never been back home since my last trip as a signed-on crew member. The law says I can have a trip back."

ККККК "But that was years ago. You've used up your chance."

ККККК "Have I now? The clause doesn't say a word about how soon a man has to take his trip back; it just says he's got it coming to him. Go look it up. Skipper. If I'm wrong, I'll not only walk out on my two legs, I'll beg your humble pardon in front of your crew. Go on -- look it up. Be a sport."

ККККК Rhysling could feel the man's glare, but he turned and stomped out of the compartment. Rhysling knew that he had used his blindness to place the Captain in an impossible position, but this did not embarrass Rhysling -- he rather enjoyed it.

ККККК Ten minutes later the siren sounded, he heard the orders on the bull horn for Up-Stations. When the soft sighing of the locks and the slight pressure change in his ears let him know that take-off was imminent he got up and shuffled down to the power room, as he wanted to be near the jets when they blasted off. He needed no one to guide him in any ship of the Hawk class.

ККККК Trouble started during the first watch. Rhysling had been lounging in the inspector's chair, fiddling with the keys of his accordion and trying out a new version of _Green Hills_.

ККККК ККККК "Let me breathe unrationed air again

ККККК ККККК Where there's no lack nor dearth"

ККККК And "something, something, something 'Earth'" -- it would not come out right. He tried again.

ККККК ККККК "Let the sweet fresh breezes heal me

ККККК ККККК As they rove around the girth

ККККК ККККК Of our lovely mother planet,

ККККК ККККК Of the cool green hills of Earth."

ККККК That was better, he thought. "How do you like that, Archie?" he asked over the muted roar.

ККККК "Pretty good. Give out with the whole thing." Archie Macdougal, Chief Jetman, was an old friend, both spaceside and in bars; he had been an apprentice under Rhysling many years and millions of miles back.

ККККК Rhysling obliged, then said, "You youngsters have got it soft. Everything automatic. When I was twisting her tail you had to stay awake."

ККККК "You still have to stay awake." They fell to talking shop and Macdougal showed him the direct response damping rig which had replaced the manual vernier control which Rhysling had used. Rhysling felt out the controls and asked questions until he was familiar with the new installation. It was his conceit that he was still a jetman and that his present occupation as a troubadour was simply an expedient during one of the fusses with the company that any man could get into.

ККККК "I see you still have the old hand damping plates installed," he remarked, his agile fingers flitting over the equipment.

ККККК "All except the links. I unshipped them because they obscure the dials."

ККККК "You ought to have them shipped. You might need them."

ККККК "Oh, I don't know. I think--" Rhysling never did find out what Macdougal thought for it was at that moment the trouble tore loose. Macdougal caught it square, a blast of radioactivity that burned him down where he stood.

ККККК Rhysling sensed what had happened. Automatic reflexes of old habit came out. He slapped the discover and rang the alarm to the control room simultaneously. Then he remembered the unshipped links. He had to grope until he found them, while trying to keep as low as he could to get maximum benefit from the baffles. Nothing but the links bothered him as to location. The place was as light to him as any place could be; he knew every spot, every control, the way he knew the keys of his accordion.

ККККК "Power room! Power room! What's the alarm?"

ККККК "Stay out!" Rhysling shouted. "The place is 'hot.'" He could feel it on his face and in his bones, like desert sunshine.

ККККК The links he got into place, after cursing someone, anyone, for having failed to rack the wrench he needed. Then he commenced trying to reduce the trouble by hand. It was a long job and ticklish. Presently he decided that the jet would have to be spilled, pile and all.

ККККК First he reported. "Control!"

ККККК "Control aye aye!"

ККККК "Spilling jet three -- emergency."

ККККК "Is this Macdougal?"

ККККК "Macdougal is dead. This is Rhysling, on watch. Stand by to record."

ККККК There was no answer; dumbfounded the Skipper may have been, but he could not interfere in a power room emergency. He had the ship to consider, and the passengers and crew. The doors had to stay closed.

ККККК The Captain must have been still more surprised at what Rhysling sent for record. It was:

ККККК ККККК We rot in the molds of Venus,

ККККК ККККК We retch at her tainted breath.

ККККК ККККК Foul are her flooded jungles,

ККККК ККККК Crawling with unclean death."

ККККК Rhysling went on cataloguing the Solar System as he worked, "--harsh bright soil of Luna--","--Saturn's rainbow rings--","--the frozen night of Titan--", all the while opening and spilling the jet and fishing it clean. He finished with an alternate chorus --

ККККК ККККК "We've tried each spinning space mote

ККККК ККККК And reckoned its true worth:

ККККК ККККК Take us back again to the homes of men

ККККК ККККК On the cool, green hills of Earth."

--then, almost absentmindedly remembered to tack on his revised first verse:

ККККК ККККК "The arching sky is calling

ККККК ККККК Spacemen back to their trade.

ККККК ККККК All hands! Stand by! Free falling!

ККККК ККККК And the lights below us fade.

ККККК ККККК Out ride the sons of Terra,

ККККК ККККК Far drives the thundering jet,

ККККК ККККК Up leaps the race of Earthmen,

ККККК ККККК Out, far, and onward yet--"

ККККК The ship was safe now and ready to limp home shy one jet. As for himself, Rhysling was not so sure. That "sunburn" seemed sharp, he thought. He was unable to see the bright, rosy fog in which he worked but he knew it was there. He went on with the business of flushing the air out through the outer valve, repeating it several times to permit the level of radioaction to drop to something a man might stand under suitable armor. While he did this he sent one more chorus, the last bit of authentic Rhysling that ever could be:

ККККК ККККК "We pray for one last landing

ККККК ККККК On the globe that gave us birth;

ККККК ККККК Let us rest our eyes on fleecy skies

ККККК ККККК And the cool, green hills of Earth."

Logic of Empire

'Don't be a sentimental fool, Sam!'

ККККК 'Sentimental, or not,' Jones persisted, 'I know human slavery when I see it. That's what you've got on Venus.'

ККККК Humphrey Wingate snorted. 'That's utterly ridiculous. The company's labor clients are employees, working under legal contracts, freely entered into.'

ККККК Jones' eyebrows raised slightly. 'So? What kind of a contract is it that throws a man into jail if he quits his job?'

ККККК 'That's not the case. Any client can quit his job on the usual two weeks notice-I ought to know; I -'

ККККК 'Yes, I know,' agreed Jones in a tired voice. 'You're a lawyer. You know all about contracts. But the trouble with you, you dunderheaded fool, is that all you understand is legal phrases. Free contract-nuts! What I'm talking about is facts, not legalisms. I don't care what the contract says-those people are slaves!'

ККККК Wingate emptied his glass and set it down. 'So I'm a dunderheaded fool, am I? Well, I'll tell you what you are, Sam Houston Jones-you are a half-baked parlor pink. You've never had to work for a living in your life and you think it's just too dreadful that anyone else should have to. No, wait a minute,' he continued, as Jones opened his mouth, 'listen to me. The company's clients on Venus are a damn sight better off than most people of their own class here on Earth. They are certain of a job, of food, and a place to sleep. If they get sick, they're certain of medical attention. The trouble with people of that class is that they don't want to work -,

ККККК 'Who does?'

ККККК 'Don't be funny. The trouble is, if they weren't under a fairly tight contract, they'd throw up a good job the minute they got bored with it and expect the company to give 'em a free ride back to Earth. Now it may not have occurred to your fine, free charitable mind, but the company has obligations to its stockholders-you, for instance!-and it can't afford to run an interplanetary ferry for the benefit of a class of people that feel that the world owes them a living.'

ККККК 'You got me that time, pal,' Jones acknowledged with a wry face, '-that crack about me being a stockholder. I'm ashamed of it.'

ККККК 'Then why don't you sell?'

ККККК Jones looked disgusted. 'What kind of a solution is that? Do you think I can avoid the responsibility of knowing about it just unloading my stock?'

ККККК 'Oh, the devil with it,' said Wingate. 'Drink up.'

ККККК 'Righto,' agreed Jones. It was his first night aground after a practice cruise as a reserve officer; he needed to catch up on his drinking. Too bad, thought Wingate, that the cruise should have touched at Venus-'All out! All out! Up aaaall you idlers! Show a leg there! Show a leg and grab a sock!' The raucous voice sawed its way through Wingate's aching head. He opened his eyes, was blinded by raw white light, and shut them hastily. But the voice would not let him alone. 'Ten minutes till breakfast,' it rasped. 'Come and get it, or we'll throw it out!'

ККККК He opened his eyes again, and with trembling willpower forced them to track. Legs moved past his eyes, denim clad legs mostly, though some were bare-repulsive hairy nakedness. A confusion of male voices, from which he could catch words but not sentences, was accompanied by an obbligato of metallic sounds, muffled but pervasive-shrrg, shrrg, thump! Shrrg, shrrg, thump! The thump with which the cycle was completed hurt his aching head but was not as nerve stretching as another noise, a toneless whirring sibilance which he could neither locate nor escape.

ККККК The air was full of the odor of human beings, too many of them in too small a space. There was nothing so distinct as to be fairly termed a stench, nor was the supply of oxygen inadequate. But the room was filled with the warm, slightly musky smell of bodies still heated by bedclothes, bodies not dirty but not freshly washed. It was oppressive and unappetizing-in his present state almost nauseating.

ККККК He began to have some appreciation of the nature of his surroundings; he was in a bunkroom of some sort. It was crowded with men, men getting up, shuffling about, pulling on clothes. He lay on the bottom-most of a tier of four narrow bunks. Through the interstices between the legs which crowded around him and moved past his face he could see other such tiers around the walls and away from the walls, stacked floor to ceiling and supported by stanchions.

ККККК Someone sat down on the foot of Wingate's bunk, crowding his broad fundamental against Wingate's ankles while he drew on his socks. Wingate squirmed his feet away from the intrusion. The stranger turned his face toward him. 'Did I crowd 'ja, bud? Sorry.' Then he added, not unkindly, 'Better rustle out of there. The Master-at-Arms'll be riding you to get them bunks up.' He yawned hugely, and started to get up, quite evidently having dismissed Wingate and Wingate's affairs from his mind.

ККККК 'Wait a minute!' Wingate demanded hastily.

ККККК 'Huh?'

ККККК 'Where am I? In jail?'

ККККК The stranger studied Wingate's bloodshot eyes and puffy, unwashed face with detached but unmalicious interest. 'Boy, oh boy, you must 'a' done a good job of drinking up your bounty money.'

ККККК 'Bounty money? What the hell are you talking about?'

ККККК 'Honest to God, don't you know where you are?'

ККККК 'No.'

ККККК 'Well . . . ' The other seemed reluctant to proclaim a truth made silly by its self-evidence until Wingate's expression convinced him that he really wanted to know. 'Well, you're in the Evening Star, headed for Venus.'

A couple of minutes later the stranger touched him on the arm. 'Don't take it so hard, bud. There's nothing to get excited about.'

ККККК Wingate took his hands from his face and pressed them against his temples. 'It's not real,' he said, speaking more to himself than to the other. 'It can't be real -,

ККККК 'Stow it. Come and get your breakfast.'

ККККК 'I couldn't eat anything.'

ККККК 'Nuts. Know how you feel . . . felt that way sometimes myself. Food is just the ticket.' The Master-at-Arms settled the issue by coming up and prodding Wingate in the ribs with his truncheon.

ККККК 'What d'yuh think this is-sickbay, or first class? Get those bunks hooked up.'

ККККК 'Easy, mate, easy,' Wingate's new acquaintance conciliated, 'our pal's not himself this morning.' As he spoke he dragged Wingate to his feet with one massive hand, then with the other shoved the tier of bunks up and against the wall. Hooks clicked into their sockets, and the tier stayed up, flat to the wall.

ККККК 'He'll be a damn sight less himself if he interferes with my routine,' the petty officer predicted. But he moved on. Wingate stood barefooted on the floorplates, immobile and overcome by a feeling of helpless indecision which was re-inforced by the fact that he was dressed only in his underwear. His champion studied him.

ККККК 'You forgot your pillow. Here-' He reached down into the pocket formed by the lowest bunk and the wall and hauled out a flat package covered with transparent plastic. He broke the seal and shook out the contents, a single coverall garment of heavy denim. Wingate put it on gratefully. 'You can get the squeezer to issue you a pair of slippers after breakfast,' his friend added. 'Right now we gotta eat.'

ККККК The last of the queue had left the galley window by the time they reached it and the window was closed. Wingate's companion pounded on it. 'Open up in there!'

ККККК It slammed open. 'No seconds,' a face announced.

ККККК The stranger prevented the descent of the window with his hand. 'We don't want seconds, shipmate, we want firsts.'

ККККК 'Why the devil can't you show up on time?' the galley functionary groused. But he slapped two ration cartons down on the broad sill of the issuing window. The big fellow handed one to Wingate, and sat down on the floor-plates, his back supported by the galley bulkhead.

ККККК 'What's your name, bud?' he enquired, as he skinned the cover off his ration. 'Mine's Hartley-"Satchel" Hartley.'

ККККК 'Mine is Humphrey Wingate.'

ККККК 'Okay, Hump. Pleased to meet 'cha. Now what's all this song and dance you been giving me?' He spooned up an impossible bite of baked eggs and sucked coffee from the end of his carton.

ККККК 'Well,' said Wingate, his face twisted with worry, 'I guess I've been shanghaied.' He tried to emulate Hartley's method of drinking, and got the brown liquid over his face.

ККККК 'Here-that's no way to do,' Hartley said hastily. 'Put the nipple in your mouth, then don't squeeze any harder than you suck. Like this.' He illustrated. 'Your theory don't seem very sound to me. The company don't need crimps when there's plenty of guys standing in line for a chance to sign up. What happened? Can't you remember?'

ККККК Wingate tried. 'The last thing I recall,' he said, 'is arguing with a gyro driver over his fare.'

ККККК Hartley nodded. 'They'll gyp you every time. D'you think he put the slug on you?'

ККККК 'Well . . . no, I guess not. I seem to be all right, except for the damndest hangover you can imagine.'

ККККК 'You'll feel better. You ought to be glad the Evening Star is a high-gravity ship instead of a trajectory job. Then you'd really be sick, and no foolin'.'

ККККК 'How's that?'

ККККК 'I mean that she accelerates or decelerates her whole run. Has to, because she carries cabin passengers. If we had been sent by a freighter, it'd be a different story. They gun 'em into the right trajectory, then go weightless for the rest of the trip. Man, how the new chums do suffer!' He chuckled.

ККККК Wingate was in no condition to dwell on the hardships of space sickness. 'What T can't figure out,' he said, 'is how I landed here. Do you suppose they could have brought me aboard by mistake, thinking I was somebody else?'

ККККК 'Can't say. Say, aren't you going to finish your breakfast?'

ККККК 'I've had all I want.' Hartley took his statement as an invitation and quickly finished off Wingate's ration. Then he stood up, crumpled the two cartons into a ball, stuffed them down a disposal chute, and said,

ККККК 'What are you going to do about it?'

ККККК 'What am I going to do about it?' A look of decision came over Wingate's face. 'I'm going to march right straight up to the Captain and demand an explanation, that's what I'm going to do!'

ККККК 'I'd take that by easy stages, Hump,' Hartley commented doubtfully.

ККККК 'Easy stages, hell!' He stood up quickly. 'Ow! My head!'

ККККК The Master-at-Arms referred them to the Chief Master-at-Arms in order to get rid of them. Hartley waited with Wingate outside the stateroom of the Chief Master-at-Arms to keep him company. 'Better sell 'em your bill of goods pretty pronto,' he advised.

ККККК 'Why?'

ККККК 'We'll ground on. the Moon in a few hours. The stop to refuel at Luna City for deep space will be your last chance to get out, unless you want to walk back.'

ККККК 'I hadn't thought of that,' Wingate agreed delightedly. 'I thought I'd have to make the round trip in any case.'

ККККК 'Shouldn't be surprised but what you could pick up the Morning Star in a week or two. If it's their mistake, they'll have to return you.'

ККККК 'I can beat that,' said Wingate eagerly. 'I'll go right straight to the bank at Luna City, have them arrange a letter of credit with my bank, and buy a ticket on the Earth-Moon shuttle.'

ККККК Hartley's manner underwent a subtle change. He had never in his life 'arranged a letter of credit'. Perhaps such a man could walk up to the Captain and lay down the law.

ККККК The Chief Master-at-Arms listened to Wingate's story with obvious impatience, and interrupted him in the middle of it to consult his roster of emigrants. He thumbed through it to the Ws, and pointed to a line. Wingate read it with a sinking feeling. There was his own name, correctly spelled. 'Now get out,' ordered the official, 'and quit wasting my time.'

ККККК But Wingate stood up to him. 'You have no authority in this matter-none whatsoever. I insist that you take me to the Captain.'

ККККК 'Why, you-' Wingate thought momentarily that the man was going to strike him. He interrupted.

ККККК 'Be careful what you do. You are apparently the victim of an honest mistake-but your legal position will be very shaky indeed, if you disregard the requirements of spacewise law under which this vessel is licensed. I don't think your Captain would be pleased to have to explain such actions on your part in federal court.'

ККККК That he had gotten the man angry was evident. But a man does not get to be chief police officer of a major transport by jeopardizing his superior officers. His jaw muscles twitched but he pressed a button, saying nothing. A junior master-at-arms appeared. 'Take this man to the Purser.' He turned his back in dismissal and dialed a number on the ship's intercommunication system.

ККККК Wingate was let in to see the Purser, ex-officio company business agent, after only a short wait. 'What's this all about?' that officer demanded. 'If you have a complaint, why can't you present it at the morning hearings in the regular order?'

ККККК Wingate explained his predicament as clearly, convincingly, and persuasively as he knew how. 'And so you see,' he concluded, 'I want to be put aground at Luna City. I've no desire to cause the company any embarrassment over what was undoubtedly an unintentional mishap-particularly as I am forced to admit that I had been celebrating rather freely and, perhaps, in some manner, contributed to the mistake.'

ККККК The Purser, who had listened noncommittally to his recital, made no answer. He shuffled through a high stack of file folders which rested on one corner of his deck, selected one, and opened it. It contained a sheaf of legal-size papers clipped together at the top. These he studied leisurely for several minutes, while Wingate stood waiting.

ККККК The Purser breathed with an asthmatic noisiness while he read, and, from time to time, drummed on his bared teeth with his fingernails. Wingate had about decided, in his none too steady nervous condition, that if the man approached his hand to his mouth just once more that he, Wingate, would scream and start throwing things. At this point the Purser chucked the dossier across the desk toward Wingate. 'Better have a look at these,' he said.

ККККК Wingate did so. The main exhibit he found to be a contract, duly entered into, between Humphrey Wingate and the Venus Development Company for six years of indentured labor on the planet Venus.

ККККК 'That your signature?' asked the Purser.

ККККК Wingate's professional caution stood him in good stead. He studied the signature closely in order to gain time while he tried to collect his wits. 'Well,' he said at last, 'I will stipulate that it looks very much like my signature, but I will not concede that it is my signature-I'm not a handwriting expert.' The Purser brushed aside the objection with an air of annoyance. 'I haven't time to quibble with you. Let's check the thumbprint. Here.' He shoved an impression pad across his desk. For a moment Wingate considered standing on his legal rights by refusing, but no, that would prejudice his case. He had nothing to lose; it couldn't be his thumbprint on the contract. Unless-But it was. Even his untrained eye could see that the two prints matched. He fought back a surge of panic. This was probably a nightmare, inspired by his argument last night with Jones. Or, if by some wild chance it were real, it was a frame-up in which he must find the flaw. Men of his sort were not framed; the whole thing was ridiculous. He marshaled his words carefully.

ККККК 'I won't dispute your position, my dear sir. In some fashion both you and I have been made the victims of a rather sorry joke. It seems hardly necessary to point out that a man who is unconscious, as I must have been last night, may have his thumbprint taken without his knowledge. Superficially this contract is valid and I assume naturally your good faith in the matter. But, in fact, the instrument lacks one necessary element of a contract.'

ККККК 'Which is?'

ККККК 'The intention on the part of both parties to enter into a contractual relationship. Notwithstanding signature and thumbprint I had no intention of contracting which can easily be shown by other factors. I am a successful lawyer with a good practice, as my tax returns will show. It is not reasonable to believe-and no court will believe-that I voluntarily gave up my accustomed life for six years of indenture at a much lower income.'

ККККК 'So you're a lawyer, eh? Perhaps there has been chicanery-on your part. How does it happen that you represent yourself here as a radio technician?'

ККККК Wingate again had to steady himself at this unexpected flank attack. He was in truth a radio expert-it was his cherished hobby-but how had they known? Shut up, he told himself. Don't admit anything. 'The whole thing is ridiculous,' he protested. 'I insist that 1 be taken to see the Captain-I can break that contract in ten minutes time.'

ККККК The Purser waited before replying. 'Are you through speaking your piece?'

ККККК 'Yes.'

ККККК 'Very well. You've had your say, now I'll have mine. You listen to me, Mister Spacelawyer. That contract was drawn up by some of the shrewdest legal minds in two planets. They had specifically in mind that worthless bums would sign it, drink up their bounty money, and then decide that they didn't want to go to work after all. That contract has been subjected to every sort of attack possible and revised so that it can't be broken by the devil himself.

ККККК 'You're not peddling your curbstone law to another stumblebum in this case; you are talking to a man who knows just where he stands, legally. As for seeing the Captain-if you think the commanding officer of a major vessel has nothing more to do than listen to the rhira-dreams of a self-appointed word artist, you've got another think coming! Return to your quarters!'

ККККК Wingate started to speak, thought better of it, and turned to go. This would require some thought. The Purser stopped him. 'Wait. Here's your copy of the contract.' He chucked it, the flimsy white sheets riffled to the deck. Wingate picked them up and left silently.

Hartley was waiting for him in the passageway. 'How d'ja make out, Hump?'

ККККК 'Not so well. No, I don't want to talk about it. I've got to think.' They walked silently back the way they had come toward the ladder which gave access to the lower decks. A figure ascended from the ladder and, came toward them. Wingate noted it without interest.

ККККК He looked again. Suddenly the whole preposterous chain of events fell into place; he shouted in relief. 'Sam!' he called out. 'Sam-you cockeyed old so-and-so. I should have spotted your handiwork.' It was all clear now; Sam had framed him with a phony shanghai. Probably the skipper was a pal of Sam's-a reserve officer, maybe-and they had cooked it up between them. It was a rough sort of a joke, but he was too relieved to be angry. Just the same he would make Jones pay for his fun, somehow, on the jump back from Luna City.

ККККК It was then that he noticed that Jones was not laughing.

ККККК Furthermore he was dressed-most unreasonably-in the same blue denim that the contract laborers were. 'Hump,' he was saying, 'are you still drunk?'

ККККК 'Me? No. What's the-'

ККККК 'Don't you realize we're in a jam?'

ККККК 'Oh hell, Sam, a joke's a joke, but don't keep it up any longer. I've caught on, I tell you. I don't mind-it was a good gag.'

ККККК 'Gag, eh?' said Jones bitterly. 'I suppose it was just a gag when you talked me into signing up.'

ККККК 'I persuaded you to sign up?'

ККККК 'You certainly did. You were so damn sure you knew what you were talking about. You claimed that we could sign up, spend a month or so, on Venus, and come home. You wanted to bet on it. So we went around to the docks and signed up. It seemed like a good idea then-the only way to settle the argument.'

ККККК Wingate whistled softly. 'Well, I'll be-Sam, I haven't the slightest recollection of it. I must have drawn a blank before I passed out.'

ККККК 'Yeah, I guess so. Too bad you didn't pass out sooner. Not that I'm blaming you; you didn't drag me. Anyhow, I'm on my way up to try to straighten it out.'

ККККК 'Better wait a minute till you hear what happened to me. Oh yes-Sam, this is, uh, Satchel Hartley. Good sort.' Hartley had been waiting uncertainly near them; he stepped forward and shook hands.

ККККК Wingate brought Jones up to date, and added, 'So you see your reception isn't likely to be too friendly. I guess I muffed it. But we are sure to break the contract as soon as we can get a hearing on time alone.'

ККККК 'How do you mean?'

ККККК 'We were signed up less than twelve hours before ship lifting. That's contrary to the Space Precautionary Act.'

ККККК 'Yes-yes, I see what you mean. The Moon's in her last quarter; they would lift ship some time after midnight to take advantage of favorable earthswing. I wonder what time it was when we signed on?'

ККККК Wingate took out his contract copy. The notary's stamp showed a time of eleven thirty-two. 'Great Day!' he shouted. 'I knew there would be a flaw in it somewhere. This contract is invalid on its face. The ship's log will prove it.'

ККККК Jones studied it. 'Look again,' he said. Wingate did so. The stamp showed eleven thirty-two, but A.M., not P.M.

ККККК 'But that's impossible,' he protested.

ККККК 'Of course it is. But it's official. I think we will find that the story is that we were signed on in the morning, paid our bounty money, and had one last glorious luau before we were carried aboard. I seem to recollect some trouble in getting the recruiter to sign us up. Maybe we convinced, him by kicking in our bounty money.'

ККККК 'But we didn't sign up in the morning. It's not true and I can prove it.'

ККККК 'Sure you can prove it-but how can you prove it without going back to Earth first!'

'So you see it's this way,' Jones decided after some minutes of somewhat fruitless discussion, 'there is no sense in trying to break our contracts here and now; they'll laugh at us. The thing to do is to make money talk, and talk loud. The only way I can see to get us off at Luna City is to post non-performance bonds with the company bank there-cash, and damn big ones too.'

ККККК 'How big?'

ККККК 'Twenty thousand credits, at least, I should guess.'

ККККК 'But that's not equitable-it's all out of proportion.'

ККККК 'Quit worrying about equity, will you? Can't you realize that they've got us where the hair is short? This won't be a bond set by a court ruling; it's got to be big enough to make a minor company official take a chance on doing something that's not in the book.'

ККККК 'I can't raise such a bond.'

ККККК 'Don't worry about that. I'll take care of it.'

ККККК Wingate wanted to argue the point, but did not. There are times when it is very convenient to have a wealthy friend.

ККККК 'I've got to get a radiogram off to my sister,' Jones went on, 'to get this done -,

ККККК 'Why your sister? Why not your family firm?'

ККККК 'Because we need fast action, that's why. The lawyers that handle our family finances would fiddle and fume around trying to confirm the message. They'd send a message back to the Captain, asking if Sam Houston Jones were really aboard, and he would answer "No", as I'm signed up as Sam Jones. I had some silly idea of staying out of the news broadcasts, on account of the family.'

ККККК 'You can't blame them,' protested Wingate, feeling an obscure clannish loyalty to his colleague in law, 'they're handling other people's money.'

ККККК 'I'm not blaming them. But I've got to have fast action and Sis'll do what I ask her. I'll phrase the message so she'll know it's me. The only hurdle now is to persuade the Purser to let me send a message on tick.'

ККККК He was gone for a long time on this mission. Hartley waited with Wingate, both to keep him company and because of a strong human interest in unusual events. When Jones finally appeared he wore a look of tight-lipped annoyance. Wingate, seeing the expression, felt a sudden, chilling apprehension. 'Couldn't you send it? Wouldn't he let you?'

ККККК 'Oh, he let me-finally,' Jones admitted, 'but that Purser-man, is he tight!'

ККККК Even without the alarm gongs Wingate would have been acutely aware of the grounding at Luna City. The sudden change from the high gravity deceleration of their approach to the weak surface gravity-one-sixth earth normal-of the Moon took immediate toll on his abused stomach. It was well that he had not eaten much. Both Hartley and Jones were deep-space men and regarded enough acceleration to permit normal swallowing as adequate for any purpose. There is a curious lack of sympathy between those who are subject to space sickness and those who are immune to it. Why the spectacle of a man regurgitating, choked, eyes streaming with tears, stomach knotted with pain, should seem funny is difficult to see, but there it is. It divides the human race into two distinct and antipathetic groups-amused contempt on one side, helpless murderous hatred on the other.

ККККК Neither Hartley nor Jones had the inherent sadism which is too frequently evident on such occasions-for example the great wit who suggests salt pork as a remedy-but, feeling no discomfort themselves, they were simply unable to comprehend (having forgotten the soul-twisting intensity of their own experience as new chums) that Wingate was literally suffering 'a fate worse than death'-much worse, for it was stretched into a sensible eternity by a distortion of the time sense known only to sufferers from space sickness, seasickness, and (we are told) smokers of hashish.

ККККК As a matter of fact, the stop on the Moon was less than four hours long. Toward the end of the wait Wingate had quieted down sufficiently again to take an interest in the expected reply to Jones' message, particularly after Jones had assured him that he would be able to spend the expected lay-over under bond at Luna City in a hotel equipped with a centrifuge.

ККККК But the answer was delayed. Jones had expected to hear from his sister within an hour, perhaps before the Evening Star grounded at the Luna City docks. As the hours stretched out he managed to make himself very unpopular at the radio room by his repeated inquiries. An over-worked clerk had sent him brusquely about his business for the seventeenth time when he heard the alarm sound preparatory to raising ship; he went back and admitted to Wingate that his scheme had apparently failed.

ККККК 'Of course, we've got ten minutes yet,' he finished unhopefully, 'if the message should arrive before they raise ship, the Captain could still put us aground at the last minute. We'll go back and haunt 'em some more right up to the last. But it looks like a thin chance.'

ККККК 'Ten minutes-'said Wingate, 'couldn't we manage somehow to slip outside and run for it?'

ККККК Jones looked exasperated. 'Have you ever tried running in a total vacuum?'

ККККК Wingate had very little time in which to fret on the passage from Luna City to Venus. He learned a great deal about the care and cleaning of washrooms, and spent ten hours a day perfecting his new skill. Masters-at-Arms have long memories.

ККККК The Evening Star passed beyond the limits of ship-to-Terra radio communication shortly after leaving Luna City; there was nothing to do but wait until arrival at Adonis, port of the north polar colony. The company radio there was strong enough to remain in communication at all times except for the sixty days bracketing superior conjunction and a shorter period of solar interference at inferior conjunction. 'They will probably be waiting for us with a release order when we ground,' Jones assured Wingate, 'and we'll go back on the return trip of the Evening Star-first class, this time. Or, at the very Worst, we'll have to wait over for the Morning Star. That wouldn't be so bad, once I get some credit transferred; we could spend it at Venusburg.'

ККККК 'I suppose you went there on your cruise,' Wingate said, curiosity showing in his voice. He was no Sybarite, but the lurid reputation of the most infamous, or famous-depending on one's evaluations-pleasure city of three planets was enough to stir the imagination of the least hedonistic.

ККККК 'No-worse luck!' Jones denied. 'I was on a hull inspection board the whole time. Some of my messmates went, though boy!' He whistled softly and shook his head.

ККККК But there was no one awaiting their arrival, nor was there any message. Again they stood around the communication office until told sharply and officially to get on back to their quarters and stand by to disembark, '- and be quick about it!'

ККККК 'I'll see you in the receiving barracks, Hump,' were Jones' last words before he hurried off to his own compartment.

ККККК The Master-at-Arms responsible for the compartment in which Hartley and Wingate were billeted lined his charges up in a rough column of two's and, when ordered to do so by the metallic bray of the ship's loudspeaker, conducted them through the central passageway and down four decks to the lower passenger port. It stood open; they shuffled through the lock and out of the ship-not into the free air of Venus, but into a sheet metal tunnel which joined it, after some fifty yards, to a building.

ККККК The air within the tunnel was still acrid from the atomized antiseptic with which it had been flushed out, but to Wingate it was nevertheless fresh and stimulating after the stale flatness of the repeatedly reconditioned air of the transport. That, plus the surface gravity of Venus, five-sixths of earth-normal, strong enough to prevent nausea yet low enough to produce a feeling of lightness and strength-these things combined to give him an irrational optimism, an up-and-at-'em frame of mind.

ККККК The exit from the tunnel gave into a moderately large room, windowless but brilliantly and glarelessly lighted from concealed sources. It contained no furniture.

ККККК 'Squaaad-HALT!' called out the Master-at-Arms, and handed papers to a slight, clerkish-appearing man who stood near an inner doorway. The man glanced at the papers, counted the detachment, then signed one sheet, which he handed back to the ship's petty officer who accepted it and returned through the tunnel.

ККККК The clerkish man turned to the immigrants. He was dressed, Wingate noted, in nothing but the briefest of shorts, hardly more than a strap, and his entire body, even his feet, was a smooth mellow tan. 'Now men,' he said in a mild voice, 'strip off your clothes and put them in the hopper.' He indicated a fixture set in one wall.

ККККК 'Why?' asked Wingate. His manner was uncontentious but he made no move to comply.

ККККК 'Come now,' he was answered, still mildly but with a note of annoyance, 'don't argue. It's for your own protection. We can't afford to import disease.'

ККККК Wingate checked a reply and unzipped his coverall. Several who had paused to hear the outcome followed his example. Suits, shoes, underclothing, socks, they all went into the hopper. 'Follow me,' said their guide.

ККККК In the next room the naked herd were confronted by four 'barbers' armed with electric clippers and rubber gloves who proceeded to clip them smooth. Again Wingate felt disposed to argue, but decided the issue was not worth it. But he wondered if the female labor clients were required to submit to such drastic quarantine precautions. It would be a shame, it seemed to him, to sacrifice a beautiful head of hair that had been twenty years in growing.

ККККК The succeeding room was a shower room. A curtain of warm spray completely blocked passage through the room. Wingate entered it unreluctantly, even eagerly, and fairly wallowed in the first decent bath he had been able to take since leaving Earth. They were plentifully supplied with liquid green soap, strong and smelly, but which lathered freely. Half a dozen attendants, dressed as skimpily as their guide, stood on the far side of the wall of water and saw to it that the squad remained under the shower a fixed time and scrubbed. In some cases they made highly personal suggestions to insure thoroughness. Each of them wore a red cross on a white field affixed to his belt which lent justification to their officiousness.

ККККК Blasts of warm air in the exit passageway dried them quickly and completely.

ККККК 'Hold still.' Wingate complied, the bored hospital orderly who had spoken dabbed at Wingate's upper arm with a swab which felt cold to touch, then scratched the spot. 'That's all, move on.' Wingate added himself to the queue at the next table. The experience was repeated on the other arm. By the time he had worked down to the far end of the room the outer sides of each arm were covered with little red scratches, more than twenty of them.

ККККК 'What's this all about?' he asked the hospital clerk at the end of the line, who had counted his scratches and checked his name off a list.

ККККК 'Skin tests.. . to check your resistances and immunities.'

ККККК 'Resistance to what?'

ККККК 'Anything. Both terrestrial and Venerian diseases. Fungoids, the Venus ones are, mostly. Move on, you're holding up the line.' He heard more about it later. It took from two to three weeks to recondition the ordinary terrestrial to Venus conditions. Until that reconditioning was complete and immunity was established to the new hazards of another planet it was literally death to an Earth man to expose his skin and particularly his mucous membranes to the ravenous invisible parasites of the surface of Venus.

ККККК The ceaseless fight of life against life which is the dominant characteristic of life anywhere proceeds with special intensity, under conditions of high metabolism, in the steamy jungles of Venus. The general bacteriophage which has so nearly eliminated disease caused by pathogenic micro-organisms on Earth was found capable of a subtle modification which made it potent against the analogous but different diseases of Venus. The hungry fungi were another matter.

ККККК Imagine the worst of the fungoid-type skin diseases you have ever encountered-ringworm, dhobie itch, athlete's foot, Chinese rot, saltwater itch, seven year itch. Add to that your conception of mold of damp rot, of scale, of toadstools feeding on decay. Then conceive them speeded up in their processes, visibly crawling as you watch-picture them attacking your eyeballs, your armpits, the soft wet tissues inside your mouth, working down into your lungs.

ККККК The first Venus expedition was lost entirely. The second had a surgeon with sufficient imagination to provide what seemed a liberal supply of salicylic acid and mercury salicylate as well as a small ultraviolet radiator. Three of them returned.

ККККК But permanent colonization depends on adaptation to environment, not insulating against it. Luna City might be cited as a case which denies this proposition but it is only superficially so. While it is true that the 'lunatics' are absolutely dependent on their citywide hermetically-sealed air bubble, Luna City is not a self-sustaining colony; it is an outpost, useful as a mining station, as an observatory, as a refueling stop beyond the densest portion of Terra's gravitational field.

ККККК Venus is a colony. The colonists breathe the air of Venus, eat its food, and expose their skins to its climate and natural hazards. Only the cold polar regions-approximately equivalent in weather conditions to an Amazonian jungle on a hot day in the rainy season-are tenable by terrestrials, but here they slop barefooted on the marshy soil in a true ecological balance.

Wingate ate the meal that was offered him-satisfactory but roughly served and dull, except for Venus sweet-sour melon, the portion of which he ate would have fetched a price in a Chicago gourmets' restaurant equivalent to the food budget for a week of a middle-class family-and located his assigned sleeping billet. Thereafter he attempted to locate Sam Houston Jones. He could find no sign of him among the other labor clients, nor any one who remembered having seen him. He was advised by one of the permanent staff of the conditioning station to enquire of the factor's clerk. This he did, in the ingratiating manner he had learned it was wise to use in dealing with minor functionaries.

ККККК 'Come back in the morning. The lists will be posted.'

ККККК 'Thank you, sir. Sorry to have bothered you, but I can't find him and I was afraid he might have taken sick or something. Could you tell me if he is on the sick list.'

ККККК 'Oh, well-Wait a minute.' The clerk thumbed through his records. 'Hmmm.. . you say he was in the Evening Star?'

ККККК 'Yes, sir.'

ККККК 'Well, he's not. . . Mmmm, no-Oh, yes, here he is. He didn't disembark here.'

ККККК 'What did you say!?'

ККККК 'He went on with the Evening Star to New Auckland, South Pole. He's stamped in as a machinist's helper. If you had told me that, I'd 'a' known. All the metal workers in this consignment were sent to work on the new South Power Station.'

ККККК After a moment Wingate pulled himself together enough to murmur, 'Thanks for your trouble.'

ККККК ''S all right. Don't ~mention it.' The clerk turned away.

ККККК South Pole Colony! He muttered it to himself. South Pole Colony, his only friend twelve thousand miles away. At last Wingate felt alone, alone and trapped, abandoned. During the short interval between waking up aboard the transport and finding Jones also aboard he had not had time fully to appreciate his predicament, nor had he, then, lost his upper class arrogance, the innate conviction that it could not be serious-such things just don't' happen to people, not to people one knows!

ККККК But in the meantime he had suffered such assaults to his human dignity (the Chief Master-at-Arms had seen to some of it) that he was no longer certain of his essential inviolability from unjust or arbitrary treatment. But now, shaved and bathed without his consent, stripped of his clothing and attired in a harness like breechclout, transported millions of miles from his social matrix, subject to the orders of persons indifferent to his feelings and who claimed legal control over his person and actions, and now, most bitterly, cut off from the one human contact which had given him support and courage and hope, he realized at last with chilling thoroughness that anything could happen to him, to him, Humphrey Belmont Wingate, successful attorney-at-law and member of all the night clubs.

ККККК 'Wingate!'

ККККК 'That's you, Jack. Go on in, don't keep them waiting.' Wingate pushed through the doorway and found himself in a fairly crowded room. Thirty-odd men were seated around the sides of the room. Near the door a clerk sat at a desk, busy with papers. One brisk-mannered individual stood in the cleared space between the chairs near a low platform on which all the illumination of the room was concentrated. The clerk at the door looked up to say, 'Step up where they can see you.' He pointed a stylus at the platform.

ККККК Wingate moved forward and did as he was bade, blinking at the brilliant light. 'Contract number 482-23-06,' read the clerk, 'client Humphrey Wingate, six years, radio technician non-certified, pay grade six-D, contract now available for assignment.' Three weeks it had taken them to condition him, three weeks with no word from Jones. He had passed his exposure test without infection; he was about to enter the active period of his indenture. The brisk man spoke up close on the last words of the clerk:

ККККК 'Now here, patrons, if you please-we have an exceptionally promising man. I hardly dare tell you the ratings he received on his intelligence, adaptability, and general information tests. In fact I won't, except to tell you that Administration has put in a protective offer of a thousand credits. But it would be a shame to use any such client for the routine work of administration when we need good men so badly to wrest wealth from the wilderness. I venture to predict that the lucky bidder who obtains the services of this client will be using him as a foreman within a month. But look him over for yourselves, talk to him, and see for yourselves.'

ККККК The clerk whispered something to the speaker. He nodded and added, 'I am required to notify you, gentlemen and patrons, that this client has given the usual legal notice of two weeks, subject of course to liens of record.' He laughed jovially, and cocked one eyebrow as if there were some huge joke behind his remarks. No one paid attention to the announcement; to a limited extent Wingate appreciated wryly the nature of the jest. He had given notice the day after he found out that Jones had been sent to South Pole Colony, and had discovered that while he was free theoretically to quit, it was freedom to starve on Venus, unless he first worked out his bounty, and his. passage both ways.

ККККК Several of the patrons gathered around the platform and looked him over, discussing him as they did so. 'Not too well muscled.' 'I'm not over-eager to bid on these smart boys; they're trouble-makers.' 'No, but a stupid client isn't worth his keep.' 'What can he do? I'm going to have a look at his record.' They drifted over to the clerk's desk and scrutinized the results of the many tests and examinations that Wingate had undergone during his period of quarantine. All but one beady-eyed individual who sidled up closer to Wingate, and, resting one foot on the platform so that he could bring his face nearer, spoke in confidential tones.

ККККК 'I'm not interested in those phony puff-sheets, bub. Tell me about yourself.'

ККККК 'There's not much to tell.'

ККККК 'Loosen up. You'll like my place. Just like a home - I run a free crock to Venusburg for my boys. Had any experience handling niggers?'

ККККК 'No.'

ККККК 'Well, the natives ain't niggers anyhow, except in a manner of speaking. You look like you could boss a gang. Had any experience?'

ККККК 'Not much.'

ККККК 'Well . . . maybe you're modest. I like a man who keeps his mouth shut. And my boys like me. I never let my pusher take kickbacks.'

ККККК 'No,' put in another patron who had returned to the side of the platform, 'you save that for yourself, Rigsbee.'

ККККК 'You stay out o' this, Van Huysen!'

ККККК The newcomer, a heavy-set, middle-aged man, ignored the other and addressed Wingate himself. 'You have given notice. Why?'

ККККК 'The whole thing was a mistake. I was drunk.'

ККККК 'Will you do honest work in the meantime?'

ККККК Wingate considered this. 'Yes,' he said finally. The heavy-set man nodded and walked heavily back to his chair, settling his broad girth with care and giving his harness a hitch.

ККККК When the others were seated the spokesman announced cheerfully, 'Now, gentlemen, if you are quite through-Let's hear an opening offer for this contract. I wish I could afford to bid him in as my assistant, by George, I do! Now . . . do I hear an offer?'

ККККК 'Six hundred.'

ККККК 'Please, patrons! Did you not hear me mention a protection of one thousand?'

ККККК '1 don't think you mean it. He's a sleeper.'

ККККК The company agent raised his eyebrows. 'I'm sorry. I'll have to ask the client to step down from the platform.'

ККККК But before Wingate could do so another voice said, 'One thousand.'

ККККК 'Now that's better!' exclaimed the agent. 'I should have known that you gentlemen wouldn't let a real opportunity escape you. But a ship can't fly on one jet. Do I hear eleven hundred? Come, patrons, you can't make your fortunes without clients. Do I hear -'

ККККК 'Eleven hundred.'

ККККК 'Eleven hundred from Patron Rigsbee! And a bargain it would be at that price. But I doubt if you will get it. Do I hear twelve?'

ККККК The heavy-set man flicked a thumb upward. 'Twelve hundred from Patron van Huysen. I see I've made a mistake and am wasting your time; the intervals should be not less than two hundred. Do I hear fourteen? Do I hear fourteen? Going once for twelve.. . going twi-'

ККККК 'Fourteen,' Rigsbee said suddenly.

ККККК 'Seventeen,' Van Huysen added at once.

ККККК 'Eighteen,' snapped Rigsbee.

ККККК 'Nooo,' said the agent, 'no interval of less than two, please.'

ККККК 'All right, dammit, nineteen!'

ККККК 'Nineteen I hear. It's a hard number to write; who'll make it twenty-one?' Van Huysen's thumb flicked again. 'Twentyone it is. It takes money to make money. What do I hear? What do I hear?' He paused. 'Going once for twenty-one going twice for twenty-one. Are you giving up so easily, Patron Rigsbee?'

ККККК 'Van Huysen is a-' The rest was muttered too indistinctly to hear.

ККККК 'One more chance, gentlemen. Going, going . . . GONE!-He smacked his palms sharply together. '-and sold to Patron van Huysen for twenty-one hundred credits. My congratulations, sir, on a shrewd deal.'

ККККК Wingate followed his new master out the far door. They were stopped in the passageway by Rigsbee. 'All right, Van, you've had your fun. I'll cut your loses for two thousand.'

ККККК 'Out of my way.'

ККККК 'Don't be a fool. He's no bargain. You don't know how to sweat a man-I do.' Van Huysen ignored him, pushing on past. Wingate followed him out into warm winter drizzle to the parking lot where steel crocodiles were drawn up in parallel rows. Van Huysen paused beside a thirty-foot Remington. 'Get in.'

ККККК The long boxlike body of the crock was stowed to its load line with supplies Van Huysen had purchased at the base. Sprawled on the tarpaulin which covered the cargo were half a dozen men. One of them stirred as Wingate climbed over the side. 'Hump! Oh, Hump!'

ККККК It was Hartley. Wingate was surprised at his own surge of emotion. He gripped Hartley's hand and exchanged friendly insults. 'Chums,' said Hartley, 'meet Hump Wingate. He's a right guy. Hump, meet the gang. That's Jimmie right behind you. He rassles this velocipede.'

ККККК The man designated gave Wingate a bright nod and moved forward into the operator's seat. At a wave from Van Huysen, who had seated his bulk in the little sheltered cabin aft, he pulled back on both control levers and the crocodile crawled away, its caterpillar treads clanking and chunking through the mud.

ККККК Three of the six were old-timers, including Jimmie, the driver. They had come along to handle cargo, the ranch products which the patron had brought in to market and the supplies he had purchased to take back. Van Huysen had bought the contracts of two other clients in addition to Wingate and Satchel Hartley. Wingate recognized them as men he had known casually in the Evening Star and at the assignment and conditioning station. They looked a little woebegone, which Wingate could thoroughly understand, but the men from the ranch seemed to be enjoying themselves. They appeared to regard the opportunity to ride a load to and from town as an outing. They sprawled on the tarpaulin and passed the time gossiping and getting acquainted with the new chums.

ККККК But they asked no personal questions. No labor client on Venus ever asked anything about what he had been before he shipped with the company unless he first volunteered information. It 'wasn't done'.

ККККК Shortly after leaving the outskirts of Adonis the car slithered down a sloping piece of ground, teetered over a low bank, and splashed logily into water. Van Huysen threw up a window in the bulkhead which separated the cabin from the hold and shouted, 'Dumkopf! How many times do I tell you to take those launchings slowly?'

ККККК 'Sorry, Boss,' Jimmie answered. 'I missed it.'

ККККК 'You keep your eyes peeled, or I get me a new crocker!' He slammed the port. Jimmie glanced around and gave the other clients a sly wink. He had his hands full; the marsh they were traversing looked like solid ground, so heavily was it overgrown with rank vegetation. The crocodile now functioned as a boat, the broad flanges of the treads acting as paddle wheels. The wedge-shaped prow pushed shrubs and marsh grass aside, air struck and ground down small trees. Occasionally the lugs would bite into the mud of a shoal bottom, and, crawling over a bar, return temporarily to the status of a land vehicle. Jimmie's slender, nervous hands moved constantly over the controls, avoiding large trees and continually seeking the easiest, most nearly direct route, while he split his attention between the terrain and the craft's compass.

ККККК Presently the conversation lagged and one of the ranch hands started to sing. He had a passable tenor voice and was soon joined by others. Wingate found himself singing the choruses as fast as he learned them. They sang Pay Book and Since the Pusher Met My Cousin and a mournful thing called They Found Him in the Bush. But this was followed by a light number, The Night the Rain Stopped, which seemed to have an endless string of verses recounting various unlikely happenings which occurred on that occasion. ('The Squeezer bought a round-a-drinks -')

ККККК Jimmie drew applause and enthusiastic support in the choruses with a ditty entitled That Redheaded Venusburg Gal, but Wingate considered it inexcusably vulgar. He did not have time to dwell on the matter; it was followed by a song which drove it out of his mind.

ККККК The tenor started it, slowly and softly. The others sang the refrains while he rested-all but Wingate; he was silent and thoughtful throughout. In the triplet of the second verse the tenor dropped out and the others sang in his place.

'Oh, you stamp your paper and you sign your name, ('Come away! Come away!)

'They pay your bounty and you drown your shame.

('Rue the day! Rue the day!)

'They land you down at Ellis Isle and put you in a pen;

'There you see what happens to the Six-Year men-'They haven't paid their bounty and they sign 'em up again!

('Here to stay! Here to stay!)

'But me I'll save my bounty and a ticket on the ship, ('So you say! So you say!)

'And then you'll see me leavin' on the very next trip. ('Come the day! Come the day!)

'Oh, we've heard that kinda story just a thousand times and one.

'Now we wouldn't say you're lyin' but we'd like to see it done.

'We'll see you next at Venusburg apayin' for your fun! And you'll never meet your bounty on this hitch!

('Come away!')

ККККК It left Wingate with a feeling of depression not entirely accounted for by the tepid drizzle, the unappetizing landscape, nor by the blanket of pale mist which is the invariable Venerian substitute for the open sky. He withdrew to one corner of the hold and kept to himself, until, much later, Jimmie shouted, 'Lights ahead!'

ККККК Wingate leaned out and peered eagerly towards his new home.

Four weeks and no word from Sam Houston Jones. Venus had turned once on its axis, the fortnight long Venerian 'winter' had given way to an equally short 'summer'-indistinguishable from 'winter' except that the rain was a trifle heavier and a little hotter-and now it was 'winter' again. Van Huysen's ranch, being near the pole, was, like most of the tenable area of Venus, never in darkness. The miles-thick, ever present layer of clouds tempered the light of the low-hanging sun during the long day, and, equally, held the heat and diffused the light from a sun just below the horizon to produce a continuing twilight during the two-week periods which were officially 'night', or 'winter'.

ККККК Four weeks and no word. Four weeks and no sun, no moon, no stars, no dawn. No clean crisp breath of morning air, no life-quickening beat of noonday sun, no welcome evening shadows, nothing, nothing at all to distinguish one sultry, sticky hour from the next but the treadmill routine of sleep and work and food and sleep again-nothing but the gathering ache in his heart for the cool blue skies of Terra.

ККККК He had acceded to the invariable custom that new men should provide a celebration for the other clients and had signed the Squeezer's chits to obtain happywater-rhira-for the purpose-to discover, when first he signed the pay book, that his gesture of fellowship had cost him another four months of delay before he could legally quit his 'job'. Thereupon he had resolved never again to sign a chit, had foresworn the prospect of brief holidays at Venusburg, had promised himself to save every possible credit against his bounty and transportation liens.

ККККК Whereupon he discovered that the mild alcoholoid drink was neither a vice nor a luxury, but a necessity, as necessary to human life on Venus as the ultraviolet factor present in all colonial illuminating systems. it produces, not drunkenness, but lightness of heart, freedom from worry, and without it he could not get to sleep. Three nights of self-recrimination and fretting, three days of fatigue-drugged uselessness under the unfriendly eye of the Pusher, and he had signed for his bottle with the rest, even though dully aware that the price of the bottle had washed out more than half of the day's microscopic progress toward freedom.

ККККК Nor had he been assigned to radio operation. Van Huysen had an operator. Wingate, although listed on the books as standby operator, went to the swamps with the rest. He discovered on rereading his contract a clause which permitted his patron to do this, and he admitted with half his mind-the detached judicial and legalistic half-that the clause was reasonable and proper, not inequitable.

ККККК He went to the swamps. He learned to wheedle and bully the little, mild amphibian people into harvesting the bulbous underwater growth of Hyacinthus veneris johnsoni-Venus swamproot-and to bribe the co-operation of their matriarchs with promises of bonuses in the form of 'thigarek', a term which meant not only cigarette, but tobacco in any form, the staple medium in trade when dealing with the natives.

ККККК He took his turn in the chopping sheds and learned, clumsily and slowly, to cut and strip the spongy outer husk from the pea-sized kernel which alone had commercial value and which must be removed intact, without scratch or bruise. The juice from the pods made his hands raw and the odor made him cough and stung his eyes, but he enjoyed it more than the work in the marshes, for it threw him into the company of the female labor clients. Women were quicker at the work than men and their smaller fingers more dextrous in removing the valuable, easily damaged capsule. Men were used for such work only when accumulated crops required extra help.

ККККК He learned his new trade from a motherly old person whom the other women addressed as Hazel. She talked as she worked, her gnarled old hands moving steadily and without apparent direction or skill. He could close his eyes and imagine that he was back on Earth and a boy again, hanging around his grandmother's kitchen while she shelled peas and rambled on. 'Don't you fret yourself, boy,' Hazel told him. 'Do your work and shame the devil. There's a great day coming.'

ККККК 'What kind of great day, Hazel?'

ККККК 'The day when the Angels of the Lord will rise up and smite the powers of evil. The day when the Prince of Darkness will be cast down into the pit and the Prophet shall reign over the children of Heaven. So don't you worry; it doesn't matter whether you are here or back home when the great day comes; the only thing that matters is your state of grace.'

ККККК 'Are you sure we will live long enough to see the day?'

ККККК She glanced around, then leaned over confidentially. 'The day is almost upon us. Even now the Prophet moves up and down the land gathering his forces. Out of the clean farm country of the Mississippi Valley there comes the Man, known in this world'-she lowered her voice still more-'as Nehemiah Scudder!'

ККККК Wingate hoped that his start of surprise and amusement did not show externally. He recalled the name. It was that of a pipsqueak, backwoods evangelist, an unimportant nuisance back on Earth, but the butt of an occasional guying news story, but a man of no possible consequence.

ККККК The chopping shed Pusher moved up to their bench. 'Keep your eyes on your work, you! You're way behind now.' Wingate hastened to comply, but Hazel came to his aid.

ККККК 'You leave him be, Joe Tompson. It takes time to learn chopping.'

ККККК 'Okay, Mom,' answered the Pusher with a grin, 'but keep him pluggin'. See?'

ККККК 'I will. You worry about the rest of the shed. This bench'll have its quota.' Wingate had been docked two days running for spoilage. Hazel was lending him poundage now and the Pusher knew it, but everybody liked her, even pushers, who are reputed to like no one, not even themselves.

Wingate stood just outside the gate of the bachelors' compound. There was yet fifteen minutes before lock-up roll call; he had walked out in a subconscious attempt to rid himself of the pervading feeling of claustrophobia which he had had throughout his stay. The attempt was futile; there was no 'outdoorness' about the outdoors on Venus, the bush crowded the clearing in on itself, the leaden misty sky pressed down on his head, and the steamy heat sat on his bare chest. Still, it was better than the bunkroom in spite of the dehydrators.

ККККК He had not yet obtained his evening ration of rhira and felt, consequently, nervous and despondent, yet residual self-respect caused him to cherish a few minutes clear thinking before he gave in to cheerful soporific. It's getting me, he thought, in a few more months I'll be taking every chance to get to Venusburg, or worse yet, signing a chit for married quarters and condemning myself and my kids to a life-sentence. When he first arrived the women clients, with their uniformly dull minds and usually commonplace faces, had seemed entirely unattractive. Now, he realized with dismay, he was no longer so fussy. Why, he was even beginning to lisp, as the other clients did, in unconscious imitation of the amphibians.

ККККК Early, he had observed that the clients could be divided roughly into two categories, the child of nature and the broken men. The first were those of little imagination and simple standards. In all probability they had known nothing better back on Earth; they saw in the colonial culture, not slavery, but freedom from responsibility, security, and an occasional spree. The others were the broken men, the outcasts, they who had once been somebody, but, through some defect of character, or some accident, had lost their places in society. Perhaps the judge had said, 'Sentence suspended if you ship for the colonies.'

ККККК He realized with sudden panic that his own status was crystallizing; he was becoming one of the broken men. His background on Earth was becoming dim in his mind; he had put off for the last three days the labor of writing another letter to Jones; he had spent all the last shift rationalizing the necessity for taking a couple of days holiday at Venusburg. Face it, son, face it, he told himself. You're slipping, you're letting your mind relax into slave psychology. You've unloaded the problem of getting out of this mess onto Jones - how do you know he can help you? For all you know he may be dead. Out of the dimness of his memory he recaptured a phrase which he had read somewhere, some philosopher of history: 'No slave is ever freed, save he free himself.'

ККККК All right, all right-pull up your socks, old son. Take a brace. No more rhira-no, that wasn't practical; a man had to have sleep. Very well, then, no rhira until lights-out, keep your mind clear in the evenings and plan. Keep your eyes open, find out all you can, cultivate friendships, and watch for a chance.

ККККК Through the gloom he saw a human figure approaching the gate of the compound. As it approached he saw that it was a woman and supposed it to be one of the female clients. She came closer, he saw that he was mistaken. It was Annek van Huysen, daughter of the patron.

ККККК She was a husky, overgrown blond girl with unhappy eyes. He had seen her many times, watching the clients as they returned from their labor, or wandering alone around the ranch clearing. She was neither unsightly, nor in anywise attractive; her heavy adolescent figure needed more to flatter it than the harness which all colonists wore as the maximum tolerable garment.

ККККК She stopped before him, and, unzipping the pouch at her waist which served in lieu of pockets, took out a package of cigarettes. 'I found this back there. Did you lose it?'

ККККК He knew that she lied; she had picked up nothing since she had come into sight. And the brand was one smoked on Earth and by patrons; no client could afford such. What was she up to?

ККККК He noted the eagerness in her face and the rapidity of her breathing, and realized, with confusion, that this girl was trying indirectly to make him a present. Why?

ККККК Wingate was not particularly conceited about his own physical beauty, or charm, nor had he any reason to be. But what he had not realized was that among the common run of the clients he stood out like a cock pheasant in a barnyard. But that Annek found him pleasing he was forced to admit; there could be no other explanation for her trumped-up story and her pathetic little present.

ККККК His first impulse was to snub her. He wanted nothing of her and resented the invasion of his privacy, and he was vaguely aware that the situation could be awkward, even dangerous to him, involving, as it did, violations of custom which jeopardized the whole social and economic structure. From the viewpoint of the patrons, labor clients were almost as much beyond the pale as the amphibians. A liaison between a labor client and one of the womenfolk of the patrons could easily wake up old Judge Lynch.

ККККК But he had not the heart to be brusque with her. He could see the dumb adoration in her eyes; it would have required cold, heartlessness to have repulsed her. Besides, there was nothing coy or provocative in her attitude; her manner was naive, almost childlike in its unsophistication. He recalled his determination to make friends; here was friendship offered, a dangerous friendship, but one which might prove useful in Winning free.

ККККК He felt a momentary wave of shame that he should be weighing the potential usefulness of this defenseless child, but he suppressed it by affirming to himself that he would do her no harm, and, anyhow, there was the old saw about the vindictiveness of a woman scorned.

ККККК 'Why, perhaps I did lose it,' he evaded, then added, 'It's my favorite brand.'

ККККК 'Is it?' she said happily. 'Then do take it, in any case.'

ККККК 'Thank you. Will you smoke one with me? No, I guess that wouldn't do; your father would not want you to stay here that long.'

ККККК 'Oh, he's busy with his accounts. I saw that before I came out,' she answered, and seemed unaware that she had given away her pitiful little deception. 'But go ahead, I-I hardly ever smoke.'

ККККК 'Perhaps you prefer a meerschaum pipe, like your father.'

ККККК She laughed more than the poor witticism deserved. After that they talked aimlessly, both agreeing that the crop was coming in nicely, that the weather seemed a little cooler than last week, and that there was nothing like a little fresh air after supper.

ККККК 'Do you ever walk for exercise after supper?' she asked.

ККККК He did not say that a long day in the swamps offered more than enough exercise, but agreed that he did.

ККККК 'So do I,' she blurted out. 'Lots of times up near the water tower.'

ККККК He looked at her. 'Is that so? I'll remember that.' The signal for roll call gave him a welcome excuse to get away; three more minutes, he thought, and I would have had to make a date with her.

ККККК Wingate found himself called for swamp work the next day, the rush in the chopping sheds having abated. The crock lumbered and splashed its way around the long, meandering circuit, leaving one or more Earthmen at each supervision station. The car was down to four occupants, Wingate, Satchel, the Pusher, and Jimmie the Crocker, when the Pusher signaled for another stop. The flat, bright-eyed heads of amphibian natives broke water on three sides as soon as they were halted. 'All right, Satchel,' ordered the Pusher, 'this is your billet. Over the side.'

ККККК Satchel looked around. 'Where's my skiff?' The ranchers used small flat-bottomed duralumin skiffs in which to collect their day's harvest. There was not one left in the crock.

ККККК 'You won't need one. You goin' to clean this field for planting.'

ККККК 'That's okay. Still-I don't see nobody around, and I don't see no solid ground.' The skiffs had a double purpose; if a man were working out of contact with other Earthmen and at some distance from safe dry ground, the skiff became his life boat. If the crocodile which was supposed to collect him broke down, or if for any other reason he had need to sit down or lie down while on station, the skiff gave him a place to do so. The older clients told grim stories of men who had stood in eighteen inches of water for twenty-four, forty-eight, seventy-two hours, and then drowned horribly, out of their heads from sheer fatigue.

ККККК 'There's dry ground right over there.' The Pusher waved his hand in the general direction of a clump of trees which lay perhaps a quarter of a mile away.

ККККК 'Maybe so,' answered Satchel equably. 'Let's go see.' He grinned at Jimmie, who turned to the Pusher for instructions.

ККККК 'Damnation! Don't argue with me! Get over the side!'

ККККК 'Not,' said Satchel, 'until I've seen something better than two feet of slime to squat on in a pinch.'

ККККК The little water people had been following the argument with acute interest. They clucked and lisped in their own language; those who knew some pidgin English appeared to be giving newsy and undoubtedly distorted explanations of the events to their less sophisticated brethren. Fuming as he was, this seemed to add to the Pusher's anger.

ККККК 'For the last time-get out there!'

ККККК 'Well,' said Satchel, settling his gross frame more comfortably on the floorplates, 'I'm glad we've finished with that subject.'

ККККК Wingate was behind the Pusher. This circumstance probably saved Satchel Hartley at least a scalp wound, for he caught the arm of the Pusher as he struck. Hartley closed in at once; the three wrestled for a few seconds on the bottom of the craft.

ККККК Hartley sat on the Pusher's chest while Wingate pried a blackjack away from the clenched fingers of the Pusher's right fist. 'Glad you saw him reach for that, Hump,' Satchel acknowledged, 'or I'd be needin' an aspirin about now.'

ККККК 'Yeah, I guess so,' Wingate answered, and threw the weapon as far as he could out into the marshy waste. Several of the amphibians streaked after it and dived. 'I guess you can let him up now.'

ККККК The Pusher said nothing to them as he brushed himself off, but he turned to the Crocker who had remained quietly in his saddle at the controls the whole time. 'Why the hell didn't you help me?'

ККККК 'I supposed you could take care of yourself, Boss,' Jimmie answered noncommittally.

ККККК Wingate and Hartley finished that 'work period as helpers to labor clients already stationed. The Pusher had completely ignored them except for curt orders necessary to station them. But while they were washing up for supper back at the compound they received word to report to the Big House.

ККККК When they were ushered into the Patron's office they found the Pusher already there with his employer and wearing a self-satisfied smirk while Van Huysen's expression was black indeed.

ККККК 'What's this I hear about you two?' he burst out. 'Refusing work. Jumping my foreman. By Joe, I show you a thing or two!'

ККККК 'Just a moment, Patron van Huysen,' began Wingate quietly, suddenly at home in the atmosphere of a trial court, 'no one refused duty. Hartley simply protested doing dangerous work without reasonable safeguards. As for the fracas, your foreman attacked us; we acted simply in self-defense, and desisted as soon as we had disarmed him.'

ККККК The Pusher leaned over Van Huysen and whispered in his ear. The Patron looked more angry than before. 'You did this with natives watching. Natives! You know colonial law? I could send you to the mines for this.'

ККККК 'No,' Wingate denied, 'your foreman did it in the presence of natives. Our role was passive and defensive throughout -'

ККККК 'You call jumping my foreman peaceful? Now you listen to me-Your job here is to work. My foreman's job is to tell you where and how to work. He's not such a dummy as to lose me my investment in a man. He judges what work is dangerous, not you.' The Pusher whispered again to his chief. Van Huysen shook his head. The other persisted, but the Patron cut him off with a gesture, and turned back to the two labor clients.

ККККК 'See here-I give every dog one bite, but not two. For you, no supper tonight and no rhira. Tomorrow we see how you behave.'

ККККК 'But Patron van Huys -'

ККККК 'That's all. Get to your quarters.'

ККККК At lights out Wingate found, on crawling into his bunk, that someone had hidden therein a food bar. He munched it gratefully in the dark and wondered who his friend could be. The food stayed the complaints of his stomach but was not sufficient, in the absence of rhira, to permit him to go to sleep. He lay there, staring into the oppressive blackness of the bunkroom and listening to the assorted irritating noises that men can make while sleeping, and considered his position. It had been bad enough but barely tolerable before; now, he was logically certain, it would be as near hell as a vindictive overseer could make it. He was prepared to believe, from what he had seen and the tales he had heard, that it would be very near indeed!

ККККК He had been nursing his troubles for perhaps an hour when he felt a hand touch his side. 'Hump! Hump!' came a whisper, 'come outside. Something's up.' It was Jimmie.

ККККК He felt his way cautiously through the stacks of bunks and slipped out the door after Jimmie. Satchel was already outside and with him a fourth figure.

ККККК It was Annek van Huysen. He wondered how she had been able to get into the locked compound. Her eyes were puffy, as if she had been crying.

ККККК Jimmie started to speak at once, in cautious, low tones. 'The kid tells us that I am scheduled to haul you two lugs back into Adonis tomorrow.'

ККККК 'What for?'

ККККК 'She doesn't know. But she's afraid it's to sell you South. That doesn't seem likely. The Old Man has never sold anyone South-but then nobody ever jumped his pusher before. I don't know.'

ККККК They wasted some minutes in fruitless discussion, then, after a bemused silence, Wingate asked Jimmie, 'Do you know where they keep the keys to the crock?'

ККККК 'No. Why do y-'

ККККК 'I could get them for you,' offered Annek eagerly.

ККККК 'You can't drive a crock.'

ККККК 'I've watched you for some weeks.'

ККККК 'Well, suppose you can,' Jimmie continued to protest, 'suppose you run for it in the crock. You'd be lost in ten miles. If you weren't caught, you'd starve.'

ККККК Wingate shrugged. 'I'm not going to be sold South.'

ККККК 'Nor am I,' Hartley added.

ККККК 'Wait a minute.'

ККККК 'Well, I don't see any bet-'

ККККК 'Wait a minute,' Jimmie reiterated snappishly. 'Can't you see I'm trying to think'?'

ККККК The other three kept silent for several long moments. At last Jimmie said, 'Okay. Kid, you'd better run along and let us talk. The less you know about this the better for you.' Annek looked hurt, but complied docilely to the extent of withdrawing out of earshot. The three men conferred for some minutes. At last Wingate motioned for her to rejoin them.

ККККК 'That's all, Annek,' he told her. 'Thanks a lot for everything you've done. We've figured a way out.' He stopped, and then said awkwardly, 'Well, good night.'

ККККК She looked up at him.

ККККК Wingate wondered what to do or say next. Finally he led her around the corner of the barracks and bade her good night again. He returned very quickly, looking shame-faced. They re-entered the barracks.

ККККК Patron van Huysen also was having trouble getting to sleep. He hated having to discipline his people. By damn, why couldn't they all be good boys and leave him in peace? Not but what there was precious little peace for a rancher these days. It cost more to make a crop than the crop fetched in Adonis-at least it did after the interest was paid.

ККККК He had turned his attention to his accounts after dinner that night to try to get the unpleasantness out of his mind, but he found it hard to concentrate on his figures. That man Wingate, now . . . he had bought him as much to keep him away from that slave driver Rigsbee as to get another hand. He had too much money invested in hands as it was in spite of his foreman always complaining about being short of labor. He would either have to sell some, or ask the bank to refinance the mortgage again.

ККККК Hands weren't worth their keep any more. You didn't get the kind of men on Venus that used to come when he was a boy. He bent over his books again. If the market went up even a little, the bank should be willing to discount his paper for a little more than last season. Maybe that would do it.

ККККК He had been interrupted by a visit from his daughter. Annek he was always glad to see, but this time what she had to say, what she finally blurted out. had only served to make him angry. She, preoccupied with her own thoughts, could not know that she hurt her father's heart, with a pain that was actually physical.

ККККК But that had settled the matter insofar as Wingate was concerned. He would get rid of the trouble-maker. Van Huysen ordered his daughter to bed with a roughness he had never before used on her.

ККККК Of course it was all his own fault, he told himself after he had gone to bed. A ranch on Venus was no place to raise a motherless girl. His Annekchen was almost a woman grown now; how was she to find a husband here in these outlands? What would she do if he should die? She did not know it, but there would be nothing left, nothing, not even a ticket to Terra. No, she would not become a labor client's vrouw; no, not while there was a breath left in his old tired body.

ККККК Well, Wingate would have to go, and the one they called Satchel, too. But he would not sell them South. No, he had never done that to one of his people. He thought with distaste of the great, factory like plantations a few hundred miles further from the pole, where the temperature was always twenty to thirty degrees higher than it was in his marshes and mortality among labor clients was a standard item in cost accounting. No, he would take them in and trade them at the assignment station; what happened to them at auction there would be none of his business. But he would not sell them directly South.

ККККК That gave him an idea; he did a little computing in his head and estimated that he might be able to get enough credit on the two unexpired labor contracts to buy Annek a ticket to Earth. He was quite sure that his sister would take her in, reasonably sure anyway, even though she had quarreled with him over marrying Annek's mother. He could send her a little money from time to time. And perhaps she could learn to be a secretary, or one of those other fine jobs a girl could get on Earth.

ККККК But what would the ranch be like without Annekchen?

ККККК He was so immersed in his own troubles that he did not hear his daughter slip out of her room and go outside.

ККККК Wingate and Hartley tried to appear surprised when they were left behind at muster for work. Jimmie was told to report to the Big House; they saw him a few minutes later, backing the big Remington out of its shed. He picked them up, then trundled back to the Big House and waited for the Patron to appear. Van Huysen came out shortly and climbed into his cabin with neither word nor look for anyone.

ККККК The, crocodile started toward Adonis, lumbering a steady ten miles an hour. Wingate and Satchel conversed in subdued voices, waited, and wondered. After an interminable time the crock stopped. The cabin window flew open. 'What's the matter?' Van Huysen demanded. 'Your engine acting up?'

ККККК Jimmie grinned at him. 'No, I stopped it.'

ККККК 'For what?'

ККККК 'Better come up here and find out.'

ККККК 'By damn, I do!' The window slammed; presently Van Huysen reappeared, warping his ponderous bulk around the side of the little cabin. 'Now what this monkeyshines?'

ККККК 'Better get out and walk, Patron. This is the end of the line.' Van Huysen seemed to have no remark suitable in answer, but his expression spoke for him.

ККККК 'No, I mean it,' Jimmie went on. 'This is the end 'of the line for you. I've stuck to solid ground the whole way, so you could walk back. You'll be able to follow the trail I broke; you ought to be able to make it in three or four hours, fat as you are.'

ККККК The Patron looked from Jimmie to the others. Wingate and Satchel closed in slightly, eyes unfriendly. 'Better get goin', Fatty,' Satchel said softly, 'before you get chucked out headfirst.'

ККККК Van Huysen pressed back against the rail of the crock, his hands gripping it. 'I won't get out of my own crock,' he said tightly.

ККККК Satchel spat in the palm of one hand, then rubbed the two together. 'Okay, Hump. He asked for it -'

ККККК 'Just a second.' Wingate addressed Van Huysen, 'See here, Patron van Huysen-we don't want to rough you up unless we have to. But there are three of us and we are determined. Better climb out quietly.'

ККККК The older man's face was dripping with sweat which was not entirely due to the muggy heat. His chest heaved, he seemed about to defy them. Then something went out inside him. His figure sagged, the defiant lines in his face gave way to a whipped expression which was not good to see.

ККККК A moment later he climbed quietly, listlessly, over the side into the ankle-deep mud and stood there, stooped, his legs slightly bent at the knees.

When they were out of sight of the place where they had dropped their patron Jimmie turned the crock off in a new direction. 'Do you suppose he'll make it?' asked Wingate.

ККККК 'Who?' asked Jimmie. 'Van Huysen? Oh, sure, he'll make it-probably.' He was very busy now with his driving; the crock crawled down a slope and lunged into navigable water. In a few minutes the marsh grass gave way to open water. Wingate saw that they were in a broad lake whose further shores were lost in the mist. Jimmie set a compass course.

ККККК The far shore was no more than a strand; it concealed an overgrown bayou. Jimmie followed it a short distance, stopped the crock, and said, 'This must be just about the place,' in an uncertain voice. He dug under the tarpaulin folded up in one corner of the empty hold and drew out a broad flat paddle. He took this to the rail, and, leaning out, he smacked the water loudly with the blade: Slap! . . . slap, slap. . . . Slap!

ККККК He waited.

ККККК The flat head of an amphibian broke water near the side; it studied Jimmie with bright, merry eyes. 'Hello,' said Jimmie.

ККККК it answered in its own language. Jimmie replied in the same tongue, stretching his mouth to reproduce the uncouth clucking syllables. The native listened, then slid underwater again.

ККККК He-or, more probably, she-was back in a few minutes, another with her. 'Thigarek?' the newcomer said hopefully.

ККККК 'Thigarek when we get there, old girl,' Jimmie temporized. 'Here . . . climb aboard.' He held out a hand, which the native accepted and wriggled gracefully inboard. It perched its unhuman, yet oddly pleasing, little figure on the rail near the driver's seat. Jimmie got the car underway.

ККККК How long they were guided by their little pilot Wingate did not know, as the timepiece on the control panel was out of order, but his stomach informed him that it was too long. He rummaged through the cabin and dug out an iron ration which he shared with Satchel and Jimmie. He offered some to the native, but she smelled at it and drew her head away.

ККККК Shortly after that there was a sharp hissing noise and a column of steam rose up ten yards ahead of them. Jimmie halted the crock at once. 'Cease firing!' he called out. 'It's just us chickens.'

ККККК 'Who are you?' came a disembodied voice.

ККККК 'Fellow travelers.'

ККККК 'Climb out where we can see you.'

ККККК 'Okay.'

ККККК The native poked Jimmie in the ribs. 'Thigarek,' she stated positively.

ККККК 'Huh? Oh, sure.' He parceled out trade tobacco until she acknowledged the total, then added one more package for good will. She withdrew a piece of string from her left cheek pouch, tied up her pay, and slid over the side. They saw her swimming away, her prize carried high out of the water.

ККККК 'Hurry up and show yourself!'

ККККК 'Coming!' They climbed out into waist-deep water and advanced holding their hands overhead. A squad of four broke cover and looked them over, their weapons lowered but ready. The leader searched their harness pouches and sent one of his men on to look over the crocodile.

ККККК 'You keep a close watch,' remarked Wingate.

ККККК The leader glanced at him. 'Yes,' he said, 'and no. The little people told us you were coming. They're worth all the watch dogs that were ever littered.'

ККККК They got underway again with one of the scouting party driving. Their captors were not unfriendly but not disposed to talk. 'Wait till you see the Governor,' they said.

ККККК Their destination turned out to be a wide stretch of moderately high ground. Wingate was amazed at the number of buildings and the numerous population. 'How in the world can they keep a place like this a secret?' he asked Jimmie.

ККККК 'If the state of Texas were covered with fog and had only the population of Waukegan, Illinois, you could hide quite a lot of things.'

ККККК 'But wouldn't it show on a map?'

ККККК 'How well mapped do you think Venus is? Don't be a dope.' On the basis of the few words he had had with Jimmie beforehand Wingate had expected no more than a camp where fugitive clients lurked in the bush while squeezing a precarious living from the country. What he found was a culture and a government. True, it was a rough frontier culture and a simple government with few laws and an unwritten constitution, but a framework of customs was in actual operation and its gross offenders were punished-with no higher degree of injustice than one finds anywhere.

ККККК It surprised Humphrey Wingate that fugitive slaves, the scum of Earth, were able to develop an integrated society. It had surprised his ancestors that the transported criminals of Botany Bay should develop a high civilization in Australia. Not that Wingate found the phenomenon of Botany Bay surprising-that was history, and history is never surprising-after it happens.

ККККК The success of the colony was more credible to Wingate when he came to know more of the character of the Governor, who was also generalissimo, and administrator of the low and middle justice. (High justice was voted on by the whole community, a procedure that Wingate considered outrageously sloppy, but which seemed to satisfy the community.) As magistrate the Governor handed out decisions with a casual contempt for rules of evidence and legal theory that reminded Wingate of stories 'he had heard of the apocryphal Old Judge Bean. 'The Law West of Pecos', but again the people seemed to like it.

ККККК The great shortage of women in the community (men outnumbered them three to one) caused incidents which more than anything else required the decisions of the Governor. Here, Wingate was forced to admit, was a situation in which traditional custom would have been nothing but a source of trouble; 'he admired the shrewd common sense and understanding of human nature with which the Governor sorted out conflicting strong human passions and suggested modus operandi for getting along together. A man who could maintain a working degree of peace in such matters did not need a legal education.

ККККК The Governor held office by election and was advised by an elected council. It was Wingate's private opinion that the Governor would have risen to the top in any society. The man had boundless energy, great gusto for living, a ready thunderous laugh-and the courage and capacity for making decisions. He was a 'natural'.

ККККК The three runaways were given a couple of weeks in which to get their bearings and find some job in which they could make themselves useful and self-supporting. Jimmie stayed with his crock, now confiscated for the community, but which still required a driver. There were other crockers available who probably would have liked the job, but there was tacit consent that the man who brought it in should drive it, if he wished. Satchel found a billet in the fields, doing much the same work he had done for Van Huysen. He told Wingate that he was 'actually having to work harder; nevertheless he liked it better because the conditions were, as he put it. 'looser'.

ККККК Wingate detested the idea of going back to agricultural work. He had no rational excuse, it was simply that he hated it. His radio experience at last stood him in good stead. The community had a jury-rigged, low-power radio on which a constant listening watch was kept, but which was rarely used for transmission because of the danger of detection. Earlier runaway slave camps had been wiped out by the company police through careless use of radio. Nowadays they hardly dared use it, except in extreme emergency.

ККККК But they needed radio. The grapevine telegraph maintained through the somewhat slap-happy help of the little people enabled them to keep some contact with the other fugitive communities with which they were loosely confederated, but it was not really fast, and. any but the simplest of messages were distorted out of recognition.

ККККК Wingate was assigned to the community radio when it was discovered that he had appropriate technical knowledge. The previous operator had been lost in the bush. His opposite number was a pleasant old codger, known as Doc, who could listen for signals but who knew nothing of upkeep and repair.

ККККК Wingate threw himself into the job of overhauling the antiquated installation. The problems presented by lack of equipment, the necessity of 'making do', gave him a degree of happiness he had not known since he was a boy, but was not aware of it.

ККККК He was intrigued by the problem of safety in radio communication. An idea, derived from some account of the pioneer days in radio, gave him a lead. His installation, like all others, communicated by frequency modulation. Somewhere he had seen a diagram for a totally obsolete type of transmitter, an amplitude modulator. He did not have much to go on, but he worked out a circuit which he believed would oscillate in that fashion and which could be hooked up from the gear at hand.

ККККК He asked the Governor for permission to attempt to build it. 'Why not? Why not?' the Governor roared at him. 'I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about son, but if you think you can build a radio that the company can't detect, go right ahead. You don't have to ask me; it's your pigeon.'

ККККК 'I'll have to put the station out of commission for sending.'

ККККК 'Why not?'

ККККК The problem had more knots in it than he had thought. But he labored at it with the clumsy but willing assistance of Doc. His first hookup failed; his forty-third attempt five weeks later worked. Doc, stationed some miles out in the bush, reported himself able to hear the broadcast via a small receiver constructed for the purpose, whereas Wingate picked up nothing whatsoever on the conventional receiver located in the same room with the experimental transmitter.

ККККК In the meantime he worked on his book.

ККККК Why he was writing a book he could not have told you. Back on Earth it could have been termed a political pamphlet against the colonial system. Here there was no one to convince of his thesis, nor had he any expectation of ever being able to present it to a reading public. Venus was his home. He knew that there was no chance for him ever to return: the only way lay through Adonis, and there, waiting for him, were warrants for half the crimes in the calendar, contract-jumping, theft, kidnapping, criminal abandonment, conspiracy, subverting government. If the company police ever laid hands on him, they would jail him and lose the key.

ККККК No, the book arose, not from any expectation of publication, but from a half-subconscious need to arrange his thoughts. He had suffered a complete upsetting of all the evaluations by which he had lived; for his mental health it was necessary that he formulate new ones. It was natural to his orderly, if somewhat unimaginative, mind that he set his reasons and conclusions forth in writing.

ККККК Somewhat diffidently he offered the manuscript to Doc. He had learned that the nickname title had derived from the man's former occupation on Earth; he had been a professor of economics and philosophy in one of the smaller universities. Doc had even offered a partial explanation of his presence on Venus. 'A little matter involving one of my women students,' he confided. 'My wife took an unsympathetic view of the matter and so did the board of regents. The board had long considered my opinions a little too radical.'

ККККК 'Were they?'

ККККК 'Heavens, no! I was a rockbound conservative. But I had an unfortunate tendency to express conservative principles in realistic rather than allegorical language.'

ККККК 'I suppose you're a radical now.'

ККККК Doc's eyebrows lifted slightly. 'Not at all. Radical and conservative are terms of emotional attitudes, not sociological opinions.'

ККККК Doc accepted the manuscript, read it through, and returned it without comment. But Wingate pressed him for an opinion. 'Well, my boy, if you insist-'

ККККК 'I do.'

ККККК 'I would say that you have fallen into the commonest fallacy of all in dealing with social and economic subjects-the "devil theory".'

ККККК 'Huh?'

ККККК 'You have attributed conditions of villainy that simply result from stupidity. Colonial slavery is nothing new; it is the inevitable result of imperial expansion, the automatic result of an antiquated financial structure -,

ККККК 'I pointed out the part the banks played in my book.'

ККККК 'No, no, no! You think bankers are scoundrels. They are not. Nor are company officials, nor patrons, nor the governing classes back on Earth. Men are constrained by necessity and build up rationalizations to account for their acts. It is not even cupidity. Slavery is economically unsound, nonproductive, but men drift into it whenever the circumstances compel it. A different financial system-but that's another story.'

ККККК 'I still think it's rooted in human cussedness,' Wingate said stubbornly.

ККККК 'Not cussedness-simply stupidity. I can't prove it to you, but you will learn.'

The success of the 'silent radio' caused the Governor to send Wingate on a long swing around the other camps of the free federation to help them rig new equipment and to teach them how to use it. He spent four hard-working and soul-satisfying weeks, and finished with the warm knowledge that he had done more to consolidate the position of the free men against their enemies than could be done by winning a pitched battle.

ККККК When he returned to his home community, he found Sam Houston Jones waiting there.

Wingate broke into a run. 'Sam!' he shouted. 'Sam! Sam!' He grabbed his hand, pounded him on the back, and yelled at him the affectionate insults that sentimental men use in attempting to cover up their weakness. 'Sam, you old scoundrel! When did you get here? How did you escape? And how the devil did you manage to come all the way from South Pole? Were you transferred before you escaped?'

ККККК 'Howdy, Hump,' said Sam. 'Now one at a time, and not so fast.'

ККККК But Wingate bubbled on. 'My, but it's good to see your ugly face, fellow. And am 1 glad you came here-this is a great place. We've got the most up-and-coming little state in the Whole federation. You'll like it. They're a great bunch -'

ККККК 'What are you?' Jones asked, eyeing him. 'President of the local chamber of commerce?'

ККККК Wingate looked at him, and then laughed. 'I get it. But seriously, you will like it. Of course, it's a lot different from what you were used to back on Earth-but that's all past and done with. No use crying over spilt milk, eh?'

ККККК 'Wait a minute. You are under a misapprehension, Hump. Listen. I'm not an escaped slave. I'm here to take you back.'

ККККК Wingate opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. 'But Sam,' he said, 'that's impossible. You don't know.'

ККККК 'I think I do.'

ККККК 'But you don't. There's no going back for me. If I did, I'd have to face trial, and they've got me dead to rights. Even if I threw myself on the mercy of the court and managed to get off with a light sentence, it would be twenty years before I'd be a free man. No, Sam, it's impossible. You don't know the things I'm charged with.'

ККККК 'I don't, eh? It's cost me a nice piece of change to clear them up.'

ККККК 'Huh?'

ККККК 'I know how you escaped. I know you stole a crock and kidnapped your patron and got two other clients to run with you. It took my best blarney and plenty of folding money to fix it. So help me, Hump-Why didn't you pull something mild, like murder, or rape, or robbing a post office?'

ККККК 'Well, now, Sam-I didn't do any of those things to cause you trouble. I had counted you out of my calculations. I was on my own. I'm sorry about the money.'

ККККК 'Forget it. Money isn't an item with me. I'm filthy with the stuff. You know that. It comes from exercising care in the choice of parents. I was just pulling your leg and it came off in my hand.'

ККККК 'Okay. Sorry.' Wingate's grin was a little forced. Nobody likes charity. 'But tell me what happened. I'm still in the dark.'

ККККК 'Right.' Jones had been as much surprised and distressed at being separated from Wingate on grounding as Wingate had been. But there had been nothing for him to do about it until he received assistance from Earth. He had spent long weeks as a metal worker at South Pole, waiting and wondering why 'his sister did not answer his call for help. He had written letters to her to supplement his first radiogram, that being the only type of communication he could afford, but the days crept past with no answer.

ККККК When a message did arrive from her the mystery was cleared up. She had not received his radio to Earth promptly, because she, too, was aboard the Evening Star-in the first class cabin, traveling, as was her custom, in a stateroom listed under her maid's name. 'It was the family habit of avoiding publicity that stymied us,' Jones explained. 'If I hadn't sent the radio to her rather than the family lawyers, or if she had been known by name to the purser, we would have gotten together the first day.' The message had not been relayed to her on Venus because the bright planet had by that time crawled to superior opposition on the far side of the sun from the Earth. For a matter of sixty earth days there was no communication, Earth to Venus. The message had rested, recorded but still scrambled, in the hands of the family firm, until she could be reached.

ККККК When she received it, she started a small tornado. Jones had been released, the liens against his contract paid, and ample credit posted to his name on Venus, in less than twenty-four hours. 'So that was that,' concluded Jones, 'except that I've got to explain to big sister when I get home just how I got into this mess. She'll burn my ears.'

ККККК Jones had charted a rocket for North Pole and had gotten on Wingate's trail at once. 'If you had held on one more day, I would have picked you up. We retrieved your ex-patron about a mile from his gates.'

ККККК 'So the old villain made it. I'm glad of that.'

ККККК 'And a good job, too. If he hadn't I might never have been able ~o square you. He was pretty well done in, and his heart was kicking up plenty. Do you know that abandonment is a capital offence on this planet-with a mandatory death sentence if the victim dies?'

ККККК Wingate nodded. 'Yeah, I know. Not that I ever heard of a patron being gassed for it, if the corpse was a client. But that's beside the point. Go ahead.'

ККККК 'Well, he was plenty sore. I don't blame him, though I don't blame you, either. Nobody wants to be sold South, and I gather that was what you expected. Well, I paid him for his crock, and I paid him for your contract-take a look at me, I'm your new owner!-and I paid for the contracts of your two friends as well. Still he wasn't satisfied. I finally had to throw in a first-class passage for his daughter back to Earth, and promise to find her a job. She's a big dumb ox, but I guess the family can stand another retainer. Anyhow, old son, you're a free man. The only remaining question is whether or not the Governor will let us leave here. It seems it's not done.'

ККККК 'No, that's a point. Which reminds me-how did you locate the place?'

ККККК 'A spot of detective work too long to go into now. That's what took me so long. Slaves don't like to talk. Anyhow, we've a date to talk to the Governor tomorrow.'

ККККК Wingate took a long time to get to sleep. After his first burst of jubilation he began to wonder. Did he want to go back? To return to the law, to citing technicalities in the interest of whichever side employed him, to meaningless social engagements, to the empty, sterile, bunkum-fed life of the fat and prosperous class he had moved among and served-did he want that, he, who had fought and worked with men? It seemed to him that his anachronistic little 'invention' in radio had been of more worth than all he had ever done on Earth.

ККККК Then he recalled his book.

ККККК Perhaps he could get it published. Perhaps he could expose this disgraceful, inhuman system which sold men into legal slavery. He was really wide awake now. There was a thing to do! That was his job-to go back to Earth and plead the cause of the colonists. Maybe there was destiny that shapes men's lives after all. He was just the man to do it, the right social background, the proper training. He could make himself heard.

ККККК He fell asleep, and dreamt of cool, dry breezes, of clear blue sky. Of moonlight...

Satchel and Jimmie decided to stay, even though Jones had been able to fix it up with the Governor. 'It's like this,' said Satchel. 'There's nothing for us back on Earth, or we wouldn't have shipped in the first place. And you can't undertake to support a couple of deadheads. And this isn't such a bad place. It's going to be something someday. We'll stay and grow up with it.'

ККККК They handled the crock which carried Jones and Wingate to Adonis. There was no hazard in it, as Jones was now officially their patron. What the authorities did not know they could not act on. The crock returned to the refugee community loaded with a cargo which Jones insisted on calling their ransom. As a matter of fact, the opportunity to send an agent to obtain badly needed supplies-one who could do so safely and without arousing the suspicions of the company authorities-had been the determining factor in the Governor's unprecedented decision to risk compromising the secrets of his constituency. He had been frankly not interested in Wingate's plans to agitate for the abolishment of the slave trade.

ККККК Saying good-bye to Satchel and Jimmie was something Wingate found embarrassing and unexpectedly depressing.

For the first two weeks after grounding on Earth both Wingate and Jones were too busy to see much of each other. Wingate had gotten his manuscript in shape on the return trip and had spent the time getting acquainted with the waiting rooms of publishers. Only one had shown any interest beyond a form letter of rejection.

ККККК 'I'm sorry, old man,' that one had told him. 'I'd like to publish your book, in spite of its controversial nature, if it stood any chance at all of success. But it doesn't. Frankly, it has no literary merit whatsoever. I would as soon read a brief.'

ККККК 'I think I understand,' Wingate answered sullenly. 'A big publishing house can't afford to print anything which might offend the powers-that-be.'

ККККК The publisher took his cigar from his mouth and looked at the younger man before replying. 'I suppose I should resent that,' he said quietly, 'but I won't. That's a popular misconception. The powers-that-be, as you call them, do not resort to suppression in this country. We publish what the public will buy. We're in business for that purpose.

ККККК 'I was about to suggest, if you will listen, a means of making your book saleable. You need a collaborator, somebody that knows the writing game and can put some guts in it.'

ККККК Jones called the day that Wingate got his revised manuscript back from his ghost writer. 'Listen to this, Sam,' he pleaded. 'Look, what the dirty so-and-so has done to my book. Look.

ККККК - I heard again the crack of the overseer's whip. The frail body of my mate shook under the lash. He gave one cough and slid slowly under the waist-deep water, dragged down by his chains." Honest, Sam, did you ever see such drivel? And look at the new title: "I Was a Slave on Venus". It sounds like a confession magazine.'

ККККК Jones nodded without replying. 'And listen to this,' Wingate went on, '"-crowded like cattle in the enclosure, their naked bodies gleaming with sweat, the women slaves shrank from the-"Oh, hell, I can't go on!'

ККККК 'Well, they did wear nothing but harness.'

ККККК 'Yes, yes-but that has nothing to do with the case. Venus costume is a necessary concomitant of the weather. There's no excuse to leer about it. He's turned my book into a damned sex show. And he had the nerve to defend his actions. He claimed that social pamphleteering is dependent on extravagant language.'

ККККК 'Well, maybe he's got something. Gulliver's Travels certainly has some racy passages, and the whipping scenes in Uncle Tom's Cabin aren't anything to hand a kid to read. Not to mention Grapes of Wrath.'

ККККК 'Well, I'm damned if I'll resort to that kind of cheap sensationalism. I've got a perfectly straightforward case that anyone can understand.'

ККККК 'Have you now?' Jones took his pipe out of his mouth. 'I've been wondering how long it would take you to get your eyes opened. What is your case? It's nothing new; it happened in the Old South, it happened again in California, in Mexico, in Australia, in South Africa. Why? Because in any expanding free-enterprise economy which does not have a money system designed to fit its requirements the use of mother-country capital to develop the colony inevitably results in subsistence level wages at home and slave labor in the colonies. The rich get richer and the poor get poorer, and all the good will in the world on the part of the so-called ruling classes won't change it, because the basic problem is one requiring scientific analysis and a mathematical mind. Do you think you can explain those issues to the general public?'

ККККК 'I can try.'

ККККК 'How far did I get when I tried to explain them to you-before you had seen the results? And you are a smart hombre. No, Hump, these things are too difficult to explain to people and too abstract to interest them. You spoke before a women's club the other day, didn't you?'

ККККК 'Yes.'

ККККК 'How did you make out?'

ККККК 'Well. . . the chairwoman called me up beforehand and asked me to hold my talk down to ten minutes, as their national president was to be there and they would be crowded for time.'

ККККК 'Hmm . . . you see where your great social message rates in competition. But never mind. Ten minutes is long enough to explain the issue to a person if they have the capacity to understand it. Did you sell anybody?'

ККККК 'Well.. . I'm not sure.'

ККККК 'You're darn tootin' you're not sure. Maybe they clapped for you but how many of them came up afterwards and wanted to sign checks? No, Hump, sweet reasonableness won't get you anywhere in this racket. To make yourself 'heard you have to be a demagogue, or a rabble-rousing political preacher like this fellow Nehemiah Scudder. We're going merrily to hell and it won't stop until it winds up in a crash.'

ККККК 'But-Oh, the devil! What can we do about it?'

ККККК 'Nothing. Things are bound to get a whole lot worse before they can get any better. Let's have a drink.'

The Menace from Earth

ККККК My name is Holly Jones and I'm fifteen. I'm very intelligent but it doesn't show, because I look like an underdone angel. Insipid.

ККККК I was born right here in Luna City, which seems to surprise Earthside types. Actually, I'm third generation; my grandparents pioneered in Site One, where the Memorial is. I live with my parents in Artemis Apartments, the new co-op in Pressure Five, eight hundred feet down near City Hall. But I'm not there much; I'm too busy.

ККККК Mornings I attend Tech High and afternoons I study or go flying with Jeff Hardesty -- he's my partner -- or whenever a tourist ship is in I guide groundhogs. This day the Gripsholm grounded at noon so I went straight from school to American Express.

ККККК The first gaggle of tourists was trickling in from Quarantine but I didn't push forward as Mr. Dorcas, the manager, knows I'm the best. Guiding is just temporary (I'm really a spaceship designer), but if you're doing a job you ought to do it well.

ККККК Mr. Dorcas spotted me. "Holly! Here, please. Miss Brentwood, Holly Jones will be your guide."

ККККК "'Holly,'" she repeated. "What a quaint name. Are you really a guide, dear?"

ККККК I'm tolerant of groundhogs -- some of my best friends are from Earth. As Daddy says, being born on Luna is luck, not judgment, and most people Earthside are stuck there. After all, Jesus and Gautama Buddha and Dr. Einstein were all groundhogs.

ККККК But they can be irritating. If high school kids weren't guides, whom could they hire? "My license says so," I said briskly and looked her over the way she was looking me over.

ККККК Her face was sort of familiar and I thought perhaps I had seen her picture in those society things you see in Earthside magazines -- one of the rich playgirls we get too many of. She was almost loathsomely lovely. . . nylon skin, soft, wavy, silverblond hair, basic specs about 35-24-34 and enough this and that to make me feel like a matchstick drawing, a low intimate voice and everything necessary to make plainer females think about pacts with the Devil. But I did not feel apprehensive; she was a groundhog and groundhogs don't count.

ККККК "All city guides are girls," Mr. Dorcas explained. "Holly is very competent."

ККККК "Oh, I'm sure," she answered quickly and went into tourist routine number one: surprise that a guide was needed just to find her hotel, amazement at no taxicabs, same for no porters, and raised eyebrows at the prospect of two girls walking alone through "an underground city."

ККККК Mr. Dorcas was patient, ending with: "Miss Brentwood, Luna City is the only metropolis in the Solar System where a woman is really safe -- no dark alleys, no deserted neighborhoods, no criminal element."

ККККК I didn't listen; I just held out my tariff card for Mr. Dorcas to stamp and picked up her bags. Guides shouldn't carry bags and most tourists are delighted to experience the fact that their thirty-pound allowance weighs only five pounds. But I wanted to get her moving.

ККККК We were in the tunnel outside and me with a foot on the slidebelt when she stopped. "I forgot! I want a city map."

ККККК "None available."

ККККК "Really?"

ККККК "There's only one. That's why you need a guide."

ККККК "But why don't they supply them? Or would that throw you guides out of work?"

ККККК See? "You think guiding is makework? Miss Brentwood, labor is so scarce they'd hire monkeys if they could."

ККККК "Then why not print maps?"

ККККК "Because Luna City isn't flat like--" I almost said, "--groundhog cities," but I caught myself.

ККККК "--like Earthside cities," I went on. "All you saw from space was the meteor shield. Underneath it spreads out and goes down for miles in a dozen pressure zones."

ККККК "Yes, I know, but why not a map for each level?"

ККККК Groundhogs always say, "Yes, I know, but--"

ККККК "I can show you the one city map. It's a stereo tank twenty feet high and even so all you see clearly are big things like the Hall of the Mountain King and hydroponics farms and the Bats' Cave."

ККККК "'The Bats' Cave,'" she repeated. "That's where they fly, isn't it?"

ККККК "Yes, that's where we fly."

ККККК "Oh, I want to see it!"

ККККК "OK. It first. . . or the city map?"

ККККК She decided to go to her hotel first. The regular route to the Zurich is to slide up the west through Gray's Tunnel past the Martian Embassy, get off at the Mormon Temple, and take a pressure lock down to Diana Boulevard. But I know all the shortcuts; we got off at Macy-Gimbel Upper to go down their personnel hoist. I thought she would enjoy it.

ККККК But when I told her to grab a hand grip as it dropped past her, she peered down the shaft and edged back. "You're joking."

ККККК I was about to take her back the regular way when a neighbor of ours came down the hoist. I said, "Hello, Mrs. Greenberg," and she called back, "Hi, Holly. How are your folks?"

ККККК Susie Greenberg is more than plump. She was hanging by one hand with young David tucked in her other arm and holding the _Daily Lunatic_, reading as she dropped. Miss Brentwood stared, bit her lip, and said, "How do I do it?"

ККККК I said, "Oh, use both hands; I'll take the bags." I tied the handles together with my hanky and went first.

ККККК She was shaking when we got to the bottom. "Goodness, Holly, how do you stand it? Don't you get homesick?"

ККККК Tourist question number six . . . I said, "I've been to Earth," and let it drop. Two years ago Mother made me visit my aunt in Omaha and I was _miserable_ -- hot and cold and dirty and beset by creepy-crawlies. I weighed a ton and I ached and my aunt was always chivvying me to go outdoors and exercise when all I wanted was to crawl into a tub and be quietly wretched. And I had hay fever. Probably you've never heard of hay fever -- you don't die but you wish you could.

ККККК I was supposed to go to a girls' boarding school but I phoned Daddy and told him I was desperate and he let me come home. What groundhogs can't understand is that they live in savagery. But groundhogs are groundhogs and loonies are loonies and never the twain shall meet.

ККККК Like all the best hotels the Zurich is in Pressure One on the west side so that it can have a view of Earth. I helped Miss Brentwood register with the roboclerk and found her room; it had its own port. She went straight to it, began staring at Earth and going _ooh!_ and _ahh!_

ККККК I glanced past her and saw that it was a few minutes past thirteen; sunset sliced straight down the tip of India -- early enough to snag another client. "Will that be all, Miss Brentwood?"

ККККК Instead of answering she said in an awed voice, "Holly, isn't that the most beautiful sight you ever saw?"

ККККК "It's nice," I agreed. The view on that side is monotonous except for Earth hanging in the sky -- but Earth is what tourists always look at even though they've just left it. Still, Earth is pretty. The changing weather is interesting if you don't have to be in it. Did you ever endure a summer in Omaha?

ККККК "It's gorgeous," she whispered.

ККККК "Sure," I agreed. "Do you want to go somewhere? Or will you sign my card?"

ККККК "What? Excuse me, I was daydreaming. No, not right now -- yes, I do! Holly, I want to go out _there_! I must! Is there time? How much longer will it be light?"

ККККК "Huh? It's two days to sunset."

ККККК She looked startled. "How quaint. Holly, can you get us space suits? I've got to go outside."

ККККК I didn't wince -- I'm used to tourist talk. I suppose a pressure suit looked like a space suit to them. I simply said, "We girls aren't licensed outside. But I can phone a friend."

ККККК Jeff Hardesty is my partner in spaceship designing, so I throw business his way. Jeff is eighteen and already in Goddard Institute, but I'm pushing hard to catch up so that we can set up offices for our firm: "Jones & Hardesty, Spaceship Engineers." I'm very bright in mathematics, which is everything in space engineering, so I'll get my degree pretty fast. Meanwhile we design ships anyhow.

ККККК I didn't tell Miss Brentwood this, as tourists think that a girl my age can't possibly be a spaceship designer.

ККККК Jeff has arranged his class to let him guide on Tuesdays and Thursdays; he waits at West City Lock and studies between clients. I reached him on the lockmaster's phone. Jeff grinned and said, "Hi, Scale Model."

ККККК "Hi, Penalty Weight. Free to take a client?"

ККККК "Well, I was supposed to guide a family party, but they're late."

ККККК "Cancel them; Miss Brentwood . . . step into pickup, please. This is Mr. Hardesty."

ККККК Jeff's eyes widened and I felt uneasy. But it did not occur to me that Jeff could be attracted by a groundhog. . . even though it is conceded that men are robot slaves of their body chemistry in such matters. I knew she was exceptionally decorative, but it was unthinkable that Jeff could be captivated by any groundhog, no matter how well designed. They don't speak our language!

ККККК I am not romantic about Jeff; we are simply partners. But anything that affects Jones & Hardesty affects me.

ККККК When we joined him at West Lock he almost stepped on his tongue in a disgusting display of adolescent rut. I was ashamed of him and, for the first time, apprehensive. Why are males so childish?

ККККК Miss Brentwood didn't seem to mind his behavior. Jeff is a big hulk; suited up for outside he looks like a Frost Giant from _Das Rheingold_; she smiled up at him and thanked him for changing his schedule. He looked even sillier and told her it was a pleasure.

ККККК I keep my pressure suit at West Lock so that when I switch a client to Jeff he can invite me to come along for the walk. This time he hardly spoke to me after that platinum menace was in sight. But I helped her pick out a suit and took her into the dressing room and fitted it. Those rental suits take careful adjusting or they will pinch you in tender places once out in vacuum. . . besides there are things about them that one girl ought to explain to another.

ККККК When I came out with her, not wearing my own, Jeff didn't even ask why I hadn't suited up -- he took her arm and started toward the lock. I had to butt in to get her to sign my tariff card.

ККККК The days that followed were the longest of my life. I saw Jeff only once . . . on the slidebelt in Diana Boulevard, going the other way. She was with him.

ККККК Though I saw him but once, I knew what was going on. He was cutting classes and three nights running he took her to the Earthview Room of the Duncan Hines. None of my business! -- I hope she had more luck teaching him to dance than I had. Jeff is a free citizen and if he wanted to make an utter fool of himself neglecting school and losing sleep over an upholstered groundhog that was his business.

ККККК But he should not have neglected the firm's business!

ККККК Jones & Hardesty had a tremendous backlog, because we were designing Starship _Prometheus_. This project we had been slaving over for a year, flying not more than twice a week in order to devote time to it -- and that's a sacrifice.

ККККК Of course you can't build a starship today, because of the power plant. But Daddy thinks that there will soon be a technological break-through and mass-conversion power plants will be built -- which means starships. Daddy ought to know -- he's Luna Chief Engineer for Space Lanes and Fermi Lecturer at Goddard Institute. So Jeff and I are designing a self-supporting interstellar ship on that assumption: quarters, auxiliaries, surgery, labs -- everything.

ККККК Daddy thinks it's just practice but Mother knows better -- Mother is a mathematical chemist for General Synthetics of Luna and is nearly as smart as I am. She realizes that Jones & Hardesty plans to be ready with a finished proposal while other designers are still floundering.

ККККК Which was why I was furious with Jeff for wasting time over this creature. We had been working every possible chance. Jeff would show up after dinner, we would finish our homework, then get down to real work, the _Prometheus_. . . checking each other's computations, fighting bitterly over details, and having a wonderful time. But the very day I introduced him to Ariel Brentwood, he failed to appear. I had finished my lessons and was wondering whether to start or wait for him -- we were making a radical change in power plant shielding -- when his mother phoned me. "Jeff asked me to call you, dear. He's having dinner with a tourist client and can't come over."

ККККК Mrs. Hardesty was watching me so I looked puzzled and said, "Jeff thought I was expecting him? He has his dates mixed." I don't think she believed me; she agreed too quickly.

ККККК All that week I was slowly convinced against my will that Jones & Hardesty was being liquidated. Jeff didn't break any more dates -- how can you break a date that hasn't been made? -- but we always went flying Thursday afternoons unless one of us was guiding. He didn't call. Oh, I know where he was; he took her iceskating in Fingal's Cave.

ККККК I stayed home and worked on the _Prometheus_, recalculating masses and moment arms for hydroponics and stores on the basis of the shielding change. But I made mistakes and twice I had to look up logarithms instead of remembering . . . I was so used to wrangling with Jeff over everything that I just couldn't function.

ККККК Presently I looked at the name place of the sheet I was revising. "Jones & Hardesty" it read, like all the rest. I said to myself, "Holly Jones, quit bluffing; this may be The End. You know that someday Jeff would fall for somebody."

ККККК "Of course. . . but not a _groundhog_."

ККККК "But he _did_. What kind of an engineer are you if you can't face facts? She's beautiful and rich -- she'll get her father to give him a job Earthside. You hear me? _Earthside!_ So you look for another partner. . . or go into business on your own."

ККККК I erased "Jones & Hardesty" and lettered "Jones & Company" and stared at it. Then I started to erase that, too -- but it smeared; I had dripped a tear on it. Which was ridiculous!

ККККК The following Tuesday both Daddy and Mother were home for lunch which was unusual as Daddy lunches at the spaceport. Now Daddy can't even see you unless you're a spaceship but that day he picked to notice that I had dialed only a salad and hadn't finished it. "That plate is about eight hundred calories short," he said, peering at it. "You can't boost without fuel -- aren't you well?"

ККККК "Quite well, thank you," I answered with dignity.

ККККК "Mmm . . . now that I think back, you've been moping for several days. Maybe you need a checkup." He looked at Mother.

ККККК "I do not either need a checkup!" I had _not_ been moping -- doesn't a woman have a right not to chatter?

ККККК But I hate to have doctors poking at me so I added, "It happens I'm eating lightly because I'm going flying this afternoon. But if you insist, I'll order pot roast and potatoes and sleep insead!"

ККККК "Easy, punkin'," he answered gently. "I didn't mean to intrude. Get yourself a snack when you're through . . . and say hello to Jeff for me."

ККККК I simply answered, "OK," and asked to be excused; I was humiliated by the assumption that I couldn't fly without Mr. Jefferson Hardesty but did not wish to discuss it.

ККККК Daddy called after me, "Don't be late for dinner," and Mother said, "Now, Jacob--" and to me, "Fly until you're tired, dear; you haven't been getting much exercise. I'll leave your dinner in the warmer. Anything you'd like?"

ККККК "No, whatever you dial for yourself." I just wasn't interested in food, which isn't like me. As I headed for Bats' Cave I wondered if I had caught something. But my cheeks didn't feel warm and my stomach wasn't upset even if I wasn't hungry.

ККККК Then I had a horrible thought. Could it be that I was jealous? _Me?_

ККККК It was unthinkable. I am not romantic; I am a career woman. Jeff had been my partner and pal, and under my guidance he could have become a great spaceship designer, but our relationship was straightforward . . . a mutual respect for each other's abilities, with never any of that lovey-dovey stuff. A career woman can't afford such things -- why look at all the professional time Mother had lost over having me!

ККККК No, I couldn't be jealous; I was simply worried sick because my partner had become involved with a groundhog. Jeff isn't bright about women and, besides, he's never been to Earth and has illusions about it. If she lured him Earthside, Jones & Hardesty was finished.

ККККК And somehow, "Jones & Company" wasn't a substitute: the _Prometheus_ might never be built.

ККККК I was at Bats' Cave when I reached this dismal conclusion. I didn't feel like flying but I went to the locker room and got my wings anyhow.

ККККК Most of the stuff written about Bats' Cave gives a wrong impression. It's the air storage tank for the city, just like all the colonies have -- the place where the scavenger pumps, deep down, deliver the air until it's needed. We just happen to be lucky enough to have one big enough to fly in. But it never was built, or anything like that; it's just a big volcanic bubble, two miles across, and if it had broken through, way back when, it would have been a crater.

ККККК Tourists sometimes pity us loonies because we have no chance to swim. Well, I tried it in Omaha and got water up my nose and scared myself silly. Water is for drinking, not playing in; I'll take flying. I've heard groundhogs say, oh yes, they had "flown" many times. But that's not _flying_. I did what they talk about, between White Sands and Omaha. I felt awful and got sick. Those things aren't safe.

ККККК I left my shoes and skirt in the locker room and slipped my tail surfaces on my feet, then zipped into my wings and got someone to tighten the shoulder straps. My wings aren't readymade condors; they are Storer-Gulls, custom-made for my weight distribution and dimensions. I've cost Daddy a pretty penny in wings, outgrowing them so often, but these latest I bought myself with guide fees.

ККККК They're lovely -- titanalloy struts as light and strong as bird bones, tension-compensated wrist-pinion and shoulder joints, natural action in the alula slots, and automatic flap action in stalling. The wing skeleton is dressed in styrene feather-foils with individual quilling of scapulars and primaries. They almost fly themselves.

ККККК I folded my wings and went into the lock. While it was cycling I opened my left wing and thumbed the alula control -- I had noticed a tendency to sideslip the last time I was airborne. But the alula opened properly and I decided I must have been overcontrolling, easy to do with Storer-Gulls; they're extremely maneuverable. Then the door showed green and I folded the wing and hurried out, while glancing at the barometer. Seventeen pounds -- two more than Earth sea-level and nearly twice what we use in the city; even an ostrich could fly in that. I perked up and felt sorry for all groundhogs, tied down by six times proper weight, who never, never, never could fly.

ККККК Not even I could, on Earth. My wing loading is less than a pound per square foot, as wings and all I weigh less than twenty pounds. Earthside that would be over a hundred pounds and I could flap forever and never get off the ground.

ККККК I felt so good that I forgot about Jeff and his weakness. I spread my wings, ran a few steps, warped for lift and grabbed air -- lifted my feet and was airborne.

ККККК I sculled gently and let myself glide towards the air intake at the middle of the floor -- the Baby's Ladder, we call it, because you can ride the updraft clear to the roof, half a mile above, and never move a wing. When I felt it I leaned right, spoiling with right primaries, corrected, and settled in a counterclockwise soaring glide and let it carry me toward the roof.

ККККК A couple of hundred feet up, I looked around. The cave was almost empty, not more than two hundred in the air and half that number perched or on the ground -- room enough for didoes. So as soon as I was up five hundred feet I leaned out of the updraft and began to beat. Gliding is no effort but flying is as hard work as you care to make it. In gliding I support a mere ten pounds on each arm -- shucks, on Earth you work harder than that lying in bed. The lift that keeps you in the air doesn't take any work; you get it free from the shape of your wings just as long as there is air pouring past them.

ККККК Even without an updraft all a level glide takes is gentle sculling with your finger tips to maintain air speed; a feeble old lady could do it. The lift comes from differential air pressures but you don't have to understand it; you just scull a little and the air supports you, as if you were lying in an utterly perfect bed. Sculling keeps you moving forward just like sculling a rowboat. . . or so I'm told; I've never been in a rowboat. I had a chance to in Nebraska but I'm not that foolhardy.

ККККК But when you're really flying, you scull with forearms as well as hands and add power with your shoulder muscles. Instead of only the outer quills of your primaries changing pitch (as in gliding), now your primaries and secondaries clear back to the joint warp sharply on each downbeat and recovery; they no longer lift, they force you forward -- while your weight is carried by your scapulars, up under your armpits.

ККККК So you fly faster, or climb, or both, through controlling the angle of attack with your feet -- with the tail surfaces you wear on your feet, I mean.

ККККК Oh dear, this sounds complicated and isn't -- you just do it. You fly exactly as a bird flies. Baby birds can learn it and they aren't very bright. Anyhow, it's easy as breathing after you learn.. . and more fun than you can imagine!

ККККК I climbed to the roof with powerful beats, increasing my angle of attack and slotting my alulae for lift without burble -- climbing at an angle that would stall most fliers. I'm little but it's all muscle and I've been flying since I was six. Once up there I glided and looked around. Down at the floor near the south wall tourists were trying glide wings -- if you call those things "wings." Along the west wall the visitors' gallery was loaded with goggling tourists. I wondered if Jeff and his Circe character were there and decided to go down and find out.

ККККК So I went into a steep dive and swooped toward the gallery, leveled off and flew very fast along it. I didn't spot Jeff and his groundhoggess but I wasn't watching where I was going and overtook another flier, almost collided. I glimpsed him just in time to stall and drop under, and fell fifty feet before I got control. Neither of us was in danger as the gallery is two hundred feet up, but I looked silly and it was my own fault; I had violated a safety rule.

ККККК There aren't many rules but they are necessary; the first is that orange wings always have the right of way -- they're beginners. This flier did not have orange wings but I was overtaking. The flier underneath -- or being overtaken -- or nearer to wall -- or turning counterclockwise, in that order, has the right of way.

ККККК I felt foolish and wondered who had seen me, so I went all the way back up, made sure I had clear air, then stooped like a hawk toward the gallery, spilling wings, lifting tail, and letting myself fall like a rock.

ККККК I completed my stoop in front of the gallery, lowering and spreading my tail so hard I could feel leg muscles knot and grabbing air with both wings, alulae slotted. I pulled level in an extremely fast glide along the gallery. I could see their eyes pop and thought smugly, "There! That'll show 'em!"

ККККК When darn if somebody didn't stoop on me! The blast from a flier braking right over me almost knocked me out of control. I grabbed air and stopped a sideslip, used some shipyard words and looked around to see who had blitzed me. I knew the black-and-gold wing pattern -- Mary Muhlenburg, my best girl friend. She swung toward me, pivoting on a wing tip. "Hi, Holly! Scared you, didn't I?"

ККККК "You did not! You better be careful; the flightmaster'll ground you for a month."

ККККК "Slim chance! He's down for coffee."

ККККК I flew away, still annoyed, and started to climb. Mary called after me, but I ignored her, thinking, "Mary my girl, I'm going to get over you and fly you right out of the air."

ККККК That was a foolish thought as Mary flies every day and has shoulders and pectoral muscles like Mrs. Hercules. By the time she caught up with me I had cooled off and we flew side by side, still climbing. "Perch?" she called out.

ККККК "Perch," I agreed. Mary has lovely gossip and I could use a breather. We turned toward our usual perch, a ceiling brace for flood lamps -- it isn't supposed to be a perch but the flightmaster hardly ever comes up there.

ККККК Mary flew in ahead of me, braked and stalled dead to a perfect landing. I skidded a little but Mary stuck out a wing and steadied me. It isn't easy to come into a perch, especially when you have to approach level. Two years ago a boy who had just graduated from orange wings tried it . . . knocked off his left alula and primaries on a strut -- went fluttering and spinning down two thousand feet and crashed. He could have saved himself -- you can come in safely with a badly damaged wing if you spill air with the other and accept the steeper glide, then stall as you land. But this poor kid didn't know how; he broke his neck, dead as Icarus. I haven't used that perch since.

ККККК We folded our wings and Mary sidled over. "Jeff is looking for you," she said with a sly grin.

ККККК My insides jumped but I answered coolly, "So? I didn't know he was here."

ККККК "Sure. Down there," she added, pointing with her left wing. "Spot him?"

ККККК Jeff wears striped red and silver, but she was pointing at the tourist guide slope, a mile away. "No."

ККККК "He's there all right." She looked at me sidewise. "But I wouldn't look him up if I were you."

ККККК "Why not? Or for that matter, why should I?" Mary can be exasperating.

ККККК "Huh? You always run when he whistles. But he has that Earthside siren in tow again today; you might find it embarrasing?"

ККККК "Mary, whatever are you talking about?"

ККККК "Huh? Don't kid me, Holly Jones; you know what I mean."

ККККК "I'm sure I don't," I answered with cold dignity.

ККККК "Humph! Then you're the only person in Luna City who doesn't. Everybody knows you're crazy about Jeff; everybody knows she's cut you out. . . and that you are simply simmering with jealousy."

ККККК Mary is my dearest friend but someday I'm going to skin her for a rug. "Mary, that's preposterously ridiculous! How can you even think such a thing?"

ККККК "Look, darling, you don't have to pretend. I'm for you." She patted my shoulders with her secondaries.

ККККК So I pushed her over backwards. She fell a hundred feet, straightened out, circled and climbed, and came in beside me, still grinning. It gave me time to decide what to say.

ККККК "Mary Muhlenburg, in the first place I am not crazy about anyone, least of all Jeff Hardesty. He and I are simply friends. So it's utterly nonsensical to talk about me being 'jealous.' In the second place Miss Brentwood is a lady and doesn't go around 'cutting out' anyone, least of all me. In the third place she is simply a tourist Jeff is guiding -- business, nothing more."

ККККК "Sure, sure," Mary agreed placidly. "I was wrong. Still--" She shrugged her wings and shut up.

ККККК "'Still' what? Mary, dont be mealy-mouthed."

ККККК "Mmm. . . I was wondering how you knew I was talking about Ariel Brentwood -- since there isn't anything to it."

ККККК "Why, you mentioned her name."

ККККК "I did not."

ККККК I thought frantically. "Uh, maybe not. But it's perfectly simple. Miss Brentwood is a client I turned over to Jeff myself, so I assumed that she must be the tourist you meant."

ККККК "So? I don't recall even saying she was a tourist. But since she is just a tourist you two are splitting, why aren't you doing the inside guiding while Jeff sticks to outside work? I thought you guides had an agreement?"

ККККК "Huh? If he has been guiding her inside the city, I'm not aware of it--"

ККККК "You're the only one who isn't."

ККККК "--and I'm not interested; that's up to the grievance committee. But Jeff wouldn't take a fee for inside guiding in any case."

ККККК "Oh, sure! -- not one he could _bank_. Well, Holly, seeing I was wrong, why don't you give him a hand with her? She wants to learn to glide."

ККККК Butting in on that pair was farthest from my mind. "If Mr. Hardesty wants my help, he will ask me. In the meantime I shall mind my own business . . . a practice I recommend to you!"

ККККК "Relax, shipmate," she answered, unruffled. "I was doing you a favor."

ККККК "Thank you, I don't need one."

ККККК "So I'll be on my way -- got to practice for the gymkhana." She leaned forward and dropped off. But she didn't practice aerobatics; she dived straight for the tourist slope.

ККККК I watched her out of sight, then sneaked my left hand out the hand slit and got at my hanky -- awkward when you are wearing wings but the floodlights had made my eyes water. I wiped them and blew my nose and put my hanky away and wiggled my hand back into place, then checked everything thumbs, toes, and fingers, preparatory to dropping off.

ККККК But I didn't. I just sat there, wings drooping, and thought. I had to admit that Mary was partly right; Jeff's head was turned completely. . . over a _groundhog_. So sooner or later he would go Earthside and Jones & Hardesty was finished.

ККККК Then I reminded myself that I had been planning to be a spaceship designer like Daddy long before Jeff and I teamed up. I wasn't dependent on anyone; I could stand alone, like Joan of Arc, or Lise Meitner.

ККККК I felt better. . . a cold, stern pride, like Lucifer in _Paradise Lost_.

ККККК I recognized the red and silver of Jeff's wings while he was far off and I thought about slipping quietly away. But Jeff can overtake me if he tries, so I decided, "Holly, don't be a fool! You've no reason to run. . . just be coolly polite."

ККККК He landed by me but didn't sidle up. "Hi, Decimal Point."

ККККК "Hi, Zero. Uh, stolen much lately?"

ККККК "Just the City Bank but they made me put it back." He frowned and added, "Holly, are you mad at me."

ККККК "Why, Jeff, whatever gave you such a silly notion?"

ККККК "Uh. . . something Mary the Mouth said."

ККККК "Her? Don't pay any attention to what she says. Half of it's always wrong and she doesn't mean the rest."

ККККК "Yeah, a short circuit between her ears. Then you aren't mad?"

ККККК "Of _course_ not. Why should I be?"

ККККК "No reason I know of. I haven't been around to work on the ship for a few days.. . but I've been awfully busy."

ККККК "Think nothing of it. I've been terribly busy myself."

ККККК "Uh, that's fine. Look, Test Sample, do me a favor. Help me out with a friend -- a client, that is -- we'll she's a friend, too. She wants to learn to use glide wings."

ККККК I pretended to consider it. "Anyone I know?"

ККККК "Oh, yes. Fact is, you introduced us. Ariel Brentwood."

ККККК "'Brentwood?' Jeff, there are so many tourists. Let me think. Tall girl? Blonde? Extremely pretty?"

ККККК He grinned like a goof and I almost pushed him off. "That's Ariel!"

ККККК "I recall her . . . she expected me to carry her bags. But you don't need help, Jeff. She seemed very clever. Good sense of balance."

ККККК "Oh, yes, sure, all of that. Well, the fact is, I want you two to know each other. She's. . . well, she's just wonderful, Holly. A real person all the way through. You'll love her when you know her better. Uh... this seemed like a good chance."

ККККК I felt dizzy. "Why, that's very thoughtful, Jeff, but I doubt if she wants to know me better. I'm just a servant she hired -- you know groundhogs."

ККККК "But she's not at all like the ordinary groundhog. And she does want to know you better -- she _told_ me so!"

ККККК _After you told her to think so!_ I muttered. But I had talked myself into a corner. If I had not been hampered by polite upbringing I would have said, "On your way, vacuum skull! I'm not interested in your groundhog friends" -- but what I did say was, "OK, Jeff," then gathered the fox to my bosom and dropped off into a glide.

ККККК So I taught Ariel Brentwood to "fly." Look, those so-called wings they let tourists wear have fifty square feet of lift surface, no controls except warp in the primaries, a built-in dihedral to make them stable as a table, and a few meaningless degrees of hinging to let the wearer think that he is "flying" by waving his arms. The tail is rigid, and canted so that if you stall (almost impossible) you land on your feet. All a tourist does is run a few yards, lift up his feet (he can't avoid it) and slide down a blanket of air. Then he can tell his grandchildren how he flew, really _flew_, "just like a bird."

ККККК An ape could learn to "fly" that much.

ККККК I put myself to the humiliation of strapping on a set of the silly things and had Ariel watch while I swung into the Baby's Ladder and let it carry me up a hundred feet to show her that you really and truly could "fly" with them. Then I thankfully got rid of them, strapped her into a larger set, and put on my beautiful Storer-Gulls. I had chased Jeff away (two instructors is too many), but when he saw her wing up, he swooped down and landed by us.

ККККК I looked up. "You again."

ККККК "Hello, Ariel. Hi, Blip. Say, you've got her shoulder straps too tight."

ККККК "Tut, tut," I said. "One coach at a time, remember? If you want to help, shuck those gaudy fins and put on some gliders then I'll use you to show how not to. Otherwise get above two hundred feet and stay there; we don't need any dining lounge pilots."

ККККК Jeff pouted like a brat but Ariel backed me up. "Do what teacher says, Jeff. That's a good boy."

ККККК He wouldn't put on gliders but he didn't stay clear, either. He circled around us, watching, and got bawled out by the flightmaster for cluttering the tourist area.

ККККК I admit Ariel was a good pupil. She didn't even get sore when I suggested that she was rather mature across the hips to balance well; she just said that she had noticed that I had the slimmest behind around there and she envied me. So I quit trying to get her goat, and found myself almost liking her as long as I kept my mind firmly on teaching. She tried hard and learned fast -- good reflexes and (despite my dirty crack) good balance. I remarked on it and she admitted diffidently that she had had ballet training.

ККККК About mid-afternoon she said, "Could I possibly try real wings?"

ККККК "Huh? Gee, Ariel, I don't think so."

ККККК "Why not?"

ККККК There she had me. She had already done all that could be done with those atrocious gliders. If she was to learn more, she had to have real wings. "Ariel, it's dangerous. It's not what you've been doing, believe me. You might get hurt, even killed."

ККККК "Would you be held responsible?"

ККККК "No. You signed a release when you came in."

ККККК "Then I'd like to try it."

ККККК I bit my lip. If she had cracked up without my help, I wouldn't have shed a tear -- but to let her do something too dangerous while she was my pupil. . . well, it smacked of David and Uriah. "Ariel, I can't stop you . . . but I should put my wings away and not have anything to do with it."

ККККК It was her turn to bite her lip. "If you feel that way, I can't ask you to coach me. But I still want to. Perhaps Jeff will help me."

ККККК "He probably will," I blurted out, "if he is as big a fool as I think he is!"

ККККК Her company face slipped but she didn't say anything because just then Jeff stalled in beside us. "What's the discussion?"

ККККК We both tried to tell him and confused him for he got the idea I had suggested it, and started bawling me out. Was I crazy? Was I trying to get Ariel hurt? Didn't I have any sense?

ККККК "_Shut up!_" I yelled, then added quietly but firmly, "Jefferson Hardesty, you wanted me to teach your girl friend, so I agreed. But don't butt in and don't think you can get away with talking to me like that. Now beat it! Take wing. Grab air!"

ККККК He swelled up and said slowly, "I absolutely forbid it."

ККККК Silence for five long counts. Then Ariel said quietly, "Come, Holly. Let's get me some wings."

ККККК "Right, Ariel."

ККККК But they don't rent real wings. Fliers have their own; they have to. However, there are second-hand ones for sale because kids outgrow them, or people shift to custom-made ones, or something. I found Mr. Schultz who keeps the key, and said that Ariel was thinking of buying but I wouldn't let her without a tryout. After picking over forty-odd pairs I found a set which Johnny Queveras had outgrown but which I knew were all right. Nevertheless I inspected them carefully. I could hardly reach the finger controls but they fitted Ariel.

ККККК While I was helping her into the tail surfaces I said, "Ariel? This is still a bad idea."

ККККК "I know. But we can't let men think they own us."

ККККК "I suppose not."

ККККК "They do own us, of course. But we shouldn't let them know it." She was feeling out the tail controls. "The big toes spread them?"

ККККК "Yes. But don't do it. Just keep your feet together and toes pointed. Look, Ariel, you really aren't ready. Today all you will do is glide, just as you've been doing. Promise?"

ККККК She looked me in the eye. "I'll do exactly what you say. not even take wing unless you OK it."

ККККК "OK. Ready?"

ККККК "I'm ready."

ККККК "All right. Wups! I goofed. They aren't orange."

ККККК "Does it matter?"

ККККК "It sure does." There followed a weary argument because Mr. Schultz didn't want to spray them orange for a tryout. Ariel settled it by buying them, then we had to wait a bit while the solvent dried.

ККККК We went back to the tourist slope and I let her glide, cautioning her to hold both alulae open with her thumbs for more lift at slow speeds, while barely sculling with her fingers. She did fine, and stumbled in landing only once. Jeff stuck around, cutting figure eights above us, but we ignored him. Presently I taught her to turn in a wide, gentle bank -- you can turn those awful glider things but it takes skill; they're only meant for straight glide.

ККККК Finally I landed by her and said, "Had enough?"

ККККК "I'll never have enough! But I'll unwing if you say."

ККККК "Tired?"

ККККК "No." She glanced over her wing at the Baby's Ladder; a dozen fliers were going up it, wings motionless, soaring lazily. "I wish I could do that just once. It must be heaven."

ККККК I chewed it over. "Actually, the higher you are, the safer you are."

ККККК "Then why not?"

ККККК "Mmm . . . safer _provided_ you know what you're doing. Going up that draft is just gliding like you've been doing. You lie still and let it lift you half a mile high. Then you come down the same way, circling the wall in a gentle glide. But you're going to be tempted to do something you don't understand yet -- flap your wings, or cut some caper."

ККККК She shook her head solemnly. "I won't do anything you haven't taught me."

ККККК I was still worried. "Look, it's only half a mile up but you cover five miles going there and more getting down. Half an hour at least. Will your arms take it?"

ККККК "I'm sure they will."

ККККК "Well. . . you can start down anytime; you don't have to go all the way. Flex your arms a little now and then, so they won't cramp. Just don't flap your wings."

ККККК "I won't."

ККККК "OK." I spread my wings. "Follow me."

ККККК I led her into the updraft, leaned gently right, then back left to start the counterclockwise climb, all the while sculling very slowly so that she could keep up. Once we were in the groove I called out, "Steady as you are!" and cut out suddenly, climbed and took station thirty feet over and behind her. "Ariel?"

ККККК "Yes, Holly?"

ККККК "I'll stay over you. Don't crane your neck; you don't have to watch me, I have to watch you. You're doing fine."

ККККК "I feel fine!"

ККККК "Wiggle a little. Don't stiffen up. It's a long way to the roof. You can scull harder if you want to."

ККККК "Aye aye, Cap'n!"

ККККК "Not tired?"

ККККК "Heavens, no! Girl, I'm living!" She giggled. "And mama said I'd never be an angel!"

ККККК I didn't answer because red-and-silver wings came charging at me, braked suddenly and settled into the circle between me and Ariel. Jeff's face was almost as red as his wings. "What the devil do you think you are doing?"

ККККК "Orange wings!" I yelled. "Keep clear!"

ККККК "Get down out of here! Both of you!"

ККККК "Get out from between me and my pupil. You know the rules."

ККККК "Ariel!" Jeff shouted. "Lean out of the circle and glide down. I'll stay with you."

ККККК "Jeff Hardesty," I said savagely, "I give you three seconds to get out from between us -- then I'm going to report you for violation of Rule One. For the third time -- Orange Wings!"

ККККК Jeff growled something, dipped his right wing and dropped out of formation. The idiot sideslipped within five feet of Ariel's wing tip. I should have reported him for that; all the room you can give a beginner is none too much.

ККККК I said, "OK, Ariel?"

ККККК "OK, Holly. I'm sorry Jeff is angry."

ККККК "He'll get over it. Tell me if you feel tired."

ККККК "I'm not. I want to go all the way up. How high are we?"

ККККК "Four hundred feet, maybe."

ККККК Jeff flew below us a while, then climbed and flew over us. . . probably for the same reason I did: to see better. It suited me to have two of us watching her as long as he didn't interfere; I was beginning to fret that Ariel might not realize that the way down was going to be as long and tiring as the way up. I was hoping she would cry uncle. I knew I could glide until forced down by starvation. But a beginner gets tense.

ККККК Jeff stayed generally over us, sweeping back and forth -- he's too active to glide very long -- while Ariel and I continued to soar, winding slowly up toward the roof. It finally occurred to me when we were about halfway up that I could cry uncle myself; I didn't have to wait for Ariel to weaken. So I called out, "Ariel? Tired now?"

ККККК "No."

ККККК "Well, I am. Could we go down, please?"

ККККК She didn't argue, she just said, "All right. What am I to do?"

ККККК "Lean right and get out of the circle." I intended to have her move out five or six hundred feet, get into the return down draft, and circle the cave down instead of up. I glanced up, looking for Jeff. I finally spotted him some distance away and much higher but coming toward us. I called out, "Jeff! See you on the ground." He might not have heard me but he would see if he didn't hear; I glanced back at Ariel.

ККККК I couldn't find her.

ККККК Then I saw her, a hundred feet below -- flailing her wings and falling, out of control.

ККККК I didn't know how it happened. Maybe she leaned too far, went into a sideslip and started to struggle. But I didn't try to figure it out; I was simply filled with horror. I seemed to hang there frozen for an hour while I watched her.

ККККК But the fact appears to be that I screamed "Jeff!" and broke into a stoop.

ККККК But I didn't seem to fall, couldn't overtake her. I spilled my wings completely -- but couldn't manage to fall; she was as far away as ever.

ККККК You do start slowly, of course; our low gravity is the only thing that makes human flying possible. Even a stone falls a scant three feet in the first second. But the first second seemed endless.

ККККК Then I knew I was falling. I could feel rushing air -- but I still didn't seem to close on her. Her struggles must have slowed her somewhat, while I was in an intentional stoop, wings spilled and raised over my head, falling as fast as possible. I had a wild notion that if I could pull even with her, I could shout sense into her head, get her to dive, then straighten out in a glide. But I couldn't _reach_ her.

ККККК This nightmare dragged on for hours.

ККККК Actually we didn't have room to fall for more than twenty seconds; that's all it takes to stoop a thousand feet. But twenty seconds can be horribly long . . . long enough to regret every foolish thing I had ever done or said, long enough to say a prayer for us both.. . and to say good-bye to Jeff in my heart. Long enough to see the floor rushing toward us and know that we were both going to crash if I didn't overtake her mighty quick.

ККККК I glanced up and Jeff was stooping right over us but a long way up. I looked down at once.. . and I was overtaking her... I was passing her -- _I was under her!_

ККККК Then I was braking with everything I had, almost pulling my wings off. I grabbed air, held it, and started to beat without ever going to level flight. I beat once, twice, three times. . . and hit her from below, jarring us both.

ККККК Then the floor hit us.

ККККК I felt feeble and dreamily contented. I was on my back in a dim room. I think Mother was with me and I know Daddy was. My nose itched and I tried to scratch it, but my arms wouldn't work. I fell asleep again.

ККККК I woke up hungry and wide awake. I was in a hospital bed and my arms still wouldn't work, which wasn't surprising as they were both in casts. A nurse came in with a tray. "Hungry?" she asked.

ККККК "Starved," I admitted.

ККККК "We'll fix that." She started feeding me like a baby.

ККККК I dodged the third spoonful and demanded, "What happened to my arms?"

ККККК "Hush," she said and gagged me with a spoon.

ККККК But a nice doctor came in later and answered my question. "Nothing much. Three simple fractures. At your age you'll heal in no time. But we like your company so I'm holding you for observation of possible internal injury."

ККККК "I'm not hurt inside," I told him. "At least, I don't hurt."

ККККК "I told you it was just an excuse."

ККККК "Uh, Doctor?"

ККККК "Well?"

ККККК "Will I be able to fly again?" I waited, scared.

ККККК "Certainly. I've seen men hurt worse get up and go three rounds."

ККККК "Oh. Well, thanks. Doctor? What happened to the other girl? Is she. . . did she...?"

ККККК "Brentwood? She's here."

ККККК "She's right here," Ariel agreed from the door. "May I come in?"

ККККК My jaw dropped, then I said, "Yeah. Sure. Come in."

ККККК The doctor said, "Don't stay long," and left. I said, "Well, sit down."

ККККК "Thanks." She hopped instead of walked and I saw that one foot was bandaged. She got on the end of the bed.

ККККК "You hurt your foot."

ККККК She shrugged. "Nothing. A sprain and a torn ligament. Two cracked ribs. But I would have been dead. You know why I'm not?"

ККККК I didn't answer. She touched one of my casts. "That's why. You broke my fall and I landed on top of you. You saved my life and I broke both your arms."

ККККК "You don't have to thank me. I would have done it for anybody."

ККККК "I believe you and I wasn't thanking you. You can't thank a person for saving your life. I just wanted to make sure you knew that I knew it."

ККККК I didn't have an answer so I said, "Where's Jeff? Is he all right?"

ККККК "He'll be along soon. Jeff's not hurt . . . though I'm surprised he didn't break both ankles. He stalled in beside us so hard that he should have. But Holly . . . Holly my very dear . . . I slipped in so that you and I could talk about him before he got here."

ККККК I changed the subject quickly. Whatever they had given me made me feel dreamy and good, but not beyond being embarrassed. "Ariel, what happened? You were getting along fine -- then suddenly you were in trouble."

ККККК She looked sheepish. "My own fault. You said we were going down, so I looked down. Really looked, I mean. Before that, all my thoughts had been about climbing to the roof; I hadn't thought about how far down the floor was. Then I looked down and got dizzy and panicky and went all to pieces." She shrugged. "You were right. I wasn't ready."

ККККК I thought about it and nodded. "I see. But don't worry -- when my arms are well, I'll take you up again."

ККККК She touched my foot. "Dear Holly. But I won't be flying again; I'm going back where I belong."

ККККК "Earthside?"

ККККК "Yes. I'm taking the _Billy Mitchell_ on Wednesday."

ККККК "Oh. I'm sorry."

ККККК She frowned slightly. "Are you? Holly, you don't like me, do you?"

ККККК I was startled silly. What can you say? Especially when it's true? "Well," I said slowly, "I don't dislike you. I just don't know you very well."

ККККК She nodded. "And I don't know you very well . . . even though I got to know you a lot better in a very few seconds. But Holly listen please and don't get angry. It's about Jeff. He hasn't treated you very well the last few days -- while I've been here, I mean. But don't be angry with him. I'm leaving and everything will be the same."

ККККК That ripped it open and I couldn't ignore it, because if I did, she would assume all sorts of things that weren't so. So I had to explain. . . about me being a career woman.. . how, if I had seemed upset, it was simply distress at breaking up the firm of Jones & Hardesty before it even finished its first starship . how I was not in love with Jeff but simply valued him as a friend and associate. . . but if Jones & Hardesty couldn't carry on, then Jones & Company would. "So you see, Ariel, it isn't necessary for you to give up Jeff. If you feel you owe me something, just forget it. It isn't necessary."

ККККК She blinked and I saw with amazement that she was holding back tears. "Holly, Holly. . . you don't understand at all."

ККККК "I understand all right. I'm not a child."

ККККК "No, you're a grown woman. . . but you haven't found it out." She held up a finger. "One -- Jeff doesn't love me."

ККККК "I don't believe it."

ККККК "Two. . . I don't love him."

ККККК "I don't believe that, either."

ККККК "Three . . . you say you don't love him -- but we'll take that up when we come to it. Holly, am I beautiful?"

ККККК Changing the subject is a female trait but I'll never learn to do it that fast. "Huh?"

ККККК "I said, 'Am I beautiful?'"

ККККК "You know darn well you are!"

ККККК "Yes. I can sing a bit and dance, but I would get few parts if I were not, because I'm no better than a third-rate actress. So I have to be beautiful. How old am I?"

ККККК I managed not to boggle. "Huh? Older than Jeff thinks you are. Twenty-one, at least. Maybe twenty-two."

ККККК She sighed. "Holly, I'm old enough to be your mother."

ККККК "Huh? I don't believe that, either."

ККККК "I'm glad it doesn't show. But that's why, though Jeff is a dear, there never was a chance that I could fall in love with him. But how I feel about him doesn't matter; the important thing is that he loves you."

ККККК "What? That's the silliest thing you've said yet! Oh, he likes me -- or did. But that's all." I gulped. "And it's all I want. Why, you should hear the way he talks to me."

ККККК "I have. But boys that age can't say what they mean; they get embarrassed."

ККККК "But--"

ККККК "Wait, Holly. I saw something you didn't because you were knocked cold. When you and I bumped, do you know what happened?"

ККККК "Uh, no."

ККККК "Jeff arrived like an avenging angel, a split second behind us. He was ripping his wings off as he hit, getting his arms free. He didn't even look at me. He just stepped across me and picked you up and cradled you in his arms, all the while bawling his eyes out."

ККККК "He did?"

ККККК "He did."

ККККК I mulled it over. Maybe the big lunk did kind of like me, after all.

ККККК Ariel went on, "So you see, Holly, even if you don't love him, you must be very gentle with him, because he loves you and you can hurt him terribly."

ККККК I tried to think. Romance was still something that a career woman should shun . . . but if Jeff really did feel that way -- well. . . would it be compromising my ideals to marry him just to keep him happy? To keep the firm together? Eventually, that is?

ККККК But if I did, it wouldn't be Jones & Hardesty; it would be Hardesty & Hardesty.

ККККК Ariel was still talking: "--you might even fall in love with him. It does happen, hon, and if it did, you'd be sorry if you had chased him away. Some other girl would grab him; he's awfully nice."

ККККК "But," I shut up for I heard Jeff's step -- I can always tell it. He stopped in the door and looked at us, frowning.

ККККК "Hi, Ariel."

ККККК "Hi, Jeff."

ККККК "Hi, Fraction." He looked me over. "My, but you're a mess."

ККККК "You aren't pretty yourself. I hear you have flat feet."

ККККК "Permanently. How do you brush your teeth with those things on your arms?"

ККККК "I don't."

ККККК Ariel slid off the bed, balanced on one foot. "Must run. See you later, kids."

ККККК "So long, Ariel."

ККККК "Good-bye, Ariel. Uh. . . thanks."

ККККК Jeff closed the door after she hopped away, came to the bed and said gruffly, "Hold still."

ККККК Then he put his arms around me and kissed me.

ККККК Well, I couldn't stop him, could I? With both arms broken? Besides, it was consonant with the new policy of the firm. I was startled speechless because Jeff never kisses me, except birthday kisses, which don't count. But I tried to kiss back and show that I appreciated it.

ККККК I don't know what the stuff was they had been giving me but my ears began to ring and I felt dizzy again.

ККККК Then he was leaning over me. "Runt," he said mournfully, "you sure give me a lot of grief."

ККККК "You're no bargain yourself, flathead," I answered with dignity.

ККККК "I suppose not." He looked me over sadly. "What are you crying for?"

ККККК I didn't know that I had been. Then I remembered why. "Oh, Jeff -- I busted my pretty wings!"

ККККК "We'll get you more. Uh, brace yourself. I'm going to do it again."

ККККК "All right." He did.

ККККК I suppose Hardesty & Hardesty has more rhythm than Jones & Hardesty.

ККККК It really sounds better.

'If This Goes On-'

It was cold on the rampart. I slapped my numbed hands together, then stopped hastily for fear of disturbing the Prophet. My post that night was just outside his personal apartments-a post that I had won by taking more than usual care to be neat and smart at guard mount...but I had no wish to call attention to myself now.

ККККК I was young then and not too bright-a legate fresh out of West Point, and a guardsman in the Angels of the Lord, the personal guard of the Prophet Incarnate. At birth my mother had consecrated me to the Church and at eighteen my Uncle Absolom, a senior lay censor, had prayed an appointment to the Military Academy for me from the Council of Elders.

ККККК West Point had suited me. Oh, I had joined in the usual griping among classmates, the almost ritualistic complaining common to all military life, but truthfully I enjoyed the monastic routine-up at five, two hours of prayers and meditation, then classes and lectures in the endless subjects of a military education, strategy and tactics, theology, mob psychology, basic miracles. In. the afternoons we practiced with vortex guns and blasters, drilled with tanks, and hardened our bodies with exercise.

ККККК I did not stand very high on graduation and had not really expected to be assigned to the Angels of the Lord, even though I had put in for it. But I had always gotten top marks in piety and stood well enough in most of the practical subjects; I was chosen. It made me almost sinfully proud-the holiest regiment of the Prophet's hosts, even the privates of which were commissioned officers and whose Colonel-in-Chief was the Prophet's Sword Triumphant, marshal of all the hosts. The day I was invested in the shining buckler and spear worn only by the Angels I vowed to petition to study for the priesthood as soon as promotion to captain made me eligible.

ККККК But this night, months later, though my buckler was still shining bright, there was a spot of tarnish in my heart. Somehow, life at New Jerusalem was not as I had imagined it while at West Point. The Palace and Temple were shot through with intrigue and politics; priests and deacons, ministers of state, and Palace functionaries all seemed engaged in a scramble for power and favor at the hand of the Prophet. Even the officers of my own corps seemed corrupted by it. Our proud motto 'Non Sihi, Sed Dei' now had a wry flavor in my mouth.

ККККК Not that I was without sin myself. While I had not joined in the struggle for worldly preference, I had done something which I knew in my heart to be worse: 1 had looked with longing on a consecrated female.

ККККК Please understand me better than I understood myself. I was a grown man in body, an infant in experience. My own mother was the only woman I had ever known well. As a kid in junior seminary before going to the Point I was almost afraid of girls; my interests were divided between my lessons, my mother, and our parish's troop of Cherubim, in which I was a patrol leader and an assiduous winner of merit badges in everything from woodcraft to memorizing scripture. If there had been a merit badge to be won in the subject of girls-but of course there was not.

ККККК At the Military Academy 1 simply saw no females, nor did I have much to confess in the way of evil thoughts. My human feelings were pretty much still in freeze, and my occasional uneasy dreams I regarded as temptations sent by Old Nick. But New Jerusalem is not West Point and the Angels were neither forbidden to marry nor were we forbidden proper and sedate association with women. True, most of my fellows did not ask permission to marry, as it would have meant transferring to one of the regular regiments and many of them cherished ambitions for the military priesthood-but it was not forbidden.

ККККК Nor were the lay deaconesses who kept house around the Temple and the Palace forbidden to marry. But most of them were dowdy old creatures who reminded me of my aunts, hardly subjects for romantic thoughts. I used to chat with them occasionally around the corridors, no harm in that. Nor was I attracted especially by any of the few younger sisters-until I met Sister Judith.

ККККК I had been on watch in this very spot more than a month earlier. It was the first time I had stood guard outside the Prophet's apartments and, while I was nervous when first posted, at that moment I had been no more than alert against the possibility of the warden-of-the-watch making his rounds.

ККККК That night a light had shone brightly far down the inner corridor opposite my post and I had heard a sound of people moving; I had glanced at my wrist chrono-yes, that would be the Virgins ministering to the Prophet... - no business of mine. Each night at ten o'clock their watch changed-their 'guard mount' I called it, though I had never seen the ceremony and never would. All that I actually knew about it was that those coming on duty for the next twenty-four hours drew lots at that time for the privilege of personal attendance in the sacred presence of the Prophet Incarnate.

ККККК I had listened briefly and had turned away. Perhaps a quarter of an hour later a slight form engulfed in a dark cloak had slipped past me to the parapet, there to stand and look at the stars. I had had my blaster out at once, then had returned it sheepishly, seeing that it was a deaconess.

ККККК I had assumed that she was a lay deaconess; I swear that it did not occur to me that she might be a holy deaconess. There was no rule in my order book telling me to forbid them to come outside, but I had never heard of one doing so.

ККККК I do not think that she had seen me before I spoke to her. 'Peace be unto you, sister.'

ККККК She had jumped and suppressed a squeal, then had gathered her dignity to answer, "And to you, little brother.'

ККККК It was then that I had seen on her forehead the Seal of Solomon, the mark of the personal family of the Prophet. 'Your pardon, Elder Sister. I did not see.'

ККККК 'I am not annoyed.' It had seemed to me that she invited conversation. I knew that it was not proper for us to converse privately; her mortal being was dedicated to the Prophet just as her soul was the Lord's, but I was young and lonely-and she was young and very pretty.

ККККК 'Do you attend the Holy One this night, Elder Sister?'

ККККК She had shaken her head at that. 'No, the honor passed me by. My lot was not drawn.'

ККККК 'It must be a great and wonderful privilege to serve him directly.'

ККККК 'No doubt, though I cannot say of my own knowledge. My lot has never yet been drawn.' She had added impulsively, 'I'm a little nervous about it. You see, I haven't been here long.'

ККККК Even though she .was my senior in rank, her display of feminine weakness had touched me. 'I am sure that you will deport yourself with credit.'

ККККК 'Thank you.'

ККККК We had gone on chatting. She had been in New Jerusalem, it developed, even less time than had I. She had been reared on a farm in upper New York State and there she had been sealed to the Prophet at the Albany Seminary. In turn I had told her that 1 had been born in the middle west, not fifty miles from the Well of Truth, where the First Prophet was incarnated. I then told her that my name was John Lyle and she had answered that she was called Sister Judith.

ККККК I had forgotten all about the warden-of-the-watch and his pesky rounds and was ready to chat all night, when my chrono had chimed the quarter hour. 'Oh, dear!' Sister Judith had exclaimed. 'I should have gone straight back to my cell.' She had started to hurry away, then had checked herself. 'You wouldn't tell on me, John Lyle?'

ККККК 'Me? Oh, never!'

ККККК I had continued to think about her the rest of the watch. When the warden did make rounds I was a shade less than alert.

ККККК A mighty little on which to found a course of folly, eh? A single drink is a great amount to a teetotaler; I was not able to get Sister Judith out of my mind. In the month that followed I saw her half a dozen times. Once I passed her on an escalator; she was going down as I was going up. We did not even speak, but she had recognized me and smiled. I rode that escalator all night that night in my dreams, hut I could never get off and speak to her. The other encounters were just as trivial. Another time I heard her voice call out to me quietly, 'Hello, John Lyle,' and I turned just in time to see a hooded figure go past my elbow through a door. Once I watched her feeding the swans in the moat; I did not dare approach her but I think that she saw me.

ККККК The Temple Herald printed the duty lists of both my service and hers. I was standing a watch in five; the Virgins drew lots once a week. So it was just over a month later that our watches again matched. I saw her name-and vowed that I would win the guard mount that evening and again be posted at the post of honor before the Prophet's own apartments. I had no reason to think that Judith would seek me out on the rampart-but I was sure in my heart that she would. Never at West Point had I ever expended more spit-and-polish; I could have used my buckler for a shaving mirror.

ККККК But here it was nearly half past ten and no sign of Judith, although I had heard the Virgins gather down the corridor promptly at ten. All I had to show for my efforts was the poor privilege of standing watch at the coldest post in the Palace.

ККККК Probably, I thought glumly, she comes out to flirt with the guardsmen on watch every time she has a chance. I recalled bitterly that all women were vessels of iniquity and had always been so since the Fall of Man. Who was I to think that she had singled me out for special friendship? She had probably considered the night too cold to bother.

ККККК I heard a footstep and my heart leaped with joy. But it was only the warden making his rounds. I brought my pistol to the ready and challenged him; his voice came back, 'Watchman, what of the night?'

ККККК I answered mechanically, 'Peace on Earth,' and added, 'It is cold, Elder Brother.'

ККККК 'Autumn in the air,' he agreed. 'Chilly even in the Temple.' He passed on by with his pistol and his bandolier of paralysis bombs slapping his armor to his steps. He was a nice old duffer and usually stopped for a few friendly words; tonight he was probably eager to get back to the warmth of the guardroom. I went back to my sour thoughts.

ККККК 'Good evening, John Lyle.'

ККККК I almost jumped out of my boots. Standing in the darkness just inside the archway was Sister Judith. I managed to splutter, 'Good evening, Sister Judith,' as she moved toward me.

ККККК 'Ssh!' she cautioned me. 'Someone might hear us. John Lyle-it finally happened. My lot was drawn!'

ККККК I said, 'Huh?' then added lamely, 'Felicitations, Elder Sister. May God make his face to shine on your holy service.'

ККККК 'Yes, yes, thanks,' she answered quickly, 'but John . . . I had intended to steal a few moments to chat with you. Now I can't-I must be at the robing room for indoctrination and prayer almost at once. I must run.'

ККККК 'You'd better hurry,' I agreed. I was disappointed that she could not stay, happy for her that she was honored, and exultant that she had not forgotten me. 'God go with you.'

ККККК 'But I just had to tell you that I had been chosen.' Her eyes were shining with what I took to be holy joy; her next words startled me. 'I'm scared, John Lyle.'

ККККК 'Eh? Frightened?' .1 suddenly recalled how I had felt, how my voice had cracked, the first time I ever drilled a platoon. 'Do not be. You will be sustained.'

ККККК 'Oh, I hope so! Pray for me, John.' And she was gone, lost in the dark corridor.

ККККК I did pray for her and I tried to imagine where she was, what she was doing. But since I knew as little about what went on inside the Prophet's private chambers as a cow knows about courts-martial, I soon gave it up and simply thought about Judith. Later, an hour or more, my reverie was broken by a high scream inside the Palace, followed by a commotion, and running footsteps. I dashed down the inner corridor and found a knot of women gathered around the portal to the Prophet's apartments. Two or three others were carrying someone out the portal; they stopped when the reached the corridor and eased their burden to the floor.

ККККК 'What's the trouble?' I demanded and drew my side arm clear.

ККККК An elderly Sister stepped in front of me. 'It is nothing. Return to your post, legate.'

ККККК 'I heard a scream.'

ККККК 'No business of yours. One of the Sisters fainted when the Holy One required service of her.'

ККККК 'Who was it?'

ККККК 'You are rather nosy, little brother.' She shrugged. 'Sister Judith, if it matters.'

ККККК I did not stop to think but snapped, 'Let me help her!' and started forward. She barred my way.

ККККК 'Are you out of your mind? Her sisters will return her to her cell. Since when do the Angels minister to nervous Virgins?'

ККККК I could easily have pushed her aside with one finger, but she was right. I backed down and went unwillingly back to my post.

ККККК For the next few days I could not get Sister Judith out of my mind. Off watch, I prowled the parts of the Palace I was free to visit, hoping to catch sight of her. She might be ill, or she might be confined to her cell for what must certainly have been a major breach of discipline. But I never saw her.

ККККК My roommate, Zebadiah Jones, noticed my moodiness and tried to rouse me out of it. Zeb was three classes senior to me and I had been one of his plebes at the Point; now he was my closest friend and my only confidant. 'Johnnie old son, you look like a corpse at your own wake. What's eating on you?'

ККККК 'Huh? Nothing at all. Touch of indigestion, maybe.'

ККККК 'So? Come on, let's go for a walk. The air will do you good.' I let him herd me outside. He said nothing but banalities until we were on the broad terrace surrounding the south turret and free of the danger of eye and ear devices. When we were well away from anyone else he said softly, 'Come on. Spill it.'

ККККК 'Shucks, Zeb, I can't burden anybody else with it.'

ККККК 'Why not? What's a friend for?'

ККККК 'Uh, you'd be shocked.'

ККККК 'I doubt it. The last time I was shocked was when I drew four of a kind to an ace kicker. It restored my faith in miracles and I've been relatively immune ever since. Come on-we'll call this a privileged communication-elder adviser and all that sort of rot.'

ККККК I let him persuade me. To my surprise Zeb was not shocked to find that I let myself become interested in a holy deaconess. So I told him the whole story and added to it my doubts and troubles, the misgivings that had been growing in me since the day I reported for duty at New Jerusalem.

ККККК He nodded casually. 'I can see how it would affect you that way, knowing you. See here, you haven't admitted any of this at confession, have you?'

ККККК 'No,' I admitted with embarrassment.

ККККК 'Then don't. Nurse your own fox. Major Bagby is broadminded, you wouldn't shock him-but he might find it necessary to pass it on to his superiors. You wouldn't want to face Inquisition even if you were alabaster innocent. In fact, especially since you are innocent-and you are, you know; everybody has impious thoughts at times. But the Inquisitor expects to find sin; if he doesn't find it, he keeps on digging.'

ККККК At the suggestion that I might be put to the Question my stomach almost turned over. I tried not to show it for Zeb went on calmly, 'Johnnie my lad, I admire your piety and~ your innocence, but I don't envy it. Sometimes too much piety is more of a handicap than too little. You find yourself shocked at the idea that it takes politics as well as psalm singing to run a big country. Now take me; I noticed the same things when I was new here, but I hadn't expected anything different and wasn't shocked.'

ККККК 'But-'I shut up. His remarks sounded painfully like heresy; I changed the subject. 'Zeb, what do you suppose it could have been that upset Judith so and caused her to faint the night she served the Prophet?'

ККККК 'Eh? How should I know?' He glanced at me and looked away.

ККККК 'Well, I just thought you might. You generally have all the gossip around the Palace.'

ККККК 'Well . . . oh, forget it, old son. It's really not important.'

ККККК 'Then you do know?'

ККККК 'I didn't say that. Maybe I could make a close guess, but you don't want guesses. So forget it.'

ККККК I stopped strolling, stepped in front of him and faced him. 'Zeb, anything you know about it-or can guess-I want to hear. It's important to me.'

ККККК 'Easy now! You were afraid of shocking me; it could be that I don't want to shock you.'

ККККК 'What do you mean? Tell me!'

ККККК 'Easy, I said. We're out strolling, remember, without a care in the world, talking about our butterfly collections and wondering if we'll have stewed beef again for dinner tonight.'

ККККК Still fuming, I let him take me along with him. He went on more quietly, 'John, you obviously aren't the type to learn things just by keeping your ear to the ground-and you've not yet studied any of the Inner Mysteries, now have you?'

ККККК 'You know I haven't. The psych classification officer hasn't cleared me for the course. I don't know why.'

ККККК 'I should have let you read some of the installments while I was boning it. No, that was before you graduated. Too bad, for they explain things in much more delicate language than I know how to use-and justify every bit of it thoroughly, if you care for the dialectics of religious theory. John, what is your notion of the duties of the Virgins?'

ККККК 'Why, they wait on him, and cook his food, and so forth.'

ККККК 'They surely do. And so forth. This Sister Judith-an innocent little country girl the way you describe her. Pretty devout, do you think?'

ККККК I answered somewhat stiffly that her devoutness had first attracted me to her. Perhaps I believed it.

ККККК 'Well, it could be that she simply became shocked at overhearing a rather worldly and cynical discussion between the Holy One and, oh, say the High Bursar-taxes and tithes and the best way to squeeze them out of the peasants. It might be something like that, although the scribe for such a conference would hardly be a grass-green Virgin on her first service. No, it was almost certainly the "And so forth."'

ККККК 'Huh? I don't follow you.'

ККККК Zeb sighed. 'You really are one of God's innocents, aren't you? Holy Name, I thought you knew and were just to stubbornly straight-laced to admit it. Why, even the Angels carry on with the Virgins at times, after the Prophet is through with them. Not to mention the priests and the deacons. I remember a time when-'He broke off suddenly, catching sight of my face. 'Wipe that look off your face! Do you want somebody to notice us?'

ККККК I tried to do so, with terrible thoughts jangling around inside my head. Zeb went on quietly, 'It's my guess, if it matters that much to you, that your friend Judith still merits the title "Virgin" in the purely physical sense as well as the spiritual. She might even stay that way, if the Holy One is as angry with her as he probably was. She is probably as dense as you are and failed to understand the symbolic explanations given her-then blew her top when it came to the point where she couldn't fail to understand, so he kicked her out. Small wonder!'

ККККК I stopped again, muttering to myself biblical expressions I hardly thought I knew. Zeb stopped, too, and stood looking at me with a smile of cynical tolerance. 'Zeb,' I said, almost pleading with him, 'these are terrible things. Terrible! Don't tell me that you approve?'

ККККК 'Approve? Man, it's all part of the Plan. I'm sorry you haven't been cleared for higher study. See here, I'll give you a rough briefing. God wastes not. Right?'

ККККК 'That's sound doctrine.'

ККККК 'God requires nothing of man beyond his strength. Right?'

ККККК 'Yes, but-'

ККККК 'Shut up. God commands man to be fruitful. The Prophet Incarnate, being especially holy, is required to be especially fruitful. That's the gist of it; you can pick up the fine points when you study it. In the meantime, if the Prophet can humble himself to the flesh in order to do his plain duty, who are you to raise a ruction? Answer me that.'

ККККК I could not answer, of course, and we continued our walk in silence. I had to admit the logic of what he had said and that the conclusions were built up from the revealed doctrines. The trouble was that I wanted to eject the conclusions, throw them up as if they had been something poisonous I had swallowed.

ККККК Presently I was consoling myself with the thought that Zeb felt sure that Judith had not been harmed. I began to feel better, telling myself that Zeb was right, that it was not my place, most decidedly not my place, to sit in moral judgment on the Holy Prophet Incarnate.

ККККК My mind was just getting round to worrying the thought that my relief over Judith arose solely from the fact that I had looked on her sinfully, that there could not possibly be one rule for one holy deaconess, another rule for all the rest, and I was beginning to be unhappy again-when Zeb stopped suddenly. 'What was that?'

ККККК We hurried to the parapet of the terrace and looked down the wall. The south wall lies close to the city proper. A crowd of fifty or sixty people was charging up the slope that led to the Palace walls. Ahead of them, running with head averted, was a man dressed in a long gabardine. He was headed for the Sanctuary gate.

ККККК Zebadiah looked down and answered himself. 'That's what the racket is-some of the rabble stoning a pariah. He probably was careless enough to be caught outside the ghetto after five.' He stared down and shook his head. 'I don't think he is going to make it.'

ККККК Zeb's prediction was realized at once, a large rock caught the man between the shoulder blades, he stumbled and went down. They were on him at once. He struggled to his knees, was struck by a dozen stones, went down in a heap. He gave a broken high-pitched wail, then drew a fold of the gabardine across his dark eyes and strong Roman nose.

ККККК A moment later there was nothing to be seen but a pile of rocks and a protruding slippered foot. It jerked and was still.

ККККК I turned away, nauseated. Zebediah caught my expression.

ККККК 'Why,' I said defensively, 'do these pariahs persist in their heresy? They seem such harmless fellows otherwise.'

ККККК He cocked a brow at me. 'Perhaps it's not heresy to them. Didn't you see that fellow resign himself to his God?'

ККККК 'But that is not the true God.'

ККККК 'He must have thought otherwise.'

ККККК 'But they all know better; we've told them often enough.'

ККККК He smiled in so irritating a fashion that I blurted out, 'I don't understand you, Zeb-blessed if I do! Ten minutes ago you were introducing me in correct doctrine; now you seem to be defending heresy. Reconcile that.'

ККККК He shrugged. 'Oh, I can play the Devil's advocate. I made the debate team at the Point, remember? I'll be a famous theologian someday-if the Grand Inquisitor doesn't get me first.'

ККККК 'Well . . . Look-you do think it's right to stone the ungodly? Don't you?'

ККККК He changed the subject abruptly. 'Did you notice who cast the first stone?' I hadn't and told him so; all I remembered was that it was a man in country clothes, rather than a woman or a child.

ККККК 'It was Snotty Fasset.' Zeb's lip curled.

ККККК I recalled Fassett too well; he was two classes senior to me and had made my plebe year something I want to forget. 'So that's how it was,' I answered slowly. 'Zeb, I don't think I could stomach intelligence work.'

ККККК 'Certainly not as an agent provocateur,' he agreed. 'Still, I suppose the Council needs these incidents occasionally. These rumors about the Cabal and all...'

ККККК I caught up this last remark. 'Zeb, do you really think there is anything to this Cabal? I can't believe that there is any organized disloyalty to the Prophet.'

ККККК 'Well-there has certainly been some trouble out on the West Coast. Oh, forget it; our job is to keep the watch here.'

Chapter 2

But we were not allowed to forget it; two days later the inner guard was doubled. I did not see how there could be any real danger, as the Palace was as strong a fortress as ever was built, with its lower recesses immune even to fission bombs. Besides that, a person entering the Palace, even from the Temple grounds, would be challenged and identified a dozen times before he reached the Angel on guard outside the Prophet's own quarters. Nevertheless people in high places were getting jumpy; there must be something to it.

ККККК But I was delighted to find that I had been assigned as Zebadiah's partner. Standing twice as many hours of guard was almost offset by having him to talk with-for me at least. As for poor Zeb, I banged his ear endlessly through the long night watches, talking about Judith and how unhappy I was with the way things were at New Jerusalem. Finally he turned on me.

ККККК 'See here, Mr. Dumbjohn,' he snapped, reverting to my plebe year designation, 'are you in love with her?'

ККККК I tried to hedge. I had not yet admitted to myself that my interest was more than in her welfare. He cut me short.

ККККК 'You do or you don't. Make up your mind. If you do, we'll talk practical matters. If you don't, then shut up about her.'

ККККК I took a deep breath and took the plunge. 'I guess I do, Zeb. It seems impossible and I know it's a sin, but there it is.'

ККККК 'All of that and folly, too. But there is no talking sense to you. Okay, so you are in love with her. What next?'

ККККК 'Eh?'

ККККК 'What do you want to do? Marry her?'

ККККК I thought about it with such distress that I covered my face with my hands. 'Of course I do,' I admitted. 'But how can I?'

ККККК 'Precisely. You can't. You can't marry without transferring away from here; her service can't marry at all. Nor is there any way for her to break her vows, since she is already sealed. But if you can face up to bare facts without blushing, there is plenty you can do. You two could be very cozy-if you could get over being such an infernal bluenose.'

ККККК A week earlier I would not have understood what he was driving at. But now I knew. I could not even really be angry with him at making such a dishonorable and sinful suggestion; he meant well-and some of the tarnish was now in my own soul. I shook my head. 'You shouldn't have said that, Zeb. Judith is not that sort of a woman.'

ККККК 'Okay. Then forget it. And her. And shut up about her.'

ККККК I sighed wearily. 'Don't be rough on me, Zeb. This is more than I know how to manage.' I glanced up and down, then took a chance and sat down on the parapet. We were not on watch near the Holy One's quarters but at the east wall; our warden, Captain Peter van Eyck, was too fat to get that far oftener than once a watch, so I took a chance. I was bone tired from not having slept much lately.

ККККК 'Sorry.'

ККККК 'Don't be angry, Zeb. That sort of thing isn't for me and it certainly isn't for Judith-for Sister Judith.' I knew what I wanted for us: a little farm, about a hundred. and sixty acres, like the one I had been born on. Pigs and chickens and barefooted kids with happy dirty faces and Judith to have her face light up when I came in from the fields and then wipe the perspiration from her face with her apron so that I could kiss her

ККККК no more connection with the Church and the Prophet than Sunday meeting and tithes.

ККККК But it could not be, it could never be. I put it out of my mind. 'Zeb,' I went on, 'just as a matter of curiosity-You have intimated that these things go on all the time. How? We live in a goldfish bowl here. It doesn't seem possible.'

ККККК He grinned at me so cynically that I wanted to slap him, but his voice had no leer in it. 'Well, just for example, take your own case -'

ККККК 'Out of the question!'

ККККК 'Just for example, I said. Sister Judith isn't available right now; she is confined to her cell. But -'

ККККК 'Huh? She's been arrested?' I thought wildly of the Question and what Zeb had said about the inquisitors.

ККККК 'No, no, no! She isn't even locked in. She's been told to stay there, that's all, with prayer and bread-and-water as company. They are purifying her heart and instructing her in her spiritual duties. When she sees things in their true light, her lot will be drawn again-and this time she won't faint and make an adolescent fool of herself.'

ККККК I pushed back my first reaction and tried to think about it calmly. 'No,' I said. 'Judith will never do it. Not if she stays in her cell forever.'

ККККК 'So? I wouldn't be too sure. They can be very persuasive. How would you like to be prayed over in relays? But assume that she does see the light, just so that I can finish my story.'

ККККК 'Zeb, how do you know about this?'

ККККК 'Sheol, man! I've been here going on three years. Do you think I wouldn't be hooked into the grapevine? You were worried about her-and making yourself a tiresome nuisance if I may say so. So I asked the birdies. But to continue. She sees the light, her lot is drawn, she performs her holy service to the Prophet. After that she is called once a week like the rest and her lot is drawn maybe once a month or less. Inside of a year-unless the Prophet finds some very exceptional beauty in her soul-they stop putting her name among the lots entirely. But it isn't necessary to wait that long, although it is more discreet.'

ККККК 'The whole thing is shameful!'

ККККК 'Really? I imagine King Solomon had to use some such system; he had even more women on his neck than the Holy One has. Thereafter, if you can come to some mutual understanding with the Virgin involved, it is just a case of following well known customs. There is a present to be made to the Eldest Sister, and to be renewed as circumstances dictate. There are some palms to be brushed-I can tell you which ones. And this great pile of masonry has lots of dark back stairs in it. With all customs duly observed, there is no reason why, almost any night I have the watch and you don't, you should not find something warm and cuddly in your bed.'

ККККК I was about to explode at the calloused way he put it when my mind went off at a tangent. 'Zeb-now I know you are telling an untruth. You were just pulling my leg, admit it. There is an eye and an ear somewhere in our room. Why, even if I tried to find them and cut them out, I'd simply have the security watch banging on the door in three minutes.'

ККККК 'So what? There is an eye and an ear in every room in the place. You ignore them.'

ККККК I simply let my mouth sag open.

ККККК 'Ignore them,' he went on. 'Look, John, a little casual fornication is no threat to the Church-treason and heresy are. It will simply be entered in your dossier and nothing will be said about it- unless they catch you in something really important later, in which case they might use it to hang you instead of preferring the real charges. Old son, they like to have such peccadilloes in the files; it increases security. They are probably uneasy about you; you are too perfect; such men are dangerous. Which is probably why you've never been cleared for higher study.'

ККККК I tried to straighten out in my mind the implied cross purposes, the wheels within wheels, and gave up. 'I just don't get it. Look, Zeb, all this doesn't have anything to do with me or with Judith. But I know what I've got to do. Somehow I've got to get her out of here.'

ККККК 'Hmm. . . a mighty strait gate, old son.'

ККККК 'I've got to.'

ККККК 'Well . . . I'd like to help you. I suppose I could get a message to her,' he added doubtfully.

ККККК I caught his arm. 'Would you, Zeb?'

ККККК He sighed. 'I wish you would wait. No, that wouldn't help, seeing the romantic notions in your mind. But it is risky now. Plenty risky, seeing that she is under discipline by order of the Prophet. You'd look funny staring down the table of a court-martial board, looking at your own spear.'

ККККК 'I'll risk even that. Or even the Question.'

ККККК He did not remind me that he himself was taking even more of a risk than I was; he simply said, 'Very well, what is the message?'

ККККК I thought for a moment. It would have to be short. 'Tell her that the legate she talked to the night her lot was drawn is worried about her.'

ККККК 'Anything else?'

ККККК 'Yes! Tell her that I am hers to command!'

ККККК It seems flamboyant in recollection. No doubt it was-but it was exactly the way I felt.

ККККК At luncheon the next day I found a scrap of paper folded into my napkin. I hurried through the meal and slipped out to read it.

ККККК I need your help, it read, and am so very grateful. Will you meet me tonight? It was unsigned and had been typed in the script of a common voicewriter, used anywhere in the Palace, or out. When Zeb returned to our room, I showed it to him; he glanced at it and remarked in idle tones:

ККККК 'Let's get some air. I ate too much, I'm about to fall asleep.' Once we hit the open terrace and were free of the hazard of eye and ear he cursed me out in low, dispassionate tones. 'You'll never make a conspirator. Half the mess must know that you found something in your napkin. Why in God's name did you gulp your food and rush off? Then to top it off you handed it to me upstairs. For all you know the eye read it and photostated it for evidence. Where in the world were you when they were passing out brains?'

ККККК I protested but he cut me off. 'Forget it! I know you didn't mean to put both of our necks in a bight-but good intentions are no good when the trial judge-advocate reads the charges. Now get this through your head: the first principle of intrigue is never to be seen doing anything unusual, no matter how harmless it may seem. You wouldn't believe how small a deviation from pattern looks significant to a trained analyst. You should have stayed in the refectory the usual time, hung around and gossiped as usual afterwards, then waited until you were safe to read it. Now where is it?'

ККККК 'In the pocket of my corselet,' I answered humbly. 'Don't worry, I'll chew it up and swallow it.'

ККККК 'Not so fast. Wait here.' Zeb left and was back in a few minutes. 'I have a piece of paper the same size and shape; I'll pass it to you quietly. Swap the two, and then you can eat the real note-but don't be seen making the swap or chewing up the real one.'

ККККК 'All right. But what is the second sheet of paper?'

ККККК 'Some notes on a system for winning at dice.'

ККККК 'Huh? But that's non-reg, too!'

ККККК 'Of course, you hammer head. If they catch you with evidence of gambling, they won't suspect you of a much more serious sin. At worst, the skipper will eat you out and fine you a few days pay and a few hours contrition. Get this, John: if you are ever suspected of something, try to make the evidence point to a lesser offence. Never try to prove lily-white innocence. Human nature being what it is, your chances are better.'

ККККК I guess Zeb was right; my pockets must have been searched and the evidence photographed right after I changed uniforms for parade, for half an hour afterwards I was called into the Executive Officer's office. He asked me to keep my eyes open for indications of gambling among the junior officers. It was a sin, he said, that he hated to have his younger officers fall into. He clapped me on the shoulder as I was leaving. 'You're a good boy, John Lyle. A word to the wise, eh?'

Zeb and I had the midwatch at the south Palace portal that night. Half the watch passed with no sign of Judith and I was as nervous as a cat in a strange house, though Zeb tried to keep me calmed down by keeping me strictly to routine. At long last there were soft footfalls in the inner corridor and a shape appeared in the doorway. Zebadiah motioned me to remain on tour and went to check. He returned almost at once and motioned me to join him, while putting a finger to his lips. Trembling, I went in. It was not Judith but some woman strange to me who waited there in the darkness. I started to speak but Zeb put his hand over my mouth.

ККККК The woman took my arm and urged me down the corridor. I glanced back and saw Zeb silhouetted in the portal, covering our rear. My guide paused and pushed me into an almost pitch-black alcove, then she took from the folds of her robes a small object which I took to be a pocket ferretscope, from the small dial that glowed faintly on its side. She ran it up and down and around, snapped it off and returned it to her person. 'Now you can talk,' she said softly. 'It's safe.' She slipped away.

ККККК I felt a gentle touch at my sleeve. 'Judith?' I whispered.

ККККК 'Yes,' she answered, so softly that I could hardly hear her.

ККККК Then my arms were around her. She gave a little startled cry, then her own arms went around my neck and I could feel her breath against my face. We kissed clumsily but with almost frantic eagerness.

ККККК It is no one's business what we talked about then, nor could I give a coherent account if I tried. Call our behavior romantic nonsense, call it delayed puppy love touched off by ignorance and unnatural lives-do puppies hurt less than grown dogs? Call it what you like and laugh at us, but at that moment we were engulfed in that dear madness more precious than rubies and fine gold, more to be desired than sanity. If you have never experienced it and do not know what I am talking about, I am sorry for you.

ККККК Presently we quieted down somewhat and talked more reasonably. When she tried to tell me about the night her lot had been drawn she began to cry. I shook her and said, 'Stop it, my darling. You don't have to tell me about it. I know.'

ККККК She gulped and said, 'But you don't know. You can't know. I...he...'

ККККК I shook her again. 'Stop it. Stop it at once. No more tears. I do know, exactly. And I know what you are in for still-unless we get you out of here. So there is no time for tears or nerves; we have to make plans.'

ККККК She was dead silent for a long moment, then she said slowly, 'You mean for me to . . . desert? I've thought of that. Merciful God, how I've thought about it! But how can I?'

ККККК 'I don't know-yet. But we will figure out a way. We've got to.' We discussed possibilities. Canada was a bare three hundred miles away and she knew the upstate New York country; in fact it was the only area she did know. But the border there was more tightly closed than it was anywhere else, patrol boats and radar walls by water, barbed wire and sentries by land . and sentry dogs. I had trained with such dogs; I wouldn't urge my worst enemy to go up against them.

ККККК But Mexico was simply impossibly far away. If she headed south she would probably be arrested in twenty-four hours. No one would knowingly give shelter to an unveiled Virgin; under the inexorable rule of associative guilt any such good Samaritan would be as guilty as she of the same personal treason against the Prophet and would die the same death. Going north would be shorter at least, though it meant the same business of traveling by night, hiding by day, stealing food or going hungry. Near Albany lived an aunt of Judith's; she felt sure that her aunt would risk hiding her until some way could be worked out to cross the border. 'She'll keep us safe. I know it.'

ККККК 'Us?' I must have sounded stupid. Until she spoke I had had my nose so close to the single problem of how she was to escape that it had not yet occurred to me that she would expect both of us to go.

ККККК 'Did you mean to send me alone?'

ККККК 'Why. . . I guess I hadn't thought about it any other way.'

ККККК 'No!'

ККККК 'But-look, Judith, the urgent thing, the thing that must be done at once, is to get you out of here. Two people trying to travel and hide are many times more likely to be spotted than one. It just doesn't make sense to -'

ККККК 'No! I won't go.'

ККККК I thought about it, hurriedly. I still hadn't realized that 'A' implies 'B' and that I myself in urging her to desert her service was as much a deserter in my heart as she was. I said, 'We'll get you out first, that's the important thing. You tell me where your aunt lives-then wait for me.'

ККККК 'Not without you.'

ККККК 'But you must. The Prophet,'

ККККК 'Better that than to lose you now!'

ККККК I did not then understand women-and I still don't. Two minutes before she had been quietly planning to risk death by ordeal rather than submit her body to the Holy One. Now she was almost casually willing to accept it rather than put up with even a temporary separation. I don't understand women; I sometimes think there is no logic in them at all.

ККККК I said, 'Look, my dear one, we have not yet even figured out how we are to get you out of the Palace. It's likely to be utterly impossible for us both to escape the same instant. You see that, don't you?'

ККККК She answered stubbornly, 'Maybe. But I don't like it. Well, how do I get out? And when?'

ККККК I had to admit again that I did not know. I intended to consult Zeb as soon as possible, but I had no other notion.

ККККК But Judith had a suggestion. 'John, you know the Virgin who guided you here? No? Sister Magdalene. I know it is safe to tell her and she might be willing to help us. She's very clever.'

ККККК I started to comment doubtfully but we were interrupted by Sister Magdalene herself. ККККК 'Quick!' she snapped at me as she slipped in beside us. 'Back to the rampart!'

ККККК I rushed out and was barely in time to avoid being caught by the warden, making his rounds. He exchanged challenges with Zeb and myself-and then the old fool wanted to chat. He settled himself down on the steps of the portal and started recalling boastfully a picayune fencing victory of the week before. I tried dismally to help Zeb with chit-chat in a fashion normal for a man bored by a night watch.

ККККК At last he got to his feet. 'I'm past forty and getting a little heavier, maybe. I'll admit frankly it warms me to know that I still have a wrist and eye as fast as you young blades.' He straightened his scabbard and added, 'I suppose I had better take a turn through the Palace. Can't take too many precautions these days. They do say the Cabal has been active again.' He took out his torch light and flashed it down the corridor.

ККККК I froze solid. If he inspected that corridor, it was beyond hope that he would miss two women crouching in an alcove.

ККККК But Zebadiah spoke up calmly, casually. 'Just a moment, Elder Brother. Would you show me that time riposte you used to win that last match? It was too fast for me to follow it.'

ККККК He took the bait. 'Why, glad to, son!' He moved off the steps, came out to where there was room. 'Draw your sword. En garde! Cross blades in line of sixte. Disengage and attack me. There! Hold the lunge and I'll demonstrate it slowly. As your point approaches my chest -, (Chest indeed! Captain van Eyck was as pot-bellied as a kangaroo!) '- I catch it with the forte of my blade and force it over yours in riposte seconde. Just like the book, so far. But I do not complete the riposte. Strong as it is, you might parry or counter. Instead, as my point comes down, I beat your blade out of line-' He illustrated and the steel sang. '-and attack you anywhere, from chin to ankle. Come now, try it on me.'

ККККК Zeb did so and they ran through the phrase; the warden retreated a step. Zeb asked to do it again to get it down pat. They ran through it repeatedly, faster each time, with the warden retreating each time to avoid by a hair Zeb's unbated point. It was strictly against regulations to fence with real swords and without mask and plastron, but the warden really was good . . . a swordsman so precise that he was confident of his own skill not to blind one of Zeb's eyes, not to let Zeb hurt him. In spite of my own galloping jitters I watched it closely; it was a beautiful demonstration of a once-useful military art. Zeb pressed him hard.

ККККК They finished up fifty yards away from the portal and that much closer to the guardroom. I could hear the warden puffing from the exercise. 'That was fine, Jones,' he gasped. 'You caught on handsomely.' He puffed again and added, 'Lucky for me a real bout does not go on as long. I think I'll let you inspect the corridor.' He turned away toward the guardroom, adding cheerfully, 'God keep you.'

ККККК 'God go with you, sir,' Zeb responded properly and brought his hilt to his chin in salute.

ККККК As soon as the warden turned the corner Zeb stood by again and I hurried back to the alcove. The women were still there, making themselves small against the back wall. 'He's gone,' I reassured them. 'Nothing to fear for a while.'

ККККК Judith had told Sister Magdalene of our dilemma and we discussed it in whispers. She advised us strongly not to try to reach any decisions just then. 'I'm in charge of Judith's purification; I can stretch it out for another week, perhaps, before she has to draw lots again.'

ККККК I said, 'We've got to act before then!'

ККККК Judith seemed over her fears, now that she had laid her troubles in Sister Magdalene's lap. 'Don't worry, John,' she said softly, 'the chances are my lot won't be drawn soon again in any case. We must do what she advises.'

ККККК Sister Magdalene sniffed contemptuously. 'You're wrong about that, Judy, when you are returned to duty, your lot will be drawn, you can be sure ahead of time. Not,' she added, 'but what you could live through it-the rest of us have. If it seems safer to-' She stopped suddenly and listened. 'Sssh! Quiet as death.' She slipped silently out of our circle.

ККККК A thin pencil of light flashed out and splashed on a figure crouching outside the alcove. I dived and was on him before he could get to his feet. Fast as I had been, Sister Magdalene was just as fast; she landed on his shoulders as he went down. He jerked and was still.

ККККК Zebadiah came running in, checked himself at our sides. 'John! Maggie!' came his tense whisper. 'What is it?'

ККККК 'We've caught a spy, Zeb,' I answered hurriedly. 'What'll we do with him?'

ККККК Zeb flashed his light. 'You've knocked him out?'

ККККК 'He won't come to,' answered Magdalene's calm voice out of the darkness. 'I slipped a vibroblade in his ribs.'

ККККК 'Sheol!'

ККККК 'Zeb, I had to do it. Be glad I didn't use steel and mess up the floor with blood. But what do we do now?'

ККККК Zeb cursed her softly, she took it. 'Turn him over, John. Let's take a look.' I did so and his light flashed again. 'Hey, Johnnie-it's Snotty Fassett.' He paused and I could almost hear him think. 'Well, we'll waste no tears on him. John!'

ККККК 'Yeah, Zeb?'

ККККК 'Keep the watch outside. If anyone comes, I am inspecting the corridor. I've got to dump this carcass somewhere.'

ККККК Judith broke the silence. 'There's an incinerator chute on the floor above. I'll help you.'

ККККК 'Stout girl. Get going, John.'

ККККК I wanted to object that it was no work for a woman, but I shut up and turned away. Zeb took his shoulders, the women a leg apiece and managed well enough. They were back in minutes, though it seemed endless to me. No doubt Snotty's body was reduced to atoms before they were back-we might get away with it. It did not seem like murder to me then, and still does not; we did what we had to do, rushed along by events.

ККККК Zeb was curt. 'This tears it. Our reliefs will be along in ten minutes; we've got to figure this out in less time than that. Well?'

ККККК Our suggestions were all impractical to the point of being ridiculous, but Zeb let us make them-then spoke straight to the point. 'Listen to me, it's no longer just a case of trying to help Judith and you out of your predicament. As soon as Snotty is missed, we-all four of us-are in mortal danger of the Question. Right?'

ККККК 'Right,' I agreed unwillingly.

ККККК 'But nobody has a plan?'

ККККК None of us answered. Zeb went on, 'Then we've got to have help . . . and there is only one place we can get it. The Cabal.'

Chapter 3

'The Cabal?' I repeated stupidly. Judith gave a horrified gasp. 'Why . . . why, that would mean our immortal souls! They worship Satan!'

ККККК Zeb turned to her. 'I don't believe so.' She stared at him. 'Are you a Cabalist?'

ККККК 'No.'

ККККК 'Then how do you know?'

ККККК 'And how,' I insisted, 'can you ask them for help?'

ККККК Magdalene answered. 'I am a member-as Zebadiah knows.' Judith shrank away from her, but Magdalene pressed her with words. 'Listen to me, Judith. I know how you feel-and once I was as horrified as you are at the idea of anyone opposing the Church. Then I learned-as you are learning-what really lies behind this sham we were brought up to believe in.' She put an arm around the younger girl. 'We aren't devil worshipers, dear, nor do we fight against God. We fight only against this self-styled Prophet who pretends to be the voice of God. Come with us, help us fight him-and we will help you. Otherwise we can't risk it.'

ККККК Judith searched her face by the faint light from the portal. 'You swear that this is true? The Cabal fights only against the Prophet and not against the Lord Himself?'

ККККК 'I swear, Judith.'

ККККК Judith took a deep shuddering breath. 'God guide me,' she whispered. 'I go with the Cabal.'

ККККК Magdalene kissed her quickly, then faced us men. 'Well?'

ККККК I answered at once, 'I'm in it if Judith is,' then whispered to myself, 'Dear Lord, forgive me my oath-I must!'

ККККК Magdalene was staring at Zeb. He shifted uneasily and said angrily, 'I suggested it, didn't I? But we are all damned fools and the Inquisitor will break our bones.'

ККККК There was no more chance to talk until the next day. I woke from bad dreams of the Question and worse, and heard Zeb's shaver buzzing merrily in the bath. He came in and pulled the covers off me, all the while running off at the mouth with cheerful nonsense. I hate having bed clothes dragged off me even when feeling well and I can't stand cheerfulness before breakfast; I dragged them back and tried to ignore him, but he grabbed my wrist. 'Up you come, old son! God's sunshine is wasting. It's a beautiful day. How about two fast laps around the Palace and in for a cold shower?'

ККККК I tried to shake his hand loose and called him something that would lower my mark in piety if the ear picked it up. He still hung on and his forefinger was twitching against my wrist in a nervous fashion; I began to wonder if Zeb were cracking under the strain. Then I realized that he was tapping out code.

ККККК 'B-E-N-A-T-U-R-A-L,' the dots and dashes said, 'S-H-O-W - N-O - S-U-R-P-R-I-S-E - W-E - W-I-L-L - B-E -C-A-L-L-E-D - F-O-R - E-X-A-M-I-N-A-T-I-O-N - D-U-RI-N-G - T-H-E - R-E-C-R-E-A-T-I-O-N - P-E-R-I-O-D -ККККК T-H-I-S - A-F-T-E-R-N-O-O-N'

ККККК I hoped I showed no surprise. I made surly answers to the stream of silly chatter he had kept up all through it, and got up and went about the mournful tasks of putting the body back in shape for another day. After a bit 1 found excuse to lay a hand on his shoulder and twitched out an answer: '0-K -I- U-N-D-E-R-S-T-A-N-D'

ККККК The day was a misery of nervous monotony. I made a mistake at dress parade, a thing I haven't done since beast barracks. When the day's duty was finally over I went back to our room and found Zeb there with his feet on the air conditioner, working an acrostic in the New York Times. 'Johnnie my lamb,' he asked, looking up, 'what is a six-letter word meaning "Pure in Heart"?'

ККККК 'You'll never need to know,' I grunted and sat down to remove my armor.

ККККК 'Why, John, don't you think I will reach the Heavenly City?'

ККККК 'Maybe-after ten thousand years penance.'

ККККК There came a brisk knock at our door, it was shoved open, and Timothy Klyce, senior legate in the mess and brevet captain, stuck his head in. He sniffed and said in nasal Cape Cod accents, 'Hello, you chaps want to take a walk?'

ККККК It seemed to me that he could not have picked a worse time. Tim was a hard man to shake and the most punctiliously devout man in the corps. I was still trying to think of an excuse when Zeb spoke up. 'Don't mind if we do, provided we walk toward town. I've got some shopping to do.'

ККККК I was confused by Zeb's answer and still tried to hang back, pleading paper work to do, but Zeb cut me short. 'Pfui with paper work. I'll help you with it tonight. Come on.' So I went, wondering if he had gotten cold feet about going through with it.

ККККК We went out through the lower tunnels. I walked along silently, wondering if possibly Zeb meant to try to shake Klyce in town and then hurry back. We had just entered a little jog in the passageway when Tim raised his hand in a gesture to emphasize some point in what he was saying to Zeb. His hand passed near my face, I felt a slight spray on my eyes-and I was blind.

ККККК Before I could cry out, even as I suppressed the impulse to do so, he grasped my upper arm hard, while continuing his sentence without a break. His grip on my arm guided me to the left, whereas my memory of the jog convinced me that the turn should have been to the right. But we did not bump into the wall and after a few moments the blindness wore off. We seemed to be walking in the same tunnel with Tim in the middle and holding each of us by an arm. He did not say anything and neither did we; presently he stopped us in front of a door. Klyce knocked once, then listened.

ККККК I could not make out an answer but he replied. 'Two pilgrims, duly guided.'

ККККК The door opened. He led us in, it closed silently behind us, and we were facing a masked and armored guard, with his blast pistol leveled on us. Reaching behind him, he rapped once on an inner door; immediately another man, armed and masked like the first, came out and faced us. He asked Zeb and myself separately:

ККККК 'Do you seriously declare, upon your honor, that, unbiased by friends and uninfluenced by mercenary motives, you freely and voluntarily offer yourself to the service of this order?'

ККККК We each answered, 'I do.'

ККККК 'Hoodwink and prepare them.'

ККККК Leather helmets that covered everything but our mouths and noses were slipped over our heads and fastened under our chins. Then we were ordered to strip off all our clothing. I did so while the goose pumps popped out on me. I was losing my enthusiasm rapidly-there is nothing that makes a man feel as helpless as taking his pants away from him. Then I felt the sharp prick of a hypodermic in my forearm and shortly, though I was awake, things got dreamy and I was no longer jittery. Something cold was pressed against my ribs on the left side of my back and I realized that it was almost certainly the hilt of a vibroblade, needing only the touch, of the stud to make me as dead as Snotty Fassett-but it did not alarm me. Then there were questions, many questions, which I answered automatically, unable to lie or hedge if I had wanted to. I remember them in snatches: of your own free will and accord?' '-conform to the ancient established usages-a man, free born, of good repute, and well recommended.'

ККККК Then, for a long time I stood shivering on the cold tile floor while a spirited discussion went on around me; it had to do with my motives in seeking admission. I could hear it all and I knew that my life hung on it, with only a word needed to cause a blade of cold energy to spring into my heart. And I knew that the argument was going against me.

ККККК Then a contralto voice joined the debate. I recognized Sister Magdalene and knew that she was vouching for me, but doped as I was I did not care; I simply welcomed her voice as a friendly sound. But presently the hilt relaxed from my ribs and I again felt the prick of a hypodermic. It brought me quickly out of my dazed state and I heard a strong bass voice intoning a prayer:

ККККК 'Vouchsafe thine aid, Almighty Father of the Universe: love, relief, and truth to the honor of Thy Holy Name. Amen.' And the answering chorus, 'So mote it be!'

ККККК Then I was conducted around the room, still hoodwinked, while questions were again put to me. They were symbolic in nature and were answered for me by my guide. Then I was stopped and was asked if I were willing to take a solemn oath pertaining to this degree, being assured that it would in no material way interfere with duty that I owed to God, myself, family, country, or neighbor.

ККККК I answered, 'I am.'

ККККК I was then required to kneel on my left knee, with my left hand supporting the Book, my right hand steadying certain instruments thereon.

ККККК The oath and charge was enough to freeze the blood of anyone foolish enough to take it under false pretenses. Then I was asked what, in my present condition, I most desired. I answered as I had been coached to answer: 'Light!'

ККККК And the hoodwink was stripped from my head.

ККККК It is not necessary and not proper to record the rest of my instruction as a newly entered brother. it was long and of solemn beauty and there was nowhere in it any trace of the blasphemy or devil worship that common gossip attributed to us; quite the contrary it was filled with reverence for God, brotherly love, and uprightness, and it included instruction in the principles of an ancient and honorable profession and the symbolic meaning of the working tools thereof.

ККККК But I must mention one detail that surprised me almost out of the shoes I was not wearing. When they took the hoodwink off me, the first man I saw, standing in front of me dressed in the symbols of his office and wearing an expression of almost inhuman dignity, was Captain Peter van Eyck, the fat ubiquitous warden of my watch-Master of this lodge!

ККККК The ritual was long and time was short. When the lodge was closed we gathered in a council of war. I was told that the senior brethren had already decided not to admit Judith to the sister order of our lodge at this time even though the lodge would reach out to protect her. She was to be spirited away to Mexico and it was better, that being the case, for her not to know any secrets she did not need to know. But Zeb and I, being of the Palace guard, could be of real use; therefore we were admitted.

ККККК Judith had already been given hypnotic instructions which-it was hoped-would enable her to keep from telling what little she already new if she should be put to the Question. I was told to wait and not to worry; the senior brothers would arrange to get Judith out of danger before she next was required to draw lots. I had to be satisfied with that.

ККККК For three days running Zebadiah and I reported during the afternoon recreation period for instruction, each time being taken by a different route and with different precautions. It was clear that the architect who had designed the Palace had been one of us; the enormous building had hidden in it traps and passages and doors which certainly did not appear in the official plans.

ККККК At the end of the third day we were fully accredited senior brethren, qualified with a speed possible only in time of crisis. The effort almost sprained my brain; I had to bone harder than I ever had needed to in school. Utter letter-perfection was required and there was an amazing lot to memorize-which was perhaps just as well, for it helped to keep me from worrying. We had not heard so much as a rumor of a kick-back from the disappearance of Snotty Fassett, a fact much more ominous than would have been a formal investigation.

ККККК A security officer can't just drop out of sight without his passing being noticed. It was remotely possible that Snotty had been on a roving assignment and was not expected to check in daily with his boss, but it was much more likely that he had been where we had found him and killed him because some one of us was suspected and he had been ordered to shadow. If that was the case, the calm silence could only mean that the chief security officer was letting us have more rope, while his psychotechnicians analyzed our behavior-in which case the absence of Zeb and myself from any known location during our free time for several days running was almost certainly a datum entered on a chart. If the entire regiment started out equally suspect, then our personal indices each gained a fractional point each of those days.

ККККК I never boned savvy in such matters and would undoubtedly have simply felt relieved as the days passed with no overt trouble had it not been that the matter was discussed and worried over in the lodge room. I did not even know the name of the Guardian of Morals, nor even the location of his security office-we weren't supposed to know. I knew that he existed and that he reported to the Grand Inquisitor and perhaps to the Prophet himself but that was all. I discovered that my lodge brothers, despite the almost incredible penetration of the Cabal throughout the Temple and Palace, knew hardly more than I did-for the reason that we had no brothers, not one, in the staff of the Guardian of Morals. The reason was simple; the Cabal was every bit as careful in evaluating the character, persona, and psychological potentialities of a prospective brother as the service was in measuring a prospective intelligence officer-and the two types were as unlike as geese and goats. The Guardian would never accept the type of personality who would be attracted by the ideals of the Cabal; my brothers would never pass a-well, a man like Fassett.

ККККК I understand that, in the days before psychological measurement had become a mathematical science, an espionage apparatus could break down through a change in heart on the part of a key man-well, the Guardian of Morals had no such worry; his men never suffered a change in heart. I understand, too, that our own fraternity, in the early days when it was being purged and tempered for the ordeal to come, many times had blood on the floors of lodge rooms-I don't know; such records were destroyed.

ККККК On the fourth day we were not scheduled to go to the lodge room, having been told to show our faces where they would be noticed to offset our unwonted absences. I was spending my free time in the lounge off the mess room, leafing through magazines, when Timothy Klyce came in. He glanced at me, nodded, then started thumbing through a stack of magazines himself. Presently he said, 'These antiques belong in a dentist's office. Have any of you chaps seen this week's Time?'

ККККК His complaint was addressed to the room as a whole; no one answered. But he turned to me. 'Jack, I think you are sitting on it. Raise up a minute.'

ККККК I grunted and did so. As he reached for the magazine his head came close to mine and he whispered, 'Report to the Master.'

ККККК I had learned a little at least so I went on reading. After a bit I put my magazine aside, stretched and yawned, then got up and ambled out toward the washroom. But I walked on past and a few minutes later entered the lodge room. I found that Zeb was already there, as were several other brothers; they were gathered around Master Peter and Magdalene. I could feel the tension in the room.

ККККК I said, 'You sent for me, Worshipful Master?'

ККККК He glanced at me, looked back at Magdalene. She said slowly, 'Judith has been arrested.'

ККККК I felt my knees go soft and I had trouble standing. I am not unusually timid and physical bravery is certainly commonplace, but if you hit a man through his family or his loved ones you almost always get him where he is unprotected. 'The Inquisition?' I managed to gasp.

ККККК Her eyes were soft with pity. 'We think so. They took her away this morning and she has been incommunicado ever since.'

ККККК 'Has any charge been filed?' asked Zeb.

ККККК 'Not publicly.'

ККККК 'Hm-m-m-That looks bad.'

ККККК 'And good as well,' Master Peter disagreed. 'If it is the matter we think it is-Fassett, I mean-and had they had any evidence pointing to the rest of you, all four of you would have been arrested at once. At least, that is in accordance with their methods.'

ККККК 'But what can we do?' I demanded.

ККККК Van Eyck did not answer. Magdelene said soothingly, 'There is nothing for you to do, John. You couldn't get within several guarded doors of her.'

ККККК 'But we can't just do nothing!'

ККККК The lodge Master said, 'Easy, son. Maggie is the only one of us with access to that part of the inner Palace. We must leave it in her hands.'

ККККК I turned again to her; she sighed and said, 'Yes, but there is probably little I can do.' Then she left.

ККККК We waited. Zeb suggested that he and I should leave the lodge room and continue with being seen in our usual haunts; to my relief van Eyck vetoed it. 'No. We can't be sure that Sister Judith's hypnotic protection is enough to see her through the ordeal. Fortunately you two and Sister Magdalene are the only ones she can jeopardize-but I want you here, safe, until Magdalene finds out what she can. Or fails to return,' he added thoughtfully.

ККККК I blurted out, 'Oh, Judith will never betray us!'

ККККК He shook his head sadly. 'Son, anyone will betray anything under the Question-unless adequately guarded by hypno compulsion. We'll see.'

ККККК I had paid no attention to Zeb, being busy with my own very self-centred thoughts. He now surprised me by saying angrily, 'Master, you are keeping us here like pet hens-but you have just sent Maggie back to stick her head in a trap. Suppose Judith has cracked? They'll grab Maggie at once.'

ККККК Van Eyck nodded. 'Of course. That is the chance we must take since she is the only spy we have. But don't you worry about her. They'll never arrest her-she'll suicide first.'

ККККК The statement did not shock me; I was too numbed by the danger to Judith. But Zeb burst out with, 'The swine! Master, you shouldn't have sent her.'

ККККК Van Eyck answered mildly, 'Discipline, son. Control yourself. This is war and she is a soldier.' He turned away.

ККККК So we waited . . . and waited . . . and waited. It is hard to tell anyone who has not lived in the shadow of the Inquisition how we felt about it. We knew no details but we sometimes saw those unlucky enough to live through it. Even if the inquisitors did not require the auto da fЋ, the mind of the victim was usually damaged, often shattered.

ККККК Presently Master Peter mercifully ordered the Junior Warden to examine both of us as to our progress in memorizing ritual. Zeb and I sullenly did as we were told and were forced with relentless kindness to concentrate on the intricate rhetoric. Somehow nearly two hours passed.

ККККК At last came three raps at the door and the Tyler admitted Magdalene. I jumped out of my chair and rushed to her. 'Well?' I demanded. 'Well?'

ККККК 'Peace, John,' she answered wearily. 'I've seen her.'

ККККК 'How is she? Is she all right?'

ККККК 'Better than we have any right to expect. Her mind is still intact and she hasn't betrayed us, apparently. As for the rest, she may keep a scar or two-but she's young and healthy; she'll recover.'

ККККК I started to demand more facts but the Master cut me off. Then they've already put her to the Question. In that case, how did you get in to see her?'

ККККК 'Oh, that!' Magdalene shrugged it off as something hardly worth mentioning. 'The inquisitor prosecuting her case proved to be an old acquaintance of mine; we arranged an exchange of favors.'

ККККК Zeb started to interrupt; the Master snapped, 'Quiet!' then added sharply, 'The Grand Inquisitor isn't handling it himself? In that case I take it they don't suspect that it could be a Cabal matter?'

ККККК Maggie frowned. 'I don't know. Apparently Judith fainted rather early in the proceedings; they may not have had time to dig into that possibility. In any case I begged a respite for her until tomorrow. The excuse is to let her recover strength for more questioning, of course. They will start in on her again early tomorrow morning.'

ККККК Van Eyck pounded a fist into a palm. 'They must not start again-we can't risk it! Senior Warden, attend me! The rest of you get out! Except you, Maggie.'

ККККК I left with something unsaid. I had wanted to tell Maggie that she could have my hide for a door mat any time she lifted her finger.

ККККК Dinner that night was a trial. After the chaplain droned through his blessing I tried to eat and join in the chatter but there seemed to be a hard ring in my throat that kept me from swallowing. Seated next to me was Grace-of-God Bearpaw, half Scottish, half Cherokee. Grace was a classmate but no friend of mine; we hardly ever talked and tonight he was as taciturn as ever.

ККККК During the meal he rested his boot on mine; I impatiently moved my foot away. But shortly his foot was touching mine again and he started to tap against my boot:ККККК - hold still, you idiot-' he spelled out- 'You have been chosen-it will be on your watch tonight-details later-eat and start talking-take a strip of adhesive tape on watch with you-six inches by a foot-repeat message back.'

ККККК I managed somehow to tap out my confirmation while continuing to pretend to eat.

Chapter 4

We relieved the watch at midnight. As soon as the watch section had marched away from our post I told Zeb what Grace had passed on to me at chow and asked him if he had the rest of my instructions. He had not. I wanted to talk but he cut me short; he seemed even more edgy than I was.

ККККК So I walked my post and tried to look alert. We were posted that night at the north end of the west rampart; our tour covered one of the Palace entrances. About an hour had passed when I heard a hiss from the dark doorway. I approached cautiously and made out a female form. She was too short to be Magdalene and I never knew who she was, for she shoved a piece of paper in my hand and faded back into the dark corridor.

ККККК I rejoined Zeb. 'What shall I do? Read it with my flash? That seems risky.'

ККККК 'Open it up.'

ККККК I did and found that it was covered with fine script that glowed in the darkness. I could read it but it was too dim to be picked up by any electronic eye. I read it:

ККККК At the middle of the watch exactly on the bell you will enter the Palace by the door where you received this. Forty paces inside, take the stair on your left; climb two flights. Proceed north fifty paces. The lighted doorway on your right leads to the Virgins' quarters, there will be a guard at this door. He will not resist you but you must use a paralysis bomb on him to give him an alibi. The cell you seek is at the far end of the central east & west corridor of the quarters. There will be a light over the door and a Virgin on guard. She is not one of us. You must disable her completely but you are forbidden to injure or kill her. Use the adhesive tape as gag and blindfold and tie her up with her clothes. Take her keys, enter the cell, and remove Sister Judith. She will probably be unconscious. Bring her to your post and hind her over to the warden of your watch.

ККККК You must make all haste from the time you paralyze the guard, as an eye may see you when you pass the lighted doorway and the alarm may sound at once.

ККККК Do not swallow this note; the ink is poisonous. Drop it in the incinerator chute at the head of the stairs.

ККККК Go with God.

ККККК Zeb read it over my shoulder. 'All you need,' he said grimly, 'is the ability to pass miracles at will. Scared?'

ККККК 'Yes.'

ККККК 'Want me to go along?'

ККККК 'No. I guess we had better carry out the orders as given.'

ККККК 'Yes, we had-if I know the Lodge Master. Besides, it just might happen that I might need to kill somebody rather suddenly while you are gone. I'll be covering your rear.'

ККККК 'I suppose so.'

ККККК 'Now let's shut up and bone military.' We went back to walking our post.

ККККК At the two muted strokes of the middle of the watch I propped my spear against the wall, took off my sword and corselet and helmet and the rest of the ceremonial junk we were required to carry but which would hamper me on this job. Zeb shoved a gauntleted hand in mine and squeezed. Then I was off.

ККККК Two-four-six-forty paces. I groped in the dark along the left wall and found the opening, felt around with my foot. Ah, there were the steps! I was already in a part of the Palace I had never been in; I moved by dead reckoning in the dark and hoped the person who had written my orders understood that. One flight, two flights-I almost fell on my face when I stepped on a 'top' step that wasn't there.

ККККК Where was the refuse chute? It should be at hand level and the instructions said 'head of the stairs'. I was debating frantically whether to show a light or chance keeping it when my left hand touched its latch; with a sigh of relief I chucked away the evidence that could have incriminated so many others. I started to turn away, then was immediately filled with panic. Was that really an incinerator chute? Could -it have been the panel for a delivery lift instead? I groped for it in the dark again, opened it and shoved my hand in.

ККККК My hand was scorched even through my gauntlet; I jerked it back with relief and decided to trust my instructions, have no more doubts. But forty paces north the passageway jogged and that was not mentioned in my orders; I stopped and reconnoitered very cautiously, peering around the jog at floor level.

ККККК Twenty-five feet away the guard and the doorway. He was supposed to be one of us but I took no chances. I slipped a bomb from my belt, set it by touch to minimum intensity, pulled the primer and counted off five seconds to allow for point blank range. Then I threw it and ducked back into the jog to protect myself from the rays.

ККККК I waited another five seconds and stuck my head around. The guard was slumped down on the floor, with his forehead bleeding slightly where it had struck a fragment of the bomb case. I hurried out and stepped over him, trying to run and keep quiet at the same time. The central passage of the Virgins' quarters was dim, with only blue night lights burning, but I could see and I reached the end of the passage quickly-then jammed on the brakes. The female guard at the cell there, instead of walking a post, was seated on the floor with her back to the door.

ККККК Probably she was dozing, for she did not look up at once. Then she did so, saw me, and I had no time to make plans; I dove for her. My left hand muffled her scream; with the edge of my left hand I chopped the side of her neck-not a killing stroke but I had no time to be gentle; she went limp.

ККККК Half the tape across her mouth first, then the other half across her eyes, then tear clothing from her to bind her-and hurry, hurry, hurry all the way, for a security man might already have monitored the eye that was certainly at the main doorway and have seen the unconscious guard. I found her keys on a chain around her waist and straightened up with a silent apology for what I had done to her. Her little body was almost childlike; she seemed even more helpless than Judith.

ККККК But I had no time for soft misgivings; I found the right key, got the door open-and then my darling was in my arms.

ККККК She was deep in a troubled sleep and probably drugged. She moaned as I picked her up but did not wake. But her gown slipped and I saw some of what they had done to her - I made a life vow, even as I ran, to pay it back seven times, if the man who did it could live that long.

ККККК The guard was still where 1 had left him. I thought I had gotten away with it without being monitored or waking anyone and was just stepping over him, when I heard a gasp from the corridor behind me. Why are women restless at night? If this woman hadn't gotten out of bed, no doubt to attend to something she should have taken care of before retiring, 1 might never have been seen at all.

ККККК КIt was too late to silence her, I simply ran. Once around the jog I was in welcome darkness but I overran the stair head, had to come back, and feel for it-then had to grope my way down step by step. I could hear shouts and high-pitched voices somewhere behind me.

ККККК Just as I reached ground level, turned and saw the portal outlined against the night sky before me, all the lights came on and the alarms began to clang. I ran the last few paces headlong and almost fell into the arms of Captain van Eyck. He scooped her out of my arms without a word and trotted away toward the corner of the building.

ККККК I stood staring after them half-wittedly when Zeb brought me to my senses by picking up my corselet and shoving it out for me to put in my arms. 'Snap out of it, man!' he hissed. 'That general alarm is for us. You're supposed to be on guard duty.'

ККККК He strapped on my sword as I buckled the corselet, then slapped my helmet on my head and shoved my spear into my left hand. Then we stood back to back in front of the portal, pistols drawn, safeties off, in drill-manual full alert. Pending further orders, we were not expected nor permitted to do anything else, since the alarm had not taken place on our post.

ККККК We stood like statues for several minutes. We could hear sounds of running feet and of challenges. The Officer of the Day ran past us into the Palace, buckling his corselet over his night clothes as he ran. I almost blasted him out of existence before he answered my challenge. Then the relief watch section swung past at double time with the relief warden at its head.

ККККК Gradually the excitement died away; the lights remained on but someone thought to shut off the alarm. Zeb ventured a whisper. 'What in Sheol happened? Did you muff it?'

ККККК 'Yes and no.' I told him about the restless Sister.

ККККК Hmmph! Well, son, this ought to teach you not to fool around with women when you are on duty.'

ККККК 'Confound it, 1 wasn't fooling with her. She just popped out of her cell.'

ККККК 'I didn't mean tonight,' he said bleakly.

ККККК I shut up.

ККККК About half an hour later, long before the end of the watch, the relief section tramped back. Their warden halted them, our two reliefs fell out and we fell in the empty places. We marched back to the guardroom, stopping twice more on the way to drop reliefs and pick up men from our own section.

Chapter 5

We were halted in the inner parade facing the guardroom door and left at attention. There we stood for fifty mortal minutes while the officer of the Day strolled around and looked us over. Once a man in the rear rank shifted his weight. It would have gone unnoticed at dress parade, even in the presence of the Prophet, but tonight the Officer of the Day bawled him out at once and Captain van Eyck noted down his name.

ККККК Master Peter looked just as angry as his superior undoubtedly was. He passed out several more gigs, even stopped in front of me and told the guardroom orderly to put me down for 'boots not properly shined'-which was a libel, unless I had scuffed them in my efforts. I dared not look down to see but stared him in the eye and said nothing, while he stared back coldly.

ККККК But his manner recalled to me Zeb's lecture about intrigue. Van Eyck's manner was perfectly that of a subordinate officer let down and shamed by his own men; how should I feel if I were in fact new-born innocent?

ККККК Angry, I decided-angry and self-righteous. Interested and stimulated by the excitement at first, then angry at being kept standing at attention like a plebe. They were trying to soften us up by the strained wait; how would I have felt about it, say two months ago? Smugly sure of my own virtue, it would have offended me and humiliated me-to be kept standing like a pariah waiting to whine for the privilege of a ration card-to be placed on the report like a cadet with soup on his jacket.

ККККК By the time the Commander of the Guard arrived almost an hour later I was white-lipped with anger. The process was synthetic but the emotion was real. I had never really liked our Commander anyway. He was a short, supercilious little man with a cold eye and a way of looking through his junior officers instead of at them. Now he stood in front of us with his priest's robes thrown back over his shoulders and his thumbs caught in his sword belt.

ККККК He glared at us. 'Heaven help me, Angels of the Lord indeed,' he said softly into the dead silence-then barked, 'Well?'

ККККК No one answered.

ККККК 'Speak up!' he shouted. 'Some one of you knows about this. Answer me! Or would you all rather face the Question?'

ККККК A murmur ran down our ranks-but no one spoke.

ККККК He ran his eyes over us again. His eye caught mine and I stared back truculently. 'Lyle!'

ККККК 'Yes, reverend sir?'

ККККК 'What do you know of this?'

ККККК 'I know that I would like to sit down, reverend sir!'

ККККК He scowled at me, then his eye got a gleam of cold amusement. 'Better to stand before me, my son, than to sit before the Inquisitor.' But he passed on and heckled the man next to me.

ККККК He badgered us endlessly, but Zeb and I seemed to receive neither more nor less attention than the others. At last he seemed to give up and directed the Officer of the Day to dismiss us. I was not fooled; it was a certainty that every word spoken had been recorded, every expression cinemographed, and that analysts were plotting the data against each of our past behavior patterns before we reached our quarters.

ККККК But Zeb is a wonder. He was gossiping about the night's events, speculating innocently about what could have caused the hurrah, even before we reached our room. I tried to answer in what I had decided was my own 'proper' reaction and groused about the way we had been treated. 'We're officers and gentlemen,' I complained. 'If he thinks we are guilty of something, he should prefer formal charges.'

ККККК I went to bed still griping, then lay awake and worried. I tried to tell myself that Judith must have reached a safe place, or else the brass would not be in the dark about it. But I dropped off to sleep still fretting.

ККККК I felt someone touch me and I woke instantly. Then I relaxed when I realized that my hand was being gripped in the recognition grip of the lodge. 'Quiet,' a voice I did not recognize whispered in my ear. 'I must give you certain treatment to protect you.' I felt the bite of a hypodermic in my arm; in a few seconds I was relaxed and dreamy. The voice whispered, 'You saw nothing unusual on watch tonight. Until the alarm was sounded your watch was quite without incident -' I don't know how long the voice droned on.

ККККК I was awakened a second time by someone shaking me roughly. I burrowed into my pillow and said, 'Go 'way! I'm going to skip breakfast.'

ККККК Somebody struck me between my shoulder blades; I turned and sat up, blinking. There were four armed men in the room, blasters drawn and pointed at me. 'Come along!' ordered the one nearest to me.

ККККК They were wearing the uniform of Angels but without unit insignia. Each head was covered by a black mask that exposed only the eyes-and by these masks I knew them: proctors of the Grand Inquisitor. I hadn't really believed it could happen to me. Not to me not to Johnnie Lyle who had always behaved himself, been a credit to his parish and a pride to his mother. No! The Inquisition was a boogieman, but a boogieman for sinners-not for John Lyle.

ККККК But I knew with sick horror when I saw those masks that I was already a dead man, that my time had come and here at last was the nightmare that 1 could not wake up from.

ККККК But I was not dead yet. From somewhere I got the courage to pretend anger. 'What are you doing here?'

ККККК 'Come along,' the faceless voice repeated.

ККККК 'Show me your order. You can't just drag an officer out of his bed any time you feel -'

ККККК The leader gestured with his pistol; two of them grabbed my arms and hustled me toward the door, while the fourth fell in behind. But I am fairly strong; I made it hard for them while protesting, 'You've got to let me get dressed at least. You've no right to haul me away half naked, no matter what the emergency is. I've a right to appear in the uniform of my rank.

ККККК Surprisingly the appeal worked. The leader stopped. 'Okay. But snap into it!'

ККККК I stalled as much as I dared while going through the motions of hurrying-jamming a zipper on my boot, fumbling clumsily with all my dressing. How could I leave some sort of a message for Zeb? Any sort of a sign that would show the brethren what had happened to me?

ККККК At last I got a notion, not a good one but the best I could manage. I dragged clothing out of my wardrobe, some that I would need, some that I did not, and with the bunch a sweater. In the course of picking out what I must wear I managed to arrange the sleeves of the sweater in the position taken by a lodge brother in giving the Grand Hailing Sign of Distress. Then 1 picked up loose clothing and started to put some of it back in the wardrobe; the leader immediately shoved his blaster in my ribs and said, 'Never mind that. You're dressed.'

ККККК I gave in, dropping the meaningless clothing on the floor. The sweater remained spread out as a symbol to him who could read it. As they led me away I prayed that our room servant would not arrive and 'tidy' it out of meaning before Zeb spotted it.

ККККК They blindfolded me as soon as we reached the inner Palace. We went down six flights, four below ground level as I figured it, and reached a compartment filled with the breathless silence of a vault. The hoodwink was stripped from my eyes. I blinked.

ККККК 'Sit down, my boy, sit down and make yourself comfortable.' I found myself looking into the face of the Grand Inquisitor himself, saw his warm friendly smile and his collie-dog eyes.

ККККК His gentle voice continued, 'I'm sorry to get you so rudely out of a warm bed, but there is certain information needed by our Holy Church. Tell me, my son, do you fear the Lord? Oh, of course you do; your piety is well known. So you won't mind helping me with this little matter even though it makes you late for breakfast. It's to the greater glory of God.' He turned to his masked and black-robed assistant questioner, hovering behind him. 'Make him ready-and pray be gentle.'

ККККК I was handled quickly and roughly, but not painfully. They touched me as if they regarded me as so much lifeless matter to be manipulated as impersonally as machinery. They stripped me to the waist and fastened things to me, a rubber bandage tight around my right arm, electrodes in my fists which they taped closed, another pair of electrodes to my wrists, a third pair at my temples, a tiny mirror to the pulse in my throat. At a control board on the left wall one of them made some adjustments, then threw a switch and on the opposite wall a shadow show of my inner workings sprang into being.

ККККК A little light danced to my heart beat, a wiggly line on an iconoscope display showed my blood pressure's rise and fall, another like it moved with my breathing, and there were several others that I did not understand. I turned my head away and concentrated on remembering the natural logarithms from one to ten.

ККККК 'You see our methods, son. Efficiency and kindness, those are our watch words. Now tell me-Where did you put her?'

ККККК I broke off with the logarithm of eight. 'Put who?'

ККККК 'Why did you do it?'

ККККК 'I am sorry. Most Reverend Sir. I don't know what it is I am supposed to have done.'

ККККК Someone slapped me hard, from behind. The lights on the wall jiggled and the Inquisitor studied them thoughtfully, then spoke to an assistant. 'Inject him.'

ККККК Again my skin was pricked by a hypodermic. They let me rest while the drug took hold; I spent the time continuing with the effort of recalling logarithms. But that soon became too difficult; I grew drowsy and lackadaisical, nothing seemed to matter. I felt a mild and childish curiosity about my surroundings but no fear. Then the soft voice of the Inquisitor broke into my reverie with a question. I can't remember what it was but I am sure I answered with the first thing that came into my head.

ККККК I have no way of telling how long this went on. In time they brought me back to sharp reality with another injection. The Inquisitor was examining a slight bruise and a little purple dot on my right forearm. He glanced up. 'What caused this, my boy?'

ККККК 'I don't know, Most Reverend Sir.' At the instant it was truth.

ККККК He shook his head regretfully. 'Don't be na•ve, my son-and don't assume that I am. Let me explain something to you. What you sinners never realize is that the Lord always prevails. Always. Our methods are based in loving-kindness but they proceed with the absolute certainty of a falling stone, and with the result equally preordained.

ККККК 'First we ask the sinner to surrender himself to the Lord and answer from the goodness that remains in his heart. When that loving appeal fails-as it did with you-then we use the skills God has given us to open the unconscious mind. That is usually as far as the Question need go-unless some agent of Satan has been there before us and has tampered with the sacred tabernacle of the mind.

ККККК 'Now, my son, I have just returned from a walk through your mind. I found much there that was commendable, but I found also, a murky darkness, a wall that had been erected by some other sinner, and what I want-what the Church needs-is behind that wall.'

ККККК Perhaps I showed a trace of satisfaction or perhaps the lights gave me away, for he smiled sadly and added, 'No wall of Satan can stop the Lord. When we find such an obstacle, there are two things to do: given time enough I could remove that wall gently, delicately, stone by stone, without any damage to your mind. I wish I had time to, I really do, for you are a good boy at heart, John Lyle, and you do not belong with the sinners.

ККККК 'But while eternity is long, time is short; there is the second way. We can disregard the false barrier in the unconscious mind and make a straightforward assault on the conscious mind, with the Lord's banners leading us.' He glanced away from me. 'Prepare him.'

ККККК His faceless crew strapped a metal helmet on my head, some other arrangements were made at the control board. 'Now look here, John Lyle.' He pointed to a diagram on the wall. 'No doubt you know that the human nervous system is partly electrical in nature. There is a schematic representation of a brain, that lower part is the thalamus; covering it is the cortex. Each of the sensory centers is marked as you can see. Your own electrodynamic characteristics have been analyzed; I am sorry to say that it will now be necessary to heterodyne your normal senses.'

ККККК He started to turn away, turned back. 'By the way, John Lyle, I have taken the trouble to minister to you myself because, at this stage, my assistants through less experience in the Lord's work than my humble self sometimes mistake zeal for skill and transport the sinner unexpectedly to his reward. I don't want that to happen to you. You are merely a strayed lamb and I purpose saving you.'

ККККК 'I said, 'Thank you, Most Reverend Sir.'

ККККК 'Don't thank me, thank the Lord I serve. However,' he went on, frowning slightly, 'this frontal assault on the mind, while necessary, is unavoidably painful. You will forgive me?'

ККККК I hesitated only an instant. 'I forgive you, holy sir.'

ККККК He glanced at the lights and said wryly, 'A falsehood. But you are forgiven that falsehood; it was well intended.' He nodded at his silent helpers. 'Commence.'

ККККК A light blinded me, an explosion crashed in my ears. My right leg jerked with pain, then knotted in an endless cramp. My throat contracted; I choked and tried to throw up. Something struck me in the solar plexus; I doubled up and could not catch my breath. 'Where did you put her?' A noise started low and soft, climbed higher and higher, increasing in pitch and decibels, until it was a thousand dull saws, a million squeaking slate pencils, then wavered in a screeching ululation that tore at the thin wall of reason. 'Who helped you?' Agonizing heat was at my crotch; I could not get away from it. 'Why did you do it?' I itched all over, intolerably, and tried to tear at my skin-but my arms would not work. The itching was worse than pain; I would have welcomed pain in lieu of scratching. 'Where is she?'

ККККК Light...sound...pain...heat...convulsions...cold...falling...light and pain...cold and falling...nausea and sound. 'Do you love the Lord?' Searing heat and shocking cold...pain and a pounding in my head that made me scream-'Where did you take her? Who else was in it? Give up and save your immortal soul.' Pain and an endless nakedness to the outer darkness.

ККККК I suppose I fainted.

ККККК Some one was slapping me across the mouth. 'Wake up, John Lyle, and confess! Zebadiah Jones has given you away.'

ККККК I blinked and said nothing. It was not necessary to simulate a dazed condition, nor could I have managed it. But the words had been a tremendous shock and my brain was racing, trying to get into gear. Zeb? Old Zeb? Poor old Zeb! Hadn't they had time to give him hypnotic treatment, too? It did not occur to me even then to suspect that Zeb had broken under torture alone; I simply assumed that they had been able to tap his unconscious mind. I wondered if he were already dead and remembered that I had gotten him into this, against his good sense. I prayed for his soul and prayed that he would forgive me.

ККККК My head jerked to another roundhouse slap. 'Wake up! You can hear me-Jones has revealed your sins.'

ККККК 'Revealed what?' I mumbled.

ККККК The Grand Inquisitor motioned his assistants aside and leaned over me, his kindly face full of concern. 'Please, my son, do this for the Lord-and for me. You have been brave in trying to protect your fellow sinners from the fruits of their folly, but they failed you and your stiff-necked courage no longer means anything. But don't go to judgment with this on your soul. Confess, and let death come with your sins forgiven.'

ККККК 'So you mean to kill me?'

ККККК He looked faintly annoyed. 'I did not say that. I know that you do not fear death. What you should fear is to meet your Maker with your sins still on your soul. Open your heart and confess.'

ККККК 'Most Reverend Sir. I have nothing to confess.'

ККККК He turned away from me and gave orders in low, gentle tones. 'Continue. The mechanicals this time; I don't wish to burn out his brain.'

ККККК There is no point in describing what he meant by 'the mechanicals' and no sense in making this account needlessly grisly. His methods differed in no important way from torture techniques used in the Middle Ages and even more recently-except that his knowledge of the human nervous system was incomparably greater and his knowledge of behavior psychology made his operations more adroit. In addition, he and his assistants behaved as if they were completely free of any sadistic pleasure in their work; it made them coolly efficient.

ККККК But let's skip the details.

ККККК I have no notion of how long it took. I must have passed out repeatedly, for my clearest memory is of catching a bucket of ice water in the face not once but over and over again, like a repeating nightmare-each time followed by the inevitable hypo. I don't think I told them anything of any importance while I was awake and the hypno instructions to my unconscious may have protected me while I was out of my head. I seem to remember trying to make up a lie about sins I had never committed; I don't remember what came of it.

ККККК I recall vaguely coming semi-awake once and hearing a voice say, 'He can take more. His heart is strong.'

I was pleasantly dead for a long time, but finally woke up as if from a long sleep. I was stiff and when I tried to shift in bed my side hurt me. I opened my eyes and looked around; I was in bed in a small, windowless but cheerful room. A sweet-faced young woman in a nurse's uniform came quickly to my side and felt my pulse.

ККККК 'Hello.'

ККККК 'Hello,' she answered. 'How are we now? Better?'

ККККК 'What happened?' I asked. 'Is it over? Or is this just a rest?'

ККККК 'Quiet,' she admonished. 'You are still too weak to talk. But it's over-you are safe among the brethren.'

ККККК 'I was rescued?'

ККККК 'Yes. Now be quiet.' She held up my head and gave me something to drink. I went back to sleep.

ККККК It took me days to convalesce and catch up with events. The infirmary in which I woke up was part of a series of subbasements under the basement proper of a department store in New Jerusalem; there was some sort of underground connection between it and the lodge room under the Palace-just where and how I could not say; I was never in it. While conscious, I mean.

ККККК Zeb came to see me as soon as I was allowed to have visitors. I tried to raise up in bed. 'Zeb! Zeb boy-I thought you were dead!'

ККККК 'Who? Me?' He came over and shook my left hand. 'What made you think that?'

ККККК I told him about the dodge the Inquisitor had tried to pull on me. He shook his head. 'I wasn't even arrested. Thanks to you, pal. Johnnie, I'll never call you stupid again. If you hadn't had that flash of genius to rig your sweater so that I could read the sign in it, they might have pulled us both in and neither one of us have gotten out of it alive. As it was, I went straight to Captain van Eyck. He told me to lie doggo in the lodge room and then planned your rescue.'

ККККК I wanted to ask how that had been pulled off but my mind jumped to a more important subject. 'Zeb, where is Judith? Can't you find her and bring her to see me? My nurse just smiles and tells me to rest.'

ККККК He looked surprised. 'Didn't they tell you?'

ККККК 'Tell me what? No, I haven't seen anybody but the nurse and the doctor and they treat me like an idiot. Don't keep me in suspense, Zeb. Did anything go wrong? She's all right-isn't she?'

ККККК 'Oh, sure! But she's in Mexico by now-we got a report by sensitive circuit two days ago.'

ККККК In my physical weakness I almost wept. 'Gone! Why, what a dirty, scabby trick! Why couldn't they have waited until I was well enough to tell her good-by?'

ККККК Zeb said quickly, 'Hey, look, stupid-no, forget that "stupid"; you aren't. Look, old man, your calendar is mixed up. She was on her way before you were rescued, before we were even sure you could be rescued. You don't think the brethren could bring her back just to let you two bill and coo, do you?'

ККККК I thought about it and calmed down. It made sense, even though I was bitterly disappointed. He changed the subject. 'How do you feel?'

ККККК 'Oh, pretty good.'

ККККК 'They tell me you get that cast off your leg tomorrow.'

ККККК 'So? They haven't told me.' I twisted, trying to get comfortable. 'I'm almost more anxious to get shot of this corset, but the doc says I'll have to wear it for several weeks yet.'

ККККК 'How about your hand? Can you bend your fingers?'

ККККК I tried it. 'Fairly well. I may have to write left-handed for a while.'

ККККК 'All in all, it looks like you're too mean to die, old son. By the way, if it's any consolation to you, the laddy boy who worked on Judith got slightly dead in the raid in which you were rescued.'

ККККК 'He was? Well, I'm sorry. I had planned to save him for myself.'

ККККК 'No doubt, but you would have had to take your place in line, if he had lived. Lots of people wanted him. Me, for example.'

ККККК 'But I had thought of something special for him-I was going to make him bite his nails.'

ККККК 'Bite his nails?' Zeb looked puzzled.

ККККК 'Until he reached his elbows. Follow me?'

ККККК 'Oh.' Zeb grinned sourly. 'Not nearly imaginative enough, boy. But he's dead, we can't touch him.'

ККККК 'He's infernally lucky. Zeb, why didn't you arrange to get him yourself? Or did you, and things were just too hurried to let you do a proper job?'

ККККК 'Me? Why, I wasn't on the rescue raid. I haven't been back in the Palace at all.'

ККККК 'Huh?'

ККККК 'You didn't think I was still on duty, did you?'

ККККК 'I haven't had time to think about it.'

ККККК 'Well, naturally I couldn't go back after I ducked out to avoid arrest; I was through. No, my fine fellow, you and I are both deserters from the United States Army-with every cop and every postmaster in the country anxious to earn a deserter's reward by turning us in.'

ККККК I whistled softly and let the implications of his remark sink in.

Chapter 6

I had joined the Cabal on impulse. Certainly, under the stress of falling in love with Judith and in the excitement of the events that had come rushing over me as a result of meeting her, I had no time for calm consideration. I had not broken with the Church as a result of philosophical decision.

ККККК Of course I had known logically that to join the Cabal was to break with all my past ties, but it had not yet hit me emotionally. What was it going to be like never again to wear the uniform of an officer and a gentleman? I had been proud to walk down the street, to enter a public place, aware that all eyes were on me.

ККККК I put it out of my mind. The share was in the furrow, my hand was on the plow; there could be no turning back. I was in this until we won or until we were burned for treason.

ККККК I found Zeb looking at me quizzically. 'Cold feet, Johnnie?'

ККККК 'No. But I'm still getting adjusted. Things have moved fast.'

ККККК 'I know. Well, we can forget about retired pay, and our class numbers at the Point no longer matter.' He took off his Academy ring, chucked it in the air, caught it and shoved it into his pocket. 'But there is work to be done, old lad, and you will find that this is a military outfit, too-a real one. Personally, I've had my fill of spit-and-polish and I don't care if I never again hear that "Sound off" and "Officers, center!" and "Watchman, what of the night?" manure again. The brethren will make full use of our best talents-and the fight really matters.'

ККККК Master Peter van Eyck came to see me a couple of days later. He sat on the edge of my bed and folded his hands over his paunch and looked at me. 'Feeling better, son?'

ККККК 'I could get up if the doctor would let me.'

ККККК 'Good. We're shorthanded; the less time a trained officer spends on the sick list the better.' He paused and chewed his lip. 'But, son, I don't know just what to do with you.'

ККККК 'Eh? Sir?'

ККККК 'Frankly, you should never have been admitted to the Order in the first place-a military command should not mess around with affairs of the heart. It confuses motivations, causes false decisions. Twice, because we took you in, we have had to show our strength in sorties that-from a strictly military standpoint-should never have happened.'

ККККК I did not answer, there was no answer-he was right. My face was hot with embarrassment.

ККККК 'Don't blush about it,' he added kindly. 'Contrariwise, it is good for the morale of the brethren to strike back occasionally. The point is, what to do with you? You are a stout fellow, you stood up well-but do you really understand the ideals of freedom and human dignity we are fighting for?'

ККККК I barely hesitated. 'Master-I may not be much of a brain, and the Lord knows it's true that I've never thought much about politics. But I know which side I'm on!'

ККККК He nodded. 'That's enough. We can't expect each man to be his own Tom Paine.'

ККККК 'His own what?'

ККККК 'Thomas Paine. But then you've never heard of him, of course. Look him up in our library when you get a chance. Very inspiring stuff. Now about your assignment. It would be easy enough to put you on a desk job here-your friend Zebadiah has been working sixteen hours a day trying to straighten out our filing system. But I can't waste you two on clerical jobs. What is your savvy subject, your specialty?'

ККККК 'Why, I haven't had any P.G. work yet, sir.'

ККККК 'I know. But what did you stand high in? How were you in applied miracles, and mob psychology?'

ККККК 'I was fairly good in miracles, but I guess I'm too wooden for psychodynamics. Ballistics was my best subject.'

ККККК 'Well, we can't have everything. I could use a technician in morale and propaganda, but if you can't, you can't.'

ККККК 'Zeb stood one in his class in mob psychology, Master. The Commandant urged him to aim for the priesthood.'

ККККК 'I know and we'll use him, but not here. He is too much interested in Sister Magdalene; I don't believe in letting couples work together. It might distort their judgments in a pinch. Now about you. I wonder if you wouldn't make a good assassin?'

ККККК He asked the question seriously but almost casually; I had trouble believing it. I had been taught-I had always taken it for granted that assassination was one of the unspeakable sins, like incest, or blasphemy. I blurted out. 'The brethren use assassination?'

ККККК 'Eh? Why not?' Van Eyck studied my face. 'I keep forgetting. John, would you kill the Grand Inquisitor if you got a chance?'

ККККК 'Well-yes, of course. But I'd want to do it in a fair fight.'

ККККК 'Do you think you will ever be given that chance? Now let's suppose we are back at the day Sister Judith was arrested by him. Suppose you could stop him by killing him-but only by poisoning him, or knifing him in the back. What would you do?'

ККККК I answered savagely, 'I would have killed him!'

ККККК 'Would you have felt any shame, any guilt?'

ККККК 'None!'

ККККК 'So. But he is only one of many in this foulness. The man who eats meat cannot sneer at the butcher-and every bishop, every minister of state, every man who benefits from this tyranny, right up to the Prophet himself, is an accomplice before the fact in every murder committed by the inquisitors. The man who condones a sin because he enjoys the result of the sin is equally guilty of the sin. Do you see that?'

ККККК Oddly enough, I did see it, for it was orthodox doctrine as I had learned it. I had choked over its new application. But Master Peter was still talking: 'But we don't indulge in vengeance-vengeance still belongs to the Lord. I would never send you against the Inquisitor because you might be tempted to exult in it personally. We don't tempt a man with sin as a bait. What we do do, what we are doing, is engaging in a calculated military operation in a war already commenced. One key man is often worth a regiment; we pick out that key man and kill him. The bishop in one diocese may be such a man; the bishop in the next state may be just a bungler, propped up by the system. We kill the first, let the second stay where he is. Gradually we are eliminating their best brains. Now-'He leaned toward me. '- do you want a job picking off those key men? It's very important work.'

ККККК It seemed to me that, in this business, someone was continually making me face up to facts, instead of letting me dodge unpleasant facts the way most people manage to do throughout their lives. Could I stomach such an assignment? Could I refuse it-since Master Peter had implied at least that assassins were volunteers-refuse it and try to ignore in my heart that it was going on and that I was condoning it?

ККККК Master Peter was right; the man who buys the meat is brother to the butcher. It was squeamishness, not morals-like the man who favors capital punishment but is himself too 'good' to fit the noose or swing the axe. Like the person who regards war as inevitable and in some circumstances moral, but who avoids military service because he doesn't like the thought of killing.

ККККК Emotional infants, ethical morons-the left hand must know what the right hand doeth, and the heart is responsible for both. I answered almost at once, 'Master Peter, I am ready to serve . . . that way or whatever the brethren decide I can do best.'

ККККК 'Good man!' He relaxed a bit and went on, 'Between ourselves, it's the job I offer to every new recruit when I'm not sure that he understands that this is not a ball game, but a cause to which he must commit himself without any reservation-his life, his fortune, his sacred honor. We have no place for the man who wants to give orders but who won't clean the privy.'

ККККК I felt relieved. 'Then you weren't seriously picking me out for assassination work?'

ККККК 'Eh? Usually I am not; few men are fitted for it. But in your case I am quite serious, because we already know that you have an indispensable and not very common qualification.'

ККККК I tried to think what was so special about me and could not. 'Sir?'

ККККК 'Well you'll get caught eventually, of course. Three point seven accomplished missions per assassin is what we are running now-a good score, but we ought to do better as suitable men are so scarce. But with you we know already that when they do catch you and put you to the Question, you won't crack.'

ККККК My face must have shown my feelings. The Question? Again? I was still half dead from the first time. Master Peter said kindly, 'Of course you won't have to go up against it again to the fullest. We always protect assassins; we fix it so that they can suicide easily. You don't need to worry.'

ККККК Believe me, having once suffered the Question, his assurance to me did not seem calloused: it was a real comfort. 'How, sir?'

ККККК 'Eh? A dozen different ways. Our surgeons can booby-trap you so that you can die at will in the tightest bonds anyone can put on you. There is the old hollow tooth, of course, with cyanide or such-but the proctors are getting wise to that; sometimes they gag a man's mouth open. But there are many ways. For example-' He stretched his arms wide and bent them back, but not far. '-if I were to cramp my arms backward in a position a man never assumes without very considerable conscious effort, a little capsule between my shoulder blades would rupture and I would make my last report. Yet you could pound me on the back all day and never break it.'

ККККК 'Uh. . . were you an assassin, sir?'

ККККК 'Me? How could I be, in my job? But all of our people in positions of maximum exposure are loaded-it's the least we can do for them. Besides that, I've got a bomb in my belly-He patted his paunch. '-that will take a roomful of people with me if it seems desirable.'

ККККК 'I could have used one of those last week,' I said emphatically.

ККККК 'You're here, aren't you? Don't despise your luck. If you need one, you'll have one.' He stood up and prepared to leave. 'In the meantime, don't give any special thought to being selected as an executioner. The psychological evaluation group will still have to pass on you and they are hard men to convince.'

ККККК Despite his words, I did think about it, of course, though it ceased to worry me. I was put on light duty shortly thereafter and spent several days reading proof on the Iconoclast, a smug, mildly critical, little reform-from-within paper which the Cabal used to pave the way for its field missionaries. It was a 'Yes, but-' paper, overtly loyal to the Prophet but just the sort of thing to arouse doubt in the minds of the stiff-necked and intolerant. Its acid lay in how a thing was said, not what was said. I had even seen copies of it around the Palace.

ККККК I also got acquainted with some of the ramifications of the amazing underground headquarters at New Jerusalem. The department store above us was owned by a Past Grand Master and was an extremely important means of liaison with the outside world. The shelves of the store fed us and clothed us; through taps into the visiphone circuits serving the store commercially we had connection with the outside and could even put in transcontinental calls if the message could be phrased or coded to allow for the likelihood that it would be monitored. The owner's delivery trucks could be used to spirit fugitives to or from our clandestine quarters-I learned that Judith started her flight that way, with a bill of lading that described her as gum boots. The store's manifold commercial operations were a complete and plausible blind for our extensive operations.

ККККК Successful revolution is Big Business-make no mistake about that. In a modern, complex, and highly industrialized state, revolution is not accomplished by a handful of conspirators whispering around a guttering candle in a deserted ruin. It requires countless personnel, supplies, modern machinery and modern weapons. And to handle these factors successfully there must be loyalty, secrecy, and superlative staff organization.

ККККК I was kept busy but my work was fill-in work, since I was awaiting assignment. I had time to dig into the library and I looked up Tom Paine, which led me to Patrick Henry and Thomas Jefferson and others-a whole new world was opened up to me. I had trouble at first in admitting the possibility of what I read; I think perhaps of all the things a police state can do to its citizens, distorting history is possibly the most pernicious. For example, I learned for the first time that the United States had not been ruled by a bloodthirsty emissary of Satan before the First Prophet arose in his wrath and cast him out-but had been a community of free men, deciding their own affairs by peaceful consent. I don't mean that the first republic had been a scriptural paradise, but it hadn't been anything like what I had learned in school.

ККККК For the first time in my life I was reading things which had not been approved by the Prophet's censors, and the impact on my mind was devastating. Sometimes I would glance over my shoulder to see who was watching me, frightened in spite of myself. I began to sense faintly that secrecy is the keystone of all tyranny. Not force, but secrecy . . . censorship. When any government, or any church for that matter, undertakes to say to its subjects, 'This you may not read, this you must not see, this you are forbidden to know', the end result is tyranny and oppression, no matter how holy the motives. Mighty little force is needed to control a man whose mind has been hoodwinked; contrariwise, no amount of force can control a free man, a man whose mind is free. No, not the rack, not fission bombs, not anything-you can't conquer a free man; the most you can do is kill him.

ККККК My thoughts did not then fall into syllogisms; my head was filled with an inchoate spate of new ideas, each more exciting than the last. I discovered that travel between the planets, almost a myth in my world, had not stopped because the First Prophet had forbidden it as a sin against the omnipotence of God; it had ceased because it had gone into the red financially and the Prophet's government would not subsidize it. There was even an implied statement that the 'infidels' (I still used that word in my mind) still sent out an occasional research ship and that there were human beings even now on Mars and Venus.

ККККК I grew so excited at that notion that I almost forgot the plight we were all in. If I had not been chosen for the Angels of the Lord, I would probably have gone into rocketry. I was good at anything of that sort, the things that called for quick reflexes combined with knowledge of the mathematical and mechanical arts. Maybe someday the United States would have space ships again. Perhaps I

ККККК But the thought was crowded out by a dozen new ones. Foreign newspapers-why, I had not even been sure the infidels could read and write. The London Times made unbelievable and exciting reading. I gradually got it through my head that the Britishers apparently did not now eat human flesh, if indeed they ever had. They seemed remarkably like us, except that they were shockingly prone to do as they pleased-there were even letters in the Times criticizing the government. And there was another letter signed by a bishop of their infidel church, criticizing the people for not attending services. I don't know which one puzzled me the more; both of them seemed to indicate a situation of open anarchy.

ККККК Master Peter informed me that the psych board had turned me down for assassination duty. I found myself both relieved and indignant. What was wrong with me that they would not trust me with the job? It seemed like a slur on my character-by then.

ККККК 'Take it easy,' Van Eyck advised dryly. 'They made a dummy run based on your personality profile and it figured almost an even chance that you would be caught your first time out. We don't like to expend men that fast.'

ККККК 'But -'

ККККК 'Peace, lad. I'm sending you out to General Headquarters for assignment.'

ККККК 'General Headquarters? Where is that?'

ККККК 'You'll know when you get there. Report to the staff metamorphist.'

ККККК Dr Mueller was the staff face-changer; I asked him what he had in mind for me. 'How do I know until I find out what you are?' He had me measured and photographed, recorded my voice, analyzed my walk, and had a punched card made up of my physical characteristics. 'Now we'll find your twin brother.' I watched the card sorter go through several thousand cards and I was beginning to think I was a unique individual, resembling no one else sufficiently to permit me to be disguised successfully, when two cards popped out almost together. Before the machine whirred to a stop there were five cards in the basket.

ККККК 'A nice assortment,' Dr Mueller mused as he looked them over, 'one synthetic, two live ones, a deader, and one female. We can't use the woman for this job, but we'll keep it in mind; it might come in very handy someday to know that there is a female citizen you could impersonate successfully.'

ККККК 'What's a synthetic?' I enquired.

ККККК 'Eh? Oh, it's a composite personality, very carefully built from faked records and faked backgrounds. A risky business-it involves tampering with the national archives. I don't like to use a synthetic, for there really isn't any way to fill in completely the background of a man who doesn't exist. I'd much rather patch into the real background of a real person.'

ККККК 'Then why use synthetics at all?'

ККККК 'Sometimes we have to. When we have to move a refugee in a hurry, for example, and there is no real person we can match him with. So we try to keep a fairly broad assortment of synthetics built up. Now let me see,' he added, shuffling the cards, 'we have two to choose from -'

ККККК 'Just a second, Doctor,' I interrupted, 'why do you keep dead men in the file?'

ККККК 'Oh, they aren't legally dead. When one of the brethren dies and it is possible to conceal the fact, we maintain his public personality for possible future use. Now then,' he continued, 'can you sing?'

ККККК 'Not very well.'

ККККК 'This one is out, then. He's a concert baritone. I can make a lot of changes in you, but I can't make a trained singer of you. It's Hobson's choice. How would you like to be Adam Reeves, commercial traveler in textiles?' He held up a card.

ККККК 'Do you think I could get away with it?'

ККККК 'Certainly-when I get through with you.'

ККККК A fortnight later my own mother wouldn't have known me. Nor, I believe, could Reeves's mother have told me from her son. The second week Reeves himself was available to work with me. I grew to like him very much while I was studying him. He was a mild, quiet man with a retiring disposition, which always made me think of him as small although he was of course, my height, weight, and bony structure. We resembled each other only superficially in the face.

ККККК At first, that is. A simple operation made my ears stand out a little more than nature intended; at the same time they trimmed my ear lobes. Reeves's nose was slightly aquiline; a little wax under the skin at the bridge caused mine to match. It was necessary to cap several of my teeth to make mine match his dental repair work; that was the only part I really minded. My complexion had to be bleached a shade or two; Reeves's work did not take him out into the sun much.

ККККК But the most difficult part of the physical match was artificial fingerprints. An opaque, flesh-colored flexible plastic was painted on my finger pads, then my fingers were sealed into molds made from Reeves's fingertips. It was touchy work; one finger was done over seven times before Dr Mueller would pass it.

ККККК That was only the beginning; now I had to learn to act like Reeves-his walk, his gestures, the way he laughed, his table manners. I doubt if I could ever make a living as an actor-my coach certainly agreed and said so.

ККККК 'Confound it, Lyle, won't you ever get it? Your life will depend on it. You've got to learn!'

ККККК ~But I thought I was acting just like Reeves,' I objected feebly.

ККККК 'Acting! That's just the trouble-you were acting like Reeves. And it was as phony as a false leg. You've got to be Reeves. Try it. Worry about your sales record, think about your last trip, think about commissions and discounts and quotas. Go on. Try it.'

ККККК Every spare minute I studied the current details of Reeves's business affairs, for I would actually have to sell textiles in his place. I had to learn a whole trade and I discovered that there was more to it than carrying around samples and letting a retailer make his choice-and I didn't know a denier from a continuous fibre. Before I finished I acquired a new respect for businessmen. I had always thought that buying and selling was simple; I was wrong again. I had to use the old phonographic tutor stunt and wear earphones to bed. I never sleep well that way and would wake up each morning with a splitting head and with my ears, still tender from the operations, sore as two boils.

ККККК But it worked, all of it. In two short weeks I was Adam Reeves, commercial traveler, right down to my thoughts.

Chapter 7

'Lyle,' Master Peter van Eyck said to me, 'Reeves is due to catch the Comet for Cincinnati this afternoon. Are you ready?'

ККККК 'Yes, sir.'

ККККК 'Good. Repeat your orders.'

ККККК 'Sir, I am to carry out my-I mean his-selling schedule from here to the coast. I check in at the San Francisco office of United Textiles, then proceed on his vacation. In Phoenix, Arizona, I am to attend church services at the South Side Tabernacle. I am to hang around afterwards and thank the priest for the inspiration of his sermon; in the course of which I am to reveal myself to him by means of the accustomed usages of our order. He will enable me to reach General Headquarters.'

ККККК 'All correct. In addition to transferring you for duty, I am going to make use of you as a messenger. Report to the psychodynamics laboratory at once. The chief technician will instruct you.'

ККККК 'Very well, sir.'

ККККК The lodge Master got up and came around his desk to me. 'Good-by, John. Watch yourself, and may the Great Architect help you.'

ККККК 'Thank you, sir. Uh, is this message I am to carry important?'

ККККК 'Quite important.'

ККККК He let it go at that and I was a bit irked; it seemed silly to be mysterious about it when I would find out 5ust what it was in a few minutes. But I was mistaken. At the laboratory I was told to sit down, relax, and prepare myself for hypnosis.

ККККК I came out of it with the pleasant glow that usually follows hypnosis. 'That's all,' I was told. 'Carry out your orders.'

ККККК 'But how about the message I was to carry?'

ККККК 'You have it.'

ККККК 'Hypnotically? But if I'm arrested, I'll be at the mercy of any psychoinvestigator who examines me!'

ККККК 'No, you won't. It's keyed to a pair of signal words; you can't possibly remember until they are spoken to you. The chance that an examiner would hit on both words and in the right order is negligible. You can't give the message away, awake or asleep.'

ККККК I had rather expected to be 'loaded' for suicide, if I was to carry an important message-though I hadn't seen how they could do it at the last minute, other than supplying me with a pill, I mean, a method almost useless if the policeman knows his business. But if I couldn't give away the message I carried, then I preferred to take my chances; I didn't ask for poison. I'm not the suiciding type anyhow-when Satan comes for me, he'll have to drag me...

ККККК The rocket port serving New Jerusalem is easier to get to than is the case at most of the older cities. There was a tube station right across from the department store that hid our headquarters. I simply walked out of the store, took the bridge across the street, found the tube stall marked 'Rocket Port', waited for an empty cartridge, and strapped myself and my luggage in. The attendant sealed me and almost at once I was at the port.

ККККК I bought my ticket and took my place at the end of the queue outside the port police station. I'll admit I was nervous; while I didn't anticipate having any trouble getting my travel pass validated, the police officers who must handle it were no doubt on the lookout for John Lyle, renegade army officer. But they were always looking for someone and I hoped the list of wanted faces was too long to make the search for me anything other than routine.

ККККК The line moved slowly and that looked like a bad sign-especially so when I noticed that several people had been thumbed out of line and sent to wait behind the station railing. I got downright jittery. But the wait itself gave me time to get myself in hand. I shoved my papers at the sergeant, glanced at my chrono, up at the station clock, and back at my wrist.

ККККК The sergeant had been going through my papers in a leisurely, thorough manner. He looked up. 'Don't worry about catching your ship,' he said not unkindly. 'They can't leave until we clear their passenger list.' He pushed a pad across the counter. 'Your fingerprints, please.'

ККККК I gave them without comment. 1-le compared them with the prints on my travel pass and then with the prints Reeves had left there on his arrival a week earlier. 'That's all, Mr. Reeves. A pleasant trip.'

ККККК I thanked him and left.

ККККК The Comet was not too crowded. I picked a seat by a window, well forward, and had just settled down and was unfolding a late-afternoon copy of the Holy City, when I felt a touch on my arm.

ККККК It was a policeman.

ККККК 'Will you step outside, please?'

ККККК I was herded outside with four other male passengers. The sergeant was quite decent about it. 'I'm afraid I'll have to ask you four to return to the station for further identification. I'll order your baggage removed and have the passenger list changed. Your tickets will be honored on the next flight.'

ККККК I let out a yelp. 'But I've got to be in Cincinnati tonight!'

ККККК 'I'm sorry.' He turned to me. 'You're Reeves, aren't you? Hmm . . . you are the right size and build. Still-let me see your pass again. Didn't you arrive in town just last week?'

ККККК 'That's right.'

ККККК He went through my papers again. 'Uh, yes, I remember now; you came in Tuesday morning on the Pilgrim. Well, you can't be in two places at once, so I guess that clears you.' He handed my papers back to me. 'Go aboard again. Sorry we bothered you. The rest of you come along.'

ККККК I returned to my seat and picked up my newspaper. A few minutes later the first heavy surge of the rockets threw us to the west. I continued reading the paper to cover up my agitation and relief, but soon got interested. I had been reading a Toronto paper only that morning, underground; the contrast was startling. I was back in a world for which the outside world hardly existed; the 'foreign affairs' news, if you could call it that, consisted of glowing reports of our foreign missions and some accounts of atrocities among the infidels. I began to wonder where all that money went that was contributed each year for missionary work; the rest of the world, if you could believe their newspapers, didn't seem much aware that our missions existed.

ККККК Then I began going through the paper, picking out items that I knew to be false. By the time I was through we were down out of the ionosphere and gliding into Cincy. We had overtaken the sun and had sunset all over again.

ККККК There must be a peddler's pack in my family tree. I not only covered Reeves's territory in Cincinnati, but bettered his quota. I found that I got as much pleasure out of persuading some hard-boiled retailer that he should increase his line of yard goods as I ever had from military work. I stopped worrying about my disguise and thought only about textiles. Selling isn't just a way to eat; it's a game, it's fun.

ККККК I left for Kansas City on schedule and had no trouble with the police in getting a visa for my travel pass. I decided that New Jerusalem had been the only ticklish check point; from here west nobody would expect to pick up John Lyle, formerly officer and gentleman; he would be one of thousands of wanted men, lost in the files.

ККККК The rocket to K.C. was well filled; I had to sit beside another passenger, a well-built chap in his middle thirties. We looked each other over as I sat down, then each busied himself with his own affairs. I called for a lap table and started straightening out the order blanks and other papers I had accumulated during busy, useful days in Cincinnati. He lounged back and watched the news broadcast in the TV tank at the forward end of the car.

ККККК I felt a nudge about ten minutes later and looked around. My seatmate flicked a thumb toward the television tank; in it there was displayed a large public square filled with a mob. It was surging toward the steps of a massive temple, over which floated the Prophet's gold-and-crimson banner and the pennant of a bishopric. As I watched, the first wave of the crowd broke against the temple steps.

ККККК A squad of temple guards trotted out a side door near the giant front doors and set up their tripods on the terrace at the head of the wide stairs. The scene cut to another viewpoint; we were looking down right into the faces of the mob hurrying toward us-apparently from a telephoto pick-up somewhere on the temple roof.

ККККК What followed made me ashamed of the uniform I had once worn. Instead of killing them quickly, the guards aimed low and burned off their legs. One instant the first wave was running towards me up the steps-then they fell, the cauterized stumps of their legs jerking convulsively. I had been watching a youngish couple right in the center of the pick-up; they had been running hand in hand. As the beam swept across them they went down together.

ККККК She stayed down. He managed to lift himself on what had been his knees, took two awkward dying steps toward her and fell across her. He pulled her head to his, then the scene cut away from them to the wide view of the square.

ККККК I snatched the earphones hanging on the back of the seat in front of me and listened: '-apolis, Minnesota. The situation is well in hand and no additional troops will be needed. Bishop Jennings has declared martial law while the agents of Satan are rounded up and order restored: A period of prayer and fasting will commence at once.

ККККК 'The Minnesota ghettos have been closed and all local pariahs will be relocated in the reservations in Wyoming and Montana in order to prevent future outbreaks. Let this be a warning to the ungodly everywhere who might presume to dispute the divine rule of the Prophet Incarnate.

ККККК 'This on-the-spot cast by the No-Sparrow-Shall-Fall News Service is coming to you under the sponsorship of the Associated Merchants of the Kingdom, dealers in the finest of household aids toward grace. Be the first in your parish to possess a statuette of the Prophet that miraculously glows in the dark! Send one dollar, care of this station -,

ККККК I switched off the phones and hung them up. Why blame the pariahs? That mob wasn't made up of pariahs.

ККККК But I kept my lip zipped and let my companion speak first-which he did, with vehemence. 'Serves them right, the bloody fools! Imagine charging against a fortified position with your bare hands.' He kept his voice down and spoke almost in my ear.

ККККК 'I wonder why they rioted?' was all that I answered.

ККККК 'Eh? No accounting for the actions of an heretic. They aren't sane.'

ККККК 'You can sing that in church,' I agreed firmly. 'Besides, even a sane heretic-if there could be such a thing, I mean-could see that the government is doing a good job of running the country. Business is good.' I patted my brief case happily. 'For me, at least, praise the Lord.'

ККККК We talked business conditions and the like for some time. As we talked I looked him over. He seemed to be the usual leading-citizen type, conventional and conservative, yet something about him made me uneasy. Was it just my guilty nerves? Or some sixth sense of the hunted?

ККККК My eyes came back to his hands and I had a vague feeling that I should be noticing something. But there was nothing unusual about them. Then I finally noticed a very minor thing, a calloused ridge on the bottom joint of the third finger of his left hand, the sort of a mark left by wearing a heavy ring for years and just the sort I carried myself from wearing my West Point class ring. It meant nothing, of course, since lots of men wear heavy seal rings on that finger. I was wearing one myself-not my West Point ring naturally, but one belonging to Reeves.

ККККК But why would this conventional-minded oaf wear such a ring habitually, then stop? A trifling thing, but it worried me; a hunted animal lives by noticing trifles. At the Point I had never been considered bright in psychology; I had missed cadet chevrons on that issue alone. But now seemed a good time to use what little I had learned . . . so I ran over iii my mind all I had noticed about him.

ККККК The first thing he had noticed, the one thing he had commented on, was the foolhardiness of charging into a fortified position. That smacked of military orientation in his thinking. But that did not prove he was a Pointer. On the contrary, an Academy man wears his ring at all times, even into his grave, even on leave and wearing mufti . . . unless for some good reason he does not wish to be recognized.

ККККК We were still chatting sociably and I was worrying over how to evaluate insufficient data when the stewardess served tea. The ship was just beginning to bite air as we came down out of the fringes of space and entered the long glide into Kansas City; it was somewhat bumpy and she slopped a little hot tea on his thigh. He yelped and uttered an expletive under his breath. I doubt if she caught what he said.

ККККК But I did catch it-and I thought about it furiously while I dabbed at him with a handkerchief. 'B. J. idiot!' was the term he used and it was strictly West Point slang.

ККККК Ergo, the ring callus was no coincidence; he was a West Pointer, an army officer, pretending to be a civilian. Corollary: he was almost certainly on a secret service assignment. Was I his assignment?

ККККК Oh, come now, John! His ring might be at a jeweler's, being repaired; he might be going home on thirty days. But in the course of a long talk he had let me think that he was a business man. No, he was an undercover agent.

ККККК But even if he was not after me, he had made two bad breaks in my presence. But even the clumsiest tyro (like myself, say) does not make two such slips in maintaining an assumed identity-and the army secret service was not clumsy; it was run by some of the most subtle brains in the country. Very well, then-they were not accidental slips but calculated acts; I was intended to notice them and think that they were accidents. Why?

ККККК It could not be simply that he was not sure I was the man he wanted. In such case, under the old and tested principle that a man was sinful until proved innocent, he would simply have arrested me and I would have been put to the Question.

ККККК Then why?

ККККК It could only be that they wanted me to run free for a while yet-but to be scared out of my wits and run for cover . . . and thereby lead them to my fellow conspirators It was a far fetched hypothesis, but the only one that seemed to cover all the facts.

ККККК When I first concluded that my companion must be an agent on my trail I was filled with that cold, stomach-twisting fear that can be compared only with seasickness. But when I thought I had figured out their motives I calmed down. What would Zebadiah do? 'The first principle of intrigue is not to be stampeded into any unusual act-'Sit tight and play dumb. If this cop wanted to follow me, I'd lead him into every department store in K C-and let him watch while I peddled yard goods.

ККККК Nevertheless my stomach felt tight as we got off the ship in Kansas City. I expected that gentle touch on the shoulder which is more frightening than a fist in the face. But nothing ~ happened. He tossed me a perfunctory God-keep-you, pushed ahead of me and headed for the lift to the taxicab platform while I was still getting my pass stamped. It did not reassure me as he could have pointed me out half a dozen ways to a relief. But I went on over to the New Muehlbach by tube as casually as I could manage.

ККККК I had a fair week in K.C., met my quota and picked up one new account of pretty good size. I tried to spot any shadow that might have been placed on me, but I don't know to this day whether or not I was being trailed. If I was, somebody spent an awfully dull week. But, although I had about concluded that the incident had been nothing but imagination and my jumpy nerves, I was happy at last to be aboard the ship for Denver and to note that my companion of the week before was not a passenger.

ККККК We landed at the new field just east of Aurora, many miles from downtown Denver. The police checked my papers and fingerprinted me in the routine fashion and I was about to shove my wallet back into my pocket when the desk sergeant said, 'Bare your left arm, please, Mr. Reeves.'

ККККК I rolled up my sleeve while trying to show the right amount of fretful annoyance. A white-coated orderly took a blood sample. 'Just a normal precaution,' the sergeant explained. 'The Department of Public Health is trying to stamp out spotted fever.'

ККККК It was a thin excuse, as I knew from my own training in PH.-but Reeves, textiles salesman, might not realize it. But the excuse got thinner yet when I was asked to wait in a side room of the station while my blood sample was run. I sat there fretting, trying to figure out what harm they could do me with ten c.c. of my blood-and what I could do about it even if I did know.

ККККК I had plenty of time to think. The situation looked anything but bright. My time was probably running out as I sat there-yet the excuse on which they were holding me was just plausible enough that I didn't dare cut and run; that might be what they wanted. So I sat tight and sweated.

ККККК The building was a temporary structure and the wall between me and the sergeant's office was a thin laminate; I could hear voices through it without being able to make out the words. I did not dare press my ear to it for fear of being caught doing so. On the other hand I felt that I just had to do it. So I moved my chair over to the wall, sat down again, leaned back on two legs of the chair so that my shoulders and the back of my neck were against the wall. Then I held a newspaper I had found there up in front of my face and pressed my ear against the wall.

ККККК I could hear every word then. The sergeant told a story to his clerk which would have fetched him a month's penance if a morals proctor had been listening-still, I had heard the same story, only slightly cleaned up, right in the Palace, so I wasn't really shocked, nor was I in any mood to worry about other people's morals. I listened to several routine reports and an inquiry from some semi-moron who couldn't find the men's washroom, but not a word about myself. I got a crick in my neck from the position.

ККККК Just opposite me was an open window looking out over the rocket field. A small ship appeared in the sky, braked with nose units, and came in to a beautiful landing about a quarter of a mile away. The pilot taxied toward the administration building and parked outside the window, not twenty-five yards away.

ККККК It was the courier version of the Sparrow Hawk, ram jet with rocket take-off and booster, as sweet a little ship as was ever built. I knew her well; I had pushed one just like her, playing number-two position for Army in sky polo-that was the year we had licked both Navy and Princeton.

ККККК The pilot got out and walked away. I eyed the distance to the ship. If the ignition were not locked-Sheol! What if it was? Maybe I could short around it, I looked at the open window. It might be equipped with vibrobolts; if so, I would never know what hit me. But I could not spot any power leads or trigger connections and the flimsy construction of the building would make it hard to hide them. Probably there was nothing but contact alarms; there might not be so much as a selenium circuit.

ККККК While I was thinking about it I again heard voices next door; I flattened my ear and strained to listen.

ККККК 'What's the blood type?'

ККККК 'Type one, sergeant.'

ККККК 'Does it check?'

ККККК 'No, Reeves is type three.'

ККККК 'Oho! Phone the main lab. We'll take him into town for a retinal.'

ККККК I was caught cold and knew it. They knew positively that I wasn't Reeves. Once they photographed the pattern of blood vessels in the retina of either eye they would know just as certainly who I really was, in no longer time than it took to radio the picture to the Bureau of Morals & Investigation-less, if copies had been sent out to Denver and elsewhere with the tab on me.

ККККК I dove out the window.

ККККК I lit on my hands, rolled over in a ball, was flung to my feet as I unwound. If I set off an alarm I was too busy to hear it. The ship's door was open and the ignition was not locked -there was help indeed for the Son of a Widow! I didn't bother to taxi clear, but blasted at once, not caring if my rocket flame scorched my pursuers. We bounced along -the ground, the little darling and I, then I lifted her nose by gyro and scooted away to the west.

Chapter 8

I let her reach for the sky, seeking altitude and speed where the ram jets would work properly. I felt exulted to have a good ship under me and those cops far behind. But I snapped out of that silly optimism as I leveled off for jet flight.

ККККК If a cat escapes up a tree, he must stay there until the dog goes away. That was the fix I was in and in my case the dog would not go away, nor could I stay up indefinitely. The alarm would be out by now; behind me, on all sides of me, police pilots would be raising ship in a matter of minutes, even seconds. I was being tracked, that was sure, and the blip of my craft on several screens was being fed as data into a computer that would vector them in on me no matter where I turned. After that-well, it was land on command or be shot down.

ККККК The miracle of my escape began to seem a little less miraculous. Or too miraculous, perhaps? Since when were the police so sloppy that they would leave a prisoner in a room with an unguarded window? Wasn't it just a little too much of a coincidence that a ship I knew how to herd should come to that window and be left there-with the ignition unlocked-just as the sergeant said loudly the one thing that would be sure to make me try for it?

ККККК Maybe this was a second, and successful, attempt to panic me. Maybe somebody else knew my liking for the Sparrow Hawk courier, knew it because he had my dossier spread out in front of him and was as familiar with my sky polo record as I was. In which case they might not shoot me down just yet; they might be counting on me to lead them straight to my comrades.

ККККК Or perhaps, just possibly, it was a real escape-if I could exploit it. Either way, I was neither ready to be caught again, nor to lead them to my brethren-nor to die. I had an important message (I told myself); I was too busy to oblige them by dying just now.

ККККК I flipped the ship's commer to the police & traffic frequency and listened. There was some argument going on between the Denver port and a transport in the air but no one as yet was shouting for me to ground or get my pants shot off. Later perhaps-I left it switched on and thought.

ККККК The dead-reckoner showed me some seventy-five miles from Denver and headed north of west; I was surprised to see that I had been in the air less then ten minutes - . . so hopped up with adrenalin, no doubt, that my time sense was distorted. The ram-jet tanks were nearly full; I had nearly ten hours and six thousand miles at economy cruising-but of course at that speed they could almost throw rocks at me.

ККККК A plan, silly and perhaps impossible and certainly born of desperation but even so better than no plan at all, was beginning to form in my brain. I consulted the great circle indicator and set a course for the Republic of Hawaii; my baby nosed herself slightly south of west. Then I turned to the fuel-speed-distance gnomograph and roughed a problem-3100 miles about, at around 800 m.p.h., ending with dry tanks and depending on rocket juice and the nose units to cushion a cold-jet landing. Risky.

ККККК Not that I cared. Somewhere below me, shortly after I set the autopilot on the indicated course and speed, analyzers in the cybernetwork would be telling their human operators that I was attempting to escape to the Free State of Hawaii, on such a course, such an altitude, and at max speed for that range- and that I would pass over the Pacific coast between San Francisco and Monterey in sixty-odd minutes unless intercepted. But the interception was certain. Even if they were still playing with me, cat and mouse, ground-to-air snarlers would rise up from the Sacramento Valley. If they missed (most unlikely!), manned ships as fast or faster than my baby, with full tanks and no need to conserve radius, would be waiting, at altitude at the coast. I had no hope of running that gauntlet.

ККККК Nor did I intend to. I wanted them to destroy the little honey I was pushing, destroy her completely and in the air-because I had no intention of being aboard when it happened.

ККККК Operation Chucklehead, phase two: how to get out of the durn thing! Leaving a jet plane in powered flight has all been figured out by careful engineers; you slap the jetison lever and pray; the rest is done for you. The survival capsule closes down on you and seals, then the capsule with you in it is shot clear of the ship. In due course, at proper pressure and terminal air speed, the drogue is fired; it pulls your chute open, and there you are, floating comfortably toward God's good earth, with your emergency oxygen bottle for company.

ККККК There is only one hitch: both the capsule and the abandoned ship start sending out radio signals, dots for the capsule, dashes for the ship, and, for good measure, the capsule has a built-in radar-beacon.

ККККК The whole thing is about as inconspicuous as a cow in church.

ККККК I sat there chewing my thumb and staring out ahead. It seemed to me that the yonder was looking even wilder and bluer than usual -- my own mood, no doubt, for I knew that thirteen ground miles were slipping out from under me each minute and that it was high time for me to find my hat and go home. Of course, there was a door right alongside me; I could strap on a chute and leave. But you can't open a door in a ram-jet plane in powered flight; nor do you jettison it-to do so will cause the plane to behave like a kicked pup. Nor is an eight-hundred-mile-an-hour breeze to be ignored even at 60,000 feet; I'd be sliced like butter on the door frame.

ККККК The answer depended on how good an autopilot this buggy had. The better robopilots could do everything but sing hymns; some of the cheaper ones could hold course, speed, and altitude but there their talents ended. In particular I wanted to know whether or not this autopilot had an emergency circuit to deal with a case of 'fire out', for I intended to stop the ship, step out, and let the ship continue on in the direction of Hawaii by itself-if it could.

ККККК A ram jet won't operate at all except at high speed; that's why ram ships have rocket power as well, else they could never take off. If you drop below the critical speed of your jet engines your fire goes out, then you must start it again, either by rocket power or by diving to gain speed. It is a touchy business and a number of ram-jet pilots have been gathered to their heavenly reward through an unexpected case of 'fire out'.

ККККК My earlier experience with the courier Sparrow Hawk told me nothing, as you don't use autopilots in sky polo. Believe me, you don't. So I looked for the instruction manual in the glove compartment, failed to find it, then looked over the pilot itself. The data plate failed to say. No doubt, with a screwdriver and plenty of time, I could have opened it, worried out the circuits and determined the fact-say in about a day and a half; those autopilots are a mass of transistors and spaghetti.

ККККК So I pulled the personal chute out of its breakaway clips and started shrugging my way into it while sighing, 'Pal, I hope you have the necessary gimmick built into your circuits.' The autopilot didn't answer, though I wouldn't have been much surprised if it had. Then I squeezed back into place and proceeded to override the autopilot manually. I didn't have too much time; I was already over the Deseret basin and I could see the setting sun glinting on the waters of the Great Salt Lake ahead and to the right.

ККККК First I took her down some, because 60,000 feet is thin and chilly-too little partial pressure of oxygen for the human lung. Then I started up in a gentle curving climb that would neither tear her wings off nor gee me into a blackout. I had to take her fairly high, because I intended to cut out the rocket motors entirely and force my best girl to light her stovepipes by diving for speed, it being my intention to go into a vertical stall, which would create 'fire out'-and get off in a hurry at that point. For obvious reasons I did not want the rocket motors to cut loose just as I was trying to say good-by.

ККККК I kept curving her up until 1 was lying on my back with the earth behind me and sky ahead. I nursed it along, throttling her down, with the intention of stalling with the fire dead at thirty thousand feet-still thin but within jumping distance of breathable air and still high enough to give my lady a chance to go into her dive without cracking up on the Utah plateau. At about 28,000 1 got that silly, helpless feeling you get when the controls go mushy and won't bite. Suddenly a light flashed red on the instrument board and both fires were out. It was time to leave.

ККККК I almost forgot the seat bottle. I was still stuffing the mouthpiece between my teeth and snapping the nosepiece over my nose while I was trying with the other hand to get the door open-all of this greatly impeded by the fact that the ship and I together were effectively in free fall; the slight air drag at the top of the stall trajectory made me weigh a few ounces, no more.

ККККК The door would not open. I finally remembered to slap the spill valve, then it came open and I was almost snatched outside. I hung there for a second or two, while the ground spun crazily overhead, then the door slammed shut and latched-and I shoved myself away from the plane. I didn't jump-we were falling together, I shoved.

ККККК I may have banged my head against a wing. In any case there is a short blank in my memory before I found myself sitting on space about twenty-five yards from the ship. She was spinning slowly and earth and sky were revolving lazily around me. There was a thin cold wind as I fell but I was not yet aware of the cold. We stayed pretty well together for a few moments-or hours; time had stopped-then the ship straightened out into a dive and pulled away from me.

ККККК I tried to follow her down by eye and became aware of the icy wind of my fall. My eyes hurt and I remembered something I had read about frozen eyeballs; I covered them with both hands. It helped a lot.

ККККК Suddenly I became frightened, panicky at the thought I had delayed the jump too long and was about to smash into the desert floor. I uncovered my eyes and sneaked a look.

ККККК No, the ground was still a long way off, two or three miles perhaps. My guess was not worth much as it was already dark down there. I tried to catch sight of the ship, could not see it, then suddenly spotted it as her fires came on. I risked frozen eyes and watched, exultation in my heart. The autopilot did indeed have built into it the emergency circuit for 'fire out' and everything was proceeding according to plan. The little sweetheart leveled off, headed west on course, and began to climb for the altitude she had been told to use. I sent a prayer after her that she would win through and end up in the clean Pacific, rather than be shot down.

ККККК I watched her glowing tailpipes out of sight while I continued to fall.

ККККК The triumph of my little ship had made me forget to be scared, I had known when I bailed out that it would have to be a delayed jump. My own body, in leaving the ship, would make a secondary blip on the screen of anything tracking the ship; my only hope of convincing the trackers that what they had witnessed was a real emergency-'fire out'-lay in getting away from the ship quickly and then in not being spotted on the way down. That meant that I must fall rapidly right out of the picture and not pull the rip cord until I was close to the ground, in visual darkness and in ground radar shadow.

ККККК But I had never made a delayed jump before; in fact I had jumped only twice, the two easy practice jumps under a jumpmaster which are required of every cadet in order to graduate. I wasn't especially uncomfortable as long as I kept my eyes closed, but I began to get a truly overpowering urge to pull that rip cord. My hand went to the handle and gripped it. I told myself to let go but I couldn't make myself do it. I was still much too high, dead sure to be spotted if I broke out that great conspicuous bumbershoot and floated down the rest of the way.

ККККК I had intended to rip the chute out somewhere between one thousand and five hundred feet above ground, but my nerve played out and I couldn't wait that long. There was a large town almost under me-Provo, Utah, by what I remembered of the situation from higher up. I convinced myself that I had to pull the rip cord to keep from landing right in the city.

ККККК I remembered just in time to remove the oxygen face piece, thereby avoiding a mouthful of broken teeth most likely, for I had never gotten around to strapping the bottle to me; I had been holding it in my left hand all the way down. I suppose I could have taken time even then to secure it, but what I did was to throw it in the general direction of a farm, hoping that it would land on plowed ground rather than on some honest citizen's skull. Then I pulled the handle.

ККККК For the horrible split second I thought that I had a faultily packed chute. Then it opened and knocked me out-or I fainted with fright. I came to, hanging in the harness with the ground swinging and turning slowly beneath me. I was still too high up and I seemed to be floating toward the lights of Provo. So I took a deep breath-real air tasted good after the canned stuff-gathered a double handful of shrouds and spilled some wind.

ККККК I came down fast then and managed to let go just in time to get full support for the landing. I couldn't see the ground well in the evening darkness but I knew it was close; I gathered up my knees just as it says in the manual, then took it rather unexpectedly, stumbling, falling, and getting tangled in the chute. It is supposed to be equal to a fourteen-foot free jump; all I can say is it seems like more.

ККККК Then I was sitting on my tail in a field of sugar beets, and rubbing my left ankle.

ККККК Spies always bury their parachutes so I suppose I should have buried mine. But I didn't feel up to it and I didn't have any tools; I stuffed it into a culvert I found running under the road that edged the field, then started slogging that road toward the lights of Provo. My nose and right ear had been bleeding and the blood was dry on my face. I was covered with dirt, I had split my trousers, my hat was the Lord knows where-Denver, maybe, or over Nevada-my left ankle seemed slightly sprained, my right hand was badly skinned, and I had had a childish accident. I felt swell.

ККККК I could hardly keep from whistling as I walked, I felt so good. Sure, I was still hunted, but the Prophet's proctors thought I was still high in the sky and headed for Hawaii. At least I hoped they believed that and, in any case, I was still free, alive, and reasonably intact. If one has to be hunted, Utah was a better place for it than most; it had been a center of heresy and schism ever since the suppression of the Mormon church, back in the days of the First Prophet. If I could keep out of the direct sight of the Prophet's police, it was unlikely that any of the natives would turn me in.

ККККК Nevertheless I lay flat in the ditch every time a truck or a ground car came along and I left the road and took to the fields again before it entered the city proper. I swung wide and entered by a dimly lighted side street. It lacked two hours of curfew; I needed to carry out the first part of my plan before the night patrol took to the streets.

ККККК I wandered around dark residential streets and avoided any direct encounters with people for most of an hour before finding what I wanted-some sort of a flier I could steal. It turned out to be a Ford family skycar, parked in a vacant lot. The house next to it was dark.

ККККК I sneaked up to it, keeping to the shadows, and broke my penknife jimmying the door-but I got it open. The ignition was locked, but I had not expected that sort of luck twice. I had had an extremely practical education at taxpayers' expense which included detailed knowledge of I.C. engines, and this time there was no hurry; it took me twenty minutes, working in the dark, to short around the lock.

ККККК After a quick reconnoitre of the street I got in and started the electric auxiliary and glided quietly into the street, then rounded a corner before turning on the car's lights. Then I drove away as openly as a farmer returning from prayer meeting in town. Nevertheless I was afraid of running into a police check point at the city limits, so as soon as the houses thinned out I ran the car into the first open field and went on well away from the road-then unexpectedly dropped a front wheel into an irrigation ditch. That determined my take-off point.

ККККК The main engine coughed and took hold; the rotor unfolded its airfoils with a loud creak. She was sloppy on the take-off, being canted over into the ditch, but she made it. The ground dropped away.

Chapter 9

The car I had stolen was a jalopy, old, not properly kept up, a bad valve knock in the engine, and a vibration in the rotor that I didn't like at all. But she would run and she had better than half a tank of fuel, enough to get me to Phoenix. I couldn't complain.

ККККК Worst was a complete lack of any navigating equipment other than an old-style uncompensated Sperry robot and a bundle of last year's strip maps of the sort the major oil companies give away. There was radio, but it was out of order.

ККККК Well, Columbus got by with less. Phoenix was almost due south and almost five hundred miles away. I estimated my drift by crossing my eyes and praying, set the robot on course and set her to hold real altitude of five hundred feet. Any more might get me into the cybernetwork; any less might get some local constable annoyed with me. I decided that running lights were safer than no running lights, this being no time to pick up a ticket, so I switched them on to 'dim'. After that I took a look around.

ККККК No sign of pursuit to the north-apparently my latest theft had not been noticed as yet. As for my first-well, the sweet darling was either shot down by now or far out over the Pacific. It occurred to me that I was hanging up quite a record for a mother's boy-accessory before and after the fact in murder, perjury before the Grand Inquisitor, treason, impersonation, grand larceny twice. There was still arson, and barratry, whatever that was, and rape. I decided I could avoid rape, but barratry I might manage, if I could find out what it meant. I still felt swell even though my nose was bleeding again.

ККККК It occurred to me that marrying a holy deaconess might be considered statutory rape under the law and that made me feel better; by then I didn't want to miss anything.

ККККК I stayed at the controls, overriding the pilot and avoiding towns, until we were better than a hundred miles south Of Provo. From there south, past the Grand Canyon and almost to the ruins of the old '66' roadcity, people are awfully scarce; I decided that I could risk some sleep. So I set the pilot on eight hundred feet, ground altitude, told it firmly to watch out for trees and bluffs, went back to the after passenger bench and went at once to sleep.

ККККК I dreamt that the Grand Inquisitor was trying to break my nerve by eating juicy roast beef in my presence. 'Confess!' he said, as he stabbed a bite and chewed. 'Make it easy on yourself. Will you have some rare, or the slice off the end?' I was about to confess, too, when I woke up.

ККККК It was bright moonlight and we were just approaching the Grand Canyon. I went quickly to the controls and overrode the order about altitude-I was afraid that the simple little robot might have a nervous breakdown and start shedding capacitances in lieu of tears if it tried to hold the ship just eight hundred feet away from that Gargantuan series of ups and downs and pinnacles.

ККККК In the meantime I was enjoying the view so much that I forgot that I was starving. If a person hasn't seen the Canyon, there is no point in describing it-but I strongly recommend seeing it by moonlight from the air.

ККККК We sliced across it in about twenty minutes and I turned the ship back to automatic and started to forage, rummaging through the instrument panel compartment and the lockers. I turned up a chocolate almond bar and a few peanuts, which was a feast as I was ready for raw skunk- I had eaten last in Kansas City. 1 polished them off and went back to sleep.

ККККК I don't recall setting the pilot alarm but must have done so for it woke me up just before dawn. Dawn over the desert was another high-priced tourist item but 1 had navigating to do and could not spare it more than a glance. I turned the crate at right angles for a few minutes to check drift and speed made good over ground to south, then figured a bit on the edge of a strip map. With luck and assuming that my guesses about wind were about right, Phoenix should show up in about half an hour.

ККККК My luck held. I passed over some mighty rough country, then suddenly, spread out to the right, was a wide flat desert valley, green with irrigated crops and with a large city in it-the Valley of the Sun and Phoenix. I made a poor landing in a boxed-in, little dry arroyo leading into the Salt River Canyon; I tore off one wheel and smashed the rotor but I didn't care-the important thing was that it wasn't likely to be found there very soon, it and my fingerprints . . . Reeves's prints, I mean. Half an hour later, after picking my way around enormous cacti and still bigger red boulders, I came out on the highway that leads down the canyon and into Phoenix.

ККККК It was going to be a long walk into Phoenix, especially with one sore ankle, but I decided not to risk hitching a ride. Traffic was light and I managed to get off the road and hide each time for the first hour. Then I was caught on a straight up-and-down piece by a freighter; there was nothing to do but give the driver a casual wave as I flattened myself to the rock wall and pretended to be nonchalant. He brought his heavy vehicle to a quick, smooth stop. 'Want a lift, bud?'

ККККК I made up my mind in a hurry. 'Yes, thanks!'

ККККК He swung a dural ladder down over the wide tread and I climbed into the cab. He looked me over. 'Brother!' he said admiringly. 'Was it a mountain lion, or a bear?'

ККККК I had forgotten how I looked. I glanced down at myself. 'Both,' I answered solemnly. 'Strangled one in each hand.'

ККККК 'I believe it.'

ККККК 'Fact is,' I added, 'I was riding a unicycle and bounced it off the road. On the high side, luckily, but I wrecked it.'

ККККК 'A unicycle? On this road? Not all the way from Globe?'

ККККК 'Well, I had to get off and push at times. It was the down grade that got me, though.'

ККККК He shook his head. 'Let's go back to the lion-and-bear theory. I like it better.' He didn't question me further, which suited me. I was beginning to realize that off-hand fictions led to unsuspected ramifications; I had never been over the road from Globe.

ККККК Nor had I ever been inside a big freighter before and I was interested to see how much it resembled, inside, the control room of an Army surface cruiser-the same port and starboard universal oleo speed gears controlling the traction treads, much the same instrument board giving engine speed, port and starboard motor speeds, torque ratios, and so forth. I could have herded it myself.

ККККК Instead I played dumb and encouraged him to talk. 'I've never been in one of these big babies before. Tell me how it works, will you?'

ККККК That set him off and I listened with half an ear while thinking about how I should tackle Phoenix. He demonstrated how he applied both power and steering to the treads simply by tilting the two speed bars, one in each fist, and then discussed the economy of letting the diesel run at constant speed while he fed power as needed to the two sides. I let him talk-my first need was a bath and a shave and a change of clothes, that was sure; else I'd be picked up on sight for suspected vagrancy.

ККККК Presently I realized he had asked a question. 'I think I see,' I answered. 'The Waterburies drive the treads.'

ККККК 'Yes and no,' he went on. 'It's a diesel-electric hook up. The Waterburies just act like a gear system, although there aren't any gears in them; they're hydraulic. Follow me?'

ККККК I said I thought so (I could have sketched them)-and filed away in my mind the idea that, if the Cabal should ever need cruiser pilots in a hurry, freighter jacks could be trained for the job in short order.

ККККК We were going downhill slightly even after we left the canyon; the miles flowed past. My host pulled off the road and ground to a stop by a roadside restaurant and oil station. 'All out,' he grunted. 'Breakfast for us and go-juice for the gobuggy.'

ККККК 'Sounds good.' We each consumed a tall stack with eggs and bacon and big, sweet Arizona grapefruit. He wouldn't let me pay for his and tried to pay for mine. As we went back to the freighter he stopped at the ladder and looked me over.

ККККК 'The police gate is about three-quarters of a mile on in,' he said softly. 'I suppose that's as good a spot to check in as any.' He looked at me and glanced away.

ККККК 'Mmm . . . 'I said. 'I think I could stand to walk the rest of the way, to settle my breakfast. Thanks a lot for the lift.'

ККККК 'Don't mention it. Uh, there's a side road about two hundred yards back. It swings south and then west again, into town. Better for walking. Less traffic.'

ККККК 'Uh, thanks.'

ККККК I walked back to the side road, wondering if my criminal career was that plain to everyone. One thing sure, I had to improve my appearance before tackling the city. The side road led through ranches and I passed several ranch houses without having the nerve to stop. But I came presently to a little house occupied by a Spanish-Indian family with the usual assortment of children and dogs. I took a chance; many of these people were clandestine Catholics, I knew, and probably hated the proctors as much as I did.

ККККК The Senora was home. She was fat and kindly and mostly Indian by her appearance. We couldn't talk much as my Spanish is strictly classroom quality, but I could ask for agua, and agua I got, both to drink and to wash myself. She sewed up the rip in my trousers while I stood foolishly in my shorts with the children making comments; she brushed me off and she even let me use her husband's razor. She protested over letting me pay her but I was firm about it. I left there looking passable.

ККККК The road swung back into town as the freighter jack had said-and without benefit of police. Eventually I found a neighborhood shopping center and in it a little tailor shop. There I waited while the rest of my transformation back to respectability was completed. With my clothes freshly pressed, the spots removed, a brand-new shirt and hat I was then able to walk down the street and exchange a blessing with any proctor I might meet while looking him calmly in the eye. A phone book gave me the address of the South Side Tabernacle; a map on the wall of the tailor shop got me oriented without asking questions. It was within walking distance.

ККККК I hurried down the street and reached the church just as eleven o'clock services were starting. Sighing with relief I slipped into a back pew and actually enjoyed the services, just as I had as a boy, before I had learned what was back of them. I felt peaceful and secure; in spite of everything I had made it safely. I let the familiar music soak into my soul while I looked forward to revealing myself to the priest afterwards and then let him do the worrying for a while.

ККККК To tell the truth I went to sleep during the sermon. But I woke up in time and I doubt if anyone noticed. Afterwards I hung around, waited for a chance to speak to the priest, and told him how much I had enjoyed his sermon. He shook hands and I gave him the recognition grip of the brethren.

ККККК But he did not return it. I was so upset by that that I almost missed what he was saying. 'Thank you, my boy. It's always good news to a new pastor to hear that his ministrations are appreciated.' I guess my face gave me away. He added, 'Something wrong?'

ККККК I stammered, 'Oh, no, reverend sir. You see, I'm a stranger myself. Then you aren't the Reverend Baird?' I was in cold panic. Baird was my only contact with the brethren short of New Jerusalem; without someone to hide me I would be picked up in a matter of hours. Even as I answered I was making wild plans to steal another ship that night and then try to run the border patrol into Mexico.

ККККК His voice cut into my thoughts as if from a great distance. 'No, I'm afraid not, my son. Did you wish to see the Reverend Baird?'

ККККК 'Well, it wasn't terribly important, sir. He is an old friend of my uncle. I was to look him up while I was here and pay my respects.' Maybe that nice Indian woman would hide me until dark?

ККККК 'That won't be difficult. He's here in town. I'm just supplying his pulpit while he is laid up.'

ККККК My heart made a full turn at about twelve gee; I tried to keep it out of my face. 'Perhaps if he is sick I had better not disturb him.'

ККККК 'Oh, not at all. A broken bone in his foot-he'll enjoy a bit of company. Here.' The priest fumbled under his robes, found a piece of paper and a pencil and wrote out the address. 'Two streets over and half a block down. You can't miss it.'

ККККК Of course I did miss it, but I doubled back and found it, an old vine-grown house with a suggestion of New England about it. It was set well back in a large, untidy garden-eucalyptus, palms, shrubs, and flowers, all in pleasant confusion. I pressed the announcer and heard the whine of an old-style scanner; a speaker inquired: 'Yes?'

ККККК 'A visitor to see the Reverend Baird, if he so pleases.'

ККККК There was a short silence while he looked me over, then: 'You'll have to let yourself in. My housekeeper has gone to the market. Straight through and out into the back garden.' The door clicked and swung itself open.

ККККК I blinked at the darkness, then went down a central hallway and out through the back door. An old man was lying in a swing there, with one foot propped up on pillows. He lowered his book and peered at me over his glasses.

ККККК 'What do you want of me, son?'

ККККК 'Light.'

An hour later I was washing down the last of some superb enchiladas with cold, sweet milk. As I reached for a cluster of muscatel grapes Father Baird concluded his instructions to me. 'Nothing to do until dark, then. Any questions?'

ККККК 'I don't think so, sir. Sanchez takes me out of town and delivers me to certain others of the brethren who will see to it that I get to General Headquarters. My end of it is simple enough.'

ККККК 'True. You won't be comfortable however.'

ККККК I left Phoenix concealed in a false bottom of a little vegetable truck. 1 was stowed like cargo, with my nose pressed against the floor boards. We were stopped at a police gate at the edge of town; I could hear brusque voices with that note of authority, and Sanchez's impassioned Spanish in reply. Someone rummaged around over my head and the cracks in the false bottom gleamed with light.

ККККК Finally a voice said, 'It's O.K., Ezra. That's Father Baird's handyman. Makes a trip out to the Father's ranch every night or so.'

ККККК 'Well, why didn't he say so?'

ККККК 'He gets excited and loses his English. O.K. Get going, chico. Vaya usted con Dios.'

ККККК 'Gracias, senores. Buenas noches.'

ККККК At the Reverend Baird's ranch I was transferred to a helicopter, no rickety heap this time, but a new job, silent and well equipped. She was manned by a crew of two, who exchanged pass grips with me but said nothing other than to tell me to get into the passenger compartment and stay there. We took off at once.

ККККК The windows of the passenger space had been covered; I don't know which way we went, nor how far, it was a rough ride, as the pilot seemed dead set on clipping daisies the whole way. It was a reasonable precaution to avoid being spotted in a scope, but I hoped he knew what he was doing-I wouldn't want to herd a heli that way in broad daylight. He must have scared a lot of coyotes-I know he frightened me.

ККККК At last I heard the squeal of a landing beam. We slid along it, hovered, and bumped gently to a stop. When I got out I found myself staring into the maw of a tripod-mounted blaster backed up by two alert and suspicious men.

ККККК But my escort gave the password, each of the guards questioned me separately, and we exchanged recognition signals. I got the impression that they were a little disappointed that they couldn't let me have it; they seemed awfully eager. When they were satisfied, a hoodwink was slipped over my head and I was led away. We went through a door, walked maybe fifty yards, and crowded into a compartment. The floor dropped away.

ККККК My stomach caught up with me and I groused to myself because I hadn't been warned that it was an elevator, but I kept my mouth shut. We left the lift, walked a way, and I was nudged onto a platform of some sort, told to sit down and hang on-whereupon we lurched away at breakneck speed. It felt like a roller coaster-not a good thing to ride blindfolded. Up to then I hadn't really been scared. I began to think that the hazing was intentional, for they could have warned me.

ККККК We made another elevator descent, walked several hundred paces, and my hoodwink was removed. I caught my first sight of General Headquarters.

ККККК I didn't recognize it as such; I simply let out a gasp. One of my guards smiled. 'They all do that,' he said dryly.

ККККК It was a limestone cavern so big that one felt outdoors rather than underground and so magnificently lavish in its formations as to make one think of fairyland, or the Gnome King's palace. I had assumed that we were underground from the descents we had made, but nothing had prepared me for what I saw.

ККККК I have seen photographs of what the Carlsbad Caverns used to be, before the earthquake of '96 destroyed them; General Headquarters was something like that, although I can't believe that the Carlsbad Caverns were as big or half as magnificent. I could not at first grasp the immensity of the room I was in; underground there is nothing to judge size by and the built-in range-finder of a human's two-eyed vision is worthless beyond about fifty feet without something in the distance to give him scale-a house, a man, a tree, even the horizon itself. Since a natural cave contains nothing at all that is well known, customary, the human eye can't size it.

ККККК So, while I realized that the room I stood in was big, I could not guess just how big; my brain scaled it down to fit my prejudices. We were standing higher than the main floor and at one end of the room; the whole thing was softly floodlighted. I got through craning my neck and ohing and ahing, looked down and saw a toy village some distance away below us. The little buildings seemed to be about a foot high.

ККККК Then I saw tiny people walking around among the buildings-and the whole thing suddenly snapped into scale. The toy village was at least a quarter of a mile away; the whole room was not less than a mile long and many hundreds of feet high. Instead of the fear of being shut in that people normally experience in caves I was suddenly hit by the other fear, the fear of open spaces, agoraphobia. I wanted to slink along close to the walls, like a timid mouse.

ККККК The guide who had spoken touched my arm. 'You'll have plenty of time for rubbernecking later. Let's get going.' They led me down a path which meandered between stalagmites, from baby-finger size to Egyptian pyramids, around black pools of water with lilypads of living stone growing on them, past dark wet domes that were old when man was new, under creamy translucent curtains of onyx and sharp rosy-red and dark green stalactites. My capacity to wonder began to be overloaded and presently I quit trying.

ККККК We came out on a fairly level floor of bat droppings and made good time to the village. The buildings, I saw as I got closer, were not buildings in the outdoors sense, but were mere partitions of that honeycomb plastic used for sound-deadening-space separators for efficiency and convenience. Most of them were not roofed. We stopped in front of the largest of these pens; the sign over its door read ADMINISTRATION. We entered and I was taken into the personnel office. This room almost made me homesick, so matter of fact, so professionally military was it in its ugly, efficient appointments. There was even the elderly staff clerk with the nervous sniff who seems to be general issue for such an office since the time of Caesar. The sign on his desk had described him as Warrant Officer R. E. Giles and he had quite evidently come back to his office after working hours to check me in.

ККККК 'Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lyle,' he said, shaking hands and exchanging recognition. Then he scratched his nose and sniffed. 'You're a week or so early and your quarters aren't ready. Suppose we billet you tonight with a blanket roll in the lounge of B.O.Q. and get you squared away in the morning?'

ККККК I said that would be perfectly satisfactory and he seemed relieved.

Chapter 10

I guess I had been expecting to be treated as some sort of a conquering hero on my arrival-you know, my new comrades hanging breathlessly on every word of my modest account of my adventures and hairbreadth escapes and giving thanks to the Great Architect that I had been allowed to win through with my all-important message.

ККККК I was wrong. The personnel adjutant sent for me before I had properly finished breakfast, but I didn't even see him; I saw Mr. Giles. I was a trifle miffed and interrupted him to ask how soon it would be convenient for me to pay my formal call on the commanding officer.

ККККК He sniffed. 'Oh, yes. Well, Mr. Lyle, the C.G. sends his compliments to you and asks you to consider that courtesy calls have been made, not only on him but on department heads. We're rather pushed for time right now. He'll send for you the first spare moment he has.'

ККККК I know quite well that the general had not sent me any such message and that the personnel clerk was simply following a previously established doctrine. It didn't make me feel better.

ККККК But there was nothing I could do about it; the system took me in hand. By noon I had been permanently billeted, had had my chest thumped and so forth, and had made my reports. Yes, I got a chance to tell my story-to a recording machine. Flesh-and-blood men did receive the message I carried, but I got no fun out of that; I was under hypnosis at the time, just as I had been when it was given to me.

ККККК This was too much for me; I asked the psychotechnician who operated me what the message was I carried. He answered stiffly, 'We aren't permitted to tell couriers what they carry.' His manner suggested that my question was highly improper.

ККККК I lost my temper a bit. I didn't know whether he was senior to me or not as he was not in uniform, but I didn't care. 'For pity's sake! What is this? Don't the brethren trust me? Here I risk my neck -'

ККККК He cut in on me in a much more conciliatory manner. 'No, no, it's not that at all. It's for your protection.'

ККККК 'Huh?'

ККККК 'Doctrine. The less you know that you don't need to know the less you can spill if you are ever captured-and the safer it is for you and for everybody. For example, do you know where you are now? Could you point it out on a map?'

ККККК 'No.'

ККККК 'Neither do I. We don't need to know so we weren't told. However,' he went on, '1 don't mind telling you, in a general way, what you were carrying-just routine reports, confirming stuff we already had by sensitive circuits mostly. You were coming this way, so they dumped a lot of such stuff into you. I took three spools from you.'

ККККК 'Just routine stuff? Why, the Lodge Master told me I was carrying a message of vital importance. That fat old joker!'

ККККК The technician grudged a smile. 'I'm afraid he was pulling-Oh!'

ККККК 'Eh?'

ККККК 'I know what he meant. You were carrying a message of vital importance-to you. You carried your own credentials hypnotically. If you had not been, you would never have been allowed to wake up.'

ККККК I had nothing to say. I left quietly.

ККККК My rounds of the medical office, psych office, quartermaster, and so forth had begun to give me a notion of the size of the place. The 'toy village' I had first seen was merely the administrative group. The power plant, a packaged pile, was in a separate cavern with many yards of rock wall as secondary shielding. Married couples were quartered where they pleased-about a third of us were female-and usually chose to set up their houses (or pens) well away from the central grouping. The armory and ammo dump were located in a side passage, a safe distance from offices and quarters.

ККККК There was fresh water in abundance, though quite hard, and the same passages that carried the underground streams appeared to supply ventilation-at least the air was never stale. It stayed at a temperature of 69.6 Fahrenheit and a relative humidity of 32%, winter and summer, night and day.

ККККК By lunchtime I was hooked into the organization, and found myself already hard at work at a temporary job immediately after lunch-in the armory, repairing and adjusting blasters, pistols, squad guns, and assault guns. I could have been annoyed at being asked, or ordered, to do what was really gunnery sergeant work, but the whole place seemed to be run with a minimum of protocol-we cleared our own dishes away at mess, for example. And truthfully it felt good to sit at a bench in the armory, safe and snug, and handle calipers and feather gauges and drifts again-good, useful work.

ККККК Just before dinner that first day I wandered into the B.O.Q. lounge and looked around for an unoccupied chair. I heard a familiar baritone voice behind me: 'Johnnie! John Lyle!' I whirled around and there, hurrying toward me, was Zebadiah Jones-good old Zeb, large as life and his ugly face split with a grin.

ККККК We pounded each other on the back and swapped insults. 'When did you get here?' I finally asked him.

ККККК 'Oh, about two weeks ago.'

ККККК 'You did? You were still at New Jerusalem when I left. How did you do it?'

ККККК 'Nothing to it. I was shipped as a corpse-in a deep trance. Sealed up in a coffin and marked "contagious".'

ККККК I told him about my own mixed-up trip and Zeb seemed impressed, which helped my morale. Then I asked him what he was doing.

ККККК 'I'm in the Psych & Propaganda Bureau,' he told me, 'under Colonel Novak. Just now I'm writing a series of oh-so-respectful articles about the private life of the Prophet and his acolytes and attending priests, how many servants they have, how much it costs to run the Palace, all about the fancy ceremonies and rituals, and such junk. All of it perfectly true, of course, and told with unctuous approval. But I lay it on a shade too thick. The emphasis is on the jewels and the solid gold trappings and how much it all costs, and keep telling the yokels what a privilege it is for them to be permitted to pay for such frippery and how flattered they should feel that God's representative on earth lets them take care of him.'

ККККК 'I guess I don't get it,' I said, frowning. 'People like that circusy stuff. Look at the way the tourists to New Jerusalem scramble for tickets to a Temple ceremony.'

ККККК 'Sure, sure-but we don't peddle this stuff to people on a holiday to New Jerusalem; we syndicate it to little local papers in poor farming communities in the Mississippi Valley, and in the Deep South, and in the back country of New England. That is to say, we spread it among some of the poorest and most puritanical elements of the population, people who are emotionally convinced that poverty and virtue are the same thing. It grates on their nerves; in time it should soften them up and make doubters of them.'

ККККК 'Do you seriously expect to start a rebellion with picayune stuff like that?'

ККККК 'It's not picayune stuff, because it acts directly on their emotions, below the logical level. You can sway a thousand men by appealing to their prejudices quicker than you can convince one man by logic. It doesn't have to be a prejudice about an important matter either. Johnnie, you savvy how to use connotation indices, don't you?'

ККККК 'Well, yes and no. I know what they are; they are supposed to measure the emotional effects of words.'

ККККК 'That's true, as far as it goes. But the index of a word isn't fixed like the twelve inches in a foot; it is a complex variable function depending on context, age and sex and occupation of the listener, the locale and a dozen other things. An index is a particular solution of the variable that tells you whether a particular word is used in a particular fashion to a particular reader or type of reader will affect that person favorably, unfavorably, or simply leave him cold. Given proper measurements of the group addressed it can be as mathematically exact as any branch of engineering. We never have all the data we need so it remains an art-but a very precise art, especially as we employ "feedback" through field sampling. Each article I do is a little more annoying than the last-and the reader never knows why.'

ККККК 'It sounds good, but I don't see quite how it's done.'

ККККК 'I'll give you a gross case. Which would you rather have? A nice, thick, juicy, tender steak-or a segment of muscle tissue from the corpse of an immature castrated bull?'

ККККК I grinned at him. 'You can't upset me. I'll take it by either name . . . not too well done. I wished they would announce chow around here; I'm starved.'

ККККК 'You think you aren't affected because you were braced for it. But how long would a restaurant stay in business if it used that sort of terminology? Take another gross case, the Anglo-Saxon monosyllables that naughty little boys write on fences. You can't use them in polite company without offending, yet there are circumlocutions or synonyms for every one of them which may be used in any company.'

ККККК I nodded agreement. 'I suppose so. I certainly see how it could work on other people. But personally, I guess I'm immune to it. Those taboo words don't mean a thing to me-except that I'm reasonably careful not to offend other people. I'm an educated man, Zeb-"Sticks and stones may break my bones, et cetera." But I see how you could work on the ignorant.'

ККККК Now I should know better than to drop my guard with Zeb. The good Lord knows he's tripped me up enough times. He smiled at me quietly and made a short statement involving some of those taboo words.

ККККК 'You leave my mother out of this!'

ККККК I was the one doing the shouting and I came up out of my chair like a dog charging into battle. Zeb must have anticipated me exactly and shifted his weight before he spoke, for, instead of hanging one on his chin, I found my wrist seized in his fist and his other arm around me, holding me in a clinch that stopped the fight before it started. 'Easy, Johnnie,' he breathed in my ear. 'I apologize. I most humbly apologize and ask your forgiveness. Believe me, I wasn't insulting you.'

ККККК 'So you say!'

ККККК 'So I say, most humbly. Forgive me?'

ККККК As I simmered down I realized that my outbreak had been very conspicuous. Although we had picked a quiet corner to talk, there were already a dozen or more others in the lounge, waiting for dinner to be announced. I could feel the dead silence and sense the question in the minds of others as to whether or not it was going to be necessary to intervene. I started to turn red with embarrassment rather than anger. 'Okay. Let me go.'

ККККК He did so and we sat down again. I was still sore and not at all inclined to forget Zeb's unpardonable breach of good manners, but the crisis was past. But he spoke quietly, 'Johnnie, believe me, I was not insulting you nor any member of your family. That was a scientific demonstration of the dynamics of connotational indices, and that is all it was.'

ККККК 'Well-you didn't have to make it so personal.'

ККККК 'Ah, but I did have to. We were speaking of the psychodynamics of emotion, and emotions are personal, subjective things which must be experienced to be understood. You were of the belief that you, as an educated man, were immune to this form of attack-so I ran a lab test to show you that no one is immune. Now just what did I say to you?'

ККККК 'You said-Never mind. Okay, so it was a test. But I don't care to repeat it. You've made your point: I don't like it.'

ККККК 'But what did I say? All I said, in fact, was that you were the legitimate offspring of a legal marriage. Right? What is insulting about that?'

ККККК 'But'-I stopped and ran over in my mind the infuriating, insulting, and degrading things he had said-and, do you know, that is absolutely all they added up to. I grinned sheepishly. 'It was the way you said it.'

ККККК 'Exactly, exactly! To put it technically, I selected terms with high negative indices, for this situation and for this listener. Which is precisely what we do with this propaganda, except that the emotional indices are lesser quantitatively to avoid arousing suspicion and to evade the censors-slow poison, rather than a kick in the belly. The stuff we write is all about the Prophet, lauding him to the skies. . . so the irritation produced in the reader is transferred to him. The method cuts below the reader's conscious thought and acts on the taboos and fetishes that infest his subconscious.'

ККККК I remembered sourly my own unreasoned anger. 'I'm convinced. It sounds like heap big medicine.'

ККККК 'It is, chum, it is. There is magic in words, black magic-if you know how to invoke it.'

ККККК After dinner Zeb and I went to his cubicle and continued to bat the breeze. I felt warm and comfortable and very, very contented. The fact that we were part of a revolutionary plot, a project most unlikely to succeed and which would most probably end with us both dead in battle or burned for treason, affected me not at all. Good old Zeb! What if he did get under my guard and hit me where it hurt? He was my 'family'-all the family that I had. To be with him now made me feel the way I used to feel when my mother would sit me down in the kitchen and feed me cookies and milk.

ККККК We talked about this and that, in the course of which I learned more about the organization and discovered-was very surprised to discover-that not all of our comrades were brethren. Lodge Brothers, I mean. 'But isn't that dangerous?'

ККККК 'What isn't? And what did you expect, old son? Some of our most valuable comrades can't join the Lodge; their own religious faith forbids it. But we don't have any monopoly on hating tyranny and loving freedom and we need all the help we can get. Anybody going our direction is a fellow traveler. Anybody.'

ККККК I thought it over. The idea was logical, though somehow vaguely distasteful. I decided to gulp it down quickly. 'I suppose so. I imagine even the pariahs will be of some use to us, when it comes to the fighting, even if they aren't eligible for membership.'

ККККК Zeb gave me a look I knew too well. 'Oh, for Pete's sake, John! When are you going to give up wearing diapers?'

ККККК 'Huh?'

ККККК 'Haven't you gotten it through your head yet that the whole "pariah" notion is this tyranny's scapegoat mechanism that every tyranny requires?'

ККККК 'Yes, but-'

ККККК 'Shut up. Take sex away from people. Make it forbidden, evil, limit it to ritualistic breeding. Force it to back up into suppressed sadism. Then hand the people a scapegoat to hate. Let them kill a scapegoat occasionally for cathartic, release. The mechanism is ages old. Tyrants used it centuries before the word "psychology" was ever invented. It works, too. Look at yourself.'

ККККК 'Look, Zeb, I don't have anything against the pariahs.'

ККККК 'You had better not have. You'll find a few dozen of them in the Grand Lodge here. And by the way, forget that word "pariah". It has, shall we say, a very high negative index.'

ККККК He shut up and so did I; again I needed time to get my thoughts straight. Please understand me-it is easy to be free when you have been brought up in freedom, it is not easy otherwise. A zoo tiger, escaped, will often slink back into the peace and security of his bars. If he can't get back, they tell me he will pace back and forth within the limits of bars that are no longer there. I suppose I was still pacing in my conditioned pattern.

ККККК The human mind is a tremendously complex thing; it has compartments in it that its owner himself does not suspect. I had thought that I had given my mind a thorough housecleaning already and had rid it of all the dirty superstitions I had been brought up to believe. I was learning that the 'housecleaning' had been no more than a matter of sweeping the dirt under the rugs-it would be years before the cleansing would be complete, before the clean air of reason blew through every room.

ККККК All right, I told myself, if I meet one of these par-no, 'comrades', I'll exchange recognition with him and be polite-as long as he is polite to me! At the time I saw nothing hypocritical in the mental reservation.

ККККК Zeb lay back, smoking, and let me stew. I knew that he smoked and he knew that I disapproved. But it was a minor sin and, when we were rooming together in the Palace barracks, I would never have thought of reporting him. I even knew which room servant was his bootlegger. 'Who is sneaking your smokes in now?' I asked, wishing to change the subject.

ККККК 'Eh? Why, you buy them at the P.X., of course.' He held the dirty thing out and looked at it. 'These Mexican cigarettes are stronger than I like. I suspect that they use real tobacco in them, instead of the bridge sweepings I'm used to. Want one?'

ККККК 'Huh? Oh, no, thanks!'

ККККК He grinned wryly. 'Go ahead, give me your usual lecture. It'll make you feel better.'

ККККК 'Now look here, Zeb, I wasn't criticizing. I suppose it's just one of the many things I've been wrong about.'

ККККК 'Oh, no. It's a dirty, filthy habit that ruins my wind and stains my teeth and may eventually kill me off with lung cancer.' He took a deep inhalation, let the smoke trickle out of the corners of his mouth, and looked profoundly contented. 'But it just happens that I like dirty, filthy habits.'

ККККК He took another puff. 'But it's not a sin and my punishment for it is here and now, in the way my mouth tastes each morning. The Great Architect doesn't give a shout in Sheol about it. Catch on, old son? He isn't even watching.'

ККККК 'There is no need to be sacrilegious.'

ККККК 'I wasn't being so.'

ККККК 'You weren't, eh? You were scoffing at one of the most fundamental-perhaps the one fundamental-proposition in religion: the certainty that God is watching!'

ККККК 'Who told you?'

ККККК For a moment all I could do was to sputter. 'Why, it isn't necessary. It's an axiomatic certainty. It's -,

ККККК 'I repeat, who told you? See here, I retract what I said. Perhaps the Almighty is watching me smoke. Perhaps it is a mortal sin and I will burn for it for eons. Perhaps. But who told you? Johnnie, you've reached the point where you are willing to kick the Prophet out and hang him to a tall, tall tree. Yet you are willing to assert your own religious convictions and to use them as a touchstone to judge my conduct. So I repeat: who told you? What hill were you standing on when the lightning came down from Heaven and illuminated you? Which archangel carried the message?'

ККККК I did not answer at once. I could not. When I did it was with a feeling of shock and cold loneliness. 'Zeb . . . I think I understand you at last. You are an-atheist. Aren't you?'

ККККК Zeb looked at me bleakly. 'Don't call me an atheist,' he said slowly, 'unless you are really looking for trouble.'

ККККК 'Then you aren't one?' I felt a wave of relief, although I still didn't understand him.

ККККК 'No, I am not. Not that it is any of your business. My religious faith is a private matter between me and my God. What my inner beliefs are you will have to judge by my actions . . . for you are not invited to question me about them. I decline to explain them nor to justify them to you. Nor to anyone. . - not the Lodge Master. . . nor the Grand Inquisitor, if it comes to that.'

ККККК 'But you do believe in God?'

ККККК 'I told you so, didn't I? Not that you had any business asking me.'

ККККК 'Then you must believe in other things?'

ККККК 'Of course I do! I believe that a man has an obligation to be merciful to the weak - . . patient with the stupid . . . generous with the poor. I think he is obliged to lay down his life for his brothers, should it be required of him. But I don't propose to prove any of those things; they are beyond proof. And I don't demand that you believe as I do.'

ККККК I let out my breath. 'I'm satisfied, Zeb.'

ККККК Instead of looking pleased he answered, 'That's mighty kind of you, brother, mighty kind! Sorry-I shouldn't be sarcastic. But I had no intention of asking for your approval. You goaded me-accidentally, I'm sure-into discussing matters that I never intend to discuss.' He stopped to light up another of those stinking cigarettes and went on more quietly. 'John, I suppose that I am, in my own cantankerous way, a very narrow man myself. I believe very strongly in freedom of religion-but I think that that freedom is best expressed as freedom to keep quiet. From my point of view, a great deal of openly expressed piety is insufferable conceit.'

ККККК 'Huh?'

ККККК 'Not every case-I've known the good and the humble and the devout. But how about the man who claims to know what the Great Architect is thinking? The man who claims to be privy to His Inner Plans? It strikes me as sacrilegious conceit of the worst sort-this character probably has never been any closer to His Trestle Board than you or I. But it makes him feel good to claim to be on chummy terms with the Almighty, it builds his ego, and lets him lay down the law to you and me. Pfui! Along comes a knothead with a loud voice, an I.Q. around 90, hair in his ears, dirty underwear, and a lot of ambition. He's too lazy to be a farmer, too stupid to be an engineer, too unreliable to be a banker-but, brother, can he pray! After a while he has gathered around him other knotheads who don't have his vivid imagination and self-assurance but like the idea of having a direct line of Omnipotence. Then this character is no longer Nehemiah Scudder but the First Prophet'

ККККК I was going along with him, feeling shocked but rather pleasantly so, until he named the First Prophet. Perhaps my own spiritual state at that time could have been described as that of a 'primitive' follower of the First Prophet-that is to say, I had decided that the Prophet Incarnate was the devil himself and that all of his works were bad, but that belief did not affect the basics of the faith I had learned from my mother. The thing to do was to purge and reform the Church, not to destroy it. I mention this because my own case paralleled a very serious military problem that was to develop later.

ККККК I found that Zeb was studying my face. 'Did I get you on the raw again, Old fellow? I didn't mean to.'

ККККК 'Not at all,' I answered stiffly, and went on to explain that, in my opinion, the sinfulness of the present gang of devils that had taken over the Church in no way invalidated the true faith. 'After all, no matter what you think nor how much you may like to show off your cynicism, the doctrines are a matter of logical necessity. The Prophet Incarnate and his cohorts can pervert them, but they can't destroy them-and it doesn't matter whether the real Prophet had dirty underwear or not.'

ККККК Zeb sighed as if he were very tired. 'Johnnie, I certainly did not intend to get into an argument about religion with you. I'm not the aggressive type-you know that. I had to be pushed into the Cabal.' He paused. 'You say the doctrines are a matter of logic?'

ККККК 'You've explained the logic to me yourself. It's a perfect consistent structure.'

ККККК 'So it is. Johnnie, the nice thing about citing God as an authority is that you can prove anything you set out to prove. It's just a matter of selecting the proper postulates, then insisting that your postulates are "inspired". Then no one can possibly prove that you are wrong.'

ККККК 'You are asserting that the First Prophet was not inspired?'

ККККК 'I am asserting nothing. For all you know, 1 am the First Prophet, come back to kick out the defilers of my temple.'

ККККК 'Don't be-I was all wound up to kick it around further when there came a knock at Zeb's door. I stopped and he called out, 'Come in!'

ККККК It was Sister Magdalene.

ККККК She nodded at Zeb, smiled sweetly at my open-mouthed surprise and said, 'Hello, John Lyle. Welcome.' It was the first time I had ever seen her other than in the robes of a holy deaconess. She seemed awfully pretty and much younger.

ККККК 'Sister Magdalene!'

ККККК 'No. Staff Sergeant Andrews. "Maggie", to my friends.'

ККККК 'But what happened? Why are you here?'

ККККК 'Right at the moment I'm here because I heard at dinner that you had arrived. When I didn't find you in your own quarters I concluded that you would be with Zeb. As for the rest, I couldn't go back, any more than you or Zeb-and our hideout back in New Jerusalem was getting overcrowded, so they transferred me.'

ККККК 'Well, it's good to see you!'

ККККК 'It's good to see you, John.' She patted me on the cheek and smiled again. Then she climbed on Zeb's bed and squatted tailor-fashion, showing a rather immodest amount of limb in the process. Zeb lit another cigarette and handed it to her; she accepted it, drew smoke deep into her lungs, and let it go as if she had been smoking all her life.

ККККК I had never seen a woman smoke-never. I could see Zeb watching me, confound him!-and I most carefully ignored it. Instead I grinned and said, 'This is a wonderful reunion! If only -,

ККККК 'I know,' agreed Maggie. 'If only Judith were here. Have you heard from her yet, John?'

ККККК 'Heard from her? How could I?'

ККККК 'That's right, you couldn't-not yet. But you can write to her now.'

ККККК 'Huh? How?'

ККККК 'I don't know the code number off hand, but you can drop it at my desk-I'm in G-2. Don't bother to seal it; all personal mail has to be censored and paraphrased. I wrote to her last week but I haven't had an answer yet.'

ККККК I thought about excusing myself at once and writing a letter, but I didn't. It was wonderful to be with both of them and I didn't want to cut the evening short. I decided to write before I went to bed-while realizing, with surprise, that I had been so much on the go that, so far as I could remember, I hadn't even had time to think about Judith since . . . well, since Denver, at least.

ККККК But I did not get to write to her even later that night. It was past eleven o'clock and Maggie was saying something about reveille coming early when an orderly showed up: 'The Commanding General's compliments and will Legate Lyle see him at once, sir.'

ККККК I gave my hair a quick brush with Zeb's gear and hurried away, while wishing mightily that I had something fit to report in, rather than a civilian suit much the worse for wear.

ККККК The inner sanctum was deserted and dark except for a light that I could see in the far inner office-even Mr. Giles was not at his desk. I found my way in, knocked on the door frame, stepped inside, clicked my heels and saluted. 'Legate Lyle reports to the Commanding General as ordered, sir.'

ККККК An elderly man seated at a big desk with his back to me turned and looked up, and I got another surprise. 'Ah, yes, John Lyle,' he said gently. He got up and came toward me, with his hand out. 'It's been a long time, hasn't it?'

ККККК It was Colonel Huxley, head of the Department of Applied Miracles when I was a cadet-and almost my only friend among the officers at that time. Many was the Sunday afternoon that I had relaxed in his quarters, my stock unhooked, free for the moment from the pressure of discipline.

ККККК I took his hand. 'Colonel-I mean "General", sir . I thought you were dead!'

ККККК 'Dead colonel into live general, eh! No, Lyle, though I was listed as dead when I went underground. They usually do that when an officer disappears; it looks better. You're dead, too-did you know?'

ККККК 'Uh, no, I didn't, sir. Not that it matters. This is wonderful, sir!'

ККККК 'Good.'

ККККК 'But-I mean, how did you ever-well-' I shut up.

ККККК 'How did I land here and in charge at that? I've been a Brother since I was your age, Lyle. But I didn't go underground until I had to-none of us do. In my case the pressure for me to join the priesthood became a bit too strong; the Superintendent was quite restless about having a lay officer know too much about the more abstruse branches of physics and chemistry. So I took a short leave and died. Very sad.' He smiled. 'But sit down. I've been meaning to send for you all day, but it's been a busy day. They all are. It wasn't until now that I've had time to listen to the record of your report.'

ККККК We sat down and chatted, and I felt that my cup runneth over. Huxley I respected more than any officer I had ever served under. His very presence resolved any residual doubts I might have-if the Cabal was right for him, it was right for me, and never mind the subtleties of doctrine.

ККККК At last he said, 'I didn't call you in at this late hour just to chat, Lyle. I've a job for you.'

ККККК 'Yes, sir?'

ККККК 'No doubt you've already noticed what a raw militia we have here. This is between ourselves and I'm not criticizing our comrades-every one of them has pledged his life to our cause, a harder thing for them to do than for you and me, and they have all placed themselves under military discipline, a thing still harder. But I haven't enough trained soldiers to handle things properly. They mean well but I am tremendously handicapped in trying to turn the organization into an efficient fighting machine. I'm swamped with administrative details. Will you help me?'

ККККК I stood up. '1 shall be honored to serve with the General to the best of my ability.'

ККККК 'Fine! We'll call you my personal aide for the time being. That's all for tonight, Captain. I'll see you in the morning.'

ККККК I was halfway out the door before his parting designation sunk in-then I decided that it was a slip of the tongue.

ККККК But it was not. I found my own office the next morning by the fact that a sign had been placed on it reading: 'CAPTAIN LYLE'. From the standpoint of a professional military man there is one good thing about revolutions: the opportunities for swift promotion are excellent . . . even if the pay is inclined to be irregular.

ККККК My office adjoined General Huxley's and from then on I almost lived in it-eventually I had a cot installed back of my desk. The very first day I was still fighting my way down a stack of papers in my incoming basket at ten at night. I had promised myself that I would find the bottom, then write a long letter to Judith. But it turned out to be a very short note, as there was a memorandum addressed to me personally, rather than to the General, at the bottom.

ККККК It was addressed to 'Legate J. Lyle,' then someone had scratched out 'Legate' and written 'Captain'. It went on:

MEMORANDUM FOR ALL PERSONNEL NEWLY REPORTED

SUBJECT:ККККК Personal Conversion Report

1. You are requested and directed to write out, as fully as possible, all of the events, thoughts, considerations, and incidents which led up to your decision to join our fight for freedom. This account should be as detailed as possible and as subjective as possible. A report written hastily, too briefly, or to superficially will be returned to be expanded and corrected and may be supplemented by hypno examination.

2. This report will be treated as confidential as a whole and any portion of it may be classified secret by the writer. You may substitute letters or numbers for proper names if this will help you to speak freely, but the report must be complete.

3. No time off from regular duties is allotted for this purpose, but this report must be treated as extra-duty of highest priority. A draft of your report will be expected by (here some one had written in a date and hour less than forty-eight hours away; I used some profane expressions under my breath.)

BY ORDER OF THE COMMANDING GENERAL

(s)КК M. Novak, Col, F.U.S.A. Chief of Psychology

ККККК I was considerably annoyed by this demand and decided to write to Judith first anyway. The note didn't go very well-how can one write a love letter when you know that one or more strangers will read it and that one of them will rephrase your tenderest words? Besides that, while writing to Judith, my thoughts kept coming back to that night on the rampart of the Palace when I had first met her. It seemed to me that my own personal conversion, as the nosy Colonel Novak called it, started then. . . although I had begun to have doubts before then. Finally I finished the note, decided not to go to bed at once but to tackle that blasted report.

ККККК After a while I noticed that it was one o'clock in the morning and I still hadn't carried my account up to the point where I was admitted to the Brotherhood. I stopped writing rather reluctantly (I found that I had grown interested) and locked it in my desk.

ККККК At breakfast the next morning I got Zebadiah aside, showed him the memorandum, and asked him about it. 'What's the big idea?' I asked. 'You work for this particular brass. Are they still suspicious of us, even after letting us in here?'

ККККК Zeb barely glanced at it. 'Oh, that-Shucks, no. Although I might add that a spy, supposing one could get this far, would be bound to be caught when his personal story went through semantic analysis. Nobody can tell a lie that long and that complicated.'

ККККК 'But what's it for?'

ККККК 'What do you care? Write it out-and be sure you do a thorough job. Then turn it in.'

ККККК I felt myself grow warm. 'I don't know as I will. I rather think I'll ask the General about it first.'

ККККК 'Do so, if you want to make a ruddy fool of yourself. But look, John, the psychomathematicians who will read that mess of bilge you will write, won't have the slightest interest in you as an individual. They don't even want to know who you are-a girl goes through your report and deletes all personal names, including your own, if you haven't done so yourself, and substitutes numbers. . . all this before an analyst sees it. You're just data, that's all; the Chief has some heap big project on the fire-I don't know what it is myself-and he is trying to gather together a large enough statistical universe to be significant.'

ККККК I was mollified. 'Well, why don't they say so, then? This memo is just a bald order-irritating.'

ККККК Zeb shrugged. 'That is because it was prepared by the semantics division. If the propaganda division had written it, you would have gotten up early and finished the job before breakfast.' He added, 'By the way, I hear you've been promoted. Congratulations.'

ККККК 'Thanks.' I grinned at him slyly. 'How does it feel to be junior to me, Zeb?'

ККККК 'Huh? Did they bump you that far? I thought you were a captain.'

ККККК 'I am.'

ККККК 'Well, excuse me for breathing-but I'm a major.'

ККККК 'Oh. Congratulations.'

ККККК 'Think nothing of it. You have to be at least a colonel around here, or you make your own bed.'

ККККК I was too busy to make my bed very often. More than half the time I slept on the couch in my office and once I went a week without bathing. It was evident at once that the Cabal was bigger and had more complicated ramifications to it than I had ever dreamed and furthermore that it was building to a crescendo. I was too close to the trees to see the woods, even though everything but the utter top-secret, burn-after-reading items passed across my desk.

ККККК I simply endeavored to keep General Huxley from being smothered in pieces of paper-and found myself smothered instead. The idea was to figure out what he would do, if he had time, and then do it for him. A person who has been trained in the principles of staff or doctrinal command can do this; the trick is to make your mind work like your boss's mind in all routine matters, and to be able to recognize what is routine and what he must pass on himself. I made my share of mistakes, but apparently not too many for he didn't fire me, and three months later I was a major with the fancy title of assistant chief of staff. Chalk most of it up to the West Point ring, of course-a professional has a great advantage.

ККККК I should add that Zeb was a short-tailed colonel by then and acting chief of propaganda, his section chief having been transferred to a regional headquarters I knew only by the code name JERICHO.

ККККК But I am getting ahead of my story. I heard from Judith about two weeks later-a pleasant enough note but with the juice pressed out of it through rephrasing. I meant to answer her at once but actually delayed a week-it was so pesky hard to know what to say. I could not possibly tell her any news except that 1 was well and busy. If I had told her I loved her three times in one letter some idiot in cryptography would have examined it for 'pattern' and rejected it completely when he failed to find one.

ККККК The mail went to Mexico through a long tunnel, partly artificial but mostly natural, which led right under the international border. A little electric railroad of the sort used in mines ran through this tunnel and carried not only my daily headaches in the way of official mail but also a great deal of freight to supply our fair-sized town. There were a dozen other entrances to G.H.Q. on the Arizona side of the border, but I never knew where any of them were-it was not my pidgin. The whole area overlay a deep layer of Paleozoic limestone and it may well be honeycombed from California to Texas. The area known as G.H.Q. had been in use for more than twenty years as a hideout for refugee brethren. Nobody knew the extent of the caverns we were in; we simply lighted and used what we needed. It was a favorite sport of us troglodytes-permanent residents were 'trogs'; transients were 'bats' because they flew by night-we trogs liked to go on 'spelling bees', picnics which included a little amateur speleology in the unexplored parts.

ККККК It was permitted by regulations, but just barely and subject to stringent safety precautions, for you could break a leg awfully easily in those holes. But the General permitted it because it was necessary; we had only such recreations as we could make ourselves and some of us had not seen daylight in years.

ККККК Zeb and Maggie and I went on a number of such outings when I could get away. Maggie always brought another woman along. I protested at first but she pointed out to me that it was necessary in order to avoid gossip . . . mutual chaperonage. She assured me that she was certain that Judith would not mind, under the circumstances. It was a different girl each time and it seemed to work out that Zeb always paid a lot of attention to the other girl while I talked with Maggie. I had thought once that Maggie and Zeb would marry, but now I began to wonder. They seemed to suit each other like ham and eggs, but Maggie did not seem jealous and I can only describe Zeb, in honesty, as shameless-that is, if he thought Maggie would care.

ККККК One Saturday morning Zeb stuck his head in my sweat box and said, 'Spelling bee. Two o'clock. Bring a towel.'

ККККК I looked up from a mound of papers. 'I doubt if I can make it,' I answered. 'And why a towel?'

ККККК But he was gone. Maggie came through my office later to take the weekly consolidated intelligence report in to the Old Man, but I did not attempt to question her, as Maggie was all business during working hours-the perfect office sergeant. I had lunch at my desk, hoping to finish up, but knowing it was impossible. About a quarter of two I went in to get General Huxley's signature on an item that was to go out that night by hypnoed courier and therefore had to go at once to psycho in order that the courier might be operated. He glanced at it and signed it, then said, 'Sergeant Andy tells me you have a date.'

ККККК ,'Sergeant Andrews is mistaken,' I said stiffly. 'There are still the weekly reports from Jericho, Nod, and Egypt to be gone over.'

ККККК 'Place them on my desk and get out. That's an order. I can't have you going stale from overwork.'

ККККК I did not tell him that he had not even been to lodge himself in more than a month; I got out.

ККККК I dropped the message with Colonel Novak and hurried to where we always met near the women's mess. Maggie was there with the other girl-a blonde named Miriam Booth who was a clerk in Quartermaster's store. I knew her by sight but had never spoken to her. They had our picnic lunch and Zeb arrived while I was being introduced. He was carrying, as usual, the portable flood we would use when we picked out a spot and a blanket to sit on and use as a table. 'Where's yourК Ќ towel?' he demanded.

ККККК 'Were you serious? I forgot it.'

ККККК 'Run get it. We'll start off along Appian Way. You can catch up. Come on, kids.'

ККККК They started off, which left me with nothing but to do as I was told. After grabbing a towel from my room I dogtrotted until I had them in sight, then slowed to a walk, puffing. Desk work had ruined my wind. They heard me and waited.

ККККК We were all dressed alike, with the women in trousers and each with a safety line wrapped around the waist and torch clipped to the belt. I had gotten used to women in men's clothes, much as I disliked it-and, after all, it is impractical and quite immodest to climb around in caves wearing skirts.

ККККК We left the lighted area by taking a turn that appeared to lead into a blind wall; instead it led into a completely concealed but easily negotiated tunnel. Zeb tied our labyrinth string and started paying it out as soon as we left permanent and marked paths, as required by the standing order; Zeb was always careful about things that mattered.

ККККК For perhaps a thousand paces we could see blazes and other indications that others had been this way before, such as a place where someone had worked a narrow squeeze wider with a sledge. Then we left the obvious path and turned into a blind wall. Zeb put down the flood and turned it on. 'Sling your torches. We climb this one.'

ККККК 'Where are we going?'

ККККК 'A place Miriam knows about. Give me a leg up, Johnnie.' The climb wasn't much. I got Zeb up all right and the girls could have helped each other up, but we took them up roped, for safety's sake. We picked up our gear and Miriam led us away, each of us using his torch.

ККККК We went down the other side and there was another passage so well hidden that it could have been missed for ten thousand years. We stopped once while Zeb tied on another ball of string. Shortly Miriam said, 'Slow up, everybody. I think we're there.'

ККККК Zeb flashed his torch around, then set up the portable flood and switched it on. He whistled. 'Whew! This is all right!'

ККККК Maggie said softly, 'It's lovely.' Miriam just grinned triumphantly.

ККККК I agreed with them all. It was a perfect small domed cavern, perhaps eighty feet wide and much longer. How long, I could not tell, as it curved gently away in a gloom-filled turn. But the feature of the place was a quiet, inky-black pool that filled most of the floor. In front of us was a tiny beach of real sand that might have been laid down a million years ago for all I know.

ККККК Our voice echoed pleasantly and a little bit spookily in the chamber, being broken up and distorted by stalactites and curtains hanging from the roof. Zeb walked down to the water's edge, squatted and tested it with his hand. 'Not too cold,' he announced. 'Well, the last one in is a proctor's nark.'

ККККК I recognized the old swimming hole call, even though the last time I had heard it, as a boy, it had been 'last one in is a dirty pariah'. But here I could not believe it.

ККККК Zeb was already unbuttoning his shirt. I stepped up to him quickly and said privately, 'Zeb! Mixed bathing? You must be joking?'

ККККК 'Not a bit of it.' He searched my face. 'Why not? What's the matter with you, boy? Afraid someone will make you do penance? They won't, you know. That's all over with.'

ККККК 'But -'

ККККК 'But what?'

ККККК I could not answer. The only way I could make the words come out would have been in the terms we had been taught in the Church, and I knew that Zeb would laugh at me-in front of the women. Probably they would laugh, too, since they had known and I hadn't. 'But Zeb,' I insisted, 'I can't. You didn't tell me . . . and I don't even have a bathing outfit.'

ККККК 'Neither do I. Didn't you ever go in raw as a kid-and get paddled for it?' He turned away without waiting for me to answer this enormity and said, 'Are you frail vessels waiting on something?'

ККККК 'Just for you two to finish your debate,' Maggie answered, coming closer. 'Zeb, I think Mimi and I will use the other side of that boulder. All right?'

ККККК 'Okay. But wait a second. No diving, you both understand. And a safety man on the bank at all times-John and I will take turns.'

ККККК 'Pooh!' said Miriam. '1 dove the last time I was here.'

ККККК 'You weren't with me, that's sure. No diving-or I'll warm your pants where they are tightest.'

ККККК She shrugged. 'All right, Colonel Crosspatch. Come on, Mag.' They went on past us and around a boulder half as big as a house. Miriam stopped, looked right at me, and waggled a finger. 'No peeking, now!' I blushed to my ears.

ККККК They disappeared and we heard no more of them, except for giggles. I said hurriedly, 'Look. You do as you please-and on your own head be it. But I'm not going in. I'll sit here on the bank and be safety man.'

ККККК 'Suit yourself. I was going to match you for first duty, but nobody is twisting your arm. Pay out a line, though, and have it ready for heaving. Not that we'll need it; both the girls are strong swimmers.'

ККККК I said desperately, 'Zeb, I'm sure the General would forbid swimming in these underground pools.'

ККККК 'That's why we don't mention it. "Never worry the C.O. unnecessarily"-standing orders in Joshua's Army, circa 1400 B.C.' He went right on peeling off his clothes.

ККККК I don't know why Miriam warned me not to peek-not that I would!-for when she was undressed she came straight out from behind that boulder, not toward us but toward the water. But the flood light was full on her and she even turned toward us for an instant, then shouted, 'Come on, Maggie! Zeb is going to be last if you hurry.'

ККККК I did not want to look and I could not take my eyes off her. I had never seen anything remotely resembling the sight she was in my life-and only once a picture, one in the possession of a boy in my parish school and on that occasion I had gotten only a glimpse and then had promptly reported him.

ККККК But I could not stop looking, burning with shame as I was.

ККККК Zeb beat Maggie into the water-I don't think she cared. He went into the water quickly, almost breaking his own injunction against diving. Sort of a surface dive I would call it, running into the water and then breaking into a racing start. His powerful crawl was soon overtaking Miriam, who had started to swim toward the far end.

ККККК Then Maggie came out from behind the boulder and went into the water. She did not make a major evolution of it, the way Miriam had, but simply walked quickly and with quiet grace into the water. When she was waist deep, she let herself sink forward and struck out in a strong breast stroke, then shifted to a crawl and followed the others, when I could hear but hardly see in the distance.

ККККК Again I could not take my eyes away if my eternal soul had depended on it. What is it about the body of a human woman that makes it the most terribly beautiful sight on earth? Is it, as some claim, simply a necessary instinct to make sure that we comply with God's will and replenish the earth? Or is it some stranger, more wonderful thing?

ККККК I found myself quoting: 'How fair and how pleasant art thou, 0 love, for delights!

ККККК 'This thy stature is like to a palm tree, and thy breasts to clusters of grapes.'

ККККК Then I broke off, ashamed, remembering that the Song of Songs which is Solomon's was a chaste and holy allegory having nothing to do with such things.

ККККК I sat down on the sand and tried to compose my soul. After a while I felt better and my heart stopped pounding so hard. When they all came swimming back with Zeb in the lead, racing Miriam, I even managed to throw them a smile. It no longer seemed quite so terrible and as long as they stayed in the water the women were not shockingly exposed. Perhaps evil was truly in the eyes of the beholder-in which case the idea was to keep it out of mine.

ККККК Zeb called out, 'Ready to be relieved?'

ККККК I answered firmly, 'No. Go ahead and have your fun.'

ККККК 'Okay.' He turned like a dolphin and started back the other way. Miriam followed him. Maggie came in to where it was shallow, rested her finger tips on the bottom, and held facing me, with just her head and her ivory shoulders out of the inky water, while her waist-length mane of hair floated around her.

ККККК 'Poor John,' she said softly. 'I'll come out and spell you.'

ККККК 'Oh, no, really!'

ККККК 'Are you sure?'

ККККК 'Quite sure.'

ККККК 'All right.' She turned, flipped herself over, and started after the others. For one ghostly, magic instant she was partly out of the water.

ККККК Maggie came back to my end of the cavern about ten minutes later. 'I'm cold,' she said briefly, climbed out and strode quickly to the protection of the boulder. Somehow she was not naked, but merely unclothed, like Mother Eve. There is a difference-Miriam had been naked.

ККККК With Maggie out of the water and neither one of us speaking I noticed for the first time that there was no other sound. Now there is nothing so quiet as a cave; anywhere else at all there is noise, but the complete zero decibel which obtains underground if one holds still and says nothing is very different.

ККККК The point is that I should have been able to hear Zeb and Miriam swimming. Swimming need not be noisy but it can't be as quiet as a cave. I sat up suddenly and started forward-then stopped with equal suddenness as I did not want to invade Maggie's dressing room, which another dozen steps would have accomplished.

ККККК But I was really worried and did not know what to do. Throw a line? Where? Peel down and search for them? If necessary. I called out softly, 'Maggie!'

ККККК 'What is it, John?'

ККККК 'Maggie, I'm worried.'

ККККК She came at once from behind the rock. She had already pulled on her trousers, but held her towel so that it covered her from the waist up; I had the impression she had been drying her hair. 'Why, John?'

ККККК 'Keep very quiet and listen.'

ККККК She did so. 'I don't hear anything.'

ККККК 'That's just it. We should. I could hear you all swimming even when you were down at the far end, out of my sight. Now there isn't a sound, not a splash. Do you suppose they possibly could both have hit their heads on the bottom at the same time?'

ККККК 'Oh. Stop worrying, John. They're all right.'

ККККК 'But I am worried.'

ККККК 'They're just resting, I'm sure. There is another little beach down there, about half as big as this. That's where they are. I climbed up on it with them, then I came back. I was cold.'

ККККК I made up my mind, realizing that I had let my modesty hold me back from my plain duty. 'Turn your back. No, go behind the boulder-I want to undress.'

ККККК 'What? I tell you it's not necessary.' She did not budge.

ККККК I opened my mouth to shout. Before I got it out Maggie had a hand over my mouth, which caused her towel to be disarranged and flustered us both. 'Oh, heavens!' she said sharply. 'Keep your big mouth shut.' She turned suddenly and flipped the towel; when she turned back she had it about her like a stole, covering her front well enough, I suppose, without the need to hold it.

ККККК 'John Lyle, come here and sit down. Sit down by me.' She sat on the sand and patted the place by her-and such was the firmness with which she spoke that I did as I was told.

ККККК 'By me,' she insisted. 'Come closer. I don't want to shout.' I inched gingerly closer until my sleeve brushed her bare arm. 'That's better,' she agreed, keeping her voice low so that it did not resound around the cavern. 'Now listen to me. There are two people down there, of their own free will. They are entirely safe-I saw them. And they are both excellent swimmers. The thing for you to do, John Lyle, is to mind your own business and restrain that nasty itch to interfere.'

ККККК 'I'm afraid I don't understand you.' Truthfully, I was afraid I did.

ККККК 'Oh, goodness me! See here, does Miriam mean anything to you?'

ККККК 'Why, no, not especially.'

ККККК 'I should think not, since you haven't addressed six words to her since we started out. Very well, then-since you have no cause to be jealous, if two people choose to be alone, why should you stick your nose in? Understand me now?'

ККККК 'Uh, I guess so.'

ККККК 'Then just be quiet.'

ККККК I was quiet. She didn't move. I was actually aware of her nakedness-for now she was naked, though covered-and I hoped that she was not aware that I was aware. Besides that I was acutely aware of being almost a participant in-well, I don't know what. I told myself angrily that I had no right to assume the worst, like a morals proctor.

ККККК Presently I said, 'Maggie. .

ККККК 'Yes, John?'

ККККК 'I don't understand you.'

ККККК 'Why not, John? Not that it is really needful.'

ККККК 'Uh, you don't seem to give a hoot that Zeb is down there, with Miriam-alone.'

ККККК 'Should I give a hoot?'

ККККК Confound the woman! She was deliberately misunderstanding me. 'Well . . . look, somehow I had gotten the impression that you and Zeb-I mean.. . well, I suppose I sort of expected that you two meant to get married, when you could.'

ККККК She laughed a low chuckle that had little mirth in it. 'I suppose you could have gotten that impression. But, believe me, the matter is all settled and for the best.'

ККККК 'Huh?'

ККККК 'Don't misunderstand me. I am very fond of Zebadiah and I know he is equally fond of me. But we are both dominant types psychologically-you should see my profile chart; it looks like the Rocky Mountains! Two such people should not marry. Such marriages are not made in Heaven, believe me! Fortunately we found it out in time.'

ККККК 'Oh.'

ККККК 'Oh, indeed.'

ККККК Now I don't know just how the next thing happened. I was thinking that she seemed rather forlorn-and the next thing I knew I was kissing her. She lay back in my arms and returned the kiss with a fervor I would not have believed possible. As for me, my head was buzzing and my eyeballs were knocking together and I couldn't have told you whether I was a thousand feet underground or on dress parade.

ККККК Then it was over. She looked up for a bare moment into my eyes and whispered, 'Dear John . . . ' Then she got suddenly to her feet, leaned over me, careless of the towel, and patted my cheek. 'Judith is a very lucky girl. I wonder if she knows it.'

ККККК 'Maggie!' I said.

ККККК She turned away and said, without looking back. 'I really must finish dressing. I'm cold.'

ККККК She had not felt cold to me.

She came out shortly, fully dressed and toweling her hair vigorously. I got my dry towel and helped her. I don't believe I suggested it; the idea just took care of itself. Her hair was thick and lovely and I enjoyed doing it. It sent goose pimples over me.

ККККК Zeb and Miriam came back while I was doing so, not racing but swimming slowly; we could hear them laughing long before they were in sight. Miriam climbed out of the water as shamelessly as any harlot of Gomorrah, but I hardly noticed her. Zeb looked me in the eye and said aggressively, 'Ready for your swim, chum?'

ККККК I started to say that I did not believe that I would bother and was going to make some excuse about my towel already being wet-when I noticed Maggie watching me. . . not saying anything but watching. I answered, 'Why, surely! You two took long enough.' I called out, 'Miriam! Get out from behind that rock! I want to use it.'

ККККК She squealed and giggled and came out, still arranging her clothes. I went behind it with quiet dignity.

ККККК I hope I still had quiet dignity when I came out. In any case I set my teeth, walked out and straight into the water. It was bitingly cold at first, but only for a moment. I was never varsity but I swam on my class team and I've even been in the Hudson on New Year's Day. I liked that black pool, once I was in.

ККККК I just had to swim down to the other end. Sure enough, there was a little beach there. I did not go up on it.

ККККК On the way back I tried to swim down to the bottom. I could not find it, but it must have been over twenty feet down. I liked it down there-black and utterly still. Had I the breath for it, or gills, it seemed to me that it would have been a good place to stay, away from Prophets, away from Cabals, and paperwork, and worries, and problems too subtle for me.

ККККК I came up gasping, then struck out hard for our picnic beach. The girls already had the food laid out and Zeb shouted for me to hurry. Zeb and Maggie did not look up as I got out of the water, but I caught Miriam eyeing me. I don't think I blushed. I never did like blondes anyhow. I think Lilith must have been a blonde.

Chapter 11

The Supreme Council, consisting of heads of departments, General Huxley, and a few others, met weekly or oftener to advise the General, exchange views, and consider the field reports. About a month after our rather silly escapade in the underground pool they were in session and I was with them, not as a member but as a recorder. My own girl was ill and I had borrowed Maggie from G-2 to operate the voicewriter, since she was cleared for top secret. We were always terribly shorthanded of competent personnel. My nominal boss, for example, was Wing General Penoyer, who carried the title of Chief of Staff. But I hardly ever saw him, as he was also Chief of Ordnance. Huxley was his own chief of staff and I was sort of a glorified aide-'midshipmite, and bosun tite, and crew of the captain's gig'. I even tried to see to it that Huxley took his stomach medicine regularly.

ККККК This meeting was bigger than usual. The regional commanders of Gath, Canaan, Jericho, Babylon, and Egypt were present in person; Nod and Damascus were represented by deputies-every Cabal district of the United States except Eden and we were holding a sensitive hook-up to Louisville for that command, using idea code that the sensitives themselves would not understand. I could feel the pressure of something big coming up, although Huxley had not taken me into his confidence. The place was tyled so that a mouse couldn't have got in.

ККККК We droned through the usual routine reports. It was duly recorded that we now had eighty-seven hundred and nine accepted members, either lodge brethren or tested and bound members of the parallel military organization. There were listed as recruited and instructed more than ten times that number of fellow travelers who could be counted on to rise against the Prophet, but who had not been entrusted with knowledge of the actual conspiracy.

ККККК The figures themselves were not encouraging. We were always in the jaws of a dilemma; a hundred thousand men was a handful to conquer a continent-wide country whereas the less than nine thousand party to the conspiracy itself were 'way too many to keep a secret. We necessarily relied on the ancient cell system wherein no man knew more than he had to know and could not give away too much no matter what an inquisitor did to him-no, not even if he had been a spy. But we had our weekly losses even at this passive stage.

ККККК One entire lodge had been surprised in session and arrested in Seattle four days earlier; it was a serious loss but only three of the chairs had possessed critical knowledge and all three had suicided successfully. Prayers would be said for all of them at a grand session that night, but here it was a routine report. We had lost four hatchet men that week but twenty-three assassinations had been accomplished-one of them the Elder Inquisitor for the entire lower Mississippi Valley.

ККККК The Chief of Communications reported that the brethren were prepared to disable 91% (figured on population coverage) of the radio & TV stations in the country, and that with the aid of assault groups we could reasonably hope to account for the rest-with the exception of the Voice of God station at New Jerusalem, which was a special problem.

ККККК The Chief of Combat Engineering reported readiness to sabotage the power supply of the forty-six largest cities, again with the exception of New Jerusalem, the supply of which was self-contained with the pile located under the Temple. Even there major interruption could be accomplished at distribution stations if the operation warranted the expenditure of sufficient men. Major surface transportation and freight routes could be sabotaged sufficiently with present plans and personnel to reduce traffic to 12% of normal.

ККККК The reports went on and on-newspapers, student action groups, rocket field seizure or sabotage, miracles, rumor propagation, water supply, incident incitement, counter-espionage, long-range weather prediction, weapons distribution. War is a simple matter compared with revolution. War is an applied science, with well-defined principles tested in history; analogous solutions may be found from ballista to H-bomb. But every revolution is a freak, a mutant, a monstrosity, its conditions never to be repeated and its operations carried out by amateurs and individualists.

ККККК While Maggie recorded the data I was arranging it and transmitting it to the calculator room for analysis. I was much too busy even to attempt a horse-back evaluation in my head. There was a short wait while the analysts finished programming and let the 'brain' have it-then the remote-printer in front of me chattered briefly and stopped. Huxley leaned across me and tore off the tape before I could reach it.

ККККК He glanced at it, then cleared his throat and waited for dead silence. 'Brethren,' he began, 'comrades-we agreed long ago on our doctrine of procedure. When every predictable factor, calculated, discounted for probable error, weighted and correlated with all other significant factors, gave a calculated risk of two to one in our favor, we would strike. Today's solution of the probability equation, substituting this week's data for the variables, gives an answer of two point one three. I propose to set the hour of execution. How say you?'

ККККК It was a delayed shock; no one said anything. Hope delayed too long makes reality hard to believe-and all of these men had waited for years, some for most of a lifetime. Then they were on their feet, shouting, sobbing, cursing, pounding each others' backs.

ККККК Huxley sat still until they quieted, an odd little smile on his face. Then he stood up and said quietly, 'I don't think we need poll the sentiment. I will set the hour after I have-'General! If you please. I do not agree.' It was Zeb's boss, Sector General Novak, Chief of Psych. Huxley stopped speaking and the silence fairly ached. I was as stunned as the rest.

ККККК Then Huxley said quietly, 'This council usually acts by unanimous consent. We have long since arrived at the method for setting the date. . . but I know that you would not disagree without good reason. We will listen now to Brother Novak.'

ККККК Novak came slowly forward and faced them. 'Brethren,' he began, running his eyes over bewildered and hostile faces, 'you know me, and you know I want this thing as much as you do. I have devoted the last seventeen years to it-it has cost me my family and my home. But I can't let you go ahead without warning you, when I am sure that the time is not yet. I think-no, I know with mathematical certainty that we are not ready for revolution.' He had to wait and hold up both hands for silence; they did not want to hear him. 'Hear me out! I concede that all military plans are ready. I admit that if we strike now we have a strong probability of being able to seize the country. Nevertheless we are not ready -,

ККККК 'Why not?'

ККККК '- because a majority of the people still believe in the established religion, they believe in the Divine authority of the Prophet. We can seize power but we can't hold it.'

ККККК 'The Devil we won't!'

ККККК 'Listen to me! No people was ever held in subjection long except through their own consent. For three generations the American people have been conditioned from cradle to grave by the cleverest and most thorough psychotechnicians in the world. They believe! If you turn them loose now, without adequate psychological preparation, they will go back to their chains . . . like a horse returning to a burning barn. We can win the revolution but it will be followed by a long and bloody civil war-which we will lose!'

ККККК He stopped, ran a trembling hand across his eyes, then said to Huxley, 'That's all.'

ККККК Several were on their feet at once. Huxley pounded for order, then recognized Wing General Penoyer.

ККККК Penoyer said, 'I'd like to ask Brother Novak a few questions.'

ККККК 'Go ahead.'

ККККК 'Can his department tell us what percentage of the population is sincerely devout?'

ККККК Zebadiah, present to assist his chief, looked up; Novak nodded and he answered, 'Sixty-two percent, plus-or-minus three percent.'

ККККК 'And the percentage who secretly oppose the government whether we have enlisted them or not?'

ККККК 'Twenty-one percent plus, proportional error. The balance can be classed as conformists, not devout but reasonably contented.'

ККККК 'By what means were the data obtained?'

ККККК 'Surprise hypnosis of representative types.'

ККККК 'Can you state the trend?'

ККККК 'Yes, sir. The government lost ground rapidly during the first years of the present depression, then the curve flattened out. The new tithing law and to some extent the vagrancy decrees were unpopular and the government again lost ground before the curve again flattened at a lower level. About that time business picked up a little but we simultaneously started our present intensified propaganda campaign; the government has been losing ground slowly but steadily the past fifteen months.'

ККККК 'And what does the first derivative show?'

ККККК Zeb hesitated and Novak took over. 'You have to figure the second derivative,' he answered in a strained voice; 'the rate is accelerating.'

ККККК 'Well?'

ККККК The Psych Chief answered firmly but reluctantly, 'On extrapolation, it will be three years and eight months before we can risk striking.'

ККККК Penoyer turned back to Huxley. 'I have my answer, sir. With deep respect to General Novak and his careful scientific work, I say-win while we can! We may never have another chance.'

ККККК He had the crowd with him. 'Penoyer is right! If we wait, we'll be betrayed.'-'You can't hold a thing like this together forever.'-'I've been underground ten years; I don't want to be buried here.'-'Win - . . and worry about making converts when we control communications.'-'Strike now! Strike now!'

ККККК Huxley let them carry on, his own face expressionless, until they had it out of their systems. I kept quiet myself, since I was too junior to be entitled to a voice here, but I went along with Penoyer; I couldn't see waiting nearly four years.

ККККК I saw Zeb talking earnestly with Novak. They seemed to be arguing about something and were paying no attention to the racket. But when Huxley at last held up a hand for silence Novak left his place and hurried up to Huxley's elbow. The General listened for a moment, seemed almost annoyed, then undecided. Novak crooked a finger at Zeb, who came running up. The three whispered together for several moments while the council waited.

ККККК Finally Huxley faced them again. 'General Novak has proposed a scheme which may change the whole situation. The Council is recessed until tomorrow.'

ККККК Novak's plan (or Zeb's, though he never admitted authorship) required a delay of nearly two months, to the date of the annual Miracle of the Incarnation. For what was contemplated was no less than tampering with the Miracle itself. In hindsight it was an obvious and probably essential strategem; the psych boss was right. In essence, a dictator's strength depends not upon guns but on the faith his people place in him. This had been true of Caesar, of Napoleon, of Hitler, of Stalin. It was necessary to strike first at the foundation of the Prophet's power: the popular belief that he ruled by direct authority of God.

ККККК Future generations will undoubtedly find it impossible to believe the importance, the extreme importance both to religious faith and political power, of the Miracle of Incarnation. To comprehend it even intellectually it is necessary to realize that the people literally believed that the First Prophet actually and physically returned from Heaven once each year to judge the stewardship of his Divinely appointed successor and to confirm him in his office. The people believed this-the minority of doubters dared not open their faces to dispute it for fear of being torn limb from limb. . . and I am speaking of a rending that leaves blood on the pavement, not some figure of speech. Spitting on the Flag would have been much safer.

ККККК I had believed it myself, all my life; it would never have occurred to me to doubt such a basic article of faith-and I was what is called an educated man, one who had been let into the secrets of and trained in the production of lesser miracles. I believed it.

ККККК The ensuing two months had all the endless time-stretching tension of the waiting period while coming into range and before 'Commence firing!'-yet we were so busy that each day and each hour was too short. In addition to preparing the still more-miraculous intervention in the Miracle we used the time to whet our usual weapons to greater fineness. Zeb and his boss, Sector General Novak, were detached almost at once. Novak's orders read '- proceed to BEULAHLAND and take charge of OPERATION BEDROCK.' I cut the orders myself, not trusting them to a clerk, but no one told me where Beulahland might be found on a map.

ККККК Huxley himself left when they did and was gone for more than a week, leaving Penoyer as acting C-in-C. He did not tell me why he was leaving, of course, nor where he was going, but I could fill in. Operation Bedrock was a psychological maneuver but the means must be physical-and my boss had once been head of the Department of Applied Miracles at the Point. He may have been the best physicist in the entire Cabal; in any case I could guess with certainty that he intended at the very least to see for himself that the means were adequate and the techniques foolproof. For all I know he may actually have used soldering iron and screwdriver and electronic micrometer himself that week-the General did not mind getting his hands dirty.

ККККК I missed Huxley personally. Penoyer was inclined to reverse my decisions on minor matters and waste my time and his on details a top C.O. can't and should not cope with. But he was gone part of the time, too. There was much coming and going and more than once I had to chase down the senior department head present, tell him that he was acting, and get him to sign where I had initialed. I took to scrawling 'I. M. Dumbjohn, Wing General F.U.S.A., Acting' as indecipherably as possible on all routine internal papers-I don't think anybody ever noticed.

ККККК Before Zeb left another thing happened which really has nothing to do with the people of the United States and the struggle to regain their freedoms-but my own personal affairs are so tied into this account that I mention it. Perhaps the personal angle really is important; certainly the order under which this journal was started called for it to be 'personal' and 'subjective'-however I had retained a copy and added to it because I found it helped me to get my own confused thoughts straight while going through a metamorphosis as drastic as that from caterpillar into moth. I am typical, perhaps, of the vast majority, the sort of person who has to have his nose rubbed in a thing before he recognizes it, while Zeb and Maggie and General Huxley were of the elite minority of naturally free souls . . . the original thinkers, the leaders.

ККККК I was at my desk, trying to cope with the usual spate of papers, when I received a call to see Zeb's boss at my earliest convenience. Since he already had his orders, I left word with Huxley's orderly and hurried over.

ККККК He cut short the formalities. 'Major, I have a letter for you which Communications sent over for analysis to determine whether it should be rephrased or simply destroyed. However, on the urgent recommendation of one of my division heads I am taking the responsibility of letting you read it without paraphrasing. You will have to read it here.'

ККККК I said, 'Yes, sir,' feeling quite puzzled.

ККККК He handed it to me. It was fairly long and I suppose it could have held half a dozen coded messages, even idea codes that could come through paraphrasing. I don't remember much of it-just the impact it had on me. It was from Judith.

ККККК 'My dear John . . . I shall always think of you fondly and I shall never forget what you have done for me.. . never meant for each other . . . Mr. Mendoza has been most considerate. I know you will forgive me.. . he needs me; it must have been fate that brought us together . . . if you ever visit Mexico City, you must think of our home as yours . . . I will always think of you as my strong and wise older brother and I will always be a sister-' There was more, lots more, all of the same sort-I think the process is known as 'breaking it gently'.

ККККК Novak reached out and took the letter from me. 'I didn't intend for you to have time to memorize it,' he said dryly, then dropped it at once into his desk incinerator. He glanced back at me. 'Maybe you had better sit down, Major. Do you smoke?'

ККККК I did not sit down, but I was spinning so fast that I accepted the cigarette and let him light it for me. Then I choked on tobacco smoke and the sheer physical discomfort helped to bring me back to reality. I thanked him and got out-went straight to my room, called my office and left word where I could be found if the General really wanted me. But I told my secretary that I was suddenly quite ill and not to disturb me if it could possibly be helped.

ККККК I may have been there about an hour-I wouldn't know-lying face down and doing nothing, not even thinking. There came a gentle tap at the door, then it was pushed open; it was Zeb. 'How do you feel?' he said.

ККККК 'Numb,' I answered. It did not occur to me to wonder how he knew and at the time I had forgotten the 'division head' who had prevailed upon Novak to let me see it in the clear.

ККККК He came on in, sprawled in a chair, and looked at me. I rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed. 'Don't let it throw you, Johnnie,' he said quietly. '"Men have died and worms have eaten them-but not for love."'

ККККК 'You don't know!'

ККККК 'No, I don't,' he agreed. 'Each man is his own prisoner, in solitary confinement for life. Nevertheless on this particular point the statistics are fairly reliable. Try something for me. Visualize Judith in your mind. See her features. Listen to her voice.'

ККККК 'Huh?'

ККККК 'Do it.'

ККККК I tried, I really tried-and, do you know, I couldn't. I had never had a picture of her; her face now eluded me.

ККККК Zeb was watching me. 'You'll get well,' he said firmly. 'Now look here, Johnnie. . . I could have told you. Judith is a very female sort of woman, all gonads and no brain. And she's quite attractive. Turned loose, she was bound to find a man, as sure as nascent oxygen will recombine. But there is no use in talking to a man in love.'

ККККК He stood up. 'Johnnie, I've got to go. I hate like the mischief to walk out and leave you in the shape you are in, but I've already checked out and Grandfather Novak is ready to leave. He'll eat me out as it is, for holding him up this long. But one more word of advice before I go -,

ККККК I waited. 'I suggest,' he continued, 'that you see a lot of Maggie while I'm away. She's good medicine.'

ККККК He started to leave; I said sharply, 'Zeb-what happened to you and Maggie? Something like this?'

ККККК He looked back at me sharply. 'Huh? No. Not at all the same thing. It wasn't. . . well, it wasn't similar.'

ККККК 'I don't understand you-I guess I just don't understand people. You're urging me to see a lot of Maggie-and I thought she was your girl. Uh, wouldn't you be jealous?'

ККККК He stared at me, laughed, and clapped me on the shoulder. 'She's a free citizen, Johnnie, believe me. If you ever did anything to hurt Maggie, I'd tear off your head and beat you to death with it. Not that you ever would. But jealous of her? No. It doesn't enter the picture. I think she's the greatest gal that ever trod shoe leather-but I would rather marry a mountain lioness.'

ККККК He left on that, leaving me again with my mouth open. But I took his advice, or Maggie took it for me. Maggie knew all about it-Judith, I mean-and I assumed that Zeb had told her. He hadn't; it seemed that Judith had written to her first. In any case I didn't have to look her up; she looked me up right after dinner that night. I talked with her a while and felt much better, so much so that I went back to my office and made up for time lost that afternoon.

ККККК Maggie and I made a habit thereafter of taking a walk together after dinner. We went on no more spelling bees; not only was there no time for such during those last days but also neither one of us felt like trying to work up another foursome with Zeb away. Sometimes I could spare only twenty minutes or even less before I would have to be back at my desk-but it was the high point of the day; I looked forward to it.

ККККК Even without leaving the floodlighted main cavern, without leaving the marked paths, there were plenty of wonderfully beautiful walks to take. If I could afford to be away as much as an hour, there was one place in particular we liked to go-north in the big room, a good half mile from the buildings. The path meandered among frozen limestone mushrooms, great columns, domes, and fantastic shapes that have no names and looked equally like souls in torment or great exotic flowers, depending on the mood one was in. At a spot nearly a hundred feet higher than the main floor we had found a place only a few feet off the authorized path where nature had contrived a natural stone bench. We could sit there and stare down at the toy village, talk, and Maggie would smoke. I had taken to lighting her cigarettes for her, as I had seen Zeb do. It was a little attention she liked and I had learned to avoid getting smoke caught in my throat.

ККККК About six weeks after Zeb had left and only days before M-Hour we were doing this and were talking about what it would be like after the revolution and what we would do with ourselves. I said that I supposed I would stay in the regular army, assuming that there was such and that I was eligible for it. 'What will you do, Maggie?'

ККККК She exhaled smoke slowly. 'I haven't thought that far, John. I haven't any profession-that is to say, we are trying our best to make the one I did have obsolete.' She smiled wryly. 'I'm not educated in anything useful. I can cook and I can sew and I can keep house; I suppose I should try to find a job as a housekeeper-competent servants are always scarce, they say.'

ККККК The idea of the courageous and resourceful Sister Magdalene, so quick with a vibroblade when the need arose, tramping from one employment bureau to another in search of menial work to keep her body fed was an idea at once distasteful to me-'General Housework & Cooking, live in, Thursday evenings & alternate Sundays off; references required.' Maggie? Maggie who had saved my own probably worthless life at least twice and never hesitated nor counted the cost. Not Maggie!

ККККК I blurted out, 'Look, you don't have to do that.'

ККККК 'It's what I know.'

ККККК 'Yes, but-well, why don't you cook and keep house for me? I'll be drawing enough to support both of us, even if I have to go back to my permanent rank. Maybe it isn't much but-shucks! you're welcome to it.'

ККККК She looked up. 'Why, John, how very generous!' She crushed out the cigarette and threw it aside. 'I do appreciate it-but it wouldn't work. I imagine there will be just as many gossips after we have won as before. Your colonel would not like it.'

ККККК I blushed red and almost shouted, 'That wasn't what I meant at all!'

ККККК 'What? Then what did you mean?'

ККККК I had not really known until the words came out. Now I knew but not how to express it. 'I meant-Look, Maggie, you seem to like me well enough . . . and we get along well together. That is, why don't we-' I halted, hung up.

ККККК She stood up and faced me. 'John, are you proposing marriage-to me?'

ККККК I said gruffly, 'Uh, that was the general idea.' It bothered me to have her standing in front of me, so I stood up, too.

ККККК She looked at me gravely, searching my face, then said humbly, 'I'm honored . . - and grateful . . . and I am deeply touched. But-oh, no, John!' The tears started out of her eyes and she started to bawl. She stopped as quickly, wiping her face with her sleeve, and said brokenly, 'Now you've made me cry. I haven't cried in years.'

ККККК I started to put my arms around her; she pushed me back. 'No, John! Listen to me first. I'll accept that job as your housekeeper, but I won't marry you.'

ККККК 'Why not?'

ККККК '"Why not?" Oh, my dear, my very dear-Because I am an old, tired woman, that's why.'

ККККК 'Old? You can't be more than a year or two older than I am-three, at the outside. It doesn't matter.'

ККККК 'I'm a thousand years older than you are. Think who I am where I've been-what I've known. First I was "bride", if you care to call it that, to the Prophet.'

ККККК 'Not your fault!'

ККККК 'Perhaps. Then I was mistress to your friend Zebadiah. You knew that?'

ККККК 'Well . . . I was pretty sure of it.'

ККККК 'That isn't all. There were other men. Some because it was needful and a woman has few bribes to offer. Some from loneliness, or even boredom. After the Prophet has tired of her, a woman doesn't seem very valuable, even to herself.'

ККККК 'I don't care. I don't care! It doesn't matter!'

ККККК 'You say that now. Later it would matter to you, dreadfully. I think I know you, my dear.'

ККККК 'Then you don't know me. We'll start fresh.'

ККККК She sighed deeply. 'You think that you love me, John?'

ККККК 'Uh? Yes, I guess that's it.'

ККККК 'You loved Judith. Now you are hurt-so you think you love me.'

ККККК 'But-Oh, I don't know what love is! I know I want you to marry me and live with me.'

ККККК 'Neither do I know,' she said so softly that I almost missed it. Then she moved into my arms as easily and naturally as if she had always lived there.

ККККК When we had finished kissing each other I said, 'You will marry me, then?'

ККККК She threw her head back and stared as if she were frightened. 'Oh, no!'

ККККК 'Huh? But I thought -'

ККККК 'No, dear, no! I'll keep your house and cook your food and make your bed-and sleep in it, if you want me to. But you don't need to marry me.'

ККККК 'But-Sheol! Maggie, I won't have it that way.'

ККККК 'You won't? We'll see.' She was out of my arms although I had not let go. 'I'll see you tonight. About one-after everyone is asleep. Leave your door unlatched.'

ККККК 'Maggie!' I shouted.

ККККК She was headed down the path, running as if she were flying.

ККККК I tried to catch up, tripped on a stalagmite and fell. When I picked myself up she was out of sight.

ККККК Here is an odd thing-I had always thought of Maggie as quite tall, stately, almost as tall as I was. But when I held her in my arms, she was short. I had to lean way over to kiss her.

Chapter 12

On the night of the Miracle all that were left of us gathered in the main communications room-my boss and myself, the chief of communications and his technical crew, a few staff officers. A handful of men and a few dozen women, too many to crowd into the comm shack, were in the main mess-hall where a relay screen had been rigged for them. Our underground city was a ghost town now, with only a skeleton crew to maintain communications for the commanding general; all the rest had gone to battle stations. We few who were left had no combat stations in this phase. Strategy had been settled; the hour of execution was set for us by the Miracle. Tactical decisions for a continent could not be made from headquarters and Huxley was too good a general to try. His troops had been disposed and his subordinate commanders were now on their own; all he could do was wait and pray.

ККККК All that we could do, too-I didn't have any fingernails left to bite.

ККККК The main screen in front of us showed, in brilliant color and perfect perspective, the interior of the Temple. The services had been going on all day-processional, hymns, prayers and more prayers, sacrifice, genuflexion, chanting, endless monotony of colorful ritual. My old regiment was drawn up in two frozen ranks, helmets shining, spears aligned like the teeth of a comb, I made out Peter van Eyck, Master of my home lodge, his belly corseted up, motionless before his platoon.

ККККК I knew, from having handled the despatch, that Master Peter had stolen a print of the film we had to have. His presence in the ceremonies was reassuring; had his theft even been suspected our plans could not possibly succeed. But there he was.

ККККК Around the other three walls of the comm room were a dozen smaller screens, scenes from as many major cities-crowds in Rittenhouse Square, the Hollywood Bowl jam-packed, throngs in local temples. In each case the eyes of all were riveted on a giant television screen showing the same scene in the Great Temple that we were watching. Throughout all America it would be the same-every mortal soul who could possibly manage it was watching some television screen somewhere-waiting, waiting, waiting for the Miracle of the Incarnation.

ККККК Behind us a psychoperator bent over a sensitive who worked under hypnosis. The sensitive, a girl about nineteen, stirred and muttered; the operator bent closer.

ККККК Then he turned to Huxley and the communications chief. 'The Voice of God Station has been secured, sir.'

ККККК Huxley merely nodded; I felt like turning handsprings, if my knees had not been so weak. This was the key tactic and one that could not possibly be executed until minutes before the Miracle. Since television moves only on line-of-sight or in its own special cable the only possible way to tamper with this nationwide broadcast was at the station of origin. I felt a wild burst of exultation at their success-followed by an equally sudden burst of sorrow, knowing that not one of them could hope to live out the night.

ККККК Never mind-if they could hold out for a few more minutes their lives would have counted. I commended their souls to the Great Architect. We had men for such jobs where needed, mostly brethren whose wives had faced an inquisitor.

ККККК The comm chief touched Huxley's sleeve. 'It's coming, sir.' The scene panned slowly up to the far end of the Temple, passed over the altar, and settled in close-up on an ivory archway above and behind the altar-the entrance to the Sanctum Sanctorum. It was closed with heavy cloth-of-gold drapes.

ККККК The pick-up camera held steady with the curtained entranceway exactly filling the screen. 'They can take over any time now, sir.'

ККККК Huxley turned his head to the psychoperator. 'Is that ours yet? See if you can get a report from the Voice of God.'

ККККК 'Nothing, sir. I'll let you know.'

ККККК I could not take my eyes off the screen. After an interminable wait, the curtains stirred and slowly parted, drawn up and out on each side-and there, standing before us almost life size and so real that I felt he could step out of the screen, was the Prophet Incarnate!

ККККК He turned his head, letting his gaze rove from side to side, then looked right at me, his eyes staring right into mine. I wanted to hide. I gasped and said involuntarily, 'You mean we can duplicate that?'

ККККК The comm chief nodded. 'To the millimeter, or I'll eat the difference. Our best impersonator, prepared by our best plastic surgeons. That may be our film already.'

ККККК 'But it's real.'

ККККК Huxley glanced at me. 'A little less talk, please, Lyle.' It was the nearest he had ever come to bawling me out; I shut up and studied the screen. That powerful, totally unscrupulous face, that burning gaze-an actor? No! I knew that face; I had seen it too many times in too many ceremonies. Something had gone wrong and this was the Prophet Incarnate himself. I began to sweat that stinking sweat of fear. I very much believe that had he called me by name out of that screen I would have confessed my treasons and thrown myself on his mercy.

ККККК Huxley said crossly, 'Can't you raise New Jerusalem?'

ККККК The psychoperator answered, 'No, sir. I'm sorry, sir.'

ККККК The Prophet started his invocation.

ККККК His compelling, organlike voice rolled through magnificent periods. Then he asked the blessing of Eternal God for the people this coming year. He paused, looked at me again, then rolled his eyes up to Heaven, lifted his hands and commenced his petition to the First Prophet, asking him to confer on his people the priceless bounty of seeing and hearing him in the flesh, and offering for that purpose the flesh of the present prophet as an instrument. He waited.

ККККК The transformation started-and my hackles stood up. I knew now that we had lost; something had gone wrong. . - and God alone knew how many men had died through the error.

ККККК The features of the Prophet began to change; he stretched an inch or two in height; his rich robes darkened-and there standing in his place, dressed in a frock coat of a bygone era, was the Reverend Nehemiah Scudder, First Prophet and founder of the New Crusade. I felt my stomach tighten with fear and dread and I was a little boy again, watching it for the first time in my parish church.

ККККК He spoke to us first with his usual yearly greeting of love and concern for his people. Gradually he worked himself up, his face sweating and his hand clutching in the style that had called down the Spirit in a thousand Mississippi Valley camp meetings: my heart began to beat faster. He was preaching against sin in all its forms-the harlot whose mouth is like honey, the sins of the flesh, the sins of the spirit, the money changers.

ККККК At the height of his passion he led into a new subject in a fashion that caught me by surprise: 'But I did not return to you this day to speak to you of the little sins of little people. No! I come to tell you of a truly hellish thing and to bid you to gird on your armor and fight. Armageddon is upon you! Rise up, mine hosts, and fight you the Battle of the Lord! For Satan is upon you! He is here! Here among you! Here tonight in the flesh! With the guile of the serpent he has come among you, taking on the form of the Vicar of the Lord! Yea! He has disguised himself falsely, taken on the shape of the Prophet Incarnate!

ККККК 'Smite him! Smite his hirelings! In the Name of God destroy them all!'

Chapter 13

'Bruehler from voice of God,' the psychoperator said quietly. 'The station is now off the air and demolition will take place in approximately thirty seconds. An attempt will be made to beat a retreat before the building goes up. Good luck. Message ends.'

ККККК Huxley muttered something and left the now-dark big screen. The smaller screens, monitoring scenes around the country, were confusing but heartening. There was fighting and rioting everywhere. 1 watched it, still stunned, and tried to figure out which was friend and which was foe. In the Hollywood Bowl the crowd boiled up over the stage and by sheer numbers overran and trampled the officials and clergy seated there. There were plenty of guards stationed around the edges of the howl and it should not have happened that way. But instead of the murderous enfilading fire one would have expected, there was one short blast from a tripod mounted or~ the hillside northeast of the stage, then the guard was shot-apparently by another of the guards.

ККККК Apparently the chancy tour de force against the Prophet himself was succeeding beyond all expectations. If government forces were everywhere as disorganized as they were at the Hollywood Bowl, the job would not be one of fighting but of consolidating an accomplished fact.

ККККК The monitor from Hollywood went dead and I shifted to another screen, Portland, Oregon. More fighting. I could see men with white armbands, the only uniform we had allowed ourselves for M-Hour-but not all the violence came from our brethren in the armbands. 1 saw an armed proctor go down before bare fists and not get up.

ККККК Testing messages and early reports were beginning to come in, now that it was feasible to use our own radio-now that we had at long, long last shown our hand. I stopped looking and went back to help my boss keep track of them. I was still dazed and could still see in my mind the incredible face of the Prophet-both Prophets. If I had been emotionally battered by it, what did the people think? The devout, the believers?

ККККК The first clear-cut report other than contact messages was from Lucas in New Orleans:

HAVE TAKEN CONTROL OF CITY CENTER, POWER

AND COMM STATIONS. MOP-UP SQUADS SEIZING

WARD POLICE STAT1ONS. FEDERAL GUARDS HERE

DEMORALIZED BY STEREOCAST. SPORADIC FIGHTING

BROKE OUT AMONG GUARDS THEMSELVES.

LITTLE ORGANI ZED RESISTANCE. ESTABLISHING

ORDER UNDER MARTIAL LAW. SO MOTE IT BE!

LUCAS.

ККККК Then reports started pouring in: Kansas City, Detroit, Philadelphia, Denver, Boston, Minneapolis-all the major cities. They varied but told the same story; our synthetic Prophet's call to arms, followed at once by a cutting of all regular methods of communication, had made of the government forces a body without a head, flopping around and fighting itself. The power of the Prophet was founded on superstition and fraud; we had turned superstition back on him to destroy him.

ККККК Lodge that night was the grandest I have ever attended. We tyled the communications room itself, with the comm chief sitting as secretary and passing incoming messages to General Huxley, sitting as Master in the east, as fast as they came in. I was called on to take a chair myself, Junior Warden, an honor I had never had before. The General had to borrow a hat and it was ridiculously too small for him, but it didn't matter-I have never seen ritual so grand, before or since. We all spoke the ancient words from our hearts, as if we were saying them for the first time. If the stately progress was interrupted to hear that Louisville was ours, what better interruption? We were building anew; after an endless time of building in speculation we were at last building operatively.

Chapter 14

Temporary capital was set up at St Louis, for its central location. I piloted Huxley there myself. We took over the Prophet's proctor base there, restoring to it its old name of Jefferson Barracks. We took over the buildings of the University, too, and handed back to it the name of Washington. If the people no longer recalled the true significance of those names, they soon would and here was a good place to start. (I learned for the first time that Washington had been one of us.)

ККККК However, one of Huxley's first acts as military governor-he would not let himself be called even 'Provisional President'-was to divorce all official connection between the Lodge and the Free United States Army. The Brotherhood had served its purpose, had kept alive the hopes of free men; now it was time to go back to its ancient ways and let public affairs be handled publicly. The order was not made public, since the public had no real knowledge of us, always a secret society and for three generations a completely clandestine one. But it was read and recorded in all lodges and, so far as I know, honored.

ККККК There was one necessary exception: my home lodge at New Jerusalem and the cooperating sister order there of which Maggie had been a member. For we did not yet hold New Jerusalem although the country as a whole was ours.

ККККК This was more serious than it sounds. While we had the country under military control, with all communication centers in our hands, with the Federal Forces demoralized, routed, and largely dispersed or disarmed and captured, we did not hold the country's heart in our hands. More than half of the population were not with us; they were simply stunned, confused, and unorganized. As long as the Prophet was still alive, as long as the Temple was still a rallying point, it was still conceivably possible for him to snatch back the victory from us.

ККККК A fraud, such as we had used, has only a temporary effect; people revert to their old thinking habits. The Prophet and his cohorts were not fools; they included some of the shrewdest applied psychologists this tired planet has ever seen. Our own counterespionage became disturbingly aware that they were rapidly perfecting their own underground, using the still devout and that numerous minority, devout or not, who had waxed fat under the old regime and saw themselves growing leaner under the new. We could not stop this counterrevolution-Sheol! the Prophet had not been able to stop us and we had worked under much greater handicaps. The Prophet's spies could work almost openly in the smaller towns and the country; we had barely enough men to guard the television stations-we could not possibly put a snooper under every table.

ККККК Soon it was an open secret that we had faked the call to Armageddon. One would think that this fact in itself would show to anyone who knew it that all of the Miracles of Incarnation had been frauds-trick television and nothing more. I mentioned this to Zebadiah and got laughed at for being na•ve. People believe what they want to believe and logic has no bearing on it, he assured me. In this case they wanted to believe in their old time religion as they learned it at their mothers' knees; it restored security to their hearts. I could sympathize with that, I understood it.

ККККК In any case, New Jerusalem must fall-and time was against us.

ККККК While we were worrying over this, a provisional constitutional convention was being held in the great auditorium of the university. Huxley opened it, refused again the title, offered by acclamation, of president-then told them bluntly that all laws since the inauguration of President Nehemiah Scudder were of no force, void, and that the old constitution and bill of rights were effective as of now, subject to the exigencies of temporary military control. Their single purpose, he said, was to work out orderly methods of restoring the old free democratic processes; any permanent changes in the constitution, if needed, would have to wait until after free elections.

ККККК Then he turned the gavel over to Novak and left.

ККККК I did not have time for politics, but I hid out from work and caught most of one afternoon session because Zebadiah had tipped me off that significant fireworks were coming up. I slipped into a back seat and listened. One of Novak's bright young men was presenting a film. I saw the tail end of it only, but it seemed to be more or less a standard instruction film, reviewing the history of the United States, discussing civil liberty, explaining the duties of a citizen in a free democracy-not the sort of thing ever seen in the Prophet's schools but making use of the same techniques which had long been used in every school in the country. The film ended and the bright young man-I could never remember his name, perhaps because I disliked him. Stokes? Call him Stokes, anyway, Stokes began to speak.

ККККК 'This reorientation film,' he began, 'is of course utterly useless in recanalizing an adult. His habits of thought are much too set to be affected by anything as simple as this.'

ККККК 'Then why waste our time with it?' someone called out.

ККККК 'Please! Nevertheless this film was prepared for adults-provided the adult has been placed in a receptive frame of mind. Here is the prologue-' the screen lighted up again. It was a simple and beautiful pastoral scene with very restful music. I could not figure what he was getting at, but it was soothing; I remembered that I had not had much sleep the past four nights-come to think about it, I couldn't remember when I had had a good night's sleep. I slouched back and relaxed.

ККККК I didn't notice the change from scenery to abstract patterns. I think the music continued but it was joined by a voice, warm, soothing, monotonous. The patterns were going round and around and I was beginning to bore. . . right. . - into . . . the...screen...

ККККК Then Novak had left his chair and switched off the projector with a curse. I jerked awake with that horrid shocked feeling that makes one almost ready to cry. Novak was speaking sharply but quietly to Stokes-then Novak faced the rest of us. 'Up on your feet!' he ordered. 'Seventh inning stretch. Take a deep breath. Shake hands with the man next to you. Slap him on the back, hard!'

ККККК We did so and I felt foolish. Also irritated. I had felt so good just a moment before and now I was reminded of the mountain of work I must move if I were to have ten minutes with Maggie that evening. I thought about leaving but the b. y. m. had started talking again.

ККККК 'As Dr. Novak has pointed out,' he went on, not sounding quite so sure of himself, 'it is not necessary to use the prologue on this audience, since you don't need reorientation. But this film, used with the preparatory technique and possibly in some cases with a light dose of one of the hypnotic drugs, can be depended on to produce an optimum political temperament in 83% of the populace. This has been demonstrated on a satisfactory test group. The film itself represents several years of work analyzing the personal conversion reports of almost everyone-surely everyone in this audience!-who joined our organization while it was still underground. The irrelevant has been eliminated; the essential has been abstracted. What remains will convert a devout follower of the Prophet to free manhood-provided he is in a state receptive to suggestion when he is exposed to it.'

ККККК So that was why we had each been required to bare our souls. It seemed logical to me. God knew that we were sitting on a time bomb, and we couldn't wait for every lunk to fall in love with a holy deaconess and thereby be shocked out of his groove; there wasn't time. But an elderly man whom I did not know was on his feet on the other side of the hall-he looked like the picture of Mark Twain, an angry Mark Twain. 'Mr. Chairman!'

ККККК 'Yes, comrade? State your name and district.'

ККККК 'You know what my name is, Novak-Winters, from Vermont. Did you okay this scheme?'

ККККК 'No.' It was a simple declarative.

ККККК 'He's one of your boys.'

ККККК 'He's a free citizen. I supervised the preparation of the film itself and the research which preceded it. The use of null-vol suggestion techniques came from the research group he headed. I disapproved the proposal, but agreed to schedule time to present it. I repeat, he is a free citizen, free to speak, just as you are.'

ККККК 'May I speak now?'

ККККК 'You have the floor.'

ККККК The old man drew himself up and seemed to swell up. 'I shall! Gentlemen . . . ladies - . . comrades! I have been in this for more than forty years-more years than that young pup has been alive. I have a brother, as good a man as 1 am, but we haven't spoken in many years-because he is honestly devout in the established faith and he suspects me of heresy. Now this cub, .with his bulging forehead and his whirling lights, would "condition" my brother to make him "politically reliable".'

ККККК He stopped to gasp asthmatically and went on. 'Free men aren't "conditioned!" Free men are free because they are ornery and cussed and prefer to arrive at their own prejudices in their own way-not have them spoon-fed by a self-appointed mind tinkerer! We haven't fought, our brethren haven't bled and died, just to change bosses, no matter how sweet their motives. I tell you, we got into the mess we are in through the efforts of those same mind tinkerers. They've studied for years how to saddle a man and ride him. They started with advertising and propaganda and things like that, and they perfected it to the point where what used to be simple, honest swindling such as any salesman might use became a mathematical science that left the ordinary man helpless.' He pointed his finger at Stokes. 'I tell you that the American citizen needs no protection from anything-except the likes of him.'

ККККК 'This is ridiculous,' Stokes snapped, his voice rather high. 'You wouldn't turn high explosives over to children. That is what the franchise would be now.'

ККККК 'The American people are not children.'

ККККК 'They might as well be!-most of them.'

ККККК Winters turned his eyes around the hall. 'You see what I mean, friends? He's as ready to play God as the Prophet was. I say give 'em their freedom, give 'em their clear rights as men and free men and children under God. If they mess it up again, that's their doing-but we have no right to operate on their minds.' He stopped and labored again to catch his breath; Stokes looked contemptuous. 'We can't make the world safe for children, nor for men either-and God didn't appoint us to do it.'

ККККК Novak said gently, 'Are you through, Mr. Winters?'

ККККК 'I'm through.'

ККККК 'And you've had your say, too, Stokes. Sit down.'

ККККК Then I had to leave, so I slipped out-and missed what must have been a really dramatic event if you care for that sort of thing; I don't. Old Mr. Winters dropped dead about the time I must have been reaching the outer steps.

ККККК Novak did not let them recess on that account. They passed two resolutions; that no citizen should be subjected to hypnosis or other psychomanipulative technique without his written consent, and that no religious or political test should be used for franchise in the first elections.

ККККК I don't know who was right. It certainly would have made life easier in the next few weeks if we had known that the people were solidly behind us. Temporarily rulers we might be, but we hardly dared go down a street in uniform at night in groups of less than six.

ККККК Oh yes, we had uniforms now-almost enough for one for each of us, of the cheapest materials possible and in the standard army sizes, either too large or too small. Mine was too tight. They had been stockpiled across the Canadian border and we got our own people into uniform as quickly as possible. A handkerchief tied around the arm is not enough.

ККККК Besides our own simple powder-blue dungarees there were several other uniforms around, volunteer brigades from outside the country and some native American outfits. The Mormon Battalions had their own togs and they were all growing beards as well-they went into action singing the long forbidden 'Come, Come, Ye Saints!' Utah was one state we didn't have to worry about, now that the Saints had their beloved temple back. The Catholic Legion had its distinctive uniform, which was just as well since hardly any of them spoke English. The Onward Christian Soldiers dressed differently from us because they were a rival underground and rather resented our coup d'etat-we should have waited. Joshua's Army from the pariah reservations in the northwest (plus volunteers from all over the world) had a get-up that can only be described as outlandish.

ККККК Huxley was in tactical command of them all. But it wasn't an army; it was a rabble.

ККККК The only thing that was hopeful about it was that the Prophet's army had not been large, less than two hundred thousand, more of an internal police than an army, and of that number only a few had managed to make their way back to New Jerusalem to augment the Palace garrison. Besides that, since the United States had not had an external war for more than a century, the Prophet could not recruit veteran soldiers from the remaining devout.

ККККК Neither could we. Most of our effectives were fit only to guard communication stations and other key installations around the country and we were hard put to find enough of them to do that. Mounting an assault on New Jerusalem called for scraping the bottom of the barrel.

ККККК Which we did, while smothering under a load of paperwork that made the days in the old G.H.Q. seem quiet and untroubled. I had thirty clerks under me now and I don't know what half of them did. I spend a lot of my time just keeping Very Important Citizens who Wanted to Help from getting in to see Huxley.

ККККК I recall one incident which, while not important, was not exactly routine and was important to me. My chief secretary came in with a very odd look on her face. 'Colonel,' she said, 'your twin brother is out there.'

ККККК 'Eh? I have no brothers.'

ККККК 'A Sergeant Reeves,' she amplified.

ККККК He came in, we shook hands, and exchanged inanities. I really was glad to see him and told him about all the orders I had sold and then lost for him. I apologized, pled exigency of war and added, 'I landed one new account in K.C.-Emery, Bird, Thayer. You might pick it up some day.'

ККККК 'I will. Thanks.'

ККККК 'I didn't know you were a soldier.'

ККККК 'I'm not, really. But I've been practicing at it ever since my travel permit, uh-got itself lost.'

ККККК 'I'm sorry about that.'

ККККК 'Don't be. I've learned to handle a blaster and I'm pretty good with a grenade now. I've been okayed for Operation Strikeout.'

ККККК 'Eh? That code word is supposed to be confo.'

ККККК 'It is? Better tell the boys; they don't seem to realize it. Anyhow, I'm in. Are you? Or shouldn't I ask that?'

ККККК I changed the subject. 'How do you like soldering? Planning to make a career of it?'

ККККК 'Oh, it's all right-but not that all right. But what I came in to ask you, Colonel, are you?'

ККККК 'Are you staying in the army afterwards? I suppose you can make a good thing out of it, with your background-whereas they wouldn't let me shine brightwork, once the fun is over. But if by any chance you aren't, what do you think of the textile business?'

ККККК I was startled but I answered, 'Well, to tell the truth I rather enjoyed it-the selling end, at least.'

ККККК 'Good. I'm out of a job where I was, of course-and I've been seriously considering going in on my own, a jobbing business and manufacturers' representative. I'll need a partner. Eh?'

ККККК I thought it over. 'I don't know,' I said slowly. 'I haven't thought ahead any further than Operation Strikeout. I might stay in the army-though soldiering does not have the appeal for me it once had . . . too many copies to make out and certify. But I don't know. I think what I really want is simply to sit under my own vine and my own fig tree.'

ККККК '"- and none shall make you afraid",' he finished. 'A good thought. But there is no reason why you shouldn't unroll a few bolts of cloth while you are sitting there. The fig crop might fail. Think it over.'

ККККК 'I will. I surely will.'

Chapter 15

Maggie and I were married the day before the assault on New Jerusalem. We had a twenty-minute honeymoon, holding hands on the fire escape outside my office, then I flew Huxley to the jump-off area. I was in the flagship during the attack. I had asked permission to pilot a rocket-jet as my combat assignment but he had turned me down.

ККККК 'What for, John?' he had asked. 'This isn't going to be won in the air; it will be settled on the ground.'

ККККК He was right, as usual. We had few ships and still fewer pilots who could be trusted. Some of the Prophet's air force had been sabotaged on the ground; a goodly number had escaped to Canada and elsewhere and been interned. With what planes we had we had been bombing the Palace and Temple regularly, just to make them keep their heads down.

ККККК But we could not hurt them seriously that way and both sides knew it. The Palace, ornate as it was above ground, was probably the strongest bomb-proof ever built. It had been designed to stand direct impact of a fission bomb without damage to personnel in its deepest tunnels-and that was where the Prophet was spending his days, one could be sure. Even the part above ground was relatively immune to ordinary H.E. bombs such as we were using.

ККККК We weren't using atomic bombs for three reasons: we didn't have any; the United States was not known to have had any since the Johannesburg Treaty after World War III. We could not get any. We might have negotiated a couple of bombs from the Federation had we been conceded to be the legal government of the United States, but, while Canada had recognized us, Great Britain had not and neither had the North African Confederacy. Brazil was teetering; she had sent a chargЋ d'affaires to St Louis. But even if we had actually been admitted to the Federation, it is most unlikely that a mass weapon would have been granted for an internal disorder.

ККККК Lastly, we would not have used one if it had been laid in our laps. No, we weren't chicken hearted. But an atom bomb, laid directly on the Palace, would certainly have killed around a hundred thousand or more of our fellow citizens in the surrounding city-and almost as certainly would not have killed the Prophet.

ККККК It was going to be necessary to go in and dig him out, like a holed-up badger.

ККККК Rendezvous was made on the east shore of the Delaware River. At one minute after midnight we moved east, thirty-four land cruisers, thirteen of them modern battlewagons, the rest light cruisers and obsolescent craft-all that remained of the Prophet's mighty East Mississippi fleet; the rest had been blown up by their former commanders. The heavy ships would be used to breach the walls; the light craft were escort to ten armored transports carrying the shock troops-five thousand fighting men hand-picked from the whole country. Some of them had had some military training in addition to what we had been able to give them in the past few weeks; all of them had taken part in the street fighting.

ККККК We could hear the bombing at New Jerusalem as we started out, the dull Crrump!' the gooseflesh shiver of the concussion wave, the bass rumble of the ground sonic. The bombing had been continuous the last thirty-six hours; we hoped that no one in the Palace had had any sleep lately, whereas our troops had just finished twelve hours impressed sleep.

ККККК None of the battlewagons had been designed as a flagship, so we had improvised a flag plot just abaft the conning tower, tearing out the long-range televisor to make room for the battle tracker and concentration plot. I was sweating over my jury-rigged tracker, hoping to Heaven that the makeshift shock absorbers would be good enough when we opened up. Crowded in behind me was a psychoperator and his crew of sensitives, eight women and a neurotic fourteen-year-old boy. In a pinch, each would have to handle four circuits. I wondered if they could do it. One thin blonde girl had a dry, chronic cough and a big thyroid patch on her throat.

ККККК We lumbered along in approach zigzag. Huxley wandered from comm to plot and back again, calm as a snail, looking over my shoulder, reading despatches casually, watching the progress of the approach on the screens.

ККККК The pile of despatches at my elbow grew. The Cherub had fouled her starboard tread; she had dropped out of formation but would rejoin in thirty minutes. Penoyer reported his columns extended and ready to deploy. Because of the acute shortage of command talent, we were using broad-command organization; Penoyer commanded the left wing and his own battlewagon; Huxley was force commander, right wing commander, and skipper of his own flagship.

ККККК At 12:32 the televisors went out. The enemy had analyzed our frequency variation pattern, matched us and blown every tube in the circuits. It is theoretically impossible; they did it. At 12:37 radio went out.

ККККК Huxley seemed unperturbed. 'Shift to light-phone circuits,' was all he said.

ККККК The communications officer had anticipated him; our audio circuits were now on infra-red beams, ship to ship. Huxley hung over my shoulder most of the next hour, watching the position plot lines grow. Presently he said, 'I think we will deploy now, John. Some of those pilots aren't any too steady; I think we will give them time to settle down in their positions before anything more happens.'

ККККК I passed the order and cut my tracker out of circuit for fifteen minutes; it wasn't built for so many variables at such high speeds and there was no sense in overloading it. Nineteen minutes later the last transport had checked in by phone, I made a preliminary set up, threw the starting switch and let the correction data feed in. For a couple of minutes I was very busy balancing data, my hands moving among knobs and keys; then the machine was satisfied with its own predictions and I reported, 'Tracking, sir.'

ККККК Huxley leaned over my shoulder. The line was a little ragged but I was proud of them-some of those pilots had been freighter jacks not four weeks earlier.

ККККК At three a.m. we made the precautionary signal, 'Coming on the range,' and our own turret rumbled as they loaded it.

ККККК At 3:31 Huxley gave the command, 'Concentration Plan III, open fire.'

ККККК Our own big fellow let go. The first shot shook loose a lot of dust and made my eyes water. The craft rolled back on her treads to the recoil and I nearly fell out of my saddle. I had never ridden one of the big booster guns before and I hadn't expected the long recoil. Our big rifle had secondary firing chambers up the barrel, electronically synchronized with the progress of the shell; it maintained max pressure all the way up and gave a much higher muzzle velocity and striking power. It also gave a bone-shaking recoil. But the second time I was ready for it.

ККККК Huxley was at the periscope between shots, trying to observe the effects of our fire. New Jerusalem had answered our fire but did not yet have us ranged. We had the advantage of firing at a stationary target whose range we knew to the meter; on the other hand even a heavy land cruiser could not show the weight of armor that underlay the Palace's ginger-bread.

ККККК Huxley turned from the scope and remarked, 'Smoke, John.' I turned to the communications officer. 'Stand by, sensitives; all craft!'

ККККК The order never got through. Even as I gave it the comm officer reported loss of contact. But the psychoperator was already busy and I knew the same thing was happening in all the ships; it was normal casualty routine.

ККККК Of our nine sensitives, three-the boy and two women-were wide-awakes; the other six were hypnos. The technician hooked the boy first to one in Penoyer's craft. The kid established rapport almost at once and Penoyer got through a report:

ККККК 'BLANKETED BY SMOKE. HAVE SHIFTED LEFT WING TO PSYCHO. WHAT HOOK-UP? - PENOYER.'

ККККК I answered, 'Pass down the line.' Doctrine permitted two types of telepathic hook-up: relay, in which a message would be passed along until it reached its destination; and command mesh, in which there was direct hook-up from flag to each ship under that flag, plus ship-to-ship for adjacent units. In the first case each sensitive carries just one circuit, that is, is in rapport with just one other telepath; in the second they might have to handle as many as four circuits. I wanted to hold off overloading them as long as possible.

ККККК The technician tied the other two wide-awakes into our flanking craft in the battle line, then turned his attention to the hypnos. Four of them required hypodermics; the other two went under in response to suggestion. Shortly we were hooked up with the transports and second-line craft, as well as with the bombers and the rocket-jet spotting the fall of shot. The jet reported visibility zero and complained that he wasn't getting anything intelligible by radar. I told him to stand by; the morning breeze might clear the smoke away presently.

ККККК We weren't dependent on him anyway; we knew our positions almost to the inch. We had taken departure from a benchmark and our dead reckoning was checked for the whole battle line every time any skipper identified a map-shown landmark. In addition, the dead reckoners of a tread-driven cruiser are surprisingly accurate; the treads literally measure every yard of ground as they pass over it and a little differential gadget compares the treads and keeps just as careful track of direction. The smoke did not really bother us and we could keep on firing accurately even if radar failed. On the other hand, if the Palace commander kept us in smoke he himself was entirely dependent on radar.

ККККК His radar was apparently working; shot was falling all around us. We hadn't been hit yet but we could feel the concussions when shells struck near us and some of the reports were not cheerful. Penoyer reported the Martyr hit; the shell had ruptured her starboard engine room. The skipper had tried to cross connect and proceed at half-speed, but the gear train was jammed; she was definitely out of action. The Archangel had overheated her gun. She was in formation but would be harmless until the turret captain got her straightened out.

ККККК Huxley ordered them to shift to Formation E, a plan which used changing speeds and apparently random courses-carefully planned to avoid collision between ships, however. It was intended to confuse the fire control of the enemy.

ККККК At 4:11 Huxley sent the bombers back to base. We were inside the city now and the walls of the Palace lay just beyond-too close to target for comfort; we didn't want to lose ships to our own bombs.

ККККК At 4:17 we were struck. The port upper tread casing was split, the barbette was damaged so that the gun would no longer .train, and the conning tower was cracked along its after surface. The pilot was killed at his controls.

ККККК I helped the psychoperator get gas helmets over the heads. of the hypnos. Huxley picked himself up off the floor plates, put on his own helmet, and studied the set-up on my battle tracker, frozen at the instant the shell hit us.

ККККК 'The Benison should pass by this point in three minutes,. John. Tell them to proceed dead slow, come along starboard side, and pick us up. Tell Penoyer I am shifting my flag.'

ККККК We made the transfer without mishap, Huxley, myself, the psychoperator, and his sensitives. One sensitive was dead, killed by a flying splinter. One went into a deep trance and we could not rouse her. We left her in the disabled battlewagon; she was as safe there as she could be.

ККККК I had torn the current plot from my tracker and brought it along. It had the time-predicted plots for Formation E. We would have to struggle along with those, as the tracker could not be moved and was probably beyond casual repair in any case. Huxley studied the chart.

ККККК 'Shift to full communication mesh, John. I plan to assault shortly.'

ККККК I helped the psychoperator get his circuits straightened out. By dropping the Martyr out entirely and by using 'Pass down the line' on Penoyer's auxiliaries, we made up for the loss of two sensitives. All carried four circuits now, except the boy who had five, and the. girl with the cough, who was managing six. The psychoperator was worried but there was nothing to do about it.

ККККК I turned back to General Huxley. He. had seated himself, and at first I thought he was in deep thought; then I saw that he was unconscious. It was not until I tried to rouse him and failed that I saw the blood seeping down the support column of his chair and wetting floor plates. I moved him gently and found, sticking out from between his ribs near his spine, a steel splinter.

ККККК I felt a touch at my elbow, it was the psychoperator. 'Penoyer reports that he will be within assault radius in four minutes. Requests permission to change formation and asks time of execution.'

ККККК Huxley was out. Dead or wounded, he would fight no more this battle. By all rules, command devolved on Penoyer, and I should tell him so at once. But time was pressing hard, it would involve a drastic change of set-up, and we had been forced to send Penoyer into battle with only three sensitives. It was a physical impossibility.

ККККК What should I do? Turn the flag over to the skipper of the Benison? I knew the man, stolid, unimaginative, a gunner by disposition. He was not even in his conning tower but had been fighting his ship from the fire control station in the turret. If I called him down here, he would take many minutes to comprehend the situation-and then give the wrong orders.

ККККК With Huxley out I had not an ounce of real authority. I was a brevet short-tailed colonel, only days up from major and a legate by rights; I was what I was as Huxley's flunky. Should I turn command over to Penoyer-and lose the battle with proper military protocol? What would Huxley have me do, if he could make the decision?

ККККК It seemed to me that I worried that problem for an hour. The chronograph showed thirteen seconds between reception of Penoyer's despatch and my answer:

ККККК 'Change formation at will. Stand by for execution signal in six minutes.' The order given, I sent word to the forward dressing station to attend to the General.

ККККК I shifted the right wing to assault echelon, then called the transport Sweet Chariot: 'Sub-plan D; leave formation and proceed on duty assigned.' The psychoperator eyed me but transmitted my orders. Sub-plan D called for five hundred light infantry to enter the Palace through the basement of the department store that was connected with the lodge room. From the lodge room they would split into squads and proceed on assigned tasks. All of our shock troops had all the plans of the Palace graven into their brains; these five hundred had had additional drill as to just where they were to go, what they were to do.

ККККК Most of them would be killed, but they should be able to create confusion during the assault. Zeb had trained them and now commanded them.

ККККК We were ready. 'All units, stand by to assault. Right wing, outer flank of right bastion; left wing, outer flank of left bastion. Zigzag emergency full speed until within assault distance. Deploy for full concentration fire, one salvo, and assault. Stand by to execute. Acknowledge.'

ККККК The acknowledgments were coming in and I was watching my chronometer preparatory to giving the command of execution when the boy sensitive broke off in the middle of a report and shook himself. The technician grabbed the kid's wrist and felt for his pulse; the boy shook him off.

ККККК 'Somebody new,' he said. 'I don't quite get it.' Then he commenced in a sing-song, 'To commanding general from Lodge Master Peter van Eyck: assault center bastion with full force. I will create a diversion.'

ККККК 'Why the center?' I asked.

ККККК 'It is much more damaged.'

ККККК If this were authentic, it was crucially important. But I was suspicious. If Master Peter had been detected, it was a trap. And I didn't see how he, in his position, had been able to set up a sensitive circuit in the midst of battle.

ККККК 'Give me the word,' I said.

ККККК 'Nay, you give me.'

ККККК 'Nay, I will not.'

ККККК 'I will spell it, or halve it.'

ККККК 'Spell it, then.'

ККККК We did so. I was satisfied. 'Cancel last signal. Heavy cruisers assault center bastion, left wing to left flank, right wing to right flank. Odd numbered auxiliaries make diversion assaults on right and left bastions. Even numbers remain with transports. Acknowledge.'

ККККК Ninteen seconds later I gave the command to execute, then we were off. It was like riding a rocket plane with a dirty, overheated firing chamber. We crashed through walls of masonry, lurched sickeningly on turns, almost overturned when we crashed into the basement of some large demolished building and lumbered out again. It was out of my hands now, up to each skipper.

ККККК As we slewed into firing position, I saw the psychoperator peeling back the boy's eyelids. 'I'm afraid he's gone,' he said tonelessly. 'I had to overload him too much on that last hookup.' Two more of the women had collapsed.

ККККК Our big gun cut loose for the final salvo; we waited for an interminable period-all of ten seconds. Then we were moving, gathering speed as we rolled. The Benison hit the Palace wall with a blow that I thought would wreck her, but she did not mount. But the pilot had his forward hydraulic jacks down as soon as we hit; her bow reared slowly up. We reached an angle so steep that it seemed she must turn turtle, then the treads took hold, we ground forward and slid through the breach in the wall.

ККККК Our gun spoke again, at point-blank range, right into the inner Palace. A thought flashed through my head-this was the exact spot where I had first laid eyes on Judith. I had come full circle.

ККККК The Benison was rampaging around, destroying by her very weight. I waited until the last cruiser had had time to enter, then gave the order, 'Transports, assault.' That done, I called Penoyer, informed him that Huxley was wounded and that he was now in command.

ККККК I was all through. I did not even have a job, a battle station. The battle surged around me, but I was not part of it-I, who two minutes ago had been in usurped full command.

ККККК I stopped to light a cigarette and wondered what to do with myself. I put it out after one soul-satisfying drag and scrambled up into the fire control tower of the turret and peered out the after slits. A breeze had come up and the smoke was clearing; the transport Jacob's Ladder I could see just pulling out of the breach. Her sides fell away and ranks of infantry sprang out, blasters ready. A sporadic fire met them; some fell but most returned the fire and charged the inner Palace. The Jacob's Ladder cleared the breach and the Ark took her place.

ККККК The troops commander in the Ark had orders to take the Prophet alive. I hurried down ladders from the turret, ran down the passageway between the engine rooms, and located the escape hatch in the floor plates, clear at the stern of the Benison. Somehow I got it unclamped, swung up the hatch cover, and stuck my head down. I could see men running, out beyond the treads. I drew my blaster, dropped to the ground, and tried to catch up with them, running out the stern between the big treads.

ККККК They were men from the Ark, right enough. I attached myself to a platoon and trotted along with them. We swarmed into the inner Palace.

ККККК But the battle was over; we encountered no organized resistance. We went on down and down and down and found the Prophet's bombproof. The door was open and he was there.

ККККК But we did not arrest him. The Virgins had gotten to him first; he no longer looked imperious. They had left him barely something to identify at an inquest.

Coventry

'Have you anything to say before sentence is pronounced on you?' The mild eyes of the Senior Judge studied the face of the accused. His question was answered by a sullen silence.

ККККК 'Very well-the jury has determined that you have violated a basic custom agreed to under the Covenant, and that through this act did damage another free citizen. It is the opinion of the jury and of the court that you did so knowingly, and aware of the probability of damage to a free citizen. Therefore, you are sentenced to choose between the Two Alternatives.'

ККККК A trained observer might have detected a trace of dismay breaking through the mask of indifference with which the young man had faced his trial. Dismay was unreasonable; in view of his offence, the sentence was inevitable-but reasonable men do not receive the sentence.

ККККК After waiting a decent interval, the judge turned to the bailiff. 'Take him away.'

ККККК The prisoner stood up suddenly, knocking over his chair. He glared wildly around at the company assembled and burst into speech.

ККККК 'Hold on!' he yelled. 'I've got something to say first!' In spite of his rough manner there was about him the noble dignity of a wild animal at bay. He stared at those around him, breathing heavily, as if they were dogs waiting to drag him down.

ККККК 'Well?' he demanded, 'Well? Do I get to talk, or don't I? It 'ud be the best joke of this whole comedy, if a condemned man couldn't speak his mind at the last!'

ККККК 'You may speak,' the Senior Judge told him, in the same unhurried tones with which he had pronounced sentence, 'David MacKinnon, as long as you like, and in any manner that you like. There is no limit to that freedom, even for those who have broken the Covenant. Please speak into the recorder.'

ККККК MacKinnon glanced with distaste at the microphone near his face. The knowledge that any word he spoke would be recorded and analyzed inhibited him. 'I don't ask for records,' he snapped.

ККККК 'But we must have them,' the judge replied patiently, 'in order that others may determine whether, or not, we have dealt with you fairly, and according to the Covenant. Oblige us, please.'

ККККК 'Oh-very well!' He ungraciously conceded the requirement and directed his voice toward the instrument. 'There's no sense in me talking at all-but, just the same, I'm going to talk and you're going to listen . . . You talk about your precious "Covenant" as if it were something holy. I don't agree to it and I don't accept it. You act as if it had been sent down from Heaven in a burst of light. My grandfathers fought in the Second Revolution-but they fought to abolish superstition. . . not to let sheep-minded fools set up new ones.

ККККК 'There were men in those days!' He looked contemptuously around him. 'What is there left today? Cautious, compromising "safe" weaklings with water in their veins. You've planned your whole world so carefully that you've planned the fun and zest right out of it. Nobody is ever hungry, nobody ever gets hurt. Your ships can't crack up and your crops can't fail. You even have the weather tamed so it rains politely after midnight. Why wait till midnight, I don't know . . . you all go to bed at nine o'clock!

ККККК 'If one of you safe little people should have an unpleasant emotion-perish the thought! -You'd trot right over to the nearest psychodynamics clinic and get your soft little minds readjusted. Thank God I never succumbed to that dope habit. I'll keep my own feelings, thanks, no matter how bad they taste.

ККККК 'You won't even make love without consulting a psychotechnician-Is her mind as flat and insipid as mine? Is there any emotional instability in her family? It's enough to make a man gag. As for fighting over a woman-if any one had the guts to do that, he'd find a proctor at his elbow in two minutes, looking for the most convenient place to paralyze him, and inquiring with sickening humility, "May I do you a service, sir?"

ККККК The bailiff edged closer to MacKinnon. He turned on him. 'Stand back, you. I'm not through yet.' He turned and added, 'You've told me to choose between the Two Alternatives. Well, it's no hard choice for me. Before I'd submit to treatment, before I'd enter one of your little, safe little, pleasant little reorientation homes and let my mind be pried into by a lot of soft-fingered doctors-before I did anything like that, I'd choose a nice, clean death. Oh, no-there is just one choice for me, not two. I take the choice of going to Coventry-and glad of it, too . . . I hope I never hear of the United States again!

ККККК 'But there is just one thing I want to ask you before I go-Why do you bother to live anyhow? I would think that anyone of you would welcome an end to your silly, futile lives just from sheer boredom. That's all.' He turned back to the bailiff. 'Come on, you.'

ККККК 'One moment, David MacKinnon.' The Senior Judge held up a restraining hand. 'We have listened to you. Although custom does not compel it, I am minded to answer some of your statements. Will you listen?'

ККККК Unwilling, but less willing to appear loutish in the face of a request so obviously reasonable, the younger man consented.

ККККК The judge commenced to speak in gentle, scholarly words appropriate to a lecture room. 'David MacKinnon, you have spoken in a fashion that doubtless seems wise to you. Nevertheless, your words were wild, and spoken in haste. I am moved to correct your obvious misstatements of fact. The Covenant is not a superstition, but a simple temporal contract entered into by those same revolutionists for pragmatic reasons. They wished to insure the maximum possible liberty for every person.

ККККК 'You yourself have enjoyed that liberty. No possible act, nor mode of conduct, was forbidden to you, as long as your action did not damage another. Even an act specifically prohibited by law could not be held against you, unless the state was able to prove that your particular act damaged, or caused evident danger of damage, to a particular individual.

ККККК 'Even if one should willfully and knowingly damage another-as you have done-the state does not attempt to sit in moral judgment, nor to punish. We have not the wisdom to do that, and the chain of injustices that have always followed such moralistic coercion endanger the liberty of all. Instead, the convicted is given the choice of submitting to psychological readjustment to correct his tendency to wish to damage others, or of having the state withdraw itself from him-of sending him to Coventry.

ККККК 'You complain that our way of living is dull and unromantic, and imply that we have deprived you of excitement to which you feel entitled. You are free to hold and express your esthetic opinion of our way of living, but you must not expect us to live to suit your tastes. You are free to seek danger and adventure if you wish-there is danger still in experimental laboratories; there is hardship in the mountains of the Moon, and death in the jungles of Venus-but you are not free to expose us to the violence of your nature.'

ККККК 'Why make so much of it?' MacKinnon protested contemptuously. 'You talk as if I had committed a murder-I simply punched a man in the nose for offending me outrageously!'

ККККК 'I agree with your esthetic judgment of that individual,' the judge continued calmly, 'and am personally rather gratified that you took a punch at him-but your psychometrical tests show that you believe yourself capable of judging morally your fellow citizens and feel justified in personally correcting and punishing their lapses. You are a dangerous individual, David MacKinnon, a danger to all of us, for we can not predict whet damage you may do next. From a social standpoint, your delusion makes you as mad as the March Hare.

ККККК 'You refuse treatment-therefore we withdraw our society from you, we cast you out, we divorce you. To Coventry with you.' He turned to the bailiff. 'Take him away.'

MacKinnon peered out of a forward port of the big transport helicopter with repressed excitement in his heart. There! That must be it-that black band in the distance. The helicopter drew closer, and he became certain that he was seeing the Barrier-the mysterious, impenetrable wall that divided the United States from the reservation known as Coventry.

ККККК His guard looked up from the magazine he was reading and followed his gaze. 'Nearly there, I see,' he said pleasantly. 'Well, it won't be long now.'

ККККК 'It can't be any too soon for me!'

ККККК The guard looked at him quizzically, but with tolerance. 'Pretty anxious to get on with it, eh?'

ККККК MacKinnon held his head high. 'You've never brought a man to the Gateway who was more anxious to pass through!'

ККККК 'Mmm-maybe. They all say that, you know. Nobody goes through the Gate against his own will.'

ККККК 'I mean it!'

ККККК 'They all do. Some of them come back, just the same.'

ККККК 'Say-maybe you can give me some dope as to conditions inside?'

ККККК 'Sorry,' the guard said, shaking his head, 'but that is no concern of the United States, nor of any of its employees. You'll know soon enough.'

ККККК MacKinnon frowned a little. 'It seems strange-I tried inquiring, but found no one who would admit that they had any notion about the inside. And yet you say that some come out. Surely some of them must talk...'

ККККК 'That's simple,' smiled the guard, 'part of their reorientation is a subconscious compulsion not to discuss their experiences.'

ККККК 'That's a pretty scabby trick. Why should the government deliberately conspire to prevent me, and the people like me, from knowing what we are going up against?'

ККККК 'Listen, buddy,' the guard answered, with mild exasperation, 'you've told the rest of us to go to the devil. You've told us that you could get along without us. You are being given plenty of living room in some of the best land on this continent, and you are being allowed to take with you everything that you own, or your credit could buy. What the deuce else do you expect?'

ККККК MacKinnon's face settled in obstinate lines. 'What assurance have I that there will be any land left for me?'

ККККК 'That's your problem. The government sees to it that there is plenty of land for the population. The divvy-up is something you rugged individualists have to settle among yourselves. You've turned down our type of social co-operation; why should you expect the safeguards of our organization?' The guard turned back to his reading and ignored him.

ККККК They landed on a small field which lay close under the blank black wall. No gate was apparent, but a guardhouse was located at the side of the field. MacKinnon was the only passenger. While his escort went over to the guardhouse, he descended from the passenger compartment and went around to the freight hold. Two members of the crew were letting down a ramp from the cargo port. When he appeared, one of them eyed him, and said, 'O.K., there's your stuff. Help yourself.'

ККККК He sized up the job, and said, 'It's quite a lot, isn't it? I'll need some help. Will you give me a hand with it?'

ККККК The crew member addressed paused to light a cigarette before replying, 'It's your stuff. If you want it, get it out. We take off in ten minutes.' The two walked around him and reentered the ship.

ККККК 'Why, you-' MacKinnon shut up and kept the rest of his anger to himself. The surly louts! Gone was the faintest trace of regret at leaving civilization. He'd show them! He could get along without them.

ККККК But it was twenty minutes and more before he stood beside his heaped up belongings and watched the ship rise. Fortunately the skipper had not been adamant about the time limit. He turned and commenced loading his steel tortoise. Under the romantic influence of the classic literature of a bygone day he had considered using a string of burros, but had been unable to find a zoo that would sell them to him. It was just as well-he was completely ignorant of the limits, foibles, habits, vices, illnesses, and care of those useful little beasts, and unaware of his own ignorance. Master and servant would have vied in making each other unhappy.

ККККК The vehicle he had chosen was not an unreasonable substitute for burros. It was extremely rugged, easy to operate, and almost foolproof. It drew its power from six square yards of sunpower screens on its low curved roof. These drove a constant-load motor, or, when halted, replenished the storage battery against cloudy weather, or night travel. The bearings were 'everlasting', and every moving part, other than the caterpillar treads and the controls, were sealed up, secure from inexpert tinkering.

ККККК It could maintain a steady six miles per hour on smooth, level pavement. When confronted by hills, or rough terrain, it did not stop, but simply slowed until the task demanded equaled its steady power output.

ККККК The steel tortoise gave MacKinnon a feeling of Crusoe-like independence. It did not occur to him his chattel was the end product of the cumulative effort and intelligent co-operation of hundreds of thousands of men, living and dead. He had been used all his life to the unfailing service of much more intricate machinery, and honestly regarded the tortoise as a piece of equipment of the same primitive level as a wood-man's axe, or a hunting knife. His talents had been devoted in the past to literary criticism rather than engineering, but that did not prevent him from believing that his native intelligence and the aid of a few reference books would be all that he would really need to duplicate the tortoise, if necessary.

ККККК Metal ores were necessary, he knew, but saw no obstacle in that, his knowledge of the difficulties of prospecting, mining, and metallurgy being as sketchy as his knowledge of burros.

ККККК His goods filled every compartment of the compact little freighter. He checked the last item from his inventory and ran a satisfied eye down the list. Any explorer or adventurer of the past might well be pleased with such equipment, he thought. He could imagine showing Jack London his knockdown cabin. See, Jack, he would say, it's proof against any kind of weather-perfectly insulated walls and floor-and can't rust. It's so light that you can set it up in five minutes by yourself, yet it's so strong that you can sleep sound with the biggest grizzly in the world snuffling right outside your door.

ККККК And London would scratch his head, and say, Dave, you're a wonder. If I'd had that in the Yukon, it would have been a cinch!

ККККК He checked over the list again. Enough concentrated and desiccated food and vitamin concentrate to last six months. That would give him time enough to build hothouses for hydroponics, and get his seeds started. Medical supplies-he did not expect to need those, but foresight was always best. Reference books of all sorts. A light sporting rifle-vintage: last century. His face clouded a little at this. The War Department had positively refused to sell him a portable blaster. When he had claimed the right of common social heritage, they had grudgingly provided him with the plans and specifications, and told him to build his own. Well, he would, the first spare time he got.

ККККК Everything else was in order. MacKinnon climbed into the cockpit, grasped the two hand controls, and swung the nose of the tortoise toward the guardhouse. He had been ignored since the ship had landed; he wanted to have the gate opened and to leave.

ККККК Several soldiers were gathered around the guardhouse. He picked out a legate by the silver stripe down the side of his kilt and spoke to him. 'I'm ready to leave. Will you kindly open the Gate?'

ККККК 'O.K.,' the officer answered him, and turned to a soldier who wore the plain gray kilt of a private's field uniform. 'Jenkins, tell the power house to dilate-about a number three opening, tell them,' he added, sizing up the dimensions of the tortoise.

ККККК He turned to MacKinnon. 'It is my duty to tell you that you may return to civilization, even now, by agreeing to be hospitalized for your neurosis.'

ККККК 'I have no neurosis!'

ККККК 'Very well. If you change your mind at any future time, return to the place where you entered. There is an alarm there with which you may signal to the guard that you wish the gate opened.'

ККККК 'I can't imagine needing to know that.'

ККККК The legate shrugged. 'Perhaps not-but we send refugees to quarantine all the time. If I were making the rules, it might be harder to get out again.' He was cut off by the ringing of an alarm. The soldiers near them moved smartly away, drawing their blasters from their belts as they ran. The ugly snout of a fixed blaster poked out over the top of the guardhouse and pointed toward the Barrier.

ККККК The legate answered the question on MacKinnon's face. 'The power house is ready to open up.' He waved smartly toward that building, then turned back. 'Drive straight through the center of the opening. It takes a lot of power to suspend the stasis; if you touch the edge, we'll have to pick up the pieces.'

ККККК A tiny, bright dot appeared in the foot of the barrier opposite where they waited. It spread into a half circle across the lampblack nothingness. Now it was large enough for MacKinnon to see the countryside beyond through the arch it had formed. He peered eagerly.

ККККК The opening grew until it was twenty feet wide, then stopped. It framed a scene of rugged, barren hills. He took this in, and turned angrily on the legate. 'I've been tricked!' he exclaimed. 'That's not fit land to support a man.'

ККККК 'Don't be hasty,' he told MacKinnon. 'There's good land beyond. Besides-you don't have to enter. But if you are going, go!'

ККККК MacKinnon flushed, and pulled back on both hand controls. The treads bit in and the tortoise lumbered away, straight for the Gateway to Coventry.

ККККК When he was several yards beyond the Gate, he glanced back. The Barrier loomed behind him, with nothing to show where the opening had been. There was a little sheet metal shed adjacent to the point where he had passed through. He supposed that it contained the alarm the legate had mentioned, but he was not interested and turned his eyes back to his driving.

ККККК Stretching before him, twisting between rocky hills, was a road of sorts. It was not paved and the surface had not been repaired recently, but the grade averaged downhill and the tortoise was able to maintain a respectable speed. He continued down it, not because he fancied it, but because it was the only road which led out of surroundings obviously unsuited to his needs.

ККККК The road was untraveled. This suited him; he had no wish to encounter other human beings until he had located desirable land to settle on, and had staked out his claim. But the hills were not devoid of life; several times he caught glimpses of little dark shapes scurrying among the rocks, and occasionally bright, beady eyes stared back into his.

ККККК It did not occur to him at first that these timid little animals, streaking for cover at his coming, could replenish his larder-he was simply amused and warmed by their presence. When he did happen to consider that they might be used as food, the thought was at first repugnant to him-the custom of killing for 'sport' had ceased to be customary long before his time; and inasmuch as the development of cheap synthetic proteins in the latter half of the preceding century had spelled the economic ruin of the business of breeding animals for slaughter, it is doubtful if he had ever tasted animal tissue in his life.

ККККК But once considered, it was logical to act. He expected to live off the country; although he had plenty of food on hand for the immediate future, it would be wise to conserve it by using what the country offered. He suppressed his esthetic distaste and ethical misgivings, and determined to shoot one of the little animals at the first opportunity.

ККККК Accordingly, he dug out the rifle, loaded it, and placed it handy. With the usual perversity of the world-as-it-is, no game was evident for the next half hour. He was passing a little shoulder of rocky outcropping when he saw his prey. It peeked at him from behind a small boulder, its sober eyes wary but unperturbed. He stopped the tortoise and took careful aim, resting and steadying the rifle on the side of the cockpit. His quarry accommodated him by hopping out into full view.

ККККК He pulled the trigger, involuntarily tensing his muscles and squinting his eyes as he did so. Naturally, the shot went high and to the right.

ККККК But he was much too busy just then to be aware of it. It seemed that the whole world had exploded. His right shoulder was numb, his mouth stung as if he had been kicked there, and his ears rang in a strange and unpleasant fashion. He was surprised to find the gun still intact in his hands and apparently none the worse for the incident.

ККККК He put it down, clambered out of the car, and rushed up to where the small creature had been. There was no sign of it anywhere. He searched the immediate neighborhood, but did not find it. Mystified, he returned to his conveyance, having decided that the rifle was in some way defective, and that he should inspect it carefully before attempting to fire it again.

ККККК His recent target watched his actions cautiously from a vantage point yards away, to which it had stampeded at the sound of the shot. It was equally mystified by the startling events, being no more used to firearms than was MacKinnon.

ККККК Before he started the tortoise again, MacKinnon had to see to his upper lip, which was swollen and tender and bleeding from a deep scratch. This increased his conviction that the gun was defective. Nowhere in the romantic literature of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, to which he was addicted, had there been a warning that, when firing a gun heavy enough to drop a man in his tracks, it is well not to hold the right hand in such ~ manner that the recoil will cause the right thumb and thumb nail to strike the mouth.

ККККК He applied an antiseptic and a dressing of sorts, and went on his way, somewhat subdued. The arroyo by which he had entered the hills had widened out, and the hills were greener. He passed around one sharp turn in the road, and found a broad fertile valley spread out before him. It stretched away until it was lost in the warm day's haze.

ККККК Much of the valley was cultivated, and he could make out human habitations. He continued toward it with mixed feelings. People meant fewer hardships, but it did not look as if staking out a claim would be as simple as he had hoped. However-Coventry was a big place.

ККККК He had reached the point where the road gave onto the floor of the valley, when two men stepped out into his path. They were carrying weapons of some sort at the ready. One of them called out to him:

ККККК 'Halt!'

ККККК MacKinnon did so, and answered him as they came abreast. 'What do you want?'

ККККК 'Customs inspection. Pull over there by the office.' He indicated a small building set back a few feet from the road, which MacKinnon had not previously noticed. He looked from it back to the spokesman, and felt a slow, unreasoning heat spread up from his viscera. It rendered his none too stable judgment still more unsound.

ККККК 'What the deuce are you talking about?' he snapped. 'Stand aside and let me pass.'

ККККК The one who had remained silent raised his weapon and aimed it at MacKinnon's chest. The other grabbed his arm and pulled the weapon out of line. 'Don't shoot the dumb fool, Joe,' he said testily. 'You're always too anxious.' Then to MacKinnon, 'You're resisting the law. Come on-be quick about it!'

ККККК 'The law?' MacKinnon gave a bitter laugh and snatched his rifle from the seat. It never reached his shoulder-the man who had done all the talking fired casually, without apparently taking time to aim. MacKinnon's rifle was smacked from his grasp and flew into the air, landing in the roadside ditch behind the tortoise.

ККККК The man who had remained silent followed the flight of the gun with detached interest, and remarked, 'Nice shot, Blackie. Never touched him.'

ККККК 'Oh, just luck,' the other demurred, but grinned his pleasure at the compliment. 'Glad I didn't nick him, though-saves writing out a report.' He reassumed an official manner, spoke again to MacKinnon, who had been sitting dumbfounded, rubbing his smarting hands. 'Well, tough guy? Do you behave, or do we come up there and get you?'

ККККК MacKinnon gave in. He drove the tortoise to the designated spot, and waited sullenly for orders. 'Get out and start unloading,' he was told. He obeyed, under compulsion. As he piled his precious possessions on the ground, the one addressed as Blackie separated the things into two piles, while Joe listed them on a printed form. He noticed presently that Joe listed only the items that went into the first pile. He understood this when Blackie told him to reload the tortoise with the items from that pile, and commenced himself to carry goods from the other pile into the building. He started to protest-Joe punched him in the mouth, coolly and without rancor. MacKinnon went down, but got up again, fighting. He was in such a blind rage that he would have tackled a charging rhino. Joe timed his rush, and clipped him again. This time he could not get up at once.

ККККК Blackie stepped over to a washstand in one corner of the office. He came back with a wet towel and chucked it at MacKinnon. 'Wipe your face on that, bud, and get back in the buggy. We got to get going.'

ККККК MacKinnon had time to do a lot of serious thinking as he drove Blackie into town. Beyond a terse answer of 'Prize court' to MacKinnon's inquiry as to their destination, Blackie did not converse, nor did MacKinnon press him, anxious as he was to have information. His mouth pained him from repeated punishment, his head ached, and he was no longer tempted to precipitate action by hasty speech.

ККККК Evidently Coventry was not quite the frontier anarchy he had expected it to be. There was a government of sorts, apparently, but it resembled nothing that he had ever been used to. He had visualized a land of noble, independent spirits who gave each other wide berth and practiced mutual respect. There would be villains, of course, but they would be treated to summary, and probably lethal, justice as quickly as they demonstrated their ugly natures. He had a strong, though subconscious, assumption that virtue is necessarily triumphant.

ККККК But having found government, he expected it to follow the general pattern that he had been used to all his life-honest, conscientious, reasonably efficient, and invariably careful of a citizen's rights and liberties. He was aware that government had not always been like that, but he had never experienced it-the idea was as remote and implausible as cannibalism, or chattel slavery.

ККККК Had he stopped to think about it, he might have realized that public servants in Coventry would never have been examined psychologically to determine their temperamental fitness for their duties, and, since every inhabitant of Coventry was there-as he was-for violating a basic custom and ref using treatment thereafter, it was a foregone conclusion that most of them would be erratic and arbitrary.

ККККК He pinned his hope on the knowledge that they were going to court. All he asked was a chance to tell his story to the judge.

ККККК His dependence on judicial procedure may appear inconsistent in view of how recently he had renounced all reliance on organized government, but while he could renounce government verbally, but he could not do away with a lifetime of environmental conditioning. He could curse the court that had humiliated him by condemning him to the Two Alternatives, but he expected courts to dispense justice. He could assert his own rugged independence, but he expected persons he encountered to behave as if they were bound by the Covenant-he had met no other sort. He was no more able to discard his past history than he would have been to discard his accustomed body.

ККККК But he did not know it yet.

ККККК MacKinnon failed to stand up when the judge entered the court room. Court attendants quickly set him right, but not before he had provoked a glare from the bench. The judge's appearance and manner were not reassuring. He was a well-fed man, of ruddy complexion, whose sadistic temper was evident in face and mien. They waited while he dealt drastically with several petty offenders. It seemed to MacKinnon, as he listened, that almost everything was against the law.

ККККК Nevertheless, he was relieved when his name was called. He stepped up and undertook at once to tell his story. The judge's gavel cut him short.

ККККК 'What is this case?' the judge demanded, his face set in grim lines. 'Drunk and disorderly, apparently. I shall put a stop to this slackness among the young if it takes the last ounce of strength in my body!' He turned to the clerk. 'Any previous offences?'

ККККК The clerk whispered in his ear. The judge threw MacKinnon a look of mixed annoyance and suspicion, then told the customs' guard to come forward. Blackie told a clear, straightforward tale with the ease of a man used to giving testimony. MacKinnon's condition was attributed to resisting an officer in the execution of his duty. He submitted the inventory his colleague had prepared, but failed to mention the large quantity of goods which had been abstracted before the inventory was made.

ККККК The judge turned to MacKinnon. 'Do you have anything to say for yourself?'

ККККК 'I certainly have, Doctor,' he began eagerly. 'There isn't a word of -,

ККККК Bang! The gavel cut him short. A court attendant hurried to MacKinnon's side and attempted to explain to him the proper form to use in addressing the court. The explanation confused him. In his experience, 'judge' naturally implied a medical man-a psychiatrist skilled in social problems. Nor had he heard of any special speech forms appropriate to a courtroom. But he amended his language as instructed.

ККККК 'May it please the Honorable Court, this man is lying. He and his companion assaulted and robbed me. I was simply-'Smugglers generally think they are being robbed when customs officials catch them,' the judge sneered. 'Do you deny that you attempted to resist inspection?'

ККККК 'No, Your Honor, but -'

ККККК 'That will do. Penalty of fifty percent is added to the established scale of duty. Pay the clerk.'

ККККК 'But, Your Honor, I can't -'

ККККК 'Can't you pay it?'

ККККК 'I haven't any money. I have only my possessions.'

ККККК 'So?' He turned to the clerk. 'Condemnation proceedings. Impound his goods. Ten days for vagrancy. The community can't have these immigrant paupers roaming at large, and preying on law-abiding citizens. Next case!'

ККККК They hustled him away. It took the sound of a key grating in a barred door behind him to make him realize his predicament.

ККККК 'Hi, pal, how's the weather outside?' The detention cell had a prior inmate, a small, well-knit man who looked up from a game of solitaire to address MacKinnon. He sat astraddle a bench on which he had spread his cards, and studied the newcomer with unworried, bright, beady eyes.

ККККК 'Clear enough outside-but stormy in the courtroom,' MacKinnon answered, trying to adopt the same bantering tone and not succeeding very well. His mouth hurt him and spoiled his grin.

ККККК The other swung a leg over the bench and approached him with a light, silent step. 'Say, pal, you must 'a' caught that in a gear box,' he commented, inspecting MacKinnon's mouth. 'Does it hurt?'

ККККК 'Like the devil,' MacKinnon admitted.

ККККК 'We'll have to do something about that.' He went to the cell door and rattled it. 'Hey! Lefty! The house is on fire! Come arunnin'!'

ККККК The guard sauntered down and stood opposite their cell door. 'Wha' d'yuh want, Fader?' he said noncommittally.

ККККК 'My old school chum has been slapped in the face with a wrench, and the pain is inordinate. Here's a chance for you to get right with Heaven by oozing down to the dispensary, snagging a dressing and about five grains of neoanodyne.'

ККККК The guard's expression was not encouraging. The prisoner looked grieved. 'Why, Lefty,' he said, 'I thought you would jump at a chance to do a little pure charity like that.' He waited for a moment, then added, 'Tell you what-you do it, and I'll show you how to work that puzzle about "How old is Ann?" Is it a go?'

ККККК 'Show me first.'

ККККК 'It would take too long. I'll write it out and give it to you.'

ККККК When the guard returned, MacKinnon's cellmate dressed his wounds with gentle deftness, talking the while. 'They call me Fader Magee. What's your name, pal?'

ККККК 'David MacKinnon. I'm sorry, but I didn't quite catch your first name.'

ККККК 'Fader. It isn't,' he explained with a grin, 'the name my mother gave me. It's more a professional tribute to my shy and unobtrusive nature.'

ККККК MacKinnon looked puzzled. 'Professional tribute? What is your profession?'

ККККК Magee looked pained. 'Why, Dave,' he said, 'I didn't ask you that. However,' he went on, 'it's probably the same as yours-self-preservation.'

ККККК Magee was a sympathetic listener, and MacKinnon welcomed the chance to tell someone about his troubles. He related the story of how he had decided to enter Coventry rather than submit to the sentence of the court, and how he had hardly arrived when he was hijacked and hauled into court. Magee nodded. 'I'm not surprised,' he observed. 'A man has to have larceny in his heart, or he wouldn't be a customs guard.'

ККККК 'But what happens to my belongings?'

ККККК 'They auction them off to pay the duty.'

ККККК 'I wonder how much there will be left for me?'

ККККК Magee stared at him. 'Left over? There won't be anything left over. You'll probably have to pay a deficiency judgment.'

ККККК 'Huh? What's that?'

ККККК 'It's a device whereby the condemned pays for the execution,' Magee explained succinctly, if somewhat obscurely. 'What it means to you is that when your ten days is up, you'll still be in debt to the court. Then it's the chain gang for you, my lad-you'll work it off at a dollar a day.'

ККККК 'Fader-you're kidding me.'

ККККК 'Wait and see. You've got a lot to learn, Dave.'

ККККК Coventry was an even more complex place than MacKinnon had gathered up to this time. Magee explained to him that there were actually three sovereign, independent jurisdictions. The jail where they were prisoners lay in the so-called New America. It had the forms of democratic government, but the treatment he had already received was a fair sample of the fashion in which it was administered.

ККККК 'This place is heaven itself compared with the Free State,' Magee maintained. 'I've been there-' The Free State was an absolute dictatorship; the head man of the ruling clique was designated the 'Liberator'. Their watchwords were Duty and Obedience; an arbitrary discipline was enforced with a severity that left no room for any freedom of opinion. Governmental theory was vaguely derived from the old functionalist doctrines. The state was thought of as a single organism with a single head, a single brain, and a single purpose. Anything not compulsory was forbidden. 'Honest so help me,' claimed Magee, 'you can't go to bed in that place without finding one of their damned secret police between the sheets.'

ККККК 'But at that,' he continued, 'it's an easier place to live than with the Angels.'

ККККК 'The Angels?'

ККККК 'Sure. We still got 'em. Must have been two or three thousand die-hards that chose to go to Coventry after the Revolution-you know that. There's still a colony up in the hills to the north, complete with Prophet Incarnate and the works. They aren't bad hombres, but they'll pray you into heaven even if it kills you.'

ККККК All three states had one curious characteristic in common-each one claimed to be the only legal government of the entire United States, and each looked forward to some future day when they would reclaim the 'unredeemed' portion; i.e., outside Coventry. To the Angels, this was an event which would occur when the First Prophet returned to earth to lead them again. In New America it was hardly more than a convenient campaign plank, to be forgotten after each election. But in the Free State it was a fixed policy.

ККККК Pursuant to this purpose there had been a whole series of wars between the Free State and New America. The Liberator held, quite logically, that New America was an unredeemed section, and that is was necessary to bring it under the rule of the Free State before the advantages of their culture could be extended to the outside.

ККККК Magee's words demolished MacKinnon's dream of finding an anarchistic utopia within the barrier, but he could not let his fond illusion die without a protest. 'But see here, Fader,' he persisted, 'isn't there some place where a man can live quietly by himself without all this insufferable interference?'

ККККК 'No-'considered Fader, 'no . . . not unless you took to the hills and hid. Then you 'ud be all right, as long as you steered clear of the Angels. But it would be pretty slim pickin's, living off the country. Ever tried it?'

ККККК 'No . . . not exactly-but I've read all the classics: Zane Grey, and Emerson Hough, and so forth.'

ККККК 'Well . . . maybe you could do it. But if you really want to go off and be a hermit, you 'ud do better to try it on the Outside, where there aren't so many objections to it.'

ККККК 'No'-MacKinnon's backbone stiffened at once-'no, I'll never do that. I'll never submit to psychological reorientation just to have a chance to be let alone. If I could go back to where I was before a couple of months ago, before I was arrested, it might be all right to go off to the Rockies, or look up an abandoned farm somewhere. . . But with that diagnosis staring me in the face . . . after being told I wasn't fit for human society until I had had my emotions re-tailored to fit a cautious little pattern, I couldn't face it. Not if it meant going to a sanitarium'

ККККК 'I see,' agreed Fader, nodding, 'you want to go to Coventry, but you don't want the Barrier to shut you off from the rest of the world.'

ККККК 'No, that's not quite fair . . . Well, maybe, in a way. Say, you don't think I'm not fit to associate with, do you?'

ККККК 'You look all right to me,' Magee reassured him, with a grin, 'but I'm in Coventry too, remember. Maybe I'm no judge.'

ККККК 'You don't talk as if you liked it much. Why are you here?'

ККККК Magee held up a gently admonishing finger. 'Tut! Tut! That is the one question you must never ask a man here. You must assume that he came here because he knew how swell everything is here.'

ККККК 'Still . . . you don't seem to like it.'

ККККК 'I didn't say I didn't like it. I do like it; it has flavor. Its little incongruities are a source of innocent merriment. And anytime they turn on the heat I can always go back through the Gate and rest up for a while in a nice quiet hospital, until things quiet down.'

ККККК MacKinnon was puzzled again. 'Turn on the heat? Do they supply too hot weather here?'

ККККК 'Huh? Oh. I didn't mean weather control-there isn't any of that here, except what leaks over from outside. I was just using an old figure of speech.'

ККККК 'What does it mean?'

ККККК Magee smiled to himself. 'You'll find out.'

ККККК After supper-bread, stew in a metal dish, a small apple-Magee introduced MacKinnon to the mysteries of cribbage. Fortunately, MacKinnon had no cash to lose. Presently Magee put the cards down without shuffling them. 'Dave,' he said, 'are you enjoying the hospitality offered by this institution?'

ККККК 'Hardly-Why?'

ККККК 'I suggest that we check out.'

ККККК 'A good idea, but how?'

ККККК 'That's what I've been thinking about. Do you suppose you could take another poke on that battered phiz of yours, in a good cause?'

ККККК MacKinnon cautiously fingered his face. 'I suppose so-if necessary. It can't do me much more harm, anyhow.'

ККККК 'That's mother's little man! Now listen-this guard, Lefty, in addition to being kind o' unbright, is sensitive about his appearance. When they turn out the lights, you -'

ККККК 'Let me out of here! Let me out of here!' MacKinnon beat on the bars and screamed. No answer came. He renewed the racket, his voice an hysterical falsetto. Lefty arrived to investigate, grumbling.

ККККК 'What the hell's eating on you?' he demanded, peering through the bars.

ККККК MacKinnon changed to tearful petition. 'Oh, Lefty, please let me out of here. Please! I can't stand the dark. It's dark in here-please don't leave me alone.' He flung himself, sobbing, on the bars.

ККККК The guard cursed to himself. 'Another slugnutty. Listen, you-shut up, and go to sleep, or I'll come in there, and give you something to yelp for!' He started to leave.

ККККК MacKinnon changed instantly to the vindictive, unpredictable anger of the irresponsible. 'You big ugly baboon! You rat-faced idiot! Where'd you get that nose?'

ККККК Lefty turned back, fury in his face. He started to speak. MacKinnon cut him short. 'Yah! Yah! Yah!' he gloated, like aККККК nasty little boy, 'Lefty's mother was scared by a warthog-The guard swung at the spot where MacKinnon's face was pressed between the bars of the door. MacKinnon ducked and grabbed simultaneously. Off balance at meeting no resistance, the guard rocked forward, thrusting his forearm between the bars. MacKinnon's fingers slid along his arm, and got a firm purchase on Lefty's wrist.

ККККК He threw himself backwards, dragging the guard with him, until Lefty was jammed up against the outside of the barred door, with one arm inside, to the wrist of which MacKinnon clung as if welded.

ККККК The yell which formed in Lefty's throat miscarried; Magee had already acted. Out of the darkness, silent as death, his slim hands had snaked between the bars and imbedded themselves in the guard's fleshy neck. Lefty heaved, and almost broke free, but MacKinnon threw his weight to the right and twisted the arm he gripped in an agonizing, bone-breaking leverage.

ККККК It seemed to MacKinnon that they remained thus, like some grotesque game of statues, for an endless period. His pulse pounded in his ears until he feared that it must be heard by others, and bring rescue to Lefty. Magee spoke at last:

ККККК 'That's enough,' he whispered. 'Go through his pockets.'

ККККК He made an awkward job if it, for his hands were numb and trembling from the strain, and it was anything but convenient to work between the bars. But the keys were there, in the last pocket he tried. He passed them to Magee, who let the guard slip to the floor, and accepted them.

ККККК Magee made a quick job of it. The door swung open with a distressing creak. Dave stepped over Lefty's body, but Magee kneeled down, unhooked a truncheon from the guard's belt, and cracked him behind the ear with it. MacKinnon paused.

ККККК 'Did you kill him?' he asked.

ККККК 'Cripes, no,' Magee answered softly, 'Lefty is a friend of mine. Let's go.'

ККККК They hurried down the dimly lighted passageway between cells toward the door leading to the administrative offices-their only outlet. Lefty had carelessly left it ajar, and light shone through the crack, but as they silently approached it, they heard ponderous footsteps from the far side. Dave looked hurriedly for cover, but the best he could manage was to slink back into the corner formed by the cell block and the wall. He glanced around for Magee, but he had disappeared.

ККККК The door swung open; a man stepped through, paused, and looked around. MacKinnon saw that he was carrying a blacklight, and wearing its complement-rectifying spectacles. He realized then that the darkness gave him no cover. The blacklight swung his way; he tensed to spring-He heard a dull 'clunk!' The guard sighed, swayed gently, then collapsed into a loose pile. Magee stood over him, poised on the balls of his feet, and surveyed his work, while caressing the business end of the truncheon with the cupped fingers of his left hand.

ККККК 'That will do,' he decided. 'Shall we go, Dave?'

ККККК He eased through the door without waiting for an answer; MacKinnon was close behind him. The lighted corridor led away to the right and ended in a large double door to the street. On the left wall, near the street door, a smaller office door stood open.

ККККК Magee drew MacKinnon to him. 'It's a cinch,' he whispered. 'There'll be nobody in there now but the desk sergeant. We get past him, then out that door, and into the ozone-' He motioned Dave to keep behind him, and crept silently up to the office door. After drawing a small mirror from a pocket in his belt, he lay down on the floor, placed his head near the doorframe, and cautiously extended the tiny mirror an inch or two past the edge.

ККККК Apparently he was satisfied with the reconnaissance the improvised periscope afforded, for he drew himself back onto his knees and turned his head so that MacKinnon could see the words shaped by his silent lips. 'It's all right,' he breathed, 'there is only-Two hundred pounds of uniformed nemesis landed on his shoulders. A clanging alarm sounded through the corridor. Magee went down fighting, but he was outclassed and caught off guard. He jerked his head free and shouted, 'Run for it, kid!'

ККККК MacKinnon could hear running feet somewhere, but could see nothing but the struggling figures before him. He shook his head and shoulders like a dazed animal, then kicked the larger of the two contestants in the face. The man screamed and let go his hold. MacKinnon grasped his small companion by the scruff of the neck and hauled him roughly to his feet.

ККККК Magee's eyes were still merry. 'Well played, my lad,' he commended in clipped syllables, as they burst out the street door, '- if hardly cricket! Where did you learn La Savate?'

ККККК MacKinnon had no time to answer, being fully occupied in keeping up with Magee's weaving, deceptively rapid progress. They ducked across the street, down an alley, and between two buildings.

ККККК The succeeding minutes, or hours, were confusion to MacKinnon. He remembered afterwards crawling along a roof top and letting himself down to crouch in the blackness of an interior court, but he could not remember how they had gotten on the roof. He also recalled spending an interminable period alone, compressed inside a most unsavory refuse bin, and his terror when footsteps approached the bin and a light flashed through a crack.

ККККК A crash and the sound of footsteps in flight immediately thereafter led him to guess that Fader had drawn the pursuit away from him. But when Fader did return, and open the top of the bin, MacKinnon almost throttled him before identification was established.

ККККК When the active pursuit had been shaken off, Magee guided him across town, showing a sophisticated knowledge of back ways and shortcuts, and a genius for taking full advantage of cover. They reached the outskirts of the town in a dilapidated quarter, far from the civic center. Magee stopped. 'I guess this is the end of the line,' kid,' he told Dave. 'If you follow this street, you'll come to open country shortly. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?'

ККККК 'I suppose so,' MacKinnon replied uneasily, and peered down the street. Then he turned back to speak again to Magee.

ККККК But Magee was gone. He had faded away into the shadows. There was neither sight nor sound of him.

ККККК MacKinnon started in the suggested direction with a heavy heart. There was no possible reason to expect Magee to stay with him; the service Dave had done him with a lucky kick had been repaid with interest-yet he had lost the only friendly companionship he had found in a strange place. He felt lonely and depressed.

ККККК He continued along, keeping to the shadows, and watching carefully for shapes that might be patrolmen. He had gone a few hundred yards, and was beginning to worry about how far it might be to open countryside, when he was startled into gooseflesh by a hiss from a dark doorway.

ККККК He did his best to repress the panic that beset him, and was telling himself that policemen never hiss, when a shadow detached itself from the blackness and touched him on the arm.

ККККК 'Dave,' it said softly.

ККККК MacKinnon felt a childlike sense of relief and well-being. 'Fader!'

ККККК 'I changed my mind, Dave. The gendarmes would have you in tow before morning. You don't know the ropes . . . so I came back.'

ККККК Dave was both pleased and crestfallen. 'Hell's bells, Fader,' he protested, 'you shouldn't worry about me. I'll get along.'

ККККК Magee shook him roughly by the arm. 'Don't be a chump. Green as you are, you'd start to holler about your civil rights, or something, and get clipped in the mouth again.

ККККК 'Now see here,' he went on, 'I'm going to take you to some friends of mine who will hide you until you're smartened up to the tricks around here. But they're on the wrong side of the law, see? You'll have to be all three of the three sacred monkeys-see no evil, hear no evil, tell no evil. Think you can do it?'

ККККК 'Yes, but -'

ККККК 'No "buts" about it. Come along!'

ККККК The entrance was in the rear of an old warehouse. Steps led down into a little sunken pit. From this open areaway-foul with accumulated refuse-a door let into the back wall of the building. Magee tapped lightly but systematically, waited and listened. Presently he whispered, 'Psst! It's the Fader.'

ККККК The door opened quickly, and Magee was encircled by two great, fat arms. He was lifted off his feet, while the owner of those arms planted a resounding buss on his cheek. 'Fader!' she exclaimed, 'are you all right, lad? We've missed you.'

ККККК 'Now that's a proper welcome, Mother,' he answered, when he was back on his own feet, 'but I want you to meet a friend of mine. Mother Johnston, this is David MacKinnon.'

ККККК 'May I do you a service?' David acknowledged, with automatic formality, but Mother Johnston's eyes tightened with instant suspicion.

ККККК 'Is he stooled?' she snapped.

ККККК 'No, Mother, he's a new immigrant-but I vouch for him. He's on the dodge, and I've brought him here to cool.'

ККККК She softened a little under his sweetly persuasive tones. 'Well -'

ККККК Magee pinched her cheek. 'That's a good girl! When are you going to marry me?'

ККККК She slapped his hand away. 'Even if I were forty years younger, I'd not marry such a scamp as you! Come along then,' she continued to MacKinnon, 'as long as you're a friend of the Fader-though it's no credit to you!' She waddled quickly ahead of them, down a flight of stairs, while calling out for someone to open the door at its foot.

ККККК The room was poorly lighted and was furnished principally with a long table and some chairs, at which an odd dozen people were seated, drinking and talking. It reminded MacKinnon of prints he had seen of old English pubs in the days before the Collapse.

ККККК Magee was greeted with a babble of boisterous welcome. 'Fader!'-'It's the kid himself!'-'How d'ja do it this time, Fader? Crawl down the drains?'-'Set 'em up, Mother-the Fader's back!'

ККККК He accepted the ovation with a wave of his hand and a shout of inclusive greeting, then turned to MacKinnon. 'Folks,' he said, his voice cutting through the confusion, 'I want you to know Dave-the best pal that ever kicked a jailer at the right moment. If it hadn't been for Dave, I wouldn't be here.'

ККККК Dave found himself seated between two others at the table and a stein of beer thrust into his hand by a not uncomely young woman. He started to thank her, but she had hurried off to help Mother Johnston take care of the sudden influx of orders. Seated opposite him was a rather surly young man who had taken little part in the greeting to Magee. He looked MacKinnon over with a face expressionless except for a recurrent tic which caused his right eye to wink spasmodically every few seconds.

ККККК 'What's your line?' he demanded.

ККККК 'Leave him alone, Alec,' Magee cut in swiftly, but in a friendly tone. 'He's just arrived inside; I told you that. But he's all right,' he continued, raising his voice to include the others present, 'he's been here less than twenty-four hours, but he's broken jail, beat up two customs busies, and sassed old Judge Fleishacker right to his face. How's that for a busy day?'

ККККК Dave was the center of approving interest, but the party with the tic persisted. 'That's all very well, but I asked him a fair question: What's his line? If it's the same as mine, I won't stand for it-it's too crowded now.'

ККККК 'That cheap racket you're in is always crowded, but he's not in it. Forget about his line.'

ККККК 'Why don't he answer for himself,' Alec countered suspiciously. He half stood up. 'I don't believe he's stooled -'

ККККК It appeared that Magee was cleaning his nails with the point of a slender knife. 'Put your nose back in your glass, Alec,' he remarked in a conversational tone, without looking up, '-or must I cut it off and put it there?'

ККККК The other fingered something nervously in his hand. Magee seemed not to notice it, but nevertheless told him, 'If you think you can use a vibrator on me faster than I use steel, go ahead-it will be an interesting experiment.'

ККККК The man facing him stood uncertainly for a moment longer, his tic working incessantly. Mother Johnston came up behind him and pushed him down by the shoulders, saying, 'Boys! Boys! Is that any way to behave?-and in front of a guest, too! Fader, put that toad sticker away-I'm ashamed of you.'

ККККК The knife was gone from his hands. 'You're right as always, Mother,' he grinned. 'Ask Molly to fill up my glass again.'

ККККК An old chap sitting on MacKinnon's right had followed these events with alcoholic uncertainty, but he seemed to have gathered something of the gist of it, for now he fixed Dave with serum-filled eye, and enquired, 'Boy, are you stooled to the rogue?' His sweetly sour breath reached MacKinnon as the old man leaned toward him and emphasized his question with a trembling, joint-swollen finger.

ККККК Dave looked to Magee for advice and enlightenment. Magee answered for him. 'No, he's not-Mother Johnston knew that when she let him in. He's here for sanctuary-as our customs provide!'

ККККК An uneasy stir ran around the room. Molly paused in her serving and listened openly. But the old man seemed satisfied. 'True . . . true enough,' he agreed, and took another pull at his drink, 'sanctuary may be given when needed, if-'His words were lost in a mumble.

ККККК The nervous tension slackened. Most of those present were subconsciously glad to follow the lead of the old man, and excuse the intrusion on the score of necessity. Magee turned back to Dave. 'I thought that what you didn't know couldn't hurt you-or us-but the matter has been opened.'

ККККК 'But what did he mean?'

ККККК 'Gramps asked you if you had been stooled to the rogue-whether or not you were a member of the ancient and honorable fraternity of thieves, cutthroats, and pickpockets!'

ККККК Magee stared into Dave's face with a look of sardonic amusement. Dave looked uncertainly from Magee to the others, saw them exchange glances, and wondered what answer was expected of him. Alec broke the pause. 'Well,' he sneered, 'what are you waiting for? Go ahead and put the question to him-or are the great Fader's friends free to use this club without so much as a by-your-leave?'

ККККК 'I thought I told you to quiet down, Alec,' the Fader replied evenly. 'Besides-you're skipping a requirement. All the comrades present must first decide whether or not to put the question at all.'

ККККК A quiet little man with a chronic worried look in his eyes answered him. 'I don't think that quite applies, Fader. If he had come himself, or fallen into our hands-in that case, yes. But you brought him here. I think I speak for all when I say he should answer the question. Unless someone objects, I will ask him myself.' He allowed an interval to pass. No one spoke up. 'Very well then . . . Dave, you have seen too much and heard too much. Will you leave us now-or will you stay and take the oath of our guild? I must warn you that once stooled you are stooled for life-and there is but one punishment for betraying the rogue.'

ККККК He drew his thumb across his throat in an age-old deadly gesture. Gramps made an appropriate sound effect by sucking air wetly through his teeth, and chuckled.

ККККК Dave looked around. Magee's face gave him no help. 'What is it that I have to swear to?' he temporized.

ККККК The parley was brought to an abrupt ending by the sound of pounding outside. There was a shout, muffled by two closed doors and a stairway, of 'Open up down there!' Magee got lightly to his feet and beckoned to Dave.

ККККК 'That's for us, kid,' he said. 'Come along.'

ККККК He stepped over to a ponderous, old-fashioned radiophonograph which stood against the wall, reached under it, fiddled for a moment, then swung out one side panel of it. Dave saw that the mechanism had been cunningly rearranged in such a fashion that a man could squeeze inside it. Magee urged him into it, slammed the panel closed, and left him.

ККККК His face was pressed up close to the slotted grill which was intended to cover the sound box. Molly had cleared off the two extra glasses from the table, and was dumping one drink so that it spread along the table top and erased the rings their glasses had made.

ККККК MacKinnon saw the Fader slide under the table, and reached up. Then he was gone. Apparently he had, in some fashion, attached himself to the underside of the table.

ККККК Mother Johnston made a great-to-do of opening up. The lower door she opened at once, with much noise. Then she clumped slowly up the steps, pausing, wheezing, and complaining aloud. He heard her unlock the outer door.

ККККК 'A fine time to be waking honest people up!' she protested. 'It's hard enough to get the work done and make both ends meet, without dropping what I'm doing every five minutes, and -'

ККККК 'Enough of that, old girl,' a man's voice answered, 'just get along downstairs. We have business with you.'

ККККК 'What sort of business?' she demanded.

ККККК 'It might be selling liquor without a license, but it's not-this time.'

ККККК 'I don't-this is a private club. The members own the liquor; I simply serve it to them.'

ККККК 'That's as may be. It's those members I want to talk to. Get out of the way now, and be spry about it.'

ККККК They came pushing into the room with Mother Johnston, still voluble, carried along in by the van. The speaker was a sergeant of police; he was accompanied by a patrolman. Following them were two other uniformed men, but they were soldiers. MacKinnon judged by the markings on their kilts that they were corporal and private-provided the insignia in New America were similar to those used by the United States Army.

ККККК The sergeant paid no attention to Mother Johnston. 'All right, you men,' he called out, 'line up!'

ККККК They did so, ungraciously but promptly. Molly and Mother Johnston watched them, and moved closer to each other. The police sergeant called out, 'All right, corporal-take charge!'

ККККК The boy who washed up in the kitchen had been staring round-eyed. He dropped a glass. It bounced around on the hard floor, giving out bell-like sounds in the silence.

ККККК The man who had questioned Dave spoke up. 'What's all this?'

ККККК The sergeant answered with a pleased grin. 'Conscription-that's what it is. You are all enlisted in the army for the duration.'

ККККК 'Press gang!' It was an involuntary gasp that came from no particular source.

ККККК The corporal stepped briskly forward. 'Form a column of twos,' he directed. But the little man with the worried eyes was not done.

ККККК 'I don't understand this,' he objected. 'We signed an armistice with the Free State three weeks ago.'

ККККК 'That's not your worry,' countered the sergeant, 'nor mine. We are picking up every able-bodied man not in essential industry. Come along.'

ККККК 'Then you can't take me.'

ККККК 'Why not?'

ККККК He held up the stump of a missing hand. The sergeant glanced from it to the corporal, who nodded grudgingly, and said, 'Okay-but report to the office in the morning, and register.'

ККККК He started to march them out when Alec broke ranks and backed up to the wall, screaming, 'You can't do this to me! I won't go!' His deadly little vibrator was exposed in his hand, and the right side of his face was drawn up in a spastic wink that left his teeth bare.

ККККК 'Get him, Steeves,' ordered the corporal. The private stepped forward, but stopped when Alec brandished the vibrator at him. He had no desire to have a vibroblade between his ribs, and there was no doubt as to the uncontrolled dangerousness of his hysterical opponent.

ККККК The corporal, looking phlegmatic, almost bored, levelled a small tube at a spot on the wall over Alec's head. Dave heard a soft pop!, and a thin tinkle. Alec stood motionless for a few seconds, his face even more strained, as if he were exerting the limit of his will against some unseen force, then slid quietly to the floor. The tonic spasm in his face relaxed, and his features smoothed into those of a tired and petulant, and very bewildered, little boy.

ККККК 'Two of you birds carry him,' directed the corporal. 'Let's get going.'

ККККК The sergeant was the last to leave. He turned at the door and spoke to Mother Johnston. 'Have you seen the Fader lately?'

ККККК 'The Fader?' She seemed puzzled. 'Why, he's in jail.'

ККККК 'Ah, yes.. . so he is.' He went out.

Magee refused the drink that Mother Johnston offered him.

ККККК Dave was surprised to see that he appeared worried for the first time. 'I don't understand it,' Magee muttered, half to himself, then addressed the one-handed man. 'Ed-bring me up to date.'

ККККК 'Not much news since they tagged you, Fader. The armistice was before that. I thought from the papers that things were going to be straightened out for once.'

ККККК 'So did I. But the government must expect war if they are going in for general conscription.' He stood up. 'I've got to have more data. Al!' The kitchen boy stuck his head into the room.

ККККК 'What 'cha want, Fader?'

ККККК 'Go out and make palaver with five or six of the beggars. Look up their "king". You know where he makes his pitch?'

ККККК 'Sure-over by the auditorium.'

ККККК 'Find out what's stirring, but don't let them know I sent you.,

ККККК 'Right, Fader. It's in the bag.' The boy swaggered out.

ККККК 'Molly.'

ККККК 'Yes, Fader?'

ККККК 'Will you go out, and do the same thing with some of the business girls? I want to know what they hear from their customers.' She nodded agreement. He went on, 'Better look up that little redhead that has her beat up on Union Square. She can get secrets out of a dead man. Here-' He pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket and handed her several. 'You better take this grease . . . You might have to pay off a cop to get back out of the district.'

ККККК Magee was not disposed to talk, and insisted that Dave get some sleep. He was easily persuaded, not having slept since he entered Coventry. That seemed like a lifetime past; he was exhausted. Mother Johnston fixed him a shakedown in a dark, stuffy room on the same underground level. It had none of the hygienic comforts to which he was accustomed-air-conditioning, restful music, hydraulic mattress, nor soundproofing-and he missed his usual relaxing soak and auto-massage, but he was too tired to care. He slept in clothing and under covers for the first time in his life.

ККККК He woke up with a headache, a taste in his mouth like tired sin, and a sense of impending disaster. At first he could not remember where he was-he thought he was still in detention Outside. His surrounds were inexplicably sordid; he was about to ring for the attendant and complain, when his memory pieced in the events of the day before. Then he got up and discovered that his bones and muscles were painfully sore, and-which was worse-that he was, by his standards, filthy dirty. He itched.

ККККК He entered the common room, and found Magee sitting at the table. He greeted Dave. 'Hi, kid. I was about to wake you. You've slept almost all day. We've got a lot to talk about.'

ККККК 'Okay-shortly. Where's the 'fresher?'

ККККК 'Over there.'

ККККК It was not Dave's idea of a refreshing chamber, but he managed to take a sketchy shower in spite of the slimy floor. Then he discovered that there was no air blast installed, and he was forced to dry himself unsatisfactorily with his handkerchief. He had no choice in clothes. He must put back on the ones he had taken off, or go naked. He recalled that he had seen no nudity anywhere in Coventry, even at sports-a difference in customs, no doubt.

ККККК He put his clothes back on, though his skin crawled at the touch of the once-used linen.

ККККК But Mother Johnston had thrown together an appetizing breakfast for him. He let coffee restore his courage as Magee talked. It was, according to Fader, a serious situation. New America and the Free State had compromised their differences and had formed an alliance. They quite seriously proposed to break out of Coventry and attack the United States.

ККККК MacKinnon looked up at this. 'That's ridiculous, isn't it? They would be outnumbered enormously. Besides, how about the Barrier?'

ККККК 'I don't know-yet. But they have some reason to think that they can break through the Barrier . . . and there are rumors that whatever it is can be used as a weapon, too, so that a small army might be able to whip the whole United States.'

ККККК MacKinnon looked puzzled. 'Well,' he observed, 'I haven't any opinion of a weapon I know nothing about, but as to the Barrier . . . I'm not a mathematical physicist, but I was always told that it was theoretically impossible to break the Barrier-that it was just a nothingness that there was no way to touch. Of course, you can fly over it, but even that is supposed to be deadly to life.'

ККККК 'Suppose they had found some way to shield from the effects of the Barrier's field?' suggested Magee. 'Anyhow, that's not the point, for us. The point is: they've made this combine; the Free State supplies the techniques and most of the officers; and New America, with its bigger population, supplies most of the men. And that means to us that we don't dare show our faces any place, or we are in the army before you can blink.

ККККК 'Which brings me to what I was going to suggest. I'm going to duck out of here as soon as it gets dark, and light out for the Gateway, before they send somebody after me who is bright enough to look under a table. I thought maybe you might want to come along.'

ККККК 'Back to the psychologists?' MacKinnon was honestly aghast.

ККККК 'Sure-why not? What have you got to lose? This whole damn place is going to be just like the Free State in a couple of days-and a Joe of your temperament would be in hot water all the time. What's so bad about a nice, quiet hospital room as a place to hide out until things quiet down? You don't have to pay any attention to the psych boys-just make animal noises at 'em every time one sticks his nose into your room, until they get discouraged.'

ККККК Dave shook his head. 'No,' he said slowly, 'I can't do that.'

ККККК 'Then what will you do?'

ККККК 'I don't know yet. Take to the hills I guess. Go to live with the Angels if it comes to a showdown. I wouldn't mind them praying for my soul as long as they left my mind alone.'

ККККК They were each silent for a while. Magee was mildly annoyed at MacKinnon's bullheaded stubbornness in the face of what seemed to him a reasonable offer. Dave continued busily to stow away grilled ham, while considering his position. He cut off another bite. 'My, but this is good,' he remarked, to break the awkward silence, 'I don't know when I've had anything taste so good-Say!'-

ККККК 'What?' inquired Magee, looking up, and seeing the concern written on MacKinnon's face.

ККККК 'This ham-is it synthetic, or is it real meat?'

ККККК 'Why, it's real. What about it?'

ККККК Dave did not answer. He managed to reach the refreshing room before that which he had eaten departed from him.

ККККК Before he left, Magee gave Dave some money with which he could have purchased for him things that he would need in order to take to the hills. MacKinnon protested, but the Fader cut him short. 'Quit being a damn fool, Dave. I can't use New American money on the Outside, and you can't stay alive in the hills without proper equipment. You lie doggo here for a few days while Al, or Molly, picks up what you need, and you'll stand a chance-unless you'll change your mind and come with me?'

ККККК Dave shook his head at this, and accepted the money.

ККККК It was lonely after Magee left. Mother Johnston and Dave were alone in the club, and the empty chairs reminded him depressingly of the men who had been impressed. He wished that Gramps or the one-handed man would show up. Even Alec, with his nasty temper, would have been company-he wondered if Alec had been punished for resisting the draft.

ККККК Mother Johnston inveigled him into playing checkers in an attempt to relieve his evident low spirits. He felt obliged to agree to her gentle conspiracy, but his mind wandered. It was all very well for the Senior Judge to tell him to seek adventure in interplanetary exploration, but only engineers and technicians were eligible for such billets. Perhaps he should have gone in for science, or engineering, instead of literature; then he might now be on Venus, contending against the forces of nature in high adventure, instead of hiding from uniformed bullies. It wasn't fair. No-he must not kid himself; there was no room for an expert in literary history in the raw frontier of the planets; that was not human injustice, that was a hard fact of nature, and he might as well face it.

ККККК He thought bitterly of the man whose nose he had broken, and thereby landed himself in Coventry. Maybe he was an 'upholstered parasite' after all-but the recollection of the phrase brought back the same unreasoning anger that had gotten him into trouble. He was glad that he had socked that so-and-so! What right had he to go around sneering and calling people things like that?

ККККК He found himself thinking in the same vindictive spirit of his father, although he would have been at a loss to explain the connection. The connection was not superficially evident, for his father would never have stooped to name-calling. Instead, he would have offered the sweetest of smiles, and quoted something nauseating in the way of sweetness-and light. Dave's father was one of the nastiest little tyrants that ever dominated a household under the guise of loving-kindness. He was of the more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger, this-hurts-me-more-than-it-does-you school, and all his life had invariably been able to find an altruistic rationalization for always having his own way. Convinced of his own infallible righteousness, he had never valued his son's point of view on anything, but had dominated him in everything-always from the highest moralistic motives.

ККККК He had had two main bad effects on his son: the boy's natural independence, crushed at home, rebelled blindly at every sort of discipline, authority, or criticism which he encountered elsewhere and subconsciously identified with the not-to-be-criticized paternal authority. Secondly, through years of association Dave imitated his father's most dangerous social vice-that of passing unselfcritical moral judgments on the actions of others.

ККККК When Dave was arrested for breaking a basic custom; to wit, atavistic violence; his father washed his hands of him with the statement that he had tried his best to 'make a man of him', and could not be blamed for his son's failure to profit by his instruction.

ККККК A faint knock caused them to put away the checker board in a hurry. Mother Johnston paused before answering. 'That's not our knock,' she considered, 'but it's not loud enough to be the noises. Be ready to hide.'

ККККК MacKinnon waited by the fox hole where he had hidden the night before, while Mother Johnston went to investigate. He heard her unbar and unlock the upper door, then she called out to him in a low but urgent voice, 'Dave! Come here, Dave-hurry!'

ККККК It was Fader, unconscious, with his own bloody trail behind him.

ККККК Mother Johnston was attempting to pick up the limp form. MacKinnon crowded in, and between the two of them they managed to get him downstairs and to lay him on the long table. He came to for a moment as they straightened his limbs. 'Hi, Dave,' he whispered, managing to achieve the ghost of his debonair grin. 'Somebody trumped my ace.'

ККККК 'You keep quiet!' Mother Johnston snapped at him, then in a lower voice to Dave, 'Oh, the poor darling-Dave, we must get him to the Doctor.'

ККККК 'Can't . . . do . . . that,' muttered the Fader. 'Got . . . to get to the . . . Gate-' His voice trailed off. Mother Johnston's fingers had been busy all the while, as if activated by some separate intelligence. A small pair of scissors, drawn from some hiding place about her large person, clipped away at his clothing, exposing the superficial extent of the damage. She examined the trauma critically.

ККККК 'This is no job for me,' she decided, 'and he must sleep while we move him. Dave, get that hypodermic kit out of the medicine chest in the 'fresher.'

ККККК 'No, Mother!' It was Magee, his voice strong and vibrant.

ККККК 'Get me a pepper pill,' he went on. 'There's -, 'But Fader -'

ККККК He cut her short. 'I've got to get to the Doctor all right, but how the devil will I get there if I don't walk?'

ККККК 'We would carry you.'

ККККК 'Thanks, Mother,' he told her, his voice softened. 'I know you would-but the police would be curious. Get me that pill.'

ККККК Dave followed her into the 'fresher, and questioned her while she rummaged through the medicine chest. 'Why don't we just send for a doctor?'

ККККК 'There is only one doctor we can trust, and that's the Doctor. Besides, none of the others are worth the powder to blast them.'

ККККК Magee was out again when they came back into the room. Mother Johnston slapped his face until he came around, blinking and cursing. Then she fed him the pill.

ККККК The powerful stimulant, improbable offspring of common coal tar, took hold almost at once. To all surface appearance Magee was a well man. He sat up and tried his own pulse, searching it out in his left wrist with steady, sensitive fingers. 'Regular as a metronome,' he announced, 'the old ticker can stand that dosage all right.'

ККККК He waited while Mother Johnston applied sterile packs to his wounds, then said good-bye. MacKinnon looked at Mother Johnston. She nodded.

ККККК 'I'm going with you,' he told the Fader.

ККККК 'What for? It will just double the risk.'

ККККК 'You're in no fit shape to travel alone-stimulant, or no stimulant.'

ККККК 'Nuts. I'd have to look after you.'

ККККК 'I'm going with you.'

ККККК Magee shrugged his shoulders and capitulated.

ККККК Mother Johnston wiped her perspiring face, and kissed both of them.

ККККК Until they were well out of town their progress reminded MacKinnon of their nightmare flight of the previous evening. Thereafter they continued to the north-northwest by a highway which ran toward the foothills, and they left the highway only when necessary to avoid the sparse traffic. Once they were almost surprised by a police patrol car, equipped with blacklight and almost invisible, but the Fader sensed it in time and they crouched behind a low wall which separated the adjacent field from the road.

ККККК Dave inquired how he had known the patrol was near. Magee chuckled. 'Damned if I know,' he said, 'but I believe I could smell a cop staked out in a herd of goats.'

ККККК The Fader talked less and less as the night progressed. His usually untroubled countenance became lined and old as the effect of the drug wore off. It seemed to Dave as if this unaccustomed expression gave him a clearer insight into the man's character-that the mask of pain was his true face rather than the unworried features Magee habitually showed the world. He wondered for the ninth time what the Fader had done to cause a court to adjudge him socially insane.

ККККК This question was uppermost in his mind with respect to every person he met in Coventry. The answer was obvious in most cases; their types of instability were gross and showed up at once. Mother Johnston had been an enigma until she had explained it herself. She had followed her husband into Coventry. Now that she was a widow, she preferred to remain with the friends she knew and the customs and conditions she was adjusted to, rather than change for -another and possibly less pleasing environment.

ККККК Magee sat down beside the road. 'It's no use, kid,' he admitted, 'I can't make it.'

ККККК 'The hell we can't. I'll carry you.'

ККККК Magee grinned faintly. 'No, I mean it.' Dave persisted. 'How much farther is it?'

ККККК 'Matter of two or three miles, maybe.'

ККККК 'Climb aboard.' He took Magee pickaback and started on. The first few hundred yards were not too difficult; Magee was forty pounds lighter than Dave. After that the strain of the additional load began to tell. His arms cramped from supporting Magee's knees; his arches complained at the weight and the unnatural load distribution; and his breathing was made difficult by the clasp of Magee's arms around his neck.

ККККК Two miles to go-maybe more. Let your weight fall forward, and your foot must follow it, else you fall to the ground. It's automatic-as automatic as pulling teeth. How long is a mile? Nothing in a rocket ship, thirty seconds in a pleasure car, a ten minute crawl in a steel snail, fifteen minutes to trained troops in good condition. How far is it with a man on your back, on a rough road, when you are tired to start with?

ККККК Five thousand, two hundred, and eighty feet-a meaningless figure. But every step takes twenty-four inches off the total. The remainder is still incomprehensible-an infinity. Count them. Count them till you go crazy-till the figures speak themselves outside your head, and the jar! . . . jar! ...jar! . . . of your enormous, benumbed feet beats in your brain. Count them backwards, subtracting two each time-no, that's worse; each remainder is still an unattainable, inconceivable figure.

ККККК His world closed in, lost its history and held no future. There was nothing, nothing at all, but the torturing necessity of picking up his foot again and placing it forward. No feeling but the heartbreaking expenditure of will necessary to achieve that meaningless act.

ККККК He was brought suddenly to awareness when Magee's arms relaxed from around his neck. He leaned forward, and dropped to one knee to keep from spilling his burden, then eased it slowly to the ground. He thought for a moment that the Fader was dead-he could not locate his pulse, and the slack face and limp body were sufficiently corpse-like, but he pressed an ear to Magee's chest, and heard with relief the steady flub-dub of his heart.

ККККК He tied Magee's wrists together with his handkerchief, and forced his own head through the encircled arms. But he was unable, in his exhausted condition, to wrestle the slack weight into position on his back. Fader regained consciousness while MacKinnon was struggling. His first words were, 'Take it easy, Dave. What's the trouble?'

ККККК Dave explained. 'Better untie my wrists,' advised the Fader, 'I think I can walk for a while.'

ККККК And walk he did, for nearly three hundred yards, before he was forced to give up again. 'Look, Dave,' he said, after he had partially recovered, 'did you bring along any more of those pepper pills?'

ККККК 'Yes-but you can't take any more dosage. It would kill you.'

ККККК 'Yeah, I know-so they say. But that isn't the idea-yet. I was going to suggest that you might take one.'

ККККК 'Why, of course! Good grief, Fader, but I'm dumb.'

ККККК Magee seemed no heavier than a light coat, the morning star shone brighter, and his strength seemed inexhaustible. Even when they left the highway and started up the cart trail that led to the Doctor's home in the foothills, the going was tolerable and the burden not too great. MacKinnon knew that the drugs burned the working tissue of his body long after his proper reserves were gone, and that it would take him days to recover from the reckless expenditure, but he did not mind. No price was too high to pay for the moment when he at last arrived at the gate of the Doctor's home-on his own two feet, his charge alive and conscious.

MacKinnon was not allowed to see Magee for four days. In the meantime, he was encouraged to keep the routine of a semi-invalid himself in order to recover the twenty-five pounds he had lost in two days and two nights, and to make up for the heavy strain on his heart during the last night. A high-caloric diet, sun baths, rest, and peaceful surroundings plus his natural good health caused him to regain weight and strength rapidly, but he 'enjoyed ill health" exceedingly because of the companionship of the Doctor himself-and Persephone.

ККККК Persephone's calendar age was fifteen. Dave never knew whether to think of her as much older, or much younger. She had been born in Coventry, and had lived her short life in the house of the Doctor, her mother having died in childbirth in that same house. She was completely childlike in many respects, being without experience in the civilized world Outside, and having had very little contact with the inhabitants of Coventry, except when she saw them as patients of the Doctor. But she had been allowed to read unchecked from the library of a sophisticated and protean-minded man of science. MacKinnon was continually being surprised at the extent of her academic and scientific knowledge-much greater than his own. She made him feel as if he were conversing with some aged and omniscient matriarch, then she would come out with some naive concept of the outer world, and he would be brought up sharply with the realization that she was, in fact, an inexperienced child.

ККККК He was mildly romantic about her, not seriously, of course, in view of her barely nubile age, but she was pleasant to see, and he was hungry for feminine companionship. He was quite young enough himself to feel continual interest in the delightful differences, mental and physical, between male and female.

ККККК Consequently, it was a blow to his pride as sharp as had been the sentence to Coventry to discover that she classed him with the other inhabitants of Coventry as a poor unfortunate who needed help and sympathy because he was not quite right in his head.

ККККК He was furious and for one whole day he sulked alone, but the human necessity for self-justification and approval forced him to seek her out and attempt to reason with her. He explained carefully and with emotional candor the circumstances leading up to his trial and conviction, and embellished the account with his own philosophy and evaluations, then confidently awaited her approval.

ККККК It was not forthcoming. 'I don't understand your viewpoint,' she said. 'You broke his nose, yet he had done you no harm of any sort. You expect me to approve that?'

ККККК 'But Persephone,' he protested, 'you ignore the fact that he called me a most insulting name.'

ККККК 'I don't see the connection,' she said. 'He made a noise with his mouth-a verbal label. If the label does not fit you, the noise is meaningless. If the label is true in your case-if you are the thing that the noise refers to, you are neither more, nor less, that thing by reason of some one uttering the verbal label. In short, he did not damage you.

ККККК 'But what you did to him was another matter entirely. You broke his nose. That is damage. In self-protection the rest of society must seek you out, and determine whether or not you are so unstable as to be likely to damage some one else in the future. If you are, you must be quarantined for treatment, or leave society-whichever you prefer.'

ККККК 'You think I'm crazy, don't you?' he accused.

ККККК 'Crazy? Not the way you mean it. You haven't paresis, or a brain tumor, or any other lesion that the Doctor could find. But from the viewpoint of your semantic reactions you are as socially unsane as any fanatic witch burner.'

ККККК 'Come now-that's not just!'

ККККК 'What is justice?' She picked up the kitten she had been playing with. 'I'm going in-it's getting chilly.' Off she went into the house, her bare feet noiseless in the grass.

Had the science of semantics developed as rapidly as psychodynamics and its implementing arts of propaganda and mob psychology, the United States might never have fallen into dictatorship, then been forced to undergo the Second Revolution. All of the scientific principles embodied in the Covenant which marked the end of the revolution were formulated as far back as the first quarter of the twentieth century.

ККККК But the work of the pioneer semanticists, C. K. Ogden, Alfred Korzybski, and others, were known to but a handful of students, whereas psycho-dynamics, under the impetus of repeated wars and the frenzy of high-pressure merchandising, progressed by leaps and bounds.

ККККК Semantics, 'the meaning of meaning', gave a method for the first time of applying the scientific method to every act of everyday life. Because semantics dealt with spoken and written words as a determining aspect of human behavior it was at first mistakenly thought by many to be concerned only with words and of interest only to professional word manipulators, such as advertising copy writers and professors of etymology. A handful of unorthodox psychiatrists attempted to apply it to personal human problems, but their work was swept away by the epidemic mass psychoses that destroyed Europe and returned the United States to the Dark Ages.

ККККК The Covenant was the first scientific social document ever drawn up by man, and due credit must be given to its principal author, Dr Micah Novak, the same Novak who served as staff psychologist in the revolution. The revolutionists wished to establish maximum personal liberty. How could they accomplish that to a degree of high mathematical probability? First they junked the concept of 'justice'. Examined semantically 'justice' has no referent-there is no observable phenomenon in the space-time-matter continuum to which one can point, and say, 'This is justice.' Science can deal only with that which can be observed and measured. Justice is not such a matter; therefore it can never have the same meaning to one as to another; any 'noises' said about it will only add to confusion.

ККККК But damage, physical or economic, can be pointed to and measured. Citizens were forbidden by the Covenant to damage another. Any act not leading to damage, physical or economic, to some particular person, they declared to be lawful.

ККККК Since they had abandoned the concept of 'justice', there could be no rational standards of punishment. Penology took its place with lycanthropy and other forgotten witchcrafts. Yet, since it was not practical to permit a source of danger to remain in the community, social offenders were examined and potential repeaters were given their choice of psychological readjustment, or of having society withdraw itself from them-Coventry.

ККККК Early drafts of the Covenant contained the assumption that the socially unsane would naturally be hospitalized and readjusted, particularly since current psychiatry was quite competent to cure all non-lesional psychoses and cure or alleviate lesional psychoses, but Novak set his face against this.

ККККК 'No!' he protested. 'The government must never again be permitted to tamper with the mind of any citizen without his consent, or else we set up a greater tyranny than we had before. Every man must be free to accept, or reject, the Covenant, even though we think him insane!'

The next time David MacKinnon looked up Persephone he found her in a state of extreme agitation. His own wounded pride was forgotten at once. 'Why, my dear,' he said, 'whatever in the world is the matter?'

ККККК Gradually he gathered that she had been present at a conversation between Magee and the Doctor, and had heard, for the first time, of the impending military operation against the United States. He patted her hand. 'So that's all it is,' he observed in a relieved voice. 'I thought something was wrong with you yourself.'

ККККК '"That's all-" David MacKinnon, do you mean to stand there and tell me that you knew about this, and don't consider it worth worrying about?'

ККККК 'Me? Why should I? And for that matter, what could I do?'

ККККК 'What could you do? You could go outside and warn them-that's what you could do . . . As to why you should-Dave, you're impossible!' She burst into tears and ran from the room.

ККККК He stared after her, mouth open, then borrowed from his remotest ancestor by observing to himself that women are hard to figure out.

ККККК Persephone did not appear at lunch. MacKinnon asked the Doctor where she was.

ККККК 'Had her lunch,' the Doctor told him, between mouthfuls. 'Started for the Gateway.'

ККККК 'What! Why did you let her do that?'

ККККК 'Free agent. Wouldn't have obeyed me anyway. She'll be all right.'

ККККК Dave did not hear the last, being already out of the room and running out of the house. He found her just backing her little motorcycle runabout out of its shed. 'Persephone!'

ККККК 'What do you want?' she asked with frozen dignity beyond her years.

ККККК 'You mustn't do this! That's where the Fader got hurt!'

ККККК 'I am going. Please stand aside.'

ККККК 'Then I'm going with you.'

ККККК 'Why should you?'

ККККК 'To take care of you.'

ККККК She sniffed. 'As if anyone would dare to touch me.'

ККККК There was a measure of truth in what she said. The Doctor, and every member of his household, enjoyed a personal immunity unlike that of anyone else in Coventry. As a natural consequence of the set-up, Coventry had almost no competent medical men. The number of physicians who committed social damage was small. The proportion of such who declined psychiatric treatment was negligible, and this negligible remainder were almost sure to be unreliable bunglers in their profession. The Doctor was a natural healer, in voluntary exile in order that he might enjoy the opportunity to practice his art in the richest available field. He cared nothing for dry research; what he wanted was patients, the sicker the better, that he might make them well again.

ККККК He was above custom and above law. In the Free State the Liberator depended on him for insulin to hold his own death from diabetes at arm's length. In New America his beneficiaries were equally powerful. Even among the Angels of the Lord the Prophet himself accepted the dicta of the Doctor without question.

ККККК But MacKinnon was not satisfied. Some ignorant fool, he was afraid, might do the child some harm without realizing her protected status. He got no further chance to protest; she started the little runabout suddenly, and forced him to jump out of its path. When he had recovered his balance, she was far down the lane. He could not catch her.

ККККК She was back in less than four hours. He had expected that; if a person as elusive as Fader had not been able to reach the Gate at night, it was not likely that a young girl could do so in daylight.

ККККК His first feeling was one of simple relief, then he eagerly awaited an opportunity to speak to her. During her absence he had been turning over the situation in his mind. It was a foregone conclusion that she would fail; he wished to rehabilitate himself in her eyes; therefore, he would help her in the project nearest her heart-he himself would carry the warning to the Outside!

ККККК Perhaps she would ask for such help. In fact, it seemed likely. But the time she returned he had convinced himself that she was certain to ask his help. He would agree-with simple dignity-and off he would go, perhaps to be wounded, or killed, but an heroic figure, even if he failed.

ККККК He pictured himself subconsciously as a blend of Sydney Carton, the White Knight, the man who carried the message to Garcia and just a dash of d'Artagnan.

ККККК But she did not ask him-she would not even give him a chance to talk with her.

ККККК She did not appear at dinner. After dinner she was closeted with the Doctor in his study. When she reappeared she went directly to her room. He finally concluded that he might as well go to bed himself.

ККККК To bed, and then to sleep, and take it up again in the morning-But it's not as simple as that. The unfriendly walls stared back at him, and the other, critical half of his mind decided to make a night of it. Fool! She doesn't want your help. Why should she? What have you got that Fader hasn't got?-and better. To her, you are just one of the screwloose multitude you've seen all around you in this place.

ККККК But I'm not crazy!-just because I choose not to submit to the dictation of others doesn't make me crazy. Doesn't it, though? All the rest of them in here are lamebrains, what's so fancy about you? Not all of them-how about the Doctor, and-don't kid yourself, chump, the Doctor and Mother Johnston are here for their own reasons; they weren't sentenced. And Persephone was born here.

ККККК How about Magee?-He was certainly rational-or seemed so. He found himself resenting, with illogical bitterness, Magee's apparent stability. Why should he be any different from the rest of us?

ККККК The rest of us? He had classed himself with the other inhabitants of Coventry. All right, all right, admit it, you fool-you're just like the rest of them; turned out because the decent people won't have you-and too damned stubborn to admit that you need treatment. But the thought of treatment turned him cold, and made him think of his father again. Why should that be? He recalled something the Doctor had said to him a couple of days before:

ККККК 'What you need, son, is to stand up to your father and tell him off. Pity more children don't tell their parents to go to hell!'

ККККК He turned on the light and tried to read. But it was no use. Why should Persephonie care what happened to the people Outside?-She didn't know them; she had no friends there. If he had no obligations to them, how could she possibly care? No obligations? You had a soft, easy life for many years-all they asked was that you behave yourself. For that matter, where would you be now, if the Doctor had stopped to ask whether or not he owed you anything?

ККККК He was still wearily chewing the bitter cud of self-examination when the first cold and colorless light of morning filtered in. He got up, threw a robe around him, and tiptoed down the hall to Magee's room. The door was ajar. He stuck his head in, and whispered, 'Fader-Are you awake?'

ККККК 'Come in, kid,' Magee answered quietly. 'What's the trouble? No can sleep?'

ККККК 'No -, 'Neither can I. Sit down, and we'll carry the banner together.'

ККККК 'Fader, I'm going to make a break for it. I'm going Outside.'

ККККК 'Huh? When?'

ККККК 'Right away.'

ККККК 'Risky business, kid. Wait a few days, and I'll try it with you.'

ККККК 'No, I can't wait for you to get well. I'm going out to warn the United States!'

ККККК Magee's eyed widened a little, but his voice was unchanged. 'You haven't let that spindly kid sell you a bill of goods, Dave?'

ККККК 'No. Not exactly. I'm doing this for myself-It's something I need to do. See here, Fader, what about this weapon? Have they really got something that could threaten the United States?'

ККККК 'I'm afraid so,' Magee admitted. 'I don't know much about it, but it makes blasters look sick. More range-I don't know what they expect to do about the Barrier, but I saw 'em stringing heavy power lines before I got winged. Say, if you do get outside, here's a chap you might look up; in fact, be sure to. He's got influence.' Magee scrawled something on a scrap of paper, folded the scrap, and handed it to MacKinnon, who pocketed it absent-mindedly and went on:

ККККК 'How closely is the Gate guarded, Fader?'

ККККК 'You can't get out the Gate; that's out of the question. Here's what you will have to do-' He tore off another piece of paper and commenced sketching and explaining.

ККККК Dave shook hands with Magee before he left. 'You'll say goodbye for me, won't you? And thank the Doctor? I'd rather just slide out before anyone is up.'

ККККК 'Of course, kid,' the Fader assured him.

MacKinnon crouched behind bushes and peered cautiously at the little band of Angels filing into the bleak, ugly church. He shivered, both from fear and from the icy morning air. But his need was greater than his fear. Those zealots had food-and he must have it.

ККККК The first two days after he left the house of the Doctor had been easy enough. True, he had caught cold from sleeping on the ground; it had settled in his lungs and slowed him down. But he did not mind that now if only he could refrain from sneezing or coughing until the little band of faithful were safe inside the temple. He watched them pass-dour-looking men, women and skirts that dragged the ground and whose work lined faces were framed in shawls-sallow drudges with too many children. The light had gone out of their faces. Even the children were sober.

ККККК The last of them filed inside, leaving only the sexton in the churchyard, busy with some obscure duty. After an interminable time, during which MacKinnon pressed a finger against his upper lip in a frantic attempt to forestall a sneeze, the sexton entered the grim building and closed the doors.

ККККК McKinnon crept out of his hiding place and hurried to the house he had previously selected, on the edge of the clearing, farthest from the church.

ККККК The dog was suspicious, but he quieted him. The house was locked, but the rear door could be forced. He was a little giddy at the sight of food when he found it-hard bread, and strong, unsalted butter made from goat's milk. A misstep two days before had landed him in a mountain stream. The mishap had not seemed important until he discovered that his food tablets were a pulpy mess. He had eaten them the rest of the day, then mold had taken them, and he had thrown the remainder away.

ККККК The bread lasted him through three more sleeps, but the butter melted and he was unable to carry it. He soaked as much of it as he could into the bread, then licked up the rest, after which he was very thirsty.

ККККК Some hours after the last of the bread was gone, he reached his first objective-the main river to which all other streams in Coventry were tributary. Some place, down stream, it dived under the black curtain of the Barrier, and continued seaward. With the gateway closed and guarded, its outlet constituted the only possible egress to a man unassisted.

ККККК In the meantime it was water, and thirst was upon him again, and his cold was worse. But he would have to wait until dark to drink; there were figures down there by the bank-some in uniform, he thought. One of them made fast a little skiff to a landing. He marked it for his own and watched it with jealous eyes. It was still there when the sun went down.

ККККК The early morning sun struck his nose and he sneezed. He came wide awake, raised his head, and looked around. The little skiff he had appropriated floated in midstream. There were no oars. He could not remember whether or not there had been any oars. The current was fairly strong; it seemed as if he should have drifted clear to the Barrier in the night. Perhaps he had passed under it-no, that was ridiculous.

ККККК Then he saw it, less than a mile away, black and ominous-but the most welcome sight he had seen in days. He was too weak and feverish to enjoy it, but it renewed the determination that kept him going.

ККККК The little boat scraped against bottom. He saw that the current at a bend had brought him to the bank. He hopped awkwardly out, his congealed joints complaining, and drew the bow of the skiff up onto the sand. Then he thought better of it, pushed it out once more, shoved as hard as he was able and watched it disappear around the meander. No need to advertise where he had landed.

ККККК He slept most of that day, rousing himself once to move out of the sun when it grew too hot. But the sun had cooked much of the cold out of his bones, and he felt much better by nightfall.

ККККК Although the Barrier was only a mile or so away, it took most of the night to reach it by following the river bank. He knew when he had reached it by the clouds of steam that rose from the water. When the sun came up, he considered the situation. The Barrier stretched across the water, but the juncture between it and the surface of the stream was hidden by billowing clouds. Someplace, down under the surface of the water-how far down he did not know-somewhere down there, the Barrier ceased, and its raw edge turned the water it touched to steam.

ККККК Slowly, reluctantly and most unheroically, he commenced to strip off his clothes. The time had come and he did not relish it. He came across the scrap of paper that Magee had handed him, and attempted to examine it. But it had been pulped by his involuntary dip in the mountain stream and was quite illegible. He chucked it away. It did not seem to matter.

ККККК He shivered as he stood hesitating on the bank, although the sun was warm. Then his mind was made up for him; he spied a patrol on the far bank.

ККККК Perhaps they had seen him, perhaps not. He dived.

ККККК Down, down, as far as his strength would take him. Down and try to touch bottom, to be sure of avoiding that searing, deadly base. He felt mud with his hands. Now to swim under it. Perhaps it was death to pass under it, as well as over it; he would soon know. But which way was it? There was no direction down here.

ККККК He stayed down until his congested lungs refused. Then he rose part way, and felt scalding water on his face. For a timeless interval of unutterable sorrow and loneliness he realized that he was trapped between heat and water-trapped under the Barrier.

ККККК Two private soldiers gossiped idly on a small dock which lay under the face of the Barrier. The river which poured out from beneath it held no interest for them, they had watched it for many dull tours of guard duty. An alarm clanged behind them and brought them to alertness. 'What sector, Jack?'

ККККК 'This bank. There he is now-see!'

ККККК They fished him out and had him spread out on the dock by the time the sergeant of the guard arrived. 'Alive, or dead?' he enquired.

ККККК 'Dead, I think,' answered the one who was not busy giving artificial resuscitation.

ККККК The sergeant clucked in a manner incongruous to his battered face, and said, 'Too bad. I've ordered the ambulance; send him up to the infirmary anyhow.'

The nurse tried to keep him quiet, but MacKinnon made such an uproar that she was forced to get the ward surgeon. 'Here! Here! What's all this nonsense?' the medico rebuked him, while reaching for his pulse. Dave managed to convince him that he would not quiet down, not accept a soporific until he had told his story. They struck a working agreement that MacKinnon was to be allowed to talk-'But keep it short, mind you!'-and the doctor would pass the word along to his next superior, and in return Dave would submit to a hypodermic.

ККККК The next morning two other men, unidentified, were brought to MacKinnon by the surgeon. They listened to his full story and questioned him in detail. He was transferred to corps area headquarters that afternoon by ambulance. There he was questioned again. He was regaining his strength rapidly, but he was growing quite tired of the whole rigmarole, and wanted assurance that his warning was being taken seriously. The latest of his interrogators reassured him. 'Compose yourself,' he told Dave, 'you are to see the commanding officer this afternoon.'

ККККК The corps area commander, a nice little chap with a quick, birdlike manner and a most unmilitary appearance, listened gravely while MacKinnon recited his story for what seemed to him the fiftieth time. He nodded agreement when David finished. 'Rest assured, David MacKinnon, that all necessary steps are being taken.'

ККККК 'But how about their weapon?'

ККККК 'That is taken care of-and as for the Barrier, it may not be as easy to break as our neighbors think. But your efforts are appreciated. May I do you some service?'

ККККК 'Well, no-not for myself, but there are two of my friends in there-'He asked that something be done to rescue Magee, and that Persephone be enabled to come out, if she wished.

ККККК 'I know of that girl,' the general remarked. 'We will get in touch with her. If at any time she wishes to become a citizen, it can be arranged. As for Magee, that is another matter-'He touched the stud of his desk visiphone. 'Send Captain Randall in.'

ККККК A neat, trim figure in the uniform of a captain of the United States Army entered with a light step. MacKinnon glanced at him with casual, polite interest, then his expression went to pieces. 'Fader!' he yelled.

ККККК Their mutual greeting was hardly sufficiently decorous for the private office of a commanding general, but the general did not seem to mind. When they had calmed down, MacKinnon had to ask the question uppermost in his mind. 'But see here, Fader, all this doesn't make sense-'He paused, staring, then pointed a finger accusingly, 'I know! You're in the secret service!'

ККККК The Fader grinned cheerfully. 'Did you think,' he observed, 'that the United States Army would leave a plague spot like that unwatched?'

ККККК The general cleared his throat. 'What do you plan to do now, David MacKinnon?'

ККККК 'Eh! Me? Why, I don't have any plans-'He thought for a moment, then turned to his friend. 'Do you know, Fader, I believe I'll turn in for psychological treatment after all. You're on the Outside -'

ККККК 'I don't believe that will be necessary,' interrupted the general gently.

ККККК 'No? Why not, sir?'

ККККК 'You have cured yourself. You may not be aware of it, but four psychotechnicians have interviewed you. Their reports agree. I am authorized to tell you that your status as a free citizen has been restored, if you wish it.'

ККККК The general and Captain 'the Fader' Randall managed tactfully between them to terminate the interview. Randall walked back to the infirmary with his friend. Dave wanted a thousand questions answered at once. 'But Fader,' he demanded, 'you must have gotten out before I did.'

ККККК 'A day or two.'

ККККК 'Then my job was unnecessary!'

ККККК 'I wouldn't say that,' Randall contradicted. 'I might not have gotten through. As a matter of fact, they had all the details even before I reported. There are others-Anyhow,' he continued, to change the subject, 'now that you are here, what will you do?'

ККККК 'Me? It's too soon to say . . . It won't be classical literature, that's a cinch. If I wasn't such a dummy in maths, I might still try for interplanetary.'

ККККК 'Well, we can talk about it tonight,' suggested Fader, glancing at his chrono. 'I've got to run along, but I'll stop by later, and we'll go over to the mess for dinner.'

ККККК He was out the door with speed reminiscent of the thieves' kitchen. Dave watched him, then said suddenly, 'Hey! Fader! Why couldn't I get into the secret ser -,

ККККК But the Fader was gone-he must ask himself.

Misfit

ККККК ККККК "... for the purpose of conserving and improving our

ККККК ККККК interplanetary resources, and providing useful, healthful

ККККК ККККК occupations for the youth of this planet."

ККККК ККККК Excerpt from the enabling act, H.R. 7118, setting up the

ККККК ККККК Cosmic Construction Corps.

ККККК "Attention to muster!" The parade ground voice of a First Sergeant of Space Marines cut through the fog and drizzle of a nasty New Jersey morning. "As your names are called, answer 'Here', step forward with your baggage, and embark.

ККККК "Atkins!"

ККККК "Here!"

ККККК "Austin!"

ККККК "Hyar!"

ККККК "Ayres!"

ККККК "Here!"

ККККК One by one they fell out of ranks, shouldered the hundred and thirty pounds of personal possessions allowed them, and trudged up the gangway. They were young -- none more than twenty-two -- in some cases luggage outweighed the owner.

ККККК "Kaplan!"

ККККК "Here!"

ККККК "Keith!"

ККККК "Heah!"

ККККК "Libby!"

ККККК "Here!" A thin gangling blonde had detached himself from the line, hastily wiped his nose, and grabbed his belongings. He slung a fat canvas bag over his shoulder, steadied it, and lifted a suitcase with his free hand. He started for the companionway in an unsteady dogtrot. As he stepped on the gangway his suitcase swung against his knees. He staggered against a short wiry form dressed in the powder-blue of the Space Navy. Strong fingers grasped his arm and checked his fall.

ККККК "Steady, son. Easy does it." Another hand readjusted the canvas bag.

ККККК "Oh, excuse me, uh" -- the embarrassed youngster automatically counted the four bands of silver braid below the shooting star -- "Captain. I didn't--"

ККККК "Bear a hand and get aboard, son."

ККККК "Yes, sir."

ККККК The passage into the bowels of the transport was gloomy. When the lad's eyes adjusted he saw a gunners mate wearing the brassard of a Master-at-Arms, who hooked a thumb toward an open airtight door.

ККККК "In there. Find your locker and wait by it." Libby hurried to obey. Inside he found a jumble of baggage and men in a wide low-ceilinged compartment. A line of glow-tubes ran around the junction of bulkhead and ceiling and trisected the overhead: the 50ft roar of blowers made a background to the voices of his shipmates. He picked his way through heaped luggage and located his locker, seven-ten, on the far wall outboard. He broke the seal on the combination lock, glanced at the combination, and opened it. The locker was very small, the middle of a tier of three. He considered what he should keep in it. A loudspeaker drowned out the surrounding voices and demanded his attention:

ККККК "Attention! Man all space details; first section. Raise ship in twelve minutes. Close air-tight doors. Stop blowers at minus two minutes. Special orders for passengers; place all gear on deck, and tie down on red signal light. Remain down until release is sounded. Masters-at-Arms check compliance."

ККККК The gunner's mate popped in, glanced around and immediately commenced supervising rearrangement of the baggage. Heavy items were lashed down. Locker doors were closed. By the time each boy had found a place on the deck and the Master-at-Arms had okayed the pad under his head, the glowtubes turned red and the loudspeaker brayed out.

ККККК "All hands. Up Ship! Stand by for acceleration." The Master-at-Arms hastily reclined against two cruise bags, and watched the room. The blowers sighed to a stop. There followed two minutes of dead silence. Libby felt his heart commence to pound. The two minutes stretched interminably. Then the deck quivered and a roar like escaping high pressure steam beat at his ear drums. He was suddenly very heavy and a weight lay across his chest and heart. An indefinite time later the glow-tubes flashed white, and the announcer bellowed: "Secure all getting underway details; regular watch, first section." The blowers droned into life. The Master-at-Arms stood up, rubbed his buttocks and pounded his arms, then said:

ККККК "Okay, boys." He stepped over and undogged the airtight door to the passageway. Libby got up and blundered into a bulkhead, nearly falling. His legs and arms had gone to sleep, besides which he felt alarmingly light, as if he had sloughed off at least half of his inconsiderable mass.

ККККК For the next two hours he was too busy to think, or to be homesick. Suitcases, boxes, and bags had to be passed down into the lower hold and lashed against angular acceleration. He located and learned how to use a waterless water closet. He found his assigned bunk and learned that it was his only eight hours in twenty-four; two other boys had the use of it too. The three sections ate in three shifts, nine shifts in all -- twenty-four youths and a master-at-arms at one long table which jam-filled a narrow compartment off the galley.

ККККК After lunch Libby restowed his locker. He was standing before it, gazing at a photograph which he intended to mount on the inside of the locker door, when a command filled the compartment:

ККККК "Attention!"

ККККК Standing inside the door was the Captain flanked by the Master-at-Arms. The Captain commenced to speak. "At rest, men. Sit down. McCoy, tell control to shift this compartment to smoke filter." The gunner's mate hurried to the communicator on the bulkhead and spoke into it in a low tone. Almost at once the hum of the blowers climbed a half-octave and stayed there. "Now light up if you like. I'm going to talk to you.

ККККК "You boys are headed out on the biggest thing so far in your lives. From now on you're men, with one of the hardest jobs ahead of you that men have ever tackled. What we have to do is part of a bigger scheme. You, and hundreds of thousands of others like you, are going out as pioneers to fix up the solar system so that human beings can make better use of it.

ККККК "Equally important, you are being given a chance to build yourselves into useful and happy citizens of the Federation. For one reason or another you weren't happily adjusted back on Earth. Some of you saw the jobs you were trained for abolished by new inventions. Some of you got into trouble from not knowing what to do with the modern leisure. In any case you were misfits. Maybe you were called bad boys and had a lot of black marks chalked up against you.

ККККК "But everyone of you starts even today. The only record you have in this ship is your name at the top of a blank sheet of paper. It's up to you what goes on that page.

ККККК "Now about our job -- We didn't get one of the easy repair-and-recondition jobs on the Moon, with week-ends at Luna City, and all the comforts of home. Nor did we draw a high gravity planet where a man can eat a full meal and expect to keep it down. Instead we've got to go out to Asteroid HS-5388 and turn it into Space Station E-M3. She has no atmosphere at all, and only about two per cent Earth-surface gravity. We've got to play human fly on her for at least six months, no girls to date, no television, no recreation that you don't devise yourselves, and hard work every day. You'll get space sick, and so homesick you can taste it, and agoraphobia. If you aren't careful you'll get ray-burnt. Your stomach will act up, and you'll wish to God you'd never enrolled.

ККККК "But if you behave yourself, and listen to the advice of the old spacemen, you'll come out of it strong and healthy, with a little credit stored up in the bank, and a lot of knowledge and experience that you wouldn't get in forty years on Earth. You'll be men, and you'll know it.

ККККК "One last word. It will be pretty uncomfortable to those that aren't used to it. Just give the other fellow a little consideration, and you'll get along all right. If you have any complaint and can't get satisfaction any other way, come see me. Otherwise, that's all. Any questions?"

ККККК One of the boys put up his hand. "Captain?" he enquired timidly.

ККККК "Speak up, lad, and give your name."

ККККК "Rogers, sir. Will we be able to get letters from home?"

ККККК "Yes, but not very often. Maybe every month or so. The chaplain will carry mail, and any inspection and supply ships."

ККККК The ship's loudspeaker blatted out, "All hands! Free flight in ten minutes. Stand by to lose weight." The Master-at-Arms supervised the rigging of grab-lines. All loose gear was made fast, and little cellulose bags were issued to each man. Hardly was this done when Libby felt himself get light on his feet -- a sensation exactly like that experienced when an express elevator makes a quick stop on an upward trip, except that the sensation continued and became more intense. At first it was a pleasant novelty, then it rapidly became distressing. The blood pounded in his ears, and his feet were clammy and cold. His saliva secreted at an abnormal rate. He tried to swallow, choked, and coughed. Then his stomach shuddered and contracted with a violent, painful, convulsive reflex and he was suddenly, disastrously nauseated. After the first excruciating spasm, he heard McCoy's voice shouting.

ККККК "Hey! Use your sick-kits like I told you. Don't let that stuff get in the blowers." Dimly Libby realized that the admonishment included him. He fumbled for his cellulose bag just as a second temblor shook him, but he managed to fit the bag over his mouth before the eruption occurred. When it subsided, he became aware that he was floating near the overhead and facing the door. The chief Master-at-Arms slithered in the door and spoke to McCoy.

ККККК "How are you making out?"

ККККК "Well enough. Some of the boys missed their kits."

ККККК "Okay. Mop it up. You can use the starboard lock." He swam out.

ККККК McCoy touched Libby's arm. "Here, Pinkie, start catching them butterflies." He handed him a handful of cotton waste, then took another handful himself and neatly dabbed up a globule of the slimy filth that floated about the compartment. "Be sure your sick-kit is on tight. When you get sick, just stop and wait until it's over." Libby imitated him as best as he could. In a few minutes the room was free of the worst of the sickening debris. McCoy looked it over, and spoke:

ККККК "Now peel off them dirty duds, and change your kits. Three or four of you bring everything along to the starboard lock."

ККККК At the starboard spacelock, the kits were put in first, the inner door closed, and the outer opened. When the inner door was opened again the kits were gone -- blown out into space by the escaping air. Pinkie addressed McCoy.

ККККК "Do we have to throw away our dirty clothes too?"

ККККК "Huh uh, we'll just give them a dose of vacuum. Take 'em into the lock and stop 'em to those hooks on the bulkheads. Tie 'em tight."

ККККК This time the lock was left closed for about five minutes. When the lock was opened the garments were bone dry -- all the moisture boiled out by the vacuum of space. All that remained of the unpleasant rejecta was a sterile powdery residue. McCoy viewed them with approval. "They'll do. Take them back to the compartment. Then brush them -- hard -- in front of the exhaust blowers."

ККККК The next few days were an eternity of misery. Homesickness was forgotten in the all-engrossing wretchedness of space sickness. The Captain granted fifteen minutes of mild acceleration for each of the nine meal periods, but the respite accentuated the agony. Libby would go to a meal, weak and ravenously hungry. The meal would stay down until free flight was resumed, then the sickness would hit him all over again.

ККККК On the fourth day he was seated against a bulkhead, enjoying the luxury of a few remaining minutes of weight while the last shift ate, when McCoy walked in and sat down beside him. The gunner's mate fitted a smoke filter over his face and lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply and started to chat.

ККККК "How's it going, bud?"

ККККК "All right, I guess. This space sickness -- Say, McCoy, how do you ever get used to it?"

ККККК "You get over it in time. Your body acquires new reflexes, so they tell me. Once you learn to swallow without choking, you'll be all right. You even get so you like it. It's restful and relaxing. Four hours sleep is as good as ten."

ККККК Libby shook his head dolefully. "I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

ККККК "Yes, you will. You'd better anyway. This here asteroid won't have any surface gravity to speak of; the Chief Quartermaster says it won't run over two percent Earth normal. That ain't enough to cure space sickness. And there won't be any way to accelerate for meals either."

ККККК Libby shivered and held his head between his hands.

ККККК Locating one asteroid among a couple of thousand is not as easy as finding Trafalgar Square in London -- especially against the star-crowded backdrop of the galaxy. You take off from Terra with its orbital speed of about nineteen miles per second. You attempt to settle into a composite conoid curve that will not only intersect the orbit of the tiny fast-moving body, but also accomplish an exact rendezvous. Asteroid HS-5388, "Eighty-eight", lay about two and two-tenths astronomical units out from the sun, a little more than two hundred million miles; when the transport took off it lay beyond the sun better than three hundred million miles. Captain Doyle instructed the navigator to plot the basic ellipsoid to tack in free flight around the sun through an elapsed distance of some three hundred and forty million miles. The principle involved is the same as used by a hunter to wing a duck in flight by "leading" the bird in flight. But suppose that you face directly into the sun as you shoot; suppose the bird can not be seen from where you stand, and you have nothing to aim by but some old reports as to how it was flying when last seen?

ККККК On the ninth day of the passage Captain Doyle betook himself to the chart room and commenced punching keys on the ponderous integral calculator. Then he sent his orderly to present his compliments to the navigator and to ask him to come to the chartroom. A few minutes later a tall heavyset form swam through the door, steadied himself with a grabline and greeted the captain.

ККККК "Good morning, Skipper."

ККККК "Hello, Blackie." The Old Man looked up from where he was strapped into the integrator's saddle. "I've been checking your corrections for the meal time accelerations."

ККККК "It's a nuisance to have a bunch of ground-lubbers on board, sir."

ККККК "Yes, it is, but we have to give those boys a chance to eat, or they couldn't work when we got there. Now I want to decelerate starting about ten o'clock, ship's time. What's our eight o'clock speed and co-ordinates?"

ККККК The Navigator slipped a notebook out of his tunic. "Three hundred fifty-eight miles per second; course is right ascension fifteen hours, eight minutes, twenty-seven seconds, declination minus seven degrees, three minutes; solar distance one hundred and ninety-two million four hundred eighty thousand miles. Our radial position is twelve degrees above course, and almost dead on course in R.A. Do you want Sol's co-ordinates?"

ККККК "No, not now." The captain bent over the calculator, frowned and chewed the tip of his tongue as he worked the controls. "I want you to kill the acceleration about one million miles inside Eighty-eight's orbit. I hate to waste the fuel, but the belt is full of junk and this damned rock is so small that we will probably have to run a search curve. Use twenty hours on deceleration and commence changing course to port after eight hours. Use normal asymptotic approach. You should have her in a circular trajectory abreast of Eighty-eight, and paralleling her orbit by six o'clock tomorrow morning. I shall want to be called at three."

ККККК "Aye aye, sir."

ККККК "Let me see your figures when you get 'em. I'll send up the order book later."

ККККК The transport accelerated on schedule. Shortly after three the Captain entered the control room and blinked his eyes at the darkness. The sun was still concealed by the hull of the transport and the midnight blackness was broken only by the dim blue glow of the instrument dials, and the crack of light from under the chart hood. The Navigator turned at the familiar tread.

ККККК "Good morning, Captain."

ККККК "Morning, Blackie. In sight yet?"

ККККК "Not yet. We've picked out half a dozen rocks, but none of them checked."

ККККК "Any of them close?"

ККККК "Not uncomfortably. We've overtaken a little sand from time to time."

ККККК "That can't hurt us -- not on a stern chase like this. If pilots would only realize that the asteroids flow in fixed directions at computable speeds nobody would come to grief out here." He stopped to light a cigarette. "People talk about space being dangerous. Sure, it used to be; but I don't know of a case in the past twenty years that couldn't be charged up to some fool's recklessness."

ККККК "You're right, Skipper. By the way, there's coffee under the chart hood."

ККККК "Thanks; I had a cup down below." He walked over by the lookouts at stereoscopes and radar tanks and peered up at the star-flecked blackness. Three cigarettes later the lookout nearest him called out.

ККККК "Light ho!"

ККККК "Where away?"

ККККК His mate read the exterior dials of the stereoscope. "Plus point two, abaft one point three, slight drift astern." He shifted to radar and added, "Range seven nine oh four three."

ККККК "Does that check?"

ККККК "Could be, Captain. What is her disk?" came the Navigator's muffled voice from under the hood. The first lookout hurriedly twisted the knobs of his instrument, but the Captain nudged him aside.

ККККК "I'll do this, son." He fitted his face to the double eye guards and surveyed a little silvery sphere, a tiny moon. Carefully he brought two illuminated cross-hairs up until they were exactly tangent to the upper and lower limbs of the disk. "Mark!"

ККККК The reading was noted and passed to the Navigator, who shortly ducked out from under the hood.

ККККК "That's our baby, Captain."

ККККК "Good."

ККККК "Shall I make a visual triangulation?"

ККККК "Let the watch officer do that. You go down and get some sleep. I'll ease her over until we get close enough to use the optical range finder."

ККККК "Thanks, I will."

ККККК Within a few minutes the word had spread around the ship that Eighty-eight had been sighted. Libby crowded into the starboard troop deck with a throng of excited mess mates and attempted to make out their future home from the view port. McCoy poured cold water on their excitement.

ККККК "By the time that rock shows up big enough to tell anything about it with your naked eye we'll be at our grounding stations. She's only about a hundred miles thick, yuh know."

ККККК And so it was. Many hours later the ship's announcer shouted:

ККККК "All hands! Man your grounding stations. Close all airtight doors. Stand by to cut blowers on signal."

ККККК McCoy forced them to lie down throughout the ensuing two hours. Short shocks of rocket blasts alternated with nauseating weightlessness. Then the blowers stopped and check valves clicked into their seats. The ship dropped free for a few moments -- a final quick blast -- five seconds of falling, and a short, light, grinding bump. A single bugle note came over the announcer, and the blowers took up their hum.

ККККК McCoy floated lightly to his feet and poised, swaying, on his toes. "All out, troops -- this is the end of the line."

ККККК A short chunky lad, a little younger than most of them, awkwardly emulated him, and bounded toward the door, shouting as he went, "Come on, fellows! Let's go outside and explore!"

ККККК The Master-at-Arms squelched him. "Not so fast, kid. Aside from the fact that there is no air out there, go right ahead. You'll freeze to death, burn to death, and explode like a ripe tomato. Squad leader, detail six men to break out spacesuits. The rest of you stay here and stand by."

ККККК The working party returned shortly loaded down with a couple of dozen bulky packages. Libby let go the four he carried and watched them float gently to the deck. McCoy unzipped the envelope from one suit, and lectured them about it,

ККККК "This is a standard service type, general issue, Mark IV, Modification 2." He grasped the suit by the shoulders and shook it out so that it hung like a suit of long winter underwear with the helmet lolling helplessly between the shoulders of the garment. "It's self-sustaining for eight hours, having an oxygen supply for that period. It also has a nitrogen trim tank and a carbon dioxide water-vapor cartridge filter."

ККККК He droned on, repeating practically verbatim the description and instructions given in training regulations. McCoy knew these suits like his tongue knew the roof of his mouth; the knowledge had meant his life on more than one occasion.

ККККК "The suit is woven from glass fibre laminated with nonvolatile asbesto-cellutite. The resulting fabric is flexible, very durable; and will turn all rays normal to solar space outside the orbit of Mercury. It is worn over your regular clothing, but notice the wire-braced accordion pleats at the major joints. They are so designed as to keep the internal volume of the suit nearly constant when the arms or legs are bent. Otherwise the gas pressure inside would tend to keep the suit blown up in an erect position and movement while wearing the suit would be very fatiguing.

ККККК "The helmet is moulded from a transparent silicone, leaded and polarized against too great ray penetration. It may be equipped with external visors of any needed type. Orders are to wear not less than a number-two amber on this body. In addition, a lead plate covers the cranium and extends on down the back of the suit, completely covering the spinal column.

ККККК "The suit is equipped with two-way telephony. If your radio quits, as these have a habit of doing, you can talk by putting your helmets in contact. Any questions?"

ККККК "How do you eat and drink during the eight hours?"

ККККК "You don't stay in 'em any eight hours. You can carry sugar balls in a gadget in the helmet, but you boys will always eat at the base. As for water, there's a nipple in the helmet near your mouth which you can reach by turning your head to the left. It's hooked to a built-in canteen. But don't drink any more water when you're wearing a suit than you have to. These suits ain't got any plumbing."

ККККК Suits were passed out to each lad, and McCoy illustrated how to don one. A suit was spread supine on the deck, the front zipper that stretched from neck to crotch was spread wide and one sat down inside this opening, whereupon the lower part was drawn on like long stockings. Then a wiggle into each sleeve and the heavy flexible gauntlets were smoothed and patted into place. Finally an awkward backward stretch of the neck with shoulders hunched enabled the helmet to be placed over the head.

ККККК Libby followed the motions of McCoy and stood up in his suit. He examined the zipper which controlled the suit's only opening. It was backed by two soft gaskets which would be pressed together by the zipper and sealed by internal air pressure. Inside the helmet a composition mouthpiece for exhalation led to the filter.

ККККК McCoy bustled around, inspecting them, tightening a belt here and there, instructing them in the use of the external controls. Satisfied, he reported to the conning room that his section had received basic instruction and was ready to disembark. Permission was received to take them out for thirty minutes acclimatization.

ККККК Six at a time, he escorted them through the air-lock, and out on the surface of the planetoid. Libby blinked his eyes at the unaccustomed luster of sunshine on rock. Although the sun lay more than two hundred million miles away and bathed the little planet with radiation only one fifth as strong as that lavished on mother Earth, nevertheless the lack of atmosphere resulted in a glare that made him squint. He was glad to have the protection of his amber visor. Overhead the sun, shrunk to penny size, shone down from a dead black sky in which unwinking stars crowded each other and the very sun itself.

ККККК The voice of a mess mate sounded in Libby's earphones. "Jeepers! That horizon looks close. I'll bet it ain't more'n a mile away."

ККККК Libby looked out over the flat bare plain and subconsciously considered the matter. "It's less," he commented, "than a third of a mile away."

ККККК "What the hell do you know about it, Pinkie? And who asked you, anyhow?"

ККККК Libby answered defensively, "As a matter of fact, it's one thousand six hundred and seventy feet, figuring that my eyes are five feet three inches above ground level."

ККККК "Nuts. Pinkie, you are always trying to show off how much you think you know."

ККККК "Why, I am not," Libby protested. "If this body is a hundred miles thick and as round as it looks: why, naturally the horizon has to be just that far away."

ККККК "Says who?"

ККККК McCoy interrupted.

ККККК "Pipe down! Libby is a lot nearer right than you were."

ККККК "He is exactly right," put in a strange voice. "I had to look it up for the navigator before I left control."

ККККК "Is that so?" -- McCoy's voice again -- "If the Chief Quartermaster says you're right, Libby, you're right. How did you know?"

ККККК Libby flushed miserably. "I -- I don't know. That's the only way it could be."

ККККК The gunner's mate and the quartermaster stared at him but dropped the subject.

ККККК By the end of the "day" (ship's time, for Eighty-eight had a period of eight hours and thirteen minutes), work was well under way. The transport had grounded close by a low range of hills. The Captain selected a little bowl-shaped depression in the hills, some thousand feet long and half as broad, in which to establish a permanent camp. This was to be roofed over, sealed, and an atmosphere provided.

ККККК In the hill between the ship and the valley, quarters were to be excavated; dormitories, mess hall, officers' quarters, sick bay, recreation room, offices, store rooms, and so forth. A tunnel must be bored through the hill, connecting the sites of these rooms, and connecting with a ten foot airtight metal tube sealed to the ship's portside air-lock. Both the tube and tunnel were to be equipped with a continuous conveyor belt for passengers and freight.

ККККК Libby found himself assigned to the roofing detail. He helped a metalsmith struggle over the hill with a portable atomic heater, difficult to handle because of a mass of eight hundred pounds, but weighing here only sixteen pounds. The rest of the roofing detail were breaking out and preparing to move by hand the enormous translucent tent which was to be the "sky" of the little valley.

ККККК The metalsmith located a landmark on the inner slope of the valley, set up his heater, and commenced cutting a deep horizontal groove or step in the rock. He kept it always at the same level by following a chalk mark drawn along the rock wall. Libby enquired how the job had been surveyed so quickly.

ККККК "Easy," he was answered, "two of the quartermasters went ahead with a transit, leveled it just fifty feet above the valley floor, and clamped a searchlight to it. Then one of 'em ran like hell around the rim, making chalk marks at the height at which the beam struck."

ККККК "Is this roof going to be just fifty feet high?"

ККККК "No, it will average maybe a hundred. It bellies up in the middle from the air pressure."

ККККК "Earth normal?"

ККККК "Half Earth normal."

ККККК Libby concentrated for an instant, then looked puzzled. "But look -- This valley is a thousand feet long and better than five hundred wide. At half of fifteen pounds per square inch, and allowing for the arch of the roof, that's a load of one and an eighth billion pounds. What fabric can take that kind of a load?"

ККККК "Cobwebs."

ККККК "Cobwebs?"

ККККК "Yeah, cobwebs. Strongest stuff in the world, stronger than the best steel. Synthetic spider silk, This gauge we're using for the roof has a tensile strength of four thousand pounds a running inch."

ККККК Libby hesitated a second, then replied, "I see. With a rim about eighteen hundred thousand inches around, the maximum pull at the point of anchoring would be about six hundred and twenty-five pounds per inch. Plenty safe margin."

ККККК The metalsmith leaned on his tool and nodded. "Something like that. You're pretty quick at arithmetic, aren't you, bud?"

ККККК Libby looked startled. "I just like to get things straight."

ККККК They worked rapidly around the slope, cutting a clean smooth groove to which the 'cobweb' could be anchored and sealed. The white-hot lava spewed out of the discharge vent and ran slowly down the hillside. A brown vapor boiled off the surface of the molten rock, arose a few feet and sublimed almost at once in the vacuum to white powder which settled to the ground. The metalsmith pointed to the powder.

ККККК "That stuff 'ud cause silicosis if we let it stay there, and breathed it later."

ККККК "What do you do about it?"

ККККК "Just clean it out with the blowers of the air conditioning plant"

ККККК Libby took this opening to ask another question. "Mister -- ?"

ККККК "Johnson's my name. No mister necessary."

ККККК "Well, Johnson, where do we get the air for this whole valley, not to mention the tunnels? I figure we must need twenty-five million cubic feet or more. Do we manufacture it?"

ККККК "Naw, that's too much trouble. We brought it with us."

ККККК "On the transport?"

ККККК "Uh huh, at fifty atmospheres."

ККККК Libby considered this. "I see -- that way it would go into a space eighty feet on a side."

ККККК "Matter of fact it's in three specially constructed holds -- giant air bottles. This transport carried air to Ganymede. I was in her then -- a recruit, but in the air gang even then."

ККККК In three weeks the permanent camp was ready for occupancy and the transport cleared of its cargo. The storerooms bulged with tools and supplies. Captain Doyle had moved his administrative offices underground, signed over his command to his first officer, and given him permission to proceed on 'duty assigned' -- in this case; return to Terra with a skeleton crew.

ККККК Libby watched them take off from a vantage point on the hillside. An overpowering homesickness took possession of him. Would he ever go home? He honestly believed at the time that he would swap the rest of his life for thirty minutes each with his mother and with Betty.

ККККК He started down the hill toward the tunnel lock. At least the transport carried letters to them, and with any luck the chaplain would be by soon with letters from Earth. But tomorrow and the days after that would be no fun. He had enjoyed being in the air gang, but tomorrow he went back to his squad. He did not relish that -- the boys in his squad were all right, he guessed, but he just could not seem to fit in.

ККККК This company of the C.C.C. started on its bigger job; to pock-mark Eighty-eight with rocket tubes so that Captain Doyle could push this hundred-mile marble out of her orbit and herd her in to a new orbit between Earth and Mars, to be used as a space station -- a refuge for ships in distress, a haven for life boats, a fueling stop, a naval outpost.

ККККК Libby was assigned to a heater in pit H-16. It was his business to carve out carefully calculated emplacements in which the blasting crew then set off the minute charges which accomplished the major part of the excavating. Two squads were assigned to H-16, under the general supervision of an elderly marine gunner. The gunner sat on the edge of the pit, handling the plans, and occasionally making calculations on a circular slide rule which hung from a lanyard around his neck.

ККККК Libby had just completed a tricky piece of cutting for a three-stage blast, and was waiting for the blasters, when his phones picked up the gunner's instructions concerning the size of the charge. He pressed his transmitter button.

ККККК "Mr. Larsen! You've made a mistake!"

ККККК "Who said that?"

ККККК "This is Libby. You've made a mistake in the charge. If you set off that charge, you'll blow this pit right out of the ground, and us with it."

ККККК Marine Gunner Larsen spun the dials on his slide rule before replying, "You're all het up over nothing, son. That charge is correct."

ККККК "No, I'm not, sir," Libby persisted, "you've multiplied where you should have divided."

ККККК "Have you had any experience at this sort of work?"

ККККК "No, sir."

ККККК Larsen addressed his next remark to the blasters. "Set the charge."

ККККК They started to comply. Libby gulped, and wiped his lips with his tongue. He knew what he had to do, but he was afraid. Two clumsy stiff-legged jumps placed him beside the blasters. He pushed between them and tore the electrodes from the detonator. A shadow passed over him as he worked, and Larsen floated down beside him. A hand grasped his arm.

ККККК "You shouldn't have done that, son. That's direct disobedience of orders. I'll have to report you." He commenced reconnecting the firing circuit.

ККККК Libby's ears burned with embarrassment, but he answered back with the courage of timidity at bay. "I had to do it, sir. You're still wrong."

ККККК Larsen paused and ran his eyes over the dogged face. "Well -- it's a waste of time, but I don't like to make you stand by a charge you're afraid of. Let's go over the calculation together."

ККККК Captain Doyle sat at his ease in his quarters, his feet on his desk. He stared at a nearly empty glass tumbler.

ККККК "That's good beer, Blackie. Do you suppose we could brew some more when it's gone?"

ККККК "I don't know. Cap'n. Did we bring any yeast?"

ККККК "Find out, will you?" he turned to a massive man who occupied the third chair. "Well, Larsen, I'm glad it wasn't any worse than it was."

ККККК "What beats me, Captain, is how I could have made such a mistake. I worked it through twice. If it had been a nitro explosive, I'd have known off hand that I was wrong. If this kid hadn't had a hunch, I'd have set it off."

ККККК Captain Doyle clapped the old warrant officer on the shoulder. "Forget it, Larsen. You wouldn't have hurt anybody; that's why I require the pits to be evacuated even for small charges. These isotope explosives are tricky at best. Look what happened in pit A-9. Ten days' work shot with one charge, and the gunnery officer himself approved that one. But I want to see this boy. What did you say his name was?"

ККККК "Libby, A.J."

ККККК Doyle touched a button on his desk. A knock sounded at the door. A bellowed "Come in!" produced a stripling wearing the brassard of Corpsman Mate-of-the-Deck.

ККККК "Have Corpsman Libby report to me."

ККККК "Aye aye, sir."

ККККК Some few minutes later Libby was ushered into the Captain's cabin. He looked nervously around, and noted Larsen's presence, a fact that did not contribute to his peace of mind. He reported in a barely audible voice, "Corpsman Libby, sir."

ККККК The Captain looked him over. "Well, Libby, I hear that you and Mr. Larsen had a difference of opinion this morning. Tell me about it."

ККККК "I -- I didn't mean any harm, sir."

ККККК "Of course not. You're not in any trouble; you did us all a good turn this morning. Tell me, how did you know that the calculation was wrong? Had any mining experience?"

ККККК "No. sir. I just saw that he had worked it out wrong."

ККККК "But how?"

ККККК Libby shuffled uneasily. "Well, sir, it just seemed wrong -- it didn't fit."

ККККК "Just a second, Captain. May I ask this young man a couple of questions?" It was Commander "Blackie" Rhodes who spoke.

ККККК "Certainly. Go ahead."

ККККК "Are you the lad they call 'Pinkie'?"

ККККК Libby blushed. "Yes, sir."

ККККК "I've heard some rumors about this boy." Rhodes pushed his big frame out of his chair, went over to a bookshelf, and removed a thick volume. He thumbed through it, then with open book before him, started to question Libby.

ККККК "What's the square root of ninety-five?"

ККККК "Nine and seven hundred forty-seven thousandths."

ККККК "What's the cube root?"

ККККК "Four and five hundred sixty-three thousandths."

ККККК "What's its logarithm?"

ККККК "Its what, sir?"

ККККК "Good Lord, can a boy get through school today without knowing?"

ККККК The boy's discomfort became more intense. "I didn't get much schooling, sir. My folks didn't accept the Covenant until Pappy died, and we had to."

ККККК "I see. A logarithm is a name for a power to which you raise a given number, called the base, to get the number whose logarithm it is. Is that clear?"

ККККК Libby thought hard. "I don't quite get it, sir."

ККККК "I'll try again. If you raise ten to the second power -- square it -- it gives one hundred. Therefore the logarithm of a hundred to the base ten is two. In the same fashion the logarithm of a thousand to the base ten is three. Now what is the logarithm of ninety-five?'

ККККК Libby puzzled for a moment. "I can't make it come out even. It's a fraction."

ККККК "That's O.K."

ККККК "Then it's one and nine hundred seventy-eight thousandths -- just about."

ККККК Rhodes turned to the Captain. "I guess that about proves it, sir."

ККККК Doyle nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, the lad seems to have intuitive knowledge of arithmetical relationships. But let's see what else he has."

ККККК "I am afraid we'll have to send him back to Earth to find out properly."

ККККК Libby caught the gist of this last remark. "Please, sir, you aren't going to send me home? Maw 'ud be awful vexed with me."

ККККК "No, no, nothing of the sort. When your time is up, I want you to be checked over in the psychometrical laboratories. In the meantime I wouldn't part with you for a quarter's pay. I'd give up smoking first. But let's see what else you can do."

ККККК In the ensuing hour the Captain and the Navigator heard Libby: one, deduce the Pythagorean proposition; two, derive Newton's laws of motion and Kepler's laws of ballistics from a statement of the conditions in which they obtained; three, judge length, area, and volume by eye with no measurable error. He had jumped into the idea of relativity and nonrectilinear space-time continua, and was beginning to pour forth ideas faster than he could talk, when Doyle held up a hand.

ККККК "That's enough, son. You'll be getting a fever. You run along to bed now, and come see me in the morning. I'm taking you off field work."

ККККК "Yes, sir."

ККККК "By the way, what is your full name?"

ККККК "Andrew Jackson Libby, sir."

ККККК "No, your folks wouldn't have signed the Covenant. Good night."

ККККК "Good night, sir."

ККККК After he had gone, the two older men discussed their discovery.

ККККК "How do you size it up, Captain?"

ККККК "Well, he's a genius, of course -- one of those wild talents that will show up once in a blue moon. I'll turn him loose among my books and see how he shapes up. Shouldn't wonder if he were a page-at-a-glance reader, too."

ККККК "It beats me what we turn up among these boys -- and not a one of 'em any account back on Earth."

ККККК Doyle nodded. "That was the trouble with these kids. They didn't feel needed."

ККККК Eighty-eight swung some millions of miles further around the sun. The pock-marks on her face grew deeper, and were lined with durite, that strange close-packed laboratory product which (usually) would confine even atomic disintegration. Then Eighty-eight received a series of gentle pats, always on the side headed along her course. In a few weeks' time the rocket blasts had their effect and Eighty-eight was plunging in an orbit toward the sun.

ККККК When she reached her station one and three-tenths the distance from the sun of Earth's orbit, she would have to be coaxed by another series of pats into a circular orbit. Thereafter she was to be known as E-M3, Earth-Mars Space Station Spot Three.

ККККК Hundreds of millions of miles away two other C.C.C. companies were inducing two other planetoids to quit their age-old grooves and slide between Earth and Mars to land in the same orbit as Eighty-eight. One was due to ride this orbit one hundred and twenty degrees ahead of Eighty-eight, the other one hundred and twenty degrees behind. When E-M1, E-M2, and E-M3 were all on station no hard-pushed traveler of the spaceways on the Earth-Mars passage would ever again find himself far from land -- or rescue.

ККККК During the months that Eighty-eight fell free toward the sun, Captain Doyle reduced the working hours of his crew and turned them to the comparatively light labor of building a hotel and converting the little roofed-in valley into a garden spot. The rock was broken down into soil, fertilizers applied, and cultures of anaerobic bacteria planted. Then plants, conditioned by thirty-odd generations of low gravity at Luna City, were set out and tenderly cared for. Except for the low gravity, Eighty-eight began to feel like home.

ККККК But when Eighty-eight approached a tangent to the hypothetical future orbit of E-M3, the company went back to maneuvering routine, watch on and watch off, with the Captain living on black coffee and catching catnaps in the plotting room.

ККККК Libby was assigned to the ballistic calculator, three tons of thinking metal that dominated the plotting room. He loved the big machine. The Chief Fire Controlman let him help adjust it and care for it. Libby subconsciously thought of it as a person -- his own kind of person.

ККККК On the last day of the approach, the shocks were more frequent. Libby sat in the right-hand saddle of the calculator and droned out the predictions for the next salvo, while gloating over the accuracy with which the machine tracked. Captain Doyle fussed around nervously, occasionally stopping to peer over the Navigator's shoulder. Of course the figures were right, but what if it didn't work? No one had ever moved so large a mass before. Suppose it plunged on and on -- and on. Nonsense! It couldn't. Still he would be glad when they were past the critical speed.

ККККК A marine orderly touched his elbow. "Helio from the Flagship, sir."

ККККК "Read it."

ККККК "Flag to Eighty-eight; private message, Captain Doyle; am lying off to watch you bring her in -- Kearney."

ККККК Doyle smiled. Nice of the old geezer. Once they were on station, he would invite the Admiral to ground for dinner and show him the park.

ККККК Another salvo cut loose, heavier than any before. The room trembled violently. In a moment the reports of the surface observers commenced to trickle in. "Tube nine, clear!" "Tube ten, clear!"

ККККК But Libby's drone ceased.

ККККК Captain Doyle turned on him. "What's the matter, Libby? Asleep? Call the polar stations. I have to have a parallax."

ККККК "Captain--" The boy's voice was low and shaking.

ККККК "Speak up, man!"

ККККК "Captain -- the machine isn't tracking."

ККККК "Spiers!" The grizzled head of the Chief Fire Controlman appeared from behind the calculator.

ККККК "I'm already on it, sir. Let you know in a moment."

ККККК He ducked back again. After a couple of long minutes he reappeared. "Gyros tumbled. It's a twelve hour calibration job, at least."

ККККК The Captain said nothing, but turned away, and walked to the far end of the room. The Navigator followed him with his eyes. He returned, glanced at the chronometer, and spoke to the Navigator.

ККККК "Well, Blackie, if I don't have that firing data in seven minutes, we're sunk. Any suggestions?"

ККККК Rhodes shook his head without speaking. Libby timidly raised his voice. "Captain--" Doyle jerked around. "Yes?"

ККККК "The firing data is tube thirteen, seven point six three; tube twelve, six point nine oh; tube fourteen, six point eight nine."

ККККК Doyle studied his face. "You sure about that, son?"

ККККК "It has to be that, Captain."

ККККК Doyle stood perfectly still. This time he did not look at Rhodes but stared straight ahead. Then he took a long pull on his cigarette, glanced at the ash, and said in a steady voice,

ККККК "Apply the data. Fire on the bell."

ККККК Four hours later, Libby was still droning out firing data, his face gray, his eyes closed. Once he had fainted but when they revived him he was still muttering figures. From time to time the Captain and the Navigator relieved each other, but there was no relief for him.

ККККК The salvos grew closer together, but the shocks were lighter.

ККККК Following one faint salvo, Libby looked up, stared at the ceiling, and spoke.

ККККК "That's all, Captain."

ККККК "Call polar stations!"

ККККК The reports came back promptly, "Parallax constant, sidereal-solar rate constant."

ККККК The Captain relaxed into a chair. "Well, Blackie, we did it -- thanks to Libby!" Then he noticed a worried, thoughtful look spread over Libby's face. "What's the matter, man? Have we slipped up?"

ККККК "Captain, you know you said the other day that you wished you had Earth-normal gravity in the park?"

ККККК "Yes. What of it?"

ККККК "If that book on gravitation you lent me is straight dope. I think I know a way to accomplish it."

ККККК The Captain inspected him as if seeing him for the first time. "Libby, you have ceased to amaze me. Could you stop doing that sort of thing long enough to dine with the Admiral?"

ККККК "Gee, Captain, that would be swell!"

ККККК The audio circuit from Communications cut in. "Helio from Flagship: 'Well done, Eighty-eight.'" Doyle smiled around at them all. "That's pleasant confirmation."

ККККК The audio brayed again.

ККККК "Helio from Flagship: 'Cancel last signal, stand by for correction.'"

ККККК A look of surprise and worry sprang into Doyle's face -- then the audio continued:

ККККК "Helio from Flagship: 'Well done, E-M3'"

Methuselah's Children

PART I

ККККК "MARY SPERLING, you're a fool not to marry him!"

ККККК Mary Sperling added up her losses and wrote a check before answering, "There's too much difference in age." She passed over her credit voucher. "I shouldn't gamble with you-sometimes I think you're a sensitive."

ККККК "Nonsense! You're just trying to change the subject. You must be nearly thirty and you won't be pretty forever."

ККККК Mary smiled wryly. "Don't I know it!"

ККККК "Bork Vanning can't be much over forty and he's a plus citizen. You should jump at the chance."

ККККК "You jump at it. I must run now. Service, Ven."

ККККК "Service," Ven answered, then frowned at the door as it contracted after Mary Sperling. She itched to know why Mary would not marry a prime catch like the Honorable Bork Vanning and was almost as curious as to why and where Mary was going, but the custom of privacy stopped her.

ККККК Mary had no intention of letting anyone know where she was going. Outside her friend's apartment she dropped down a bounce tube to the basement, claimed her car from the robopark, guided it up the ramp and set the controls for North Shore. The car waited for a break in the traffic, then dived into the high-speed stream and hurried north. Mary settled back for a nap.

ККККК When its setting was about to run out, the car beeped for instructions; Mary woke up and glanced out. Lake Michigan was a darker band of darkness on her right. She signaled traffic control to let her enter the local traffic lane; it sorted out her car and placed her there, then let her resume manual control. She fumbled in the glove compartment.

ККККК The license number which traffic control automatically photographed as she left the controlways was not the number the car had been wearing.

ККККК She followed a side road uncontrolled for several miles, turned into a narrow dirt road which led down to the shore, and stopped. There she waited, lights out, and listened. South of her the lights of Chicago glowed; a few hundred yards inland the controlways whined, but here there was nothing but the little timid noises of night creatures. She reached into the glove compartment, snapped a switch; the instrument panel glowed, uncovering other dials behind it. She studied these while making adjustments. Satisfied that no radar watched her and that nothing was moving near her, she snapped off the instruments, sealed the window by her and started up again.

ККККК What appeared to be a standard Camden speedster rose quietly up, moved out over the lake, skimming it-dropped into the water and sank. Mary waited until she was a quarter mile off shore in fifty feet of water, then called a station. "Answer," said a voice.

ККККК "'Life is short--'"

ККККК "'-but the years are long.'"

ККККК "'Not,'" Mary responded, "'while the evil days come not.'"

ККККК "I sometimes wonder," the voice answered conversationally. "Okay, Mary. I've checked you."

ККККК "Tommy?"

ККККК "No-Cecil Hedrick. Are your controls cast loose?"

ККККК "Yes. Take over."

ККККК Seventeen minutes later the car surfaced in a pool which occupied much of an artificial cave. When the car was beached, Mary got out, said hello to the guards and went on through a tunnel into a large underground room where fifty or sixty men and women were seated. She chatted until a clock announced midnight, then she mounted a rostrum and faced them.

ККККК "I am," she stated, "one hundred and eighty-three years old. Is there anyone here who is older?"

ККККК No one spoke. After a decent wait she went on, "Then in accordance with our customs I declare this meeting opened. Will you choose a moderator?"

ККККК Someone said, "Go ahead, Mary." When no one else spoke up, she said, "Very well." She seemed indifferent to the honor and the group seemed to share her casual attitude-an air of never any hurry, of freedom from the tension of modern life.

ККККК "We are met as usual," she announced, "to discuss our welfare and that of our sisters and brothers. Does any Family representative have a message from his family? Or does anyone care to speak for himself?"

ККККК A man caught her eye and spoke up. "Ira Weatheral, speaking for the Johnson Family. We've met nearly two months early. The trustees must have a reason. Let's hear it."

ККККК She nodded and turned to a prim little man in the first row. "Justin . . . if you will, please."

ККККК The prim little man stood up and bowed stiffly. Skinny legs stuck out below his badly-cut kilt. He looked and acted like an elderly, dusty civil servant, but his black hair and the firm, healthy tone of his skin said that he was a man in his prime. "Justin Foote," he said precisely, "reporting for the trustees. It has been eleven years since the Families decided on the experiment of letting the public know that there were, living among them, persons who possessed a probable, life expectancy far in excess of that anticipated by the average man, as well as other persons who had proved the scientific truth of such expectation by having lived more than twice the normal life span of human beings."

ККККК Although he spoke without notes he sounded as if he were reading aloud a prepared report. What he was saying they all knew but no one hurried him; his audience had none of the febrile impatience so common elsewhere. "In deciding," he droned on, "to reverse the previous long-standing policy of silence and concealment as to the peculiar aspect in which we differ from the balance of the human race, the Families were moved by several considerations. The reason for the original adoption of the policy of concealment should be noted:

ККККК "The first offspring resulting from unions assisted by the Howard Foundation were born in 1875. They aroused no comment, for they were in no way remarkable. The Foundation was an openly-chartered non-profit corporation--"

ККККК On March 17, 1874, Ira Johnson, medical student, sat in the law offices of Deems, Wingate, Alden, & Deems and listened to an unusual proposition. At last he interrupted the senior partner. "Just a moment! Do I understand that you are trying to hire me to marry one of these women?"

ККККК The lawyer looked shocked. "Please, Mr. Johnson. Not at all"

ККККК "Well, it certainly sounded like it."

ККККК "No, no, such a contract would be void, against public policy. We are simply informing you, as administrators of a trust, that should it come about that you do marry one of the young ladies on this list it would then be our pleasant duty to endow each child of such a union according to the scale here set forth. But there would be no Contract with us involved, nor is there any 'proposition' being made to you-and we certainly do not urge any course of action on you. We are simply informing you of certain facts."

ККККК Ira Johnson scowled and shuffled his feet. "What's it all about? Why?"

ККККК "That is the business of the Foundation. One might put it that we approve of your grandparents."

ККККК "Have you discussed me with them?" Johnson said sharply.

ККККК He felt no affection for his grandparents. A tight-fisted foursome-if any one of them had had the grace to die at a reasonable age he would not now be worried about money enough to finish medical school.

ККККК "We have talked with them, yes. But not about you."

ККККК The lawyer shut off further discussion and young Johnson accepted gracelessly a list of young women, all strangers, with the intention of tearing it up the moment he was outside the office. Instead, that night he wrote seven drafts before he found the right words in which to start cooling off the relation between himself and his girl back home. He was glad that he had never actually popped the question to her-it would have been deucedly awkward.

ККККК When he did marry (from the list) it seemed a curious but not too remarkable coincidence that his wife as well as himself had four living, healthy, active grandparents.

ККККК "-an openly chartered non-profit corporation," Foote continued, "and its avowed purpose of encouraging births among persons of sound American stock was consonant with the customs of that century. By the simple expedient of being closemouthed about the true purpose of the Foundation no unusual methods of concealment were necessary until late in that period during the World Wars sometimes loosely termed 'The Crazy Years--'"

ККККК Selected headlines April to June 1969:

ККККК BABY BILL BREAKS BANK

ККККК 2-year toddler youngest winner $1,000,000 TV jackpot

ККККК White House phones congrats

ККККК COURT ORDERS STATEHOUSE SOLD

ККККК Colorado Supreme Bench Rules State Old Age Pension Has

ККККК First Lien All State Property

ККККК N.Y. YOUTH MEET DEMANDS UPPER LIMIT ON FRANCHISE

ККККК "U.S. BIRTH RATE 'TOP SECRET!'"-DEFENSE SEC

ККККК CAROLINA CONGRESSMAN COPS BEAUTY CROWN

ККККК "Available for draft for President" she announces while

ККККК starting tour to show her qualifications

ККККК IOWA RAISES VOTING AGE TO FORTY-ONE

ККККК Rioting on Des Moines Campus

ККККК EARTH-EATING FAD MOVES WEST: CHICAGO PARSON EATS CLAY SANDWICH IN PULPIT

ККККК "Back to simple things," he advises flock.

ККККК LOS ANGELES HI-SCHOOL MOB DEFIES SCHOOL BOARD

ККККК "Higher Pay, Shorter hours, no Homework-We Demand

ККККК Our Right to Elect Teachers, Coaches."

ККККК SUICIDE RATE UP NINTH SUCCESSIVE YEAR

ККККК AEC Denies Fall-Out to Blame

ККККК "'-The Crazy Years.' The trustees of that date decided-correctly, we now believe-that any minority during that period of semantic disorientation and mass hysteria was a probable target forК persecution, discriminatory legislation, and even of mob violence. Furthermore the disturbed financial condition of the country and in particular the forced exchange of trust securities for government warrants threatened the solvency of the trust.

ККККК "Two courses of action were adopted: the assets of the Foundation were converted into real wealth and distributed widely among members of the Families to be held by them as owners-of-record; and the so-called 'Masquerade' was adopted as a permanent policy. Means were found to simulate the death of any member of the Families who lived to a socially embarrassing age and to provide him with a new identity in another part of the country.

ККККК "The wisdom of this later policy, though irksome to some, became evident at once during the Interregnum of the Prophets. The Families at the beginning of the reign of the First Prophet had ninety-seven per cent of their members with publicly avowed ages of less than fifty years. The close public registration enforced by the secret police of the Prophets made changes of public identity difficult, although a few were accomplished with the aid of the revolutionary Cabal.

ККККК "Thus, a combination of luck and foresight saved our Secret from public disclosure. This was well-we may be sure that things would have gone harshly at that time for any group possessing a prize beyond the power of the Prophet to confiscate.

ККККК "The Families took no part as such in the events leading up to the Second American Revolution, but many members participated and served with credit in the Cabal and in the fighting which preceded the fall of New Jerusalem. We took advantage of the period of disorganization which followed to readjust the ages of our kin who had grown conspicuously old. In this we were aided by certain members of the Families who, as members of the Cabal, held key posts in the Reconstruction.

ККККК "It was argued by many at the Families' meeting of 2075, the year of the Covenant, that we should reveal ourselves, since civil liberty was firmly reestablished. The majority did not agree at that time . . . perhaps through long habits of secrecy and caution. But the renascence of culture in the ensuing fifty years, the steady growth of tolerance and good manners, the semantically sound orientation of education, the increased respect for the custom of privacy and for the dignity of the individual-all of these things led us to believe that the time had at last come when it was becoming safe to reveal ourselves and to take our rightful place as an odd but nonetheless respected minority in society.

ККККК "There were compelling reasons to do so. Increasing numbers of us were finding the 'Masquerade' socially intolerable in a new and better society. Not only was it upsetting to pull up roots and seek a new background every few years but also it grated to have to live a lie in a society where frank honesty and fair dealing were habitual with most people. Besides that, the Families as a group had learned many things through our researches in the bio-sciences, things which could be of great benefit to our poor short-lived brethren. We needed freedom to help them.

ККККК "These and similar reasons were subject to argument. But the resumption of the custom of positive physical identification made the 'Masquerade' almost untenable. Under the new orientation a sane and peaceful citizen welcomes positive identification under appropriate circumstances even though jealous of his right of privacy at all other times-so we dared not object; it would have aroused curiosity, marked us as an eccentric group, set apart, and thereby have defeated the whole purpose of the 'Masquerade.'

ККККК "We necessarily submitted to personal identification. By the time of the meeting of 2125, eleven years ago, it had become extremely difficult to counterfeit new identities for the ever-increasing number of us holding public ages incompatible with personal appearance; we decided on the experiment of letting volunteers from this group up to ten per cent of the total membership of the Families reveal themselves for what they were and observe the consequences, while maintaining all other secrets of the Families' organization.

ККККК "The results were regrettably different from our expectations."

ККККК Justin Foote stopped talking. The silence had gone on for several moments when a solidly built man of medium height spoke up. His hair was slightly grizzled-unusual in that group-and his face looked space tanned. Mary Sperling had noticed him and had wondered who he was-his live face and gusty laugh had interested her. But any member was free to attend the conclaves of the Families' council; she had thought no more of it.

ККККК He said, "Speak up, Bud. What's your report?"

ККККК Foote made his answer to the chair. "Our senior psychometrician should give the balance of the report. My remarks were prefatory."

ККККК "For the love o'--" the grizzled stranger exclaimed. "Bud, do you mean to stand there and admit that all you had to say were things we already knew?"

ККККК "My remarks were a foundation . . . and my name is Justin Foote, not Bud.'"

ККККК Mary Sperling broke in firmly. "Brother," she said to the stranger, "since you are addressing the Families, will you please name yourself? I am sorry to say that I do not recognize you."

ККККК "Sorry, Sister. Lazarus Long, speaking for myself."

ККККК Mary shook her head. "I still don't place you."

ККККК "Sorry again-that's a 'Masquerade' name I took at the time of the First Prophet . . . it tickled me. My Family name is Smith . . . Woodrow Wilson Smith."

ККККК "'Woodrow Wilson Sm--' How old are you?"

ККККК "Eh? Why, I haven't figured it lately. One hun . . . no, two hundred and-thirteen years. Yeah, that's right, two hundred and thirteen."

ККККК There was a sudden, complete silence. Then Mary said quietly, "Did you hear me inquire for anyone older than myself?"

ККККК "Yes. But shucks, Sister, you were doing all right. I ain't attended a meeting of the Families in over a century. Been some changes."

ККККК "I'll ask you to carry on from here." She started to leave the platform.

ККККК "Oh no!" he protested. But she paid no attention and found a seat. He looked around, shrugged and gave in. Sprawling one hip over a corner of the speaker's table he announced, "All right, let's get on with it. Who's next?"

ККККК Ralph Schultz of the Schultz Family looked more like a banker than a psychometrician. He was neither shy nor absent-minded and he had a flat, underemphasized way of talking that carried authority. "I was part of the group that proposed ending the 'Masquerade.' I was wrong. I believed that the great majority of our fellow citizens, reared under modern educational methods, could evaluate any data without excessive emotional disturbance. I anticipated that a few abnormal people would dislike us, even hate us; I even predicted that most people would envy us-everybody who enjoys life would like to live a long time. But I did not anticipate any serious trouble. Modern attitudes have done away with interracial friction; any who still harbor race prejudice are ashamed to voice it. I believed that our society was so tolerant that we could live peacefully and openly with the short-lived.

ККККК "I was wrong.

ККККК "The Negro hated and envied the white man as long as the white man enjoyed privileges forbidden the Negro by reason of color. This was a sane, normal reaction. When discrimination was removed, the problem solved itself and cultural assimilation took place. There is a similar tendency on the part of the short-lived to envy the long-lived. We assumed that this expected reaction would be of no social importance in most people once it was made clear that we owe our peculiarity to our genes-no fault nor virtue of our own, just good luck in our ancestry.

ККККК "This was mere wishful thinking. By hindsight it is easy to see that correct application of mathematical analysis to the data would have given a different answer, would have spotlighted the false analogy. I do not defend the misjudgment, no defense is possible. We were led astray by our hopes.

ККККК "What actually happened was this: we showed our shortlived cousins the greatest boon it is possible for a man to imagine . . . then we told them it could never be theirs. This faced them with an unsolvable dilemma. They have rejected the unbearable facts, they refuse to believe us. Their envy now turns to hate, with an emotional conviction that we are depriving them of their rights . . . deliberately, maliciously.

ККККК "That rising hate has now swelled into a flood which threatens the welfare and even the lives of all our revealed brethren . . . and which is potentially as dangerous to the rest of us. The danger is very great and very pressing." He sat down abruptly.

ККККК They took it calmly, with the unhurried habit of years. Presently a female delegate stood up. "Eve Barstow, for the Cooper Family. Ralph Schultz, I am a hundred and nineteen years old, older, I believe, than you are. I do not have your talent for mathematics or human behavior but I have known a lot of people. Human beings are inherently good and gentle and kind. Oh, they have their weaknesses but most of them are decent enough if you give them half a chance. I cannot believe that they would hate me and destroy me simply because I have lived a long time. What have you to go on? You admit one mistake-why not two?"

ККККК Schultz looked at her soberly and smoothed his kilt. "You're right, Eve. I could easily be wrong again. That's the trouble with psychology; it is a subject so terribly complex, so many unknowns, such involved relationships, that our best efforts sometimes look silly in the bleak light of later facts." He stood up again, faced the others, and again spoke with flat authority. "But I am not making a long-range prediction this time; I am talking about facts, no guesses, not wishful thinking-and with those facts a prediction so short-range that it is like predicting that an egg will break when you see it already on its way to the floor. But Eve is right . . . as far as she went. Individuals are kind and decent . . . as individuals and to other individuals. Eve is in no danger from her neighbors and friends, and I am in no danger from mine. But she is in danger from my neighbors and friends -and I from hers. Mass psychology is not simply a summation of individual psychologies; that is a prime theorem of social psychodynamics -not just my opinion; no exception has ever been found to this theorem. It is the social mass-action rule, the mob-hysteria law, known and used by military, political, and religious leaders, by advertising men and prophets and propagandists, by rabble rousers and actors and gang leaders, for generations before it was formulated in mathematical symbols. It works. It is working now.

ККККК "My colleagues and I began to suspect that a mob-hysteria trend was building up against us several years ago. We did not bring our suspicions to the council for action because we could not prove anything. What we observed then could have been simply the mutterings of the crackpot minority present in even the healthiest society. The trend was at first so minor that we could not be sure it existed, for all social trends are intermixed with other social trends, snarled together like a plate of spaghetti-worse than that, for it takes an abstract topological space of many dimensions (ten or twelve are not uncommon and hardly adequate) to describe mathematically the interplay of social forces. I cannot overemphasize the complexity of the problem.

ККККК "So we waited and worried and tried statistical sampling, setting up our statistical universes with great care.

ККККК "By the time we were sure, it was almost too late. Socio-psychological trends grow or die by a 'yeast growth' law, a complex power law. We continued to hope that other favorable factors would reverse the trend-Nelson's work in symbiotics, our own contributions to geriatrics, the great public interest in the opening of the Jovian satellites to immigration. Any major break-through offering longer life, and greater hope to the short-lived could end the smouldering resentment against us.

ККККК "Instead the smouldering has burst into flame, into an uncontrolled forest fire. As nearly as we can measure it, the rate has doubled in the past thirty-seven days and the rate itself is accelerated. I can't guess how far or how fast it will go-and that's why we asked for this emergency session. Because we can expect trouble at any moment." He sat down hard, looking tired.

ККККК Eve did not argue with him again and no one else argued with him at all; not only was Ralph Schultz considered expert in his own field but also every one of them, each from his own viewpoint, had seen the grosser aspects of the trend building up against their revealed kin. But, while the acceptance of the problem was unanimous, there were as many opinions about what to do about it as there were people present. Lazarus let the discussion muddle along for two hours before he held up a hand. "We aren't getting anywhere," he stated, "and it looks like we won't get anywhere tonight. Let's take an over-all look at it, hitting just the high spots:

ККККК "We can--" He started ticking plans off on his fingers- "do nothing, sit tight, and see what happens.

ККККК "We can junk the 'Masquerade' entirely, reveal our full numbers, and demand our rights politically.

ККККК "We can sit tight on the surface and use our organization and money to protect our revealed brethren, maybe haul 'em back into the 'Masquerade.'

ККККК "We can reveal ourselves and ask for a place to colonize where we can live by ourselves.

ККККК "Or we can do something else. I suggest that you sort yourselves out according to those four major points of view-say in the corners of the room, starting clockwise in that far right hand corner-each group hammer out a plan and get it ready to submit to the Families. And those of you who don't favor any of those four things gather in the middle of the room and start scrappin' over just what it is you do think. Now, if I hear no objection, I am going to declare this lodge recessed until midnight tomorrow night. How about it?"

ККККК No one spoke up. Lazarus Long's streamlined version of parliamentary procedure had them somewhat startled; they were used to long, leisurely discussions until it became evident that one point of view had become unanimous. Doing things in a hurry was slightly shocking.

ККККК But the man's personality was powerful, his years gave him prestige, and his slightly archaic way of speaking added to his patriarchal authority; nobody argued.

ККККК "Okay," Lazarus announced, clapping his hands once. "Church is out until tomorrow night." He stepped down from the platform.

ККККК Mary Sperling came up to him. "I would like to know you better," she said, looking him in the eyes.

ККККК "Sure, Sis. Why not?"

ККККК "Are you staying for discussion?"

ККККК "Could you come home with me?"

ККККК "Like to. I've no pressing business elsewhere."

ККККК "Come then." She led him through the tunnel to the underground pool connecting with Lake Michigan. He widened his eyes at the pseudo-Camden but said nothing until they were submerged.

ККККК "Nice little car you've got."

ККККК "Yes."

ККККК "Has some unusual features."

ККККК She smiled. "Yes. Among other things, it blows up-quite thoroughly-if anyone tries to investigate it."

ККККК "Good." He added, "You a designing engineer, Mary?"

ККККК "Me? Heavens, no! Not this past century, at least, and I no longer try to keep up with such things. But you can order a car modified the way this one is through the Families, if you want one. Talk to-"

ККККК "Never mind, I've no need for one. I just like gadgets that do what they were designed to do and do it quietly and efficiently. Some good skull sweat in this one."

ККККК "Yes." She was busy then, surfacing, making a radar check, and getting them back ashore without attracting notice.

ККККК When they reached her apartment she put tobacco and drink close to him, then went to her retiring room, threw off her street clothes and put on a soft loose robe that made her look even smaller and younger than she had looked before. When she rejoined Lazarus, he stood up, struck a cigarette for her, then paused as he handed it to her and gave a gallant and indelicate whistle.

ККККК She smiled briefly, took the cigarette, and sat down in a large chair, pulling her feet under her. "Lazarus, you reassure me."

ККККК "Don't you own a mirror, girl?"

ККККК "Not that," she said impatiently. "You yourself. You know that I have passed the reasonable life expectancy of our people-I've been expecting to die, been resigned to it, for the past ten years. Yet there you sit . . . years and years o1der than I am. You give me hope."

ККККК He sat up straight. "You expecting to die? Good grief, girl-you look good for another century."

ККККК She made a tired gesture. "Don't try to jolly me. You know that appearance has nothing to do with it. Lazarus, I don't want to die!"

ККККК Lazarus answered soberly, "I wasn't trying to kid you, Sis. You simply don't look like a candidate for corpse."

ККККК She shrugged gracefully. "A matter of biotechniques. I'm holding my appearance at the early thirties."

ККККК "Or less, I'd say. I guess I'm not up on the latest dodges, Mary. You heard me say that I had not attended a get-together for more than a century. As a matter of fact I've been completely out of touch with the Families the whole time."

ККККК "Really? May I ask why?"

ККККК "A long story and a dull one. What it amounts to is that I got bored with them. I used to be a delegate to the annual meetings. But they got stuffy and set in their ways-or so it seemed to me. So I wandered off. I spent the Interregnum on Venus, mostly. I came back for a while after the Covenant was signed but I don't suppose I've spent two years on Earth since then. I like to move around."

ККККК Her eyes lit up. "Oh, tell me about it! I've never been out in-deep space. Just Luna City, once."

ККККК "Sure," he agreed. "Sometime. But I want to hear more about this matter of your appearance. Girl, you sure don't look your age."

ККККК "I suppose not. Or, rather, of course I don't. As to how it's done, I can't tell you much. Hormones and symbiotics and gland therapy and some psychotherapy-things like that. What it adds up to is that, for members of the Families, senility is postponed and that senescence can be arrested at least cosmetically." She brooded for a moment. "Once they thought they were on the track of the secret of immortality, the true Fountain of Youth. But it was a mistake. Senility is simply postponed . . . and shortened. About ninety days from the first clear warning-then death from old age." She shivered. "Of course, most of our cousins don't wait-a couple of weeks to make certain of the diagnosis, then euthanasia."

ККККК "The hell you say! Well, I won't go that way. When the Old Boy comes to get me, he'll have to drag me-and I'll be kicking and gouging eyes every step of the way!"

ККККК She smiled lopsidedly. "It does me good to hear you talk that way. Lazarus, I wouldn't let my guards down this way with anyone younger than myself. But your example gives me courage."

ККККК "We'll outlast the lot of 'em, Mary, never you fear. But about the meeting tonight: I haven't paid any attention to the news and I've only recently come earthside-does this chap Ralph Schultz know what he is talking about?"

ККККК "I think he must. His grandfather was a brilliant man and so is his father."

ККККК "I take it you know Ralph."

ККККК "Slightly. He is one of my grandchildren."

ККККК "That's amusing. He looks older than you do."

ККККК "Ralph found it suited him to arrest his appearance at about forty, that's all. His father was my twenty-seventh child. Ralph must be-let me see-oh, eighty or ninety years younger than I am, at least. At that, he is older than some of my children."

ККККК "You've done well by the Families, Mary."

ККККК "I suppose so. But they've done well by me, too. I've enjoyed having children and the trust benefits for my thirty-odd come to quite a lot. I have every luxury one could want." She shivered again. "I suppose that's why I'm in such a funk-I enjoy life."

ККККК "Stop it! I thought my sterling example and boyish grin had cured you of that nonsense."

ККККК "WellККККК you've helped."

ККККК "Mmm . . . look, Mary, why don't you marry again and have some more squally brats? Keep you too busy to fret."

ККККК "What? At my age? Now, really, Lazarus!"

ККККК "Nothing wrong with your age. You're younger than I am." She studied him for a moment. "Lazarus, are you proposing a contract? If so, I wish you would speak more plainly."

ККККК His mouth opened and he gulped. "Hey, wait a minute! Take it easy! I was speaking in general terms . . . I'm not the domestic type. Why, every time I've married my wife has grown sick of the sight of me inside of a few years. Not but what I-well, I mean you're a very pretty girl and a man ought to-"

ККККК She shut him off by leaning forward and putting a hand over his mouth, while grinning impishly. "I didn't mean to panic you, cousin. Or perhaps I did-men are so funny when they think they are about to be trapped."

ККККК "Well-" he said glumly.

ККККК "Forget it, dear. Tell me, what plan do you think they will settle on?"

ККККК "That bunch tonight?'

ККККК "Yes."

ККККК "None, of course. They won't get anywhere. Mary, a committee is the only known form of life with a hundred bellies and no brain. But presently somebody with a mind of his own will bulldoze them into accepting his plan. I don't know what it will be."

ККККК "Well . . . what course of action do you favor?"

ККККК "Me? Why, none. Mary, if there is any one thing I have learned in the past couple of centuries, it's this: These things pass. Wars and depressions and Prophets and Covenants- they pass. The trick is to stay alive through them."

ККККК She nodded thoughtfully. "I think you are right."

ККККК "Sure I'm right. It takes a hundred years or so to realize just how good life is." He stood up and stretched. "But right now this growing boy could use some sleep."

ККККК "Me, too."

ККККК Mary's flat was on the top floor, with a sky view. When she had come back to the lounge she had cut the inside lighting and let the ceiling shutters fold back; they had been sitting, save for an invisible sheet of plastic, under the stars. As Lazarus raised his head in stretching, his eye had rested on his favorite constellation. "Odd," he commented. "Orion seems to have added a fourth star to his belt."

ККККК She looked up. "That must be the big ship for the Second Centauri Expedition. See if you can see it move."

ККККК "Couldn't tell without instruments."

ККККК "I suppose not," she agreed. "Clever of them to build it out in space, isn't it?"

ККККК "No other way to do it. It's too big to assemble on Earth. I can doss down right here, Mary. Or do you have a spare room?"

ККККК "Your room is the second door on the right. Shout if you can't find everything you need." She put her face up and kissed him goodnight, a quick peck. "'Night."

ККККК Lazarus followed her and went into his own room.

ККККК Mary Sperling woke at her usual hour the next day. She got up quietly to keep from waking Lazarus, ducked into her 'fresher, showered and massaged, swallowed a grain of sleep surrogate to make up for the short night, followed it almost as quickly with all the breakfast she permitted her waistline, then punched for the calls she had not bothered to take the night before. The phone played back several calls which she promptly forgot, then she recognized the voice of Bork Vanning. "'Hello,'" the instrument said. "'Mary, this is Bork, calling at twenty-one o'clock. I'll be by at ten o'clock tomorrow morning, for a dip in the lake and lunch somewhere. Unless I hear from you it's a date. 'Bye, my dear. Service.'"

ККККК "Service," she repeated automatically. Drat the man! Couldn't he take no for an answer? Mary Sperling, you're slipping!-a quarter your age and yet you can't seem to handle him. Call him and leave word that-no, too late; he'd be here any minute. Bother!

Chapter 2

ККККК WHEN LAZARUS went to bed he stepped out of his kilt and chucked it toward a wardrobe which snagged it, shook it out, and hung it up neatly. "Nice catch," he commented, then glanced down at his hairy thighs and smiled wryly; the kilt had concealed a blaster strapped to one thigh, a knife to the other. He was aware of the present gentle custom against personal weapons, but he felt naked without them. Such customs were nonsense anyhow, foolishment from old women-there was no such thing as a "dangerous weapon," there were only dangerous men.

ККККК When he came out of the 'fresher, he put his weapons where he could reach them before sprawling in sleep.

ККККК He came instantly wide awake with a weapon in each hand . . . then remembered where he was, relaxed, and looked around to see what had wakened him.

ККККК It was a murmur of voices through the air duct. Poor soundproofing he decided, and Mary must be entertaining callers-in which case he should not be slug-a-bed. He got up, refreshed himself, strapped his best friends back on his thighs, and went looking for his hostess.

ККККК As the door to the lounge dilated noiselessly in front of him the sound of voices became loud and very interesting. The lounge was el-shaped and he was out of sight; he hung back and listened shamelessly. Eavesdropping had saved his skin on several occasions; it worried him not at all-he enjoyed it. A man was saying, "Mary, you're completely unreasonable! You know you're fond of me, you admit that marriage to me would be to your advantage. So why won't you?"

ККККК "I told you, Bork. Age difference."

ККККК "That's foolish. What do you expect? Adolescent romance? Oh, I admit that I'm not as young as you are . . . but a woman needs an older man to look up to and keep her steady. I'm not too old for you; I'm just at my prime."

ККККК Lazarus decided that he already knew this chap well enough to dislike him. Sulky voice.

ККККК Mary did not answer. The man went on: "Anyhow, I have a surprise for you on that point. I wish I could tell you now, but . . . well, it's a state secret."

ККККК "Then don't tell me. It can't change my mind in any case, Bork."

ККККК "Oh, but it would! Mmm . . . I will tell you-I know you can be trusted."

ККККК "Now, Bork, you shouldn't assume that-"

ККККК "It doesn't matter; it will be public knowledge in a few days anyhow. Mary . . . I'll never grow old on you!"

ККККК "What do you mean?" Lazarus decided that her tone was suddenly suspicious.

ККККК "Just what I said. Mary, they've found the secret of eternal youth!"

ККККК "What? Who? How? When?"

ККККК "Oh, so now you're interested, eh? Well, I won't keep you waiting. You know these old Johnnies that call themselves the Howard Families?'

ККККК "Yes . . . I've heard of them, of course," she admitted slowly. "But what of it? They're fakes."

ККККК "Not at all. I know. The Administration has been quietly investigating their claims. Some of them are unquestionably more than a hundred years old-and still young!"

ККККК "That's very hard to believe."

ККККК "Nevertheless it's true."

ККККК "Well . . . how do they do it?"

ККККК "Ah! That's the point. They claim that it is a simple matter of heredity, that they live a long time because they come from long lived stock. But that's preposterous, scientifically incompatible with the established facts. The Administration checked most carefully and the answer is certain: they have the secret of staying young."

ККККК "You can't be sure of that."

ККККК "Oh, come, Mary! You're a dear girl but you're questioning the expert opinion of the best scientific brains in the world. Never mind. Here's the part that is confidential. We don't have their secret yet-but we will have it shortly. Without any excitement or public notice, they are to be picked up and questioned. We'll get the secret-and you and I will never grow old! What do you think of that? Eh?"

ККККК Mary answered very slowly, almost inaudibly, "It would be nice if everyone could live a long time."

ККККК "Huh? Yes, I suppose it would. But in any case you and I will receive the treatment, whatever it is. Think about us, dear. Year after year after year of happy, youthful marriage. Not less than a century. Maybe even--"

ККККК "Wait a moment, Bork. This 'secret' It wouldn't be for everybody?"

ККККК "Well, now . . . that's a matter of high policy. Population pressure is a pretty unwieldy problem even now. In practice it might be necessary to restrict it to essential personnel-and their wives. But don't fret your lovely head about it; you and I will have it."

ККККК "You mean I'll have it if I marry you."

ККККК "Mmm . . . that's a nasty way to put it, Mary. I'd do anything in the world for you that I could-because I love you. But it would be utterly simple if you were married to me. So say you will."

ККККК "Let's let that be for the moment. How do you propose to get this 'secret' out of them?"

ККККК Lazarus could almost hear his wise nod. "Oh, they'll talk!"

ККККК "Do you mean to say you'd send them to Coventry if they didn't?"

ККККК "Coventry? Hm! You don't understand the situation at all, Mary; this isn't any minor social offense. This is treason- treason against the whole human race. We'll use means! Ways that the Prophets used . . . if they don't cooperate willingly."

ККККК "Do you mean that? Why, that's against the Covenant!"

ККККК "Covenant be damned! This is a matter of life and death- do you think we'd let a scrap of paper stand in our way? You can't bother with petty legalities in the fundamental things: men live by-not something they will fight to the death for. And that is precisely what this is. These . . . these dog-in-the-manger scoundrels are trying to keep life itself from us. Do you think we'll bow to 'custom' in an emergency like this?"

ККККК Mary answered in a hushed and horrified voice: "Do you really think the Council will violate the Covenant?"

ККККК "Think so? The Action-in-Council was recorded last night. We authorized the Administrator to use 'full expediency.'"

ККККК Lazarus strained his ears through a long silence. At last Mary spoke. "Bork-"

ККККК "Yes, my dear?"

ККККК "You've got to do something about this. You must stop it." "Stop it? You don't know what you're saying. I couldn't and I would not if I could."

ККККК "But you must. You must convince the Council. They're making a mistake, a tragic mistake. There is nothing to be gained by trying to coerce those poor people. There is no secret!"

ККККК "What? You're getting excited, my dear. You're setting your judgment up against some of the best and wisest men on the planet. Believe me, we know what we are doing. We don't relish using harsh methods any more than you do, but it's for the general welfare. Look, I'm sorry I ever brought it up. Naturally you are soft and gentle and warmhearted and I love you for it. Why not marry me and not bother your head about matters of public policy?"

ККККК "Marry you? Never!"

ККККК "Aw, Mary-you're upset. Give me just one good reason why not?"

ККККК "I'll tell you why! Because I am one of those people you want to persecute!"

ККККК There was another pause. "Mary . . . you're not well."

ККККК "Not well, am I? I am as well as a person can be at my age. Listen to me, you fool! I have grandsons twice your age. I was here when the First Prophet took over the country. I was here when Harriman launched the first Moon rocket. You weren't even a squalling brat-your grandparents hadn't even met, when I was a woman grown and married. And you stand there and glibly propose to push around, even to torture, me and my kind. Marry you? I'd rather marry one of my own grandchildren!"

ККККК Lazarus shifted his weight and slid his right hand inside the flap of his kilt; he expected trouble at once. You can depend on a woman, he reflected, to blow her top at the wrong moment.

ККККК He waited. Bork's answer was cool; the tones of the experienced man of authority replaced those of thwarted passion. "Take it easy, Mary. Sit down, I'll look after you. First I want you to take a sedative. Then I'll get the best psychotherapist in the city-in the whole country. You'll be all right."

ККККК "Take your hands off me!"

ККККК "Now, Mary . . .

ККККК Lazarus stepped out into the room and pointed at Vanning with his blaster. "This monkey giving you trouble, Sis?"

ККККК Vanning jerked his head around. "Who are you?" he demanded indignantly. "What are you doing here?"

ККККК Lazarus still addressed Mary. "Say the word, Sis, and I'll cut him into pieces small enough to hide."

ККККК "No, Lazarus," she answered with her voice now under control. "Thanks just the same. Please put your gun away. I wouldn't want anything like that to happen."

ККККК "Okay." Lazarus holstered the gun but let his hand rest on the grip.

ККККК "Who are you?" repeated Vanning. "What's the meaning of this intrusion?"

ККККК "I was just about to ask you that, Bud," Lazarus said mildly, "but we'll let it ride. I'm another one of those old Johnnies you're looking for . . . like Mary here."

ККККК Vanning looked at him keenly. "I wonder-" he said. He looked back at Mary. "It can't be, it's preposterous. Still it won't hurt to investigate your story. I've plenty to detain you on, in any event, I've never seen a clearer case of antisocial atavism." He moved toward the videophone.

ККККК "Better get away from that phone, Bud," Lazarus said quickly, then added to Mary, "I won't touch my gun, Sis. I'll use my knife."

ККККК Vanning stopped. "Very well," he said in annoyed tones, "put away that vibroblade. I won't call from here."

ККККК "Look again, it ain't a vibroblade. It's steel. Messy."

ККККК Vanning turned to Mary Sperling. "I'm leaving. If you are wise, you'll come with me." She shook her head. He looked annoyed, shrugged, and faced Lazarus Long. "As for you, sir, your primitive manners have led you into serious trouble. You will be arrested shortly."

ККККК Lazarus glanced up at the ceiling shutters. "Reminds me of a patron in Venusburg who wanted to have me arrested."

ККККК "Well?"

ККККК "I've outlived him quite a piece."

ККККК Vanning opened his mouth to answer-then turned suddenly and left so quickly that the outer door barely had time to clear the end of his nose. As the door snapped closed Lazarus said musingly, "Hardest man to reason with I've met in years. I'll bet he never used an unsterilized spoon in his life."

ККККК Mary looked startled, then giggled. He turned toward her. "Glad to see you sounding perky, Mary. Kinda thought you were upset."

ККККК "I was. I hadn't known you were listening. I was forced to improvise as I went along."

ККККК "Did I queer it?"

ККККК "No. I'm glad you came in-thanks. But we'll have to hurry now."

ККККК "I suppose so. I think he meant it-there'll be a proctor looking for me soon. You, too, maybe."

ККККК "That's what I meant. So let's get out of here."

ККККК Mary was ready to leave in scant minutes but when they stepped out into the public hall they met a man whose brassard and hypo kit marked him as a proctor. "Service," he said. "I'm looking for a citizen in company with Citizen Mary Sperling. Could you direct me?"

ККККК "Sure," agreed Lazarus. "She lives right down there." He pointed at the far end of the corridor. As the peace officer looked in that direction, Lazarus tapped him carefully on the back of the head, a little to the left, with the butt of his blaster, and caught him as be slumped.

ККККК Mary helped Lazarus wrestle the awkward mass into her apartment. He knelt over the cop, pawed through his hypo kit, took a loaded injector and gave him a shot. "There," he said, "that'll keep him sleepy for a few hours." Then he blinked thoughtfully at the hypo kit, detached it from the proctor's belt. "This might come in handy again. Anyhow, it won't hurt to take it." As an afterthought he removed the proctor's peace brassard and placed it, too, in his pouch.

ККККК They left the apartment again and dropped to the parking level. Lazarus noticed as they rolled up the ramp that Mary had set the North Shore combination. "Where are we going?" he asked.

ККККК "The Families' Seat. No place else to go where we won't be checked on. But we'll have to hide somewhere in the country until dark."

ККККК Once the car was on beamed control headed north Mary asked to be excused and caught a few minutes sleep. Lazarus watched a few miles of scenery, then nodded himself.

ККККК They were awakened by the jangle of the emergency alarm and by the speedster slowing to a stop. Mary reached up and shut off the alarm. "All cars resume local control," intoned a voice. "Proceed at speed twenty to the nearest traffic control tower for inspection. All cars resume local control. Proceed at-"

ККККК She switched that off, too. "Well, that's us," Lazarus said cheerfully. "Got any ideas?"

ККККК Mary did not answer. She peered out and studied their surroundings. The steel fence separating the high-speed controlway they were on from the uncontrolled local-traffic strip lay about fifty yards to their right but no changeover ramp broke the fence for at least a mile ahead-where it did, there would be, of course, the control tower where they were ordered to undergo inspection. She started the car again, operating it manually, and wove through stopped or slowly moving traffic while speeding up. As they got close to the barrier Lazarus felt himself shoved into the cushions; the car surged and lifted, clearing the barrier by inches. She set it down rolling on the far side.

ККККК A car was approaching from the north and they were slashing across his lane. The other car was moving no more than ninety but its driver was taken by surprise-he had no reason to expect another car to appear out of nowhere against him on a clear road: Mary was forced to duck left, then right, and left again; the car slewed and reared up on its hind wheel, writhing against the steel grip of its gyros. Mary fought it back into control to the accompaniment of a teeth-shivering grind of herculene against glass as the rear wheel fought for traction.

ККККК Lazarus let his jaw muscles relax and breathed out gustily. "Whew!" he sighed. "I hope we won't have to do that again."

ККККК Mary glanced at him, grinning. "Women drivers make you nervous?"

ККККК "Oh, no, no, not at all! I just wish you would warn me when something like that is about to happen."

ККККК "I didn't know myse1f," she admitted, then went on worriedly, "I don't know quite what to do now. I thought we could lie quiet out of town until dark . . . but I had to show my hand a Little when I took that fence. By now somebody will be reporting it to the tower. Mmm.

ККККК "Why wait until dark?" he asked. "Why not just bounce over to the lake in this Dick Dare contraption of yours and let it swim us home?"

ККККК "I don't like to," she fretted. "I've attracted too much attention already. A trimobile faked up to look like a groundster is handy, but . . . well, if anyone sees us taking it under water and the proctors hear of it, somebody is going to guess the answer. Then they'll start fishing-everything from seismo to sonar and Heaven knows what else."

ККККК "But isn't the Seat shielded?"

ККККК "Of course. But anything that big they can find-if they know what they're looking for and keep looking."

ККККК "You're right, of course," Lazarus admitted slowly. "Well, we certainly don't want to lead any nosy proctors to the Families' Seat. Mary, I think we had better ditch your car and get lost." He frowned. "Anywhere but the Seat."

ККККК "No, it has to be the Seat," she answered sharply.

ККККК "Why? If you chase a fox, he-"

ККККК "Quiet a moment! I want to try something." Lazarus shut up; Mary drove with one hand while she fumbled in the glove compartment.

ККККК "Answer," a voice said.

ККККК "Life is short-" Mary replied.

ККККК They completed the formula. "Listen," Mary went on hurriedly, "I'm in trouble-get a fix on me."

ККККК "Okay."

ККККК "Is there a sub in the pool?"

ККККК "Yes."

ККККК "Good! Lock on me and home them in." She explained hurriedly the details of what she wanted, stopping once to ask Lazarus if he could swim. "That's all," she said at last, "but move! We're short on minutes."

ККККК "Hold it, Mary!" the voice protested. "You know I can't send a sub out in the daytime, certainly not on a calm day. It's too easy to-"

ККККК "Will you, or won't you!"

ККККК A third voice cut in. "I was listening, Mary-Ira Barstow. We'll pick you up."

ККККК "But-" objected the first voice.

ККККК "Stow it, Tommy. Just mind your burners and home me in. See you, Mary."

ККККК "Right, Ira!"

ККККК While she had been talking to the Seat, Mary had turned off from the local-traffic strip into the unpaved road she had followed the night before, without slowing and apparently without looking. Lazarus gritted his teeth and hung on. They passed a weathered sign reading CONTAMINATED AREA-PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK and graced with the conventional purple trefoil. Lazarus blinked at it and shrugged-he could not see how, at the moment, his hazard could be increased by a neutron or so.

ККККК Mary slammed the car to a stop in a clump of stunted trees near the abandoned road. The lake lay at their feet, just beyond a low bluff. She unfastened her safety belt, struck a cigarette, and relaxed. "Now we wait. It'll take at least half an hour for them to reach us no matter how hard Ira herds it. Lazarus, do you think we were seen turning off into here?"

ККККК "To tell the truth, Mary, I was too busy to look."

ККККК "Well nobody ever comes here, except a few reckless boys."

ККККК ("-and girls," Lazarus added to himself.) Then he went on aloud, "I noted a 'hot' sign back there. How high is the count?"

ККККК "That? -Oh, pooh. Nothing to worry about unless you decided to build a house here. We're the ones who are hot. If we didn't have to stay close to the communicator, we-"

ККККК The communicator spoke. "Okay, Mary. Right in front of you."

ККККК She looked startled. "Ira?"

ККККК "This is Ira speaking but I'm still at the Seat. Pete Hardy was available in the Evanston pen, so we homed him in on you. Quicker."

ККККК "Okay-thanks!" She was turning to speak to Lazarus when he touched her arm.

ККККК "Look behind us."

ККККК A helicopter was touching down less than a hundred yards from them. Three men burst out of it. They were dressed as proctors.

ККККК Mary jerked open the door of the car and threw off her gown in one unbroken motion. She turned and called, "Come on!" as she thrust a hand back inside and tore a stud loose from the instrument panel. She ran.

ККККК Lazarus unzipped the belt of his kilt and ran out of it as he followed her to the bluff. She went dancing down it; he came after with slightly more caution, swearing at sharp stones. The blast shook them as the car exploded, but the bluff saved them.

ККККК They hit the water together.

ККККК The lock in the little submarine was barely big enough for one at a time; Lazarus shoved Mary into it first and tried to slap her when she resisted, and discovered that slapping will not work under water. Then he spent an endless time, or so it seemed, wondering whether or not he could breathe water. "What's a fish got that I ain't got?" he was telling himself, when the outer latch moved under his hand and he was able to wiggle in.

ККККК Eleven dragging seconds to blow the lock clear of water and he had a chance to see what damage, if any, the water had done to his blaster.

ККККК Mary was speaking urgently to the skipper. "Listen, Pete- there are three proctors back up there with a whiny. My car blew up in their faces just as we hit the water. But if they aren't all dead or injured, there will be a smart boy who will figure out that there was only one place for us to go-under water. We've got to be away from here before they take to the air to look for us."

ККККК "It's a losing race," Pete Hardy complained, slapping his controls as he spoke. "Even if it's only a visual search, I'll have to get outside and stay outside the circle of total reflection faster than he can gain altitude-and I can't." But the little sub lunged forward reassuringly.

ККККК Mary worried about whether or not to call the Seat from the sub. She decided not to; it would just increase the hazard both to the sub and to the Seat itself. So she calmed herself and waited, huddled small in a passenger seat too cramped for two. Peter Hardy swung wide into deep water, hugging the bottom, picking up the Muskegon-Gary bottom beacons and conned himself in blind.

ККККК By the time they surfaced in the pool inside the Seat she had decided against any physical means of communication, even the carefully shielded equipment at the Seat. Instead she hoped to find a telepathic sensitive ready and available among the Families' dependents cared for there. Sensitives were scarce among healthy members of the Howard Families as they were in the rest of the population, but the very inbreeding which had conserved and reinforced their abnormal longevity had also conserved and reinforced bad genes as well as good; they had an unusually high percentage of physical and mental defectives. Their board of genetic control plugged away at the problem of getting rid of bad strains while conserving the longevity strain, but for many generations they would continue to pay for their long lives with an excess of defectives.

ККККК But almost five per cent of these defectives were telepathically sensitive.

ККККК Mary went straight to the sanctuary in the Seat where some of these dependents were cared for, with Lazarus Long at her heels. She braced the matron. "Where's Little Stephen? I need him."

ККККК "Keep your voice down," the matron scolded. "Rest hour-you can't."

ККККК "Janice, I've got to see him," Mary insisted. "This won't wait. I've got to get a message out to all the Families-at once."

ККККК The matron planted her hands on her hips. "Take it to the communication office. You can't come here disturbing my children at all hours. I won't have it."

ККККК "Janice, please! I don't dare use anything but telepathy. You know I wouldn't do this unnecessarily. Now take me to Stephen."

ККККК "It wouldn't do you any good if I did. Little Stephen has had one of his bad spells today."

ККККК "Then take me to the strongest sensitive who can possibly work. Quickly, Janice! The safety of every member may depend on it."

ККККК "Did the trustees send you?"

ККККК "No, no! There wasn't time!"

ККККК The matron still looked doubtful. While Lazarus was trying to recall how long it had been since he had socked a lady, she gave in. "All right-you can see Billy, though I shouldn't let you. Mind you, don't tire him out." Still bristling, she led them along a corridor past a series of cheerful rooms and into one of them. Lazarus looked at the thing on the bed and looked away.

ККККК The matron went to a cupboard and returned with a hypodermic injector. "Does he work under a hypnotic?" Lazarus asked.

ККККК "No," the matron answered coldly, "he has to have a stimulant to be aware of us at all." She swabbed skin on the arm of the gross figure and made the injection. "Go ahead," she said to Mary and lapsed into grim-mouthed silence.

ККККК The figure on the bed stirred, its eyes rolled loosely, then seemed to track. It grinned. "Aunt Mary!" it said. "Oooh! Did you bring Billy Boy something?'

ККККК "No," she said gently. "Not this time, hon. Aunt Mary was in too much of a hurry. Next time? A surprise? Will that do?'

ККККК "All right," it said docilely.

ККККК "That's a good boy." She reached out and tousled its hair; Lazarus looked away again. "Now will Billy Boy do something for Aunt Mary? A big, big favor?"

ККККК "Sure."

ККККК "Can you hear your friends?"

ККККК "Oh, sure."

ККККК "All of them?"

ККККК "Uh huh. Mostly they don't say anything," it added.

ККККК "Call to them."

ККККК There was a very short silence. "They heard me."

ККККК "Fine! Now listen carefully, Billy Boy: All the Families- urgent warning! Elder Mary Sperling speaking. Under an Action-in-Council the Administrator is about to arrest every revealed member. The Council directed him to use 'full expedience'-and it is my sober judgment that they are determined to use any means at all, regardless of the Covenant, to try to squeeze out of us the so-called secret of our long lives. They even intend to use the tortures developed by the inquisitors of the Prophets!" Her voice broke. She stopped and pulled herself together. "Now get busy! Find them, warn them, hide them! You may have only minutes left to save them!"

ККККК Lazarus touched her arm and whispered; she nodded and went on:

ККККК "If any cousin is arrested, rescue him by any means at all! Don't try to appeal to the Covenant, don't waste time arguing about justice rescue him! Now move!"

ККККК She stopped and then spoke in a tired, gentle voice, "Did they hear us, Billy Boy?"

ККККК "Sure."

ККККК "Are they telling their folks?"

ККККК "Uh huh. All but Jimmie-the-Horse. He's mad at me," it added confidentially.

ККККК "'Jimmie-the-Horse'? Where is he?"

ККККК "Oh, where he lives."

ККККК "In Montreal," put in the matron. "There are two other sensitives there-your message got through. Are you finished?"

ККККК "Yes . . ." Mary said doubtfully. "But perhaps we had better have some other Seat relay it back."

ККККК "No!" "But, Janice-"

ККККК "I won't permit it. I suppose you had to send it but I want to give Billy the antidote now. So get out."

ККККК Lazarus took her arm. "Come on, kid. It either got through or it didn't; you've done your best. A good job, girl."

ККККК Mary went on to make a full report to the Resident Secretary; Lazarus left her on business of his own. He retraced his steps, looking for a man who was not too busy to help him; the guards at the pool entrance were the first he found. "Service-" be began.

ККККК "Service to you," one of them answered. "Looking for someone?" He glanced curiously at Long's almost complete nakedness, glanced away again-how anybody dressed, or did not dress, was a private matter.

ККККК "Sort of," admitted Lazarus. "Say, Bud, do you know of anyone around here who would lend me a kilt?"

ККККК "You're looking at one," the guard answered pleasantly. "Take over, Dick-back in a minute." He led Lazarus to bachelors' quarters, outfitted him, helped him to dry his pouch and contents, and made no comment about the arsenal strapped to his hairy thighs. How elders behaved was no business of his and many of them were even touchier about their privacy than most people. He had seen Aunt Mary Sperling arrive stripped for swimming but had not been surprised as he had heard Ira Barstow briefing Pete for the underwater pickup; that the elder with her chose to take a dip in the lake weighed down by the hardware did surprise him but not enough to make him forget his manners.

ККККК "Anything else you need?' he asked. "Do those shoes fit?

ККККК "Well enough. Thanks a lot, Bud." Lazarus smoothed the borrowed kilt. It was a little too long for him but it comforted him. A loin strap was okay, he supposed-if you were on Venus. But he had never cared much for Venus customs. Damn it, a man liked to be dressed. "I feel better," he admitted. "Thanks again. By the way, what's your name?"

ККККК "Edmund Hardy, of the Foote Family."

ККККК "That so? What's your line?"

ККККК "Charles Hardy and Evelyn Foote. Edward Hardy-Alice Johnson and Terence Briggs-Eleanor Weatheral. Oliver-"

ККККК "That's enough. I sorta thought so. You're one of my great-great-grandsons."

ККККК "Why, that's interesting," commented Hardy agreeably. "Gives us a sixteenth of kinship, doesn't it-not counting convergence. May I ask your name?

ККККК "Lazarus Long."

ККККК Hardy shook his head. "Some mistake. Not in my line."

ККККК "Try Woodrow Wilson Smith instead. It was the one I started with."

ККККК "Oh, that one! Yes, surely. But I thought you were . . . uh--"

ККККК "Dead? Well, I ain't."

ККККК "Oh, I didn't mean that at all," Hardy protested, blushing at the blunt Anglo-Saxon monosyllable. He hastily added, "I'm glad to have run across you, Gran'ther. I've always wanted to hear the straight of the story about the Families' Meeting in 2012."

ККККК "That was before you were born, Ed," Lazarus said gruffly, "and don't call me 'Gran'ther.'"

ККККК "Sorry, sir-I mean 'Sorry, Lazarus.' Is there any other service I can do for you?"

ККККК "I shouldn't have gotten shirty. No-yes, there is, too. Where can I swipe a bite of breakfast? I was sort of rushed this morning."

ККККК "Certainly." Hardy took him to the bachelors' pantry, operated the autochef for him, drew coffee for his watch mate and himself, and left. Lazarus consumed his "bite of breakfast"-about three thousand calories of sizzling sausages, eggs, jam, hot breads, coffee with cream, and ancillary items, for he worked on the assumption of always topping off his reserve tanks because you never knew how far you might have to lift before you had another chance to refuel. In due time he sat back, belched, gathered up his dishes and shoved them in the incinerator, then went looking for a newsbox.

ККККК He found one in the bachelors' library, off their lounge. The room was empty save for one man who seemed to be about the same age as that suggested by Lazarus' appearance. There the resemblance stopped; the stranger was slender, mild in feature, and was topped off by finespun carroty hair quite unlike the grizzled wiry bush topping Lazarus. The stranger was bending over the news receiver with his eyes pressed to the microviewer.

ККККК Lazarus cleared his throat loudly and said, "Howdy."

ККККК The man jerked his head up and exclaimed, "Oh! Sorry-I was startled. Do y' a service?"

ККККК "I was looking for the newsbox. Mind if we throw it on the screen?"

ККККК "Not at all." The smaller man stood up, pressed the rewind button, and set the controls for projection. "Any particular subject?"

ККККК "I wanted to see," said Lazarus, "if there was any news about us-the Families."

ККККК "I've been watching for that myself. Perhaps we had better use the sound track and let it hunt."

ККККК "Okay," agreed Lazarus, stepping up and changing the setting to audio. "What's the code word?'

ККККК "'Methuselah.'"

ККККК Lazarus punched in the setting; the machine chattered and whined as it scanned and rejected the track speeding through it, then it slowed with a triumphant click. "The DAILY DATA," it announced. "The only midwest news service subscribing to every major grid. Leased videochannel to Luna City. Tri-S correspondents throughout the System. First, Fast, and Most! Lincoln, Nebraska-Savant Denounces Oldsters! Dr. Witweli Oscarsen, President Emeritus of Bryan Lyceum, calls for official reconsideration of the status of the kin group styling themselves the 'Howard Families.' 'It is proved,' he says. 'that these people have solved the age-old problem of extending, perhaps indefinitely, the span of human life. For that they are to be commended; it is a worthy and potentially fruitful research. But their claim that their solution is no more than hereditary predisposition defies both science and common sense. Our modern knowledge of the established laws of generics enables us to deduce with certainty that they are withholding from the public some secret technique or techniques whereby they accomplish their results.

ККККК "'It is contrary to our customs to permit scientific knowledge to be held as a monopoly for the few. When concealing such knowledge strikes at life itself, the action becomes treason to the race. As a citizen, I call on the Administration to act forcefully in this matter and I remind them that the situation is not one which could possibly have been foreseen by the wise men who drew up the Covenant and codified our basic customs. Any custom is man-made and is therefore a finite attempt to describe an infinity of relationships. It follows as the night from day that any custom necessarily has its exceptions. To be bound by them in the face of new--'"

ККККК Lazarus pressed the hold button. "Had enough of that guy?

ККККК "Yes, I had already heard it." The stranger sighed. "I have rarely heard such complete lack of semantic rigor. It surprises me-Dr. Oscarsen has done sound work in the past."

ККККК "Reached his dotage," Lazarus stated, as he told the machine to try again. "Wants what he wants when he wants it- and thinks that constitutes a natural law."

ККККК The machine hummed and clicked and again spoke up. "The DAILY DATA, the only midwest news-"

ККККК "Can't we scramble that commercial?" suggested Lazarus. His companion peered at the control panel. "Doesn't seem to be equipped for it."

ККККК "Ensenada, Baja California. Jeffers and Lucy Weatheral today asked for special proctor protection, alleging that a group of citizens had broken into their home, submitted them to personal indignity and committed other asocial acts. The Weatherals are, by their own admission, members of the notorious Howard Families and claim that the alleged incident could be traced to that supposed fact. The district provost points out that they have offered no proof and has taken the matter under advisement. A town mass meeting has been announced for tonight which will air-"

ККККК The other man turned toward Lazarus. "Cousin, did we hear what I thought we heard? That is the first case of asocial group violence in more than twenty years . . . yet they reported it like a breakdown in a weather integrator."

ККККК "Not quite," Lazarus answered grimly. "The connotations of the words used in describing us were loaded."

ККККК "Yes, true, but loaded cleverly. I doubt if there was a word in that dispatch with an emotional index, taken alone, higher than one point five. The newscasters are allowed two zero, you know."

ККККК "You a psychometrician?"

ККККК "Uh, no. I should have introduced myself. I'm Andrew Jackson Libby."

ККККК "Lazarus Long."

ККККК "I know. I was at the meeting last night."

ККККК "'Libby . . . Libby," Lazarus mused. "Don't seem to place it in the Families. Seems familiar, though."

ККККК "My case is a little like yours-"

ККККК "Changed it during the Interregnum, eh?"

ККККК "Yes and no. I was born after the Second Revolution. But my people had been converted to the New Crusade and had broken with the Families and changed their name. I was a grown man before I knew I was a Member."

ККККК "The deuce you say! That's interesting-how did you come to be located . . . if you don't mind my asking?"

ККККК "Well, you see I was in the Navy and one of my superior officers-"

ККККК "Got it! Got it! I thought you were a spaceman. You're Slipstick Libby, the Calculator."

ККККК Libby grinned sheepishly. "I have been called that."

ККККК "Sure, sure. The last can I piloted was equipped with your paragravitic rectifier. And the control bank used your fractional differential on the steering jets. But I installed that myself-kinda borrowed your patent."

ККККК Libby seemed undisturbed by the theft. His face lit up. "You are interested in symbolic logic?"

ККККК "Only pragmatically. But look, I put a modification on your gadget that derives from the rejected alternatives in your thirteenth equation. It helps like this: suppose you are cruising in a field of density 'x' with an n-order gradient normal to your course and you want to set your optimum course for a projected point of rendezvous capital 'A' at matching-in vector 'rho' using automatic selection the entire jump, then if-"

ККККК They drifted entirely away from Basic English as used by earthbound laymen. The newsbox beside them continued to hunt; three times it spoke up, each time Libby touched the rejection button without consciously hearing it.

ККККК "I see your point," he said at last. "I had considered a somewhat similar modification but concluded that it was not commercially feasible, too expensive for anyone but enthusiasts such as yourself. But your solution is cheaper than mine."

ККККК "How do you figure that?"

ККККК "Why, it's obvious from the data. Your device contains sixty-two moving parts, which should require, if we assume standardized fabrication processes, a probable-" Libby hesitated momentarily as if he were programming the problem. "-a probable optimax of five thousand two hundred and eleven operation in manufacture assuming null-therblig automation, whereas mine-"

ККККК Lazarus butted in. "Andy," he inquired solicitously, "does your head ever ache?"

ККККК Libby looked sheepish again. "There's nothing abnormal about my talent," he protested. "It is theoretically possible to develop it in any normal person."

ККККК "Sure," agreed Lazarus, "and you can teach a snake to tap dance once you get shoes on him. Never mind, I'm glad to have fallen in with you. I heard stories about you way back when you were a kid. You were in the Cosmic Construction Corps, weren't you?"

ККККК Libby nodded. "Earth-Mars Spot Three."

ККККК "Yeah, that was it-chap on Mars gimme the yarn. Trader at Drywater. I knew your maternal grandfather, too. Stiffnecked old coot."

ККККК "I suppose he was."

ККККК "He was, all right. I had quite a set-to with him at the Meeting in 2012. He had a powerful vocabulary." Lazarus frowned slightly. "Funny thing, Andy . . . I recall that vividly, I've always had a good memory-yet it seems to be getting harder for me to keep things straight. Especially this last century."

ККККК "Inescapable mathematical necessity," said Libby.

ККККК "Huh? Why?"

ККККК "Life experience is linearly additive, but the correlation of memory impressions is an unlimited expansion. If mankind lived as long as a thousand years, it would be necessary to invent some totally different method of memory association in order to be eclectively time-binding. A man would otherwise flounder helplessly in the wealth of his own knowledge, unable to evaluate. Insanity, or feeble-mindedness."

ККККК "That so?" Lazarus suddenly looked worried. "Then we'd better get busy on it."

ККККК "Oh, it's quite possible of solution." "Let's work on it. Let's not get caught short."КККК

ККККК The newsbox again demanded attention, this time with the buzzer and flashing light of a spot bulletin: "Hearken to the DATA, flash! Nigh Council Suspends Covenant! Under the Emergency Situation clause of the Covenant an unprecedented Action-in-Council was announced today directing the Administrator to detain and question all members of the so-called Howard Families-by any means expedient! The Administrator authorized that the following statement be released by all licensed news outlets: (I quote) 'The suspension of the Covenant's civil guarantees applies only to the group known as the Howard Families except that government agents are empowered to act as circumstances require to apprehend speedily the persons affected by the Action-in-Council. Citizens are urged to tolerate cheerfully any minor inconvenience this may cause them; your right of privacy will be respected in every way possible; your right of free movement may be interrupted temporarily, but full economic restitution will be made."

ККККК "Now, Friends and Citizens, what does this mean?-to you and you and also you! The DAILY DATA brings you now your popular commentator, Albert Reifsnider:

ККККК "Reifsnider reporting: Service, Citizens! There is no cause for alarm. To the average free citizen this emergency will be somewhat less troublesome than a low-pressure minimum too big for the weather machines. Take it easy! Relax! Help the proctors when requested and tend to your private affairs. If inconvenienced, don't stand on custom-cooperate with Service!

ККККК "That's what it means today. What does it mean tomorrow and the day after that? Next year? It means that your public servants have taken a forthright step to obtain for you the boon of a longer and happier life! Don't get your hopes too high . . . but it looks like the dawn of a new day. Ah, indeed it does! The jealously guarded secret of a selfish few will soon--"

ККККК Long raised an eyebrow at Libby, then switched it off.

ККККК "I suppose that," Libby said bitterly, "is an example of 'factual detachment in news reporting.'"

ККККК Lazarus opened his pouch and struck a cigarette before replying. "Take it easy, Andy. There are bad times and good times. We're overdue for bad times. The people are on the march again . . . this time at us."

Chapter 3

ККККК THE BURROW KNOWN as the Families' Seat became jammed as the day wore on. Members kept trickling in, arriving by tunnels from downstare and from Indiana. As soon as it was dark a traffic jam developed at the underground pool entrance-sporting subs, fake ground cars such as Mary's, ostensible surface cruisers modified to dive, each craft loaded with refugees some half suffocated from lying in hiding on deep bottom most of the day while waiting for a chance to sneak in.

ККККК The usual meeting room was much too small to handle the crowd; the resident staff cleared the largest room, the refectory, and removed partitions separating it from the main lounge. There at midnight Lazarus climbed onto a temporary rostrum. "Okay," he announced, "let's pipe it down. You down in front sit on the floor so the rest can see. I was born in 1912. Anybody older?"

ККККК He paused, then added, "Nominations for chairman speak up."

ККККК Three were proposed; before a fourth could be offered the last man nominated got to his feet. "Axel Johnson, of the Johnson Family. I want my name withdrawn and I suggest that the others do likewise. Lazarus cut through the fog last night; let him handle it. This is no time for Family politics."

ККККК The other names were withdrawn; no more were offered. Lazarus said, "Okay if that's the way you want it. Before we get down to arguing I want a report from the Chief Trustee. How about it, Zack? Any of our kinfolk get nabbed?'

ККККК Zaccur Barstow did not need to identify himself; he simply said, "Speaking for the Trustees: our report is not complete, but we do not as yet know that any Member has been arrested. Of the nine thousand two hundred and eighty-five revealed Members, nine thousand one hundred and six had been reported, when I left the communication office ten minutes ago, as having reached hiding, in other Family strongholds, or in the homes of unrevealed Members, or elsewhere. Mary Sperling's warning was amazingly successful in view of how short the time was from the alarm to the public execution of the Action-in-Council-but we still have one hundred and seventy-nine revealed cousins unreported. Probably most of these will trickle in during the next few days. Others are probably safe but unable to get in touch with us."

ККККК "Get to the point, Zack," Lazarus insisted. "Any reasonable chance that all of them will make it home safe?"

ККККК "Absolutely none."

ККККК "Why?"

ККККК "Because three of them are known to be in public conveyances between here and the Moon, traveling under their revealed identities. Others we don't know about are almost certainly caught in similar predicaments."

ККККК "Question!" A cocky little man near the front stood up and pointed his finger at the Chief Trustee. "Were all those Members now in jeopardy protected by hypnotic injunction?"

ККККК "No. There was no--"

ККККК "I demand to know why not!"

ККККК "Shut up!" bellowed Lazarus. "You're out of order. Nobody's on trial here and we've got no time to waste on spilled milk. Go ahead, Zack."

ККККК "Very well. But I will answer the question to this extent: everyone knows that a proposal to protect our secrets by hypnotic means was voted down at the Meeting which relaxed the 'Masquerade.' I seem to recall that the cousin now objecting helped then to vote it down."

ККККК "That is not true! And I insist that--"

ККККК "PIPE DOWN!" Lazarus glared at the heckler, then looked him over carefully. "Bud, you strike me as a clear proof that the Foundation should 'a' bred for brains instead of age." Lazarus looked around at the crowd. "Everybody will get his say, but in order as recognized by the chair. If he butts in again, I'm going to gag him with his own teeth-is my ruling sustained?"

ККККК There was a murmur of mixed shock and approval; no one objected. Zaccur Barstow went on, "On the advice of Ralph Schultz the trustees have been proceeding quietly for the past three months to persuade revealed Members to undergo hypnotic instruction. We were largely successful." He paused.

ККККК "Make it march, Zack," Lazarus urged. "Are we covered? Or not?"

ККККК "We are not. At least two of our cousins certain to be arrested are not so protected."

ККККК Lazarus shrugged. "That tears it. Kinfolk, the game's over. One shot in the arm of babble juice and the 'Masquerade' is over. It's a new situation-or will be in a few hours. What do you propose to do about it?"

ККККК In the control room of the Antipodes Rocket Wallaby, South Flight, the telecom hummed, went spung! and stuck out a tab like an impudent tongue. The copilot rocked forward in his gymbals, pulled out the message and tore it off.

ККККК He read it, then reread it. "Skipper, brace yourself."

ККККК "Trouble?"

ККККК "Read it."

ККККК The captain did so, and whistled. "Bloody! I've never arrested anybody. I don't believe I've even seen anybody arrested. How do we start?"

ККККК "I bow to your superior authority."

ККККК "That so?" the captain said in nettled tones. "Now that you're through bowing you can tool aft and make the arrest."

ККККК "Uh? That's not what I meant. You're the bloke with the authority. I'll relieve you at the conn."

ККККК "You didn't read me. I'm delegating the authority. Carry out your orders."

ККККК "Just a moment, Al, I didn't sign up for--"

ККККК "Carry out your orders!"

ККККК "Aye aye, sir!"

ККККК The copilot went aft. The ship had completed its reentry, was in its long, flat, screaming approach-glide; he was able to walk-he wondered what an arrest in free-fall would be like? Snag him with a butterfly net? He located the passenger by seat check, touched his arm. "Service, sir. There's been a clerical error. May I see your ticket?"

ККККК "Why, certainly."

ККККК "Would you mind stepping back to the reserve stateroom? It's quieter there and we can both sit down."

ККККК "Not at all."

ККККК Once they were in the private compartment the chief officer asked the passenger to sit down, then looked annoyed. "Stupid of me!-I've left my lists in the control room." He turned and left. As the door slid to behind him, the passenger heard an unexpected click. Suddenly suspicious, he tried the door. It was locked.

ККККК Two proctors came for him at Melbourne. As they escorted him through the skyport he could hear remarks from a curious and surprisingly unfriendly crowd: "There's one of the laddies now!" "Him? My word, he doesn't look old." "What price ape glands?" "Don't stare, Herbert." "Why not? Not half bad enough for him."

ККККК They took him to the office of the Chief Provost, who invited him to sit down with formal civility. "Now then, sir," the Provost said with a slight local twang, "if you will help us by letting the orderly make a slight injection in your arm--"

ККККК "For what purpose?"

ККККК "You want to be socially cooperative, I'm sure. It won't hurt you."

ККККК "That's beside the point. I insist on an explanation. I am a citizen of the United States."

ККККК "So you are, but the Federation has concurrent jurisdiction in any member state-and I am acting under its authority. Now bare your arm, please."

ККККК "I refuse. I stand on my civil rights."

ККККК "Grab him, lads."

ККККК It took four men to do it. Even before the injector touched his skin, his jaw set and a look of sudden agony came into his face. He then sat quietly, listlessly, while the peace officers waited for the drug to take effect. Presently the Provost gently rolled back one of the prisoner's eyelids and said, "I think he's ready. He doesn't weigh over ten stone; it has hit him rather fast. Where's that list of questions?"

ККККК A deputy handed it to him; he began, "Horace Foote, do you hear me?'

ККККК The man's lips twitched, he seemed about to speak. His mouth opened and blood gushed down his chest.

ККККК The Provost bellowed and grabbed the prisoner's head, made quick examination. "Surgeon! He's bitten his tongue half out of his head!"

ККККК The captain of the Luna City Shuttle Moonbeam scowled at the message in his hand. "What child's play is this?" He glared at his third officer. "Tell me that, Mister."

ККККК The third officer studied the overhead. Fuming, the captain held the message at arm's length, peered at it and read aloud: "-imperative that subject persons be prevented from doing themselves injury. You are directed to render them unconscious without warning them." He shoved the flimsy away from him. "What do they think I'm running? Coventry? Who do they think they are?-telling me in my ship what I must do with my passengers! I won't-so help me, I won't! There's no rule requiring me to . . . is there, Mister?"

ККККК The third officer went on silently studying the ship's structure.

ККККК The captain stopped pacing. "Purser! Purser! Why is that man never around when I want him?"

ККККК "I'm here, Captain."

ККККК "About time!"

ККККК "I've been here all along, sir."

ККККК "Don't argue with me. Here-attend to this." He handed the dispatch to the purser and left.

ККККК A shipfitter, supervised by the purser, the hull officer, and the medical officer, made a slight change in the air-conditioning ducts to one cabin; two worried passengers sloughed off their cares under the influence of a nonlethal dose of sleeping gas.

ККККК "Another report, sir."

ККККК "Leave it," the Administrator said in a tired voice.

ККККК "And Councilor Bork Vanning presents his compliments and requests an interview."

ККККК "Tell him that I regret that I am too busy."

ККККК "He insists on seeing you, sir."

ККККК Administrator Ford answered snappishly, "Then you may tell the Honorable Mr. Vanning that be does not give orders in this office!" The aide said nothing; Administrator Ford pressed his fingertips wearily against his forehead and went on slowly, "Na, Gerry, don't tell him that. Be diplomatic but don't let him in."

ККККК "Yes, sir."

ККККК When he was alone, the Administrator picked up the report. His eye skipped over official heading, date line, and file number: "Synopsis of Interview with Conditionally Proscribed Citizen Arthur Sperling, full transcript attached. Conditions of Interview: Subject received normal dosage of neosco., having previously received unmeasured dosage of gaseous hypnotal. Antidote--"How the devil could you cure subordinates of wordiness? Was there something in the soul of a career civil servant that cherished red tape? His eye skipped on down:

ККККК "-stated that his name was Arthur Sperling of the Foote Family and gave his age as one hundred thirty-seven years. (Subject's apparent age is forty-five plus-or-minus four: see bio report attached.) Subject admitted that he was a member of the Howard Families. He stated that the Families numbered slightly more than one hundred thousand members. He was asked to correct this and it was suggested to him that the correct number was nearer ten thousand. He persisted in his original statement."

ККККК The Administrator stopped and reread this part.

ККККК He skipped on down, looking for the key part: "-insisted that his long life was the result of his ancestry and had no other cause. Admitted that artificial means had been used to preserve his youthful appearance but maintained firmly that his life expectancy was inherent, not acquired. It was suggested to him that his elder relatives had subjected him without his knowledge to treatment in his early youth to increase his life span. Subject admitted possibility. On being pressed for names of persons who might have performed, or might be performing, such treatments he returned to his original statement that no such treatments exist.

ККККК "He gave the names (surprise association procedure) and in some cases the addresses of nearly two hundred members of his kin group not previously identified as such in our records. (List attached) His strength ebbed under this arduous technique and he sank into full apathy from which he could not be roused by any stimuli within the limits of his estimated tolerance (see Bio Report).

ККККК "Conclusions under Expedited Analysis, Kelly-Holmes Approximation Method: Subject does not possess and does not believe in the Search Object. Does not remember experiencing Search Object but is mistaken. Knowledge of Search Object is limited to a small group, of the order of twenty. A member of this star group will be located through not more than triple-concatenation elimination search. (Probability of unity, subject to assumptions: first, that topologic social space is continuous and is included in the physical space of the Western Federation and, second, that at least one concatenative path exists between apprehended subjects and star group. Neither assumption can be verified as of this writing, but the first assumption is strongly supported by statistical analysis of the list of names supplied by Subject of previously unsuspected members of Howard kin group, which analysis also supports Subject's estimate of total size of group, and second assumption when taken negatively postulates that star group holding Search Object has been able to apply it with no social-space of contact, an absurdity.)

ККККК "Estimated Time for Search: 71 hrs, plus-or-minus 20 hrs. Prediction but not time estimate vouched for by cognizant bureau. Time estimate will be re--"

ККККК Ford slapped the report on a stack cluttering his old-fashioned control desk. The dumb fools! Not to recognize a negative report when they saw one-yet they called themselves psychographers!

ККККК He buried his face in his hands in utter weariness and frustration.

ККККК Lazarus rapped on the table beside him, using the butt of his blaster as a gavel. "Don't interrupt the speaker," he boomed, then added, "Go ahead but cut it short."

ККККК Bertram Hardy nodded curtly. "I say again, these mayflies we see around us have no rights that we of the Families are bound to respect. We should deal with them with stea1th, with cunning, with guile, and when we eventually consolidate our position . . . with force! We are no more obligated to respect their welfare than a hunter is obliged to shout a warning at his quarry. The--"

ККККК There was a catcall from the rear of the room. Lazarus again banged for order and tried to spot the source. Hardy ploughed steadily on. "The so-called human race has split in two; it is time we admitted it. On one side, Homo vivens, ourselves . . . on the other-Homo moriturus! With the great lizards, with the sabertooth tiger and the bison, their day is done. We would no more mix our living blood with theirs than we would attempt to breed with apes. I say temporize with them, tell them any tale, assure them that we will bathe them in the fountain of youth-gain time, so that when these two naturally antagonistic races join battle, as they inevitably must, the victory will be ours!"

ККККК There was no applause but Lazarus could see wavering uncertainty in many faces. Bertram Hardy's ideas ran counter to thought patterns of many years of gentle living yet his words seemed to ring with destiny. Lazarus did not believe in destiny; he believed in . . . well, never mind-but he wondered how Brother Bertram would look with both arms broken.

ККККК Eve Barstow got up. "If that is what Bertram means by the survival of the fittest," she said bitterly, "I'll go live with the asocials in Coventry. However, he has offered a plan; I'll have to offer another plan if I won't take his. I won't accept any plan which would have us live at the expense of our poor transient neighbors. Furthermore it is clear to me now that our mere presence, the simple fact of our rich heritage of life, is damaging to the spirit of our poor neighbor. Our longer years and richer opportunities make his best efforts seem futile to him-any effort save a hopeless struggle against an appointed death. Our mere presence saps his strength, ruins his judgment, fills him with panic fear of death.

ККККК "So I propose a plan. Let's disclose ourselves, tell all the truth, and ask for our share of the Earth, some little corner where we may live apart. If our poor friends wish to surround it with a great barrier like that around Coventry, so be it-it is better that we never meet face to face."

ККККК Some expressions of doubt changed to approval. Ralph Schultz stood up. "Without prejudice to Eve's basic plan, I must advise you that it is my professional opinion that the psychological insulation she proposes cannot be accomplished that easily. As long as we're on this planet they won't be able to put us out of their minds. Modern communications-"

ККККК "Then we must move to another planet!" she retorted.

ККККК "Where?" demanded Bertram Hardy. "Venus? I'd rather live in a steam bath. Mars? Worn-out and worthless."

ККККК "We will rebuild it," she insisted.

ККККК "Not in your lifetime nor mine. No, my dear Eve, your tenderheartedness sounds well but it doesn't make sense. There is only one planet in the System fit to live on-we're standing on it." Something in Bertram Hardy's words set off a response in Lazarus Long's brain, then the thought escaped him. Something . . . something that he had heard of said just a day or two ago . . . or was it longer than? Somehow it seemed to be associated with his first trip out into space, too, well over a century ago. Thunderation! it was maddening to have his memory play tricks on him like that--

ККККК Then he had it-the starship! The interstellar ship they were putting the finishing touches on out there between Earth and Luna. "Folks," he drawled, "before we table this idea of moving to another planet, let's consider all the possibilities." He waited until he had their full attention. "Did you ever stop to think that not all the planets swing around this one Sun?"

ККККК Zaccur Barstow broke the silence. "Lazarus . . . are you making a serious suggestion?"

ККККК "Dead serious."

ККККК "It does not sound so. Perhaps you had better explain."

ККККК "I will." Lazarus faced the crowd. "There's a spaceship hanging out there in the sky, a roomy thing, built to make the long jumps between stars. Why don't we take it and go looking for our own piece of real estate?"

ККККК Bertram Hardy was first to recover. "I don't know whether our chairman is lightening the gloom with another of his wisecracks or not, but, assuming that he is serious, I'll answer. My objection to Mars applies to this wild scheme ten times over. I understand that the reckless fools who are actually intending to man that ship expect to make the jump in about a century -then maybe their grandchildren will find something, or maybe they won't. Either way, I'm not interested. I don't care to spend a century locked up in a steel tank, nor do I expect to live that long. I won't buy it."

ККККК "Hold it," Lazarus told him. "Where's Andy Libby?"

ККККК "Here," Libby answered! standing up.

ККККК "Come on down front. Slipstick, did you have anything to do with designing the new Centarus ship?"

ККККК "No. Neither this one nor the first one."

ККККК Lazarus spoke to the crowd. "That settles it. If that ship didn't have Slipstick's finger in the drive design, then she's not as fast as she could be, not by a good big coefficient. Slipstick, better get busy on the problem, son. We're likely to need a solution."

ККККК "But, Lazarus, you mustn't assume that--"

ККККК "Aren't there theoretical possibilities?"

ККККК "Well, you know there are, but--"

ККККК "Then get that carrot top of yours working on it."

ККККК "Well . . . all right." Libby blushed as pink as his hair.

ККККК "Just a moment, Lazarus." It was Zaccur Barstow. "I like this proposal and I think we should discuss it at length not let ourselves be frightened off by Brother Bertram's distaste for it. Even if Brother Libby fails to find a better means of propulsion-and frankly, I don't think he will; I know a little something of field mechanics-even so, I shan't let a century frighten me. By using cold-rest and manning the ship in shifts, most of us should be able to complete one hop. There is--"

ККККК "What makes you think," demanded Bertram Hardy, "that they'll let us man the ship anyhow?"

ККККК "Bert," Lazarus said coldly, "address the chair when you want to sound off. You're not even a Family delegate. Last warning."

ККККК "As I was saying," Barstow continued, "there is an appropriateness in the long-lived exploring the stars. A mystic might call it our true vocation." He pondered. "As for the ship Lazarus suggested; perhaps they will not let us have that . . . but the Families are rich. If we need a starship-or ships-we can build them, we can pay for them. I think we had better hope that they will let us do this . . . for it may be that there is no way, not another way of any sort, out of our dilemma which does not include our own extermination."

ККККК Barstow spoke these last words softly and slowly, with great sadness. They bit into the company like damp chill. To most of them the problem was so new as not yet to be real; no one had voiced the possible consequence of failing to find a solution satisfactory to the short-lived majority. For their senior trustee to speak soberly of his fear that the Families might be exterminated-hunted down and killed-stirred up in each one the ghost they never mentioned.

ККККК "Well," Lazarus said briskly when the silence had grown painful, "before we work this idea over, let's hear what other plan anyone has to offer. Speak up."

ККККК A messenger hurried in and spoke to Zaccur Barstow. He looked startled and seemed to ask to have the message repeated. He then hurried across the rostrum to Lazarus, whispered to him. Lazarus looked startled. Barstow hurried out.

ККККК Lazarus looked back at the crowd. "We'll take a recess," he announced. "Give you time to think about other plans and time for a stretch and a smoke." He reached for his pouch.

ККККК "What's up?" someone called out.

ККККК Lazarus struck a cigarette, took a long drag, let it drift out. "We'll have to wait and see," he said. "I don't know. But at least half a dozen of the plans put forward tonight we won't have to bother to vote on. The situation has changed again-how much, I couldn't say."

ККККК "What do you mean?"

ККККК "Well," Lazarus drawled, "it seems the Federation Administrator wanted to talk to Zack Barstow right away. He asked for him by name . . . and he called over our secret Families' circuit."

ККККК "Huh? That's impossible!"

ККККК "Yep. So is a baby, son."

Chapter 4

ККККК ZACCUR BARSTOW TRIED to quiet himself down as he hurried into the phone booth.

ККККК At the other end of the same videophone circuit the Honorable Slayton Ford was doing the same thing-trying to calm his nerves. He did not underrate himself. A long and brilliant public career crowned by years as Administrator for the Council and under the Covenant of the Western Administration had made Ford aware of his own superior ability and unmatched experience; no ordinary man could possibly make him feel at a disadvantage in negotiation.

ККККК But this was different.

ККККК What would a man be like who had lived more than two ordinary lifetimes? Worse than that-a man who had had four or five times the adult experience that Ford himself had had? Slayton Ford knew that his own opinions had changed and changed again since his own boyhood; he knew that the boy he had been, or even the able young man he had been, would be no match for the mature man he had become. So what would this Barstow be like? Presumably he was the most able, the most astute, of a group all of whom had had much more experience than Ford could possibly have-how could he guess such a man's evaluations, intentions, ways of thinking, his possible resources?

ККККК Ford was certain of only one thing: he did not intend to trade Manhattan Island for twenty-four dollars and a case of whisky, nor sell humanity's birthright for a mess of pottage.

ККККК He studied Barstow's face as the image appeared in his phone. A good face and strong . . . it would be useless to try to bully this man. And the man looked young-why, he looked younger than Ford himself! The subconscious image of the Administrator's own stern and implacable grandfather faded out of his mind and his tension eased off. He said quietly, "You are Citizen Zaccur Barstow?"

ККККК "Yes, Mister Administrator."

ККККК "You are chief executive of the Howard Families?"

ККККК "I am the current speaker trustee of our Families' Foundation. But I am responsible to my cousins rather than in authority over them."

ККККК Ford brushed it aside. "I assume that your position carries with it leadership. I can't negotiate with a hundred thousand people."

ККККК Barstow did not blink. He saw the power play in the sudden admission that the administration knew the true numbers of the Families and discounted it. He had already adjusted himself to the shock of learning that the Families' secret headquarters was no longer secret and the still more upsetting fact that the Administrator knew how to tap into their private communication system; it simply proved that one or more Members had been caught and forced to talk.

ККККК So it was now almost certain that the authorities already knew every important fact about the Families.

ККККК Therefore it was useless to try to bluff-just the same, don't volunteer any information; they might not have all the facts this soon.

ККККК Barstow answered without noticeable pause. "What is it you wish to discuss with me, sir?"

ККККК "The policy of the Administration toward your kin group. The welfare of yourself and your relatives."

ККККК Barstow shrugged. "What can we discuss? The Covenant has been tossed aside and you have been given power to do as you like with us-to squeeze a secret out of us that we don't have. What can we do but pray for mercy?"

ККККК "Please!" The Administrator gestured his annoyance. "Why fence with me? We have a problem, you and I. Let's discuss it openly and try to reach a solution. Yes?"

ККККК Barstow answered slowly, "I would like to . . . and I believe that you would like to, also. But the problem is based on a false assumption, that we, the Howard Families, know how to lengthen human life. We don't."

ККККК "Suppose I tell you that I know there is no such secret?"

ККККК "Mmm . . . I would like to believe you. But how can you reconcile that with the persecution of my people? You've been harrying us like rats."

ККККК Ford made a wry face. "There is an old, old story about a theologian who was asked to reconcile the doctrine of Divine mercy with the doctrine of infant damnation. 'The Almighty,' he explained, 'finds it necessary to do things in His official and public capacity which in His private and personal capacity He deplores.'"

ККККК Barstow smiled in spite of himself. "I see the analogy. Is it actually pertinent?"

ККККК "I think it is."

ККККК "So. You didn't call me simply to make a headsman's apology?"

ККККК "No. I hope not. You keep in touch with politics? I'm sure you must; your position would require it." Barstow nodded; Ford explained at length:

ККККК Ford's administration had been the longest since the signing of the Covenant; he had lasted through four Councils. Nevertheless his control was now so shaky that he could not risk forcing a vote of confidence-certainly not over the Howard Families. On that issue his nominal majority was already a minority. If he refused the present decision of the Council, forced it to a vote of confidence, Ford would be out of office and the present minority leader would take over as administrator. "You follow me? I can either stay in office and try to cope with this problem while restricted by a Council directive with which I do not agree . . . or I can drop out and let my successor handle it."

ККККК "Surely you're not asking my advice?"

ККККК "No, no! Not on that. I've made my decision. The Action-in-Council would have been carried out in any case, either by me or by Mr. Vanning-so I decided to do it. The question is: will I have your help, or will I not?"

ККККК Barstow hesitated, while rapidly reviewing Ford's political career in his mind. The earlier part of Ford's long administration had been almost a golden age of statesmanship. A wise and practical man, Ford had shaped into workable rules the principles of human freedom set forth by Novak in the language of the Covenant. It had been a period of good will, of prosperous expansion, of civilizing processes which seemed to be permanent, irreversible.

ККККК Nevertheless a setback had come and Barstow understood the reasons at least as well as Ford did. Whenever the citizens fix their attention on one issue to the exclusion of others, the situation is ripe for scalawags, demagogues, ambitious men on horseback. The Howard Families, in all innocence, had created the crisis in public morals from which they now suffered, through their own action, taken years earlier, in letting the short-lived learn of their existence. It mattered not at all that the "secret" did not exist; the corrupting effect did exist. Ford at least understood the true situation- "We'll help," Barstow answered suddenly. "Good. What do you suggest?"

ККККК Barstow chewed his lip. "Isn't there some way you can stall off this drastic action, this violation of the Covenant itself?"

ККККК Ford shook his head. "It's too late."

ККККК "Even if you went before the public and told the citizens, face to face, that you knew that-"

ККККК Ford cut him short. "I wouldn't last in office long enough to make the speech. Nor would I be believed. Besides that- understand me clearly, Zaccur Barstow-no matter what sympathy I may have personally for you and your people, I would not do so if I could. This whole matter is a cancer eating into vitals of our society; it must be settled. I have had my hand forced, true . . . but there is no turning back. It must be pressed on to a solution."

ККККК In at least one respect Barstow was a wise man; he knew that another man could oppose him and not be a villain. Nevertheless he protested, "My people are being persecuted."

ККККК "Your people," Ford said forcefully, "are a fraction of a tenth of one per cent of all the people . . . and I must find a solution for all! I've called on you to find out if you have any suggestions toward a solution for everyone. Do you?"

ККККК "I'm not sure," Barstow answered slowly. "Suppose I concede that you must go ahead with this ugly business of arresting my people, of questioning them by unlawful means-I suppose I have no choice about that-"

ККККК "You have no choice. Neither have I." Ford frowned. "It will be carried out as humanely as I can manage it-I am not a free agent."

ККККК "Thank you. But, even though you tell me it would be useless for you yourself to go to the people, nevertheless you have enormous propaganda means at your disposal. Would it be possible, while we stall along, to build up a campaign to convince the people of the true facts? Prove to them that there is no secret?" Ford answered, "Ask yourself: will it work?"

ККККК Barstow sighed. "Probably not."

ККККК "Nor would I consider it a solution even if it would! The people-even my trusted assistants-are clinging to their belief in a fountain of youth because the only alternative is too bitter to think about. Do you know what it would mean to them? For them to believe the bald truth?"

ККККК "Go on?'

ККККК "Death has been tolerable to me only because Death has been the Great Democrat, treating all alike. But now Death plays favorites. Zaccur Barstow, can you understand the bitter, bitter jealousy of the ordinary man of-oh, say 'fifty'- who looks on one of your sort? Fifty years . . . twenty of them he is a child, he is well past thirty before he is skilled in his profession. He is forty before he is established and respected. For not more than the last ten years of his fifty he has really amounted to something."

ККККК Ford leaned forward in the screen and spoke with sober emphasis: "And now, when he has reached his goal, what is his prize? His eyes are failing him, his bright young strength is gone, his heart and wind are 'not what they used to be.' He is not senile yet . . . but he feels the chill of the first frost. He knows what is in store for him. He knows-he knows!

ККККК "But it was inevitable and each man learned to be resigned to it."

ККККК "Now you come along," Ford went on bitterly. "You shame him in his weakness, you humble him before his children. He dares not plan for the future; you blithely undertake plans that will not mature for fifty years-for a hundred. No matter what success he has achieved, what excellence he has attained, you will catch up with him, pass him-outlive him. In his weakness you are kind to him.

ККККК "Is it any wonder that he hates you?"

ККККК Barstow raised his head wearily. "Do you hate me, Slayton Ford?"

ККККК "No. No, I cannot afford to hate anyone. But I can tell you this," Ford added suddenly, "had there been a secret, I would have it out of you if I had to tear you to pieces!"

ККККК "Yes. I understand that." Barstow paused to think. "There is little that we of the Howard Families can do. We did not plan it this way; it was planned for us. But there is one thing we can offer."

ККККК "Yes?"

ККККК Barstow explained.

ККККК Ford shook his head. "Medically what you suggest is feasible and I have no doubt that a half interest in your heritage would lengthen the span of human life. But even if women were willing to accept the germ plasm of your men-I do not say that they would-it would be psychic death for all other men. There would be an outbreak of frustration and hatred that would split the human race to ruin. No, no matter what we wish, our customs are what they are. We can't breed men like animals; they won't stand for it."

ККККК "I know it," agreed Barstow, "but it is all we have to offer . . . a share in our fortune through artificial impregnation."

ККККК "Yes. I suppose I should thank you but I feel no thanks and I shan't. Now let's be practical. Individually you old ones are doubtless honorable, lovable men. But as a group you are as dangerous as carriers of plague. So you must be quarantined."

ККККК Barstow nodded. "My cousins and I had already reached that conclusion."

ККККК Ford looked relieved. "I'm glad you're being sensible about it."

ККККК "We can't help ourselves. Well? A segregated colony? Some remote place that would be a Coventry of our own? Madagascar, perhaps? Or we might take the British Isles, build them up again and spread from there into Europe as the radioactivity died down."

ККККК Ford shook his head. "Impossible. That would simply leave the problem for my grandchildren to solve. By that time you and yours would have grown in strength; you might defeat us. No, Zaccur Barstow, you and your kin must leave this planet entirely!"

ККККК Barstow looked bleak. "I knew it would come to that. Well where shall we go?"

ККККК "Take your choice of the Solar System. Anywhere you like."

ККККК "But where? Venus is no prize, but even if we chose it, would they accept us? The Venerians won't take orders from Earth; that was settled in 2020. Yes, they now accept screened immigrants under the Four Planets Convention but would they accept a hundred thousand whom Earth found too dangerous to keep? I doubt it."

ККККК "So do I. Better pick another planet."

ККККК "What planet? In the whole system there is not another body that will support human life as it is. It would take almost superhuman effort, even with unlimited money and the best of modern engineering, to make the most promising of them fit for habitation."

ККККК "Make the effort. We will be generous with help."

ККККК "I am sure you would. But is that any better solution in the long run than giving us a reservation on Earth? Are you going to put a stop to space travel?"

ККККК Ford sat up suddenly. "Oh! I see your thought. I had not followed it through, but let's face it. Why not? Would it not be better to give up space travel than to let this situation degenerate into open war? It was given up once before."

ККККК "Yes, when the Venerians threw off their absentee landlords. But it started up again and Luna City is rebuilt and ten times more tonnage moves through the sky than ever did before. Can you stop it? If you can, will it stay stopped?"

ККККК Ford turned it over and over in his mind. He could not stop space travel, no administration could. But could an interdict be placed on whatever planet these oldsters were shipped to? And would it help? One generation, two, three . . . what difference would it make? Ancient Japan had tried some solution like that; the foreign devils had come sailing in anyhow. Cultures could not be kept apart forever, and when they did come in contact, the hardier displaced the weaker; that was a natural law.

ККККК A permanent and effective quarantine was impossible. That left only one answer-an ugly one. But Ford was toughminded; he could accept what was necessary. He started making plans, Barstow's presence in the screen forgotten. Once he gave the Chief Provost the location of the Howard Families headquarters it should be reduced in an hour, two at the most unless they had extraordinary defenses-but anywise it was just a matter of time. From those who would be arrested at their headquarters it should be possible to locate and arrest every other member of their group. With luck he would have them all in twenty-four to forty-eight hours.

ККККК The only point left undecided in his mind was whether to liquidate them all, or simply to sterilize them. Either would be a final solution and there was no third solution. But which was the more humane?

ККККК Ford knew that this would end his career. He would leave office in disgrace, perhaps be sent to Coventry, but he gave it no thought; he was so constituted as to be unable to weigh his own welfare against his concept of his public duty.

ККККК Barstow could not read Ford's mind but he did sense that Ford had reached a decision and he surmised correctly how bad that decision must be for himself and his kin. Now was the time, he decided, to risk his one lone trump.

ККККК "Mister Administrator---"

ККККК "Eh? Oh, sorry! I was preoccupied." That was a vast understatement; he was shockingly embarrassed to find himself still facing a man he had just condemned to death. He gathered formality about him like a robe. "Thank you, Zaccur Barstow, for talking with me. I am sorry that-"

ККККК "Mister Administrator!"

ККККК "Yes?"

ККККК "I propose that you move us entirely out of the Solar System."

ККККК "What?" Ford blinked. "Are you speaking seriously?"

ККККК Barstow spoke rapidly, persuasively, explaining Lazarus Long's half-conceived scheme, improvising details as he went along, skipping over obstacles and emphasizing advantages.

ККККК "It might work," Ford at last said slowly. "There are difficulties you have not mentioned, political difficulties and a terrible hazard of time. Still, it might." He stood up. "Go back to your people. Don't spring this on them yet. I'll talk with you later."

ККККК Barstow walked back slowly while wondering what he could tell the Members. They would demand a full report; technically he had no right to refuse. But he was strongly inclined to cooperate with the Administrator as long as there was any chance of a favorable outcome. Suddenly making up his mind, he turned, went to his office, and sent for Lazarus.

ККККК "Howdy, Zack," Long said as he came in. "How'd the palaver go?"

ККККК "Good and bad," Barstow replied. "Listen-" He gave him a brief, accurate rЋsumЋ. "Can you go back in there and tell them something that will hold them?"

ККККК "Mmm . . . reckon so."

ККККК "Then do it and hurry back here."

ККККК They did not like the stall Lazarus gave them. They did not want to keep quiet and they did not want to adjourn the meeting. "Where is Zaccur?"-"We demand a report!"-"Why all the mystification?"

ККККК Lazarus shut them up with a roar. "Listen to me, you damned idiots! Zack'll talk when he's ready-don't joggle his elbow. He knows what he's doing."

ККККК A man near the back stood up. "I'm going home!"

ККККК "Do that," Lazarus urged sweetly. "Give my love to the proctors."

ККККК The man looked startled and sat down.

ККККК "Anybody else want to go home?" demanded Lazarus. "Don't let me stop you. But it's time you bird-brained dopes realized that you have been outlawed. The only thing that stands between you and the proctors is Zack Barstow's ability to talk sweet to the Administrator. So do as you like the meeting's adjourned."

ККККК "Look, Zack," said Lazarus a few minutes later, "let's get this straight. Ford is going to use his extraordinary powers to help us glom onto the big ship and make a getaway. Is that right?"

ККККК "He's practically committed to it."

ККККК "Hmmm- He'll have to do this while pretending to the Council that everything he does is just a necessary step in squeezing the 'secret' out of us-he's going to double-cross 'em. That right?"

ККККК "I hadn't thought that far ahead. I-"

ККККК "But that's true, isn't it?"

ККККК "Well . . . yes, it must be true."

ККККК "Okay. Now, is our boy Ford bright enough to realize what he is letting himself in for and tough enough to go through with it?"

ККККК Barstow reviewed what he knew of Ford and added his impressions from the interview. "Yes," he decided, "he knows and he's strong enough to face it."

ККККК "All right. Now how about you, pal? Are you up to it, too?" Lazarus' voice was accusing.

ККККК "Me? What do you mean?"

ККККК "You're planning on double-crossing your crowd, too, aren't you? Have you got the guts to go through with it when the going gets tough?"

ККККК "I don't understand you, Lazarus," Barstow answered worriedly. "I'm not planning to deceive anyone-at least, no member of the Families."

ККККК "Better look at your cards again," Lazarus went on remorselessly. "Your part of the deal is to see to it that every man, woman and child takes part in this exodus. Do you expect to sell the idea to each one of them separately and get a hundred thousand people to agree? Unanimously? Shucks, you couldn't get that many to whistle 'Yankee Doodle' unanimously."

ККККК "But they will have to agree," protested Barstow. "They have no choice. We either emigrate, or they hunt us down and kill us. I'm certain that is what Ford intends to do. And he will."

ККККК "Then why didn't you walk into the meeting and tell 'em that? Why did you send me in to give 'em a stall?"

ККККК Barstow rubbed a hand across his eyes. "I don't know."

ККККК "I'll tell you why," continued Lazarus. "You think better with your hunches than most men do with the tops of their minds. You sent me in there to tell 'em a tale because you knew damn well the truth wouldn't serve. If you told 'em it was get out or get killed, some would get panicky and some would get stubborn. And some old-woman-in-kilts would decide to go home and stand on his Covenant rights. Then he'd spill the scheme before it ever dawned on him that the government was playing for keeps. That's right, isn't it?"

ККККК Barstow shrugged and laughed unhappily. "You're right. I didn't have it figured out but you're absolutely right."

ККККК "But you did have it figured out," Lazarus assured him. "You had the right answers. Zack, I like your hunches; that's why I'm stringing along. All right, you and Ford are planning to pull a whizzer on every man jack on this globe-I'm asking you again: have you got the guts to see it through?"

Chapter 5

ККККК THE MEMBERS STOOD AROUND in groups, fretfully. "I can't understand it," the Resident Archivist was saying to a worried circle around her. "The Senior Trustee never interfered in my work before. But he came bursting into my office with that Lazarus Long behind him and ordered me out."

ККККК "What did he say?" asked one of her listeners.

ККККК "Well, I said, 'May I do you a service, Zaccur Barstow? and be said, 'Yes, you may. Get out and take your girls with you.' Not a word of ordinary courtesy!"

ККККК "A lot you've got to complain about," another voice added gloomily. It was Cecil Hedrick, of the Johnson Family, chief communications engineer. "Lazarus Long paid a call on me, and he was a damned sight less polite."

ККККК "What did he do?"

ККККК "He walks into the communication cell and tells me he is going to take over my board-Zaccur's orders. I told him that nobody could touch my burners but me and my operators, and anyhow, where was his authority? You know what he did? You won't believe it but he pulled a blaster on me."

ККККК "You don't mean it!"

ККККК "I certainly do. I tell you, that man is dangerous. He ought to go for psycho adjustment. He's an atavism if I ever sawККККК one."

ККККК Lazarus Long's face stared out of the screen into that of the Administrator. "Got it all canned?" he demanded.

ККККК Ford cut the switch on the facsimulator on his desk. "Got it all," he confirmed.

ККККК "Okay," the image of Lazarus replied. "I'm clearing." As the screen went blank Ford spoke into his interoffice circuit.

ККККК "Have the High Chief Provost report to me at once-in corpus."

ККККК The public safety boss showed up as ordered with an expression on his lined face in which annoyance struggled with discipline. He was having the busiest night of his career, yet the Old Man had sent orders to report in the flesh. What the devil were viewphones for, anyway, he thought angrily-and asked himself why he had ever taken up police work. He rebuked his boss by being coldly formal and saluting unnecessarily. "You sent for me, sir."

ККККК Ford ignored it. "Yes, thank you. Here." He pressed a stud a film spool popped out of the facsimulator. "This is a complete list of the Howard Families. Arrest them."

ККККК "Yes, sir." The Federation police chief stared at the spool and debated whether or not to ask how it had been obtained-it certainly hadn't come through his office . . . did the Old Man have an intelligence service he didn't even know about?

ККККК "It's alphabetical, but keyed geographically," the Administrator was saying. "After you put it through sorters, send the-no, bring the original back to me. You can stop the psycho interviews, too," he added. "Just bring them in and hold them. I'll give you more instructions later."

ККККК The High Chief Provost decided that this was not a good time to show curiosity. "Yes, sir." He saluted stiffly and left.

ККККК Ford turned back to his desk controls and sent word that he wanted to see the chiefs of the bureaus of land resources and of transportation control. On afterthought he added the chief of the bureau of consumption logistics.

ККККК Back in the Families' Seat a rump session of the trustees was meeting; Barstow was absent. "I don't like it," Andrew Weatherall was saying. "I could understand Zaccur deciding to delay reporting to the Members but I had supposed that he simply wanted to talk to us first. I certainly did expect him to consult us. What do you make of it, Philip?"

ККККК Philip Hardy chewed his lip. "I don't know. Zaccur's got a head on his shoulders . . . but it certainly seems to me that he should have called us together and advised with us. Has he spoken with you, Justin?"

ККККК "No, he has not," Justin Foote answered frigidly.

ККККК "Well, what should we do? We can't very well call him in and demand an accounting unless we are prepared to oust him from office and if he refuses. I, for one, am reluctant to do that."

ККККК They were still discussing it when the proctors arrived.

ККККК Lazarus heard the commotion and correctly interpreted it-no feat, since he had information that his brethren lacked. He was aware that he should submit peacefully and conspicuously to arrest-set a good example. But old habits die hard; he postponed the inevitable by ducking into the nearest men's 'fresher.

ККККК It was a dead end. He glanced at the air duct-no, too small. While thinking he fumbled in his pouch for a cigarette; his hand found a strange object, he pulled it out. It was the brassard he bad "borrowed" from the proctor in Chicago.

ККККК When the proctor working point of the mop-squad covering that wing of the Seat stuck his head into that 'fresher, he found another "proctor" already there. "Nobody in here," announced Lazarus. "I've checked it."

ККККК "How the devil did you get ahead of me?'

ККККК "Around your flank. Stoney Island Tunnel and through their air vents." Lazarus trusted that the real cop would be unaware that there was no Stoney Island Tunnel "Got a cigarette on you?"

ККККК "Huh? This is no time to catch a smoke."

ККККК "Shucks," said Lazarus, "my legate is a good mile away."

ККККК "Maybe so," the proctor replied, "but mine is right behind us."

ККККК "So? Well, skip it-I've got something to tell him anyhow." Lazarus started to move past but the proctor did not get out of his way. He was glancing curiously at Lazarus' kilt. Lazarus had turned it inside out and its blue lining made a fair imitation of a proctor's service uniform-if not inspected closely.

ККККК "What station did you say you were from?" inquired the proctor.

ККККК "This one," answered Lazarus and planted a short jab under the man's breastbone. Lazarus' coach in rough-and-tumble had explained to him that a solar plexus blow was harder to dodge than one to the jaw; the coach bad been dead since the roads strike of 1966, his skill lived on.

ККККК Lazarus felt more like a cop with a proper uniform kilt and a bandolier of paralysis bombs slung under his left arm. Besides, the proctor's kilt was a better fit. To the right the passage outside led to the Sanctuary and a dead end; he went to the left by Hobson's choice although he knew he would run into his unconscious benefactor's legate. The passage gave into a hall which was crowded with Members herded into a group of proctors. Lazarus ignored his kin and sought out the harassed officer in charge. "Sir," he reported, saluting smartly, "There's sort of a hospital back there. You'll need fifty or sixty stretchers."

ККККК "Don't bother me, tell your legate. We've got our hands full."

ККККК Lazarus almost did not answer; he had caught Mary Sperling's eye in the crowd-she stared at him and looked away. He caught himself and answered, "Can't tell him, sir. Not available."

ККККК "Well, go on outside and tell the first-aid squad."

ККККК "Yes, sir." He moved away, swaggering a little, his thumbs hooked in the band of his kilt. He was far down the passage leading to the transbelt tunnel serving the Waukegan outlet when he heard shouts behind him. Two proctors were running to overtake him.

ККККК Lazarus stopped in the archway giving into the transbelt tunnel and waited for them. "What's the trouble?' he asked easily as they came up.

ККККК "The legate--"began one. He got no further; a paralysis bomb tinkled and popped at his feet. He looked surprised as the radiations wiped all expression from his face; his mate fell across him.

ККККК Lazarus waited behind a shoulder of the arch, counted seconds up to fifteen: "Number one jet fire! Number two jet fire! Number three jet fire!"-added a couple to be sure the paralyzing effect had died away. He had cut it finer than he liked. He had not ducked quite fast enough and his left foot tingled from exposure.

ККККК He then checked. The two were unconscious, no one else was in sight. He mounted the transbelt. Perhaps they had not been looking for him in his proper person, perhaps no one had given him away. But he did not hang around to find out. One thing he was damn' well certain of, he told himself, if anybody had squealed on him, it wasn't Mary Sperling.

ККККК It took two more parabombs and a couple of hundred words of pure fiction to get him out into the open air. Once he was there and out of immediate observation the brassard and the remaining bombs went into his pouch and the bandolier ended up behind some bushes; he then looked up a clothing store in Waukegan.

ККККК He sat down in a sales booth and dialed the code for kilts. He let cloth designs flicker past in the screen while he ignored the persuasive voice of the catalogue until a pattern showed up which was distinctly unmilitary and not blue, whereupon he stopped the display and punched an order for his size. He noted the price, tore an open-credit voucher from his wallet, stuck it into the machine and pushed the switch. Then he enjoyed a smoke while the tailoring was done.

ККККК Ten minutes later he stuffed the proctor's kilt into the refuse hopper of the sales booth and left, nattily and loudly attired. He had not been in Waukegan the past century but he found a middle-priced autel without drawing attention by asking questions, dialed its registration board for a standard suite and settled down for seven hours of sound sleep.

ККККК He breakfasted in his suite, listening with half an ear to the news box; he was interested, in a mild way, in hearing what might be reported concerning the raid on the Families. But it was a detached interest; he had already detached himself from it in his own mind. It had been a mistake, he now realized, to get back in touch with the Families-a darn good thing he was clear of it all with his present public identity totally free of any connection with the whing-ding.

ККККК A phrase caught his attention: "-including Zaccur Barstow, alleged to be their tribal chief.

ККККК "The prisoners are being shipped to a reservation in Oklahoma, near the ruins of the Okla-Orleans road city about twenty-five miles east of Harriman Memorial Park. The Chief Provost describes it as a 'Little Coventry,' and has ordered all aircraft to avoid it by ten miles laterally. The Administrator could not be reached for a statement but a usually reliable source inside the administration informs us that the mass arrest was accomplished in order to speed up the investigations whereby the administration expects to obtain the 'Secret of the Howard Families'-their techniques for indefinitely prolonging life. This forthright action in arresting and transporting every member of the outlaw group is expected to have a salutary effect in breaking down the resistance of their leaders to the legitimate demands of society. It will bring home forcibly to them that the civil rights enjoyed by decent citizens must not be used as a cloak behind which to damage society as a whole.

ККККК "The chattels and holdings of the members of this criminal conspiracy have been declared subject to the Conservator General and will be administered by his agents during the imprisonment of-"

ККККК Lazarus switched it off. "Damnation!" he thought. "Don't fret about things you can't help." Of course, he had expected to be arrested himself . . . but he had escaped. That was that. It wouldn't do the Families any good for him to turn himself in-and besides, he owed the Families nothing, not a tarnation thing.

ККККК Anyhow, they were better off all arrested at once and quickly placed under guard. If they had been smelled out one at a time, anything could have happened-lynchings, even pogroms. Lazarus knew from hard experience how close under the skin lay lynch law and mob violence in the most sweetly civilized; that was why he had advised Zack to rig it-that and the fact that Zack and the Administrator had to have the Families in one compact group to stand a chance of carrying out their scheme. They were well off . . . and no skin off his nose.

ККККК But he wondered how Zack was getting along, and what he would think of Lazarus' disappearance. And what Mary Sperling thought-it must have been a shock to her when he turned up making a noise like a proctor. He wished he could straighten that out with her.

ККККК Not that it mattered what any of them thought. They would all either be light-years away very soon . . . or dead. A closed book.

ККККК He turned to the phone and called the post office. "Captain Aaron Sheffield," he announced, and gave his postal number. "Last registered with Goddard Field post office. Will you please have my mail sent to-" He leaned closer and read the code number from the suite's mail receptacle.

ККККК "Service," assented the voice of the clerk. "Right away, Captain."

ККККК "Thank you."

ККККК It would take a couple of hours, he reflected, for his mail to catch up with him-a half hour in trajectory, three times that in fiddle-faddle. Might as well wait here . . . no doubt the search for him had lost itself in the distance but there was nothing in Waukegan he wanted. Once the mail showed up he would hire a U-push-it and scoot down to--

ККККК To where? What was he going to do now?

ККККК He turned several possibilities over in his mind and came at last to the blank realization that there was nothing, from one end of the Solar System to the other, that he really wanted to do.

ККККК It scared him a little. He had once heard, and was inclined to credit, that a loss of interest in living marked the true turning point in the battle between anabolisim and catabolism-old age. He suddenly envied normal short-lived people-at least they could go make nuisances of themselves to their children. Filial affection was not customary among Members of the Families; it was not a feasible relationship to maintain for a century or more. And friendship, except between Members, was bound to be regarded as a passing and shallow matter. There was no one whom Lazarus wanted to see.

ККККК Wait a minute . . . who was that planter on Venus? The one who knew so many folk songs and who was so funny when he was drunk? He'd go look him up. It would make a nice hop and it would be fun, much as he disliked Venus.

ККККК Then he recalled with cold shock that he had not seen the man for-how long? In any case, he was certainly dead by now.

ККККК Libby had been right, he mused glumly, when he spoke of the necessity for a new type of memory association for the long-lived. He hoped the lad would push ahead with the necessary research and come up with an answer before Lazarus was reduced to counting on his fingers. He dwelt on the notion for a minute or two before recalling that he was most unlikely ever to see Libby again.

ККККК The mail arrived and contained nothing of importance. He was not surprised; he expected no personal letters. The spools of advertising went into the refuse chute; he read only one item, a letter from Pan-Terra Docking Corp. telling him that his convertible cruiser I Spy had finished her overhaul and had been moved to a parking dock, rental to start forthwith. As instructed, they had not touched the ship's astrogational controls-was that still the Captain's pleasure?

ККККК He decided to pick her up later in the day and head out into space. Anything was better than sitting Earthbound and admitting that he was bored.

ККККК Paying his score and finding a jet for hire occupied less than twenty minutes. He took off and headed for Goddard Field, using the low local-traffic level to avoid entering the control pattern with a flight plan. He was not consciously avoiding the police because he had no reason to think that they could be looking for "Captain Sheffield"; it was simply habit, and it would get him to Goddard Field soon enough.

ККККК But long before he reached there, while over eastern Kansas, he decided to land and did so.

ККККК He picked the field of a town so small as to be unlikely to rate a full-time proctor and there he sought out a phone booth away from the field. Inside it, he hesitated. How did you go about calling up the head man of the entire Federation-and get him? If he simply called Novak Tower and asked for Administrator Ford, he not only would not be put through to him but his call would be switched to the Department of Public Safety for some unwelcome inquiries, sure as taxes.

ККККК Well, there was only one way to beat that, and that was to call the Department of Safety himself and, somehow, get the Chief Provost on the screen-after that he would play by ear.

ККККК "Department of Civil Safety," a voice answered. "What service, citizen?"

ККККК "Service to you," he began in his best control-bridge voice. "I am Captain Sheffield. Give me the Chief." He was not overbearing; his manner simply assumed obedience.

ККККК Short silence-- "What is it about, please?"

ККККК "I said I was Captain Sheffield." This time Lazarus' voice showed restrained annoyance.

ККККК Another short pause-- "I'll connect you with Chief Deputy's office," the voice said doubtfully.

ККККК This time the screen came to life. "Yes?" asked the Chief Deputy, looking him over.

ККККК "Get me the Chief-hurry."

ККККК "What's it about?"

ККККК "Good Lord, man-get me the Chief! I'm Captain Sheffield!"

ККККК The Chief Deputy must be excused for connecting him; he had had no sleep and more confusing things had happened in the last twenty-four hours than he had been able to assimilate. When the High Chief Provost appeared in the screen, Lazarus spoke first. "Oh, there you are! I've had the damnedest time cutting through your red tape. Get me the Old Man and move! Use your closed circuit."

ККККК "What the devil do you mean? Who are you?"

ККККК "Listen, brother," said Lazarus in tones of slow exasperation, "I would not have routed through your damned hidebound department if I hadn't been in a jam. Cut me in to the Old Man. This is about the Howard Families."

ККККК The police chief was instantly alert. "Make your report."

ККККК "Look," said Lazarus in tired tones, "I know you would like to look over the Old Man's shoulder, but this isn't a good time to try. If you obstruct me and force me to waste two hours by reporting in corpus, I will. But the Old Man will want to know why and you can bet your pretty parade kit, I'll tell him."

ККККК The Chief Provost decided to take a chance-cut this character in on a three-way; then, if the Old Man didn't burn this joker off the screen in about three seconds, he'd know he had played safe and guessed lucky. If he did-well, you could always blame it on a cross-up in communications. He set the combo.

ККККК Administrator Ford looked flabbergasted when he recognized Lazarus in the screen. "You?' he exclaimed. "How on Earth--Did Zaccur Barstow--"

ККККК "Seal your circuit!" Lazarus cut in.

ККККК The Chief Provost blinked as his screen went dead and silent. So the Old Man did have secret agents outside theККККК department . . . interesting-and not to be forgotten.

ККККК Lazarus gave Ford a quick and fairly honest account of how he happened to be at large, then added, "So you see, I could have gone to cover and escaped entirely. In fact I still can. But I want to know this: is the deal with Zaccur Barstow to let us emigrate still on?"

ККККК "Yes, it is."

ККККК "Have you figured out how you are going to get a hundred thousand people inboard the New Frontiers without tipping your hand? You can't trust your own people, you know that."

ККККК "I know. The present situation is a temporary expedientККККК while we work it out."

ККККК "And I'm the man for the job. I've got to be, I'm the only agent on the loose that either one of you can afford to trust. Now listen-"

ККККК Eight minutes later Ford was nodding his head slowly and saying, "It might work. It might. Anyway, you start your preparations. I'll have a letter of credit waiting for you at Goddard."

ККККК "Can you cover your tracks on that? I can't flash a letter of credit from the Administrator; people would wonder."

ККККК "Credit me with some intelligence. By the time it reaches you it will appear to be a routine banking transaction."

ККККК "Sorry. Now how can I get through to you when I need to?"

ККККК "Oh, yes-note this code combination." Ford recited it slowly. "That puts you through to my desk without relay. No, don't write it down; memorize it."

ККККК "And how can I talk to Zack Barstow?

ККККК "Call me and I'll hook you in. You can't call him directly unless you can arrange a sensitive circuit."

ККККК "Even if I could, I can't cart a sensitive around with me. Well, cheerio-I'm clearing."

ККККК "Good luck!"

ККККК Lazarus left the phone booth with restrained haste and hurried back to reclaim his hired ship. He did not know enough about current police practice to guess whether or not the High Chief Provost had traced the call to the Administrator; he simply took it for granted because he himself would have done so in the Provosts' shoes. Therefore the nearest available proctor was probably stepping on his heels-time to move, time to mess up the trail a little.

ККККК He took off again and headed west, staying in the local, uncontrolled low level until he reached a cloud bank that walled the western horizon. He then swung back and cut air for Kansas City, staying carefully under the speed limit and flying as low as local traffic regulations permitted. At Kansas City he turned his ship in to the local U-push-it agency and flagged a ground taxi, which carried him down the controlway to Joplin. There he boarded a local jet bus from St. Louis without buying a ticket first, thereby insuring that his flight would not be recorded until the bus's trip records were turned in on the west coast.

ККККК Instead of worrying he spent the time making plans.

ККККК One hundred thousand people with an average mass of a hundred and fifty-no, make it a hundred and sixty pounds, Lazarus reconsidered-a hundred and sixty each made a load of sixteen million pounds, eight thousand tons. The I Spy could boost such a load against one gravity but she would be as logy as baked beans, It was out of the question anyhow; people did not stow like cargo; the I Spy could lift that dead weight-but "dead" was the word, for that was what they would be.

ККККК He needed a transport.

ККККК Buying a passenger ship big enough to ferry the Families from Earth up to where the New Frontiers hung in her construction orbit was not difficult; Four Planets Passenger Service would gladly unload such a ship at a fair price. Passenger trade competition being what it was, they were anxious to cut their losses on older ships no longer popular with tourists. But a passenger ship would not do; not only would there be unhealthy curiosity in what he intended to do with such a ship, but-and this settled it-he could not pilot it single-handed. Under the Revised Space Precautionary Act, passenger ships were required to be built for human control throughout on the theory that no automatic safety device could replace human judgment in an emergency.

ККККК It would have to be a freighter.

ККККК Lazarus knew the best place to find one. Despite efforts to make the Moon colony ecologically self-sufficient, Luna City still imported vastly more tonnage than she exported. On Earth this would have resulted in "empties coming back"; in space transport it was sometimes cheaper to let empties accumulate, especially on Luna where an empty freighter was worth more as metal than it had cost originally as a ship back Earthside.

ККККК He left the bus when it landed at Goddard City, went to the space field, paid his bills, and took possession of the I Spy, filed a request for earliest available departure for Luna. The slot he was assigned was two days from then, but Lazarus did not let it worry him; he simply went back to the docking company and indicated that he was willing to pay liberally for a swap, in departure time. In twenty minutes he had oral assurance that he could boost for Luna that evening.

ККККК He spent the remaining several hours in the maddening red tape of interplanetary clearance. He first picked up the letter of credit Ford had promised him and converted it into cash. Lazarus would have been quite willing to use a chunk of the cash to speed up his processing just as he had paid (quite legally) for a swap in slot with another ship. But he found himself unable to do so. Two centuries of survival had taught him that a bribe must be offered as gently and as indirectly as a gallant suggestion is made to a proud lady; in a very few minutes he came to the glum conclusion that civic virtue and public honesty could be run into the ground-the functionaries at Goddard Field seemed utterly innocent of the very notion of cumshaw, squeeze, or the lubricating effect of money in routine transactions. He admired their incorruptibility; he did not have to like it-most especially when filling out useless forms cost him the time he had intended to devote to a gourmet's feast in the Skygate Room.

ККККК He even let himself be vaccinated again rather than go back to the I Spy and dig out the piece of paper that showed he had been vaccinated on arrival Earthside a few weeks earlier.

ККККК Nevertheless, twenty minutes before his revised slot time, he lay at the controls of the I Spy, his pouch bulging with stamped papers and his stomach not bulging with the sandwich he had managed to grab. He had worked out the "Hohmann's-S" trajectory he would use; the results had been fed into the autopilot. All the lights on his board were green save the one which would blink green when field control started his count down. He waited in the warm happiness that always filled him when about to boost.

ККККК A thought hit him and he raised up against his straps. Then he loosened the chest strap and sat up, reached for his copy of the current Terra Pilot and Traffic Hazards Supplement. Mmm...

ККККК New Frontiers hung in a circular orbit of exactly twenty-four hours, keeping always over meridian 106 degrees west at declination zero at a distance from Earth center of approximately twenty-six thousand miles.

ККККК Why not pay her a call, scout out the lay of the land?

ККККК The I Spy, with tanks topped off and cargo spaces empty, had many mile-seconds of reserve boost. To be sure, the field had cleared him for Luna City, not for the interstellar ship . . . but, with the Moon in its present phase, the deviation from his approved flight pattern would hardly show on a screen, probably would not be noticed until the film record was analyzed at some later time-at which time Lazarus would receive a traffic citation, perhaps even have his license suspended. But traffic tickets had never worried him . . . and it was certainly worthwhile to reconnoitre.

ККККК He was already setting up the problem in his ballistic calculator. Aside from checking the orbit elements of the New Frontiers in the Terra Pilot Lazarus could have done it in his sleep; satellite-matching maneuvers were old hat for any pilot and a doubly-tangent trajectory for a twenty-four hour orbit was one any student pilot knew by heart.

ККККК He fed the answers into his autopilot during the count down, finished with three minutes to spare, strapped himself down again and relaxed as the acceleration hit him. When the ship went into free fall, he checked his position and vector via the field's transponder. Satisfied, he locked his board, set the alarm for rendezvous, and went to sleep.

Chapter 6

ККККК ABOUT FOUR HOURS LATER the alarm woke him. He switched it off; it continued to ring-a glance at his screen showed him why. The Gargantuan cylindrical body of the New Frontiers lay close aboard. He switched off the radar alarm circuit as well and completed matching with her by the seat of his pants, not bothering with the ballistic calculator. Before he had completed the maneuver the communications alarm started beeping. He slapped a switch; the rig hunted frequencies and the vision screen came to life. A man looked at him. "New Frontiers calling: what ship are you?"

ККККК "Private vessel I Spy, Captain Sheffield. My compliments to your commanding officer. May I come onboard to pay a call?"

ККККК They were pleased to have visitors. The ship was completed save for inspection, trials, and acceptance; the enormous gang which had constructed her had gone to Earth and there was no one aboard but the representatives of the Jordan Foundation and a half dozen engineers employed by the corporation which had been formed to build the ship for the foundation. These few were bored with inactivity, bored with each other, anxious to quit marking time and get back to the pleasures of Earth; a visitor was a welcome diversion.

ККККК When the I Spy's airlock had been sealed to that of the big ship, Lazarus was met by the engineer in charge-technically "captain" since the New Frontiers was a ship under way even though not under power. He introduced himself and took Lazarus on a tour of the ship. They floated through miles of corridors, visited laboratories, storerooms, libraries containing hundreds of thousands of spools, acres of hydroponic tanks for growing food and replenishing oxygen, and comfortable, spacious, even luxurious quarters for a crew colony of ten thousand people. "We believe that the Vanguard expedition was somewhat undermanned," the skipper-engineer explained. "The socio-dynamicists calculate that this colony will be able to maintain the basics of our present level of culture."

ККККК "Doesn't sound like enough," Lazarus commented. "Aren't there more than ten thousand types of specialization?"

ККККК "Oh, certainly! But the idea is to provide experts in all basic arts and indispensable branches of knowledge. Then, as the colony expands, additional specializations can be added through the aid of the reference libraries-anything from tap-dancing to tapestry weaving. That's the general idea though it's out of my line. Interesting subject, no doubt, for those who like it."

ККККК "Are you anxious to get started?" asked Lazarus.

ККККК The man looked almost shocked. "Me? D'you mean to suggest that I would go in this thing? My dear sir, I'm an engineer, not a damn' fool."

ККККК "Sorry."

ККККК "Oh, I don't mind a reasonable amount of spacing when there's a reason for it-I've been to Luna City more times than I can count and I've even been to Venus. But you don't think the man who built the Mayflower sailed in her, do you? For my money the only thing that will keep these people who signed up for it from going crazy before they get there is that it's a dead cinch they're all crazy before they start."

ККККК Lazarus changed the subject. They did not dally in the main drive space, nor in the armored cell housing the giant atomic converter, once Lazarus learned that they were unmanned, fully-automatic types. The total absence of moving parts in each of these divisions, made possible by recent developments in parastatics, made their inner workings of intellectual interest only, which could wait. What Lazarus did want to see was the control room, and there he lingered, asking endless questions until his host was plainly bored and remaining only out of politeness.

ККККК Lazarus finally shut up, not because he minded imposing on his host but because he was confident that he had learned enough about the controls to be willing to chance conning the ship.

ККККК He picked up two other important data before he left the ship: in nine Earth days the skeleton crew was planning a weekend on Earth, following which the acceptance trials would be held. But for three days the big ship would be empty, save possibly for a communications operator-Lazarus was too wary to be inquisitive on this point. But there would be no guard left in her because no need for a guard could be imagined. One might as well guard the Mississippi River.

ККККК The other thing he learned was how to enter the ship from the outside without help from the inside; he picked that datum up through watching the mail rocket arrive just as he was about to leave the ship.

ККККК At Luna City, Joseph McFee, factor for Diana Terminal Corp., subsidiary of Diana Freight Lines, welcomed Lazarus warmly. "Well! Come in, Cap'n, and pull up a chair. What'll you drink?" He was already pouring as he talked-tax-free paint remover from his own amateur vacuum still. "Haven't seen you in . . . well, too long. Where d'you raise from last and what's the gossip there? Heard any new ones?"

ККККК "From Goddard," Lazarus answered and told him what the skipper had said to the V.I.P. McFee answered with the one about the old maid in free fall, which Lazarus pretended not to have heard. Stories led to politics, and McFee expounded his notion of the "only possible solution" to the European questions, a solution predicated on a complicated theory of McFee's as to why the Covenant could not be extended to any culture below a certain level of industrialization. Lazarus did not give a hoot either way but he knew better than to hurry McFee; he nodded at the right places, accepted more of the condemned rocket juice when offered, and waited for the right moment to come to the point.

ККККК "Any company ships for sale now, Joe?"

ККККК "Are there? I should hope to shout. I've got more steel sitting out on that plain and cluttering my inventory than I've had in ten years. Looking for some? I can make you a sweet price."

ККККК "Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on whether you've got what I want."

ККККК "You name it, I've got it. Never saw such a dull market. Some days you can't turn an honest credit." McFee frowned. "You know what the trouble is? Well, I'll tell you-it's this Howard Families commotion. Nobody wants to risk any money until he knows where he stands. How can a man make plans when he doesn't know whether to plan for ten years or a hundred? You mark my words: if the administration manages to sweat the secret loose from those babies, you'll see the biggest boom in long-term investments ever. But if not well, long-term holdings won't be worth a peso a dozen and there will be an eat-drink-and-be-merry craze that will make the Reconstruction look like a tea party."

ККККК He frowned again. "What kind of metal you looking for?"

ККККК "I don't want metal, I want a ship."

ККККК McFee's frown disappeared, his eyebrows shot up. "So? What sort?"

ККККК "Can't say exactly. Got time to look 'em over with me?"

ККККК They suited up and left the dome by North Tunnel, then strolled around grounded ships in the long, easy strides of low gravity. Lazarus soon saw that just two ships had both the lift and the air space needed. One was a tanker and the better buy, but a mental calculation showed him that it lacked deck space, even including the floor plates of the tanks, to accommodate eight thousand tons of passengers. The other was an older ship with cranky piston-type injection meters, but she was fitted for general merchandise and had enough deck space. Her pay load was higher than necessary for the job, since passengers weigh little for the cubage they clutter-but that would make her lively, which might be critically important.

ККККК As for the injectors, he could baby them-he had herded worse junk than this.

ККККК Lazarus haggled with McFee over terms, not because he wanted to save money but because failure to do so would have been out of character. They finally reached a complicated three-cornered deal in which McFee bought the I Spy for himself, Lazarus delivered clear title to it unmortgaged and accepted McFee's unsecured note in payment, then purchased the freighter by endorsing McFee's note back to him and adding cash. McFee in turn would be able to mortgage the I Spy at the Commerce Clearance Bank in Luna City, use the proceeds plus cash or credit of his own to redeem his own paper-presumably before his accounts were audited, though Lazarus did not mention that.

ККККК It was not quite a bribe. Lazarus merely made use of the fact that McFee had long wanted a ship of his own and regarded the I Spy as the ideal bachelor's go-buggy for business or pleasure; Lazarus simply held the price down to where McFee could swing the deal. But the arrangements made certain that McFee would not gossip about the deal, at least until he had had time to redeem his note. Lazarus further confused the issue by asking McFee to keep his eyes open for a good buy in trade tobacco . . . which made McFee sure that Captain Sheffield's mysterious new venture involved Venus, that being the only major market for such goods. Lazarus got the freighter ready for space in only four days through lavish bonuses and overtime payments. At last he dropped Luna City behind him, owner and master of the City of Chillicothe. He shortened the name in his mind to Chili in honor of a favorite dish he had not tasted in a long time-fat red beans, plenty of chili powder, chunks of meat . . . real meat, not the synthetic pap these youngsters called "meat." HeККККК thought about it and his mouth watered. He had not a care in the world.

ККККК As he approached Earth, he called traffic control and asked for a parking orbit, as he did not wish to put the Chili down; it would waste fuel and attract attention. He had no scruples about orbiting without permission but there was a chance that the Chili might be spotted, charted, and investigated as a derelict during his absence; it was safer to be legal.

ККККК They gave him an orbit; he matched in and steadied down, then set the Chili's identification beacon to his own combination, made sure that the radar of the ship's gig could trip it, and took the gig down to the auxiliary small-craft field at Goddard. He was careful to have all necessary papers with him this time; by letting the gig be sealed in bond he avoided customs and was cleared through the space port quickly. He had no destination in mind other than to find a public phone and check in with Zack and Ford-then, if there was time, try to find some real chili. He had not called the Administrator from space because ship-to-ground required relay, and the custom of privacy certainly would not protect them if the mixer who handled the call overheard a mention of the Howard Families.

ККККК The Administrator answered his call at once, although it was late at night in the longitude of Novak Tower. From the puffy circles under Ford's eyes Lazarus judged that he had been living at his desk. "Hi," said Lazarus, "better get Zack Barstow on a three-way. I've got things to report."

ККККК "So it's you," Ford said grimly. "I thought you had run out on us. Where have you been?"

ККККК "Buying a ship," Lazarus answered. "As you knew. Let's get Barstow."

ККККК Ford frowned, but turned to his desk. By split screen, Barstow joined them. He seemed surprised to see Lazarus and not altogether relieved. Lazarus spoke quickly:

ККККК "What's the matter, pal? Didn't Ford tell you what I was up to?"

ККККК "Yes, he did," admitted Barstow, "but we didn't know where you were or what you were doing. Time dragged on and you didn't check in . . . so we decided we had seen the last of you."

ККККК "Shucks," complained Lazarus, "you know I wouldn't ever do anything like that. Anyhow, here I am and here's what I've done so far-" He told them of the Chili and of his reconnaissance of the New Frontiers. "Now here's how I see it: sometime this weekend, while the New Frontiers is sitting out there with nobody inboard her, I set the Chili down in the prison reservation, we load up in a hurry, rush out to the New Frontiers, grab her, and scoot. Mr. Administrator, that calls for a lot of help from you. Your proctors will have to look the other way while I land and load. Then we need to sort of slide past the traffic patrol. After that it would be a whole lot better if no naval craft was in a position to do anything drastic about the New Frontiers-if there is a communication watch left in her, they may be able to holler for help before we can silence them."

ККККК "Give me credit for some foresight," Ford answered sourly. "I know you will have to have a diversion to stand any chance of getting away with it. The scheme is fantastic at the best."

ККККК "Not too fantastic," Lazarus disagreed, "if you are willing to use your emergency powers to the limit at the last minute."

ККККК "Possibly. But we can't wait four days." "Why not?'

ККККК "The situation won't hold together that long."

ККККК "Neither will mine," put in Barstow.

ККККК Lazarus looked from one to the other. "Huh? What's the trouble? What's up?"

ККККК They explained:

ККККК Ford and Barstow were engaged in a preposterously improbable task, that of putting over a complex and subtle fraud; a triple fraud with a different face for the Families, for the public, and for the Federation Council. Each aspect presented unique and apparently insurmountable difficulties.

ККККК Ford had no one whom he dared take into his confidence, for even his most trusted personal staff member might be infected with the mania of the delusional Fountain of Youth . . . or might not be, but there was no way to know without compromising the conspiracy. Despite this, he had to convince the Council that the measures he was taking were the best for achieving the Council's purpose.

ККККК Besides that, he had to hand out daily news releases to convince the citizens that their government was just about to gain for them the "secret" of living forever. Each day the statements had to be more detailed, the lies more tricky. The people were getting restless at the delay; they were sloughing off the coat of civilization, becoming mob.

ККККК The Council was feeling the pressure of the people. Twice Ford had been forced to a vote of confidence; the second he had won by only two votes. "I won't win another one-we've got to move."

ККККК Barstow's troubles were different but just as sticky. He had to have confederates, because his job was to prepare all the hundred thousand members for the exodus. They had to know, before the time came to embark, if they were to leave quietly and quickly. Nevertheless he did not dare tell them the truth too soon because among so many people there were bound to be some who were stupid and stubborn . . . and it required just one fool to wreck the scheme by spilling it to the proctors guarding them.

ККККК Instead he was forced to try to find leaders who he could trust, convince them, and depend on them to convince others. He needed almost a thousand dependable "herdsmen" to be sure of getting his people to follow him when the time came. Yet the very number of confederates he needed was so great as to make certain that somebody would prove weak.

ККККК Worse than that, he needed other confederates for a still touchier purpose. Ford and he had agreed on a scheme, weak at best, for gaining time. They were doling out the techniques used by the Families in delaying the symptoms of senility under the pretense that the sum total of these techniques was the "secret." To put over this fraud Barstow had to have the help of the biochemists, gland therapists, specialists in symbiotics and in metabolism, and other experts among the Families, and these in turn had to be prepared for police interrogation by the Families' most skilled psychotechnicians . . . because they had to be able to put over the fraud even under the influence of babble drugs. The hypnotic false indoctrination required for this was enormously more complex than that necessary for a simple block against talking. Thus far the swindle had worked . . . fairly well. But the discrepancies became more hard to explain each day.

ККККК Barstow could not keep these matters juggled much longer. The great mass of the Families, necessarily kept in ignorance, were getting out of hand even faster than the public outside. They were rightfully angry at what had been done to them; they expected anyone in authority to do something about it-and do it now!

ККККК Barstow's influence over his kin was melting away as fast as that of Ford over the Council.

ККККК "It can't be four days," repeated Ford. "More like twelve hours . . . twenty-four at the outside. The Council meets again tomorrow afternoon."

ККККК Barstow looked worried. "I'm not sure I can prepare them in so short a time. I may have trouble getting them aboard."

ККККК "Don't worry about it," Ford snapped.

ККККК "Why not?"

ККККК "Because," Ford said bluntly, "any who stay behind will be dead-if they're lucky."

ККККК Barstow said nothing and looked away. It was the first time that either one of them had admitted explicitly that this was no relatively harmless piece of political chicanery but a desperate and nearly hopeless attempt to avoid a massacre and that Ford himself was on both sides of the fence.

ККККК "Well," Lazarus broke in briskly, "now that you boys have settled that, let's get on with it. I can ground the Chili in-" He stopped and estimated quickly where she would be in orbit, how long it would take him to rendezvous. "-well, by twenty-two Greenwich. Add an hour to play safe. How about seventeen o'clock Oklahoma time tomorrow afternoon? That's today, actually."

ККККК The other two seemed relieved. "Good enough," agreed Barstow. "I'll have them in the best shape I can manage."

ККККК "All right," agreed Ford, "if that's the fastest it can be done." He thought for a moment. "Barstow, I'll withdraw at once all proctors and government personnel now inside theККККК reservation barrier and shut you off. Once the gate contracts, you can tell them all."

ККККК "Right. I'll do my best."

ККККК "Anything else before we clear?" asked Lazarus. "Oh, yes-Zack, we'd better pick a place for me to land, or I may shorten a lot of lives with my blast."

ККККК "Uh, yes. Make your approach from the west. I'll rig a standard berth marker. Okay?"

ККККК "Okay."

ККККК "Not okay," denied Ford. "We'll have to give him a pilot beam to come in on."

ККККК "Nonsense," objected Lazarus. "I could set her down on top of the Washington Monument."

ККККК "Not this time, you couldn't. Don't be surprised at the weather."

ККККК As Lazarus approached his rendezvous with the Chili he signaled from the gig; the Chili's transponder echoed, to his relief-he had little faith in gear he had not personally overhauled and a long search for the Chili at this point would have been disastrous.

ККККК He figured the relative vector, gunned the gig, flipped, and gunned to brake-homed-in three minutes off estimate, feeling smug. He cradled the gig, hurried inside, and took her down.

ККККК Entering the stratosphere and circling two-thirds of the globe took no longer than he had estimated. He used part of the hour's leeway he had allowed himself by being very stingy in his maneuvers in order to spare the worn, obsolescent injection meters. Then he was down in the troposphere and making his approach, with skin temperatures high but not dangerously so. Presently he realized what Ford had meant about the weather. Oklahoma and half of Texas were covered with deep, thick clouds. Lazarus was amazed and somehow pleased; it reminded him of other days, when weather was something experienced rather than controlled. Life had lost some flavor, in his opinion, when the weather engineers had learned how to harness the elements. He hoped that their planet-if they found one!-would have some nice, lively weather.

ККККК Then he was down in it and too busy to meditate. In spite of her size the freighter bucked and complained. Whew! Ford must have ordered this little charivari the minute the time was set-and, at that, the integrators must have had a big low-pressure area close at hand to build on.

ККККК Somewhere a pattern controlman was shouting at him; he switched it off and gave all his attention to his approach radar and the ghostly images in the infra-red rectifier while comparing what they told him with his inertial tracker. The ship passed over a miles-wide scar on the landscape-the ruins of the Okla-Orleans Road City. When Lazarus had last seen it, it had been noisy with life. Of all the mechanical monstrosities the human race had saddled themselves with, he mused, those dinosaurs easily took first prize.

ККККК Then the thought was cut short by a squeal from his board; the ship had picked up the pilot beam.

ККККК He wheeled her in, cut his last jet as she scraped, and slapped a series of switches; the great cargo ports rumbled open and rain beat in.

ККККК Eleanor Johnson huddled into herself, half crouching against the storm, and tried to draw her cloak more tightly about the baby in the crook of her left arm. When the storm had first hit, the child had cried endlessly, stretching her nerves taut. Now it was quiet, but that seemed only new cause for alarm.

ККККК She herself had wept, although she had tried not to show it. In all her twenty-seven years she had never been exposed to weather like this; it seemed symbolic of the storm that had overturned her life, swept her away from her cherished first home of her own with its homey old-fashioned fireplace, its shiny service cell, its thermostat which she could set to the temperature she liked without consulting others-a tempest which had swept her away between two grim proctors, arrested like some poor psychotic, and landed her after terrifying indignities here in the cold sticky red clay of this Oklahoma field.

ККККК Was it true? Could it possibly be true? Or had she not yet borne her baby at all and this was another of the strange dreams she had while carrying it?

ККККК But the rain was too wetly cold, the thunder too loud; she could never have slept through such a dream. Then what the Senior Trustee had told them must be true, too-it had to be true; she had seen the ship ground with her own eyes, its blast bright against the black of the storm. She could no longer see it but the crowd around her moved slowly forward; it must in front of her. She was close to the outskirts of the crowd she would be one of the last to get aboard.

ККККК It was very necessary to board the ship-Elder Zaccur Barstow had told them with deep solemnness what lay in store for them if they failed to board. She had believed earnestness; nevertheless she wondered how it could possibly be true-could anyone be so wicked, so deeply and terribly wicked as to want to kill anyone as harmless and helpless as herself and her baby?

ККККК She was struck by panic terror-suppose there was no room left by the time she got up to the ship? She clutched her baby more tightly; the child cried again at the pressure.

ККККК A woman in the crowd moved closer and spoke to her "You must be tired. May I carry the baby for a while?"

ККККК "No. No, thank you. I'm all right." A flash of lightning showed the woman's face; Eleanor Johnson recognized her Elder Mary Sperling.

ККККК But the kindness of the offer steadied her. She knew now what she must do. If they were filled up and could take no more, she must pass her baby forward, hand to hand over the heads of the crowd. They could not refuse space to anything as little as her baby.

ККККК Something brushed her in the dark. The crowd was moving forward again.

ККККК When Barstow could see that loading would be finished in a few more minutes he left his post at one of the cargo doors and ran as fast as he could through the splashing sticky mud to the communications shack. Ford had warned him to give notice just before they raised ship; it was necessary to Ford's plan for diversion. Barstow fumbled with an awkward un-powered door, swung it open and rushed up. He set the private combination which should connect him directly to Ford's control desk and pushed the key.

ККККК He was answered at once but it was not Ford's face on the screen. Barstow burst out with, "Where is the Administrator? I want to talk with him," before he recognized the face in front of him.

ККККК It was a face well known to all the public-Bork Vanning, Leader of the Minority in the Council. "You're talking to the Administrator," Vanning said and grinned coldly. "The new Administrator. Now who the devil are you and why are you calling?"

ККККК Barstow thanked all gods, past and present, that recognition was onesided. He cut the connection with one unaimed blow and plunged out of the building.

ККККК Two cargo ports were already closed; stragglers were moving through the other two. Barstow hurried the last of them inside with curses and followed them, slammed pell-mell to the control room. "Raise ship!" he shouted to Lazarus. "Fast!"

ККККК "What's all the shoutin' fer?" asked Lazarus, but he was already closing and sealing the ports. He tripped the acceleration screamer, waited a scant ten seconds . . . and gave her power.

ККККК "Well," he said conversationally six minutes later, "I hope everybody was lying down. If not, we've got some broken bones on our hands. What's that you were saying?"

ККККК Barstow told him about his attempt to report to Ford.

ККККК Lazarus blinked and whistled a few bars of Turkey in the Straw. "It looks like we've run out of minutes. It does look like it." He shut up and gave his attention to his instruments, one eye on his ballistic track, one on radar-aft.

Chapter 7

ККККК LAZARUS HAD his hands full to jockey the Chili into just the right position against the side of the New Frontiers; the overstrained meters made the smaller craft skittish as a young horse. But he did it. The magnetic anchors clanged home; the gas-tight seals slapped into place; and their ears popped as the pressure in the Chili adjusted to that in the giant ship. Lazarus dived for the drop hole in the deck of the control room, pulled himself rapidly hand over hand to the port of contact, and reached the passenger lock of the New Frontiers to find himself facing the skipper-engineer.

ККККК The man looked at him and snorted. "You again, eh? Why the deuce didn't you answer our challenge? You can't lock onto us without permission; this is private property. What do you mean by it?"

ККККК "It means," said Lazarus, "that you and your boys are going back to Earth a few days early-in this ship."

ККККК "Why, that's ridiculous!"

ККККК "Brother," Lazarus said gently, his blaster suddenly growing out his left fist, "I'd sure hate to hurt you after you were so nice to me . . . but I sure will, unless you knuckle under awful quick."

ККККК The official simply stared unbelievingly. Several of his juniors had gathered behind him; one of them sunfished in the air, started to leave. Lazarus winged him in the leg, at low power; he jerked and clutched at nothing. "Now you'll have to take care of him," Lazarus observed.

ККККК That settled it. The skipper called together his men from the announcing system microphone at the passenger lock; Lazarus counted them as they arrived-twenty-nine, a figure he had been careful to learn on his first visit. He assigned two men to hold each of them. Then he took a look at the man he had shot.

ККККК "You aren't really hurt, bub," he decided shortly and turned to the skipper-engineer. "Soon as we transfer you, get some radiation salve on that burn. The Red Cross kit's on the after bulkhead of the control room."

ККККК "This is piracy! You can't get away with this."

ККККК "Probably not," Lazarus agreed thoughtfully. "But I sort of hope we do." He turned his attention back to his job. "Shake it up there! Don't take all day."

ККККК The Chili was slowly being emptied. Only the one exit could be used but the pressure of the half hysterical mob behind them forced along those in the bottleneck of the trunk joining the two ships; they came boiling out like bees from a disturbed hive.

ККККК Most of them had never been in free fall before this trip; they burst out into the larger space of the giant ship and drifted helplessly, completely disoriented. Lazarus tried to bring order into it by grabbing anyone he could see who seemed to be able to handle himself in zero gravity, ordered him to speed things up by shoving along the helpless ones-shove them anywhere, on back into the big ship, get them out of the way, make room for the thousands more yet to come. When he had conscripted a dozen or so such herdsmen he spotted Barstow in the emerging throng, grabbed him and put him in charge. "Keep 'em moving, just anyhow. I've got to get for'ard to the control room. If you spot Andy Libby, send him after me."

ККККК A man broke loose, from the stream and approached Barstow. "There's a ship trying to lock onto ours. I saw it through a port."

ККККК "Where?" demanded Lazarus.

ККККК The man was handicapped by slight knowledge of ships and shipboard terms, but he managed to make himself understood. "I'll be back," Lazarus told Barstow. "Keep 'em moving-and don't let any of those babies get away-our guests there." He holstered his blaster and fought his way back through the swirling mob in the bottleneck.

ККККК Number three port seemed to be the one the man had meant. Yes, there was something there. The port had an armor-glass bull's-eye in it, but instead of stars beyond Lazarus saw a lighted space. A ship of some sort had locked against it.

ККККК Its occupants either had not tried to open the Chili's port or just possibly did not know how. The port was not locked from the inside; there had been no reason to bother. It should have opened easily from either side once pressure was balanced . . . which the tell-tale, shining green by the latch, showed to be the case.

ККККК Lazarus was mystified.

ККККК Whether it was a traffic control vessel, a Naval craft, or something else, its presence was bad news. But why didn't, they simply open the door and walk in? He was tempted to lock the port from the inside, hurry and lock all the others, finish loading and try to run for it.

ККККК But his monkey ancestry got the better of him; he could not leave alone something he did not understand. So he compromised by kicking the blind latch into place that would keep them from opening the port from outside, then slithered cautiously alongside the bull's-eye and sneaked a peep with one eye.

ККККК He found himself staring at Slayton Ford.

ККККК He pulled himself to one side, kicked the blind latch open, pressed the switch to open the port. He waited there, a toe caught in a handihold, blaster in one hand, knife in the other.

ККККК One figure emerged. Lazarus saw that it was Ford, pressed the switch again to close the port, kicked the blind latch into place, while never taking his blaster off his visitor. "Now what the hell?" he demanded. "What are you doing here? And who else is here? Patrol?"

ККККК "I'm alone."

ККККК "Huh?"

ККККК "I want to go with you . . . if you'll have me."

ККККК Lazarus looked at him and did not answer. Then he went back to the bull's-eye and inspected all that he could see. Ford appeared to be telling the truth, for no one else was in sight. But that was not what held Lazarus' eye.

ККККК Why the ship wasn't a proper deep-space craft at all. It did not have an air1ock but merely a seal to let it fasten to a larger ship; Lazarus was staring right into the body of the craft. It looked like-yes, it was a "Joy-boat Junior," a little private strato-yacht, suitable only for point-to-point trajectory, or at the most for rendezvous with a satellite provided the satellite could refuel it for the return leg.

ККККК There was no fuel for it here. A lightning pilot possibly could land that tin toy without power and still walk away from it provided he had the skill to play Skip-to-M'Lou in and out of the atmosphere while nursing his skin temperatures-but Lazarus wouldn't want to try it. No, sir! He turned to Ford. "Suppose we turned you down. How did you figure on getting back?"

ККККК "I didn't figure on it," Ford answered simply.

ККККК "Mmm-- Tell me about it, but make it march; we're minus on minutes."

ККККК Ford had burned all bridges. Turned out of office only hours earlier, he had known that, once all the facts came out, life-long imprisonment in Coventry was the best he could hope for-if he managed to avoid mob violence or mindshattering interrogation.

ККККК Arranging the diversion was the thing that finally lost him his thin margin of control. His explanations for his actions were not convincing to the Council. He had excused the storm and the withdrawing of proctors from the reservation as a drastic attempt to break the morale of the Families-a possible excuse but not too plausible. His orders to Naval craft, intended to keep them away from the New Frontiers, had apparently not been associated in anyone's mind with the Howard Families affair; nevertheless the apparent lack of sound reason behind them had been seized on by the opposition as another weapon to bring him down. They were watching for anything to catch him out-one question asked in Council concerned certain monies from the Administrator's discretionary fund which had been paid indirectly to one Captain Aaron Sheffield; were these monies in fact expended in the public interest?

ККККК Lazarus' eyes widened. "You mean they were onto me?"

ККККК "Not quite. Or you wouldn't be here. But they were close behind you. I think they must have had help from a lot of my people at the last."

ККККК "Probably. But we made it, so let's not fret. Come on. The minute everybody is out of this ship and into the big girl, we've got to boost." Lazarus turned to leave.

ККККК "You're going to let me go along?"

ККККК Lazarus checked his progress, twisted to face Ford. "How else?" He had intended at first to send Ford down in the Chili. It was not gratitude that changed his mind, but respect. Once he had lost office Ford had gone straight to Huxley Field north of Novak Tower, cleared for the vacation satellite Monte Carlo, and had jumped for the New Frontiers instead. Lazarus liked that. "Go for broke" took courage and character that most people didn't have. Don't grab a toothbrush, don't wind the cat-just do it! "Of course you're coming along," he said easily: "You're my kind of boy, Slayton."

ККККК The Chili was more than half emptied now but the spaces near the interchange were still jammed with frantic mobs. Lazarus cuffed and shoved his way through, trying not to bruise women and children unnecessarily but not letting the possibility slow him up. He scrambled through the connecting trunk with Ford hanging onto his belt, pulled aside once they were through and paused in front of Barstow.

ККККК Barstow stared past him. "Yeah, it's him," Lazarus confirmed. "Don't stare-it's rude. He's going with us. Have you seen Libby?"

ККККК "Here I am, Lazarus." Libby separated himself from the throng and approached with the ease of a veteran long used to free fall. He had a small satchel strapped to one wrist.

ККККК "Good. Stick around. Zack, how long till you're all loaded?"

ККККК "God knows. I can't count them. An hour, maybe."

ККККК "Make it less. If you put some husky boys on each side of the hole, they can snatch them through faster than they are coming. We've got to shove out of here a little sooner than is humanly possible. I'm going to the control room. Phone me there the instant you have everybody in, our guests here out, and the Chili broken loose. Andy! Slayton! Let's go."

ККККК "Later, Andy. We'll talk when we get there?'

ККККК Lazarus took Slayton Ford with him because he did not know what else to do with him and felt it would be better to keep him out of sight until some plausible excuse could be dreamed up for having him along. So far no one seemed to have looked at him twice, but once they quieted down, Ford's well-known face would demand explanation.

ККККК The control room was about a half mile forward of where they had entered the ship. Lazarus knew that there was a passenger belt leading to it but he didn't have time to look for it; he simply took the first passageway leading forward. As soon as they got away from the crowd they made good time even though Ford was not as skilled in the fishlike maneuvers of free fall as were the other two.

ККККК Once there, Lazarus spent the enforced wait in explaining to Libby the extremely ingenious but unorthodox controls of the starship. Libby was fascinated and soon was putting himself through dummy runs. Lazarus turned to Ford. "How about you, Slayton? Wouldn't hurt to have a second relief pilot."

ККККК Ford shook his head. "I've been listening but I could never learn it. I'm not a pilot"

ККККК "Huh? How did you get here?"

ККККК "Oh. I do have a license, but I haven't had time to keep in practice. My chauffeur always pilots me. I haven't figured a trajectory in many years."

ККККК Lazarus looked him over. "And yet you plotted an orbit rendezvous? With no reserve fuel?"

ККККК "Oh, that. I had to."

ККККК "I see. The way the cat learned to swim. Well, that's one way." He turned back to speak to Libby, was interrupted by Barstow's voice over the announcing system:

ККККК "Five minutes, Lazarus! Acknowledge."

ККККК Lazarus found the microphone, covered the light under it with his hand and answered, "Okay, Zack! Five minutes." Then he said, "Cripes, I haven't even picked a course. What do you think, Andy? Straight out from Earth to shake the busies off our tail? Then pick a destination? How about it, Slayton? Does that fit with what you ordered Navy craft to do? "No, Lazarus, no!" protested Libby. "Huh? Why not?"

ККККК "You should head right straight down for the Sun."

ККККК "For the Sun? For Pete's sake, why?"

ККККК "I tried to tell you when I first saw you. It's because of the space drive you asked me to develop."

ККККК "But, Andy, we haven't got it."

ККККК "Yes, we have. Here." Libby shoved the satchel he had been carrying toward Lazarus.

ККККК Lazarus opened it.

ККККК Assembled from odd bits of other equipment, looking more like the product of a boy's workshop than the output of a scientist's laboratory, the gadget which Libby referred to as a "space drive" underwent Lazarus' critical examination. Against the polished sophisticated perfection of the control room it looked uncouth, pathetic, ridiculously inadequate.

ККККК Lazarus poked at it tentatively. "What is it?' he asked. "Your model?"

ККККК "No, no. That's it. That's the space drive."

ККККК Lazarus looked at the younger man not unsympathetically. "Son," he asked slowly, "have you come unzipped?"

ККККК "No, no, no!" Libby sputtered. "I'm as sane as you are. This is a radically new notion. That's why I want you to take us down near the Sun. If it works at all, it will work best where light pressure is strongest."

ККККК "And if it doesn't work," inquired Lazarus, "what does that make us? Sunspots?"

ККККК "Not straight down into the Sun. But head for it now and as soon as I can work out the data, I'll give you corrections to warp you into your proper trajectory. I want to pass the Sun in a very fiat hyperbola, well inside the orbit of Mercury, as close to the photosphere as this ship can stand. I don't know how close that is, so I couldn't work it out ahead of time. But the data will be here in the ship and there will be time to correlate them as we go."

ККККК Lazarus looked again at the giddy little cat's cradle of apparatus. "Andy . . . if you are sure that the gears in your head are still meshed, I'll take a chance. Strap down, both of you." He belted himself into the pilot's couch and called Barstow. "How about it, Zack?" "Right now!"

ККККК "Hang on tight!" With one hand Lazarus covered a light in his leftside control panel; acceleration warning shrieked throughout the ship. With the other he covered another; the hemisphere in front of them was suddenly spangled with the starry firmament, and Ford gasped.

ККККК Lazarus studied it. A full twenty degrees of it was blanked out by the dark circle of the nightside of Earth. "Got to duck around a corner, Andy. We'll use a little Tennessee windage." He started easily with a quarter gravity, just enough to shake up his passengers and make them cautious, while he started a slow operation of precessing the enormous ship to the direction he needed to shove her in order to get out of Earth's shadow. He raised acceleration to a half gee, then to a gee.

ККККК Earth changed suddenly from a black silhouette to a slender silver crescent as the half-degree white disc of the Sun came out from behind her. "I want to clip her about a thousand miles out, Slipstick," Lazarus said tensely, "at two gees. Gimme a temporary vector." Libby hesitated only momentarily and gave it to him. Lazarus again sounded acceleration warning and boosted to twice Earth-normal gravity. Lazarus was tempted to raise the boost to emergency-full but he dared not do so with a shipload of groundlubbers; even two gees sustained for a long period might be too much of a strain for some of them. Any Naval pursuit craft ordered to intercept them could boost at much higher gee and their selected crews could stand it. But it was just a chance they would have to take . . . and anyhow, he reminded himself, a Navy ship could not maintain a high boost for long; her mile-seconds were strictly limited by her reaction-mass tanks.

ККККК The New Frontiers had no such old-fashioned limits, no tanks; her converter accepted any mass at all, turned it into pure radiant energy. Anything would serve-meteors, cosmic dust, stray atoms gathered in by her sweep field, or anything from the ship herself, such as garbage, dead bodies, deck sweepings, anything at all. Mass was energy. In dying, each tortured gram gave up nine hundred million trillion ergs of thrust. The crescent of Earth waxed and swelled and slid off toward the left edge of the hemispherical screen while the Sun remained dead ahead. A little more than twenty minutes later, when they were at closest approach and the crescent, now at half phase, was sliding out of the bowl screen, the ship-to-ship circuit came to life. "New Frontiers!" a forceful voice sounded. "Maneuver to orbit and lay to! This is an official traffic control order."

ККККК Lazarus shut it off. "Anyhow," he said cheerfully, "if they try to catch us, they won't like chasing us down into the Sun! Andy, it's a clear road now and time we corrected, maybe; You want to compute it? Or will you feed me the data?"

ККККК "I'll compute it," Libby answered. He had already discovered that the ship's characteristics pertinent to astrogation, including her "black body" behavior, were available at both piloting stations. Armed with this and with the running data from instruments he set out to calculate the hyperboloid by which he intended to pass the Sun. He made a half-hearted attempt to use the ship's ballistic calculator but it baffled him; it was a design he was not used to, having no moving parts of any sort, even in the exterior controls. So he gave it up as a waste of time and fell back on the strange talent for figures lodged in his brain. His brain had no moving parts, either, but he was used to it.

ККККК Lazarus decided to check on their popularity rating. He switched on the ship-to-ship again, found that it was still angrily squawking, although a little more faintly. They knew his own name now-one of his names-which caused him to decide that the boys in the Chili must have called traffic control almost at once. He tut-tutted sadly when he learned that "Captain Sheffield's" license to pilot had been suspended. He shut it off and tried the Naval frequencies . . . then shut them off also when he was able to raise nothing but code and scramble, except that the words "New Frontiers" came through once in clear.

ККККК He said something about "sticks and stones may break my bones-" and tried another line of investigation. Both by long-range radar and by paragravitic detector he could tell that there were ships in their neighborhood but this alone told him very little; there were bound to be ships this close to Earth and he had no easy way to distinguish, from these data alone, an unarmed liner or freighter about her lawful occasions from a Naval cruiser in angry pursuit.

ККККК But the New Frontiers had more resources for analyzing what was around her than had an ordinary ship; she had been specially equipped to cope unassisted with any imaginable strange conditions. The hemispherical control room in which they lay was an enormous multi-screened television receiver which could duplicate the starry heavens either in view-aft or view-forward at the selection of the pilot. But it also had other circuits, much more subtle; simultaneously or separately it could act as an enormous radar screen as well, displaying on it the blips of any body within radar range.

ККККК But that was just a starter. Its inhuman senses could apply differential analysis to doppler data and display the result in a visual analog. Lazarus studied his lefthand control bank, tried to remember everything be had been told about it, made a change in the set up.

ККККК The simulated stars and even the Sun faded to dimness; about a dozen lights shined brightly.

ККККК He ordered the board to check them for angular rate; the bright lights turned cherry red, became little comets trailing off to pink tails-all but one, which remained white and grew no tail. He studied the others for a moment, decided that their vectors were such that they would remain forever strangers, and ordered the board to check the line-of-sight doppler on the one with a steady bearing.

ККККК It faded to violet, ran halfway through the spectrum and held steady at blue-green. Lazarus thought a moment, subtracted from the inquiry their own two gees of boost; it turned white again. Satisfied he tried the same tests with view-aft.

ККККК "Lazarus-"

ККККК "Yeah, Lib?"

ККККК "Will it interfere with what you are doing if I give you the corrections now?"

ККККК "Not at all. I was just taking a look-see. If this magic lantern knows what it's talking about, they didn't manage to get a pursuit job on our tail in time."

ККККК "Good. Well, here are the figures . . ."

ККККК "Feed 'em in yourself, will you? Take the conn for a while. I want to see about some coffee and sandwiches. How about you? Feel like some breakfast?"

ККККК Libby nodded absent-mindedly, already starting to revise the ship's trajectory. Ford spoke up eagerly, the first word he had uttered in a long, time. "Let me get it. I'd be glad to." He seemed pathetically anxious to be useful.

ККККК "Mmm . . . you might get into some kind of trouble, Slayton. No matter what sort of a selling job Zack did, your name is probably 'Mud' with most of the members. I'll phone aft and raise somebody."

ККККК "Probably nobody would recognize me under these circumstances," Ford argued. "Anyway, it's a legitimate errand-I can explain that."

ККККК Lazarus saw from his face that it was necessary to the man's morale. "Okay . . . if you can handle yourself under two gees."

ККККК Ford struggled heavily up out of the acceleration couch he was in. "I've got space legs. What kind of sandwiches?"

ККККК "I'd say corned beef, but it would probably be some damned substitute. Make mine cheese, with rye if they've got it, and use plenty of mustard. And a gallon of coffee. What are you having, Andy?"

ККККК "Me? Oh, anything that is convenient,"

ККККК Ford started to leave, bracing himself heavily against double weight, then he added, "Oh-it might save time if you could tell me where to go." -

ККККК "Brother," said Lazarus, "if this ship isn't pretty well crammed with food, we've all made a terrible mistake. Scout around. You'll find some."

ККККК Down, down, down toward the Sun, with speed increasing by sixty-four feet per second for every second elapsed. Down and still down for fifteen endless hours of double weight. During this time they traveled seventeen million miles and reached the inconceivable speed of six hundred and forty miles per second. The figures mean little-think instead of New York to Chicago, a half hour's journey even by stratomail, done in a single heartbeat.

ККККК Barstow had a rough time during heavy weight. For all of the others it was a time to lie down, try hopelessly to sleep, breathe painfully and seek new positions in which to rest from the burdens of their own bodies. But Zaccur Barstow was driven by his sense of responsibility; he kept going though the Old Man of the Sea sat on his neck and raised his weight to three hundred and fifty pounds.

ККККК Not that he could do anything for them, except crawl wearily from one compartment to another and ask about their welfare. Nothing could be done, no organization to relieve their misery was possible, while high boost continued. They lay where they could, men, women, and children crowded together like cattle being shipped, without even room to stretch out, in spaces never intended for such extreme overcrowding.

ККККК The only good thing about it, Barstow reflected wearily, was that they were all too miserable to worry about anything but the dragging minutes. They were too beaten down to make trouble. Later on there would be doubts raised, he was sure, about the wisdom of fleeing; there would be embarrassing questions asked about Ford's presence in the ship, about Lazarus' peculiar and sometimes shady actions, about his own contradictory role. But not yet.

ККККК He really must, he decided reluctantly, organize a propaganda campaign before trouble could grow. If it did-and it surely would if he didn't move to offset it, and . . . well, that would be the last straw. It would be.

ККККК He eyed a ladder in front of him, set his teeth, and struggled up to the next deck. Picking his way through the bodies there he almost stepped on a woman who was clutching a baby too tightly to her. Barstow noticed that the infant was wet and soiled and he thought of ordering its mother to take care of the matter, since she seemed to be awake. But he let it go-so far as he knew there was not a clean diaper in millions of miles. Or there might be ten thousand of them on the deck above . . . which seemed almost as far away.

ККККК He plodded on without speaking to her. Eleanor Johnson had not been aware of his concern. After the first great relief at realizing that she and her baby were safe inside the ship she had consigned all her worries to her elders and now felt nothing but the apathy of emotional reaction and of inescapable weight. Baby had cried when that awful weight had hit them, then had become quiet, too quiet. She had roused herself enough to listen for its heartbeat; then, sure that he was alive, she had sunk back into stupor.

ККККК Fifteen hours out, with the orbit of Venus only four hours away, Libby cut the boost. The ship plunged on, in free fall, her terrific speed still mounting under the steadily increasing pull of the Sun. Lazarus was awakened by no weight. He glanced at the copilot's couch and said, "On the curve?"

ККККК "As plotted."

ККККК Lazarus looked him over. "Okay, I've got it. Now get out of here and get some sleep. Boy, you look like a used towel."

ККККК "I'll just stay here and rest."

ККККК "You will like hell. You haven't slept even when I had the com; if you stay here, you'll be watching instruments and figuring. So beat it! Slayton, chuck him out."

ККККК Libby smiled shyly and left. He found the spaces abaft the control room swarming with floating bodies but he managed to find an unused corner, passed his kilt belt through a handihold, and slept at once.

ККККК Free fall should have been as great a relief to everyone else; it was not, except to the fraction of one per cent who were salted spacemen. Free-fall nausea, likes seasickness, is a joke only to those not affected; it would take a Dante to describe a hundred thousand cases of it. There were anti-nausea drugs aboard, but they were not found at once; there were medical men among the Families, but they were sick, too. The misery went on.

ККККК Barstow, himself long since used to free flight, floated forward to the control room to pray relief for the less fortunate. "They're in bad shape," he told Lazarus. "Can't you put spin on the ship and give them some let-up? It would help a lot."

ККККК "And it would make maneuvering difficult, too. Sorry. Look, Zack, a lively ship will be more important to them in a pinch than just keeping their suppers down. Nobody dies from seasickness anyhow . . . they just wish they could."

ККККК The ship plunged on down, still gaining speed as it fell toward the Sun. The few who felt able continued slowly to assist the enormous majority who were ill.

ККККК Libby continued to sleep, the luxurious return-to-the-womb sleep of those who have learned to enjoy free fall. He had had almost no sleep since the day the Families had been arrested; his overly active mind had spent all its time worrying the problem of a new space drive.

ККККК The big ship precessed around him; he stirred gently and did not awake. It steadied in a new attitude and the acceleration warning brought him instantly awake. He oriented himself, placed himself flat against the after bulkhead, and waited; weight hit him almost at once-three gees this time and he knew that something was badly wrong. He had gone almost a quarter mile aft before he found a hide-away; nevertheless he struggled to his feet and started the unlikely task of trying to climb that quarter mile-now straight up-at three times his proper weight, while blaming himself for having let Lazarus talk him into leaving the control room.

ККККК He managed only a portion of the trip . . . but an heroic portion, one about equal to climbing the stairs of a ten-story building while carrying a man on each shoulder . . . when resumption of free fall relieved him. He zipped the rest of the way like a salmon returning home and was in the control room quickly. "What happened?"

ККККК Lazarus said regretfully, "Had to vector, Andy." Slayton Ford said nothing but looked worried.

ККККК "Yes, I know. But why?' Libby was already strapping himself against the copilot's couch while studying the astrogational situation.

ККККК "Red lights on the screen." Lazarus described the display, giving coordinates and relative vectors.

ККККК Libby nodded thoughtfully. "Naval craft. No commercial vessels would be in such trajectories. A minelaying bracket."

ККККК "That's what I figured. I didn't have time to consult you; I had to use enough mile-seconds to be sure they wouldn't have boost enough to reposition on us."

ККККК "Yes, you had to." Libby looked worried. "I thought we were free of any possible Naval interference."

ККККК "They're not ours," put in Slayton Ford. "They can't be ours no matter what orders have been given since I-uh, since I left. They must be Venerian craft."

ККККК "Yeah," agreed Lazarus, "they must be. Your pal, the new Administrator, hollered to Venus for help and they gave it to him-just a friendly gesture of interplanetary good will."

ККККК Libby was hardly listening. He was examining data and processing it through the calculator inside his skull. "Lazarus. . . this new orbit isn't too good."

ККККК "I know," Lazarus agreed sadly. "I had to duck . . . so I ducked the only direction they left open to me-closer to the Sun."

ККККК "Too close, perhaps."

ККККК The Sun is not a large star, nor is it very hot. But it is hot with reference to men, hot enough to strike them down dead if they are careless about tropic noonday ninety-two million miles away from it, hot enough that we who are reared under its rays nevertheless dare not look directly at it.

ККККК At a distance of two and a half million miles the Sun beats out with a flare fourteen hundred times as bright as the worst ever endured in Death Valley, the Sahara, or Aden. Such radiance would not be perceived as heat or light; it would be death more sudden than the full power of a blaster. The Sun is a hydrogen bomb, a naturally occurring one; the New Frontiers was skirting the limits of its circle of total destruction.

ККККК It was hot inside the ship. The Families were protected against instant radiant death by the armored walls but the air temperature continued to mount. They were relieved of the misery of free fall but they were doubly uncomfortable, both from heat and from the fact that the bulkheads slanted crazily; there was no level place to stand or lie, The ship was both spinning on its axis and accelerating now; it was never intended to do both at once and the addition of the two accelerations, angular and linear, met "down" the direction where outer and after bulkheads met. The ship was being spun through necessity to permit some of the impinging radiant energy to re-radiate on the "cold" side. The forward acceleration was equally from necessity, a forlorn-hope maneuver to pass the Sun as far out as possible and as fast as possible, in order to spend least time at perihelion, the point of closest approach.

ККККК It was hot in the control room. Even Lazarus had voluntarily shed his kilt and shucked down to Venus styles. Metal was hot to the touch. On the great stellarium screen an enormous circle of blackness marked where the Sun's disc should have been; the receptors had cut out automatically at such a ridicubus demand.

ККККК Lazarus repeated Libby's last words. "'Thirty-seven minutes to perihelion.' We can't take it, Andy. The ship can't take it."

ККККК "I know. I never intended us top this close."

ККККК "Of course you didn't. Maybe I shouldn't have maneuvered. Maybe we would have missed the mines anyway. Oh, well-" Lazarus squared his shoulders and filed it with the might-have-beens. "It looks to me, son, about time to try out your gadget." He poked a thumb at Libby's uncouth-looking "space drive." "You say that all you have to do is to hook up that one connection?"

ККККК "That is what is intended. Attach that one lead to any portion of the mass to be affected. Of course I don't really know that it will work," Libby admitted. "There is no way to test it."

ККККК "Suppose it doesn't?'

ККККК "There are three possibilities." Libby answered methodically. "In the first place, nothing may happen."

ККККК "In which case we fry."

ККККК "In the second place, we and the ship may cease to exist as mattei as we know it."

ККККК "Dead, you mean. But probably a pleasanter way."

ККККК "I suppose so. I don't know what death is. In the third place, if my hypotheses are correct, we will recede from the Sun at a speed just under that of light."

ККККК Lazarus eyed the gadget and wiped sweat from his shoulders. "It's getting hotter, Andy. Hook it up-and it has better be good!"

ККККК Andy hooked it up.

ККККК "Go ahead," urged Lazarus. "Push the button, throw the switch, cut the beam. Make it march."

ККККК "I have," Libby insisted. "Look at the Sun."

ККККК "Huh? Oh!"

ККККК The great circle of blackness which had marked the position of the Sun on the star-speckled stellarium was shrinking rapidly. In a dozen heartbeats it lost half its diameter; twenty seconds later it had dwindled to a quarter of its original width.

ККККК "It worked," Lazarus said softly. "Look at it, Slayton! Sign me up as a purple baboon-it worked!"

ККККК "I rather thought it would," Libby answered seriously. "It should, you know."

ККККК "Hmm- That may be evident to you, Andy. It's not to me. How fast are we going?"

ККККК "Relative to what?"

ККККК "Uh, relative to the Sun."

ККККК "I haven't had opportunity to measure it, but it seems to be just under the speed of light. It can't be greater."

ККККК "Why not? Aside from theoretical considerations."

ККККК "We still see." Libby pointed at the stellarium bowl.

ККККК "Yeah, so we do," Lazarus mused. "Hey! We shouldn't be able to. I ought to doppler out."

ККККК Libby looked blank, then smiled. "But it dopplers right back in. Over on that side, toward the Sun, we're seeing by short radiations stretched to visibility. On the opposite side we're picking up something around radio wavelengths dopplered down to light."

ККККК "And in between?"

ККККК "Quit pulling my leg, Lazarus. I'm sure you can work out relatively vector additions quite as well as I can."

ККККК "You work it out," Lazarus said firmly. "I'm just going to sit here and admire it. Eh, Slayton?"

ККККК "Yes. Yes indeed."

ККККК Libby smiled politely. "We might as well quit wasting mass on the main drive." He sounded the warner, then cut the drive. "Now we can return to normal conditions." He started to disconnect his gadget.

ККККК Lazarus said hastily, "Hold it, Andy! We aren't even outside the orbit of Mercury yet. Why put on the brakes?"

ККККК 'Why, this won't stop us. We have acquired velocity; we will keep it."

ККККК Lazarus pulled at his cheek and stared. "Ordinarily I would agree with you. First Law of Motion. But with this pseudospeed I'm not so sure. We got it for nothing and we haven't paid for it-in energy, I mean. You seem to have declared a holiday with respect to inertia; when the holiday is over, won't all that free speed go back where it came from?"

ККККК "I don't think so," Libby answered. "Our velocity isn't 'pseudo' anything; it's as real as velocity can be. You are attempting to apply verbal anthropomorphic logic to a field in which it is not pertinent. You would not expect us to be transported instantaneously back to the lower gravitational potential from which we started, would you?"

ККККК "Back to where you hooked in your space drive? No, we've moved."

ККККК "And we'll keep on moving. Our newly acquired gravitational potential energy of greater height above the Sun is no more real than our present kinetic energy of velocity. They both exist."

ККККК Lazarus looked baffled. The expression did not suit him. '~I guess you've got me, Andy. No matter how I slice it, we seemed to have picked up energy from somewhere. But where? When I went to school, they taught me to honor the Flag, vote the straight party ticket, and believe in the law of conservation of energy. Seems like you've violated it. How about it?"

ККККК "Don't worry about it," suggested Libby. "The so-called law of conservation of energy was merely a working hypothesis, unproved and unprovable, used to describe gross phenomena. Its terms apply only to the older, dynamic concept of the world. In a plenum conceived as a static grid of relationships, a 'violation' of that 'law' is nothing more startling than a discontinuous function, to be noted and described. That's what I did. I saw a discontinuity in the mathematical model of the aspect of mass-energy called inertia. I applied it. The mathematical model turned out to be similar to the real world. That was the only hazard, really-one never knows that a mathematical model is similar to the real world until you try it."

ККККК "Yeah, yeah, sure, you can't tell the taste till you bite it- but, Andy, I still don't see what caused it!" He turned toward Ford. "Do you, Slayton?"

ККККК Ford shook his head. "No. I would like to know . . . but I doubt if I could understand it."

ККККК "You and me both. Well, Andy?"

ККККК Now Libby looked baffled. ~'But, Lazarus, causality has nothing to do with the real plenum. A fact simply is. Causality is merely an old-fashioned-postulate of a pre-scientific philosophy."

ККККК "I guess," Lazarus said slowly, "I'm old-fashioned."

ККККК Libby said nothing. He disconnected his apparatus.

ККККК The disc of black continued to shrink. When it had shrunk to about one sixth its greatest diameter, it changed suddenly from black to shining white, as the ship's distance from the Sun again was great enough to permit the receptors to manage the load.

ККККК Lazarus tried to work out in his head the kinetic energy of the ship-one half the square of the velocity of light (minus a pinch, he corrected) times the mighty tonnage of -the New Frontiers. The answer did not comfort him, whether he called it ergs or apples.

Chapter 8

ККККК "FIRST THINGS FIRST," interrupted Barstow. "I'm as fascinated by the amazing scientific aspects of our present situation as any of you, but we've got work to do. We've got to plan a pattern for daily living at once. So let's table mathematical physics and talk about organization."

ККККК He was not speaking to the trustees but to his own personal lieutenants, the key people in helping him put over the complex maneuvers which had made their escape possible-Ralph Schultz, Eve Barstow, Mary Sperling, Justin Foote, Clive Johnson, about a dozen others.

ККККК Lazarus and Libby were there. Lazarus had left Slayton Ford to guard the control room, with orders to turn away all visitors and, above all, not to let anyone touch the controls. It was a make-work job, it being Lazarus' notion of temporary occupational therapy. He bad sensed in Ford a mental condition that he did not like. Ford seemed to have withdrawn into himself. He answered when spoken to, but that was all. It worried Lazarus.

ККККК "We need an executive," Barstow went on, "someone who, for the time being will have very broad powers to give orders and have them carried out. He'll have to make decisions, organize us, assign duties and responsibilities, get the internal economy of the ship working. It's a big job and I would like to have our brethren hold an election and do it democratically. That'll have to wait; somebody has to give orders now. We're wasting food and the ship is-well, I wish you could have seen the 'fresher I tried to use today."

ККККК "Zaccur . . .

ККККК "Yes, Eve?"

ККККК "It seems to me that the thing to do is to put it up to the trustees. We haven't any authority; we were just an emergency group for something that is finished now."

ККККК "Ahrruniph-" It was Justin Foote, in tones as dry and formal as his face. "I differ somewhat from our sister. The trustees are not conversant with the full background; it would take time we can ill afford to put them into the picture, as it were, before they would be able to judge the matter. Furthermore, being one of the trustees myself, I am able to say without bias that the trustees, as an organized group, can have no jurisdiction because legally they no longer exist."

ККККК Lazarus looked interested. "How do you figure that, Justin?"

ККККК "Thusly: the board of trustees were the custodians of a foundation which existed as a part of and in relation to a society. The trustees were never a government; their sole duties had to do with relations between the Families and the rest of that society. With the ending of relationship between the Families and terrestrial society, the board of trustees, ipso facto, ceases to exist. it is one with history. Now we in this ship are not yet a society, we are an anarchistic group. This present assemblage has as much-or as little-authority to initiate a society as has any part group.

ККККК Latarus cheered and clapped. "Justin," he applauded, "that is the neatest piece of verbal juggling I've heard in a century. Let's get together sometime and have a go at solipsism."

ККККК Justin Foote looked pained. "Obviously-" he began.

ККККК "Nope! Not another word! You've convinced me, don't spoil it. If that's how it is, let's get busy and pick a bull moose. How about you, Zack? You look like the logical candidate."

ККККК Barstow shook his head. "I know my limitations. I'm an engineer, not a political executive; the Families were just a hobby with me. We need an expert in social administration."

ККККК When Barstow had convinced them that he meant it, other names were proposed and their qualifications debated at length. In a group as large as the Families there were many who had specialized in political science, many who had served in public office with credit.

ККККК Lazarus listened; he knew four of the candidates. At last he got Eve Barstow aside and whispered with her. She looked startled, then thoughtful, finally nodded.

ККККК She asked for the floor. "I have a candidate to propose," she began in her always gentle tones, "who might not ordinarily occur to you, but who is incomparably better fitted, by temperament, training, and experience, to do this job than is anyone as yet proposed. For civil administrator of the ship I nominate Slayton Ford."

ККККК They were flabbergasted into silence, then everybody tried to talk at once. "Has Eve lost her mind? Ford is back on Earth!"-"No, no, he's not. I've seen him-here-in the ship."-"But it's out of the question!"-"Him? The Families would never accept him!"-"Even so, he's not one of us."

ККККК Eve patiently kept the floor until they quieted. "I know my nomination sounds ridiculous and I admit the difficulties. But consider the advantages. We all know Slayton Ford by reputation and by performance. You know, every member of the Families knows, that Ford is a genius in his field. It is going to be hard enough to work out plans for living together in this badly overcrowded ship; the best talent we can draw on will be no more than enough."

ККККК Her words impressed them because Ford was that rare thing in history, a statesman whose worth was almost universally acknowledged in his own lifetime. Contemporary historians credited him with having saved the Western Federation in at least two of its major development crises; it was his misfortune rather than his personal failure that his career was wrecked on a crisis not solvable by ordinary means.

ККККК "Eve," said Zaccur Barstown "1 agree with your opinion of Ford and I myself would be glad to have him as our executive. But how about all of the others? To the Families-everyone except ourselves here present-Mr. Administrator Ford symbolizes the persecution they have suffered. I think that makes him an impossible candidate."

ККККК Eve was gently stubborn. "I don't think so. We've already agreed that we will have to work up a campaign to explain away a lot of embarrassing facts about the last few days. Why don't we do it thoroughly and convince them that Ford is a martyr who sacrificed himself to save them? He is, you know."

ККККК "Mmm . . . yes, he is. He didn't sacrifice himself primarily on our account, but there is no doubt in my mind that his personal sacrifice saved us. But whether or not we can convince the others, convince them strongly enough that they will accept him and take orders from him . . . when he is now a sort of personal devil to them-well, I just don't know. I think we need expert advice. How about it, Ralph? Could it be done?'

ККККК Ralph Schultz hesitated. "The truth of a proposition has little or nothing to do with its psychodynamics. The notion that 'truth will prevail' is merely a pious wish; history doesn't show it. The fact that Ford really is a martyr to whom we owe gratitude is irrelevant to the purely technical question you put to me." He stopped to think. "But the proposition per se has certain sentimentally dramatic aspects which lend it to propaganda manipulation, even in the face of the currently accepted strong counterproposition. Yes . . . yes, I think it could be sold."

ККККК "How long would it take you to put it over?"

ККККК "Mmm . . . the social space involved is both 'tight' and 'hot' in the jargon we use; I should be able to get a high positive 'k' factor on the chain reaction-if it works at all. But it's an unsurveyed field and I don't know what spontaneous rumors are running around the ship. If you decide to do this, I'll want to prepare some rumors before we adjourn, rumors to repair Ford's reputation-then about twelve hours from now I can release another one that Ford is actually aboard . Because he intended from the first to throw his lot in with us."

ККККК "Ub, I hardly think he did, Ralph."ККККК -

ККККК "Are you sure, Zaccur?"

ККККК "No, but- Well . . .

ККККК "You see? The truth about his original intentions is a secret between him - and his God. You don't know and neither do I. But the dynamics of the proposition are a separate matter. Zaccur, by the time my rumor gets back to you three or four times, even you will begin to wonder." The psychornetrician paused to stare at nothing while he consulted an intuition refined by almost a century of mathematical study of human behavior. "Yes, it will work. If you all want to do it, you will be able to make a public announcement inside of twenty-four hours."

ККККК "I so move!" someone called out.

ККККК A few minutes later Barstow had Lazarus fetch Ford to the meeting place. Lazarus did not explain to him why his presence was required; Ford entered the compartment like a man come to judgment, one with a bitter certainty that the outcome will be against him. His manner showed fortitude but not hope. His eyes were unhappy.

ККККК Lazarus had studied those eyes during the long hours they had been shut up together in the control room. They bore an expression Lazarus had seen many times before in his long life. The condemned man who has lost his final appeal, the fully resolved suicide, little furry things exhausted and defeated by struggle with the unrelenting steel of traps-the eyes of each of these hold a single expression, born of hopeless conviction that his time has run out.

ККККК Ford's eyes had it.

ККККК Lazarus had seen it grow and had been puzzled by it. To be sure, they were all in a dangerous spot, but Ford no more I than the rest. Besides, awareness of danger brings a live expression; why should Ford's eyes hold the signal of death? Lazarus finally decided that it could only be because Ford had reached the dead-end state of mind where suicide is necessary. But why? Lazarus mulled it over during the long watches in the control room and reconstructed the logic of it to his own satisfaction. Back on Earth, Ford had been important among his own kind, the short-lived. His paramount position had rendered him then almost immune to the feeling of defeated inferiority which the long-lived stirred up in normal men. But now he was the only ephemeral in a race of Methuselas.

ККККК Ford had neither the experience of the elders nor the expectations of the young; he felt inferior to them both, hopelessly outclassed. Correct or not, he felt himself to be a useless pensioner, an impotent object of charity.

ККККК To a person of Ford's busy useful background the situation was intolerable. His very pride and strength of character were driving him to suicide.

ККККК As he came into the conference room Ford's glance sought out Zaccur Barstow. ККККК "You sent for me, sir?'

ККККК "Yes, Mr. Administrator." Barstow explained briefly the situation and the responsibility thel wanted him to assume. "You are under no compulsion," he concluded, "but we need your services if you are willing to serve. Will you?"

ККККК Lazarus' heart felt light as he watched Ford's expression change to amazement. "Do you really mean that?" Ford answered slowly. "You're not joking with me?"

ККККК "Most certainly we mean it!"

ККККК Ford did not answer at once and when he did, his answer seemed irrelevant. ККККК "May I sit down?"

ККККК A place was found for him; he settled heavily into the chair and covered his face with his hands. No one spoke. Presently he raised his head and said in a steady voice, "If that is your will, I will do my best to carry out your wishes."

ККККК The ship required a captain as well as a civil administrator. Lazarus had been, up to that time, her captain in a very practical, piratical sense but he balked when Barstow proposed that it be made a formal title. "Huh uh! Not me. I may just spend this trip playing checkers. Libby's your man. Seriousminded, conscientious, former naval officer-just the type for the job."

ККККК Libby blushed as eyes turned toward him. "Now, really," he protested, "while it is true that I have had to command ships in the course of my duties, it has never suited me. I am a staff officer by temperament. I don't feel like a commanding officer."

ККККК "Don't see how you can duck out of it," Lazarus persisted. "You invented the go-fast gadget and you are the only one who understands how it works. You've got yourself a job, boy."

ККККК "But that does not follow at all," pleaded Libby. "1 am perfectly willing to be astrogator, for that is consonant with my talents. But I very much prefer to serve under a commanding officer."

ККККК Lazarus was smugly pleased then to see how Slayton Ford immediately moved in and took charge; the sick man was gone, here again was the executive. "It isn't a matter of your personal preference, Commander Libby; we each must do what we can. I have agreed to direct social and civil organization; that is consonant with my training. But I can't command the ship as a ship; I'm not trained for it. You are. You must do it."

ККККК Libby blushed pinker and stammered. "I would if I were the only one. But there are hundreds of spacemen among the Families and dozens of them certainly have more experience; and talent for command than I have. If you'll look for him, you'll find the right man."

ККККК Ford said, "What do you think, Lazarus?"

ККККК "Um. Andy's got something. A captain puts spine into his ship . . . or doesn't, as the case may be. If Libby doesn't hanker to command, maybe we'd better look around."

ККККК Justin Foote had a microed roster with him but there was no scanner at hand with which to sort it. Nevertheless the memories of the dozen and more present produced many candidates. They finally settled on Captain Rufus "Ruthless" King.

ККККК Libby was explaining the consequences of his light-pressure drive to his new commanding officer. "The loci of our attainable destinations is contained in a sheaf of paraboloids having their apices tangent to our present course. This assumes that acceleration by means of the ship's normal drive will always be applied so that the magnitude our present vector, just under the speed of light, will be held constant. This will require that the ship be slowly precessed during the entire maneuvering acceleration. But it will not be too fussy because of the enormous difference in magnitude between our present vector and the maneuvering vectors being impressed on it. One may think of it roughly as accelerating at right angles to Our course."

ККККК "Yes, yes, I see that," Captain King cut in, "but why do you assume that the resultant vectors must always be equal to our present vector?"

ККККК "Why, it need not be if the Captain decides otherwise," Libby answered, looking puzzled, "but to apply a component that would reduce the resultant vector below our present speed would simply be to cause us to backtrack a little without increasing the scope of our present loci of possible destinations. The effect would only increase our flight time, to generations, even to centuries, if the resultant-"

ККККК "Certainly, certainly! I understand basic ballistics, Mister. But why do you reject the other alternative? Why not increase our speed? Why can't I accelerate directly along my present course if I choose?"

ККККК Libby looked worried. "The Captain may, if he so orders. But it would be an attempt to exceed the speed of light. That has been assumed to be impossible-"

ККККК "That's exactly what I was driving at: 'Assumed.' I've always wondered if that assumption was justified. Now seems like a good time to find out."

ККККК Libby hesitated, his sense of duty struggling against the ecstatic temptations of scientific curiosity. "If this were a research ship, Captain, I would be anxious to try it. I can't visualize what the conditions would be if we did pass the speed of light, but it seems to me that we would be cut off entirely from the electromagnetic spectrum insofar as other bodies are concerned. How could we see to astrogate?"

ККККК Libby had more than theory to worry him; they were "seeing" now only by electronic vision. To the human eye itself the hemisphere behind them along their track was a vasty black; the shortest radiations had dopplered to wavelengths too long for the eye. In the forward direction stars could still be seen but their visible "light" was made up of longest Hertzian waves crowded in by the ship's incomprehensible speed. Dark "radio stars" shined at first magnitude; stars poor in radio wavelengths had faded to obscurity. The familiar constellations were changed beyond easy recognition. The fact that they were seeing by vision distorted by Doppler's effect was confirmed by spectrum analysis; Fraunhofer's lines had not merely shifted toward the violet end, they had passed beyond, out of sight, and previously unknown patterns replaced them.

ККККК "Hmm . . ." King replied. "I see what you mean. But I'd certainly like to try it, damn if I wouldn't! But I admit it's out of the question with passengers inboard. Very well, prepare for me roughed courses to type '0' stars lying inside this trumpet-flower locus of yours and not too far away. Say ten light-years for your first search."

ККККК "Yes, sir. I have. I can't offer anything in that range in the '0' types."

ККККК "So? Lonely out here, isn't it? Well?'

ККККК "We have Tau Ceti inside the locus at eleven light-years." -

ККККК "A 05, eh? Not too good."

ККККК "No, sir. But we have a true Sol type, a 02-catalog ZD9817. But it's more than twice as far away."

ККККК Captain King chewed a knuckle. "I suppose I'll have to put it up to the elders. How much subjective time advantage are we enjoying?"

ККККК "I don't know, sir."

ККККК "Eh? Well~ work it out! Or give me the data and I will. I don't claim to be the mathematician you are, but any cadet could solve that one. The equations are simple enough." -

ККККК "So they are, sir. But I don't have the data to substitute in the time-contraction equation . . -. because I have no way now to measure the ship's speed. The violet shift is useless to use; we don't know what the lines mean. I'm afraid we must wait until we have worked up a much longer baseline."

ККККК King sighed. "Mister, I sometimes wonder why I got into this business. Well, are you willing to venture a best guess? Long time? Short time?"

ККККК "Uh . . . a long time, sir. Years."

ККККК "So? Well, I've sweated it out in worse ships. Years, eh? Play any chess?"

ККККК "I have, sir." Libby did not mention that he had given up the game long ago for lack of adequate competition.

ККККК "Looks like we'd have plenty of time to play. King's pawn;to king four."

ККККК "King's knight to bishop three."

ККККК "An unorthodox player, eh? Well, I'll answer you later. I suppose I'd better try to sell them the 02 eyen though it takes longer . . . and I suppose I'd better caution Ford to start some contests and things. Can't have 'em getting coffin fever."

ККККК "Yes, sir. Did I mention deceleration time? It works out to just under one Earth year, subjective, at a negative one-gee, to slow us to stellar speeds."

ККККК "Eh? We'll decelerate the same way we accelerated-with your light-pressure drive."

ККККК Libby shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. The drawback of the light-pressure drive is that it makes no difference what your previous course and speed may be; if you go inertialess in the near neighborhood of a star, its light pressure kicks you away from it like a cork hit by a stream of water. Your previous momentum is canceled out when you cancel your inertia."

ККККК "Well," King conceded, "let's assume that we will follow your schedule. I can't argue with you yet; there are still some things about that gadget of yours that I don't understand."

ККККК "There are lots of things about it," Libby answered seriously, "that I don't understand either."

ККККК The ship had flicked by Earth's orbit less than ten minutes after Libby cut in his space drive. Lazarus and he had discussed the esoteric physical aspects of it all the way to the orbit of Mars-less than a quarter hour. Jupiter's path was far distant when Barstow called the organization conference. But it killed an hour to find them all in the crowded ship; by the time he called them to order they were a billion miles out beyond the orbit of Saturn-elapsed time from "Go!" less than an hour and a half.

ККККК But the blocks get longer after Saturn. Uranus found them still in discussion. Nevertheless Ford's name was agreed on and he had accepted before the ship was as far from the Sun as is Neptune. King had been named captain, had toured his new command with Lazarus as guide, and was already in conference with his astrogator when the ship passed the orbit of Pluto nearly four billion miles deep into space, but still less than six hours after the Sun's light had blasted them away.

ККККК Even then they were not outside the Solar System, but between them and the stars lay nothing but the winter homes of Sol's comets and hiding places of hypothetical trans-Plutonian planets-space in which the Sun holds options but can hardly be said to own in fee simple. But even the nearest stars were still light-years away. New Frontiers was headed for them at a pace which crowded the heels of light-weather cold, track fast.

ККККК Out, out, and still farther out . . . out to the lonely depths where world lines are almost straight, undistorted by gravitation. Each day, each month . . . each year . . . their headlong flight took them farther from all humanity.

PART TWO

ККККК The ship lunged on, alone in the desert of night, each lightyear as empty as the last. The Families built up a way of life in her.

ККККК The New Frontiers was approximately cylindrical. When not under acceleration, she was spun on her axis to give pseudo-weight to passengers near the outer skin of the ship; the outer or "lower" compartments were living quarters while the innermost or "upper" compartments were store-rooms and so forth. Between compartments were shops, hydroponic farms and such. Along the axis, fore to aft, were the control room, the converter, and the main drive.

ККККК The design will be recognized as similar to that of the larger free-flight interplanetary ships in use today, but it is necessary to bear in mind her enormous size. She was a city, with ample room for a colony of twenty thousand, which would have allowed the planned complement of ten thousand to double their numbers during the long voyage to Proxima Centauri.

ККККК Thus, big as she was, the hundred thousand and more of the Families found themselves overcrowded fivefold.

ККККК They put up with it only long enough to rig for cold-sleep. By converting some recreation space on the lower levels to storage, room was squeezed out for the purpose. Somnolents require about one per cent the living room needed by active, functioning humans; in time the ship was roomy enough for those still awake. Volunteers for cold-sleep were not numerous at first-these people were more than commonly aware of death because of their unique heritage; cold-sleep seemed too much like the Last Sleep. But the great discomfort of extreme overcrowding combined with the equally extreme monotony of the endless voyage changed their minds rapidly enough to provide a steady supply for the little death as fast as they could be accommodated.

ККККК Those who remained awake were kept humping simply to get the work done-the ship's houskeeping, tending the hydroponic farms and the ship's auxiliary machinery and, most especially, caring for the somnolents themselves. Biomechanicians have worked out complex empirical formulas describing body deterioration and the measures which must be taken to offset it under various conditions of impressed acceleration, ambient temperature, the drugs used, and other factors such as metabolic age, body mass, sex, and so forth. By using the upper, low-weight compartments, deterioration caused by acceleration (that is to say, the simple weight of body tissues on themselves, the wear that leads to flat feet or bed sores) could be held to a minimum. But all the care of the somnolents had to be done by hand-turning them, massaging them, checking on blood sugar, testing the slow-motion heart actions, all the tests and services necessary to make sure that extremely reduced metabolism does not slide over into death. Aside from a dozen stalls in the ship's infirmary she had not been designed for cold-sleep passengers; no automatic machinery had been provided. All this tedious care of tens of thousands of somnolents had to be done by hand.

ККККК Eleanor Johnson ran across her friend, Nancy Weatheral, in Refectory 9-D--called "The Club" by its habituЋs, less flattering things by those who avoided it. Most of its frequenters were young and noisy. Lazarus was the only elder who ate there often. He did not mind noise, he enjoyed it.

ККККК Eleanor swooped down on her friend and kissed the back of her neck. "Nancy! So you are awake again! My, I'm glad to see you!"

ККККК Nancy disentangled herself. "H'lo, b~e. Don't spill my coffee."

ККККК "Well! Aren't you glad to see me?"

ККККК "Of course I am. But you forget that while it's been a year to you, it's only yesterday to me. And I'm still sleepy."

ККККК "How long have you been awake, Nancy?"

ККККК "A couple of hours. How's that kid of yours?"

ККККК "Oh, he's fine!" Eleanor Johnson's face brightened. "You wouldn't know him-he's shot up fast this past year. Almost up to my shoulder and looking more like his father every day."

ККККК Nancy changed the subject. Eleanor's friends made a point of keeping Eleanor's deceased husband out of the conversation. "What have you been doing while I was snoozing? Still teaching primary?" -

ККККК "Yes. Or rather 'No.' I stay with the age group my Hubert is in. He's in junior secondary now."

ККККК "Why don't you catch a few months' sleep and skip some of that drudgery, Eleanor? You'll make an old woman out of yourself if you keep it up;" - -

ККККК "No," Eleanor refused, "not until Hubert is old enough not to need me."

ККККК "Don't be sentimental. Half the female volunteers are women with young children. I don't blame 'em a bit. Look at me-from my point of view the trip so far has lasted only seven months. I could do the rest of it standing on my head."

ККККК Eleanor looked stubborn. "No, thank you. That may be all right for you, but I am doing very nicely as I am."

ККККК Lazarus had been sitting at the same counter doing drastic damage to a sirloin steak surrogate. "She's afraid she'll miss something," he explained. "I don't blame her. So am I."

ККККК Nancy changed her tack. "Then have another child, Eleanor. That'll get you relieved from routine duties."

ККККК "It takes two to arrange that," Eleanor pointed out.

ККККК "That's no hazard. Here's Lazarus, for example. He'd make a A plus father."

ККККК Eleanor dimpled. Lazarus blushed under his permanent tan. "As a matter of fact," Eleanor stated evenly, "I proposed to him and was turned down."

ККККК Nancy sputtered into her coffee and looked quickly from Lazarus to Eleanor. ККККК "Sorry. I didn't know."

ККККК "No harm," answered Eleanor. "It's simply because I am one of his granddaughters, four times removed."

ККККК "But . . ." Nancy fought a losing fight with the custom of privacy. "Well, goodness me, that's well within the limits of permissible consanguinity. What's the hitch? Or should I shut up?"

ККККК "You should," Eleanor agreed.

ККККК Lazarus shifted uncomfortably. "I know I'm oldfashioned," he admitted, "but I soaked up some of my ideas a long time ago. Genetics or no genetics, I just wouldn't feel right marrying one of my own grandchildren."

ККККК Nancy looked amazed. "I'll say you're old-fashioned!" She added, "Or maybe you're just shy. I'm tempted to propose to you myself and find out."

ККККК Lazarus glared at her. "Go ahead and see what a surprise you get!"

ККККК Nancy looked him over coolly. "Mmn . . ." she meditated.

ККККК Lazarus tried to outstare her, finally dropped his eyes: "I'll have to ask you ladies to excuse me," he said nervously. "Work to do."

ККККК Eleanor laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Don't go, Lazarus. Nancy is a cat and can't help it. Tell her about the plans for landing."

ККККК "What's that? Are we going to land? When? Where?"

ККККК Lazarus, willing to be mollified, told her. The type G2, or Sol-type star, toward which they had bent their course years earlier was now less than a light-year away-a little over seven light-months-and it was now possible to infer by parainterferometric methods that the star (ZD9817, or simply "our" star) had planets of some sort.

ККККК In another month, when the star would be a half light-year away, deceleration would commence. Spin would be taken off the ship and for one year she would boost backwards at one gravity, ending near the star at interplanetary rather than interstellar speed, and a search would be made for a planet fit to support human life. The search would be quick and easy as the only planets they were interested in would shine out brilliantly then, like Venus from Earth; they were not interested in elusive cold planets, like Neptune or Pluto, lurking in distant shadows, nor in scorched cinders ilke Mercury, hiding in the flaming skirts of the mother star.

ККККК If no Earthlike planet was to be had, then they must continue on down really close to the strange sun and again be kicked away by light pressure, to resume hunting for a home elsewhere-with the difference that this time, not harassed by police, they could select a new course with care.

ККККК Lazarus explained that the New Frontiers would not actually land in either case; she was too big to land, her weight would wreck her. Instead, if they found a planet, she would be thrown into a parking orbit around her and exploring parties would be sent down in ship's boats. - -

ККККК As soon as face permitted Lazarus left the two young women and went to the laboratory where the Families continued their researches in metabolism and gerontology. He expected to find Mary Sperling there; the brush with Nancy Weatheral had made him feel a need for her company. If he ever did marry again, he thought to himself, Mary was more his style. Not that he seriously considered it; he felt that a iiaison between Mary and himself would have a ridiculous flavor of lavender and old lace.

ККККК Mary Sperling, finding herself cooped up in the ship and not wishing to accept the symbolic death of cold-sleep, had turned her fear of death into constructive channels by volunteering to be a laboratory assistant in the continuing research into longevity. She was not a trained biologist but she had deft fingers and an agile mind; the patient years of the trip had shaped her into a valuable assistant to Dr. Gordon Hardy, chief of the research.

ККККК Lazarus found her servicing the deathless tissue of chicken heart known to the laboratory crew as "Mrs. 'Avidus." Mrs. 'Avidus was older than any member of the Families save possibly Lazarus himself; she was a growing piece of the original tissue obtained by the Families from the Rockefeller Institute in the twentieth century, and the tissues had been alive since early in the twentieth century even then. Dr. Hardy and his predecessors had kept their bit of it alive for more than two centuries now, using the Carrel-Lindbergh-O'Shaug techniques and still Mrs. 'Avidus flourished.

ККККК Gordon Hardy had insisted on taking the tissue and the apparatus which cherished it with him to the reservation when he was arrested; he had been equally stubborn about taking the living tissue along during the escape in the Chili. Now Mrs. 'Avidus still lived and grew in the New Frontiers, fifty or sixty pounds of her-blind, deaf, and brainless, but still alive.

ККККК Mary Sperling was reducing her size. "Hello, Lazarus," she greeted him. "Stand back. I've got the tank open."

ККККК He watched her slice off excess tissue. "Mary," he mused, "what keeps that silly thing alive?"

ККККК "You've got the question inverted," she answered, not looking up; "the proper form is: why should it die? Why shouldn't it go on forever?" -

ККККК "I wish to the Devil it would die!" came the voice of Dr. Hardy from behind them. "Then we could observe and find out why." - -

ККККК "You'll never find out why from Mrs. 'Avidus, boss," Mary answered, hands and eyes still busy. "The key to the matter is in the gonads-she hasn't any."

ККККК 'Hummph! What do you know about it?"

ККККК "A woman's intuition. What do you know about it?"

ККККК "Nothing, -absolutely nothing!-which puts me ahead of you and your intuition."

ККККК "Maybe. At least," Mary added slyly, "1 knew you before you were housebroken."

ККККК "A typical female argument. Mary, that lump of muscle cackled and laid eggs before either one of us was born, yet it doesn't know anything." He scowled at it. "Lazarus, I'd gladly trade it for one pair of carp. male and female." -

ККККК "Why carp?" asked Lazarus.

ККККК "Because carp don't seem to die. They get killed, or eaten, or starve to death, or succumb to infection, but so far as we know they don't die."

ККККК "Why not?"

ККККК "That's what I was trying to find out when we were rushed off on this damned safari. They have unusual intestinal flora and it may have something to do with that. But I think it has to do with the fact that they never stop growing."

ККККК Mary said something inaudibly. Hardy said, "What are you muttering about? Another intuition?"

ККККК "I said, 'Amoebas don't die.' You said yourself that every amoeba now alive has been alive for, oh, fifty million years or so. Yet they don't grow indefinitely larger and they certainly can't have intestinal flora."

ККККК "No guts," said Lazarus and blinked.

ККККК "What a terrible pun, Lazarus. But what I said is true. They don't die. They just twin and keep on living."

ККККК "Guts or no guts," Hardy said impatiently, "there may be a structural parallel. But I'm frustrated for lack of experimental subjects. Which reminds me: Lazarus, I'm glad you dropped in. I want you to do me a favor."

ККККК "Speak up. I might be feeling mellow."

ККККК "You're an interesting case yourself, you know. You didn't follow our genetic pattern; you anticipated it. I don't want your body to go into the converter; I want to examine it."

ККККК Lazarus snorted. "'Sail right with me, bud. But you'd better tell your successor what to look for-you may not live that long. And I'll bet you anything that you like that nobody'll find it by poking around in my cadaver!"

ККККК The planet they had hoped for was there when they looked for it, green, lush, and young, and looking as much like Earth as another planet could. Not only was it Earthlike but the rest of the system duplicated roughly the pattern of the Solar System-small terrestrial planets near this sun, large Jovian planets farther out. Cosmologists had never been able to account for the Solar System; they had alternated between theories of origin which had failed to stand up and sound mathematico-physical "proofs" that such a system could never have originated in the first place. Yet here was another enough like it to suggest that its paradoxes were not unique, might even be common.

ККККК But more startling and even more stimulating and certainly more disturbing was another fact brought out by telescopic observation as they got close to the planet. The planet held life . . , intelligent life . . . civilized life.

ККККК Their cities could be seen. Their engineering works, strange in form and purpose, were huge enough to be seen from space just as ours can be seen.

ККККК Nevertheless, though it might mean that they must again pursue their weary hegira, the dominant race did not appear to have crowded the available living space. There might be room for their little colony on those broad continents. If a colony was welcome. . .

ККККК "To tell the truth," Captain King fretted, "I hadn't expected anything like this. Primitive aborigines perhaps, and we certainly could expect dangerous animals, but I suppose I unconsciously assumed that man was the only really civilized race. We're going to have to be very cautious."

ККККК King made up a scouting party headed by Lazatus; he had come to have confidence in Lazarus' practical sense and will to survive. King wanted to head the party himself, but his concept of his duty as a ship's captain forced him to forego it. But Slayton Ford could go; Lazarus chose him and Ralph Schultz and his lieutenants. The rest of the party were specialists-biochemist, geologist, ecologist, stereographer, several sorts of psychologists and sociologists to study the natives including one authority in McKelvy's structural theory of communication whose task would be to find some way to talk with the natives.

ККККК No weapons.

ККККК King flatly refused to arm them. "Your scouting party is expendable, he told Lazarus bluntly; "for we can not risk offending them by any sort of fighting for any reason, even in self-defense. You are ambassadors, not soldiers. Don't forget it."

ККККК Lazarus returned to his stateroom, came back and gravely delivered to King one blaster. He neglected to mention the one still strapped to his leg under his kilt.

ККККК As King was about to tell them to man the boat and carry out their orders they were interrupted by Janice Schmidt, chief nurse to the Families' congenital defectives. She pushed her way past and demanded the Captain's attention. -

ККККК Only a nurse could have obtained it at that moment; she had professional stubbornness to match his and half a century more practice at being balky. He glared at her. "What's the meaning of this interruption?"

ККККК "Captain, I must speak with you about one of my children."

ККККК "Nurse, you are decidedly out of order. Get out. See me in my office-after taking it up with the Chief Surgeon."

ККККК She put her hands on her hips. "You'll see me now. This is the landing party, isn't it? I've got something you have to hear before they leave."

ККККК King started to speak, changed his mind, merely said, "Make it brief."

ККККК She did so. Hans Weatheral, a youth of some ninety years and still adolescent in appearance through a hyper-active thymus gland, was one of her charges. He had inferior but not moronic mentality, a chronic apathy, and a neuro-muscular deficiency which made him too weak to feed himself-and an acute sensitivity to telepaths.

ККККК He had told Janice that he knew all about the planet around which they orbited. His friends on the planet had told him about it . . . and they were expecting him.

ККККК The departure of the landing boat was delayed while King and Lazarus investigated. Hans was matter of fact about his information and what little they could check of what he said was correct. But he was not too helpful about his "friends." "Oh, just people," he said, shrugging at their stupidity. "Much like back home. Nice people. Go to work, go to school, go to church. Have kids and enjoy themselves. You'll like them."

ККККК But he was quite clear about one point: his friends were expecting-him; therefore he must go along.

ККККК Against his wishes and his better judgment Lazarus saw added to his party Hans Weatheral, Janice Schmidt, and a stretcher for Hans.

ККККК When the party returned three days later Lazarus made a long private report to King while the specialist reports were being analyzed and combined. "It's amazingly like Earth, Skipper, enough to make you homesick. But it's also different enough to give you the willies-llke looking at your own face in the mirror and having it turn out to have three eyes and no nose. Unsettling."

ККККК "But how about the natives?"

ККККК "Let me tell it. We made a quick swing of the day side, for a bare eyes look. Nothing you haven't seen through the 'scopes. Then I put her down where Hans told me to, in a clearing near the center of one of their cities. I wouldn't have picked the place myself; I would have preferred to land in the bush and reconnoitre. But you told me to play Hans' hunches."

ККККК "You were free to use your judgment," King reminded

ККККК "Yes, yes. Anyhow we did it. By the time the techs had sampled the air and checked for hazards there was quite a crowd around us. They-well, you've seen the stereographs."

ККККК "Yes. Incredibly android."

ККККК "Android, hell! They're men. Not humans, but men just the same." Lazarus looked puzzled. "I don't like it."

ККККК King did not argue. The pictures had shown bipeds seven to eight feet tall, bilaterally symmetric, possessed of internal skeletal framework, distinct heads, lens-and-camera eyes. Those eyes were their most human and appealing features; they were large, limpid, and tragic, like those of a Saint Bernard dog.

ККККК It was well to concentrate on the eyes; their other features were not as tolerable. King looked away from the loose, toothless mouths, the bifurcated upper lips. He decided that it might take a long, long time to learn to be fond of these creatures. "Go ahead," he told Lazarus.

ККККК "We opened up and I stepped out alone, with my hands empty and. trying to look friendly and peaceable. Three of them stepped forward-eagerly, I would say. But they lost interest in me at once; they seemed to be waiting for somebody else to come out. So I gave orders to carry Hans out.

ККККК "Skipper, you wouldn't believe it. They fawned over Hans like a long lost brother. No, that doesn't describe it. More like a king returning home in triumph. They were polite enough with the rest of us, in an offhand way, but they fairly slobbered over Hans." Lazarus hesitated. "Skipper? Do you believe in reincarnation?"

ККККК "Not exactly. I'm open-minded about it. I've read the report of the Frawling Committee, of course."

ККККК "I've never had any use for the notion myself. But how else could you account for the reception they gave Hans?"

ККККК "I don't account for it. Get on with your report. Do you think it is going to be possible for us to colonize here?"

ККККК "Oh," said Lazarus, "they left no doubt on that point. You see, Hans really can talk to them, telepathically. Hans tells us that their gods have authorized us to live here-and the natives have already made plans to receive us."

ККККК "That's right. They want us."

ККККК "Well! That's a relief."

ККККК "Is it?"

ККККК King studied Lazarus' glum features. "You've made a report favorable on every point. Why the sour look?"

ККККК "I don't know. I'd just rather we found a planet of our own. Skipper, anything this easy has a hitch in it."

Chapter 2

ККККК THE Jockaira (or Zhacheira, as some prefer) turned an entire city over to the colonists.

ККККК Such astounding cooperation, plus the sudden discovery by almost every member of the Howard Families that he was sick for the feel of dirt under foot and free air in his lungs, greatly speeded the removal from ship to ground. It had been anticipated that at least an Earth year would be needed for such transition and that somnolents would be waked only as fast as they could be accommodated dirtside, But the limiting factor now was the scanty ability of the ship's boats to transfer a hundred thousand people as they were roused.

ККККК The Jockaira city was not designed to fit the needs of human beings. The Jockaira were not human beings, their physical requirements were somewhat different, and their cultural needs as expressed in engineering were vastly different. But a city, any city, is a machine to accomplish certain practical ends: shelter, food supply, sanitation, communication; the internal logic of these prime requirements. as applied by diiferent creatures to different environments, will produce an unlimited number of answers. But, as applied by any race of warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing androidal creatures to a particular environment, the results, although strange, are necessarily such that Terran humans can use them. In some ways the Jockaira city looked as wild as a pararealist painting, but humans have lived in igloos, grass shacks, and even in the cybernautomated burrow under Antarctina; these humans could and did move into the Jockaira city-and of course at once set about reshaping it to suit them better.

ККККК It was not difficult even though there was much to be done. There were buildings already standing-shelters with roofs on them, the artificial cave basic to all human shelter requirements. It did not matter what the Jockaira had used such a structure for; humans could use it for almost anything: sleeping, recreation, eating, storage, production. There were actual "caves" as well, for the Jockaira dig in more than we do. But humans easily turn troglodyte on occasion, in New York as readily as in Antarctica.

ККККК There was fresh potable water piped in for drinking and for limited washing. A major lack lay in plumbing; the city had no overall drainage system. The "Jocks" did not waterbathe and their personal sanitation requirements differed from ours and were taken care of differently. A major effort had to be made to jury-rig equivalents of shipboard refreshers and adapt them to hook in with Jockaira disposal arrangements. Minimum necessity ruled; baths would remain a rationed luxury until water supply and disposal could be increased at least tenfold. But baths are not a necessity.

ККККК But such efforts at modification were minor compared with the crash program to set up hydroponic farming, since most of the somnolents could not be waked until a food supply was assured. The do-it-now crowd wanted to tear out every bit of hydroponic equipment in the New Frontiers at once, ship it down dirtside, set it up and get going, while depending on stored supplies during the change-over; a more cautious minority wanted to move only a pilot plant while continuing to grow food in the ship; they pointed out that unsuspected fungus or virus on the strange planet could result in disaster . . .starvation.

ККККК The minority, strongly led by Ford and Barstow and supported by Captain King, prevailed; one of the ship's hydroponic farms was drained and put out of service. Its machinery was broken down into parts small enough to load into ship's boats.

ККККК But even this never reached dirtside. The planet's native farm products turned out to be suitable for human food and the Jockaira seemed almost pantingly anxious to give them away. Instead, efforts were turned to establishing Earth crops in native soil in order to supplement Jockaira foodstuffs with sorts the humans were used to. The Jockaira moved in and almost took over that effort; they were superb "natural" farmers (they had no need for synthetics on their undepleted planet) and seemed delighted to attempt to raise anything their guests wanted.

ККККК Ford transferred his civil headquarters to the city as soon as a food supply for more than a pioneer group was assured, while King remained in the ship. Sleepers were awakened and ferried to the ground as fast as facilities were made ready for them and their services could be used. Despite assured food, shelter, and drinking water, much needed to be done to provide minimum comfort and decency. The two cultures were basicially different. The Jockaira seemed always anxious to be endlessly helpful but they were often obviously baffled at what the humans tried to do. The Jockaira culture did not seem to include the idea of privacy; the buildings of the city had no partitions in them which were not loadbearing-and few that were; they tended to use columns or posts. They could not understand why the humans would break up these lovely open spaces into cubicles and passageways; they simply could not comprehend why any individual would ever wish to be alone for any purpose whatsoever.

ККККК Apparently (this is not certain, for abstract communication with them never reached a subtle level) they decided eventually that being alone held a religious significance for Earth people. In any case they were again helpful; they provided thin sheets of material which could be shaped into partitions-with their tools and only with their tools. The stuff frustrated human engineers almost to nervous collapse. No corrosive known to our technology affected it; even the reactions that would break down the rugged fluorine plastics used in handling uranium compounds had no effect on it. Diamond saws went to pieces on it, heat did not melt it, cold did not make it brittle. It stopped light, sound, and all radiation they were equipped to try on it. Its tensile strength could not be defined because they could not break it. Yet Jockaira tools, even when handled by humans, could cut it, shape it, reweld it.

ККККК The human engineers simply had to get used to such frustrations. From the criterion of control over environment through technology the Jockaira were as civilized as humans. But their developments had been along other lines.

ККККК The important differences between the two cultures went much deeper than engineering technology. Although ubiquitously friendly and helpful the Jockaira were not human. They thought differently, they evaluated differently; their social structure and language structure reflected their unhuman quality and both were incomprehensible to human beings.

ККККК Oliver Johnson, the semantician who had charge of developing a common language, found his immediate task made absurdly easy by the channel of communication through Hans Weatheral. "Of course," he explained to Slayton Ford and to Lazarus, "Hans isn't exactly a genius; he just misses being a moron. That limits the words I can translate through him to ideas he can understand. But it does give me a basic vocabulary to build on."

ККККК "Isn't that enough?" asked Ford. "It seems to me that - I have heard that eight hundred words will do to convey any idea."

ККККК "There's some truth in that," admitted Johnson. "Less than a thousand words will cover all ordinary situations. I have selected not quite seven hundred of their terms, operationals and substantives, to give us a working lingua franca. But subtle distinctions and fine discriminations will have to wait until we know them better and understand them. A short vocabulary cannot handle high abstractions."

ККККК "Shucks," said Lazarus, "seven hundred words ought to be enough. Me, I don't intend to make love to 'em, or try to discuss poetry."

ККККК This opinion seemed to be justified; most of the members picked up basic Jockairan in two weeks to a month after being ferried down and chattered in it with their hosts as if they had talked it all their lives. All of the Earthmen had had the usual sound grounding in mnemonics and semantics; a short-vocabulary auxiliary language was quickly learned under the stimulus of need and the circumstance of plenty of chance to practice-except, of course, by the usual percentage of unshakable provincials who felt that it was up to "the natives" to learn English.

ККККК The Jockaira did not learn English. In the first place not one of them showed the slightest interest. Nor was it reasonable to expect their millions to learn the language of a few thousand. But in any case the split upper lip of a Jockaira could not cope with "m," "p," and "b," whereas the gutturals, sibilants, dentals, and clicks they did use could be approximated by the human throat.

ККККК Lazarus was forced to revise his early bad impression of the Jockaira. It was impossible not to like them once the strangeness of their appearance had worn off. They were so hospitable, so generous, so friendly, so anxious to please. He became particularly attached to Kreei Sarloo, who acted as a sort of liaison officer between the Families and the Jockaira. Sarloo held a position among his own people which could be trans1ated roughly as "chief," "father," "priest," or "leader" of the Kreel family or tribe. He invited Lazarus to visit him in the Jockaira city nearest the colony. "My people will like to see you and smell your skin," he said. "It will be a happymaking thing. The gods will be pleased."

ККККК Sarloo seemed almost unable to form a sentence without making reference to his gods. Lazarus did not mind; to another's religion he was tolerantly indifferent. "I will come, Sarloo, old bean. It will be a happy-making thing for me, too."

ККККК Sarloo took him in the common vehicle of the Jockaira, a wheelless wain shaped much like a soup bowl, which moved quietly and rapidly over the ground, skimming the surface in apparent contact. Lazarus squatted on the floor of the vessel while Sarloo caused it to speed along at a rate that made Lazarus' eyes water.

ККККК "Sasloo," Lazarus asked, shouting to make himself heard against the wind, "how does this thing work? What moves it?'

ККККК "The gods breathe on the-" Sarloo used a word not in their common language. "-and cause it to need to change its place."

ККККК Lazarus started to ask for a fuller explanation, then shut up. There had been something familiar about that answer and he now placed it; he had once given a very similar answer to one of the water people of Venus when he was asked to explain the diesel engine used in an early type of swamp tractor. Lazarus had not meant to be mysterious; he had simply been tongue-tied by inadequate common language. Well, there was a way to get around that- "Sarloo, I want to see pictures of what happens inside," Lazarus persisted, pointing. "You have pictures?"

ККККК "Pictures are," Sarloo acknowledged, "in the temple. You must not enter the temple." His great eyes looked mournfully at Lazarus, giving him a strong feeling that the Jockaira chief grieved over his friend's lack of grace. Lazarus hastily dropped the subject.

ККККК But the thought of Venerians brought another puzzler to mind. The water people, cut off from the outside world by the eternal clouds of Venus, simply did not believe in astronomy. The arrival of Earthmen had caused them to readjust their concept of the cosmos a little, but there was reason to believe that their revised explanation was no closer to the truth. Lazarus wondered what the Jackaira thought about visitors from space. They had shown no surprise-~-or had they?

ККККК "Sarloo," he asked, "do you know where my brothers and I come from?'

ККККК "I know," Sarloo answered. "You come from a distant sun -so distant that many seasons would come and go while light traveled that long journey." -

ККККК Lazarus felt mildly astonished. "Who told you that?'

ККККК "The gods tell us. Your brother Libby spoke on it."

ККККК Lazarus was willing to lay odds that the gods had not got around to mentioning it until after Libby explained it to Kreel Sarloo. But he held his peace. He still wanted to ask Sarloo if he had been surprised to have visitors arrive from the skies but he could think of no Jockairan term for surprise or wonder. He was still trying to phrase the question when Sarloo spoke again:

ККККК "The fathers of my people flew through the skies as you did, but that was before the coming of the gods. The gods, in their wisdom, bade us stop."

ККККК And that, thought Lazarus, is one damn big lie, from pure panic. There was not the slightest indication that the Jockaira had ever been off the surface of their planet.

ККККК At Sarloo's home that evening Lazarus sat through a long session of what he assumed was entertainment for the guest of honor, himself. He squatted beside Sarloo on a raised portion of the floor of the vast common room of the clan Kreel and listened to two hours of howling that might have been intended as singing. Lazarus felt that better music would result from stepping on the tails of fifty assorted dogs but he tried to take it in the spirit in which it seemed to be offered.

ККККК Libby, Lazarus recalled, insisted that this mass howling which the Jockaira were wont to indulge in was, in fact, music, and that men could learn to enjoy it by studying its interval relationships.

ККККК Lazarus doubted it.

ККККК But he had to admit that Libby understood the Jockaira better than he did in some ways. Libby had been delighted to discover that the Jockaira were excellent and subtle mathematicians. In particular they had a grasp of number that paralleled his own wild talent. Their arithmetics were incredibly involved for normal humans. A number, any number was to them a unique entity, to be grasped in itself and not simply as a grouping of smaller numbers. In consequence they used any convenient positional or exponential notation with any base, rational irrational, or variable-or none at all. It was supreme luck, Lazarus mused, that Libby was available to act as mathematical interpreter between the Jockaira and the Families, else it would have been impossible to grasp a lot of the new technologies the Jockaira were showing them.

ККККК He wondered why the Jockaira showed no interest in learning human technologies they were offered in return?

ККККК The howling discord died away and Lazarus brought his thoughts back to the scene around him. Food was brought; the Kreel family tackled it with the same jostling enthusiasm with which Jockaira did everything. Dignity, thought Lazarus--lean idea which never caught on here. A large bowl, full two feet across and brimful of an amorpheous meal, was placed in front of Kreel Sarloo. A dozen Kreels crowded atound it and started grabbing~giving no precedence to their senior. But Sadoo casually slapped a few of them out of the way and plunged a hand into the dish, brought forth a gob of the ration and rapidly kneaded it into a ball in the palm of his double-thumbed hand. Done, he shoved it towards Lazarus' mouth.

ККККК Lmarus war not squeamish-but he had to remind bimself first, that food for Jockaira was food for men, and second that he could not catch anything from them anyhow, before he could bring himself to try the proffered morsel.

ККККК He took a large bite. Mmmm. . . not too bad-bland and sticky, no particular flavor. Not good either-but could be swallowed. Grimly determined to uphold the honor of his race, he ate on, while promising himself a proper meal in the near future. When lie' (cit that to swallow another mouthful would be to invite physical and social disaster, he thought of a possible way out. Reaching into the common plate he scooped up a large handful of the stuff, molded it inot a ball, and offered it to Sarloo.

It was inspired diplomacy. For the rest of the mast Lazarus fed Sexton, fed him until his arms were tired, until he marveled at his host's ability to tuck it away.

ККККК After eating they slept and Lazarus slept with the family, literally. They slept where they had eaten, without beds, disposed as casually as leaves on a path or puppies. To his aurprise, Lazarus slept well and did not awoke until false suns in the cavern roof glowed in mysterious sympathy to new dawn. Sarloo was still asleep near him and giving out most humanlike snores. Lazarus found that one infant Jockaira was cuddled spoon fashion against his own stomach. He felt a movement behind his back~ a rustle at his thigh. He turned cautiously and found that another Jockaira-a six-year-old in human equivalence- had extracted his blaster from its holster and was now gazing curiously into its muzzle.

ККККК With hasty caution Lazarus removed the deadly toy from the child's unwilling fingers, noted with relief that the safety was still on and reholstered it. Lazarus received a reproach for look; the kid seemed about to cry. "Hush," whispered Lazarus, "you'll wake your o1d man. Here--"- He gathered the child into his left arm, and cradled it against his side. The little Jockaira snuggled up to him, laid a soft moist mouth against his side, and promptly went to sleep.ККККК

ККККК Lazarus looked down at him. "You're a cute little devil," he said softly. "I-could grow right fond of you if 1 could ever get used to your smell."

ККККК Some of the incidents between the two races would bave been funny bad they not been charged with potential trouble: for example, the case of Eleanor Johnson's son Hubert This gangling adolescent was a confirmed sidewalk-superintendent. One day he was watching two technicians, one human and one Jockaira, adapt a Jockaira power source to the feed of Earth-type machinery. Tbe Jockaira was apparently amused by the boy and, in an obviously friendly spirit, picked him up.

ККККК Hubert began to scream.

ККККК His mother, never far from him, joined battle. She lacked strength and skill to do the utter destruction she was bent on; the big nonhuman was unhurt, but it created a nasty situation.

ККККК Administrator Ford and Oliver Johnson tried very hard to explain the incident to the amazed Jockaira. Fortunately, they seemed grieved rather than vengeful.

ККККК Ford then called in Eleanor Johnson. "You have endangered the entire colony by your stupidity-"

ККККК "But I-"

ККККК "Keep quiet! If you hadn't spoiled the boy rotten, he would have behaved himself. If you weren't a maudlin fool. you would have kept your hands to yourself. The boy goes to the regular development classes henceforth and you are to let him alone. At the lightest sign of animosity on your part toward any of the natives, I'll have you subjected to a few years' cold-rest. Now get out!"

ККККК Ford was forced to use almost as strong measures on Janice Schmidt. The interest shown in Hans Weatheral by the Jockaira extended to all the telepathic defectives. The natives seemed to be reduced to a state of quivering adoration by the mere fact that these could communicate with them directly. Kreel Sarloo informed Ford that he wanted the sensitives to be housed separately from the other defectives in the evacuated temple of the Earthmen's city and that the Jockaira wished to wait on them personally. It was more of an order than a request.

ККККК Janice Schmidt submitted ungracefully to Ford's insistence that the Jockaira be humored in the matter in return for all that they had done, and Jockaira nurses took over under her jealous eyes.

ККККК Every sensitive of intelligence level higher than the semimoronic Hans Weatheral promptly developed spontaneous and extreme psychoses while being attended by Jockaira.

ККККК So Ford had another headache to straighten out. Janice Schmidt was more powerfully and more intelligently vindictive than was Eleanor Johnson. Ford was s-tpr~d to bind Janice over to keep the peace under the threat of retiring her completely from the care of her beloved "children." Kreel Sarloo, distressed and apparently shaken to his core, accepted a compromise whereby Janice and her junior nurses resumed care of the poor psychotics while Jockaira continued to minister to sensitives of moron level and below.

ККККК But the greatest difficulty arose over . . . surnames. Jockaira each had an individual name and a surname. Surnames were limited in number, much as they were in the Families. A native's surname referrect equally to his tribe and to the temple in which he worshipped.

ККККК Kreel Sarloo took up the matter with Ford. "High Father of the Strange Brothers," he said, "the time has come for you and your children to choose your surnames." (The rendition of Sarloo's speech into English necessarily contains inherent errors.)

ККККК Ford was used to difficulties in understanding the Jockaira. "Sarloo, brother and friend," he answered, "I hear your words but I do not understand. Speak more fully."

ККККК Sarloo began over. "Strange brother, the seasons come and the seasons go and there is a time of ripening. The gods tell us that you, the Strange Brothers, have reached the time in your education (?) when you must select your tribe and your temple. I have come to arrange with you the preparations (ceremonies?) by which each will choose his surname. I speak for the gods in this. But let me say for myself that it would make me happy if you, my brother Ford, were to choose the temple Kreel."

ККККК Ford stalled while he tried to understand what was implied. "I am happy that you wish me to have your surname. But my people already have their own surnames."

ККККК Sarloo dismissed that with a flip of his lips. "Their present surnames are words and nothing more. Now they must choose their real surnames, each the name of his temple and of the god whom he will worship. Children grow up and are no longer children."

ККККК Ford decided that he needed advice. "Must this be done at once?"

ККККК "Not today, but in the near future. The gods are patient."

ККККК Ford called in Zaccur Barstow, Oliver Johnson, Lazarus Long, and Ralph Schultz, and described the interview. Johnson played back the recording of the conversation and strained to catch the sense of the words. He prepared several possible translations but failed to throw any new light on the matter.

ККККК "It looks," said Lazarus, "like a case of join the church or get out."

ККККК "Yes," agreed Zaccur Barstow, "that much seems to come through plainly. Well, I think we can afford to go through the motions. Very few of our people have religious prejudices strong enough to forbid their paying lip service to the native gods in the interests of the general welfare."

ККККК "I imagine you are correct," Ford said. "I, for one, have no objection to adding Kreel to my name and taking part in their genuflections if it will help us to live in peace." He frowned. "But I would not want to see our culture submerged in theirs."

ККККК "You can forget that," Ralph Schultz assured him. "No matter what we have to do to please them, there is absolutely no chance of any real cultural assimilation. Our brains are not like theirs-just how different I am only beginning to guess."

ККККК "Yeah," said Lazarus, " 'just how different.'"

ККККК Ford turned to Lazarus. "What do you mean by that? What's troubling you?"

КККККК "Nothing. Only," he added, "I never did share the general enthusiasm for this place."

ККККК They agreed that one man should take the plunge first, then report back. Lazarus tried to grab the assignment on seniority, Schultz claimed it as a professional right; Ford overruled them and appointed himself, asserting that it was his duty as the responsible executive.К ККККК -

ККККК Lazarus went with him to the doors of the temple where the induction was to take place. Ford was as bare of clothing as the Jockaira, but Lazarus, since he was not to enter the temple, was able to wear his kilt. Many of the colonists, sunstarved after years in the ship, went bare when it suited them, just as the Jockaira did. But Lazarus never did. Not only did his habits run counter to it, but a blaster is an extremely conspicuous object on a bare thigh.

ККККК Kreel Sarloo greeted them and escorted Ford inside. Lazarus called out after them, "Keep your chin up, pal!"

ККККК He waited. He struck a cigarette and smoked it. He walked up and down. He had no way to judge how long it would be; it seemed, in consequence, much longer than it was.

ККККК At last the doors slid back and natives crowded out through them. They seemed curiously worked up about something and none of them came near Lazarus. The press that still existed in the great doorway separated, formed an aisle, and a figure came running headlong through it and out into the open.

ККККК Lazarus recognized Ford.

ККККК Ford did not stop where Lazarus waited but plunged blindly on past. He tripped and fell down. Lazarus hurried to him.

ККККК Ford made no effort to get up. He lay sprawled face down, his shoulders heaving violently, his frame shaking with sobs. Lazarus knelt by him and shook him. "Slayton," he demanded, "what's happened? What's wrong with you?" Ford turned wet and horror-stricken eyes to him, checking his sobs momentarily. He did not speak but he seemed to recognize Lazarus. He flung himself on Lazarus, clung to him, wept more violently than before.

ККККК Lazarus wrenched himself free and slapped Ford hard. "Snap out of it!" he ordered. "Tell me what's the matter."

ККККК Ford jerked his head at the slap and stopped his outcries but he said nothing. His eyes looked dazed. A shadow fell across Lazarus' line of sight; he spun around, covering with his blaster. Kreel Sarloo stood a few feet away and did not come closer-not because of the weapon; he had never seen one before.

ККККК "You!" said Lazarus. "For the- What did you do to him?"

ККККК He checked himself and switched to speech that Sarloo could understand. "What has happened to my brother Ford?"

ККККК "Take him away," said Sarloo, his lips twitching. "This is a bad thing. This is a very bad thing."

ККККК "You're telling me!" said Lazarus. He did not bother to translate.

Chapter 3

ККККК THE SAME CONFERENCE as before, minus its chairman, met as quickly as possible. Lazarus told his story, Shultz reported on Ford's condition. "The medical staff can't find anything wrong with him. All I can say with certainty is that the Administrator is suffering from an undiagnosed extreme psychosis. We can't get into communication with him."

ККККК "Won't he talk at all?" asked Barstow.

ККККК "A word or two, on subjects as simple as food or water. Any attempt to reach the cause of his trouble drives him into incoherent hysteria."

ККККК "No diagnosis?"

ККККК "Well, if you want an unprofessional guess in loose language, I'd say he was scared out of his wits. But," Schultz added, "I've seen fear syndromes before. Never anything like this."

ККККК "I have," Lazarus said suddenly.

ККККК "You have? Where? What were the circumstances?'

ККККК "Once," said Lazarus, "when I was a kid, a couple of hundred years back, I caught a grown coyote and penned him up. I had a notion I could train him to be a hunting dog. It didn't work.

ККККК "Ford acts just the way that coyote did."

ККККК An unpleasant silence followed. Schultz broke it with, "I don't quite see what you mean. What is the parallel?'

ККККК "Well," Lazarus answered slowly, "this is just my guess. Slayton is the only one who knows the true answer and he can't talk. But here's my opinion: we've had these Jockaira doped out all wrong from scratch. We made the mistake of thinking that because they looked like us, in a general way, and were about as civilized as we are, that they were people. But they aren't people at all. They are . . . domestic animals.

ККККК "Wait a minute now!" he added. "Don't get in a rush. There are people on this planet, right enough. Real people. They lived in the temples and the Jockaira called them gods. They are gods!"

ККККК Lazarus pushed on before anyone could interrupt. "I know what you're thinking. Forget it. I'm not going metaphysical on you; I'm just putting it the best I can. I mean that there is something living in those temples and whatever it is, it is such heap big medicine that it can pinch-hit for gods, so you might as well call 'em that. Whatever they are, they are the true dominant race on thisК planet-its people! To them, the rest of us, Jocks or us, are just animals, wild or tame. We made the mistake of assuming that a local religion was merely superstition. It ain't."

ККККК Barstow said slowly, "And you think this accounts for what happened to Ford?'

ККККК "I do. He met one, the one called Kreel, and it drove him crazy."

ККККК "I take it," said Schultz, "that it is your theory that any man exposed to this . . . this presence . . . would become psychotic?"

ККККК "Not exactly," answered Lazarus. "What scares me a damn' sight more is the fear that I might not go crazy!"

ККККК That same day the Jockaira withdrew all contact with the Earthmen. It was well that they did so, else there would have been violence. Fear hung over the city, fear of horror worse than death, fear of some terrible nameless thing, the mere knowledge of which would turn a man into a broken mindless animal. The Jockaira no longer seemed harmless friends, rather clownish despite their scientific attainments, but puppets, decoys, bait for the unseen potent beings who lurked in the "temples."

ККККК There was no need to vote on it; with the single-mindedness of a crowd stampeding from a burning building the Earthmen wanted to leave this terrible place. Zaccur Barstow assumed command. "Get King on the screen. Tell him to send down every boat at once. We'll get out of here as fast as we can." He ran his fingers worriedly through his hair. "What's the most we can load each trip, Lazarus? How long will the evacuation take?"

ККККК Lazarus muttered.

ККККК "What did you say?

ККККК "I said, 'It ain't a case of how long; it's a case of will we be let.' Those things in the temples may want more domestic animals-us!"

ККККК Lazarus was needed as a boat pilot but he was needed more urgently for his ability to manage a crowd. Zaccur Barstow was telling him to conscript a group of emergency police when Lazarus looked past Zaccur's shoulder and exclaimed, "Oh oh! Hold it, Zack-school's out."

ККККК Zaccur turned his head quickly an4 saw, approaching with stately dignity across the council hail, Kreel Sarloo. No one got in his way.

ККККК They soon found out why. Zaccur moved forward to greet him, found himself stopped about ten feet from the Jockaira. No clue to the cause; just that-stopped.

ККККК "I greet you, unhappy brother," Sarloo began.

ККККК "I greet you, Krecl Sarloo."

ККККК "The gods have spoken. Your kind can never be civilized (?).You and your brothers are to leave this world."

ККККК Lazarus let out a deep sigh of relief. -

ККККК "We are leaving, Kreel Sarloo," Zaccur answered soberly.

ККККК "The gods require that you leave. Send your bother Libby to me."

ККККК Zaccur sent for Libby, then turned back to Sarloo. But the Jockaira had nothing more to say to them; he seemed indifferent to their presence. They waited.

ККККК Libby arrived. Sarloo held him in a long conversation. Barstow and Lazarus were both in easy earshot and could see their lips move, but heard nothing. Lazarus found the circumstance very disquieting. Damn my eyes, he thought, I could figure several ways to pull that trick with the right equipment but I'll bet none of 'em is the right answer-and I don't see any equipment.

ККККК The silent discussion ended, Sarloo stalked off without farewell. Libby turned to the others and spoke; now his voice could be heard. "Sarloo tells me," he began, brow wrinkled in puzzlement, "that we are to go to a planet, uh, over thirtytwo light-years from here. The gods have decided it." He stopped and bit his lip.

ККККК "Don't fret about it," advised Lazarus. "Just be glad they want us to leave. My guess is that they could have squashed us flat just as easily. Once we're out in space we'll pick our. own destination."

ККККК "I suppose so. But the thing that puzzles me is that he mentioned a time about three hours~away as being our departure from this system."

ККККК "Why, that's utterly unreasonable," protested Barstow. "Impossible. We haven't the boats to do it."

ККККК Lazarus said nothing. He was ceasing to have opinions.

ККККК Zaccur changed his opinion quickly. Lazarus acquired one, born of experience. While urging his cousins toward the field where embarkation was proceeding, he found himself lifted up, free of the ground. He struggled, his arms and legs met no resistance but the ground dropped away. He closed his eyes, counted ten jets, opened them again. He was at least two miles in the air.

ККККК Below him, boiling up from the city like bats from a cave, were uncountable numbers of dots and shapes, dark against the sunlit ground. Some were close enough for him to see that they were men, Earthmen, the Families.

ККККК The horizon dipped down, the planet became a sphere, the sky turned black. Yet his breathing seemed normal, his blood vessels did not burst.

ККККК They were sucked into clusters around the open ports of the New Frontiers like bees swarming around a queen. Once inside the ship Lazarus gave himself over to a case of the shakes. Whew! he sighed to himself, watch that first step-it's a honey!

ККККК Libby sought out Captain King as soon as he was inboard and had recovered his nerve. He delivered Sarloo's message.

ККККК King seemed undecided. "I don't know," he said. "You know more about the natives than I do, inasmuch as I have hardly put foot to ground. But between ourselves, Mister, the way they sent my passengers back has me talking to myself. That was the most remarkable evolution I have ever seen performed."

ККККК "I might add that it was remarkable to experience, sir," Libby answered unhumorously. "Personally I would prefer to take up ski jumping. I'm glad you had the ship's access ports open."

ККККК "I didn't," said King tersely. "They were opened for me."

ККККК They went to the control room with the intention of getting the ship under boost and placing a long distance between it and the planet from which they had been evicted; thereafter they would consider destination and course. "This planet that Sarloo described to you," said King, "does it belong to a G-type star?"

ККККК "Yes," Libby confirmed, "an Earth-type planet accompanying a Sol-type star. I have its coordinates and could. identify from the catalogues. But we can forget it; it is too far away.'

ККККК "So . . ." King activated the vision system for the stellarium. Then neither of them said anything for several long moments. The images of the heavenly bodies told their own story.

ККККК With no orders from King, with no hands at the controls, the New Frontiers was on her long way again, headed out, as if she had a mind of her own.

ККККК "I can't tell you much," admitted Libby some hours later to a group consisting of King, Zaccur Barstow, and Lazarus Long. "I was able to determine, before we passed the speed of light-or appeared to-that our course then was compatible with the idea that we have been headed toward the star named by Kreel Sarloo as the destination ordered for us by his gods. We continued to accelerate and the stars faded out. I no longer have any astrogational reference points and I am unable to say where we are or where we are going,"

ККККК "Loosen up, Andy," suggested Lazarus. "Make a guess."

ККККК "Well . . . if our world line is a smooth function-if it is, and I have no data-then we may arrive in the neighborhood of star PK3722, where Kreel Sarloo said we were going."

ККККК "Rummph!" Lazarus turned to King. "Have you tried slowing down?"

ККККК "Yes," King said shortly. "The controls are dead."

ККККК "Mmmm . . . Andy, when do we get there?"

ККККК Libby shrugged helplessly. "I have no frame of reference. What is time without a space reference?"

ККККК Time and space, inseparable and one- Libby thought about it long after the others had left. To be sure, he had the space framework of the ship itself and therefore there necessarily was ship's time. Clocks in the ship ticked or hummed or simply marched; people grew hungry, fed themselves, got tired, rested. Radioactives deteriorated, physio-chemical processes moved toward states of greater entropy, his own consciousness perceived duration.

ККККК But the background of the stars, against which every timed function in the history of man had been measured, was gone. So far as his eyes or any instrument in the ship could tell him, they had become unrelated to the rest of the universe.

ККККК What universe?

ККККК There was no universe. It was gone.

ККККК Did they move? Can there be motion when there is nothing to move past?

ККККК Yet the false weight achieved by the spin of the ship persisted. Spin with reference to what? thought Libby. Could it be that space held a true, absolute, nonrelational texture of its own, like that postulated for the long-discarded "ether" thatthe classic Michelson-Morley experiments had failed to detect? No, more than that-had denied the very possibility of its existence? -had for that matter denied the possibility of speed greater than light. Had the ship actually passed the speed of light? Was it not more likely that this was a coffin, with ghosts as passengers, going nowhere at no time?

ККККК But Libby itched between his shoulder blades and was forced to scratch; his left leg had gone to sleep; his stomach was beginning to speak insistently for food-if this was death, he decided, it did not seem materially different from life.

ККККК With renewed tranquility, he left the control room and headed for his favorite refectory, while starting to grapple with the problem of inventing a new mathematics which would include all the new phenomena. The mystery of how the hypothetical gods of the Jockaira had teleported the Families from ground to ship he discarded. There had been no opportunity to obtain significant data, measured data; the best that any honest scientist could do, with epistemological rigor, was to include a note that recorded the fact and stated that it was unexplained. It was a fact; here he was who shortly before had been on the planet; even now Schultz's assistants were overworked trying to administer depressant drugs to the thousands who had gone to pieces emotionally under the outrageous experience. But Libby could not explain it and, lacking data, felt no urge to try. What he did want to do was to deal with world lines in a plenum, the basic problem of field physics.

ККККК Aside from his penchant for mathematics Libby was a simple person. He preferred the noisy atmosphere of the "Club," refectory 9-D, for reasons different from those of Lazarus. The company of people younger than himself reassured him; Lazarus was the only elder he felt easy with.

ККККК Food, he learned, was not immediately available at the Club; the commissary was still adjusting to the sudden change. But Lazarus was there and others whom he knew; Nancy Weatheral scrunched over and made room for him. "You're just the man I want to see," she said. "Lazarus is being most helpful. Where are we going this time and when do we get there?" -

ККККК Libby explained the dilemma as well as he could. Nancy wrinkled her nose. "That's a pretty prospect, I must say! Well, I guess that means back to the grind for little Nancy."

ККККК "What do you mean?"

ККККК "Have you ever taken care of a somnolent? No, of course you haven't. It gets tiresome. Turn them over, bend their arms, twiddle their tootsies, move their heads, close the tank and move on to the next one. I get so sick of human bodies that I'm tempted to take a vow of chastity."

ККККК "Don't commit yourself too far," advised Lazarus. "Why would you care, you old false alarm?"

ККККК Eleanor Johnson spoke up. "Fm glad to be in the ship again. Those slimy Jockaira-ugh!"

ККККК Nancy shrugged. "You're prejudiced, Eleanor. The Jocks are okay, in their way. Sure, they aren't exactly like us, but neither are dogs. You don't dislike dogs, do you?'

ККККК "That's what they are," Lazarus said soberly. "Dogs."

ККККК "Huh?"

ККККК "I don't mean that they are anything like dogs in most ways-they aren't even vaguely canine and they certainly are our equals and possibly our superiors in some things . . . but they are dogs just the same. Those things they call their 'gods' are simply their masters, their owners. We couldn't be domesticated, so the owners chucked us out."

ККККК Libby was thinking of the inexplicable telekinesis the Jockaira-or their masters-had used. "I wonder what it would have been like," he said thoughtfully, "if they had been able to domesticate us. They could have taught us a lot of wonderful things"

ККККК "Forget it," Lazarus said sharply. "It's not a man's place to be property."

ККККК "What is a man's place?"

ККККК "It's a man's business to be what he is . . . and be it in style!" Lazarus got up. "Got to go."

ККККК Libby started to leave also, but Nancy stopped him. "Don't go. I want to ask you some questions. What year is it back on~ Earth?"

ККККК Libby started to answer, closed his mouth. He started to answer a second time, finally said, "I don't know how to answer that question. It's like saying, 'How high is up?"

ККККК "I know I probably phrased it wrong," admitted Nancy. '1 didn't do very well in basic physics, but I did gather the idea that time is relative and simultaneity is an idea which applies only to two points close together in the same framework. But just the same, I want to know something. We've traveled a lot faster and farther than anyone ever did before, haven't we? Don't our clocks slow down, or something?"

ККККК Libby got that completely baffled look which mathematical-physicists wear whenever laymen try to talk about physics in nonmathematical language. "You're referring to the Lorentz-2 FitzGerald contraction. But, if you'll pardon me, anything one says about it in words is necessarily nonsense."

ККККК "Why?" she insisted.

ККККК "Because . . . well, because the language is inappropriate. The formulae used to describe the effect loosely called a contraction presuppose that the observer is part of the phenomenon. But verbal language contains the implicit assumption that we can stand outside the whole business and watch what goes on. The mathematical language denies the very possibility of any such outside viewpoint. Every observer has his own world line; he can't get outside it for a detached viewpoint."

ККККК "But suppose he did? Suppose we could see Earth right now?"

ККККК '~There I go again," Libby said miserably. "I tried to talk about it in words and all I did was to add to the confusion. There is no way to measure time in any absolute sense when two events are separated in a continuum. All you can measure is interval."

ККККК "Well, what is interval? So much space and so much time."

ККККК "No, no, no! It isn't that at all. Interval is . . . well, it's interval. I can write down formulae about it and show you how we use it, but it can't be defined in words. Look, Nancy, can you write the score for a full orchestration of a symphony in words?" -

ККККК "No. Well, maybe you could but it wonld take thousands of times as long."

ККККК "And musicians still could not play it until you put it back into musical notation. That's what I meant," Libby went on, "when I said that the language was inappropriate. I got into a difficulty like this once before in trying to describe the lightpressure drive. I was asked why, since the drive depends on loss of inertia, we people inside the ship had felt no loss of inertia. There was no answer, in words. Inertia isn't a word; it is a mathematical concept used in mathematically certain aspects of a plenum. I was stuck."

ККККК Nancy looked baffled but persisted doggedly. "My question still means something, even if I didn't phrase it right. You can't just tell me to run along and play. Suppose we turned around and went back the way we came, all the way to Earth, exactly the same trip but in reverse-just double the ship's time it has been so far. All right, what year would it be on Earth when we got there?'

ККККК "It would be . . . let me see, now-" The almost automatic processes of Libby's brain started running off the unbelievably huge and complex problem in accelerations, intervals, difform motion. He was approaching the answer in a warm glow of mathematical revery when the problem suddenly fell to pieces on him, became indeterminate. He abruptly realized that the problem had an unlimited number of equally valid answers.

ККККК But that was impossible. In the real world, not the fantasy world of mathematics, such a situation was absurd. Nancy's question had to have just one answer, unique and real.

ККККК Could the whole beautiful structure of relativity be an absurdity? Or did it mean that it was physically impossible ever to backtrack an interstellar distance?

ККККК "I'll have to give some thought to that one," Libby said hastily and left before Nancy could object.

ККККК But solitude and contemplation gave him no clue to the problem. It was not a failure of his mathematical ability; he was capable, he knew, of devising a mathematical description of any group of facts, whatever they might be. His difficulty lay in having too few facts. Until some observer traversed interstellar distances at speeds approximating the speed of light and returned to the planet from which he had started there could be no answer. Mathematics alone has no content, gives no answers.

ККККК Libby found himself wondering if the hills of his native Ozarks were still green, if the smell of wood smoke still clung to the trees in the autumn, then he recalled that the question lacked any meaning by any rules he knew of. He surrendered to an attack of homesickness such as he had not experienced since he was a youth in the Cosmic Construction Corps, making his first deep-space jump.

ККККК This feeling of doubt and uncertainty, the feeling of lostness and nostalgia, spread throughout the ship. On the first leg of their journey the Families had had the incentive that had kept the covered wagons crawling across the plains. But now they were going nowhere, one day led only to the next. Their long lives were become a meaningless burden.

ККККК Ira Howard, whose fortune established the Howard Foundation, was born in 1825 and died in 1873-of old age. He sold groceries to the Forty-niners in San Francisco, became a wholesale sutler in the American War of the Secession, multiplied his fortune during the tragic Reconstruction.

ККККК Howard was deathly afraid of dying. He hired the best doctors of his time to prolong his life. Nevertheless old age plucked him when most men are still young. But his will commanded that his money be used to lengthen human life. The administrators of the trust found no way to carry out his wishes other than by seeking out persons whose family trees showed congenital predispositions toward long life and then inducing them to reproduce in kind. Their method anticipated the work of Burbank; they may or may not have known of the illuminating researches of the Monk Gregor Mendel.

ККККК Mary Sperling put down the book she had been reading when Lazarus entered her stateeoom. He picked it up. "What are you reading, Sis? 'Ecclesiastes.' Hmm . . . I didn't know you were religious." He read aloud:

ККККК "'Yea, though he live a thousand years twice told, yet hath he seen no good: do not all go to one place?'

ККККК "Pretty grim stuff, Mary. Can't you find something more cheerful? Even in The Preacher?' His eyes skipped on down. "How about this one? 'For to him that is joined to all the living there is hope-' Or . . . mnunm, not too many cheerful spots. Try this: 'Therefore remove sorrow from thy heart, and put away evil from thy flesh: for childhood and youth are vanity.' That's more my style; I wouldn't be young again for overtime wages."

ККККК "I would."

ККККК "Mary, what's eating you? I find you sitting here, reading the most depressing book in the Bible, nothing but death and funerals. Why?"

ККККК She passed a hand wearily across her eyes. "Lazarus, I'm getting old. What else is there to think about?'

ККККК "You? Why, you're fresh as a daisy!"

ККККК She looked at him. She knew that he lied; her mirror showed her the greying hair, the relaxed skin; she felt it in her bones. Yet Lazarus was older than she . . . although she knew, from what she had learned of biology during the years she had assisted in the longevity research, that Lazarus should never have lived to be as old as he was now. When he was born the program had reached only the third generation, too few generations to eliminate the less durable strains-except through some wildly unlikely chance shuffling of genes.

ККККК But there he stood. "Lazarus," she asked, "how long do you expect to live?"

ККККК "Me? Now that's an odd question. I mind a time when I asked a chap that very same question-about me, I mean, not about him. Ever hear of Dr. Hugo Pinero?"

ККККК "'Pinero... Pinero.. .' Oh, yes, 'Pinero the Charlatan.'"

ККККК "Mary, he was no charlatan. He could do it, no foolin'. He could predict accurately when a man would die."

ККККК "But- Go ahead. What did he tell you?"

ККККК "Just a minute. I want you to realize that he was no fake. His predictions checked out right on the button-if he hadn't died, the life insurance companies would have been ruined. That was before you were born, but I was there and I know. Anyhow, Pinero took my reading and it seemed to bother him. So he took it again. Then he returned my money."

ККККК "What did he say?"

ККККК "Couldn't get a word out of him. He looked at me and he looked at his machine and he just frowned and clammed up. So I can't rightly answer your question."

ККККК "But what do you think about it, Lazarus? Surely you don't expect just to go on forever?"

ККККК "Mary," he said softly, "Fm not planning on dying. I'm not giving it any thought at all."

ККККК There was silence. At last she said, "Lazarus, I don't want to die. But what is the purpose of our long lives? We don't seem to grow wiser as we grow older. Are we simply hanging on after our tune has passed? Loitering in the kindergarten when we should be moving on? Must we die and be born again?"

ККККК "I don't know," said Lazarus, "and I don't have any way to find out. . . and I'm damned if I see any sense in my worrying about it. Or you either. I propose to hang onto this life as long as I can and learn as much as I can. Maybe wishing and understanding are reserved for a later existence and maybe they aren't for us at all, ever. Either way, I'm satisfied to be living and enjoying it. Mary my sweet, carpe that old diem! It's the only game in town."

ККККК The ship slipped back into the same monotonous routine that had obtained during the weary years of the first jump. Most of the Members went into cold-rest; the others tended them, tended the ship, tended the hydroponds. Among the somnolents was Slayton Ford; cold-rest was a common last resort therapy for functional psychoses.

ККККК The flight to star PK3722 took seventeen months and three days, ship's time.

ККККК The ship's officers had as little choice about the journey's end as about its beginning. A few hours before their arrival star images flashed back into being in the stellarium screens and the ship rapidly decelerated to interplanetary speeds. No feeling of slowing down was experienced; whatever mysterious forces were acting on them acted on all masses alike. The New Frontiers slipped into an orbit around a live green planet some hundred million miles from its sun; shortly Libby reported to Captain King that they were in a stable parking orbit.

ККККК Cautiously King tried the controls, dead since their departure. The ship surged; their ghostly pilot had left them.

ККККК Libby decided that the simile was incorrect; this trip had undoubtedly been planned for them but it was not necessary to assume that anyone or anything had shepherded them here. Libby suspected that the "gods" of the dog-people saw the plenum as static; their deportation was an accomplished fact to them before it happened-a concept regrettably studded with unknowns-but there were no appropriate words. Inadequately and incorrectly put into words, his concept was that of a "cosmic cam," a world line shaped for them which ran out of normal space and back into it; when the ship reached the end of its "cam" it returned to normal operation.

ККККК He tried to explain his concept to Lazarus and to the Captain, but he did not do well. He lacked data and also had not had time to refine his mathematical description into elegance; it satisfied neither him nor them.

ККККК Neither King nor Lazarus had time to give the matter much thought. Barstow's face appeared on an interstation viewscreen. "Captain!" he called out. "Can you come aft to lock seven? We have visitors!"

ККККК Barstow had exaggerated; there was only one. The creature reminded Lazarus of a child in fancy dress, masqueraded as a rabbit. The little thing was more android than were the Jockaira, though possibly not mammalian. It was unclothed but not naked, for its childlike body was beautifully clothed in short sleek golden fur. Its eyes were bright and seemed both merry and intelligent.

ККККК But King was too bemused to note such detail. A voice, a thought, was ringing in his head: ". . . so you are the group leader . . ." it said. ". . . welcome to our world . . . we have been expecting you . . . the (blank.) told us of your coming..."

ККККК Controlled telepathy. A creature, a race, so gentle, so civilized, so free from enemies, from all danger and strife that they could afford to share their thoughts with others-to share more than their thoughts; these creatures were so gentle and so generous that they were offering the humans a homestead on their planet. This was why this messenger had come: to make that offer.

ККККК To King's mind this seemed remarkably like the prize package that had been offered by the Jockaira; he wondered what the boobytrap might be in this proposition.

ККККК The messenger seemed to read his thought". . . look into our hearts. . . we hold no malice toward you . . . we share your love of life and we love the life in you . . .

ККККК "We thank you," King answered formally and aloud. "We will have to confer." He turned to speak to Barstow, glanced back. The messenger was gone.

ККККК The Captain said to Lazarus, "Where did he go?"

ККККК "Huh? Don't ask me."

ККККК "But you were in front of the lock."

ККККК "I was checking the tell-tales. There's no boat sealed on outside this lock-so they show. I was wondcring if they were working right. They are. How did he get into the ship? Where's his rig?'

ККККК "How did he leaver'

ККККК "Not past me!"

ККККК "Zaccur, he came in through this lock, didn't he?

ККККК "I don't know."

ККККК "But he certainly went out through it"

ККККК "Nope," denied Lazarus. "This lock hasn't been opened. The deep-space seals are still in place. See for yourself."

ККККК King did. "You don't suppose," he said slowly, "that he can pass through-"

ККККК "Don't look at me," said Lazarus. "I've got no more prejudices in the matter than the Red Queen. Where does a phone image go when you cut the circuit?" He left, whistling softly to himself. King did not recognize the tune. Its words, which Lazarus did not sing, started with:

ККККК "Last night I saw upon the stair

ККККК A little man who wasn't there-"

Chapter 4

ККККК THERE WAS NO CATCH to the offer. The people of the planet-they had no name since they had no spoken language and the Earthmen simply called them "The Little People"-the little creatures really did welcome them and help them. They convinced the Families of this without difficulty for there was no trouble in communication such as there had been with the Jockaira. The Little People could make even subtle thoughts kndwn directly to the Earthmen and in turn could sense correctly any thought directed at them. They appeared either to ignore or not to be able to read any thought not directed at them; communicatibn with them was as controlled as spoken speech. Nor did the Earthmen acquire any telepathic powers among themselves.

ККККК Their planet was even more like Earth than was the planet of the Jockaira. It was a little larger than Earth but had a slightly lower surface gravitation, suggesting a lower average density-the Little People made slight use of metals in their culture, which may be indicative.

ККККК The planet rode upright in its orbit; it had not the rakish tilt of Earth's axis. Its orbit was nearly circular; aphelion differed from perihelion by less than one per cent. There were no seasons. Nor was there a great heavy moon, such as Earth has, to wrestle its oceans about and to disturb the isostatic balance of its crust. Its hills were low, its winds were gentle, its seas were placid. To Lazarus' disappointment, their new home, had no lively weather; it hardly had weather at all; it had climate, and that of the sort that California patriots would have the rest of the Earth believe exists in their part of the globe.

ККККК But on the planet of the Little People it really exists.

ККККК They indicated to the Earth people where they were to land, a wide sandy stretch of beach running down to the sea. Back of the low break of the bank lay mile on mile of lush meadowland, broken by irregular clumps of bushes and trees. The landscape had a careless neatness, as if it were a planned park, although there was no evidence of cultivation. It was here, a messenger told the first scouting party, that they were welcome to live.

ККККК There seemed always to be one of the Little People present when his help might be useful-not with the jostling inescapable overhelpfulness of the Jockaira, but with the unobtrusive readiness to hand of a phone or a pouch knife. The one who accompanied the first party of explorers confused Lazarus and Barstow by assuming casually that he had met them before, that he had visited them in the ship. Since his fur was rich mahogany rather than golden, Barstow attributed the error to misunderstanding, with a mental reservation that these people might possibly be capable of chameleonlike changes in color. Lazarus reserved his judgment.

ККККК Barstow asked their guide whether or not his people had any preferences as to where and how the Earthmen were to erect buildings. The question had been bothering him because a preliminary survey from the ship had disclosed no cities. It seemed likely that the natives lived underground-in which case he wanted to avoid getting off on the wrong foot by starting something which the local government might regard as a slum.

ККККК He spoke aloud in words directed at their guide, they having learned already that such was the best way to insure that the natives would pick up the thought.

ККККК In the answer that the little being flashed back Barstow caught the emotion of surprise. ". . . must you sully the sweet countryside with interruptions? . . . to what purpose do you need to form buildings? . .

ККККК "We need buildings for many purposes," Barstow explained. "We need them as daily shelter, as places to sleep at night. We need them to grow our food and prepare it for eating." He considered trying to explain the processes of hydroponic farming, of food processing, and of cooking, then dropped it, trusting to the subtle sense of telepathy to let his "listener" understand. "We need buildings for many other uses, for workshops and laboratories, to house the machines whereby we communicate, for almost everything we do in our everyday life."

ККККК "Be patient with me . . ." the thought came, since I know so little of your ways . . . but tell me do you prefer to sleep in such as that? . . ." He gestured toward the ship's boats they had come down in, where their bulges showed above the low bank. The thought he used for the boats was too strong to be bound by a word; to Lazarus' mind came a thought of a dead, constricted space-a jail that had once harbored him, a smelly public phone booth.

ККККК "It is our custom."

ККККК The creature leaned down and patted the turf. ". . . is this not a good place to sleep? . . ."

ККККК Lazarus admitted to himself that it was. The ground was covered with a soft spring turf, grasslike but finer than grass, softer, more even, and set more closely together. Lazarus took off his sandals and let his bare feet enjoy it, toes spread and working. It was, he decided, more like a heavy fur rug than a lawn. -

ККККК "As for food . . ."" their guide went on, ". . . why struggle for that which the good soil gives freely? . . come with me. . ."

ККККК He took them across a reach of meadow to where low bushy trees hung over aT meandering brook. The "leaves" were growths the size of a man's hand, irregular in shape, and an inch or more in thickness. The little person broke off one and nibbled at it daintily.

ККККК Lazarus plucked one and examined it. It broke easily, like a well-baked cake. The inside was creamy yellow, spongy but crisp, and had a strong pleasant odor, reminiscent of mangoes.

ККККК "Lazarus, don't, eat that!" warned Barstow. "It hasn't been analyzed~"

ККККК ". . . it is harmonious with your body . .

ККККК Lazarus sniffed it again. "I'm willing to be a test case, Zack."

ККККК "Oh, well-" Barstow shrugged. "I warned you. You will anyhow."

ККККК Lazarus did. The stuff was oddly pleasing, firm enough to suit the teeth, piquant though elusive in flavor. It settled down happily in his stomach and made itself at home.

ККККК Barstow refused to let anyone else try the fruit until its effect on Lazarus was established. Lazarus took advantage of his exposed and privileged position to make a full meal-the best, he decided, that he had had in years.

ККККК ". . . will you tell me what you are in the habit of eating? . . ." inquired their little friend. Barstow started to reply but was checked by the creature's thought: ". . . all of you think about it . ." no further thought message came from him for a few moments, then he flashed, ". . . that is enough . . -. my wives will take care of it . . ."

ККККК Lazarus was not sure the image meant "wives" but some similar close relationship was implied. It had not yet been established that the Little People were bisexual-or what.

ККККК Lazarus slept that night out under the stars and let their clean impersonal light rinse from him the claustrophobia of the ship. The constellations here were distorted out of easy recognition, although he could recognize, he decided, the cool blue of Vega and the orange glow of Antares. -The one certainty was the Milky Way, spilling its cloudy arch across the sky just as at home. The Sun, he knew, could not be visible to the naked eye even if he knew where to look for it; its low absolute magnitude would not show up across the light-years. Have to get hold of Andy, he thought sleepily, work out its coordinates and pick it out with instruments. He fell asleep before it could occur to him to wonder why he should bother.

ККККК Since no shelter was needed at night they landed everyone as fast as boats could shuttle them down. The crowds were dumped on the friendly soil and allowed to rest, picnic fashion, until the colony could be organized. At first they ate supplies brought down from the ship, but Lazarus' continued good health caused the rule against taking chances with natural native foods to be re1axed shortly. After that they ate mostly of the boundlein rai'gesse of the plants and used ship's food only to vary their diets.

ККККК Several days after the last of them had been landed Lazarus was exploring alone some distance from the camp. He came across one of the Little People; the native greeted him with the same assumption of earlier acquaintance which all of them seemed to show and led Lazarus to a grove of low trees still farther from base. He indicated to Lazarus that he wanted him to eat.

ККККК Lazarus was not particularly hungry but he felt compelled to humor such friendliness, so he plucked and ate.

ККККК He almost choked in his astonishment. Mashed potatoes and brown gravy!

ККККК ". . . didn't we get it right? - . ." came an anxious thought.

ККККК "Bub," Lazarus said solemnly, "I don't know what you planned to do, but this is just fine!"

ККККК A warm burst of pleasure invaded his mind. ". . . try the next tree . .

ККККК Lazarus did so, with cautious eagerness. Fresh brown bread and sweet butter seemed to be the combination, though a dash of ice cream seemed to have crept in from somewhere.

ККККК He was hardly surprised when the third tree gave strong evidence of having both mushrooms and charcoal-broiled steak in its ancestry. ". . . we used your thought images almost entirely . . ." explained his companion. ". . . they were much stronger than those of any of your wives . . ."

ККККК Lazarus did not bother to explain that he was not married. The little person added, ". . . there has not yet been time to simulate the appearances and colors your thoughts showed does it matter much to you? .

ККККК Lazarus gravely assured him that it mattered very little.

ККККК When he returned to the base, he had considerable difficulty in convincing others of the seriousness of his report.

ККККК One who benefited greatly from the easy, lotus-land quality of their new home was Slayton Ford. He had awakened from cold rest apparently recovered from his breakdown except in one respect: he had no recollection of whatever it was he had experienced in the temple of Kreel. Ralph Schultz considered this a healthy adjustment to an intolerable experience and dismissed him as a patient.

ККККК Ford seemed younger and happier than he had appeared before his breakdown. He no longer held formal office among the Members-indeed there was little government of any sort; the Families lived in cheerful easy-going anarchy on this favored planet-but he was still addressed by his title and continued to be treated as an elder, one whose advice was sought, whose judgment was deferred to, along with Zaccur Barstow, Lazarus, Captain King, and others. The Families paid little heed to calendar ages; close friends might differ by a century. For years they had benefited from his skilled administration; now they continued to treat him as an elder statesman, even though two-thirds of them were older than was he.

ККККК The endless picnic stretched into weeks, into months. After being long shut up in the ship, sleeping or working, the temptation to take a long vacation was too strong to resist and there was nothing to forbid it. Food in abundance, ready to eat and easy to handle, grew almost everywhere; the water in the numerous streams was clean and potable. As for clothing, they had plenty if they wanted to dress but the need was esthetic rather, than utilitarian; the Elysian climate made clothing for protection as silly as suits for swimming. Those who liked clothes wore them; bracelets and beads and flowers in the hair were quite enough for most of them and not nearly so much nuisance if one chose to take a dip in the sea.

ККККК Lazarus stuck to his kilt.

ККККК The culture and degree of enlightenment of the Little People was difficult to understand all at once, because their ways were subtle. Since they lacked outward signs, in Earth terms, of high scientific attainment-no great buildings, no complex mechanical transportation machines, no throbbing power plants-it was easy to mistake them for Mother Nature's children, living in a Garden of Eden.

ККККК Only one-eighth of an iceberg shows above water.

ККККК Their knowledge of physical science was not inferior to that of the colonists; it was incredibly superior. They toured the ship's boats with polite interest, but confounded their guides by inquiring why things were done this way rather than that?-and the way suggested invariably proved to be simpler and more efficient than Earth technique. . . when the astounded human technicians managed to understand what they were driving at.

ККККК The Little Pedple understood machinery and all that machinery implies, but they simply had little use for it. They obviously did not need it for communication and had little need for it for transportation (although the full reason for that was not at once evident), and they had very little need for machinery in any of their activities. But when they had a specific need for a mechanical device they were quite capable of inventing, building it, using it once, and destroying it, performing the whole process with a smooth cooperation quite foreign to that of men.

ККККК But in biology their preeminence was the most startling. The Little People were masters in the manipulation of life forms. Developing plants in a matter of days which bore fruit duplicating not only in flavor but in nutrition values the foods humans were used to was not a miracle to them but a routine task any of their biotechnicians could handle. They did it more easily than an Earth horticulturist breeds for a certain strain of color or shape in a flower.

ККККК But their methods were different from those of any human plant breeder. Be it said for them that they did try to explain their methods, but the explanations simply did not come through. In our terms, they claimed to "think" a plant into the shape and character they desired. Whatever they meant by that, it is certainly true that they could take a dormant seedling plant and, without touching it or operating on it in any way perceptible to their human students, cause it to bloom and burgeon into maturity in the space of a few hours-with new characteristics not found in the parent line . . and which bred true thereafter.

ККККК However the Little People differed from Earthmen only in degree with respect to scientific attainments. In an utterly basic sense they differed from humans in kind.

ККККК They were not individuals.

ККККК No single body of a native housed a discrete individual. Their individuals were multi-bodied; they had group "souls." The basic unit of their society was a telepathic rapport group of many parts. The number of bodies and brains housing one individual ran as high as ninety or more and was never less than thirty-odd.

ККККК The colonists began to understand much that had been utterly puzzling about the Little People only after they learned this fact. There is much reason to believe that the Little People found the Earthmen equally puzzling, that they, too, had assumed that their pattern of existence must be mirrored in others. The eventual discovery of the true facts on each side, brought about mutual misunderstandings over identity, seemed to arouse horror in the minds of the Little People. They withdrew themselves from the neighborhood of the Families' settlement and remained away for several days.

ККККК At length a messenger entered the camp site and sought out Barstow. ". . .We are sorry we shunned you . . . in our haste we mistook your fortune for your fault . . . we wish to help you . . . we offer to teach you that you may become like ourselves . . ."

ККККК Barstow pondered how to answer this generous overture. "We thank you for your wish to help us," he said at last, "but what you call our misfortune seems to be a necessary part of our makeup. Our ways are not your ways. I do not think we could understand your ways."

ККККК The thought that came back to him was very troubled. "We have aided the beasts of the air and of the ground to cease their strife . . . but if~you do not wish our help we will not thrust it on you . . ."

ККККК The messenger went away, leaving Zaccur Barstow troubled in his mind. Perhaps, he thought, ha had been hasty in answering without taking time to consult the elders. Telepathy was certainly not a gift to be scorned; perhaps the Little People could train them in telepathy without any loss of human individualism. But what he knew of the sensitives among the Families did not encourage such hope; there was not a one of them who was emotionally healthy, many of them were mentally deficient as well-it did not seem like a safe path for humans.

ККККК It could be discussed later, he decided; no need to hurry. "No need to hurry" was the spirit throughout the settlement. There was no need to strive, little that had to be done and rarely any rush about that little. The sun was warm and pleasant, each day was much like the next, and there was always the day after that. The Members, predisposed by their inheritance to take a long view of things, began to take an eternal view. Time no longer mattered. Even the longevity research, which had continued throughout their memories, languished. Gordon Hardy tabled his current experimentation to pursue the vastly more fruitful occupation of learning what the Little People knew of the nature of life. He was forced to take it slowly, spending long hours in digesting new knowledge. As time trickled on, he was hardly aware that his hours of contemplation were becoming longer, his bursts of active study less frequent.

ККККК One thing he did learn, and its implications opened up whole new fields of thought: the Little People had, in one sense, conquered death.

ККККК Since each of their egos was shared among many bodies, the death of one body involved no death for the ego. All memory experiences of that body remained intact, the personality associated with it was not lost, and the physical loss could be made up by letting a young native "marry" into the group. But a group ego, one of the personalities which spoke to the Earthmen, could not die, save possibly by the destruotion of every body it lived in. They simply went on, apparently forever.

ККККК Their young, up to the time of "marriage" or group assimilation, seemed to have little personality and only rudimentary or possibly instinctive mental processes. Their elders expected no more of them in the way of intelligent behavior than a human expects of a child still in the womb. There were always many such uncompleted persons attached to any ego group; they were cared for like dearly beloved pets or helpless babies, although they were often as large and as apparently mature to Earth eyes as were their elders.

ККККК Lazarus grew bored with paradise more quickly than did the majority of his cousins. "It can't always," he complained to Libby, who was lying near him on the fine grass, "be time for tea."

ККККК "What's fretting you, Lazarus?"

ККККК "Nothing in particular." Lazarus set the point of his knife on his right elbow, flipped it with his other hand, watched it bury its point in the ground. "It's just that -this place reminds me of a well-run zoo. It's got about as much future." He grunted scornfully. "It's 'Never-Never Land."

ККККК "But what in particular is worrying you?"

ККККК "Nothing. That's what worries me. Honest to goodness, Andy, don't you see anything wrong in being turned out to pasture like this?"

ККККК Libby grinned sheepishly. "I guess it's my hillbilly blood. 'When it don't rain, the roof don't leak; when it rains, I cain't fix it nohow," he quoted. "Seems to me we're doing tolerably well. What irks you?"

ККККК "Well-" Lazarus' pale-blue eyes stared far away; he paused in his idle play with his knife. "When I was a young man a long time ago, I was beached in the South Seas-"

ККККК "Hawaii?'

ККККК "No. Farther south. Damned if I know what they call it today. I got hard up, mighty hard up, and sold my sextant. Pretty soon-or maybe quite a while-I could have passed for a native. I lived like one. It didn't seem to matter. But one day I caught a look at myself in a mirror." Lazarus sighed gustily. "I beat my way out of that place shipmate to a cargo of green hides, which may give you some idea how. scared and desperate I was!"

ККККК Libby did not comment. "What do you do with your time, Lib?" Lazarus persisted.

ККККК "Me? Same as always. Think about mathematics. Try to figure out a dodge for a space drive like' the one that got us here."

ККККК "Any luck on that?" Lazarus was suddenly alert.

ККККК "Not yet. Gimme time. Or I just watch the clouds integrate. There are amusing mathematical relationships everywhere if you are on the lookout for them. In the ripples on the water, or the shapes of busts-elegant fifth-order functions."

ККККК "Huh? You mean 'fourth order."

ККККК "Fifth order. You omitted the time variable. I like fifth-order equations," Libby said dreamily. "You find 'em in fish, too."

ККККК "Huinmph!" said Lazarus, and stood up suddenly. "That may be all right for you, but it's not my pidgin."

ККККК "Going some place?"

ККККК "Goin' to take a walk."

ККККК Lazarus walked north. He walked the rest of that day, slept on the ground as usual that night, and was up and moving, still to the north, at dawn. The next day was followed by another like it, and still another. The going"was easy, much like strolling in a park . . . too easy, in Lazarus' opinion. For the sight of a volcano, or a really worthwhile waterfall, he felt willing to pay four bits and throw in a jackknife.

ККККК The food plants were sometimes strange, but abundant and satisfactory. He occasionally met one or more of the Little People going about their mysterious affairs: they never bothered him nor asked why he was traveling but simply greeted him with the usual assumption of previous acquaintanceship. He began to long for one who would turn out to be a stranger; he felt watched.

ККККК Presently the nights grew colder, the days less balmy, and the Little People less numerous. When at last he had not seen one for an entire day, he camped for the night, remained there the next day-took out his soul and examined it.

ККККК He had to admit that he could find no reasonable fault with the planet nor its inhabitants. But just as definitely it was not to his taste. No philosophy that he had ever heard or read gave any reasonable purpose for man's existence, nor any rational clue to his proper conduct. Basking in the sunshine might be as good a thing to do with one's life as any other- but it was not for him and he knew it, even if he could not define how he knew it.

ККККК The hegira of the Families had been a mistake. It would have been a more human, a mqre mature and manly thing, to have stayed and fought for their rights, even if they had died insisting on them. Instead they had fled across half a universe (Lazarus was reckless about his magnitudes) looking for a place to light. They had found one, a good one-but already occupied by beings so superior as to make them intolerable for men. . . yet so supremely indifferent in their superiority to men that they had not even bothered to wipe them out, but had whisked them away to this-this -over-manicured country club.

ККККК And that in itself was the unbearable humiliation. The New Frontiers was the culmination of five hundred years of human scientific research, the best that men could do-but it had been flicked across the deeps of space as casually as a man might restore a baby bird to its nest.

ККККК The Little People did not seem to want to kick them out but the Little People, in their own way, were as demoralizing to men as were the gods of the Jockaira. One at a time they might be morons - but taken as groups each rapport group was a genius that threw the best minds that men could offer into the shade. Even Andy. Human beings could not hope to compete with that type of organization any more than a backroom shop could compete with an automated cybernated factory. Yet to form any such group identities, even if they could which he doubted, would be, Lazarus felt very sure, to give up whatever it was that made them men.

ККККК He admitted that he was prejudiced in favor of men. He was a man.

ККККК The uncounted days slid past while he argued with himself over the things that bothered him-problems that had made sad the soul of his breed since the first apeman had risen to self-awareness, questions never solved by full belly nor fine machinery. And the endless quiet days did no more to give him final answers than did all the soul searchings of his ancestors. Why? What shall it profit a man? No answer came back -save one: a firm unreasoned conviction that he was not intended for, or not ready for, this timeless snug harbor of ease.

ККККК His troubled reveries were interrupted by the appearance of one of the Little People. ". . . greetings, old friend your wife King wishes you to return to your home . . . he has need of your advice . . ."

ККККК "What's the trouble?" Lazarus demanded.

ККККК But the little creature either could or would not tell him. Lazarus gave his belt a hitch and headed south. ". . . there is no need to go slowly . . ." a thought came after him.

ККККК Lazarus let himself be led to a clearing beyond a clump of trees. There he found an egg-shaped object about six feet long, featureless except for a door in the side. The native went in through the door, Lazarus squeezed his larger bulk in after him; the door closed.

ККККК It opened almost at once and Lazarus saw that they were on the beach just below the human settlement. He had to admit that it was a good trick.

ККККК Lazarus hurried to the ship's boat parked on the beach in which Captain King shared with Barstow a semblance of community headquarters. "You sent for me, Skipper. What's up?"

ККККК King's austere face was grave. "It's about Mary Sperling."

ККККК Lazarus felt a sudden cold tug at his heart. "Dead?"

ККККК "No. Not exactly. She's gone over to the Little People. 'Married' into one of their groups."

ККККК "What? But that's impossible!"

ККККК Lazarus was wrong. There was no faint possibility of interbreeding between Earthmen and natives but there was no barrier, if sympathy existed, to a human merging into one of their rapport groups, drowning his personality in the ego of the many.

ККККК Mary Sperling, moved by conviction of her own impending death, saw in the deathless group egos a way out. Faced with the eternal problem of life and death, she had escaped the problem by choosing neither . . . selflessness. She had found a group willing to receive her, she had crossed over.

ККККК "It raises a lot of new problems," concluded King. "Slayton and Zaccur and I all felt that you had better be here."

ККККК "Yes, yes, sure-but where is Mary?" Lazarus demanded and then ran out of the room without waiting for an answer. He charged through the settlement ignoring both greetings and attempts to stop him. A short distance oustide the camp he ran across a native He skidded to a stop. "Where is Mary Sperling?"

ККККК ". . . I am Mary Sperling . .

ККККК "For the love of- You can't be."

ККККК "I am Mary Sperling and Mary Sperling is myself do you not know me, Lazarus? . . . I know you.

ККККК Lazarus waved his hands. "No! I want to see Mary Sperling who looks like an Earthman-Iike me!"

ККККК The native hesitated.". . . follow me, then . . .

ККККК Lazarus found her a long way from the camp; it was obvious that she had been avoiding the other colonists. "Mary!"

ККККК She answered him mind to mind: ". . I am sorry to see you troubled . . . Mary Sperling is gone except in that she is part of us . . ."

ККККК "Oh, come off it, Mary! Don't give me that stuff! Don't you know me?"

ККККК ". . . of course I know you, Lazarus . . . it is you who do not know me . . . do not trouble your soul or grieve your heart with the sight of this body in front of you . . . I am not one of your kind . . . I am native to this planet.

ККККК "Mary," he insisted, "you've got to undo this. You've got to come out of there!"

ККККК She shook her head, an oddly human gesture, for the face no longer held any trace of human expression; it was a mask of otherness. ". . . that is impossible . . .Mary Sperling is gone . . . the one who speaks with you is inextricably myself and not of your kind." The creature who had been Mary Sperling turned and walked away.

ККККК "Mary!" he cried. His heart leapt across the span of centuries to the night his mother had died. He covered his face with his hands and wept the unconsolable grief of a child,

Chapter S

ККККК LAZAIWS found both King and Barstow waiting for him when he returned. King looked at his face. "I could have told you," he said soberly, "but you wouldn't wait."

ККККК "Forget it," Lazatus said harshly. "What now?"

ККККК "Lazarus, there is something else you have to see before we discuss anything," Zaccur Barstow answered.

ККККК "Okay. What?"

ККККК "Just come and, see." They led him to a compartment in the ship's boat which was used as a headquarters. Contrary to Families' custom it was locked; King let them in. There was a woman inside, who, when she saw the three, quietly withdrew, locking the door again as she went out.

ККККК "Take a look at that," directed Barstow.

ККККК It was a living creature in an incubator-a child, but no such child as had ever been seen before. Lazarus stared at it, then said angrily, "What the devil is it?"

ККККК "See for yourself. Pick it up. You won't hurt it."

ККККК Lazarus did so, gingerly at first, then without shrinking from the contact as his curiosity increased. What it was, he could not say. It was not human; it was just as certainly not offspring of the Little People. Did this planet, like the last, contain some previously unsuspected race? It was manlike, yet certainly not a man child. It lacked even the button nose of a baby, nor were there evident external ears. There were organs in the usual locations of each but flush with the skull and protected with many ridges. Its hands had too many fingers and there was an extra large one near each wrist which ended in a cluster of pink worms.

ККККК There was something odd about the torso of the infant which Lazarus could not define. But two other gross facts were evident: the legs ended not in human feet but in horny, toeless pediments-hoofs. And the creature was hermaphroditic-not in deformity but in healthy development, an androgyne.

ККККК "What is it?" he repeated, his mind filled with lively suspicion.

ККККК "That," said Zaccur, "is Marion Schmidt, born three weeks ago."

ККККК "Huh? What do you mean?"

ККККК "It means that the Little People are just as clever in manipulating us as they are in manipulating plants."

ККККК "What? But they agreed to leave us alone!"

ККККК "Don't blame them too quickly. We let ourselves in for it. The origihal idea was simply a few improvements."

ККККК "Improvements!' That thing's an obscenity."

ККККК "Yes and no. My stomach turns whenever I have to took at it . . . but actually-well, it's sort of a superman. Its body architecture has been redesigned for greater efficiency, our useless simian hangovers have been left out, and its organs have been rearranged in a more sensible fashion. You can't say it's not human, for it is . . - an improved model. Take that extra appendage at the wrist. That's another hand, a miniature one . . - backed up by a microscopic eye. You can see how useful that would be, once you get used to the idea." Barstow stared at it. "But it looks horrid, to me~'

ККККК "It'd look horrid to anybody," Lazarus stated. "It may be an improvement, but damn it, I say it ain't humans"

ККККК "In any case it creates a problem."

ККККК "I'll say it does!" Lazarus looked at it again. "You say it has a second set of eyes in those tiny bands? That doesn't seem possible."

ККККК Barstow shrugged. "I'm no biologist. But every cell in the body contains a full bundle of chromosomes. I suppose that you could grow eyes, or bones, or anything you liked anywhere, if you knew how to manipulate the genes in the chromosomes. And they know."

ККККК "I don't want to be manipulated!"

ККККК "Neither do I."

ККККК Lazarus stood on the bank and stared out over the broad beach at a full meeting of- the Families. "I am-" he started formally, then looked puzzled. "Come here a moment, Andy." He whispered to Libby; Libby looked pained and whispered back. Lazarus looked exasperated and whispered again. Finally he straightened up and started over.

ККККК "I am two hundred and forty-one years old-at least," he stated. "Is there anyone here who is older?" It was empty formality; he knew that he was the eldest; he felt twice that old. "The meeting is opened,~' he went on, his big voice rumbling on down the beach assisted by speaker systems from the ship's boats. "Who is your chairman?"

ККККК "Get on with it," someone called from the crowd.

ККККК "Very well," said Lazarus. "Zaccur Barstow!"

ККККК Behind Lazarus a technician aimed a directional pickup at Barstow. "Zaccur Barstow," his voice boomed out, "speaking for myself. Some of us have come to believe that this planet, pleasant as it is, is not the place for us. You all know about Mary Sperling, you've seen stereos of Marion Schmidt; there have been other things and I won't elaborate. But emigrating again poses another question, the question of where? Lazarus Long proposes that we return to Earth. In such a-" His words were drowned by noise from the crowd.

ККККК Lazarus shouted them down. "Nobody is going to be forced to leave. But if enough of us want to leave to justify taking the ship, then we can. I say go back to Earth. Some say look for another planet. That'll have to be decided. But first-how many of you think as I do about leaving here?"

ККККК "I do!" The shout was echoed by many others. Lazarus peered toward the first man to answer, tried to spot him, glanced over his shoulder at the tech, then pointed. "Go ahead, bud," he ruled. "The rest of you pipe down."

ККККК "Name of Oliver Schmidt. I've been waiting for months for somebody to suggest this. I thought I was the only sorehead in the Families. I haven't any real reason for leaving-I'm not scared out by the Mary Sperling matter, nor Marion Schmidt. Anybody who likes such things is welcome to them-live and let live. But I've got a deep down urge to see Cincinnati again. I'm fed up with this place. I'm tired of being a lotus eater. Damn it, I want to work for my living! According to the Families' geneticists I ought to be good for another century at least. I can't see spending that much time lying in the inn and daydreaming."

ККККК When he shut up, at least a thousand more tried to get the floor. "Easy! Easy!" bellowed Lazarus. "If everybody wants to talk, I'm going to have to channel it through your Family representatives. But let's get a sample here and there." He picked out another man, told him to sound off.

ККККК "I won't take long," the new speaker said, "as I agree with Oliver Schmidt I just wanted to mention my own reason. Do any of you miss the Moon? Back home I used to sit out on my balcony on warm summer nights and smoke and look at the Moon. I didn't know it was important to me, but it is. I want a planet with a moon."

ККККК The next speaker said only, "This case of Mary Sperling has given me a case of nerves. I get nightmares that I've gone over myself."

ККККК The arguments went on and on. Somebody pointed out that they had been chased off Earth; what made anybody think that they would be allowed to return? Lazarus answered that himself. "We learned a lot from the Jockaira and now we've learned a lot more from the Little People-things that put us way out ahead of anything scientists back on Earth had even dreamed of. We can go back to Earth loaded for bear. We'll be in shape to demand our rights, strong enough to defend them."

ККККК "Lazarus Long-" came another voice.

ККККК "Yes," acknowledged Lazarus.

ККККК "You over there, go ahead."

ККККК "I am too old to make any more jumps from star to star and much too old to fight at the end of such a jump. Whatever the rest of you do, I'm staying."

ККККК "In that case," said Lazarus, "there is no need to discuss it, is there?"

ККККК "I am entitled to speak."ККККК -

ККККК "All right, you've spoken. Now give sotheone else a chance."

ККККК The sun set and the stars came out and still the talk went on. Lazarus knew that it would never end unless he moved to end it. "All right," he shouted, ignoring the many who still, wanted to speak. "Maybe we'll have to turn this back to the Family councils, but let's take a trial vote and see where we are. Everybody who wants to go back to Earth move way over to my right. Everybody who wants to stay here move down the beach to my left. Everybody who wants to go exploring for still another planet gather right here in front of me." He dropped back and said to the sound tech, "Give them some music to speed 'em up."

ККККК The tech nodded and the homesick strains of Valse Triste sighed over the beach. It was followed by The Green Hills of Earth. Zaccur Barstow turned toward Lazarus. "You picked that music."

ККККК "Me?" Lazarus answered with bland innocence. "You know I ain't musical, Zack."

ККККК Even with music the separation took a long time. The last movement of the immortal Fifth had died away long before they at last had sorted themselves into three crowds.

ККККК On the left about a tenth of the total number were gathered, showing thereby their intention of staying. They were mostly the old and the tired, whose sands had run low. With them were a few youngsters who had never seen Earth, plus a bare sprinkling of other ages.

ККККК In the center was a very small group, not over three hundred, mostly men and a few younger women, who voted thereby for still newer frontiers.

ККККК But the great mass was on Lazarus' right. He looked at them and saw new animation in their faces; it lifted his heart, for he had been bitterly afraid that he was almost alone in his wish to leave.

ККККК He looked back at the small group nearest him. "It looks like you're outvoted," he said to them alone, his voice unamplifled. "But never mind, there always comes another day." He waited.

ККККК Slowly the group in the middle began to break up. By ones and twos and threes they moved away. A very few drifted over to join those who were staying; most of them merged with the group on the right.

ККККК When this secondary division was complete Lazarus spoke to the smaller group on his left. "All right," he said very gently, "You . . . you old folks might as well go back up to the meadows and get your sleep. The rest of us have things to make."

ККККК Lazarus then gave Libby the floor and let him explain to the majority crowd that the trip home would not be the weary journey the flight from Earth had been, nor even the tedious second jump. Libby placed all of the credit where most of it belonged, with the Little People. They had straightened him out with his difficulties in dealing with the problem of speeds which appeared to exceed the speed of light. If the Little People knew what they were talking about -and Libby was sure that they did-there appeared to be no limits to what Libby chose to call "para-acceleration"-"para-" because, like Libby's own light-pressure drive, it acted on the whole mass uniformly and could no more be perceived by the senses than can gravitation, and "para-" also because the ship would not go "through" but rather around or "beside" normal space. "it is not so much a matter of driving the ship as it is a selection of appropriate potential level in an n-dimensional hyperplenum of n-plus-one possible-"

ККККК Lazarus firmly cut him off. "That's your department, son, and everybody trusts you in it. We ain't qualified to discuss the fine points."

ККККК "I was only going to add-"

ККККК "I know. But you were already out of the world when I stopped you."

ККККК Someone from the crowd shouted one more question. "When do we get there?"

ККККК "I don't know," Libby admitted, thinking of the question the way Nancy Weatheral had put it to him long ago. "I can't say what year it will be . . . but it will seem like about three weeks from now."

ККККК The preparations consumed days simply because many round trips of the ship's boats were necessary to embark them. There was a marked lack of ceremonious farewell because those remaining behind tended to avoid those who were leaving. Coolness had sprung up between the two groups; the division on the beach had split friendships, had even broken up contemporary marriages, had caused many hurt feelings, unresolvable bitterness. Perhaps the only desirable aspect of the division was that the parents of the mutant Marion Schmidt had elected to remain behind.

ККККК Lazarus was in charge of the last boat to leave. Shortly before he planned to boost he felt a touch at his elbow. "Excuse me," a young man said. "My name's Hubert Johnson. 1 want to go along but I've had to stay back with the other crowd to keep my mother from throwing fits. If I show up at the last minute, can 1 still go along?"

ККККК Lazirus looked him over. "You look old enough to decide without asking me."

ККККК "You don't understand. I'm an only child and my mother tags me around. I've got to sneak back before she misses me. How much longer-"

ККККК "I'm not holding this boat for anybody. And you'll never break away any younger. Get into the boat"

ККККК "But. . ."

ККККК "Oft!" The young man did so, with one worried backward glance at the bank. There was a lot, thought Lazarus, to be said for ectogenesis.

ККККК Once inboard the New Frontiers Lazarus reported to Captain King in the control room. "All inboard?" asked King.

ККККК "Yeah. Some late deciders, pro and con, and one more passenger at the last possible split second-woman named Eleanor Johnson. Let's go!"

ККККК King turned to Libby. "Let's go, Mister."

ККККК The stars blinked out.

ККККК They flew blind, with only Libby's unique talent to guide them. If he had doubts as to his ability to lead them through the featureless blackness of other space he kept them to himself. On the twenty-third ship's day of the reach and the eleventh day of para-deceleration the stars reappeared, all in their old familiar ranges-the Big Dipper, giant Orion, lopsidecL Crux, the fairy Pleiades, and dead ahead of them, blazing against the frosty backdrop of the Milky Way, was a golden light that had to be the Sun.

ККККК Lazarus had tears in his eyes for the second time in a month.

ККККК They could not simply rendezvous with Earth, set a parking orbit, and disembark; they had-to throw their hats in first. Besides that, they needed first to know what time it was.

ККККК Libby was able to establish quickly, through proper motions of nearest stars, that it was not later than about 3700 A.D.; without precise observatory instruments he refused to commit himself further. But once they were close enough to see the Solar planets he had another clock to read; the planets themselves make a clock with nine hands.

ККККК For any date there is a unique configuration of those "hands" since no planetary period is exactly commensurate with another. Pluto marks off an "hour" of a quarter of a millennium; Jupiter's clicks a cosmic minute of twelve years; Mercury whizzes a "second" of about ninety days. The other "hands" can refine these readings-Neptune's period is so cantankerously different from that of Pluto that the two fall into approximately repeated configuration only once in seven hundred and fifty-eight years. The great clock can be read with any desired degree of accuracy over any period-but it is not easy to read.

ККККК Libby started to read it as soon as any of the planets could be picked out. He muttered over the problem. "There's not a chance that we'll pick up Pluto," he complained to Lazarus, "and I doubt if we'll have Neptune. The inner planets give me an infinite series of approximations-you know as well as I do that "infinite" is a question-begging term. Annoying!"

ККККК "Aren't you looking at it the hard way, son? You can get a practical answer. Or move over and I'll get one." -

ККККК "Of course I can get a practical answer," Libby said petulantly, "if you're satisfied with that But-"

ККККК "But me no 'buts'-what year is it, man!"

ККККК "Eh? Let's put it this way. The time rate in the ship and duration on Earth have been unrelated three times. But now they are effectively synchronous again, such that slightly over seventy-four years have passed since we 1eft.'

ККККК Lazarus heaved a sigh. "Why didn't you say so?" He had been fretting that Earth might - not be recognizable . . . they might have torn down New York or something like that.

ККККК "Shucks, Andy, you shouldn't have scared me like that."

ККККК "Mmm . . ." said Libby. It was one of no further interest to him. There remained only the delicious problem of inventing a mathematics which would describe elegantly two apparently irreconcilable groups of facts: the Michelson-Morley experiments and the log of the New Frontiers. He set happily about it. Mmm . . . what was the least number of pamdimensions indispeMably necessary to contain the augmented plenum using a sheaf of postulates affirming- It kept him contented for a considerable time-subjective time, of course.

ККККК The ship was placed in a temporary orbit half a billion miles from the Sun with a radius vector normal to the plane of the ecliptic. Parked thus at right angles to and far outside the flat pancake of the Solar System they were safe from any long chance of being discovered. A ship's boat had been fitted with thЌ neo-Libby drive during the jump and a negotiating party was sent down.

ККККК Lazarus wanted to go along; King refused to let him, which sent Lazarus into sulks. King had said curtly, "This isn't a raiding party, Lazarus; this is a diplomatic mission."

ККККК "Hell, man, I can be diplomatic when it pays!"

ККККК "No doubt But we'll send a man who doesn't go armed to the 'fresher."

ККККК Ralph Schultz headed the party, since psychodynamic factors back on Earth were of first importance, but he was aided by legal voluntary and technical specialists. If the Families were going to have to fight for living room it was necessary to know what sort of technology, what sort of weapons, they would have to meet-but it was even more necessary to find out whether or not a peaceful landing could be arranged.

ККККК Schultz had been authorized by the elders to offer a plan under which the Families would colonize the thinly settled and retrograded European continent. But it was possible, even likely, that this had already been done in their absence, in view of the radioactive half-lifes involved. Schultz would probably have to improvise some other compromise, depending on the conditions he found.

ККККК Again there was nothing to do but wait.

ККККК Lazarus endured it in nail-chewing uncertainty. He had claimed publicly that the Families had such great scientific advantage that they could meet and defeat the best that Earth could offer. Privately, he knew that this was sophistry and so did any other Member competent to judge the matter. Knowledge alone did not win wars. The ignorant fanatics of Europe's Middle Ages had defeated the incomparably higher Islamic culture; Archimedes had been struck down by a common soldier; barbarians had sacked Rome. Libby, or some one, might devise an unbeatable, weapon from their mass of new knowledge-or might not and who knew what strides military art had made on earth in three quarters of a century?

ККККК King, trained in military art, was worried by the same thing and still more worried by the personnel he would have to work with. The Families were anything but trained legions; the prospect of trying to whip those cranky individualists into some semblance of a disciplined fighting machine ruined his sleep.

ККККК These doubts and fears King and Lazarus did not mention even to each other; each was afraid that to mention such things would be to spread a poison of fear through the ship. But they were not alone in their worries; half of the ship's company realized the weaknesses of their position and kept silent only because a bitter resolve to go home, no matter what, made them willing to accept the dangers..

ККККК "Skipper,". Lazarus said to King two weeks after Schultz's party had headed Earthside, "have you wondered how they're going to feel about the New Frontiers herself?"

ККККК "Eh? What do you mean?'

ККККК "Well, we hijacked her. Piracy."

ККККК King looked astounded. "Bless me, so we did! Do you know, it's been so long ago that it is hard for me to realize that she was ever anything but my ship . . . or to recall that I first came into her through an act of piracy." He looked thoughtful, then smiled grimly. "I wonder how conditions are in Coventry these days?"

ККККК "Pretty thin rations, I imagine," said Lazarus. "But we'll team up and make out. Never mind-they haven't caught us yet."

ККККК "Do you suppose that Slayton Ford will be connected with the matter? That would be hard lines after all he has gone through."

ККККК "There may not be any trouble about it at all," Lazarus answered soberly. "While the way we got this ship was kind of irregular, we have used it for the purpose for which it was built-to explore the stars. And we're returning it intact, long before they could have expected any results, and with a slick new space drive to boot. It's more for their money than they had any reason to expect-so they may just decide to forget it and trot out the fatted calf."

ККККК "I hope so," King answered doubtfully.

ККККК The scouting party was two days late. No signal was received from them until they emerged into normal spacetime, just before rendezvous, as no method had yet been devised for signalling from para-space to ortho-space. While they were maneuvering to rendezvous, King received Ralph Schultz's face on the control-room screen. "Hello, Captain! We'll be boarding shortly to report."

ККККК "Give me a summary now!"

ККККК "I wouldn't know where to start. But it's all right-we can go home!"

ККККК "Huh? How's that? Repeat!"

ККККК "Everything's all right. We are restored to the Covenant. You see, there isn't any difference any more. Everybody is a member of the Families now."

ККККК "What do you mean?" King demanded.

ККККК "They've got it."

ККККК "Got what?"

ККККК "Got the secret of longevity."

ККККК "Huh? Talk sense. There isn't any secret. There never was any secret."

ККККК "We didn't have any secret-but they thought we had. So they found it."

ККККК "Expiain yourself," insisted Captain King.

ККККК "Captain, can't this wait until we get back into the ship?' Ralph Schultz protested. "I'm no biologist. We've brought along a government reptesentative-you can quiz him, instead?

Chapter 6

ККККК KING RECEWED Terra's representative in his cabin. He had notified Zaccur Barstow and Justin Foote to be present for the Families and had invited Doctor Gordon Hardy because the nature of the startling news was the biologist's business. Libby was there as the ship's chief officer; Slayton Ford was invited because of his unique status, although he had held no public office in the Families since his breakdown in the temple of Kreel.

ККККК Lazarus was there because Lazarus wanted to be there, in his own strictly private capacity. He had not been invited, but even Captain King was somewhat diffident about interfering with the assumed prerogatives of the eldest Member.

ККККК Ralph Schultz introduced Earth's ambassador to the assembled company. "This is Captain King, our commanding officer and this is Miles Rodney, representing the Federation Council-minister plenipotentiary and ambassador extraordinary, I guess you would call him."

ККККК "Hardly that," said Rodney; "although I can agree to the 'extraordinary' part. This situation is quite without preccdent. it is an honor to know you, Captain."

ККККК "Glad to have you inboard, sir."

ККККК "And this is Zaccur Barstow, representing the trustees of the Howard Families, and Justin Foote, secretary tO the trustees-"

ККККК "Service."

ККККК "Service to you, gentlemen."

ККККК "Andrew Jackson Libby, chief astrogational officer, Doctor Gordon Hardy, biologist in charge of our research into the causes of old age and death."

ККККК "May I do you a service?" Hardy acknowledged formally."Service to you, sir. So you are the chief biologist-there was a time when you could have done a service to the whole human race. Think of it, sir-think how different things could have been. But, happily, the human race was able to worry out the secret of extending life without the aid of the Howard Families."

ККККК Hardy looked vexed. "What do you mean, sir? Do you mean to say that you are still laboring under the delusion that we had some miraculous secret to impart, if we chose?"

ККККК Rodney shrugged and spread his hands. "Really, now, there is no need to keep up the pretense, is there? Your results have been duplicated, independently."

ККККК Captain King cut in. "Just a moment-Ralph Schultz, is the Federation still under the impression that there is some 'secret' to our long lives? Didn't you tell them?"

ККККК Schultz was looking bewildered. "Uh-this is ridiculous. The subject hardly came up. They themselves had achieved controlled longevity; they were no longer interested in us in that respect. It is true that there still existed a belief that our long lives derived from manipulation rather than from heredity, but I corrected that impression."

ККККК "Apparently not very thoroughly, from what Miles Rodney has just said."

ККККК "Apparently not. I did not spend much effort on it; it was beating a dead dog. The Howard Families add their long lives are no longer an issue on Earth. Interest, both public and official, is centered on the fact that we have accomplished a successful interstellar jump."

ККККК "I can confirm that," agreed Miles Rodney. "Every official, every news service, every citizen, every scientist in the system is waiting with utmost eagerness the arrival of the New Frontiers. It's the greatest, most sensational thing that has happened since the first trip to the Moon. You are famous, gentlemen-all of you."

ККККК Lazarus pulled Zaccur Barstow aside and whispered to him. Barstow looked perturbed, then nodded thoughtfully. "Captain---" Barstow said to King.

ККККК "Yes, Zack?"

ККККК "I suggest that we ask our guest to excuse us while we receive Ralph Schultz' report."

ККККК "Why?"

ККККК Barstow glanced at Rodney. "I think we will be better prepared to discuss matters if we are brief by our own representative."

ККККК King turned to Rodney. "Will you excuse us~~ sir?"

ККККК Lazarus broke in. "Never mind, Skipper. Zack means well but he's too polite. Might as well let Comrade Rodney stick around and we'll lay it on the line. Tell me this, Miles; what proof have you got that you and your pals have figured out a way to live as long as we do?'

ККККК "Proof?' Rodney seemed dumbfounded. "Why do you ask - Whom am I addressing? Who are you, sir?"

ККККК Ralph Schultz intervened. "Sorry-I didn't get a chance to finish the introductions. Miles Rodney, this is Lazarus Long, the Senior."

ККККК "Service. 'The Senior' what?'

ККККК "He just means 'The Senior,' period," answered Lazarus. "I'm the-oldest Member. Otherwise I'm a private citizen."

ККККК "The oldest one of the Howard Families! Why-why, you must be the oldest man alive-think of that!"

ККККК "You think about it," retorted Lazarus. "I quit worrying about it a couple of centuries ago. How about answering my question?'

ККККК "But I can't help being impressed. You make me feel like an infant-and I'm not a young man myself; I'll be a hundred and five this coming June."

ККККК "If you can prove that's your age, you can answer my question. I'd say you were about forty. How about it?"

ККККК 'Well, - dear me, I hardly expected to be interrogated on this point. Do you wish to see my identity card?"

ККККК "Are you kidding? I've had fifty-odd identity cards in my time, all with phony birth dates. What else can you offer?'

ККККК "Just a minute, Lazarus," put in Captain King. 'What is the purpose of your question?"

ККККК Lazarus Long turned away from Rodney. "It's like this, Skipper-we hightailed it out of the Solar System to save our necks, because the rest of the yokels thought we had invented some way to live forever and proposed to squeeze it out of us if they had to kill every one of us. Now everything is sweetness and light~-so they say. But it seems mighty funny that the bird they send up to smoke the pipe of peace with us should still be convinced that we have that so-called secret.

ККККК "It got me to wondering.

ККККК "Suppose they hadn't figured out a way to keep from dying from old age but were still clinging to the idea that we had? What better way to keep us calmed down and unsuspicious than to tell us they had until they could get us where they wanted us in order to put the question to us again?"

ККККК Rodney snorted. "A preposterous ideal Captain, I don't think I'm called on to put up with this."

ККККК Lazarus stared coldly. "It was preposterous the first time, but-but it happened. The burnt child is likely to be skittish."

ККККК "Just a moment, both of you," ordered King. "Ralph, how about it? Could you have been taken in by a put-up job?"

ККККК Schultz thought about it, painfully. "I don't think so." He paused. "It's rather difficult to say. I couldn't tell from appearance of course, any more than our own Members could be picked out from a crowd of normal persons."

ККККК "But you are a psychologist. Surely you could have detected indications of fraud, if there had been one."

ККККК "I may be a psychologist, but I'm not a miracle man and I'm not telepathic. I wasn't looking for fraud." He grinned I sheepishly. "There was another factor. I was so excited over being home that I was not in the best emotional condition to note discrepancies, if there were any."

ККККК "Then you aren't sure?"ККККК -'

ККККК "No. I am emotionally convinced that Miles Rodney is telling the truth-"

ККККК "Lam!"

ККККК "-and I believe that a few questions could clear the matter up. He claims to be one hundred and five years old. We can test that."

ККККК "I see," agreed King. "Hmm . . . you put the questions, Ralph?"

ККККК "Very well. You will permit, Miles Rodney?"

ККККК "Go ahead," Rodney answered stiffly.

ККККК "You must have been about thirty years old when we left Earth, since we have been gone nearly seventy-five years, Earth time. Do you remember the event?"

ККККК "Quite clearly. I was a clerk in Novak Tower at the time, I in the offices of the Administrator."

ККККК Slayton Ford had remained in the background throughout the discussion, and had done nothing to call attention to himself. At Rodney's answer he sat up. "Just a moment, Captain-"

ККККК "Eh? Yes?"

ККККК "Perhaps I can cut this short. You'll pardon me, Ralph?" He turned to Terra's representative. "Who am I?"

ККККК Rodney looked at him in some puzzlement. His expression changed from one of simple surprise at the odd question to complete and unbelieving bewilderment. "Why, you . . . you are Administrator Ford!"

Chapter 7

ККККК "ONE AT A TIME! One at a time," Captain King was saying. "Don't everybody try to talk at once. Go on, Slayton; you have the floor. You know this man?" Ford looked Rodney over. "No, I can't say that I do."

ККККК "Then it is a frame up." King turned to Rodney."Suppose you recognized Ford from historical stereos-is that right?" -

ККККК Rodney seemed about to burst. "No! I recognized him. He's changed but I knew him. Mr. Administrator-look at me, please! Don't you know me? I worked for you!"

ККККК "It seems fairly obvious that he doesn't," King said dryly.

ККККК Ford shook his head. "It doesn't prove anything, one way or the other, Captain. There were over two thousand civil service employes in my office. Rodney might have been one of them. His face looks vaguely familiar, but so do most faces."

ККККК "Captain-" Master Gordon Hardy was speaking. "If I can question Miles Rodney I might be able to give an opinion as to whether or not they actually have discovered anything new about the causes of old age and death."

ККККК Rodney shook his head. "I am not a biologist. You could trip me up in no time. Captain King, I ask you to arrange my return to Earth as quickly as possible. I'll not be subjected to any more of this. And let me add that I do not care a minim whether you and your-your pretty crew ever get back to civilization or not. I came here to help you, but I'm disgusted." He stood up.

ККККК Slayton Ford went toward him. "Easy, Miles Rodney, please! Be patient. Put yourself in their place. You would be just as cautious if you had been through what they have been through."

ККККК Rodney hesitated. "Mr. Administrator, what are you doing here?"

ККККК "It's a long and complicated story. I'll tell you later."

ККККК "You are a member of the Howard Families-you must be. That accounts for a lot of odd things."

ККККК Ford shook his head. "No, Miles Rodney, I am not. Later, please-I'll explain it. You -worked for me once-when?"

ККККК "From 2109 until you, uh, disappeared."

ККККК "What was your job?"

ККККК "At the time of the crisis of 2113 I was an assistant correlation clerk in the Division of Economic Statistics, Control Section."

ККККК "Who was your section chief?"

ККККК "Leslie Waldron."

ККККК "Old Waldron, eh? What was the color of his hair?"

ККККК "His hair? The Walrus was bald as an egg."

ККККК Lazarus whispered to Zaccur Barstow, "Looks like I was off base, Zack."

ККККК "Wait a moment," Barstow whispered back. "It still could be thorough preparation-they may have known that Ford escaped with us."

ККККК Ford was continuing, "What was The Sacred Cow?'

ККККК "The Sacred- Chief, you weren't even supposed to know that there was such a publication!"

ККККК "Give my intelligence staff credit for some activity, at least," Ford said dryly. "I got my copy every week."

ККККК "But what was it?" demanded Lazarus.

ККККК Rodney answered, "An office comic and gossip sheet that was passed from hand to hand."

ККККК "Devoted to ribbing the bosses," Ford added, "especially me." He put an arm around Rodney's shoulders. "Friends, there is no doubt about it. Miles and I were fellow workers."

ККККК "I still want to find out about the new rejuvenation process," insisted Master Hardy some time later.

ККККК "I think we all do," agreed King. He reached out and refilled their guest's wine glass. "Will you tell us about it, sir?'

ККККК "I'll try," Miles Rodney answered, "though I must ask Master Hardy to bear with me. It's not one process, but several-one basic process and several dozen others, some of them purely cosmetic, especially for women. Nor is the basic process truly a rejuvenation process. You can arrest the progress of old age, but you can't reverse it to any significant degree-you can't turn a senile old man into a boy."

ККККК "Yes, yes," agreed Hardy. "Naturally-but what is the basic process?"

ККККК "It consists largely in replacing the entire blood tissue in an old person with new, young blood. Old age, so they tell me, is primarily a matter of the progressive accumulation of the waste poisons of metabolism. The blood is supposed to carry them away, but presently the blood gets so clogged with the poisons that the scavenging process doesn't take place properly. Is that right, Doctor Hardy?'

ККККК "That's an odd way of putting it, but-"

ККККК "I told you I was no biotechnician."

ККККК "-essentially correct. It's a matter of diffusion pressure deficit-the d.p.d. on the blood side of a cell wall must be such as to maintain a fairly sharp gradient or there will occur progressive autointoxication of the individual cells. But I must say that I feel somewhat disappointed, Miles Rodney. The basic idea of holding off death by insuring proper scavenging of waste products is not new-I have a bit of chicken heart which has been alive for two and one half centuries through equivalent techniques. As to the use of young blood-yes, that will work. I've kept experimental animals alive by such blood donations to about twice their normal span-" He stopped and looked troubled.

ККККК "Yes, Doctor Hardy?"

ККККК Hardy chewed his lip. "I gave up that line of research. I found it necessary to have several young donors in order to keep one beneficiary from growing any older. There was a small, but measurable, unfavorable effect on each of the donors. Racially it was self-defeating; there would never be enough donors to go around. Am I to understand, sir that this method is thereby limited to a small, select part of the population?"

ККККК "Oh, no! I did not make myself clear, Master Hardy. There are no donors."

ККККК "Huh?'

ККККК "New blood, enough for everybody, grown outside the body-the Public Health and Longevity Service can provide any amount of it, any type."

ККККК Hardy looked startled. "To think we came so close . . . so that's it." He paused, then went on. "We tried tissue culture of bone marrow in vitro. We should have persisted."

ККККК "Don't feel badly about it. Billions of credits and tens of thousands of technicians engaged in this project before there were any significant results. I'm told that the mass of accumulated art in this field represents more effort than even the techniques of atomic engineering." Rodney smiled. "You see, they had to get some results; it was politically necessary-so there was an all-out effort." Rodney turned to Ford. 'When the news about the escape of the Howard Families reached the public, Chief, your precious successor had to be protected from the mobs."

ККККК Hardy persisted with questions about subsidiary techniques -tooth budding, growth inhibiting, hormone therapy, many others-until King came to Rodney's rescue by pointing out that the prime purpose of the visit was to arrange details of the return of the Families to Earth.

ККККК Rodney nodded. "I think we should get down to business. As I understand it, Captain, a large proportion of your people are now in reduced-temperature somnolence?"

ККККК ("Why can't he say 'cold-rest'?" Lazarus said to Libby.)

ККККК "Yes, that is so."

ККККК "Then it would be no hardship on them to remain in that state for a time."

ККККК "Eh? Why do you say that, sir?"

ККККК Rodney spread his hands. "The administration finds itself in a somewhat embarrassing position. To put it bluntly, there is a housing shortage. Absorbing one hundred and ten thousand displaced persons can't be done overnight."

ККККК Again King had to hush them. He then nodded to Zaccur Barstow, who addressed himself to Rodney. "I fail to see the problem, sir. What is the present population of the North American continent?"

ККККК "Around seven hundred million."

ККККК "And you can't find room to tuck away one-seventieth of one per cent of that number? It sounds preposterous."

ККККК "You don't understand, sir," Rodney protested. "Population pressure has become our major problem. Co-incident with it, the right to remain undisturbed in the enjoyment of one's own homestead, or one's apartment, has become the most jealously guarded of all civil rights. Before we can find you adequate living room we must make over some stretch of desert, or make other major arrangements."

ККККК "I get it," said Lazarus. "Politics. You don't dare disturb anybody for fear they will squawk."

ККККК "That's hardly an adequate statement of the case."

ККККК "It's not, eh? could be you've got a general election coming up, maybe?'

ККККК "As a matter of fact we have, but that has nothing to do with the case."

ККККК Lazarus snorted.

ККККК Justin Foote spoke up. "It seems to me that the administration has looked at this problem in the most superficial light. It is not as if we were homeless immigrants. Most of the Members own their own homes. As you doubtless know, the Families were well-to-do; even wealthy, and for obvious reasons we built our homes to endure. I feel sure that most of those structures are still standing."

ККККК "No doubt," Rodney conceded, "but you will find them occupied."

ККККК Justin Foote shrugged. "What has that to do with us? That is a problem for the government to settle with the persons it has allowed illegally to occupy our homes. As for myself, I shall land as soon as possible, obtain an eviction їrder from the nearest court, and repossess my home."

ККККК "It's not that easy. You can make omelet from eggs, but not eggs from omelet. You have been legally dead for many years; the present o‡cupant of your house holds a good title."

ККККК Justin Foote stood up and glared at the Federation's envoy, looking, as Lazarus thought, "like a cornered mouse." "Legally dead! By whose act, sir, by whose act? Mine? I was a respected solicitor, quietly and honorably pursuing my profession, harming no one, when I was arrested without cause and forced to flee for my life. Now I am blandly told that my property is confiscated and my very legal existence as a person and as a citizen has been taken from ,me beckuse of that sequence of events. What manner of justice is this? Does the Covenant still stand?"

ККККК "You misunderstand me. I-"

ККККК "I misunderstood nothing. If justice is measured out only when it is convenient, then the Covenant is not worth the parchment it is written on. I shall make of myself a test case, sir, a test case for every Member of the Families. Unless my property is returned to me in full and at once I shall bring personal suit against every obstructing official. I will make of it a cause celebre. For many years I have suffered inconvenience and indignity and peril; I shall not be put off with words. I will shout it from the housetops." He paused for breath.

ККККК "He's right, Miles," Slayton Ford put in quietly. "The government had better find some adequate way to handle this- and quickly."

ККККК Lazarus caught Libby's eye and silently motioned toward the door. The two slipped outside. "Justin'll keep 'em busy for the next hour," he said. "Let's slide down to the Club and grab some calories."

ККККК "Do you really think we ought to leave?'

ККККК "Relax. If the skipper wants us, he can holler."

Chapter 8

LAZARUS TUCKED AWAY three sandwiches, a double order of ice cream, and some cookies while Libby contented himself with somewhat less. Lazarus would have eaten more but he was forced to respond to a barrage of questions from the other habituЋs of the Club.

ККККК "The commissary department ain't really back on its feet," he complained, as he poured his third cup of coffee. "The Little People made life too easy for them. Andy, do you like chili con carne?"

ККККК "It's all right."

ККККК Lazarus wiped his mouth. "There used to be a restaurant in Tijuana that served the best chili I ever tasted. I wonder if it's still there?"

ККККК "Where's Tijuana?" demanded Margaret Weatheral.

ККККК "You don't remember Earth, do you, Peggy? Well, darling, it's in Lower California. You know where that is?"

ККККК "Don't you think I studied geography? It's in Los Angeles."

ККККК "Near enough. Maybe you're right-by now." The ship's announcing system blared out:

ККККК "Chief Astrogator-report to the Captain in the Control Room!"

ККККК "That's me!" said Libby, and hurriedly got up.

ККККК The call was repeated, then was followed by, "All hands prepare for acceleration! All hands prepare for acceleration!"

ККККК "Here we go again, kids." Lazarus stood up, brushed off his kilt, and followed Libby, whistling as he went

ККККК "California, here I come,КККК

ККККК Right back where I started from-"

ККККК The ship was underway, the stars had faded out. Captain King had left the control room, taking with him his guest, the Earth's envoy. Miles Rodney had been much impressed; it seemed likely that he would need a drink.

ККККК Lazarus and Libby remained in the control room. There was nothing to do; for approximately four hours, ship's time, the ship would remain in para-space, before returning to normal space near Earth.

ККККК Lazarus struck a cigaret. 'What d'you plan to do when you get back, Andy?"

ККККК "Hadn't thought about it."

ККККК "Better start thinking. Been some changes."

ККККК "I'll probably head back home for a while. I can't imagine the Ozarks having changed very much."

ККККК "The hills will look the same, I imagine. You may find the people changed."

ККККК "How?"

ККККК "You remember I told you that I had gotten fed up with the Families and had kinda lost touch with them for a century? By and large, they had gotten so smug and soft in their ways that I couldn't stand them. I'm afraid we'll find most everybody that way, now that they expect to live forever. Long term investments, be sure to wear your rubbers when it rains . . that sort of thing."

ККККК "It didn't aifect you that way."

ККККК "My approach is different. I never did have any real reason to last forever-after all, as Gordon Hardy has pointed out, I'm only a third generation result of the Howard plan. I just did my living as I went along and didn't worry my head about it. But that's not the usual attitude. Take Miles Rodney- scared to death to tackle a new situation with both hands for fear of upsetting precedent and stepping on established privileges."

ККККК "I was glad to see Justin stand up to him." Libby chuckled. "I didn't think Justin had it in him."

ККККК "Ever see a little dog tell a big dog to get the hell out of the little dog's yard?"

ККККК "Do you think Justin will win his point?"

ККККК "Sure he will, with your help."

ККККК "Mine?"КККК -

ККККК "Who knows anything about the para-drive, aside from what you've taught me?"

ККККК "I've dictated full notes into the records."

ККККК "But you haven't turned those records over to Miles Rodney. Earth needs your starship drive, Andy. You heard what Rodney said about population pressure. Ralph was telling me you have to get a government permit now before you can have a baby."

ККККК "The hell you say!"

ККККК "Fact. You can count on it that there would be tremendous emigration if there were just some decent planets to emigrate to. And that's where your drive comes in. With it, spreading out to the stars becomes really practical. They'll have to dicker."

ККККК "It's not really my drive, of course. The Little People worked it out."

ККККК "Don't be so modest. You've got it. And you want to back up Justin, don't you?"

ККККК "Oh, sure."

ККККК '~Then we'll use it to bargain with. Maybe I'll do the bargaining, personally. But that's beside the point. Somebody is going to have to do a little exploring before any large-scale emigration starts. Let's go into the real estate business, Andy. We'll stake out this corner of the Galaxy and see what it has to offer."

ККККК Libby scratched his nose and thought about it. "Sounds all right, I guess after I pay a visit home."

ККККК "There's no rush. I'll find a nice, clean little yacht, about ten thousand tons and we'll refit with your drive."

ККККК "What'll we use for money?"

ККККК "We'll have money. I'll set up a parent corporation, while I'm about it, with a loose enough charter to let us do anything we want to do. There will be daughter corporations for various purposes and we'll unload the minor interest in each.. Then-"

ККККК "You make it sound like work, Lazarus. I thought it was going to be fun."

ККККК "Shucks, we won't fuss with that stuff. I'll collar somebody to run the home office and worry about the books and the legal end-somebody about like Justin. Maybe Justin himself."

ККККК "Well, all right then."

ККККК "You and I will rampage around and see what there is to be seen. It'll be fun, all right."

ККККК They were both silent for a long time, with no need to talk. Presently Lazarus said, "Andy-"

ККККК "Yeah?"

ККККК "Are you going to look into this new-blood-for-old caper?"

ККККК "I suppose so, eventually."

ККККК "I've been thinking about it. Between ourselves, I'm not as fast with my fists as I was a century back. Maybe my natural span is wearing out. I do know this: I didn't start planning our real estate venture till I head about this new process. It gave me a new perspective. I find myself thinking about thousands of years-and I never used to worry about anything further ahead than a week from next Wednesday."

ККККК Libby chuckled again. "Looks like you're growing up."

ККККК "Some would say it was about time. Seriously, Andy, I think that's just what I have been doing. The last two and a half centuries have just been my adolescence, so to speak. Long as I've hung around, I don't know any more. about the final amwers, the important answers, than Peggy Weatheral does. Men-our kind of men-Earth men-never have had enough time to tackle the important questions. Lots of capacity and not time enough to use it properly. When it came to the important questions we might as well have still been monkeys."

ККККК "How do you propose to tackle the important questions?"

ККККК "How should I know? Ask me again in about five hundred years."

ККККК "You think that will make a difference?"

ККККК "I do. Anyhow it'll give me time to poke around and pick up some interesting facts. Take those Jockaira gods- "

ККККК "They weren't gods, Lazarus. You shouldn't call them that."

ККККК "Of course they weren't-I think. My guess is that they are creatures who have had time enough to do a little hard thinking. Someday, about a thousand years from now, I intend to march straight into the temple of Kreel, look him in the eye, and say, 'Howdy, Bub-what do you know that 1 don't know?'"

ККККК "It might not be healthy."КК

ККККК 'We'll have a showdown, anyway. I've never been satisfied with the outcome there. There ought not to be anything in the whole universe that man can't poke his nose into-that's the way we're built and I assume that there's some reason for it."

ККККК "Maybe there aren't any reasons."

ККККК "Yes, maybe it's just one colossal big joke, with no point to it."' Lazarus stood up and stretched and scratched his ribs. "But I can tell you this, Andy, whatever the answers are, here's one monkey that's going to keep on climbing, and locking around him to see what he can see, as long as the tree holds out."