Worlds of IF (September 1953)

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THE RINGS OF SATURN would be one oi the most spectacular sights encountered by space explorers Comprised of nil! ions of tiny mconfets in three bends, the rings ore brighter than the planet Itself. Although the distance from the mner to the outer edge is 41 500 miles, they ore microscopicolly thin by comporison - ten miles at most^— ond fode owoy toward the inner edge. it

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WORLDS of SCIENCE FICTION SEPTEMBER 1953 All Stories New ond Complete Editor: JAMES L. QUINN Associate Editor: LARRY T. SHAW Staff Artist: ED VALIGURSKY CovcT by Krn illuslrdting A Case of Conuiencs SHORT NOVEL A CASE OF CONSCIENCE by Jomes Blish NOVELETTE THY ROCKS AND RILLS by Robert Ernest Gilbert 76 SHORT STORIES THE TROUBLE WITH BUBBLES by Philip K. Dick PLANET OF DREAMS by James McKimmey. Jr. THE ROMANTIC ANALOGUE by W. W. Skupeldyckle IN THE FOREST by Leslie Perrt 52 66 102 112 FEATURES A CHAT WITH THE EDITOR PERSONALITIES IN SCIENCE SCIENCE BRIEFS THE POSTMAN COMETH 2 73 99 118 COVER PICTORIAL: Saturn and Titon I nHimiiu miimiiiriiiiiiurHMiiiiiRiimiiiiiiiiiMiirmiRMmiiMiHMiimiMiMMiiRiiiHmMiiiiHiiiiiinMMiiiiMiiuiiiiuiiaiiiMmiMiiimHMtX IF is publEU«d hi-raonthlT bv Qdiroi Publkshmg C^rupAiiy, Inc. Volume 2, No. 4. Copyright 1951^ by Quinn PtiMisning ()o., Inc. Ofire of publication. 8 Lord Street. BuRalo, New York. Entered n\ Second Matter at Pon Office, Buffalo. NeM York. Subscription 1L50 (or 12 bsuts io U.S, and Pm:;eisions: Canada S4 tor 12 l^fues; elsewhere $4.S0. Allow lour weeks for change of address. Ail storie.s appear* i&^ in thh manzine are Erlioo: any ^imilatity to actual persoas is coindarntal. Not responsible for uqa<^ kited ait work or manuscripts. ^5c a copy. Printed in L.S.A. EDITORIAL AND BUSINESS OPPICES, KINGSTON, NEW YORK 20,000 USED PAPERBACKS BUY- SEU- TRAM HOURS: 10 TO 9 daily- CLOStD SUNDAY SOaC ft 8 aiUlA/ Al Ift/ne 1 A A

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A CHAT WITH THE EDITOR THERE WAS a cartoon I liked in the “1953 Almanack*’ issue of Punch, the British humorous week- ly. This special issue contained an interplanetary section, partly hilari- ous and pardy incomprehensible. The cartoon, signed by “Sprod,” pictures a moonscape. Three Earth- men in bubble helmets stand gaz- ing at the smouldering, burned-out shell of their spaceship, which has obviously exploded and crashed. They are smiling. One of them is saying brightly, “Ah well, thank • gc^ness we still have our sense of humor.” One of the basic assumptions, I suppose, is that a spaceship flying the Union Jack will be the first to reach the moon. The cartoonist is clearly poking some fond fun at his countrymen as svell as at science fiction. And while his prediction may be parsecs off the orbit, his attitude has my warm approval. I won’t say it’s more humor that science fiction needs. Good science fiction humor is hard to write, largely because good humor is hard to write, period. There are people who do marvelously well at it: Wil- liam Tenn, Damon Knight, Fred- eric Brown, Mack Reynolds, Henry Kuttner, C. M. Kombluth, R. Bret- nor, L. Sprague de Camp, Wilson Tucker, for instance. Fritz Leiber’s fabulously funny “The Night He Cried” in Frederik Pohl’s latest an- thology. Star Science Fiction Sto~ ties, comes as somewhat of a sur- prise, but is evidence that any good writer can do it even though it’s not his usual forte. I What have these people got be- sides basic writing talent, science fictional imaginations, and the wilU ingness to work hard for love of the medium first and remuneration sec- ond? Not just a sense of humor, surely. It’s more all-encompassing tlian that. I THINK it is simply a certain amount of healthy perspective, an ability to step back from a problem and view it from various angles. This is a highly desirable quality for any writer and any person, but that doesn’t mean everyone who writes science fiction has it! There has always been bad science fiction. We’re extremely fortunate that the percentage is not noticeably higher than before, now that the field has expanded so enormously. The world today is in many ways a gloomy and frightening place. It will quite likely get worse before it gets better. It’s even possible that man wiU blow himself and hia works completely to smithereens . . . 2

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Wait a minute, though — com- plelely to smithereens? Shucks, al- most nothing succeeds that well. Somebody and something would be left after the smash. And it wouldn’t have to be a primitive tribe of rain- worshippers in the Brazilian jungles, one lone man who just happened to be down in a mine shaft (while all the miners elsewhere in the world were out on strike, presum- ably), or (tltis one is more rare now, anyway) Prof. Superpill and his carefully •iclcctcd group of vege- tarians in their invisible dome of force at the South Pole. It could be a small town in the Ozarks; you find some surprisingly intellectual and creative crannies of culture tlicrc, believe it or not! It could be a comic opera-type Balkan king- dom, population 317 including the village werewolf and a beautiful princess, which has been so neutral for centuries that it has even pro- hibited radios for fear the children might learn the word “war.” It could . . . But you get the idea; take it from there and write a story! Another theme dear to would-be science fiction writers these davs is the idea of Earth’s civilization be- ing unacceptable to the representa- tives of tlie Galactic Federation. These superbeings, you know, put up “No Trespassing” signs just be- yond our atmosphere, reverse the laws of physics so that rockets do need somediing to push against, or just plain smack us nut of existence with a cosmic, flyswatter. It can be done well, and some- times is. But since most of us are incapable of figuring out how com- pletely rational beings would act, and even less capable of making such beings convincing on paper, there’s little excuse for writing it again without a new twist. Why not give the Galactic Federation some eccentricities? LET'S NOT have Pollyanna-ism. If an unhappy ending is called for, it sliould l)e used. (1 keep insisting that the essence of tme tragedy is its inevitability. I get into more darned arguments that way — ^but can you prove me wrong with ex- amples from literature?) I won’t reject a good story if it’s unhappy. It can even be unpleasant; shock value can be highly effective if con- trolled properly. I won’t buy a bad story just for a few yuks. But I’ll always suspect that the writer who is willing to at least attempt humor is a healthier specimen than the constant doom-crier. The lowliest newspaper colum- nist can indulge in all the dire fore- bodings wc need. If science fiction is going to he distinguishable from a newspaper column, it has no choice but to consider the infinite possibilitic.s of our not blowing our- selves up tomorrow. If the world of today looks bleak to you, extend its trends until they become ridiculous. Remember that there will always be counter-trends. Or forget them all. and create a whole new world. If it’s consistent within its own terms, it can be the basis for a good story. Nobody will write that story while worrying himself sick over when the bombs are going to fall. He’ll write it when he starts con- sidering ways to keep the bombs from falling. And that includes, of course, the repeal of the law of gravity. — Its

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Rarely, if ever, has science fiction plumbed so deeply and with such sensitivity the depths of human thoughts and emotions as in this case. For here, Earth- men*s vote has a direct effect upon the future of a planet, their own culture and the universe itself. A CASE OF CONSCIENCE By James Blish Hiustrot«d by Ed Ernst) The stone door slammed. It was Cleaver’s trade-mark : there had never been a door too heavy, complex, or cleverly tracked to pre- vent him from closing it with a sound like a clap of doom. And r>o planet in the imiverse could possess an air sufficiently thick and cur- tained with damp to muffle that sound. Not even Lithia. Ruiz-Sanchez continued to read. It would take Cleaver’s impatient fingers quite a while to free him from his jungle suit, and in the meantime the problem remained. It was a century-old problem, first propounded in 1939, but the Church had never cracked it. And it was diabolically complex (that adverb was official, precisely chosen and literally intended). Even the novel which proposed the case was on the Index, and Father Ramon Ruiz-Sanchez, S. J., had access to it only by virtue of his Order. He turned the page, scarcely hearing the stamping and mutter- ing in the hall. On and on the text ran, becoming more tangled, more evil, more insoluble with every w'ord : “. . . and Magravius knows from .spies that Anita has formerly com- mitted double sacrilege with Mi- chael, vulgo Cerularius, a perpetual curate, who wishes to seduce Eugenius. Magravius threatens to have Anita molested by Sulla, an orffiodox savage (and leader of a band of twelve mercenaries, the Sullivani), who desires to procure Felicia for Gregorius, Leo, Viteilius

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JAMES BLISH 4 6 and Macdugalius, four excavators, if she will not yield to him and also deceive Honuphrius by rendering conjugal duty when demanded. Anita, who claims to have discov- ered incestuous temptations from Jeremias and Eugenius — ” There now, he was lost again. He backtracked resignedly. Jeremias and Eugenius were — ? Oh, yes, the “brotherly lovers” at the beginning of the case, consanguineous to the lowest degree with both Felicia and Honuphrius — the latter the appar- ent prime villain and the husband of Anita. It was Magravius, who seemed to admire Honuphrius, who had been urged by the slave Mari- tius to solicit Anita, seemingly un- der the urging of Honuphrius him- self. This, however, had come to Anita through her tirewoman For- tissa, who was or at one time had been the common-law wife of Mauritius himself and had borne him children — so that the whole story had to be weighed with the utmost caution. And that entire initial confession of Honuphrius had come out under torture — vol- untarily consented to, to be sure, but still torture. The Fortissa-Mau- ritius relationship was even more dubious, really only a supposition of Father Ware’s, though certainly a plausible one considering the public repentance of Sulla after the death of Canicula, who was — yes, that was correct, Mauritius’ second wife. No, his first wife; he had never been legally married to For- tissa. It was Magravius’ desire for Felicia after the death of Gillia that had confused him diere. "Ramon, give me a hand, will you?” Cleaver shouted suddenly. "I’m stuck and — and 1 don’t feel well.” The Jesuit biologist arose in alarm. Such an admission from Cleaver was imprecedented. The PHYSICIST was sitting on a pouf of woven rushes, stuffed with a sphagnum-like moss, which was bulging at the equator under his weight. He was half-way out of his glass-fiber jungle suit, and his face was white and beaded with sweat, although his helmet was al- ready off. His uncertain fingers tore at a jammed zipper. "Paul! Why didn’t you say you were 111 in the first place? Here, let go of that; you’re only making things worse. What happened?” “Don’t know exactly,” Cleaver said, breathing heavily but relin- quishing the zipper. Ruiz-Sanchez knelt beside him and began to work it carefully back onto its tracks. "Went a ways into the jungle to see if I could spot more pegmatite lies; it’s been in the back of my mind that a pilot-plant for turning out tritium might locate here eventual- ly— ought to be able to produce on a prodigious scale.” "God forbid,” Ruiz-Sanchez said under his breath. “Hm? Anyhow, I didn’t see any- thing. Few lizards, hoppers, the us- ual thing. Then I ran up against a plant that looked a little like a pine- apple, and one of the spines jabbed right through my suit and nicked me. Didn’t seem serious, but — ” “But we don’t have the suits for nothing. Let’s look at it. Here, put up your feet and we’U haul those boots off. Where did you get

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE — oh. Well, it’s angry-looking, I’ll give it that. Any other symptoms?” “My mouth feels raw,” Cleaver complained. “Open up,” the Jesuit com- manded. When Cleaver complied, it becajne evident that his com- plaint had been the understatement of the year. The mucosa inside his mouth wa.s nearly covered with ugly and undoubtedly painful ulcers, their edges as sharply defined as if cut with a cookie-punch. Ruiz-Sanchez made no comment, however, and deliberately changed his expression to one of carefully calculated dismissal- If the physicist needed to minimize his ailments, it was all right with Ruiz-Sanchez. An alien planet is not a good place to strip a man of his inner defenses. “Come into the lab,” he said. “You’ve got some inflammation in there.” Cleaver aro.se, a little unsteadily, and followed the Jesuit into the laboratory. There Ruiz-Sanchez took .smears from several of the ul- cers onto microscope slides and Gram-stained them. He filled the time consumed by the staining proc- ess with the ritual of aiming the microscope’s substage mirror out the w'indow at a brilliant white cloud. When the timer’s alarm went off, he rin-sed and flame-dried the first slide and slipped it under the clips. As he had half feared, he saw few of the mixed bacilli and spiro- chetes which would have indicated a case of ordinary, Earthly, Vin- cent’s angina — which the clinical picture certainly suggested. Cleav- er’s oral flora were normal, though on the increase because of all the exposed ti.ssue. “I’m going to give you a shot,” Ruiz-Sanchez said gently. “And then I think you’d better go to bed.” “The hell with that,” Cleaver said. “I’ve got nine times as much work to do as I can hope to clean up, without any additional handi- caps.” “Illness is never convenient,’* Ruiz-Sanchez agreed. “But why worry about losing a day or so, since you’re in over your head anyhow?” “What have I got?” Cleaver asked suspiciously. “^'ou haven’t got anything.” Ruiz-Sanchez said, almost regret- fully. “That is, you aren’t infected. But your ‘pineapple’ did you a bad tuni. Most plants of that family on Litlua bear thorns or leaves coated with polysaccharides that are poi- sonous to us. The particular gluco- side you got today was evidently squill, or something closely related to it. It produces symptoms like tJiose of trench-moudi, but a lot harder to clear up.” “How long will that take?” Cleaver said. He was still balking, but he was on the defensive now. “Several days at least — until you’ve built up an immimity. The shot I’m going to give you is a gam- ma globulin specific against squill, and it ought to moderate the symp- toms until you’ve developed a high antibody tiler of your own. But in the process you’re going to run quite a fever, Paul; and I’ll have to keep you well stuffed with anti- p^Tetics, because even a little fever is dangerous in this climate.” “I know it,” Cleaver said, mol- lified. “The more I leain about this

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8 JAMES BUSH place, the less disposed I am to vote ‘aye’ when the time comes. Well, bring on your shot — and your aspirin. I suppose I ought to be glad it isn’t a bacterial infection, or the Snakes would be jabbing me full of antibiotics,” “Small chance of that,” Ruiz- Sanchez said. “I don’t doubt that the Lithians have at least a hun- dred different antibiotics we’ll be able to use eventually, but — there, that’s all there is to it; you can re- lax now — but we’ll have to study their pharmacology from the CTound up, first. All right, Paul, nit the hammock. In about ten minutes you’re going to wish you were bom dead, that I promise you.” CLEAVER grinned. His sweaty face under its thatch of dirty blond hair was craggy and power- ful even in illness. He stood up and deliberately rolled down his deeve. “Not much doubt about how you’ll vote, either,” he said. “You like this planet, don’t you, Ramon? It’s a biologist’s paradise, as far as 1 can “I do like it,” the priest said, smiling back. He followed Cleaver into the small room which served them both as sleeping quarters. Ex- cept for the window, it strongly resembled the inside of a jug. The walls were curving and continuous, and were made of some ceramic material which never beaded or felt wet, but riever seemed to be quite dry, either. The hammocks wer£ slung from hooks which projected smoothly from the walls. “But don’t forget that Lithia’s my first extra- solar planet. I think I’d find any new, habitable world fascinating. The infinite mutability of life- forms, and the cunning inherent in each of them . . . It’s all amazing and very delightful.” Cleaver sprawled heavily in his hammock. After a decent interval, Ruiz-Sanchez took the liberty of heaving up after him the foot he seemed to have forgotten. Cleaver didn’t notice. The reaction was set- ting in. “Read me no tracts, Father,” Cleaver said. Then: “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry . . . But for a physi- cist, this place is hell . . . You’d bet- ter get me that aspirin. I’m cold.” “Surely.” Ruiz-Sanchez went quickly back into the lab, made up a salicylate-barbiturate paste in one of the Lithians’ superb mortars, and pressed it into a set of pills. He wished he could stamp each pill “Bayer” before it dried — if Cleav- er’s personal cure-all was aspirin, it would be just as well to let him think he was taking aspirin — but he had no dies for the purpose. He took two of the pills back to Cleaver with a mug and a carafe of Berke- field-filtered water. The big man was already asleep; Ruiz-Sanchez woke him. Cleaver would sleep longer and awake farther along the road to recov- ery if he were done that sm*all un- kindness now. As it was, he hardly noticed when the pills were put down him, and soon resumed his heavy, troubled breathing. That done, Ruiz-Sanchez re- turned to the front room of the house, sat down, and began to in- spect the jungle suit. The tear which the plant spine had made

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 9 was not difficult to find, and would be easy to repair. It w-ould be much harder to repair Cleaver’s notion that their defenses were invulner- able, and that plants could be blundered against with impunity. Ruiz-Sanchez wondered if one or both of the other members of the Commission still shared that notion. Cleaver had called the thing which had brought him low a “pineapple.” .-^ny biologist could have told Cleaver that even on Earth the pineapple is a prolific and dangerous weed, edible only by a happy and irrelevant accident. In Hawaii, as Ruiz-Sanchez remem- bered, the tropical forest was quite impassible to anyone not wearing heav>’ boots and tough trou.sers. 'Fhe close-packed, irrepresdble pineap- ples outside of the plantations could tear unprotected legs to ribbons. The Jesuit turned the suit over. The zipper that Cleaver had jammed was made of a plastic into the molecule of which had been in- corporated radicals from various Terrestrial anti-fungal substances, chiefly tliiolutin. The fungi of Lithia respected those, all right, but die elaborate molecule of die plastic itself had a tendency, under Lithian humidities and licats, to undergo polymerization more or less spontaneously. That was what had happened here . One of the teeth of the zipper had changed into something resembling a piece of popcorn. T GREW slowly dark as Ruiz- Sanchez worked. There was a routed puff of sound, and the room was illuminated with small, soft yellow flames from recesses in every wall. The burning substance was natural gas, of which Lithia had an inexhaustible and constantly re- nevsed supply. The flames were lit by adsorption against a catalyst, as soon as the gas came on. A lime mantle, which worked on a rack and pinion of heatproof glass, could be moved into the flame to provide a brighter liglu; but the priest liked the yellow light the Lithians them- selves preferred, and used the lime- light only in the laboratory. For .some things, of course, the Earlhmen had to liave electricity, for which they had been forced to supply their own generators. The Lithians had a far more advanced science of electrostatics than Earth had, but of electrodynamics they knew comparatively little. They had discovered magnetism only a few years before, since natural magnets were unknown on the planet. They had fint observed the phenomenon, not in iron, of which they had next to none, but in liquid oxygen — a difficult substance from which to make generator coil cores! The results in terms of Lithian civilization were peculiar, to an Earthman. The tall, reptilian peo- ple had built several huge electro- static generators and scores of little ones, but had nothing even vaguely resembling telephones. They knew a great deal on the practical level about electrolysis, but carrying a current over a long distance — sa>' one kilometer — was regarded by them as impossible. They had no electric motors as an Earthman would understand the term, but made fast intercontinental flights in jet aircraft powered by static elec-

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10 JAMES BUSH tricity. Cleaver said he understood this feat, but Ruiz*Sanchez certain- ly did not They had a completely marvel- ous radio network, which among other things provided a “live” navi- gational grid for the whole planet, zeroed on (and here perhaps was the epitome of the Lithian genius for paradox) a tree. Yet they had never produced a commercial vac- uum tube and their atomic theory was not much more sophisticated than Democritus’ had been! These paradoxes, of course, could be expired in part by the things that Lithia lacked. Like any large rotating mass, Lithia had a mag- netic field of its own, but a planet which almost entirely lacks iron provides its people with no easy way to discover magnetism. Radio- activity, at least until the Earthmen had arrived, had been entirely im- known on the surface of Lithia, which explained the hazy atomic theory. Like the Greeks, the Lith- ians had discovered that friction be- tween silk and glass produces one kind of charge, and between silk and amber another. They had gone on from there to Widmanstetten generators, electrochemistry, and the static jet — but without suitable metals they were unable to make batteries or do more than begin to study electricity in motion. In the fields where they had been given fair clues, they had made enormous pre^ess. Despite the con- stant cloudiness and endemic driz- zle, their descriptive astronomy was excellent, thanks to the fortunate presence of a small moon which had drawn their attention outward early. This in turn made for basic advances in optics. Their chemistry took full advantage of both the seas and the jungles. From the one they took such vital and diversified prod- ucts as agar, iodine, salt, trace metals, and foods of many kinds. The other provided nearly every- thing else that they needed: resins, rubbers, woods of all degrees of hardness, edible and essential oils, vegetable “butters,” rope and other filers, fruits and nuts, tannins, dyes, drugs, cork, paper. Indeed, the sole forest product which they did not take was game, and the reason for this oversight was hard to find. It seemed to the Jesuit to be religious — yet the Lithians had no religion, and they certainly ate many of the creatures of the sea without qualms of conscience. He dropped the jungle suit into his lap with a sigh, though the popcomed tooth still was not completely trimmed back into shape. Outside, in the humid dark- ness, Lithia was in full concert. It was a vital, somehow fresh, new- sounding drone, covering most of the sound spectrum audible to an Earthman. It came from the myr- iad insects of Lithia. Many of these had wiry, ululating songs, almost like birds, in addition to the scrapes and chirrups and wing-buzzes of the insects of Earth. Had Eden sounded like that, be- fore evil had come into the world? Ruiz-Sanchez wondered. Certainly his native Peru sang no such song. Qualms of conscience — these were, in the long run, his essential busi- ness, rather than the taxonomical jungles of biology, which had al-

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 11 ready become tangled into near- hopelessness on Earth before space- flight had come along to add whole new volumes of puzzles. It was only interesting that the Lithians were bipedal reptiles with marsupial-like pouches and pteropsid circulatory systems. But it was vital that they had qualms of conscience — if they did. He and the other three men were on Lithia to decide whether or not Lithia would be suitable as a port of call for Earth, without risk of damage to either Earthmen or Lithians. The other three men w'ere primarily scientists, but Ruiz- Saruhez* own recommendation would in the long run depend upon conscience, not upon taxonomy. He looked down at the still-im- perfect suit with a troubled face un- til he heard Cleaver moan. Then he arose and left the room to the softly hissing flames. II % From the oval fmnt win- dow of the house to which Cleaver and Ruiz-Sanchez had been assigned, the land slanted away with insidious gentleness to- ward the ill-defined south edge of Lower Bay, a part of the Gulf of Sfath. Most of the area was salt marsh, as was the sea-side nearly everywhere on Lithia. When the tide was In, the flats w’cre covered to a depth of a meter or so almost half the way to the house. When it was out, as it was tonight, the jungle symphony was augmented by the agonized barking of a score of species of lungfish. Occasionally, when the small moon was unoc- cludcd and the light from the city was unusually bright, one could sec the leaping shadow of some amphibian, or the sinuously ad- vancing sigmoid track of the Lith- ian crocodile, in pursuit of some prey faster than itself but which it would nonetheless capture in its own geological good time. Still farther — and usually invisi- ble even in daytime because of the pervasive mists — was the opposite shore of Lower Bay, beginning with tidal flats again, and then more jungle, which ran unbroken there- after for hundreds of kilometers to the equatorial sea. Behind the house, visible from the sleeping room, was the rest of the city, Xoredeshch Sfath, capitol of the great southern continent. Like all the cities the Lithians built, its most striking characteristic to an Earthman was that it hardly seemed to be there at all. The Lith- ian houses were low, and made of the earth which had been dug from their foundations, so that they tended to fade into tlic soil even to a trained observer. Most of the older buildings were rectangular, put together without mortar of ramraed-earth blocks. Over tlie course of decades the blocks continued to pack and set- tle themselves until it became eas- ier to abandon an unwanted build- ing than to tear it down. One of the first setbacks the Earthmen had suffered on Lithia had come through an ill-advised offer to raze one such structure with TDX, a gravity-polarized explosive un- known to the Lithians. The ware- house in question was large, thick-

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12 JAMES BUSH walled, and three Lithian centuries old. The explosion created an up- roar which greatly distressed the Lithians, but when it was over, the storehouse still stood, unshaken. Newer structures were more con- spicuous when the sun was out, for just during the past half century the Lithians had begun to apply their enormous knowledge of ceramics to house construction. The new houses assumed thousands of fantastic, quasi-biological shapes, not quite amorphous but not quite resembling any form in experience either. Each one was unique and to the choice of its owner, yet all markedly shared the character of the community and tlie earth from which it sprang. These houses, too, would have blended well with the background of soil and jungle, ex- cept that most of them were glazed and so shone blindingly for brief moments on sunny days when the light and the angle of the observer was just right. These shifting corus- cations, seen from the air, had been the Elarthmen’s first intimation that there was intelligent life in the ubiquitous Lithian jungle. Ruiz-Sanchez looked out the sleeping-room window at the city for at least the ten thousandth time on his way to Cleaver’s hammock. Xoredeshch Sfath was alive to him ; it never looked the same twice. He found it singularly beautiful. He checked Cleaver’s pulse and respiration. Both were fast, even for Lithia, where a high carlx>n diox- ide partial pressure raised the pH of the blood of Earthmen to an ab- normal level and stimulated the breathing reflex. The priest judged, however, diat Cleaver was in bttle danger as long as his actual oxygen utilization was not increased. At the moment he was certainly sleep- ing deeply — if not very restfully — and it would do no harm to leave him alone for a little while. Of course, if a wild allosaur should blunder into the city . . . But that was about as likely as the blundering of an untended elephant into the heart of New Delhi. It could happen, but almost never did. And no other dangerous Lithian animal could break into the house if it were sealed. UIZ-SANCHEZ checked the carafe of fre^ water in the niche beside the hammock, went into the hall, and donned boots, macintosh and waterproof hat. The night souneb of Lithia burst in up- on him as he opened the stone door, along with a gust of sea air and the characteristic halogen odor most people call “salty.” There was a thin drizzle falling, making haloes around the lights of Xoredeshch Sfath. Far out, on the water, an- other light moved. That was prob- ably the coastal side-wheeler to Yllith, the enormous island which stood athwart the Upper Bay, bar- ring the Gulf of Sfath as a whole from the equatorial sea. Outside, Ruiz-Sanchez turned the wheel which extended bolts on every margin of the door. Drawing from his macintosh a piece of soft chalk, he marked on sheltered tablet designed for such uses the Lithian symbols which meant “Ill- ness is here.” That would be suf- ficient. Anybody who chose to could open the door simply by turning

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 13 the wheel, but the Lithians were overridingly social beings, who re- spected their own conventions as they would respect natural law. That done, Ruiz-Sanchez set out for the center of the city and the Mes.sage Tree. The asphalt streets shone in the yellow lights cast from windows, and in the white light of the mantled, wide-spaced street lanterns. Occasionally he passed the eight-foot, kangaroo-like shape of a Lithian, and the two exchanged glances of frank curiosity, but there were not many Lithians abroad now. They kept to their houses at night, doing Ruiz-Sanchez knew not what. He could see them fre- quently, alone or by twos or threes, moving behind the oval windows of the houses he passed. Sometimes they seemed to be talking. What about? It was a nice question. The Lith- ians had no crime, no newspapers, no household communications sys- tems, no arts that could be differen- tiated clearly from their crafts, no political parties, no public amuse- ments. no nations, no games, no re- ligions, no sports, no celebrations. Surely they didn’t spend every wak- ing minute of their lives exchanging knowledge, disc ussing philosophy or history? Or did they? Perhaps, Ruiz-Sanchez thought suddenly, they simply went inert once they were inside their jugs, like so many pickles! But even as the thought came, the priest passed another house, and saw tlicir silhouettes moving to and fro . . . A puff of wind scattered rool droplets in his face. Automatically, he quickened his step. If the night were to turn out especially windy, there would doubtless be many voices coming and going in the Message Tree. It loomed ahead of him now, a sequoia-like giant, standing at the mouth of the valley of the River Sfath — the valley which led in gi*cat serpentine folds into the heart of the continent, where Gleshchetk Sfatli, or Blood Lake in English, poured out its massive torrents. As llie winds came and went along the valley, the tree nodded and swayed. With every move- ment. tlie tree’s root system, which underlay the entire city, tugged and distorted the buried crystalline cliff upon which the city had been founded, a.s long ago in Iwilhian pre- histoiy as was the founding of Rome on Earth. At every such pres- sure, the buried cliff responded whh a vast lu’art-pulse of radio waves — a pulse detectable not only all over Lithia, but far out in space as well. These bursts, of course, were sheer noise. How the Lithians modifu.'d them to carry information — not only messages, but the amaz- ing navigational grid, the planet- wide time-signal system, and much more — was something Ruiz-San- chez never expected to Icam, al- though Cleaver said it was all per- fectly simple once you understood it. It had something to do with semi-conduction and solid-state physics, which — again according to Cleaver — the Lithians understood better than any Earthman. Almost all knowledge, Ruiz-San- chez reflected with amusement, fell into that category. It was either perfectly simple once you under- stood it, or else it fell apart into fiction. As a Jesuit — even here, 40

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14 JAMES BUSH light-years from Rome — ^Ruiz-San- chez knew something about knowl- edge that Cleaver would never learn: that all "knowledge goes through both stages, the annuncia- tion out of noise into fact and the disintegration back into noise again. The process involved was the mak- ing of increasingly finer distinctions. The outcome was an endless series of theoretical catastrophes. The residuum was faith. The high, .sharply vaulted chamber, like an egg stood on its large end, which had been burned out in the base of the Mes- sage Tree was droning with life as Ruiz-Sanchez entered it. It would have been difficult to imagine any- thing less like an Earthly telegraph office or other message center, how- ever. Around the circumference of the lower end of the egg there was a continual whirling of tall figures, Lithians entering and leaving through the many doorlcss en- trances and changing places in the swirl of movement like so many electrons passing from orbit to orbit. Despite their numbers, their voices were pitched so low that Ruiz-Sanchez could hear blended in with their murmuring the soughing of the wind through the enormous branches far aloft. The inner side of this band of moving figures was bounded by a high railing of black, polished wood, evidently cut from the phloem of the tree itself. On the other side of this Encke’s Division a thin circlet of Lithians took and passed out messages steadily and without a moment’s break, han- dling the total load faultlessly — if one were to judge by the way the outer band was kept in motion — and without apparent effort by memory alone. Occasionally one of these specialists would leave the circlet and go to one of the desks which were scattered over most of the rest of the sloping floor, in- creasingly thinly, like a Crepe Ring, to confer there with the desk’s occupant. Then he went back to the black rail, or, sometimes, he took the desk and its previous occu- pant went to the rail. The bowl deepened, the desks thinned, and at the very center stood a single, aged Lithian, his hands clapped to the ear-whorls behind his heavy jaws, his eyes cov- ered by their nictitating membrane, only his nasal fossae and heat-re- ceptive postnasal pits uncovered. He spoke to no one, and no one consulted him — but the absolute stasis in which he stood was obvi- ously the reason, the sole reason, for the torrents and countertorrento of p)eople which poured along the outermost ring. Ruiz-Sanchez stopped, aston- ished. He had never himself been to the Message Tree before— com- municating with the other two earthmen on Lithia had been, until now, one of Cleaver^s tasks — and the priest found that he had no idea what to do. The scene before him was more suggestive of a bourse than of a message center in any ordinary sense. It seemed unlikely that so many Lithians could have urgent personal messages to send each time the winds were active; yet it seemed equally uncharacter-

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE istic that the Lithians, with their stable, abundance-based economy, should have any equivalent of stock or commodity brokerage. There seemed to be no choice, however, but to plunge in, try to reach the polished black rail, and ask one of those who stood on the other side to try and raise Agron- ski or Michclis again. At worst, he supposed, he could only be refused, or fail to get a hearing at all. He took a deep breath. Simultaneously, his left elbow was caught in a firm four-fingered grip. Letting the stored breath out again in a snort of surprise, the priest looked around and up at the solicitously bent head of a Lithian. Under the long, trap-like mouth, the being’s wattles were a delicate, curious aquamarine, in contrast to its vesti^al comb, wliich was a pemiaiu'nt and silvery sapphire, shot through with veins of fuchsia. “You are Ruiz-Sanchez,” the Lithian said in his own language. The priest’s name, unlike that of most of the other Earthmen, fell easily in that tongue. “I know you by your robe.” This was pure chance; any Earthnian out in the rain in a mac- intosh would have been identified as Ruiz -Sanchez, becau.se he was the only Earthinan who seemed to the Lithians to w'car the same garment indoors. “I am Chtexa, the metal- list, who consulted with you earlier on medicine and on your mission and other matters. We have not seen you here before. Do you wish to talk with the Tree?” “I do,” Ruiz-Sanchez said grate- fully. “It is so that I am new here. 15 Can you explain to me what to do?” “Yes, but not to any profit,” Chtexa said, tilting his head so that his completely ir^y pupils .shone down into Ruiz-Sanchez’ eyes. “One must have obscrvi'd the ritual, which is very complex, until it is habit. Wc have grown up with it, but you 1 think lack the co- ordination to follow it on the fint attempt. If I may bear your mes- sage instead . . .” “I would be most indebted. It is for our colleagues Agion.ski and Michelis. They are at Xoicdcshch Gton on the northeast continent, at about 32® East 32® North — ” “Yes, the second benchmark, at the outlet of the Lesser Lakes; the city of the potters. And you will say?” “That they arc to join us now, here, at Xoredeshch Sfalh. And that our time on Litlila is almost up.” “That me regards. But 1 will bear it.” CHTEXA LEAPT into the whirling crowd, and Ruiz- Sanchez was left behind, consider- ing again his thankfulness at the pains he Itad taken to learn the Lithian language. Several members of the Terrestrial commission had shown a regrettable lack of interest in that tongue: “Let ’em learn English,” had been Cleaver’s classic formulation. Ruiz-Sanchez was all the loss likely to view this idea sym- pathetically considering that his owT) native language was Spanish and his preferred foreign language German.

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T6 JAMES BUSH Agronslu had taken a slightly more sophisticated stand: it was not, he said, that Lithian was too difficult to pronounce — certainly it wasn’t any harder than Arabic or Russian on the soft palate — but, after all, “it’s hopeless to attempt to grasp the concepts that lie be- hind a really alien language in the time we have to spend here, isn’t it?” To both views, Michelis had said nothing; he had simply set out to learn to read the language first, and if he found his way from there into speaking it, he would not be surprised and neither would his corifreres. That was Michelis’ way of doing things, thorough and un- theoretical at the same time. As for the other two approaches, Ruiz- Sanchez thou^t privately that it was close to criminal to allow any contact-man for a new planet ever to leave Earth with such parochial notions. Of Cleaver’s tendency to refer to the Lithians themselves as “the Snakes,” Ruiz-Sanchez’ opin- ion was such as to be admissible only to his remote confessor. And in view of what lay before him now in this egg-shaped hollow, what was Ruiz-Sanchez to think of Cleaver’s conduct as communica- • tions officer for the group? Surely he could never have transmitted or received a single message through the Tree, as he had claimed to have done. Probably he had never been nearer to the Tree than the priest had been. Of course, it went \vithout saying that he had been in contact with Agromki and Michelis by some method, but that method evidently had been a private transmitter con- cealed in his luggage. . . Yet, physicist though he most definitely was not, Ruiz-Sanchez rejected that solution on the spot; he had some idea of the practical difficulties of ham radio on a world like Lithia, swamped as it was on all wave- lengths by the tremendous pulses which the Tree wrung from the buried crystalline cliff. The prob- lem was beginning to make him feel decidedly uncomfortable. Then Chtexa was back, recogniz- able not so much by any physical detail — for his wattles were now the same ambiguous royal purple as those of most of the other Lithians in the crowd — as by the fact that he was obviously bearing down upon the Earthman. “I have sent your message,” he said at once. “It is recorded at Xorede&hch Gton. But the other Earthmen are not there. They have not been in the city for some days.” That was impossible. Cleaver had said he had spoken to Agronski only a day ago. “Are you sure?” Ruiz- Sanchez said cautiously. “It admits of no uncertainty. The house which we gave them stands empty. The many things which they had with them are gone.” The tall shape raised its small hands in a gesture which might have been solicitous. “I think this is an ill word. I dislike to bring it you. The words which you brought me when we first met were full of good.” “Thank you. Don’t worry,” Ruiz- Sanchez said distractedly. “No man could hold the bearer responsible for the word, surely.” “Whom else would he hold responsible for it? At least that is our custom,” Chtexa said. “And un-

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 17 der it, you have lost by our ex- change. Your words on iron have been shown to contain great good. I would take pleasure in showing you how we have used them, es- pecially so since I have brought you in return an ill message. If you would sliare my house tonight, without prejudice to your work . . .” Sternly Ruiz-Sanchez stifled his sudden excitement. Here was the first chance, at long last, to see something of the private life of Lithia! And through that, perhaps, gain some inkling of the moral life, the role in which God had cast the Lithians in the ancient drama of good and evil in tlie past and in the times to come. Until that w'as knpwn, the Lithians in their Eden were only spuriously good: all rea- son, all organic thinking machines, ULTIMACs with tails and without souls. But there was the hard fart that he had left behind a sick man. There was not much chance that Cleaver would awaken before morning; he had been given nearly 15 mg. of sedative per kilogram of body weight. But if his burly frame should somehow throw it off, driven perhaps by some anaphylactic crisis impossible to rule out this early, he would need prompt attention. At the very least, he would want badly for the sound of a human voice on this planet which he hated and which had struck him down. Still, the danger to Cleaver was not great. He most certainly did not require a minute-by*minute vigil. There was, after all, such a thing as an excess of devotion, a form of pride among the pious which the Church had long found peculiarly difficult to stifle. At its worst, it produced a St. Simon Stylites, who though undoubtedly acceptable to God had for centuries l^en very bad public relations for tlie Church. And had Cleaver really earned the kind of devotion Ruiz-Sanchez had been proposing, up to now, to ten- der him as a creature of God? And with a whole planet at stake, a whole people — A lifetime of meditaticHi over just such problems of conscience had made Ruiz-Sanchez, like any

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T8 JAMES BUSH other gifted member of his Order, quick to find his way through all but the most complex ethical laby- rinths to a decision.' An unsym- pathetic observer might almost have called him “agile.” “Thank you,” he said, a little shakily. “I will share your house very gladly.” Ill CLEAVER? Cleaver! Wake up, you big slob. Where the hell have you been?” Cleaver groaned and tried to turn over. At his first motion, the world began to rock gently, sick- eningly. His mouth was filled with burning pitch. “Cleaver, turn out. It’s me — Agronski. Where’s the Father? What’s wrong? Why didn’t we hear from you? Look out, you’ll — ” The warning came too late and Cleaver could not have understood it anyhow; he had been profoundly asleep and had no notion of his situation in space or time. At his convulsive twist away from the nagging voice, the hammock ro- tated on its hooks and dumped him. He struck the floor stunningly, .taking the main blow across his right shoulder, though he hardly felt it as yet. His feet, not yet part of him at all, still remained afloat far aloft, twisted in the hammock webbing. “Good lord!” There was a brief chain of footsteps, like chestnuts dropping on a roof, and then an overstated crash. “Cleaver, are you sick? Here, lie still a minute and let me get your feet free. Mike — Mike, can’t you turn the gas up in this jug? Something’s wrong back here.” After a moment, yellow light be- gan to pour from the glistening walls. Cleaver dragged an arm across his eyes, but it did him no good; it tired too quickly. Agron- ski’s mild face, plump and anxious, floated directly above him like a captive balloon. He could not see Michelis anywhere, and at the mo- ment he was just as glad. Agron- ski’s presence wa.s hard enough to understand. “How . . . the hell . . .” he said. At the words, his lips split painfully at both corners. He realized for the first time that they had become gummed together, somehow, while he was asleep. He had no idea how long he had been out of the pic- ture. Agronski seemed to understand the alwrted question. “We came in from the Lakes in the ’copter,” he said. “We didn’t like the silence down here and we figured that we’d better come in under our own power, instead of registering in on the regular jetliner and tipping the Lithians off — just in case there’d been any dirty work afloat.” “Stop jawing him,” Michelis said, appearing suddenly, magically in the doorway. “He’s got a bug, that’s obvious. I don’t like to feel pleased about misery, but I’m glad it’s that instead of the Lithians.” The rangy, long-jawed chemist helped Agronski lift Cleaver to his feet. Tentatively, despite the pain, Cleaver got his mouth open again. Nothing came out but a hoarse croak. “Shut up,” Michelis said, not xm- kindly. “Let’s get him back into

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 19 the hammock. Where’s the Father? He’s the only one capable of dealing with sickness here.” “I’ll bet hr’s dead.” Agronski burst out suddenly, his face glisten- ing with alarm. “He’d be licrc if he could. It must be catching, Mike.” “I didn’t bring iny mitt.” Michclis said drily. “Cleaver, He still or ril have to clobber you. Agronski. you seem to have dumped his water carafe ; better go get him some m<ire, lie needs it. And sec if the Father left anything in the lab that looks like medicine." Agronski went out, and, madden- ingly, so did Michelis- — at least out of Cleaver’s field of vision. Setting his every muscle against the pain, ’ Cleaver pulled lus lips apart once more. “Mike.” Instantly, Michelis was there. He had a pad of cotton bt'tween two fingers, wet with some solution, 'with which he gently cleaned Cleaver’s lips and chin. “F.,asy. Agronski’s getting you a drink. We’ll let vou talk in a little while. Paul. Don’t rush it.” Cleaver relaxed a little. He could trust Michelis. Nevertheless, tlie vivid and absurd insult of having to be swabbed like a baby was more than he could bear; he felt tears of helpless rage swelling on either side of his nose. With two deft, non- committal swipes, Michelis removed them. Agronski came back, holding out one hand tentatively, palm up. “I found these,” he .said. “There’s more in the lab, and the Father’s pillpress is still out. So's his mortar and pestle, though they’ve been cleaned,” “All right, let’s have ’em,” Michelis said. “Anything else?” “No. There’s a syringe cooking in the sterilizer, if that means any- thlng.” Michelis swore briefly and to the point. “It means that there’s a per- tinent antitoxin in the shop some- place,” he added. “But unless Ramon left notes, we’ll not have a prayer of figuring out which one it is.” As he spoke, he lifted Cleaver’s head and tipped the pills into his mouth. The water which followed was cold at the first contact, but a split .second later it was liquid fire. Cleaver choked, and at that precise moment Michelis pinched his nas- trils shut. The pills went down. “There’s no sign of the Father?” Michelis said. “Not a one, Mike. Everything’s in good order, and liis gear's still here. Both jungle suits are in the locker.” “Maybe he went visiting,” Michelis said thoughtfully. “He mu-st have gotten to know quite a few of the Lithians by now.” “With a sick man on his hands? That’s not like him, Mike. Not un- lc*ss there was some kind of emer- gency. Or maybe he went on a routine errand, expected to be back in just a few moments, and — ” “And was set upon by trolls for forgetting to stamp his foot three times before crossing the bridge,” “All right, laugh.” ‘Tm not laughing, believe me.” “Mike . . Michelis took a step back and looked down at Cleaver, his face floating as if detached through a haze of tears. He said: “All right,

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20 JAMES BLISH Paul. Tell us what it is. We’re lis- tening.” But it was too late. The doubled barbiturate dose had gotten to Cleaver first. He could only shake his bead, and with the motion Michelis seemed to go reeling away into a whirlpool of fuzzy rainbows. CURIOUSLY, he did not quite go to sleep. He had had nearly a normal night’s sleep, and he had started out the enormously long day a powerful and healthy man. The conversation of the two Earllimen and an obsessive consciousness of his need to speak to them before Ruiz-Sanchez returned helped to keep him, if not totally awake, at least not far below a state of light trance — and the presence in his sys- tem of 30 grains of acetybalicylic acid had seriously raised his oxygen consumption, bringing with it not only dizziness but a precariou<i, emo- tionally untethered alertness. That the fuel which was being burned to maintain it was largely the protein substrate of his own ceils he did not know, and it could not have alarmed him had he known it. Tlie voices continued to reach him, and to convey a little mean- ing. With them were mixed fleeting, fragmentary dreams, so slightly re- moved from the surface of his wak- ing life as to seem peculiarly real, yet at the same time peculiarly pointless and depressing. In the semi-conscious intervals there came plans, a whole succession of them, all umple and grandiose at once, for taking command of the expedition, for communicating with the author- ities on Earth, for bringing forward secret papers proving that Lithia was uninhabitable, for digging a tunnel under Mexico to Peru, for detonating Lithia in one single mighty fusion of all its light-weight atoms into an atom of cleaverium, the element whose cardinal number w*as a)eph*null. . . Agronski: Mike, come here and look at this; you read Lithian. There’s a mark on the front door, on the message tablet. (Footsteps.) MictiELis: It says “Sickness in- side.” The strokes aren’t casual or deft enough to be the work of tlie natives. Ideographs are hard to write rapidly. Ramon must have written it there. Agronski: I wish I knew where he went afterwards. (Footsteps. Door shutting, not loudly. Footsteps. Hassock creak- ing.) .\oRONSKi: Well, we’d better be thinking about getting up a report. Unless this damn 20-hour day has me thrown completely oil, our time’s just about up. Are you still set on opening up the planet? Michelis: Yes. I’ve seen noth- ing to convince me that there’s any- tliing on Lithia that’s dangerous to us. Except maybe Cleaver in there, and I’m not prepared to say that the Father would have left him if he were in any serious danger. And I don’t see how Earthmen could harm this society: it’s too stable emotionally, economically, in every other way. {Danger, danger, said somebody in Cleaver’s dream. It will explode. It’s all a popish plot. Then he was marginally awake again and con- scious of how his mouth hurt. )

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 21 Agronski: Why do you suppose these two jokers never called us after we went north? Michelis: I don't have any an- swer. I won’t even ^ess until 1 talk to Ramon. Or until Paul’s able to sit up and take notice. Agronski: I don’t like it, Mike. It smells bad to me. This town’s ri^ht at the heart of the communi- cations system of the planet. And yet — no messages, Cleaver sick, the Father not here . . . There’s a hell of a lot we don’t know about Lithia. Michelis: There’s a hell of a lot we don’t know about central Brazil. Agronski: Nothing essential, iClike. What we know about the periphery gives us all the clues we need about the interior — even to those fi.sh that eat people, the what are they, the pirhanas. That’s not true on Lithia. We don’t know v^hether our peripheral clues about Lithia are germane or just inciden- tal. Something enonnous could be hidden under the surface without our being able to detect it. Michelis: Agronski. stop sound- ing like a Sunday supplement. You underestimate your own intelli- gence. What kind of enormous se- cret could that be? That the Lithi- ans eat people? That they’re cattle for unknown gods that live in the jungle? That tliey’re actually mind- wrenching, soul-twisting, heart- stopping, bowel-moving intelli- gences in disguise? The moment you state any such proposition, you’ll deflate it yourself. I wouldn’t even need to take the trouble of examining it, or discussing how we might meet it if it were true. Agronski: All right, all right, ril reserve judgment for the time being, anyhow. If everything turns out to be all right here, with the Father and Cleaver I mean, I’ll probably go along with you. 1 don’t have any reason 1 could defend for voting against the planet, I admit. Michelis: Good for you. I’m sure Ramon is for opening it up. so that should make it un.iniinous. I can’t see why Cleaver would ob- ject. (Cleaver was testifying before a packed court convened in the UN General Assembly chambers in New York, with one finger pointed dra- matically, but less in triumph than in sorrow, at Ramon Ruiz-Sanchez, S. J. At the sound of hU name the dream collapsed and he realized that the room had grown a little lighter. Dawn — or dripping, wool-grey travesty of it which pre- vailed on Lithia — was on its way. He wondered what he had just said to the court. It had been conclu- sive. damning, good enough to be used when he awoke; but he could not remember a word of it. All that remained of it was a sensation, al- most the taste of the words, but with nothing of their substance.) Agronski: It's getting light. 1 suppose we’d better knock off. Michelis: Did you stake down the ’copter? The winds here are higher than they are up north, I seem to remember. Agronski: Yes. And covered it with the tarp. Nothing left to do but sling our hammocks — Michelis: Shh. What’s that? (Footsteps. Faint ones, but Cleaver knew them. He forced his eyes to open a little, but there was

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22 JAMES BUSH nothing to see but the ceiling. Its even color, and its smooth, ever- changing slope into a dome of nothingness, drew him almost im- mediately upward into the mists of trance once more.) Agronski: Somebody’s coming. It’s the Father, Mike — look out here. He seems to be all right. Drag- ging his feet a bit, but who wouldn’t after being out helling all night? MiGitEi-is: Maybe you’d bc’tter meet him at the door. It’d probably be better than our springing out at him after he gets inside. After all he doesn’t expect us. I’ll get to un- packing tlie hammocks. Acronski: Sure. Mike. (Footsteps, going away from Qeaver. A grating sound of stone on stone: the door-wheel being turned.) Aoronski: Welcome home. Fa- ther! We got in just a little while ago and— what’s wrong? Arc you ill? Is there soineihing iliat — Mike! Mike! (Somebody was running. Cleaver willed his neck muscles to lift his head, but they refused to obey. In- stead, the back of his head seemed to force itself deeper into the stiff pillow of the hammock. After a momentary and endless agony he cried out.) Cleaver; Mike! Aoronski: Mike! (With a gasp, Cleaver lost the long battle at last. He was asleep.) IV AS THE DOOR of Chtexa’s house closed behind him, Ruiz- Sanchez lcx)ked about the gently- glowing foyer with a feeling of al- most unbearable anticipation, al- though he could hardly have said what it was that he hoped to see. Actuallv. it looked exactly like his own quarters, which was all he could in justice have expected — all the furniture at “home” was Lithian except the lab equipment. “Wc have cut up several of the metal meteors from our museums, and hammered them as you sug- gested,” Chrexa said behind him, while he struggled out of his rain- coat and l)oots. “They show very definite, very strong inagentism, just as you predicted. We now have the whole planet alerted to pick up raeteorite.s and send them to our eiecirical laboratory here, regardless (rf where found. The staff of the ob- servatory is attem])ting to predict possible lalls. Unhappily, meteors are rare here. Our astronomers say that we have never had a ‘shower’ such as you dcscrilx* as frequent on your native planet.” “No; I should have thought of that,” Ruiz-Sanchez said, following the Lithian inu* the front roora. This, too, was cjuite ordinary, and empty except for the two of them. ‘‘In our system we have a sort of gi- ant grinding wheel — a whole ring of little planets, many thomand.s of dicin, distributed around an orbit where we had expected to find only <Nie normal-sized world. Collisions between these liodies are incessant, and our plague of meteors is the re- sult. Here I suppose you have only the usual few strays from comets.” ‘‘It is hard to understand how so unstable an arrangement could have come about,” Chtexa said, sit- ting down and pointing out another

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 23 hassock to his guest. “Have you an explanation?” “Not a good one,” Ruiz-Sanchez said. “Some of us think that there was a respectable planet in that or- bit ages ago, which exploded some- how. A similar accident happened to a satellite in our system — at least one of our j)lanets has a similar ring. Others think that at the formation of our solar system the raw materials of what might have been a planet just never succeeded in coalescing. Both ideas have many flaws, but each satisfies cer- tain objections to the other, so per- haps there is some truth in botli.” Chtexa’s eyes filmed with the «nildly disquieting “inner blink” characteristic of Lithians at their most thoughtful. “There would seem to be no wav to test either an- • swer,” he said at length. “By our logic, lack of such tests makes the paginal question meaningless.” “That rule of logic has many ad- herents on Earth. My colleague Dr. Cleaver would certainly agree with it.” Ruiz-Sanchez smiled suddenly. He had labored long and hard to master the Lithian language, and to have understood and recognized so completely abstract a point as the one just made by Chtexa was a bigger victory than any quantita- tive gains in vocabulary alone could ever have been. “But I can see that we are going to have dif- ficulties in collecting these meteor- ites. Have you offered incentives?** “Oh, certainly. Everyone under- stands the importance of the pro- gram. We are all eager to advance it.” This was not quite what the priest had meant by his question. He searched his memory for some Lithian equivalent of “reward,” but found nothing but the word he had already used, “incentive.” He realized that he knew’ no word for “greed,” either. Evidently offering Lithians a hundred dollars a me- teorite would simply bafilc them. Instead he said, “Since the potential meteor-fall is so small, you’re not likely to get anything like the sup- ply of metal lliat you need for a real study, no matter how thor- oughly you cooperate on it. You need a supplementary iron-finding program : some way of concentrat- ing the traces of the metal you have on the planet. Our smelting meth- ods would be useless to you, since you have no ore-beds. Hmm. What about the iron-fixing bacteria?” “Are there such?” Chtexa said, cocking his head dubiously. “I don’t know. Ask your bacteri- ologists. If you have any bacteria here that belong to the genus we call Leptothrix, one of them should be an iron-fixing species. In all the millions of years that this planet has had life on it, that mutation must have occurred, and probably very early.” “But why have we never seen it before? We have done perhaps more research in bacteriology than we have in any other field.” “Because,” Ruiz-Sanchez said earnestly, “you didn’t know what to look for, and because such a species would be as rare as iron itself. On Earth, because we have iron in abundance, our Leptothrix ochra- cea has found plenty of opportun- ity to grow. We find their fossil sheathes by uncountable millions in our great ore-beds. It used to bc‘

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24 JAMES BUSH thought, as a matter of fact, that the bacteria produced the oi-e-beds, but Tve never believed that. While they do obtain dielr energy by oxi- dizing ferrous iron, such salts in solution change spontaneously to ferric salts if the oxidation-reduc- tion potential and the pH of the water arc right — and those arc con- ditions that are alTccted bv ordi- 4 nary decay bacteria. On our planet the bacteria grew in the ore-beds because the iron was there, not the other way around. In your case, you just don’t have the iron to make them numerous, but I’m .'^ure there mast be a few.” “We will start a soil-sampling program at once,” Chtexa said, his wattles flaring a sulxlued orchid. “Our ajitibiotics research centers screen soil samples by the thousand.s every month, in search of new ini- croflora of therapeutic importance. If these iron-fixing bacteria exist, we are certain to find them even- tually.” “TTiey mu.st exist,” Ruiz-Sanchez repeated. “Do you have a bacte- ritim that i.s a sulfur-concentrating obligate anaerobe?” “S'es — ye.s, certainly!” “There you are,” the Jesuit said, leaning back contentedly and clasp- ing hi.s hands across one knee. "You have plenty of sulfur and so you have the bacterium. Please let me know when you find tiie iron-fixing species. I’d like to make a suIkuI- tureand take it home with me when I leave. There are two Earthmen whose noses I’d like to rub in it.” The Lithian stiffened and thnist his head forward a little, as if baf- fled. Ruiz-Sanchez said hastily, “Pardon me. I was translating lit- erally an aggressive idiom of my own tongue. It was not meant to describe an actual plan of action.” “I think I understand,” Chtexa said. Ruiz-Sanchez wondered if he did. In the rich storehouse of the Lithian language he h.id yet to dis- cover any metaphors, either living or dead. Neither did the Litlnans liave any poetry or other creative arts. “You are of course wclccnne to any of the results of this pro- gram which you would honor as by accepting. One problem in die so- cial sciences which has long puz- zled us is just how one may ade- quately honor the innovator. When we consider how new ideas change our lives, we despair of giving in kind, and it is helpful when the in- novator himself has wishes which society can gratify.” Ruiz-Sanchez was at first not quite sure he had understood the proposition. After he had gone over it once more in his mind, he was not .sure that he could bring him- self to like it, although it wa.s ad- mirable enough. From an Earth- man it would have sounded intol- erably pompous, but it wa.s evident that Chtexa meant it. It wa-s probably just as well that the Commission’s rejiort on Lithia was about to fall tlue, Ruiz-San- chez had begun to think that he could absorb only a little mbm of this kind of calm sanity. And all of it — a disquieting thought from somewhere near hi<? heart reminded him — all of it derived from reason, none from precept, none from faith. Tlic Lithians did not know God. They did things rightly, and thought righteously, because it was reasonable and effiaent and natural

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 25 to do and to think that way. They seemed to need nothing else. Or could it be that the>- thought and acted as they did because, not being bom of man, and never in effect having left the Garden in wliich they lived, they did not share the terrible burden of origi* nal sin? The fact tliat Lithia had never once had a glacial epoch, that its climate had been left un- changed for 700 million years, was a geological fact that an alert the- ologist could scarcely afford to ig- nore. Could it be that, free from the burden, they were also free from the curse of Adam? And if they wtir — could men Twar to live among them? I HAVE SOME questions to ask you, Cljlexa,” the priest said after a moment. “You owe me no debt whatsoever, but we four Earthmen have a hard decision to make shortly. You know what it is. And 1 don’t believe that wc know enough yet about your planet to make that decision properly.” “Then of course you must ask questions,” Chtexa said immedi- ately. “I will answer, wherever I can.” “Well then — do your people die? I see you have the word, but per- haps it isn’t the same as our word in meaning.” “It means to stop changing and to go back to existing,” Chtexa said. “A machine exists, but only a living thing, like a tree, progres-ses along a line of changing equilibri- ums. When that progress stops, the entity is dead.” “And that happens to you?” “It always happens. Even the great trees, like the Message Tree, die sooner or later. Is that not true on Earth?” “Yes,” Ruiz-Sanchez said, “yes, it is. For rcMsons it would take me a long time to explain, it occurred to me that you might have escaped this evil.” “It is not evil as we look at it,” Chtexa said. “Lithia lives because of death. The death of leaves sup- plies our oil and gas. The death of some creatures is always necessary for the life of others. Bacteria must die, and viruses be prevented from living, if illness Is to be cured. Wc ourselves must die simply to make room for others, at least until wc can slow the rate at which our peo- ple arrive in the world — a thing impossible to us at present.” “But desirable, in your eyes?” “Surely desirable,” Chtexa said. “Our world is rich, but not inex- haustible. And other planets, you have taught us, have peoples of their own. Tims woi cannot hope to spread to other planets when we have over-populated this one.” “No real thing is ever inexhausti- hle,” Ruiz-Sanchez said abruptly, frowning at the iridescent floor. “That we have found to be true over many thousands of years of our history.” “But inexhaustible in what way?” said Chtexa. “I grant you that any small object, any stone, any drop of water, any bit of soil can be ex- plored without end. The amount of information which can be got- ten from it is quite literally infinite. But a given soil can be exhausted of nitrates. It is difficult, but with bad cultivation it can be done. Or

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26 JAMES BUSH take iron, about which we have al- ready been talking. Our planet’s supply of iron has limits which we already know, at least approximate- ly. To allow our economy to de- velop a demand for iron whieli ex- ceeds the total known supply of Lithia — and exceeds it beyond any possibility of supplementation by meteors or by import — would be folly. This is not a question of in- formation. It is a question of wheth- er or not the information can be used. If it cannot, then limitless in- formation is of no help.” “You could certainly get along without more iron if yx)u h.ad to,” Ruiz-Sanchez admitted. “Your wooden machinery is precise enough to satisfy any engineer. Most of them, I think, don’t re- member that we used to have some- thing similar: I’ve a sample in my own home. It’s a kind of tinier called a cuckoo clock, nearly two of our centuries old, made entirely of wood, and still nearly 100% accurate. For that matter, long aft- er we began to build sca-going vessels of metal, we continued to use lignum vitae for ships’ bear- ings.” “Wood is an excellent material for most uses,” Chtexa agreed. “Its only deficiency, compared to ce- ramic materials or perhaps metal, is that it is variable. One must know it well to be able to assess its qualities from one tree to the next. And of course complicated parts can always be grown inside suit- able ceramic molds; the growth ressure inside the mold rises so igh that the resulting part is very dense. Larger parts can be ground direct from the plank with soft sandstone and polished with slate. It is a gratifying material to work, we find.” Ruiz-Sanchez felt, for some reason, a little ashamed. It was a magnified version of the same shame he had always felt at home toward that old Black Forest cuckoo clock. The electric clocks elsewhere in his villa back home all should have been capable of performing silently, accurately and in less space — but the con- siderations wliich had gone into the making of them had been commer- cial as well as purely technical. As a result, most of them operated with a thin, asthmatic whir, or groaned softly but dismally at irregular hours. All of them were “stream- lined,” oversized and ugly. None of them kept good time, and several of them, since they were powered by constant-speed motors operating very simple gear-boxes, could not be adjusted, but had been sent out from the factory wnth built-in, in- eluctable inaccuracies. The wooden cuckoo clock, meanwhile, ticked evenly away. A quail emerged from one of two wooden doors every quarter of an hour and let you know about it, and on the hour first the quail came out, then the cuckoo, and tliere wa.s a soft boll that rang just ahead of the cuckoo’s call. It was accurate to a minute a week, all for the price of running up the three weights which drove it, each night before bedtime. The maker had been dead before Ruiz-Sanchez had been born. In contrast, the priest would probably buy and jettison at least a dozen cheap electric clocks in the course

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 27 of one lifetime, as their makers had intended he should. M SURE it is,” he said humbly. “I have one more question, if I may. It is really part of the same question: I have asked if you die; now I should like to ask how you are born. I see many adults on your streets and some- tiiTie.s in your houses — though I gather you yourself are alone — but never any children. Can you explain this to me? Or if the subject is not allowed to be dis- cussed . . “But why should it not be? There can never be any closed subjects,” Chtexa said. “You know, of course, that our mates have abdominal po'uches where the eggs arc carried, it was a lucky mutation for us, for there arc a number of nest-robbing species on this planet.” “Yes, we have a few animals with a somewhat similar arrange- ment on Earth, although they are live-bearers.” “Our eggs are laid into these pouches once a year,” Chtexa said. “It is then that the women leave their own houses and seek out the male of their choice to fertilize the eggs. I am alone because, thus far, I am no woman’s first choice tliis season. In contrast you may see men’s houses at this time of year which shelter three or four women who favor him.” “I see,” Ruiz-Sanchez said care- fully. “And how is the choice de- termined? Is it by emotion, or by reason alone?” “The two are in the long run the same,” Chtexa said. “Our ancestors did not leave our genetic needs to chance. Emotion with us no longer runs counter to our eugenic knowl- edge. It cannot, since it was itself modified to follow that knowledge by selective breeding for such be- haviour. “At the end of the season, then, comes Migration Day. At that time all the eggs are fertilized, and ready to hatch. On that day — you will not be here to see it, I am afraid, for your announced date of departure precedes it by a short time — our whole nation goes to the seashores. There, witli the men to protect them from predators, the women wade out to swimming depth, and the children are bom.” “In the sea?” Ruiz-Sanchez said faintly. “Yes, in the sea. Then we all re- turn, and resume our other affairs until the next mating season.” “But — but what happens to the children?” “Why, tlicy take care of them- selves, if they can. Of course many perish, particularly to our voracious brother the great fish-lizard, whom for that reason we kill when wc can. But a majority return when the time comes.” “Return? Chtexa, I don’t under- stand. Why don’t they drown when they arc bom? And if they return, why have we never seen one?” “But you have,” Chtexa said. “And you have heard them often. Here, come with me.” He arose and led the way out into the foyer. Ruiz- Sanchez followed, hi.s head whirl- ing with conjecture. Chtexa opened the door. The night, the priest saw with a sub- dued shock, was on the wane; there

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28 JAMES BUSH was the faintest of pearly glimmers on the cloudy sky to the east. The . multifarious humming and singing of the jungle contihued unabated. There was a high, hissing whistle, and the shadow of a pterodon drifted over the city toward the sea. From the mudflats came a hoarse barking. ‘‘There,” Chtexa said softly. “Did you hear it?” The stranded creature, or anoth- er of his kind — it was impossible to tell which — croaked protestingly again. “It is hard for them at first,” Chtexa said. “But actually the worst of their dangers are over. They have come ashore.” “Chtexa,” Ruiz-Sanchez said. “Your children — the hngfish?*' “Yes,” Chtexa said. “Those are our children.” V IN THE LAST analysis it was the incessant barking of the lungfish which caused Ruiz-Sanchez to faint when Agronski opened the door for him. The late hour, and the dual strains of Cleaver’s Illness and the subsequent discovery of Cleaver’s • direct lying, contributed. So did the increasing sense of guilt toward Cleaver which the priest had felt while walking home under the gradually-brightening, weeping sky : and so, of course, did the shock of discovering that Agronski and Mi- chelis had arrived sometime during the night while he had been neg- lecting his charge. But primarily it was the dimin- ishing, gasping clamor of the chil- dren of Lithia, battering at his ev- ery mental citadel, all the way from Chtexa’s house to his own. The sudden fugue only lasted a few moments. He fought his way back to consciousness to find that Agronski and Michelis had propped him up on a stool in the lab and were tiying to remove his macin- tosh without unbalancing him or awakening him — as difficult a prob- lem in topology as removing a man’s vest without taking off his jacket. Wearily, the priest pulled his own arm out of a macintosh sleeve and looked up at Michelis. “Good morning, Mike. Please ex- cuse my bad manners.” “Don't be an idiot,” Michelis said evenly. “You don’t have to talk now, anyhow. I’ve already spent much of tonight trying to keep Cleaver quiet until he’s better. Don’t put me through it again, Ramon, plea.se.” “I won’t. I’m not ill; I’m just very tired and a little overwrotight.” “What’s the matter with Cleav- er?” Agronski demanded. Michelis made as if to shoo him off. “No, no, Mike, I’m all right, I assure you. ,\s for Paul, he got a dose of glucoside poisoning when a plant-spine stabbed him this after- noon. No, it’s yesterday afternoon now. How has he been since, you arrived?” “He’s sick,” Michelis said. “Since you weren’t here, we didn’t know what to do. We settled for two of the pills you’d left out.” “You did?” Ruiz-Sanchez slid his feet heavily to the floor and tried to stand up. “As you say, you couldn’t have known what else to do, but I think I’d better look in on him — ”

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 29 “Sit down, please, Ramon.” Mi- chelis spoke gently, but his tone showed that he meant the request to be honored. Obscurely glad to be forced to yield to the big man’s well-meant implacability, the priest let himself be propped back on the stool. His boots fell off his feet to the floor. “Mike, who’s the Father here?” he said tiredly. “Still, I’m sure you’ve done a good job. lie’s in no apparent danger?” “Well, he seems very sick. But he had energy enough to keep him- self half awake most of the night. He only passed out a short while ago.” “Good. Let him stay out. Tomor- row we’ll probably have to begin intraven{>us feeding, though. In this atmosphere one doesn’t give a salicylate overdose without penal- ties.” He sighed. “Can we put off further questions?” “If there’s nothing else wrong here, of course we can.” “Oh,” Ruiz-Sanchez said, “there’s a great deal wrong, I’m afraid.” “I knew it,” .Agronski said. “I knew damn well there was. I told you so, Mike, didn’t I?” “Is it urgent?” “No, Mike — there’s no danger to us, of ^at I’m positive. It’s nothing that won’t keep until we’ve all had a rest. You two look as though you need one as badly as I.” “We’re tired,” Michelis agreed. “But why didn’t you ever call us?” Agronski burst in aggricvcdly. “You had us scared half to death. Father. If there’s really something wrong here, you should have — ” “There’s no immediate danger,” Ruiz-Sanchez repeated patiently. “As for why we didn’t call you, I don’t understand that any more than you do. Up to tonight, I thought we were in regular contact with you both. That was Paul’s job and he seemed to be carrying it out. I didn’t discover that he wasn’t do- ing it until after he became ill.” “Then obviously we’ll have to wait,” Michelis said. “Let’s hit the hammock, in God’s name. Flying that ’copter through twenty-five hundred miles of fog-bank wasn’t exactly restful, either; I’ll be glad to turn in . . . But, Ramon — ” “Yes, Mike?” “I have to say that I don’t like this any better than Agronski does. Tomorrow we’ve got to clear it up. and get our Ccm:imission basincss done. We’ve only a day or so to make our decision before the ship comes and takes us off for good, and by that time we must know everything there is to know, and just what we’re going to tell the Earth about it.” “Yes,” Ruiz-Sanchez said. “Just as you say, Mike — in God’s name.” The PERUVIAN pricst-biolo- gist awoke before the otlicrs : ac- tually, he had undergone far less purely physical strain than had the other three. It was just beginning to be cloudy dusk when he rolled out of his hammock and padded over to look at Cleaver. The physicist was in coma. His face was dirty grey and looked odd- ly shrunken. It was high time that the neglect and inadvertent abmc to which he had been subjected was rectified. Happily, his pulse

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30 and respiration were close to nor- mal now. Ruiz-Sanchez went quietly into the lab and made up a fructose IV feeding. At tlie same time he re- constituted a can of powdered egg into a sort of souffle, setting it in a covered crucible to bake at the back of die little oven; that was for the rest of them. In the sleeping chamber, the priest set up his IV stand. Cleaver did not stir when the needle entered the big vein just above tlie inside of his elbow. Ruiz-Sanchez taped the tubing in place, checked the drip from the inverted bottle, and went back into the lab. There he sat, on the stool before the microscope, in a sort of suspen- sion of feeling while the new night drew on. He was still poisoned- tired, but at least now he could stay awake without constantly fighting himself. The slowdy-rising souffle in the oven went plup-plup, plup-plup, and after a while a thin tendril of aroma suggested that it was beginning to brown on top, or at Ica.st thinking about it. Outside, it abruptly rained buck- ets. Just as abruptly, it stopjjcd. “Is that breakfa.st I smell, Ra- mon?” “Yes, Mike, in the oven. In a few minutes now.” "Right.” Michelis went away again. On the back of the workbench, Ruiz- SancJiez saw the dark blue book with the gold stamping which he had brought with him all the way from Earth. Almost automatically he pulled it to him and opened it to page 573. It would at least ^ve him something to think about with JAMES BUSH which he was not personally in- volved. He had quitted the text last with Anita, who “would yield to tlie lewdness of Honuphrius to appease the savagery of Sulla and the mer- cenariness of the twelve Sullivani, and (as Gilbert first suggested), to save the virginity of Felicia for Ma- gravius” — now hold a moment, how could Felicia be considered still a virgin at this point? Ah: . . when converted bv Michael alter the death of Gillia”: tliat cov- ered it. since Felicia had been guilty only of simple infidelities in the finst place. “. . . but .she fears that, by allowing his marital rights, she may cause reprehensible conduct be- tween Rugenius and Jereinias. Mi- chael, who has foinurly debauched .Anita, dispenses her from yielding to Honupitrius” — yes. that figured, since Michael also had had designs on Eugenius. “Anita is disturbed, hut Michael comminates that he will reserve her case tomorrow for the ordinary Gugliclinus even if .slie should practise a pious fraud dur- ing afTriction which, from experi- ence, she knows (according to Wad- ding) to he leading to nullity.” Well. This was all very well. It even seemed to be shaping up, for the first time. Still, Ruiz-Sandiez reflected, he would not like to have known the familv hidden beJtind 4 the conventional Latin alia.ses, or to have lx*en the confessor to any’ one of them. Now then: “Fortissa, liowever, is encour- aged by Gregorius, Leo. Viteilius, and Macdugalius, reunitedly, to warn Anita by describing the strong chastisements of Honuphrius and the depravities ( turpissimas) of

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 31 Canicula, the deceased wife of Mauritius, with Sulla, the simoniac, who is abnegand and repents.’* Yes, it added up, when one tried to view it without outrage either at the persons involved — and there was every assurance that these were fictitious — or at the author, who for all his mighty intellect, the greatest p>erhaps of the preceding century among novelists, had still to be pitied as much as the mean- est victim of the Evil One. To view it, as it were, in a sort of grey twi- light of emotion, wherein every- thing, even the bamacle-like com- mentaries which the text had ac- cumulated, could be seen in the same light. “Is it done. Father?” “Smells like it, Agromki. Take it out and help yourself, why don’t you?” “Thanks. Can I bring Cleaver — ” “No, he’s fitting an IV." Unless his impression that he un- derstood the problem at last was once more going to turn out to be an illusion, he was now ready for the basic question, the stumper that had deeply disturbed both the Or- der and the Church for so many years now. He reread it carefully. It asked: “Has he hegemony and shall she submit?” To his astonishment, he saw as if for the first time that it was two questions, despite the omission of a comma between the two. And so it demanded two an.swers. Did Honu- phrius have hegemony? Yes, he did, for Michael, the onlv member of the 9 4 whole complex who had been gifted from the beginning with the power of grace, had been egregiously com- promised. Therefore, Honuphrius regardless of whether his dns were all to be laid at his door or were real only in rumor could not be di- vested of his privileges by anyone. But should Anita submit? No, she should not Michael had forfeited his right to dispense or to reserve her in any way, and so she could not be guided by the curate or by anyone else in tlic long run but her own conscience — which in view of the grave accusations against Honuphrius could lead her to no recourse but to deny him. As for Sulla’s repentance, and Felicia’s conversion, they meant nothing, since the defection of Michael had deprived both of them, and every- one else, of spiritual guidance. The answer, then, had been ob- vious all the time. It was: Yes, and No. He closed the book and looked up across the bench, feeling neither more nor less dazed than he had before, but with a small stirring of elation deep inside him which he could not suppress. As he looked out of the window into the dripping darkness, a fa- miliar, sculpturesque head and shoulders moved into the truncated tetrahedron of yellow light being cast out through the fine glass into the rain. It was Chtexa, moving away from the house. Suddenly Ruiz-Sanchez realized that nobody had bothered to rub away the ackness ideograms on the door-tablet. If Chtexa had come here on some errand, he had been turned back unnecessarily. The

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32 JAMES BUSH priest leaned forward, snatched up an empty s!ide»box, and rapped with a comer of it against the in- side of the window, Chtexa turned and looked in through the steaming curtains of rain, his eyes completely filmed. Ruiz-Sanchez beckoned to him. and got stifTly off the stool to open the door. In the oven his share of breakfast dried slowly and began to bum. The rapping had summoned forth Agronski and Michelis as well. Chtexa looked down at the three of them with easy gravity’, while drops of water ran like oil down the minute, prismatic scales of his supple skin. “I did not know that there was sickness here,” the Lithian said. “I called because your brother Ruiz- Sanchez left my house this morning without the gift I had hoped to give him. I will leave if I am invad- ing your privacy in any way.” ‘‘You are not,” Ruiz-Sanchez as- sured him. “And the sickness is only a poisoning, not communicable and w’e think not likely to end badly for our colleague. These are my friends from the north, Agronski and Mi- chelis.” “I am happy to see them. The message was not in vain, then?” “What message is this?” Michelis said, in his pure but hesitant Lith- ian. “I .sent a message, as your col- league Ruiz-Sanchez asked me to do, last night. I was told by Xore- deshch Gton that you had already departed.” “As we had,” Michelis said. “Ra- mon, what’s this? I thought you told us that sending messages was Paul’s job. And you certainly im- plied that you didn’t know how to do it after Paul took sick.” “I didn’t. I don’t. I asked Chtexa to send it for me.” Michelis looked up at the Lith- ian. “What did the message say?” he asked. “That you were to join them now, here, in Xoredeshch Sfath. And that vour time on our world 0 was almost up.” “What does that mean?” Agron- ski said. He had been trying to fol- low the conversation, but he was not much of a linguist, and evidently the few words he had been able to pick up had served only to inflame his ready fears. “Mike, translate, please.” Michelis did so. bricRy. Then he said : “Ramon, wa.s that really all you had to say to us, especially aft- er whai you had found out? We knew Uiat departure time was com- ing, too, after all. We can keep a calendar as well as you, I hope.” “I know that, Mike. But I had no idea what previous messages you’d received, if indeed you’d re- ceived any. For all 1 knew. Cleaver might have been in touch with you some other vvay, privately. I tliought at first of a transmitter in his personal lugg/gc. but later it occurred to me that he might have been sending dispatihes over the regular jetliners. Or he miglit have told you that we were going to stay on beyond the official time. He might have told you I was dead. He might have told you anything. I had to be sure you’d arrive here regardless of w-hat he had or had not said. “And when I got to the local

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 33 rtK'ssapi' center, I luicl to revise my message again, because 1 found that I couldn't coiiiniimicate with you directly, or send anytfiing at all de- tailed. Eveiylhing that goes out from Xorede^luh Sfaiii bv radio # goes out through the I iee. and un- til you’ve seen it vou haven't any idea what an Karthiiian is up against there in sending even the simplest message.'’ “Is that true?” Miehelis asked Chtexa. “True?” Chtexa repeated. “It is accurate, yes.” “Well, then,” Ruiz-Sanchez said, a little nettled, “you can see why, w'hcn Chtexa appeared providen- tially. recognized me. and ofTcred to act as an intiTinediarv. I htid to give him only tlic gist of what 1 h<id to say. I couldirt ho[)e to explain all the clei.iils to him. am! 1 couldn’t li('pe that any of those de- tails would get to you undisioited aifter passing thiougli at least two Lilhian iiilenmdi.iries. .-Ml I could do was yell al the loj) of niv voice for you two to get down here on the pioper date .incl hope that you heard ine.'’ “Thi' is a time of lioublc. uhidt is lik'‘ a siiknevs in the h<ni--e.” Chtexa said. “I nui't not remain. 1 will wish to III' h it alone when I am troubled, and I lamiol ask lltat, if 1 now force my |jresence on other.^ wiio are troubled. 1 will bring my gift at a better lime.” T T E DUCKED OUT through the door, without any formal ges- ture of fari'well, but neverthclc^? leaving beiiind an overwhelming impression of grariousness. Ruiz.- Sanchez w.ilclied liim go helpless- ly, and a little forlornly. The Lithi- an.s always seemed to understand the cbseiiLes of situations ; lliey were never, like e\en the most cocksure of Eariiimen. beset by the least ap- parent doubt. And why sliould they be? They were backed --if Ruiz.-Sanchez was right — bv the second-best Authority in the universe, and backed direct- ly, without intermediaries or con- (licting interpretations. The very fact that they were never tonnenlcd by indet'ision identified them as creatures of that Autliority. Only tlic ( hildren of God had been gi^'en free choice, and hence were often doubtful. Nevertheless, Ruiz-Sanchez would have delaved Chtexa's dc- partuic had he been able. In a short-term argument it is heljiful to have pure reason on your side — even though such an ally could be di'pended upon to Stab you to the heart If you depended upon him too long. “Let’s go inside and lhra.sh this thing out,” Michclis said, shutting the door and turning back toward the front room. “It's a good thing we got some sleep, but we have so little time left now that it’s going lo be touch and go to have a for- mal decision ready when the sliip comes.” “We can’t go ahead yel,” Agron- ski objected, although, along with Ruiz-Sam lie/. be followed Michclis obediently enough. “How can we do anything .wnsible without hav- ing heard what Cleaver has to say? Every inan’.s voice counts on a job of this sort.'’ “That's verv true.” Michelis said.

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34 JAMES BLISH “And 1 don’t like the present situ- ation any better than you do — I’ve already said that. But 1 don’t see tliat wc have any choice. VN'hat do you think, Ramon?” “I’d like to hold out for wait- ing,” Ruiz-Sanchez said frankly. “Anything I may say now is, to put it realistically, somewhat compro- mised with vou two. .\nd don’t tell me that you have every confidence in my integrity, becau.se we had ev- ery confidence in Cleavcr’.s, too. Right now, trying to maintain both confidences just cancels out both.” “You have a nastv wav, Ramon, of saying aloud what everybody else is thinking,” Michelis said, grinning bleakly. “What alterna- tives do you sec, then?” “None,” Ruiz-Sanchez admitted. “Time is against us, a.« you said. We’ll ju.st have to go ahead with- out Cleaver.” “No, you won’t.” Tlic voice, from the doorway to the sleeping chamber, was at once both uncer- tain and much harshened by weak- ness. The others sprang up. Cleaver, clad only in his shorts, stood in the doorway, clinging to both sides of it. On one forearm Ruiz-Sanchez could see the marks where the ad- . hesive tape which iiad held the IV tubing had been ripped otf. VI PAUL, you must be craz)'.” MI- chelis said, almost angrily. “Get back into your hammock be- fore you make things twice as bad for yourself. You’re a sick man, can’t you realize that?” “Not as sick as I look,” Cleaver said, with a ghastly grin. “Actually I feel pretty fair. My mouth is al- most all cleared up and I don’t think I’ve got any fever. And I’ll be damned if this Commission is going to proceed an inch without me. It isn’t empowered to do it, and I’ll appeal any decision — any decision, I hope you guys are lis- tening— that it makes without me.” The other two turned helplessly to Ruiz-Sanchez. “How about it, Ramon?” Mi- chclks .said, frowning. “Is it safe for him to be up like this?” Ruiz-Sanchez was already at the physicist’s side, peering into his mouth. The ulcers were indeed al- most gone, with granulation tissue forming nicely over the few that still remained. Cleaver’s eves were f still slightly suffused, indicating that the toxemia was not complete- ly defeated, but except for these two signs the effect of the acciden- tal squill inoculation was no longer visible. It was true that Cleaver looked awful, but that was inevi- table in a jnan recently quite sick, and in one who had been burning his own body proteins for fuel to boot. “If he wants to kill himself, I guess he’s got a right to do so, at least bv indirection.” Ruiz-Sanchez said. “Paul, the first tiling you’ll have to do is get off your feet, and get into a robe, and get a blanket around your legs. Then you’ll have to eat something: I’ll fix it for you. You’ve staged a w'ondcrful recov- ery, but you’re a sitting duck for a real infection if you abuse yourself during convalescence.” “I’ll compromise,” Cleaver said

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 35 immediately, “I don't want to be a hero, I juht want to be hoard. Give me a liand o\cr to that hasso«‘k. I still don’t walk very stiai^lil.” It took the better part of half an hour to get Cleaver settled to Ruiz- Sanehez’ .satisfaction. 'I’he physicist secnitd in a way way to be enjoy- ing every minute of it. At last he had a mug of gchtciii, the local equivalent of tea, in his hand, and Michelis said: “Ml right, Paul, you’ve gone out of your way to put yourself on the spot. FiVidcntly tliat’s where you want to he. So let’s have the an- swer: Why didn’t you communi- cate with usi”’ ‘‘I didn’t want to.” “Now wait a minute,” .\gr0n5ki said. “Paul, don’t break your neck to say the first damn tiling that conies into your head. Your judg- ment may not be well yet, even if your lalkiiiL’' apparatus Is. Wasn’t your sileriee ju.st a matter of your being unable to work the local message system — the Tree or what- ever it IS?” No, it wasn’t.” Cleav«‘r insisted. “Thanks, Agroiwki, hut I don’t need to be sheplierded down the safe and easy road, or have any alibis set up for me. I know exactiv what I dill that was tickiidi, ;u»d I know that it’s going to Iw* impos- sible to slelelv in the dark about what was going on. down here on this conti- nent. 1 wanted you to imagine the worst, and blame it on the Snakes, too, if that could be managed. After you got here — if you did — I

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36 JAMES BUSH was going to be able to sliow you tliat I hadn’t sent any messages be- cause the Snakes wouldn’t let me. I’ve got more plants to that effect squirrelled away around here than I’ll bother to list now; tliere’d be no point in it, since it’s all come to nothing. But I’m sure it would have looked conclusive, regardless of anything the Father would liave been able to offer to the contrary. “It was just a damned sliaine, from my point of view, tliat 1 had to run up against a pineapple at the last minute. It gave the Father a chance to find out something about what was up. I’ll swear that if that hadn’t happened, he wouldn’t have smelt anything un- til you actually got here — and then it would have been too late.” "I probably wouldn’t have, that’s true,” Ruiz-Sanchez said, watching Cleaver steadily. “But your run- ning up against that ‘pineapple’ was no accident. If you’d been ob- serving Lithia as you were sent here to do, instead of spending all your time building up a fictitious Lithia for purposes of your own, you’d have known enough about the planet to have been more careful about ‘pineapples.’ You'd also have spoken at least as much Lithian a.s Agronski by this time.” “That,” Cleaver said, “is prob- ably true, and again it doesn’t make any difference to me. I ob- served the one fact about Lithia that ovArides all oilier facts, and that is going to turn out to be suffi- cient. Unlike you, Fatlicr, I have no respect for petty niceties in ex- treme situations, and I'm not the kind of man who Uiinks anyone Icaras anything from analysis after the fart.” “Let’s not get to bickering,” Mi- chclis said. “You’ve told us* your story without any visible decora- tion, and it’s c\'ident that you have a reason for confessing. You expect us to excuse you, or at least not to blame you too heavily, when you tell us what tliat reason is. Let’s hear it.” “It’s this,” Cleaver said, and for the first time he seemed to be«ome

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 37 a little more anitnateci. He leaned forward, the "lowinc; e;a>iicht brinsiing the bone?, of liis f.n e into sh.iip contrast with the s.ii't^inn hol- lows of his checks, and pointed a not-iiuiU“-steadv finper at Michelis. "Do you know, Mike, what it is that we’re .sitting on here:' Do vou kiiojv, just to bepin with, how much rutile ihm- is heie';'” “Of course 1 know. (I we de- citle to vote for openinp the planet up. our titanium problem will be Solved for a centur\', niashe even loiiper. Tm saying as inudi in my persoiuil report. But w<- figured tliat that would be true even be- fore we fir.'t landed bet*', a.^ soon as wr got accurate figures on the mass oi' the planet.” “And what about the pegma- tite?” Cleaver demanded s<)ftly. “Wluit al.iout it?” ^^illlclis said, looking pu//led. “I Mippose it’.s abimclnnt: I reallv didn’t bother to look. Titanium’s important to us, hut T don’t <|uitc see whv lithium should be; the (lavs wlvn the metal was used as n rocket tm-l are fifty years lit-hincl us.” “And v('t (he stuT's slid worth alirmt .$20,000 an r.iigli'h tonne hack home. Mike, ami that’s ex- actly the same price it was drawing in the IPfiO’i. allinving for cnirrencv cliangcs since then. Doesn’t that nie.an anything to vou?” “I’m more interested in what it means to you,” Mi(helis said. “None of us can make a nickel out of this trip, even if we find the planet solid platinum inside — which is hardly likclv. And if price is the only consideration, surely the fact that lithium is common here will break the market for it? What’s it g«K)d for, after all, on a large scale.'” “It’s good for bombs.” Cleaver said. “Fusion bombs. And, of course, controlled fusiem [low’cr, if vve ever lick that problem.” 'pUlZ-SANCIIEZ suddenly felt sick and tired all over again. It was exactly what he had feared had been on Cleaver’s n;ind. and he had not wanted to find himself right. “Cleaver,” he said, “Fve changed my mind 1 would have caught vou out, even if you had never blundncd against your ‘pine- apple.’ That same day you men- tioned to me that you were looking for pegmatite wlicn vou had your accident, and that you thought Lithia miglit be a good place for tritium produi tion on a large scale. Evidently you lliought that I wouldn’t know what vou were talk- I ing about. If you hadn’t hit the ‘pineapple.’ you would have given voursoif awav to me before now bv talk like that; your e.stiinale of me was ba.sed on as little observation as is vour e^tin1ate of Idthia.” “It’s easy,” Cleaver observed in- dulgently, “to say ‘I knew it all the time.’ ” “Of course it’s easy, when the other man is helping you.” Ruiz- Sanchez said. “But I think that your view of Eithia as a cornucopia of potential hydrogen bombs is only the beginning of what you have in mind. I don't believe that it’s even your real olijcctive. What you would like most is to see Lithia re- moved from the universe as far as you’re concerned. You hate the

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38 4 JAMES BUSH place, it’s injured you, you’d like to think that it really doesn’t exist. Hence the emphasis, on Lilhia as a source of tritium, to the exclusion of every other fact about the plan- et; for if that emphasis wins out, Lithia will be placed under secur- ity seal. Isn’t tliat right?” "Of course it’s right, except for the phony mind-reading,” Cleaver said contemptuously. “When even a priest can see it, it’s got to be ob- vious. Mike, this is the most tre- mendous opportunity that man’s ever had. lliis planet is made to order to be converted, root and branch, into a thermonuclear lab- oratory and production center. It has indefinitely large supplies of the most important raw materials. What’s even more important, it ha.s no nuclear knowledge of its own for us to worry about. All the clue materials, the radioactive ele- ments and so on which you need to work out real knowledge of the atom, we’ll have to im|>ort; the Snakes don’t know a thing about them. Furthermore, the instru- ments involved, the counters and particle-accelerators and so on, all depend on materials like iron that the Snakes don’t have, and on prin- ciples they don’t know, like mag- netism to begin with, and quantum theory. We’ll be able to stock our plant here with an immense reser- voir of cheap labor which doesn’t know and — if we take proper pre- cautions— never will have a prayer of learning enough to snitch classi- fied techniques. ‘‘All we need to do is to turn in a tripIe-E Unfavorable on the planet to shut off for a whole cen- tury any use of Lithia as a way sta- tion or any other kind of general base. At the same time, we can re- port separately to tlie UN Review Committee exactly what we do have in Lithia: a tripIe-A arsenal for the whole of Earth, for the whole commonwealth of planets we control!” ‘‘Against whom?” Ruiz-Sanchez said. “What do vou mean?” 4 ‘‘Against whom are you stocking this arsenal ? Why do we need a whole planet devoted to making tritium bombs?” “The UN itself can use weap- ons,” Cleaver said drily. ‘‘The time isn’t very far gone since there were still a few restive nations on Earth, and it could come around again. Don’t forget also that thermonu- clear weapons only la.st a few years — they can’t be stockpiled indefi- nitely, like fission bombs. The half- life of tritium is very short. I sup- pose you w’ouldn’t know anything about tlTat. But take my w'ord for it, the UN’s police would be glad to know that they could have ac- cess to a virtually ine.xhaustible stock of tritium bombs, and to hell with the shelf-life problem! “Besides, if you’ve Uiought about it at all, you know as well as I do that this endless con.solidation of peaceful planets can’t go on for- ever. Sooner or later — well, what happens if the next planet we touch on is a place like Earth? If it is, its inhabitants may fight, and fight like a planetful of madmen, to stay out of our frame of influ- ence. Or what happens if the next planet we hit is an outpost for a whole federation, maybe bigger than ours? When that day comes —

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 39 and It will, it’s in the caids — we'll be damned glad if we're able to plaster the enemy from pole to pole wiili fusion bombs, and dean up the matter with as little loss of lile as possible.'’ “On our side.” Rui/-Sanclie/ added. “Is there any oilier side;'" “By golly, it makes sens*- (o me." .Agrt^nski said. "Mike, what do vou think?” “I'm not sure yet,” Michelis said. “Paul, I still don’t under- stand why you thought it neces- sary to go through all the cloak- and-ilagger maneuvers. \'ou tell your story fairly enough now, and it has its merits, but you also ad- mit you were going to trick the three of us into going along with you, if you could. Why? Couldn’t you trust the force of your argu- ment alone?” “No,” Cleaver said bluntly. never bf jieck- snifRan. irrelevant moral distinc- tions and two-tliousand-Ycar-old metaphysics carries c.xai l!\' the same weight as the voice of a scien- tist.” “That’s mightv loaded lan- guage,” Michelis said. “I know it. If it comes to that. I’ll say here or anywhere that I think the Father is a hcl! of a fine biologist, and that that makes him a scientist like the rest of us — inso- far as biology’s a science. “But I runemiMT once casting tile lab.s at Notre D.mie, where the\ have a coniph’te lif.le world ol genn-liee aiiim.d-i .ind plants and have pulled 1 ilon’t knovv hovs many plissiological miracles out ol tile h.it- I wondered then how one goe.s atioiii being as good a scien- tist as iImi. and a Churcliman at the same lime. 1 wondered in which com)>.irtment in their hraiiw tlicy filed tlioir religion, and in which their .science. Pm still v\on- dering. “I didn’t propose to take chances on tlie compartnienls get- ting interconnected on Lithia. 1 had every intention of cutting the Father down to a point where his voice would be nearly ignored by the rest of you. That’s why I un- dertook the cloak-and-dagger stufl'. Maybe it \vas stupid of me- -I sup- pose lliat it takes training to be a suvocaleur and that 1 sliould have realized it. Bui I’m not .sori\ I tried. J'm ouly Sony I faiU-dr VII IIKRE W.\S a short, painful silence. “Is that it. then?” Michelis said. “That's it, Mike. Oh — one more tiling. Mv vote, if anvbodv is in doubt about it, is to keep the plan- et closed. 'I'.ike it from there.” “Ramon.” Michelis said, "do you want to speak next? ^’ou’^e ccrtainlv entitled to it - the air’s a mite murky at die moment.” “No, Mike; let’s lu-ar from you.” “I’m not ready to speak, yet either, unless the majority wants

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40 JAMES BUSH me to. AgronsJd, how about you?” “Sure,” Apronski said. “Speak- ing as a geologist, and also as an ondinary slob that doesn’t follow rarified rvasoning very well, I’m on Cleaver’s side. I dcwi’t .sec anything either for or against the planet on any other grounds but Cleaver’s. It’s a fair planet as planets go, very quiet, not very rich in anything else we need, not subject to any kind of trouble that I’ve been able to detect. It’d make a good way station, but .so would lots of other worlds hereabouts. It’d also make a good arsenal, the way Cleaver de- fined the term. In every other cate- gory it’s as dull as ditch-water, and it’s got plenty of that. The only other thing it can have to offer is titanium, which isn’t quite a.s scarce back home these days as Mike seems to think, and gem-stones, particularly the semi-precious ones, which we can make at home with- out traveling 40 light-years. I’d say, either set up a way station here and forget about the planet otherwise, or else handle the place a.s Cleaver suggested.” “But which?” Ruiz-.Sanchez asked. “Well, which is more important, Father? Aren’t way stations a dime a dozen? Planets that can be used as thermonuclear labs, on the other hand, are rare — Lithia is the first one that can be used that way, at least in my experience. Why use a planet for a routine purpose if it can be used for a unique purpose? Why not apply Occam’s Razor — the law of parsimony? It works in all other scientific problems. It’s iny bet that it’s the best tool to use on this one.” **You vote to close the planet, then,” Michelis said. “Sure. That’s what I was saying, wasn’t it?” “I wanted to be certain.” Mi- chelis said. “Ramon, I gues.s it’s up to us. Shall I speak first?’’ “Of course, Mike.” “Then,” Michelis said evenly, and without changing in the slight- est his accustomed tone of grave impartiality, “I’ll say that I think both of these gentlemen are fools, and calamitous fools at that be- cause they’re supposed to be scien- tists. Paul, your maneuvers to set up a phony situation are perfectly beneath contempt, and I shan’t mention them again. I shan’t even bother to record them, so you needn’t feel tliat you have to mend any fences as far as I’m concerned. I’m looking solely at the purpose those maneuvers were supposed to serve, just as you asked me to do.” Cleaver’s ob\ious self-satisfac- tion began to dim a little around the edges. He said, “Go ahead,” and wound the blanket a little bit tighter around his legs. Lithia is not even the beginning ' of an arsenal,” Michelis .said. “Every piece of evidence you of- fered to prove that it might be is either a half-truth or the purest tra.sh. Cheap labor, for instance; with what w'ill you pay the Lith- ians? They have no money, and they can’t Ije rewarded with goods. They have ewrything they n(*ed, and they like the way they’re living right now — God knows they’re not even slightly jealous of the achieve- ments we think make Earth great.”

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 41 He looked around the gently rounded room, shining softly in the gaslight. “I don't seem to see anyplace in here where a vacuun;- cleaner would find much use. How- will you pay the Lithians to work ‘in your ihennonuclear plants ?” “With knowledge,” Cleaver said gruffly. “1'here’s a lot they’d like to know.” “But what knowledge? The things they’d like to know are spe- cifically the things you can’t tell them if ihev’re to be valuable to you as a labor force. Are you going to teach tlicm quantum theor>'? You can’t; tliat would bo danger- ous. Are you going to teach them elcctrodsTiamics? Again, tliat would enable them to learn other things you think dangerous. Are you going to teach them how to get titanium from ore, or how to accumulate enough iron to enable them to leave their present Stone Age? Of course you aren’t. As a matter of fact, we haven’t a thing to offer tliein in that sense. They just won't work for us under those terms.” “Offer them other tenns,” Cleaver said .shortly. “If necessjiry, tell them what they’re going to do, like it or lump it. It’d he easy enough to introduce a money sys- tem on tliis planet: you give a Snake a piece of paper that says it’s worth a dollar, and if he asks you just what makes it worth a dollar — well, the answer Is, We say it is.” “And we put a machine-pistol to his belly to emphasize the point,” Ruiz-Sanchez interjected. “Do we make machine-pistols for nothing? I never figured out what else they were good for. Either you point them at someone or you throw them awav.” “Item: sljvcry,” Michclis said. “That dispos»'\ I iliink, of the ar- gument for (heap labor. I won’t vote for slavery. Ramon won’t. Agronski?” “No,” Agronski said uneasily. “But it’s a minor point.” “The hell it is. It’s the reason why we’re here. We’re supposed to think of the welfare of the Lithians as well as of ourselves — otherwise this Cominis.sjon procedure would be a waste of time, of thought, of money. If we want cheap lalwr, we can enslave any planet.” Agronski was silent. “Speak up,” Michelis said ston- ily. “Is that tnic, or isn’t it?” Agronski .said, “1 gucs.s it is.’* “Cleaver?” “Slavery’s a swearword,” Cleav- er said sullenly. “You’re deliber- ately clouding the issue.” ^*Say that aii,aw’* “Oh, hell. All right, Mike, T know you wouldn’t. But you’re wrong.” “I’ll admit that the instant that you ran demonstrate it to me,” Mi- chelis said. He got up abruptly from his hassock, walked over to the sloping windowsill, and sat down again, looking out into the rain-stippled darkness. He seemed to be more deeply troubled than Ruiz-Sanchez had ever before thought possible for him. TN THE meantime,” he re- suraed, “I’ll go on with my own demonstration. Now what*s to

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42 JAMES BUSH be said about this theory of auto- matic security that you’ve pro- pounded, Paul? You think that the Lithians can’t learn the techniques they would need to be able to un- derstand secret information and pass it on, and so they won’t have to be screened. There again, you’re wrong, as you’d have known if you’d bothered to study the Lith- ians even perfunctorily. The Lith- ians are highly intelligent, and they already have many of the clues they need. I’ve given them a hand toward pinning down magnet- ism, and they absorbed the mate- rial like magic and put it to work with enormous ingenuity.” "So did 1,” Ruiz-Sanchez said. ‘‘And I’ve suggested to them a technique for accumulating iron that should prove to be pretty pow- erful. 1 had only to suggest it, and they were already halfway down to the bottom of it and traveling fast. They can make the most of the smallest of clues.” "If I were the UN I’d regard both actions as the plainest kind of treason,” Cleaver said harshly. ‘‘Since that may be exactly the way Earth will regard them, I think it’d be just as well if you told the folks at home that the Snakes found out bodi items by them- selves.” “I don’t plan to do any falsify- ing of the report,” Michelis said, ‘‘but thanks anyhow — I appreciate the intent behind what you say, if not the ethics. I’m not through, however. So far as the actual, prac- tical objective that you want to achieve is concerned, Paul, I think it’s just as useless as it is impossible. The fact that you have here a planet that’s especially rich in lith- ium doesn’t mean that you’re sit- ting on a bonanza, no matter what price per tonne the metal is com- manding back home. The fact of the matter is that you can’t ship lithium home. "Its density is so low that you couldn’t send away more than a tonne of it per shipload; by the time you got it to Earth the ship- ping charges on it would more than outweigh the price you’d get for it on arrival. As you ought to know, tliere’s lots of lithium on Earth’s own moon, too, and it isn’t economical to fly it back to Earth even over that short dis- tance. No more would it be eco- nomical to ship from Earth to Lithia all the heavy equipment that would be needed to make use of lithium here. By the time you got your cyclotron and the rest of your needs to Lithia, you’d have cost the UN so much money that no amount of locally available peg- matite could compensate for it.” "Just extracting the metal would cost a fair sum,” Agronski said, frowning slightly. “Lithium would bum like gasoline in this atmos- phere.” Michelis looked from Agronski to Cleaver and back again. “Of course it would,” he said. "The whole plan’s just a chimfira. It seems to me, also, that we have a lot to learn from the Lithians, as well as they from us. Their social system works like the most perfect of our physical mechanisms, and it does so without any apparent re- pression of the individual. It’s a thoroughly liberal society, that nev- ertheless never even begins to tip

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 43 over toward the other side, toward the kind of Ghandiism that keeps a people tied to the momma-and- poppa-farm and the roving-brigand economy. It’s in balance, and not precarious balance, either, but p>er- » feet chemical equilibrium. “The notion of using Litliia as a tritium bomb plant is easily the strangest anachronism Tve ever en- countered— it’s as crude as pro posing to equip a spaceship with canvas sails. Right here on Lithia is the real secret, the secret that’s going to make bombs of all kinds, and all the re.st of the anti-social armamentarium, as useless, un- necessary, obsolete as the Iron Boot! “And on top of all that — no, please, Trn not quite finished, Paul — on top of all that, the Lithians are centuries aJicad of us in some purely technical matters, just as we’re ahead of them in others. You should see what they can do with ceramics, with semi-conductors, with static electricity, with mixed disciplines like histochemistry, im- munochemistry, biophysics, tera- tology, elcctrogcnetics, linmolog\’, and half a hundred more. If vou’d 0 been looking, you would have seen. “We have much more to do, it seems to me, than just vote to open the planet. That’s a passive move. We have to realize that bt‘ing able to use Lithia is only the beginning. The fact of the matter is that we actively need Lithia. We should say so in our recommendation.” E UNFOLDED himself from the windoss-sill and stood up, looking down on them all, but most especially at Ruiz-Sanchez. The priest smiled at him. but as much ii^ anguish as in admiration, and then had to look back at his shoes. “Well, .'Xgronski?” Cleaver said, spitting the words out like bullets on which he had been clenching his teeth during an amputation without anesthetics. “What do you say now? Do you like the pretty picture?” “Sure, 1 like it,” Agronski said, slowly but forthrightly. It was a virtue in him, as well as it was often a source of exasperation, that he al- ways said exactly what he was thinking, the moment he was asked to do so. “Mike makes sense; I wouldn’t expect him not to, if you see what I mean. Also he’s got an- other advantage: he told us what he thou^l without trying first to trick us into liis way of thinking.” “Oh, don’t be a thumphead,” Cleaver exclaimed. “Are we scien- tists or Boy Rangers? Any rational man up against a majority of do- gooders would have taken the same precautions that I did.” “Maybe,” A^onski said. “I don’t know. They .still smell to me like a confession of weakness somewhere in the argument. I don’t like to be finessed. And I don’t much like to be called a thumphead, either. But before you call me any more names, I’m going to say that I think you’re more right than Mike is, I don’t like your methods, but your aim seems sensible to me. Mike’s shot some of your major arguments full of holes, that I’ll admit; but as far as I’m concerned, you’re still lead- ing— by a nose.” He paused, breathing heavily and glaring at the physicist. Then he said:

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44 JAMES BUSH “But don’t push, Paul. I don’t like being pushed.” Michelis remained standing for a moment longer. Then he shrugged, walked back to his has* sock, and sat down, locking his hands between his knees. “I did my best, Ramon,” he sakJ. “But so far it looks like a draw. See what you can do ” Ruiz-Sanchez took a deep breath. What he was about to do would without any doubt hurt him for the rest of his life, regardless of the goodness of his reasons, or the way time had of turning any knife. The decision had already cost him many hours of concentrated, agonized doubt. But he believed that it had to be done. *T disagree with all of you,” he said. “I l^lieve that Lithia should be reported triple-E Unfavorable, as Cleaver does. But I think it should also be given a special classi- fication: X-1.” **X-1 — but that’s a quarantine label,” Michelis said. "As a matter of fact — ” "Yes, Mike. I vote to seal Lithia off from ail contact with the human race. Not only now, or for the next century, but forever.” vm The words did not produce the consternation that he had been dreading — or, perhaps, had been hopii^ for, somewhere in the back of his mind. Evidently they were all too tired for that. They took his announcement with a kind of stunned emptiness, as though it were so far out of the expected or- der of events as to be quite mean- ingless. It was hard to say whether Cleaver or Michelis had been hit the harder. All that could be seen for certain was that Agronski re- covered first, and was now ostenta- tiously cleaning his ears, as if he were ready to Ibten again when Ruiz-Sanchez changed his mind. “Well,” Cleaver began. And then again, shaking his head amazedly, like an old man, “Well . . .” “Tell us why, Ramon,” Michelis said, clenching and unclenching his fists. His voice was quite flat, but Ruiz-Sanchez thought he could feel the pain under it. “Of course. But I warn you, Fm going to be very roundabout. What I have to say seems to me to be of the utmost importance, and I don’t want to see it rejected out of hand as just the product of my peculiar training and prejudices — interest- ing perhaps as a study in aberra- tion, but not germane to the prob- lem. The evidence for my view of Lithia is overwhelming. It over- whelmed me quite against my na- tural hopes and inclinations. 1 want you to hear that evidence.” “He wants us also to under- stand,” Cleaver said, recovering a little of his natural impatience, “That his reasons are religious and won’t hold water if he states them right out.” * “Hush,” Michelis said. “Listen.” “Thank you, Mike. All right, here we go. This planet is what I think is called in English a ‘set-up.* Let me describe it for you briefly as I see it, or rather as I’ve come to see it. “Lithia is a paradise. It resembles most closely the Earth in its pre-

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 45 Adamic period just before tlic com- ing of the great glaciers. The re- semblance ends just there, because on Lithia the glaciers never camf the creative spectrum to ilie other liv- ing side by side in perfect amity. To a great extent tliat’s also true of the animals, I'he lion doesn’t lie down witli the lamb here because Litltia has neitjicr animal, but as an analogy the phrasc' is apt. Parasit- ism occurs far less often on Lithia t)ian it docs on Earth, and dtere are very few carnivores of any sort. Al- most all the surviving land animals eat plants only, and by a neat ar- rangement whis. In one respect it looks almost as though someone had arranged the whole planet to dem- onstrate die theory of .sets. 4 “In this paradise wi‘ have a dom- inant creature, the Lithian. the man of Lithia. This creature is rational. It conforms as ii naturally and with- out constraint or guidance to the highest ethical code we have evolved on Earth. It needs no laws to enforce this code; somehow, cv- er)’onc obeys it as a matter of course, although it ha.s never even been written down. There arc no criminals, no deviants, no aberra- tions of any kind. The people are not standardized — our own very bad and partial answer to the ethi- cal dilemma — but instead are high- ly individual. Yet .somehow no anti- MK’ial act of any kind is ever com- iniitcd. “Mik«-, let mi- stop liere and ask; What does this suggr'st to you?” “Why, just what I’ve said be- fore that it suggested,” Micliclis said. “An enormously .superior so- cial science, evidently founded in a precise psychological science.” “Wry well, I’ll go on. 1 felt as you did at first. Then I came to ask myself: How does it happen that tlie Lithians not only have no devi- ants— think of that, vo deviants — but it just happens, by the utter- most of all coincidences, that tlic code by which they live so perfect- ly is point for point the code wc strive to obey. Consider, please, the imjxmderables involved in such a coincidence. Even on Earth wc neviT have found a society which evolved independently exactly the satne precepts as the Christian pre- cepts. Oil, there were some dupli- cations, enough to encourage the Twentieth Centui^’s partiality to- ward synthetic religions like Thc- osophism and Hollywood Vedanta, but no ethical sy.stem on Earth that grew up independently of Cliristi- anity agreed with it point for point. “And yet here, 40 light-years from Earth, what do we find? A Chri.stian people, lacking nothing but the specific proper names and the symbolic appurtenances of Christianty. I don’t know how you three react to this, but I found it extraordinary and indeed com- pletely impossible — mathematically impossible — under any assumption

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46 JAMES BLISH but one. I’D get to that assumption in a moment.” “You can't get there too soon for me,” Cleaver said morosely. “How a man can stand 40 light-years from home in deep space and talk such parochial nonsense is beyond my comprehension.” “Parochial?” Ruiz-Sanchez said, more angrily than he had intended. “Do you mean that sriiat we think true on Earth is automatically made suspect just by the fact of its re- moval into deep spare? I beg to re- mind you, Cleaver, that quantum mechanics seems to hold good on Lithia, and that you see nothing parochial about behaving as if it did. If I believe in Peru that God created the universe, 1 see nothing parochial about believing it on Lithia. “A while back I thought 1 had been provided an escape hatch, in- cidentally. Chtexa told me that the Lithians would like to modify the growth of their population, and he implied that they would welcome some form of birth control. But, as it turned out, birth control in the sense that my Church interdicts it Is impossible to Lithia, and what Chtexa had in mind was obviously some form of conception control, a proposition to which my Church has already given its qualified as- sent. So there I was, even on this small point forced again to realize that we had found on Lithia the most colossal rebuke to our aspira- tions that we had ever encountered : A people that seemed to live with ease the kind of life which we asso- ciate with saints alone. “Bear in mind that a Muslim who visited Lithia would find no such thing. Neither would a Taoist. Neither would a Zoroastrian, pre- suming that there were still such, or a classical Greek. But for the four of us — and J include you, Cleaver, for despite your tricks and your ag- nosticism you still subscribe to the Christian ethical doctrines enough to be put on the defensive when you flout them — what we have here on Lithia is a coincidence which beggars description. It is more than an astronomical coincidence — that tired old phrase for numbers that don’t seem very large any more — it is a iransfinite coincidence. It would take Cantor himself to do justice to the odds against it.” “Wait a minute,” Agronski said. “Holy smoke. Mike, I don’t know any anthropology, I’m lost here. I was with the Father up to the part about the mixed forest, but I don’t have any standards to judge the rest. Is it so, what he says?” “Yes, I think it’s so,” Michelis said slowly. “But there could be differences of opinion as to what It means, if anything. Ramon, go on.” T'VE SCARCELY begun. I’m still describing the planet, and more particularly the Lithians. The Lithians take a lot of explaining; what I’ve said about them thus far states only the most obvious fact I could go on to point out many more equally obvious facts; that they have no nations and no na- tional rivalries (and if you’ll look at the map of Lithia you’ll see ev- ery reason why they should have developed such rivalries) , that they have emotions and passions but are

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE I Al never moved by them to irrational acts, tliat they have only one lan- gxiage, that they exist in complete harmony with evers thing, large and small, that they find in their world. In shc«l, thev-’re a peoijle that couldn’t exist, and vet does. “Mike, I’d go beyojKl your view to say diat the Lithian-i are the- most perfect examph* ol how hu- man beings OXi^ht to l)thavr ll at we’re ever likely to liiid, for iln' very simple reason ih.it they Im*- havc now the way Inmuin Ix’ings once did before a series of tilings happened of which we have record. I’d go even farther beyond it, far enough to say that as an example the Litliians arc useless to us, be- cause until the coming of the King- dom of God no substantial number of human beings will ever be able to imitate Llthian conduct. Human beings seem to have built-in imper- fections that the Lithians lack, .so that after thousands of years of trying we are farther away than ever from our origirul emblems of conduct, while the Lithians have never departed from theirs. “And don’t allow vourselves to forget for an instant that these eni- blciiis of conduct arc the same on both planets. That couldn’t ever have happened, either. But it did. “I’m now going to describe an- other interesting fae:t alioul Lithian civilization. It Ls a fact, whatever you may think of its merits as e;n- dencc. It is this: that your Lithian is a creature of logic. Unlike Eartli- men of all stripes, he has no gods, no myths, no legends. He has no l>c- lief in the supernatural, or, as we’re calling it in our barbarous jargon these days, the ‘paranormal.’ He has no traditions. Hr has no tabus. He has no faiths, blind or other- wise. lie is a- rational as a machine. Inili’rd, the rm!v way in which we can distinguish the Lithian from an organic computer is his possession and use of a moral code. “And that, I beg you to observe, is (oinplclcly irralioii.al. It is based Ilium a set of axioms, of proposi- tions whicli were ‘given’ from the Ugiiining — tliough your Lithian will not allow that llierc was ever any Giver. The Lilliian. for instance Clilexa, believes in the .s.inctity ol the individual. Why? Not l>y rea- son, suri'Iy, for there is no way to reason to that })roposili<m. It is an axiom. Chtexii believe.s in juridical defen.se. in the equality of all be- fore the code. Why? It’s possible to behavi* reasonably from the proj)ositlon hut not to reason one’s way to it. “If ytm a'sumc that the respon- sibility to the code varies with age. or with the nature of one’s work, or with what family vou happen to be- long to, logical behavior can follow from one of those assumptions, but there again one can't arrive at the principle hy reason alone. One be- gins with belief: ‘I think that all people ougiu to be equal before the law.’ That is a statement of faitli. nothing more. Yet Lithian civiliza- tion is so set up as to suggest that one can arrive at such basic axioms of Christianity, and of Western civilization on Earth as a whole, by reason alone, in tlie plain face of the fact that one cannot.” “Those are axioms,” Cleaver growled. “You don’t arrive at them bv faith, either. You don’t arrive at them at all. They* re self-e\ident*

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48 JAMES BUSH “Like the axiom that only one parallel can be dravs-n to a given line? Go on, Cleaver, you’re a phys- icist; kick a stone for me and tell me it’s self-evident that the thing is solid.” “It’s p^uliar,” Michelis said in a low voice, “that Liihian culture should be so axiom-ridden without the Lithians being aware of it. I hadn’t formulated it in quite this way before, Ramon, but I’ve been disturbed myself at the bottomless assumptions that He behind Lithian reasoning. Look at what they’ve done in solid-state physics, for in- stance. It’s a structure of the purest kind of reason, and yet when you get down to its fundamental as- sumptions you discover the axiom that matter is real. How can thev know that? How did logic lead them to it? If I say that the atom is just a hole-inside-a-holc-through- a-hole, where can reason inter- vene?" “But it works,” Cleaver said. “So does our solid-state phyucs — but we work on opposite axioms,” Michelis said. “That’s not the issue. I don’t myself see how this im- mense structure of reason which the Lithians have evolved can stand for an instant It doesn’t seem to rest on anything.” “I’m going to tell you,” Rui2- Sanchez said. “You won’t believe me, but I’m going to tell you any- how, because I have to. It stands because it’s being propped up. That’s the simple answer and the whole answer. But first I want to add one more fact about the Lithi- ans. “They have complete physical re- capitulation outside the b^y.” “What does that mean?” Agron- ski said. “Do you know how a human child grows inside its mother’s body? It is a one-celled animal to begin with, and then a simple metazoan resembling the fresh- water hydra or the simplest jelly- fish. Then, very rapidly, it goes through many other animal forms, including the fish, the amphibian, the reptile, the lower mammal, and finally becomes enough like a man to be born. This process biologists call recapitulation. “They assume that the embryo is passing through the various stages of evolution which brought life from the single-celled organism to man, on a contracted time scale. There is a point, for instance, in the development of the fetus when it has gilts. It has a tail almost to the very end of its time in the wcMnb, and sometimes still has it when it is bom. Its circulatory sy.s- tem at one point is reptilian, and if it fails to pass successfully through that stage, it is born as a *bluc baby* with patent ductus arteriosus, the tetralogy of Fallot, or a similar heart defect. And so on.” “I see,” Agronski said. “I’ve en- countered Ae idea before, of course, but I didn’t recognize the term.” “Well, the Lithians, too,* go through this series of metamorpho- ses as they grow up, but they go through it outside the bodies of their mothers. This whole planet is one huge womb. The Lithian fe- male lays her eggs in her abdom- inal pouch, and then goes to the sea to give birth to her children. What she bears is not a reptile, but

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 49 a fish. The fish lives in the sea a while, and tiien develops rudimen- tary lungs and comes asltore. Stranded bv the tides on the flats, the lungfish develops rudimentary legs and stjuirms in the mud, be- coming an amphibian and learning to endure the rigors of li\ ing away from the sea. Gradually their limlM 4 become stronger, and better set on their bodies, and tlicy become the big froglike things we sometimes see leaping in the merfect? I should suppose that He did. Is a man perfect without a navel.^ I don’t know, but I’d lx* inclined to .say that he isn’t. Yet the first man — Adam, again for the sake of argument — wasn't bom of woman, and so didn’t really need to have a navel. Nevertheless he would have been imperfect without it, and I’ll bet that he had one.” “What does that prove?” “That the geolc^ical record, and recapitulation too, do not prove the doctrine of evolution. Given my initial axiom, which is that God created everything from scratch, it’s perfectly logical that He should have given Adam a navel, Earth a geological record, and the embryo the process of recapitulation. None of these indicate a real past; all are there l>ecause the creations involved would have been imperfect other- wise.” “Wow',” Cleaver said. “And I used to think that Milne relativity was abstruse.”

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50 JAMES BUSH “Oh, any coherent system of thought becomes abstruse if it’s ex- amined long enough. I don’t see why my belief in a God you can’t accept is any more rarefied than Mike’s vision of the atom as a hole- inside-a-hole-through-a-hole. I ex- pect that in the long run, when we get right down to the fundamental particles of the universe, we’ll find that there’s nothing there at all — just no-things moving no-place through no-time. On the day that that happens, I’ll have God and you will not — otherwise there’ll be no diflerence between us. “But in the meantime, what we have here on Lithia is very clear indeed. We have — and now I’m prepared to be blunt — a planet and a people propped up by the Ulti- mate Enemy. It is a gigantic trap prepared for all of us. We can do nothing with it but reject it, noth- ing but say to it. Retro me, Sath- anas. If we compromise with it in any way, we are damned.*’ “Why, Father?” Michelis said quietly. “Look at the premises, Mike. One: Reason is always a sufficient guide. Two: The self-evident is al- ways the real. Three: Good works are an end in themselves. Four: Faith is irrelevant to right action. Five: Right action can exist with- out love. Six: Peace need not pass understanding. Seven: Ethics can exist without evil alternatives. Eight: Morals can exist without conscience. Nine — but do I really need to go on? We have heard all these propositions before, and we know Who proposes them. “And we have seen these demon- strations before — the demonstra- tion, for instance, in the rocks which was supposed to show how the horse evolved from Eohippus, but which somehow never managed to convince the whole of mankind. Then the discovery of intra-uterine recapitu- lation, which was to have clinched the case for the so-called de- scent of man — and yet, somehow, failed again to produce general agreement. These were both very subtle arguments, but the Church is not easily swayed; it is founded on a rock. “Now we have, on Lithia, a new demonstration, both the subtlest and at the same time the crudest of all. It will sway many people who could have been swayed in no other way, and who lack the intelligence or the background to understand that it is a rigged demonstration. It seems to show us evolution in action on an inarguable scale. It is sup- posed to settle the question once and for all, to rule God out of the picture, to snap the chains that have held Peter’s rock together all these many centuries. Henceforth there is to be no more question; there is to be no more God, but only phe- nomenology— and, of course, be- hind the scenes, within the hole that’s inside the hole that’s through a hole, the Great Nothing itself, the thing that has never learned any word but No: It has many other names, but we know the name that counts. That’s left us. “Paul, Mike, Agronski, I have nothing more to say than this: We are ail of us standing on the brink of Hell. By the grace of God, we may still turn back. We must turn

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 51 back — for I at least think tliat this is our last chance.” IX '^FTR V'OTE was cast, and that was that. Tlie Coininissinn was tied, and the question would he tliiown open again in higher cclie- lons on Earth, which would mean tying Lithia up for vears to come. Tlie planet was now, in effect, on the Index. The ship arrived the next day. The crew was not much surprised to find that the two opposing fac- tions of the Commission were har<l- ly .speaking to eaih other. It often liappened that way. The four Commission members cleaiu'd up the house the Lithians had given tlieni in almost complete silence. Ruiz-Sanchez packed tlie blue book with the gold stamping without being able to look at it except out of the comer of his eye, but even obliquely ho could not help seeing its title : FINNEGANS WAKE James Joyce He felt as though he himself had been collated, bound and stamped, a tortured human text for futim? generations of Jesuits to explicate and argue. He had rendered the verdict he had found it ncce.ssary for him to render. But he knew tliaf It was not a final verdict, even for him- self, and certainly not for the UN, !el alone the Church. In.stead, the verdict itself would be the knotty question for members of his Order yet unborn : Did Father Rniz-Sonchez cor- rectly uiterpret the Divine case, and did his Tulinfi, if so, follow from it? “Let’s go, Father. It’ll be take- off time in a few minutes.” “All ready, Mike.” It was only a short journey to the clearing, where the mighty spindle of the ship stood ready to weave its way back through the geodesics of deep space to tlie .sun that shone on Peru. The baggage went on board smoothly and without fuss. So did tlic specimens, the films, the special reports, the recordings, the sample cases, the vivariums, tlie aquariums, the type-cul- tures, the pressed plants, the tubes of soil, the chunks of ore, the Lithi- an manuscripts in their atmosphere of nt*on; everything was lifted dec- orously by the cranes and swung inside. Agronski went up the cleats to tlic airlock first, with Michelis fol- lowing him. Cleaver was stowing some last-minute bit of gear, some- thing that .seemed to require deli- cate, almost reverent care before the cranes could be allowed to take it in their indifferent grip. Ruiz- Sanchez took advantage of the slight delay to look around once moic at the near margins of the forest. At once, he saw Chtexa. The Lilhian was standing at the en- trance to the path the Earthmen themselves had taken away from the city to reach the ship. He was carrying something. Cleaver swore under his breath and undid something he had just (Conlinved on page II6)

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Alexander Pope wrote ^ Atoms or systems into ruin hurled^ And now a bubble burst, and now a world/’ He died in 1872 — but poets are sometimes the best prophets! The Trouble with By Philip K. Dick lliustroted by Joseph ft. Eberle ATHAN HULL left his sur- face car and crossed the pave- ment on fool, sniffing the chill morning air. Robot work-trucks were starting to rumble past. A gut- ter slot sucked night debris grt^edi- ly. A vanlsliing headline caught liis eye momentarily: PACIFIC TUBE COMPLETED; ASIAN LAND MASS LINKED He passed on away from the corner, hands in his pockets, look- ing for Farley’s house. Past the usual Worldcraft Store with its conspicuous motto: “Own Your Own World!” Down a short grass-lined walk and onto a slop- ing tilt-front porch. Up three imi- tation marble stairs. Then Hull flicked his hand before the code beam and the door melted away. The house was still. Hull found the ascent tube to the second floor and peered up. No sound. Warm air blew around him, tinged with faint smells — smells of food and people and familiar objects. Had they gone? No. It was only the third day; they’d be around someplace, maybe up on the roof terrace. He ascended to tire second floor and found it also vacant. But dis- tant sounds drifted to his ean. A tinkle of laughter, a man’s voice. A woman’s — perhaps Julia’s. He hoped so — hoped she were still con- scious. He tried a door at random, steel- ing himself. S.ometimes during the third and fourth davs the Contest Parties got a little rough. The door melted, but the room was empty. Couches, empty glasses, ashtrays, exhausted stimulant tubes, articles

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54 PHILIP K. DICK of clothing strewn everywhere — Abruptly Julia Marlow and Max Farley appeared, arm in arm, fol- lowed by sever^ others, pushing forward in a group, excited and red-cheeked, eyes bright, almost feverish. They entered the room and halted. “Nat!” Julia broke away frtxn Farley and came breathlessly up to him. “Is it that late already?*’ “Third day,” Hull said. “HeUo, Max.” “Hello, Hull. Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something?” “Nothing. Can’t stay. Julia — ” Farley waved a robant over, sweeping two drinks from its chest tray. “Here, Hull. You can stay long enough for one drink.” Bart Longstreet and a slender blonde a|!^ared through a door. “Hull! You here? So socm?” “Third day. I’m picking Julia up. If she still wants to leave.” “Don’t take her away,” the slim blonde protested. She wore a side^ glance robe, invisible out of the comer of the eye, but an opaque fountain when looked at directly. “They’re judging right now. In the lounge. Stick around. The fun’s Just beginning.” She winked at him with heavy blue-lidded eyes, glazed and sleep-drugged. Hull turned to Julia. “If you want to stay . . Julia put her hand nervously on his arm, standing close to him. Not bang her fixed smile she grated m his ear: "Nat, for God’s sake, get me out of here. I can’t stand it. Please!” Hull caught her intense appeal, her eyes bright vyith desperation. He could feel the mute urgency quivering through her body, tense and strained. “Okay, Julia. We’ll take off. Maybe get some breakfast. When did you last eat?” “Two days. I think. I don’t know.” Her voice trembled. “They’re judging right now. God, Nat. You should have seen — ” “Can’t go until the judging*s over,” Farley rumbled. “I think they’re almost throu^. You didn’t enter, Hull? No entry for you?” “No entry.” “Surely you’re an owner — ” “Nope. Sorry.” Hull’s voice was faintly ironic. “No world of my own, Max. Can’t see it.” “You’re missing something.” Max beamed dopily, rocking back on his heels. “Quite a time — best Contest Party for weeks. And the real fun begins after the judging. All this is just preliminary.” “I know.” Hull moved Julia rapidly toward the descent tube. “We’ll sec you. So long, Bart. Give me a call when you’re out of here.” “Hold it!” Bart murmured sud- denly, cocking his head. “The judg- ing’s over. The winner is going to be announced.” He pushed toward the lounge, the othen excitedly be- hind. “You coming, Hull? Julia?” Hull glanced at the girl. “All right.” They followed reluctantly, "For a minute, maybe.” A WALL of sound struck them. The lounge was a seething chaos of milling men and women. "I won!” Lora Becker shouted in ecstasy. People pushed and shoved around her, toward the Contest table, grabbing up their

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THE TROUBLE WITH BUBBLES 55 entries. Their voices grew in volume, an ominous rumble of dis- cordant sound. Robants calmly moved furniture and fixtures back out of the way, clearing the floor rapidly. An unleashed frenzs' of mounting hysteria was begiiming to fill the big room. “I know it!” Julia’s fingers tightened around Hull’s arm. “Come on. Let’s get out before they start.” “Start?” “Listen to them!” Julia’s eyes flickered with fear. “Come on, Nat! I’ve had enough. I can’t stand any more of this.” “I told you before you came.” “You did, didn’t you?” Julia smiled briefly, grabbing her coat from a robant. She fastened the coat rapidly around her breasts and shoulders. “1 admit it. You told me. Now let’s go, for God’s sake.” She turned, making her way through the surging ma.ss of people toward the descent tube. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll have breakfa.st. You w’ere right. These things aren’t for us.” Lora Becker, plump and middle- aged, was making her way up onto the stand beside the judges, her entry clasped in her arms. Hull paused a moment, watching the immense woman struggle up. her chemically corrected features gray and sagging in the unwinking over- head lights. The third dav — a lot of old-timers were beginning to show the effects, even through their artificial masks. Lora reached the stand. “Look!” she shouted, holding up her entry. The Worldcraft bubble glittered, catching the light. In spite of him- self Hull had to admire the thing. If the actual world inside was as good as the exterior . . . Lora turned on the bubble. It glowed, winking into brilliance. The roomful of people became si- lent, gazing up at the winning en- try, the world that had taken the , prize over all other comers. Lora Becker's entry was master- ful. Even Hull had to admit it. .She increased the magnification, bring- ing the microscopic central planet into focus. A murmur of admira- tion swept the room. Again Lora increased the magni- fication. I’hc central planet grew, showing a pale green ocean lapping faintly at a low shoreline. A city came into view, towers and broad streets, fine ribbons of gold and steel. Above, twin suns beamed down, warming the city. Myriads of inhabitants swarmed about their activities. “Wonderful,” Bart Longstrect said softly, coming over beside Hull. “But the old hag has been at it sixty )'ears. No wonder she won. She’s entered every Contest I can remember,” “It’s nice,” Julia admitted in a clipped voice. “You don’t care for it?” Long- street asked. “1 don’t care for any of this!” “She wants to go,” Hull ex- plained, moving toward the descent tube. “We’ll see you later, Bart.” Bart Longstreet nodded. “I know what you mean. In many ways I agree. You mind if I — ” “Watch!” Lora Becker shouted, her face flushed. She increased the magnification to maximum focus, showing details of the minute city.

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56 PHILIP K. DICK “See them? See?'* The inhabitants of the city came into sharp view. They hurried about their business, endless thou- sands of them. In cars and on foot. Across spidery spans between build- ings, breathtakingly beautiful. Lora held the Worldcraft bubble up high, breathing rapidly. She gazed around the room, her eyes bright and inflamed, glittering un- healthily. The murmurings rose, sweeping up in excitement. Numer- ous Worldcraft bubbles came up, chest-high, gripped in eager, im- passioned hands. Lora’s mouth opened. Saliva dribbled down the creases of her sagging face. Her lips twitched. She raised her bubble up over her head, her doughy chest swelling convul- sively. Suddenly her face jerked, features twisting wildly. Her thick body swayed grotesquely — and from her hands the Worldcraft bubble flew, crashing to the stand in front of her. The bubble smashed, bursting into a thousand pieces. Metal and glass, plastic parts, gears, struts, tubes, the vital machinery of the bubble, splattered in all directions. Pandemonium broke loose. All around the room other owners were smashing their worlds, breaking them and crushing them, stamping on them, grinding the delicate con- trol mechanisms underfoot. Men and women in a frenzy of abandon, released by Lora Becker’s signal, quivering in an orgy of Dionysian lust. Crushing and breaking their carefully constructed worlds, one after another. “God,” Julia gasped, struggling to get away, Longstreet and Hull beside her. Faces gleamed with sweat, eyes feverish and bright. Mouths gaped foolishly, muttering meaningless sounds. Clothes were tom, ripped off. A girl went down, sliding un- derfoot, her shrieks lost in the gen- eral din. Another followed, dragged down into the milling mass. Men and women struggled in a blur of abandon, cries and gasps. And on all sides the hideous sounds of smashing metal and glass, the un- ending noise of worlds being de- stroyed one after another. Julia dragged Hull from the lounge, her face white. She shud- dered, closing her eyes. “1 knew it was coming. Three days, building up to Ais. Smashed — they’re smashing them all. All the worlds.’* Bart Longstreet made his way out after Hull and Julia. “Luna- tics.” He lit a cigarette shakily. “What the hell gets into them? This has happened before. They start breaking, smashing their worlds up. It doesn’t make sense.” Hull reached the descent tube, “tome along with us, Bart. We’ll have breakfast — and I’ll give you my theory, for what it’s worth.” “Just a second.” Bart Longstreet scooped up his Worldcraft bubble from the arms of a robant. “My Contest entry. Don’t want to lose it.” He hurried after Julia and Hull. “m*ORE coffee?” Hull asked, i.Tm looking around. “None for me,” Julia murmured. She settled back in her chair, sigh- ing. “I’m perfectly happy” “I’ll take some.” Bart pushed his

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THE TROUBLE WITH BUBBLES 57 cup toward tlie coffee dispenser. It filled the cup and returned it. “You’ve got a nice little place here, Hull.” “Haven’t you seen it before?” “I don't get up this way. I h^,ven’t been in Canada in years.” “Let’s hear your theory,” Julia niunnured. “Go jJiead,” Bart said. “We’re waiting.” Hull was silent for a moment. He gazed moodily across the table, past the dishes, at the thing sitting on the window ledge. Bart’s Con- test entry, his Worlclcraft bubble. “‘Own Your Own World’,” Hull quoted ironically. “Quite a slogan.” “Packman thought it up him- self,” Bart said. “When he was young. Almost a century ago.” “That long?” “Packman takes treatments. A man in hLs position can afford them.” “Of course.” Hull got slowly to his feet. He crossed the room and returned with the bubble. “Mind?” he asked Bart. “Go ahead.” Hull adjusted the controls mounted on the bubble’s surface. The interior scene flickered into focus. A miniature planet, revolv- ing slowly. A liny blue-white sun. He increased the magnification, bringing the planet up in size. “Not bad,” Hull admitted pre- sently. “Primitive. Late Jurassic. I don’t have the knack. I can’t seem to get them into the mammal stage. TTiis is my sixteenth tr)’. I never can get any farther than this.” The scene was a dense jungle, steaming with fetid rot. Great shapes stirred fitfully among the decaying ferns and marshes. Coiled, gleaming, reptilian bodies, smoking shapes ruing up from the thick mud — “Turn it off,” Julia murmured. “I've seen enough of them. We viewed hundreds for the Contest.” “I didn’t have a chance.” Bart retrieved his bubble, snapping it off. “You have to do better than the Jurassic, to win. Competition is keen. Half the people there had their bubbles into the Eocene — and at least ten into the Pliocene. Lora’s entry wasn’t much ahead. I counted several city-building civilizations. But hers was almost as advanced as we are.” “Sixty years,” Julia said. “She’s been trying a long time. She’s worked hard. One of those to whom it’s not a game but a real passion. A way of life.” “And then site smashes it,” Hull said thoughtfully. “Smashes the bubble to bits. A world she’s been w’orking on for years. Guiding it through period after period. Higher and higher. Smashes it into a mil- lion pieces.” “Why?” Julia asked. “Why, Nat? ^^ly do they do it? They get so far. building it up — and then they tear it all down again.” Hull leaned back in his chair. “It began,” he stated, “when we failed to find life on any of the other planets.' When our exploring parties came back empty-handed. Eight dead orbs — lifeless. Good for nothing. Not even lichen. Rock and sand. Endless deserts. One after the other, all the way out to Pluto.” “It was a hard realization,” Bart

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58 PHILIP K. DICK said. “Of course, that was before our time.” “Not much before. Packman re- members it. A century ago. We waited a long time for rocket trav- el, flight to other planets. And then to find nothing . . .” “Like Columbus finding the world really was flat,” Julia said. “With an edge and a void.” “Worse. Columbus was looking for a short route to China. They could have continued the long way. But when we explored the system and found nothing we were in for trouble. People had counted on new worlds, new lands in the sky. Colonization. Contact with a vari- ety of races. Trade. Minerals and cultural products to exchange. But most of all the thrill of landing on planets with amazing life-forms.” “And instead of that . . “Nothing but dead rock and wa.ste. Nothing that could .support life — our own or any other kind. A vast disappointment set in on all levels of society.” “And then Packman brought out the Worldcraft bubble,” Bart mur- mured. “ ‘Own Your Own World’. There was no place to go, outside of Terra. No other worlds to visit. You couldn’t leave here and go to anotlier world. So instead, you — ” “Instead you stayed home and put together your own world.” Hull smiled wryly. “You know, he has a child’s version out, now. A sort of preparation kit. So the child can cover the basic problems of world building before he even has a bub- ble.” “But look. Nat,” Bart said. “The bubbles seemed like a good idea, at first. We couldn’t leave Terra so we built our own worlds right here. Sub-atomic worlds, in controlled containers. We start life going on a sub-atomic world, feed it problems to make it evolve, try to raise it higher and higher. In theory there’s nothing wrong with the idea. It’s certainly a creative pastime. Not a merely passive viewing like tele- vision. In fact, world-building is the ultimate art form. It takes the place of ail entertainments, all the passive sports as well as music and painting — ” “But something went wrong.” “Not at first,” Bart objected. “At first it was creative. Everybody bought a Worldcraft bubble and built his own world. Evolved life farther and farther. Molded life. Controlled it. Competed with oth- ers to see who could achieve the most advanced world.” “And it solved another problem,” Julia added. “The problem of lei- sure. With robots to work for us and robants to serve us and take care of our needs — ” “Yes, that was a problem,” Hull admitted. “Too much leisure. Notliing to do. That, and the disappointment of finding our planet the only habitable planet in the system. “Packman’s bubbles seemed to solve both problems. But something went wrong. A change came. I noticed it right away.” Hull stubbed out his cigarette and lit another. “The change began ten years ago — and it’s been growing worse.” UT WHY?” Julia de- manded. “Explain to me why everyone stopped building their

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THE TROUBLE WITH BUBBLES 59 worlds creatively and began to de- stroy.” “Ever seen a child pull wings off a fly?” “Certainly. But—” “The same tiling. Sadism? No, not exactly. More a sort of curi- osity. Power. Why does a child break things? Power, again. We must never forget something. These world bubbles are substitutes. They take the place of sometliing else, of finding genuine life on our own planets. And they’re just too damn small to do that. “These worlds are like toy boats in a bath tub. Or model rocketships you see kids playing with. They’re surrogates, not the actual thing. These people who operate them — why do they want them? Because they can’t explore real planets, big planets. They have a lot of energy dammed up inside them. Energy they can’t express. “And bottlcd-up energy sours. It becomes aggressive. People work with tlieir little worlds for a time, building them up. But finally they reach a point where their latent hostility, their sense of being de- prived, their — ” “It can be explained more easi- ly,” Bart said calmly. “Your theory is too elaborate.” “Plow do you explain it?” “Man’s innate destructive tend- encies. Plis natural desire to kill and spread ruin.” “There’s no such thing,” PIull said flatly. “Man isn’t an ant. He has no fixed direction to his drives. He has no instinctive ‘desire to de- stroy* any more than he has an in- stinctive desire to carve ivory letter- openers. He has energy — and the outlet it takes depends on the op- portunities available. “That’s what’s wrong. All of us have energy, the desire to move, act, do. But we’re bottled up here, sealed off, on one planet. So we buv Worldcraft bubbles and make little worlds of our own. But micro- scopic worlds aren’t enough.' They’re as satisfactory as a toy sailboat is to a man who wants to go sailing.” Bart considered a long lime, deep in thought. “You may be right,” he admitted finally. “It sounds reason- able. But what’s your suggestion? If the other eight planets arc dead—” "Keep exploring. Beyond the system.” “We’re doing that.” “Try to find outlets that aren’t so artificial.” Bart grinned. “You feel this way because you never caught the hang of it.” He thumped his bubble fcKidly. “1 don’t find it artificial.” “But most people do,” Julia put in. “Most people aren’t satisfied. That’s why w'e left the Contest Party.” Bart giuntcd. “It’s turning sour, all right. Quite a scene, wasn’t it?” He reflected, frowning. “But the bubbles are better than nothing. What do you sugge.st? Give up our bubbles? What sliould we do in- stead? Just sit around and talk?” “Nat loves to talk,” Julia mur- mured. “Like all intellectuals.” Bart tapped Hull’s sleeve. “When you sit in your seat in the Directorate you’re with the Intellectual and Professional class — gray stripe.” “And you?”

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60 PHILIP K. DICK “Blue stripe. Industrial. You know that.” Hull nodded. “That’s right You’re with Terran Spaceways. The ever-hopeful company.” “So you want us to give up our bubbles and just sit around. Quite a solution to the problem.” “You’re going to have to give them up.” Hull’s face flushed. “What you do after that is your afTair.” “What do you mean?” Hull turned toward Longstreet, eyes blazing. “I’ve introduced a bill in the Directorate. A bill that will outlaw Worldcraft.” Bart’s mouth fell open. “You what?’' “On what grounds?” Julia asked, waking up. “On moral grounds,” Hull stated calmly. “And I think I can get it through.” HE DIRECTORATE hall buzzed with murmuring echoes, its vast reaches alive with moving shadows, men taking their places and preparing for the session’s busi- ness. Eldon von Stern, Directorate Floor Leader, stood with Hull off to one side behind the platform. “Let’s get this straight,” von Stem said nervously, running his fingers through his iron-gray hair. "You intend to speak for this bill of yours? You want to defend it yourself?” Hull nodded. “That’s right. Why not?” “The analytical machines can break the bill down and present an impartial report for the members. Spellbinding has geme out of style. If you present an emotional ha- rangue you can be certain of losing. The members won’t — ” “m take the chance. It’s too im- portant to leave to the machines.” Hull gazed out over the immense room that was slowly quieting. Representatives from all over the world were in their places. White- clad property owners. Blue-clad flnandal and industrial magnates. The red shirts of leaders from factory cooperatives and communal farms. The green-clad men and women representing the middle- class consumer group. His own gray-striped body, at the extreme right, the doctors, lawyers, scien- tists, educators, intellectuals and professionals of all kinds. “I’ll take the chance,” Hull re- peated. “I want to see the bill passed. It’s time the issues were made clear.” Von Stem shrugged. “Suit your- self.” He eyed Hull curiously. “What do you have against World- craft? It’s too powerful a combine to buck. Packman himself is here, someplace. I’m surprised you — ” The robot chair flashed a signal. Von Stem moved away from Hull, up onto the platform. “Are you sure you want to speak for the bill?” Julia said, standing beside Hull in the shadows. “May- be he’s right. Let the machines an- alyze the bill.” Hull was gazing out across the sea of faces, trying to locate Pack- man. The owner of Worldcraft was sitting out there. Forrest Packman, in his immaculate white shirt, like an ancient, withered angel. Pack- man preferred to sit with the pro- perty group, considering World- craft real estate instead of industry.

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THE TROUBLE WITH BUBBLES 61 Property still had the edge on pres- tige. Von Stem touched Hull’s arm. “All right. Take the chair and ex- plain your proposal.” Hull stepped out onto the plat- form and seated himself in the big iflarble chair. The endless rows of faces before him were carefully de- void of expression. “You’ve read the terms of the proposal I’m speaking for,” Hull began, his voice magnified by the speakers on each member’s desk. “1 propose we should declare Worldcraft Industries a public menace and the real property the possession of the State. 1 can state my grounds in a few sentences. “The theory and construction of. the Worldcraft product, the sub- atomic universe system, is knowm to you. An infinite number of sub- atomic worlds exist, microscupic counterparts of our own spatial co- ordinate. Worldcraft developed, al- most a century ago, a method of controlling to thirty decimals tlie forces and stresses involved on these micro-coordinate planes, and a fair- ly simplified machine which could be manipulated by any adult per- son. “These machines for controlling specific areas of sub-atomic coordi- nates have been manufactured and sold to the general public with the slogan: ‘Own Your Own World’. The idea is that the owner of the machine becomes literally a world owner, since the machine controls forces that govern a sub-atomic uni- v'erse that is directly analogous to our own. “By purchasing one of these Worldcraft machines, or bubbles, the person finds himself in posses- sion of a virtual universe, to do with as he sees fit. Instruction manuals supplied by the Company- show him how to control these mi- nute worlds so that life forms ap- pear and rapidly evolve, giving rise to higher and higher forms until at last — assuming the owner is suf- ficiently skilful — he has in his per- sonal possession a civilization of be- ings on a cultural par with our own. “During the last few years we have seen the sale of these machines grow until now almost everyone possesses one or more sub-atomic worlds, complete with civilizations. And these years have also seen many of us take our private uni- verses and grind the inhabitants and planets into dust. “There is no law which prevents us from building up elaborate civ- ilizations, evolved at an incredible rate of speed, and then crushing them out of existence. That b why my proposal has been presented. These minute civilizations are not dreams. They are real. They ac- tually exist. TTie microscopic in- habitants are — ” A restless stir moved through the vast hall. There were murmurs and coughs. Some members had switched off their speakers. Hull hesitated. A chill touched him. The faces below were blcuik, cold, unin- terested. He continued rapidly. “The inhabitants are, at present, subject to the slightest whim their owner may feel. If we wish to reach down and crush their world, turn on tidal waves, earthquakes, tor- nados, fire, volcanic action — if we wish to destroy them utterly, diere

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62 PHILIP K. DICK is nothing they can do. “Our position in relation to these minute civilwations is godlike. We can, with a wave of the hand, ob- literate countless millions. We can send the lightning down, level their cities, squash their tiny buildings like ant hills. We can toss them about like toys, playthings, victlm.s of our every whim.” Hull stopped, rigid with appre- hension. Some of the members had risen and strolled out. Von Stem’s face tt^isted with ironic amuse- ment. Hull continued lamely. “I want to see Worldcrafi bubbles outlawed. We owe it to these civilizations on humanitarian grounds, on moral groimds — ” He went on, fimsliing as best he could. When he got to his feet there was a faint ripple of applame from the gray-striped professional group. But the white-clad property own- ers were utterly silent. And the blue industrialists. The red sltiris and the green-clad consumer repre- sentatives were silent, impassive, even a little amused. Hull returned to the wings, cold with the stark realization of defeat. “We’ve lost,” he muttered, dazed. “I don’t understand.” Julia took hi-s arm. “Maybe an appeal on some other grounds . . . Maybe the machines can still — ” Bart Longstreet came out of the shadows. “No good, Nat. Won’t work.” Hull nodded. “I know.” “You can’t moralize Worldcraft away. That’s not the solution.” Von Stem had given the signal. The members began to cast their votes, the tabulation machines whirring to life. Hull stood staring silently out at the murmuring room, crushed and bewildered. Suddenly a shape appeared in front of him, cutting ofT his view. Impatiently he moved to one side — but a rasping voice stopped him. “Too bad, Mr. Hull. Better luck next time.” Hull stifTened. “Packman!” he muttered. “What do you want?” Forrest Packman came out of the shadows, moving toward him slow- ly, feeling his way blindly along. Bart longstreet stared at the old man with uncon- cealed hostility. ‘T’ll see you Liter, Nat.” He turned abruptly and •Started off. Julia stopped him. “Bart, do you have to — ” “Important business. I’ll be back later.” He moved off down tlie aisle, toward the industrial section of Uie hall. Hull faced Packman. lie had never seen the old man so close be- fore. He studied him as he advanced slowly, feeling his way along on the arm of his robant. Forrest Packman was old — a hundred and seven years. Presewed by hormones and blood transfu- sions, elaborate washing and reju- venating processes tliat maintained life in his ancient, withered body. His eyes, deep-sunk, peered up at Hull as he catne near, slirunken hands clutching the arm of his ro- bant, breatli coming hoarse and dry. “Hull? You don’t mind if I chat with you as the voting goes on? I W'on’t be long.” He peered blindly

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THE TROUBLE WITH BUBBLES 63 past Hull. "Who left? I couldn’t see — *’ “Bart Longstreet. Spaceways.” “Ohj yes. I know him. Your speech was quite interesting, Hull. It reminded me of the old days. Tl\ese people don't remember how it was. Times have changed.” He stopped, letting the robant wipe his mouth and chin. “I used to be interested in rhetoric. Some of the old masters . . .” The old man rambled on. Hull studied him curiously. Was this frail withered old man really the power behind Worldcraft? It didn’t seem possible. “Bryan,” Packman whispered, voice dry as ashes. "William Jen- nings Bryan. I never heard hiin, of course. But they say he was the greatest. Your speech wasn’t bad. But you don’t understand. I lis- tened carefully. You have some good ideas. But what you’re tr^'ing to do is absurd. You don’t know enough about people. Nobody’s' really interested in — ” He broke off, coughing feebly, his robant gripping him with metal supports. Hull pushed impatiently past. “The voting is almost finished. I want to hear. If you have any- thing to say to me you can file a regular memo plate.” Packman’s robant stepped out, barring his way. Packman went on slowly, shakily. "Nobody is really interested in such appeals, Hull. You made a good speech but you don’t have the idea. Not yet, at least. But you talk well, better than Fve heard for a long time. These young fellow, faces all washed, running around like office boys — ” Hull strained, listening to the vote. The impassive robant body cut off his view, but over Pack- man’s dry rasp he could hear the results. Von Stern had risen and was reading the totals, group by group. “Four hundred against, thirty- five in favor,” von Stem stated.' “The proposal has been defeated." He tossed the tabulation cards down and picked up his agenda. “We’l! continue with the next business.” Behind Hull, Packman broke off suddenly, his skull-like head cocked on one side. His deep-sunk eyes glit- tered and the trace of a smile twitched across his lips. “Defeated? Not even all the grays voted for you, Hull. Now maybe you’ll listen to what I have to say.” Hull turned away from the hall. The robant lowered its arm. “It’s over,” Hull said. “Come on.” Julia moved uneasi- ly away from Packman. “Let’s get out of here.” “You see,” Packman continued relentlessly, “you have potentials that could be developed into some- thing. When I was your age I had tlie sajne idea you have. I thought if people could see the moral issues involved, they w'ould respond. But people aren’t like that. You have to be realistic, if you want to get some- where. People . . Hull scarcely heard the dry, raspy voice whispering away. De- feat. Worldcraft, the world bubbles, would continue. The Contest Par- ties: bored, restless men and wom- en with too much time, drinking and dancing, comparing worlds, building up to the climax — then the orgy of breaking and smashing.

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64 PHILIP K. DICK Over and over. Endlessly. “Nobody can buck Worldcraft,” Julia said. “It’s too big. We’ll have to accept the bubbles as a part of our lives. As Bart says, unless we have .something else to offer in their place . . Bart Longstreet came rapidly out of the shadows. “You still here?” he said to Packman. “I lost,” Hull said. “The vote—” “I know. I heard it. But it doesn’t matter.” Longstreet pushed past Packman and his robant. “Stay here. I’ll join you in a second. I have to see von Stem.” Something in Longstreet’s voice made Hull look up sharply. “What is it? What’s happened?” “Why doesn’t it matter?” Julia demanded. Longstreet stepped up on the platform and made his way to von Stern. He handed him a message plate and then retired to the shad- ows. Von Stem glanced at the plate — And stopped talking. He got to his feet slowly, the plate gripped tightly. “I have an announcement to make.” Von Stern’s voice was shaking, almost inaudible. “A dis- patch from Spaceways’ check sta- tion on Proxima Centauri.” An excited murmur rushed through the hall. “Exploring ships in the Proxima system have contacted trading scouts from an extra-galactic civili- zation. An exchange of messages has already occurred. Spaceways ships are moving toward the Arc- turan system with the expectation of finding — ” Shouts, a bedlam of sound. Men and women on their feet, scream- ing in wild joy. Von Stern stopped reading and stood, his arms folded, his gray face calm, waiting for them to quiet. Forrest Packman stood immov- ing, his withered hands pressed to- gether, his eyes shut. His robant sent support braces around him, catching him in a shield of protect- ing metal. “Well?” Longstreet shouted, pushing back to them. He glanced Hi the frail, withered figure held up by the robant’s supports, then at Hull and Julia. “What do you say, Hull? Let’s get out of here — so we can celebrate.” ’LL fly you home,” Hull said M to Julia. He looked around for an inter-continental cruiser. “Too bad you live so far away. Hong Kong is so damn out of the way.” Julia caught his arm. “You can drive me yourself. Remember? The Pacific Tube is open. We’re con- nected with Asia, now.” “That’s right.” Hull opened the door of his surface car and Julia slid in. Hull got behind the wheel and slammed the door. “I forgot, with all these other things on my mind. Maybe we can see each other more often. I wouldn’t mind spending a few days vacation in Hong Kong. Maybe you’ll invite me.” He sent the car out into traffic, moving with the remote-controlled beam. “Tell me more,” Julia asked. “I want to know all Bart said.” “Not much more. They’ve known for some time that something was up. That’s why he wasn’t too wor- ried about Worldcraft. He knew

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THE TROUBLE WITH BUBBLES 65 the bottom would fall out as soon as the announcement was made.” “Why didn’t he tell you?” Hull grinned wryly. “How could he? Suppose the first reports were wrong? He wanted to wait until tl\ey were sure. He knew what the results would be” Hull gestured. “Look.” On both sides of the strip a tide of men and women poured out of buildings, up from the under- ground factories, a seething mass milling everywhere in disordered confusion, shouting and cheering, throwing things in the air, tossing paper out of windows, carrying each other on their shoulders. “They’re working it off,” Hull said. “The way it should be. Bart says Arcturus is supposed to have seven or eight fertile planets, some of them inhabited, some just for- ests and oceans. The extra-galactic traders say that most systems have at least one usable planet. They visited our system a long time ago. Our early ancestors may have traded with them.” “Then there’s plenty of life in the galaxy?” Hull laughed. “If what they say is true. And the fact that they exist is proof enough.” “No more Worldcraft.” “No.” Hull shook his head. No more Worldcraft. Stock was al- ready being dumped. Worthless. Probably the State w'ould absorb the bubbles already in existence and seal them off, leaving the in- habitants free to determine their own futures. The neurotic smashing of la- boriously achieved cultures was a thing of the past. The buildings of living creatures would no longer be pushed over to amuse some god suffering from ennui and frustra- tion. Julia sighed, leaning against Hull. “Now we can take it easy. Sure, you’re invited to stay. We can take out permanent cohabita- tion papers if you want to—” Hull leaned forward suddenly, his body rigid. “Where’s the Tube?” he demanded. “The strip should be hitting it any minute.” Julia peered ahead, frowning. “Something’s wrong, Slow down.” Hull slowed the car. An obstruc- tion signal was flashing ahead. Gars were stopping on all sides, shifting into emergency retard lanes. He ground the car to a halt. Rocket cruisers were sweeping overhead, exhaust tubes shattering the evening silence. A dozen uni- formed men ran across a field, di- recting a rumbling robot derrick. “What the hell—” Hull mut- tered. A soldier stepped up to the car, swinging a communication flare. “Turn around. We need the whole strip.” “But—” “What happened?” Julia asked. “The Tube. Earthquake, some- place half way out. Broke the Tube in ten sections.” The soldier hur- • ried off. Construction robots rushed past in a hand cart, assembling equipment as they went. Julia and' Hull stared at each other wide-eyed. “Good Lord,” Hull muttered. “Ten places. And the Tube must have been full of cars.” (Continued on page 117)

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The climate was perfect, the sky was always blue, and — best of all — nobody had to work. What more could anyone want? Planet of Dreams By James McKimmcy, Jr. Ulustroted by Poul Orbon F' WAS a small world, a tiny spinning globe, placed in the universe to weather and age by it- self until the end of things. But be- cause its air was good and its earth was fertile, Daniel Loveral had placed a finger upon a map and said, “This is tlie planet. This is the Dream Planet.” That was two years before, back on Earth. And now Loveral with his selected flock had shot through space, to light like chuckling geese upon the planet, to feel the effect of their dreams come true. Loveral was sitting in his office, drumming his long fingers against his desk while the name, Atkinson, ticked through his brain like the sound of a sewing machine. Would he be the only one, Lov- eral asked himself, or was he just the first? In either case, it was up to Loveral, as leader and guiding hand, to stop this thing and stop it quickly. Loverd stood up and put on his jacket, although there was no need for it, other ^an the formality it gave his figure. He stepped out oi his office into a clear bright day, where the air was clean and fresh in his lungs, at once like frost and fire and sweet perfume. He walked along a wind- ing path, which was bordered by slim-necked flowers and a short hedge whose even clipped lines were kept neat by tireless robot hands. Trees pointed to a blue sky, rocking and fluttering their leaves in a soft breeze, and glinting metal- lic houses lay peacefully beyond in wooded hollows and upon slight hills. A whole small world was before his eyes, set there upon his direc- tion, maintained by himself with the help of a dozen complex ma- chines which lay locked and sealed in the Maintenance Room for only his fingers to touch. It was a busy life for Loveral, up

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68 JAMES McKIMMEY, JR. at dawn to work until deep night, keeping his flock happy and free from spirit-killing labor. But it was a p>erfect plan, one which had been tested and turned in his mind for years. If he had to work hard to keep it running smoothly, that was all right. In fact, he had never been happier. Now, however, there was this business about Atkinson. Loveral was disturbed about that. He walked on, over the quiet path which would lead to the house where Atkmson and his wife lived. Loveral smiled, in readiness for any happy face that might ap- pear before him, to greet him, to show with thanWul eyes apprecia- tion for his wonderful world. But that, too, brought thoughts that were a bit disturbing. Lately there had been few such faces. Most of his flock no longer seemed to care about walking along the cultivated paths, or smil- ing, or nodding, or touching a leaf here or a flower there. They pre- ferred, it appeared, to remain deep inside their houses, as though they might have become tired of the soft perfection of Dream Planet. As though they might have be- come weary of quiet woods and sweet bird-music or a sky which was always blue. Loveral shook his head as he walked, puzzling out his thoughts. It was strange, but nothing to worry about certainly. Just this business about Atkin- son. That was his only worry*. He came slowly up a hill, the top of which held a low curving house, with a silver roof and wide, sweep- ing windows. There were yellow and blue and deep red flowers, skirting the sides of the house, and green ivy grew thickly between the glistening windows. The lawn, dot- ted with small leafy trees and round bushes, sloped down from the front of the house, looking like a carefully arranged painting. Loveral pressed a button beside a shining door and waited, smiling tlirough his pale blue kindly eyes. Mrs. ATKINSON appeared after several moments and stood blinking at him. She was a thin woman, who seemed to have gotten even thinner, Loveral no- ticed. She was working her fingers at the neck of her dress. She smiled but her lips wavered. “My dear,” Loveral greeted her in his soft voice, showing the goodness in his eyes. She nodded her recognition, opening her mouth wiUiout speak- ing. “May I?” said Loveral finally, waving his long fingers toward the living room. “Oh, yes,” said the woman. “Of course, Mr. Loveral.” And as she spoke Loveral had the impression she might suddenly begin crying. Loveral followed the woman into the house, noticing all over again the precise way everything had been arranged. The rug was soft beneath his feet, and the light came in through the windows in such a way that it, too, became soft. The furniture, molded to hold a human body most comfortably, rested about the room in perfect efficiency. “\'our place is so lovely,” Lov-

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PLANET OF DREAMS 69 eral said, out of his old habit from Earth. But his words seemed to ring strangely in the quiet, because it was his own arrangement, like all the other rooms on the planet. And Mrs. Atkinson, standing thin and nervous before him, had noth- ing, after all, to do with it. The cleanliness was the \vork of his ro- bot machines, the planning his own. It was like complimenting himself. He cleared his throat and stood, smiling his most benevolent smile to reassure Mrs. Atkinson. “Ah, my dear. Is George about?” Again, the woman’s hand skit- tered to her throat. “He’s not ill, surely?” Loveral asked, although this, too, was silly, because foods, selected and pre* pared for utmost nutrition, packed and frozen to be doled out in week- ly quantities, purified air, disease- killing serums, simply written fold- ers on exercise, and of course Lov- eral’s own philosophies of quiet, peaceful living — all of this guarded well the health of Dream Planet’s flock. The woman shook her head. “No, George is fine. He’s just — sleeping, 1 think.” “Rest is nature’s finest tonic,” said Loveral, and hearing his voice thought suddenly there was hardly anything he could say any more that might not sound a bit out of place in this peaceful world. Rest to the man who had nothing to do ceased to be a tonic. “Yes, yes,” said Loveral. “May we just sit down, my dear?” Mrs. Atkinson jerked a hand tc^ ward one of the chairs and then wound her fingers. Loveral sat down and leaned back, smiling his most charming smile. “Perhaps George might awaken after a bit?” “Oh, yes,” the woman said, her eyes flickering, and she sat upon the edge of one chair, like a bird perched upx>n a thin wire. Loveral waited, legs crossed, leaning his head back against the silken softness of the chair. It was so good to relax these days. The business of w’atching and of caring for his flock was trying. When you have brought an entire community of people at great exp>ense through space, guaranteeing to give them a life of constant comfort and ease, so that they might dream and think as they wander through the flowers and the leaves, their thoughts cleansed of worry about work and responsibility, then you have a job. Loveral was most busy, busier than his heritage of wealth ever before had allow^, seeing to all of this. But he also was most cemtent — with everything except Atkinson. Mrs. Atkinson teetered on the edge of her chair, as though she might at any moment go flying across the room in a crazy gyration. There was something about her eyes, Loveral noticed, while he peacefully nodded in the chair. Fear, perhaps. If so, he probably had been right. He tightened himself, listen- ing. There it was again. The sound. Just as he had heard it a day be- fore w’hen he had passed near the house. He leaned forward quickly. Mrs. Atkinson jumped. Loveral smiled. “Didn’t I hear a noise of some sort, my dear?” “Noise?” the wwnan said, as though her own voice were the

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70 JAMES McKlMMEY, JR. sound of an echo. “An odd noise,” Loveral said, his eyes searching. The woman’s hands fluttered about her dress. Loveral stood up. “Would you mind if I just glanced about, my dear?” The woman didn’t answer, but Loveral was already moving across the room toward a door. He opened it and walked down a hall. The noise grew stronger. He threw open another door. He stood Watching while George Atkinson spun around, dark eyes flashing, hair tousled. There was a two days’ growth of beard darkening Atkin- son’s face. “Why, George,” Loveral said, swiftly examining tlie litter of met- al and wood which was spread over a table behind Atkinson. There was a home-made hammer in Atkinson’s hand. “What have we here, George?” “Something for you,” Atkison said, tightening his fingers about the handle of me hammer. Loveral grinned his famous Lov- eral grin. “That’s fine. What could it be?” “None of your damned business.” ^‘George/’ Loveral said, his smile still white but his eyes narrow and quick. The woman was behind them. Her voice screeched. “George, I told you. Why didn’t you listen, George? You should have listened ta me. You — ” Loveral held up a hand, still watching Atkinson. “Now tell me, George, what is it you’re making for me?” Atkinson raised the hammer slightly. Loveral stood very' still. “That’s a nice hammer, George.” Atkinson’s eyes were black be- neath his thick brows. “You made that, didn’t you?” Loveral asked. “Yes, I made that,” Atkinson said. “I made that and I made something else. Another minute and ril have that finished, too.” “George,” said Loveral, stepping quietly forward, “I don’t like to say this, of course. You’ve been one of our very best menibcrs. But nobody works here, George. We can’t al- low that. You know the rules.” “I know the rules, all right.” “Well, then,” Loveral said, ex- tending his hand toward the ham- mer, “we’ll just destroy this and whatever else you might have been making. W'e’ll just forget it ever happened. We’ll get along real fine that way, George. We’ll just be such good friends.” “We’ll just go to hell,” said At- kinson, snatching his hammer away. Loveral’s smile disappeared. “I’ll tell you, George. I have to mean business with this. You know the reasons. If w'e allow anybody to work here, then there’s going to be trouble. That isn’t our plan. We’re here to grow within ourselves and expand culturally. Not to commer- ciali2e a beautiful world like Dream Planet.” Atkinson stood unmoving, and Loveral could see the way the man’s muscles were tight, like steel springs, and the way his eyes

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PLANET OF DREAMS 71 burned deep inside their blackness. "VVeVe given you everything you need,” Loveral explained, trying to adjust the smile on his lips again. “Everybody has everything they want. But, you see, if you sit there and work and make something that someone else doesn’t have, then the whole system is destroyed. Then someone will want what you’ve made. We’ll have jealousy and hatred and fighting. This is the stuff of which wars are made, George. You know that. It starts with small things like this, but it grows. When it does, the structure of our life here will collapse. You wouldn’t want that, would you, George?” “YesI” Atkinson said, his mouth white at the edges. “I’d like to see the whole rotten thing collapsed and blown to hell!” Loveral’s teeth snapped together and his lips grew tight. He could feel a muscle jumping along his neck. Atkinson looked at him with fu- rious eyes. “What do you think it’s like, living this way? You’re busy working twenty-four hours a day, while we wander around this damned prison like the breathing dead. You can feel sweat and aches in your bones from a hard day’s work. Sleep is like medicine to you, instead of another stretch of tor- ture. You can forget your own brain for a while by doing some- thing with your hands. You can re- lax because you can get tired. Not us, by God. Not us!” “I envy you, George,” Loveral said through his teeth. “Oh, like hell you do. You treat us like we were helpless infants. You feed and clothe us and do all our work, and you’re so happy you damned near split your guts.” “I’ll take that, if you don’t mind,” Loveral said, reaching for the hammer, his voice suddenly icy cold. Atkinson slammed back against the table. “No you won’t. You won’f take anything more at all. You’ve taken our spirit and our pride and the strength right out of our spines. You won’t take anything more!” “George?” Loveral said, but not moving any further. Atkinson slid the hammer back of him onto the table, and his hands were .searching among a dozen scat- tered pieces of metal and wood. He watched Loveral as he worked. “Let me show you what else I’ve made,” he said. “I’d hate to do it,” Loveral said, “but I can stop your food, your water, everything.” Atkinson’s hands moved swiftly, assembling the pieces. He nodded. “You can, but you won’t.” “I have the only keys to the stor- age units. I control everything, George.” “Correction,” said Atkinson, holding an assembled revolver in his hands. “You did,” OVERAL looked at what At- kinson had in his hands. He blinked. "You’re nearly dead,” Atkinson said. Loveral looked at Atkinson, into his eyes. “If you wanted to kill me, you could have done it some other way.” Atkinson shook his head. “Just

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72 this way. Just with something that took me dozens of days and nights to make. With something that made me sweat and swear to get. It was difficult — with no tools or proper materials — but that made it all the better. Now' I’ve got it finished,” he said, pushing a bullet into the chamber, “and ready to use.” Loveral stood frozen, then he turned. “My dear,” he said to the woman who moved her mouth as though her voire had been pumped out of her. He reached to touch her shoulder. She recoiled, as though his fingers held poison. “George,” he .wid, turning hack to the black-eyed man. “This is a great moment,” At- kinson said, lifting the muzzle of the revolver. “When I squeeze the trigger, it’ll be like blowing the lock off a prison door. I’ll go yelling to the others, and we’ll smasli down the whole goddamned place. We’ll smash it down, so we’ll have to re- build it. We’ll pull apart every robot you’ve got. We’ll tear apart the fo^ lockers and have a cele- bration for a wreck, and when we’ve gotten sick from too much food, we’ll start growing some more with our own hands. We’ll make forges for the men and looms for the women. We’U bum our clothes and make new ones. We’ll grow com in the fields. We’ll pump water from the ground. You’re finished, Loveral.” JAMES McKIMMEY, JR. Loveral stared at the revolver. “George,” he said, pleading. “The plans. The beautiful, beautiful plans. All of you, you all wanted peace and contentment. Time to think and dream. You all wanted to get away from the work and the worry and the responsibility. You—” Atkinson fired the gun into Lov- eral’s stomach. Loveral gestured at the air and fell to liis knees. Atkinson threw his gun through a window and grabbed his wife by the hand. “Hurrs’I” he said, laughing. “Hur- ry!” Loveral felt of the blood on his shirt and rested on his knees. He could hear footsteps, racing through the house and out to the yard. He held out his bloody hand and looked at it. Atkinson’s voice pealed tlirough the wann clear air. “He’s dead! Lovcral’s dead!” There wa.s a sound of sudden ac- tivity, and everywhere went the cry. “Lovcral’s dead!” Loveral sank to his haunches and opened his lips. The blood was there, too. He could hear the shouts and the laughter, and then the tear- ing of steel, the smashing of glass. He bent over his knees, trembling with a sudden chill. The sound of destruction grew like thunder. “Why?” he said in his dying throat. “Oh, w'hv? It was what they said * 4 they wanted?” THE END

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Personalities in Science A Bell Rang 30 Feet Away, and Wireless Was Born WHEN Guglietmo Marconi was bom, a servant in his parents’ home in Bologna exclaimed, “What big ears he has!” His moAer an- swered, with an almost unbeliev- ably prophetic pride, “With such ears he v^l be able to hear the still small voice of the air.” Marconi’s father was a prosper- ous business man ; his mother, Anna Jameson, was the daughter of a well-known Dublin distiller’s fam- ily. She was a staunch Scotch-Irisb Protestant and an exceedingly fine musician; she taught young Gug- lielmo to be an accomplished pian- ist, a student of the Bible, and to be both tenacious and persevering. Marconi was absorb^ in science by the time he was twelve. The only thing that seemed able to tear him way from his experiments was his fondness for an old blind man, and this one small leisure was ex- plained when his parents discov- ered that the old man was a former telegrapher and was teaching young Gugliclmo Morse code. At twenty he read an obituary of the German Heinrich Hertz which described Hertz’s experiments with electro-magnetic waves and be- came possessed with the idea that CugUelmo Marconi signals could be transmitted through the air without wires, just a.s Hertz had transmitted the spark. His fint experiment with the idea succeeded that same year. After months of heartbreaking failure he pressed a switch one night — and a bell rang in a room 30 feet away. This first success was followed by others with distances constantly in- creasing. But when Marconi oflfered the Indian government the inven- tion, it was decided after a brief discussion that the machine was not worthy of attention and bis offer was reused. His mother encouraged him to try her country, and in 1896 he ar- rived in London with tw'o trunks full of instruments. The instru-

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74 GUGLIELMO MARCONI ments had suffered mightily at the hands of the customs inspectors, and Marconi’s first heartbreaking task was to replace them. Fortu* nately, tlie British Government re- alized that he had a revolutionary invention which might one day make it possible to communicate with sliip.s at sea. Less than one year later a corporation was formed to exploit wireless telegraphy, and the first sending station was built on the Isle of Wight. And this young inventor of twenty-three found himself an immensely wealthy man. Despite occasional fiascos, the success of wireless received world- wide publicity; stations were built on the Continent and in England, and wireless equipment was in- stalled in all British and Italian ships. But Marconi was not con- tent; his dream was to unite Europe and America Iiy wireless. He had been warned that the cur- vature of the Earth would interfere with the waves ; people scolded him for not being content with what he had already wTought, and the cost of cstablisliing the trans- oceanic stations was prohibitive in the face of possible failure — yet he was determined to try. Faced with disaster at the very outset when the station at the Southwest tip of England was de- stroyed in a storm, Marconi stub- bornly spent a year rebuilding it, and then proceeded to Newfound- land which had been chosen as the American point for die trans-At- lantic effort. Weather conditions and technical difficulties that were almost insurmountable battled against him, but in 1901 the first signal — three clicks like the three dots of Morse code — came through to the English station and Gug- lielmo Marconi’s dream was a re- ality. HE TREMENDOUS news was received with large doses of scepticism, and to still forever the doubting voices Marconi decided to build a regular station for per- manent transmission at the site of the experimental station in New- foundland. But more than scepti- cism had to be overcome. The cable company that owned the trans-Atkmtic cable threatened legal action if the wireless experi- ments didn’t stop, and Marconi saw the dream fade. Canada, spurred by the faith of Motlier England in the experi- ments, offered 16,000 pounds and land in Nova Scotia for the Amer- ican station. It took two long years of effort, disappointment and c.\- periment to complete the station — and more heartbreak was in store for Marconi before success was achieved. Then the twenty-eight- year-old genius returned to Europe and a hero’s iriuniph.s. Honors and titles were showered on him, and these served to spur him on to newer heights. After two years of unceasing work he decided to take a vacation, and typically chose one of the remote wireless stations as the perfect spot. Here at Pool he met ninetccn-year-old Bea- trice O’Brien, and after a whirl- wind courtship they were married. The honeymoon spot was, again characteristically, the station at Nova Scotia.

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PERSONALITIES IN SCIENCE 75 While still on the honeymoon Marconi was recalled to London. The company’s funds had run out and London banks refused new credit to further research and ex- periment. A frantic trip to Italy to seek further financing was fruitless; the-ltaliaji banks didn’t tluiik he was a good risk either. Marconi’s only hope seemed to lie in reorganizing the company himself. He was able to do it — but it took everything that he had. Instead of better times, things just got blacker. His first son was stricken and died at three months; German and Amer- ican cable companies were infring- ing on his patents, and the Glace Bay station which had cost so much in time, money, and effort was completely destroyed by fire. The indomitable spirit of perse- verance and tenacity tliat was the mark of this man was scarcely dented by these disasters; instead they seemed to spur him on. He rolled up his sleeves and proceeded to fight the patent infringements with everything he could muster, began the rebuilding of the Glace Bay station, and did all in his power to convince the world tiiat wireless had commercial posabilitics. In less than a year the station had been rebuilt, the first lawsuit won, and Marconi was riding the crest of the wave again. The honor of receiving the Nobel Prize for physics in 1909 merely interrupted the steamroller for a brief time. Having exploited all the possibili- ties of long radio waves, he started • work with short waves and by 1927 had transmitted the human voice from England to Australia. Then came work with reflected radio waves which were to produce our present day radar, and experiments with ultra-short waves which were to be the key to television. Those who lived and worked with him admired his simplicity, patience, and warmheartedness; and perhaps the greatest tribute was paid to this self-taught man who had never been to a university by the London Times in an edi- torial written at the time of his death. “When the early twentieth cen- tury comes to be surveyed by his- torians yet unborn, Gugliclino Marconi may be regarded as the supremely significant character of the epoch, the name by which our age is called.” — epw A RARE TREAT is in store in the next issue of IF. William Tenn, who writes with unrivalled skill but much too rarely, returns with The Custodian. It’s a tale of the last man on Earth — but don’t decide now that the theme is familiar: this man was in that posi- tion by choice! The long, lead novelette will be by Mari Wolf. Homo Inferior tells of a man who was alone in a different way, for I Eric was surrounded by his own people, but couldn’t communicate with them! These and other fine stories in the November IF will thrill and surprise you. On sale everywhere September 1 1 th.

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They were out of place in the Manly Age — Stonecypher, a man who loved animals; Moe, a bull who hated men. T ogether, they marched to inevitably similar destinies . . . ^^^ROCKSwRILLS By Robert Ernest Gilbert lilustroted by Tom Beecham PHELIDE M STONECYPHER lifted his ■ reed sun hat with the square brim, and used a red handkerchief to absorb the perspiration streaking his forehead. He said, “The pup’ll make a good guard, ’especially for thrill parties.” L. Dan’s golden curls flickered in July 1 sunlight. The puppy growled when Dan extended a gloved hand. “I don’t want a guard,” the hobbyist said. “I want him for a dogfight.” A startling bellow rattled the windows of the dog house and spilled in deafening waves across the yard. Dan whirled, clutching his staff. Light glinted on his plastic cuirass and danced on his red nylon tights. His flabby face turned wWte. “What — ” he panted. Stonecypher concealed a smile behind a long corded hand and said, “Just the bull. Serenades \is sometimes.” Dan circled the dog house. Stone- cypher followed with a forefinger pressed to thin lips. In the paddock, the bull’s head moved up and down. It might or might not have been a nod. The crest of long red and blue- black hairs on the bull’s neck and shoulders created an illusion of pur- ple, but the rest of the animal matched the black of a duelmas- ter’s tam. Behind large eyes encir- cled by a white band, his dtull bulged in a swelling dome, making the distance between his short horns seem much too great. “He’s purple!” Dan gasped. “Why in the Government don’t you put him in the ring?” Stonecypher gestured toward the choppy surface of Kings Lake, nine hundred feet below. He said, “Co- incidence. I mate out the ringmas- 77

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78 ROBERT ERNEST GILBERT ter’s barge just leavin’ Highland Pier.” “You’re selling him?” “Yeah. If they take ’im. I’d like to see ’im in the ring on Depend- ence Day.” Glancing at tlic watch embedded in the left pectoral of his half-ar- mor, Dan said, “That would be a show! I’ll take the dog and fly. I’ve a duel in Highland Park at 1 1 :46.” “The pup’s not for sale.” “Not for sale!” Dan yelled. “You told—” “Thought you w’anted a guard. I don’t sell for dogfights.” A sound like “Goood!” came from the paddocked bull. Dan opened his mouth wide. Whatever he intended to .say died witliout vocalization, for Catriona came driving the mule team up through the apple orchard. The al- most identical mules had sorrel noses, gray necks, buckskin flanks, and black and white pinto backs and haunches. “Great Govern- ment!” Dan swore. “This place is worse than a museum!” “Appaloosa mules,” Stonecypher said. Catriona jumped from the seat of the mowing machine. Dan stared. Compared to the standard woman of the Manly Age who, by dieting, posttiring, and exercise from child- hood, transformed herself into a small, thin, dominated creature, Catriona constituted a separate species. She was taller than Dan, slightly plump, and her hair could have been classed as either red or blonde. Green overalls became her better than they did Stonecypher. With no trace of a smile on face or in voice, Stonecypher said, “L. Dan, meet Catriona.” Like a hypnopath’s victim, Dan walked to Catriona. He looked up at her and whispered, but too loudly. Stonecypher heard. His hands clamped on the hobbyist’s neck and jerked. Dan smashed in the grass with sufficient force to loosen the snaps of liis armor. He rolled to his feet and swung his staff. Stonecypher’s left hand snatched the staff. His right fist collided with Dan’.s square jaw. Glaring down at the hobbyist, Stonecypher gripped the staff and rotated thick wrists outward. The tough plastic popped when it broke. Scuttling backward, Dan re- gained his feet. “You inhuman brute!” he growled. “I intended to pay for her!” “My wife’s not for sale either,” Stonecypher said. “You know how to fly.” Dan thrust out a coated tongue and made a noise with it. In a memorized singsong, he declared, “I challenge you to a duel, in ac- cordance with the laws of the Gov- ernment, to be fought in the near- est duelpen at the earliest possible hour.” “Stony, don’t!” Catriona pro- tested. “He’s not wo’th it!” Stonecypher smiled at her. “Have to follow the law,” he said. He extended his tongue, blurted, and announced, “As required by the Government, I accept your challenge.” “We’ll record it!” Dan snapped. He stalked toward the green and

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THY ROCKS AND RILLS 79 gold butterfUer parked in a field of seedling Sudan grass. Homs rattled on the concrete rails of the pad- dock. “Burstaard!” the bull bellowed. Dan shied and trampled young grass under sandaled feet. His loosened cuirass clattered rhyth- mically. Raising the canopy of the butterilier, he slid out the radioak and started typing. Stonecypher and Catriona approached the hob- byist. Catriona said, “This is cowa’dly! Stony nevah fought a duel in his life. He won’t have a chance!” “You’ll see me soon then, wom- an. Where’d you get all that equip- ment? You look like something in a circus.” “Ah used to be in a cahnival,” Catriona said. She kept Stonecy- pher in place with a plump arm across his chest. “That’s wheah you belong,” she told Dan. “That’s all you'ah good fo’.” “Watch how you address a man, woman,” Dan snarled, “or you’ll end in the duelpen, too.” Stonecypher snatched the sheet from the typer. The request read : Duelmaster R. Smith, Watauga Duelpen, High- land Park, Tennessee. L. Dan challenges M. Stonecypher. Cause: In- terference with basic amatory rights, July 1. 11:21 amest. Stonecypher said, “The cause is a lie. You got no rights with Catri- ona. Why didn’t you tell ’em it’s because I knocked you ears-over- endways, and you’re scared to fight without a gun?” Dan shoved the request into the slot and pulled the switch. “I’ll kill you,” he promised. While the request was transmit- ted by radiophotography, minutes passed, bare of further insults. Ca- triona and Stonecypher stood near the concrete fence enclosing the rolling top of Bays Mountain. In- terminable labor had converted 650 acres of the top to arable land. Be- low the couple, the steep side of the mountain, denuded of timber, dan- gerously eroded, and scarred by limestone quarries, fell to the rag- ged shore of Kings Lake. Two miles of water agitated by many boats separated the shore and the peninsula, which resembled a wrin- kled dragon with underslung lower jaw distended. The town of High- land Park clung to the jutting land, and the Highland Bullring ap- peared as a white dot more th^ four miles from where Catriona and Stonecypher stood. The ring- master’s barge was a red. rectangle skirting Russel Chapel Island. Dan pulled the answer from the buzzing radioak. He walked over and held the radiophoto an inch from Stonecypher’s long nose. It read: Request OK. Time: July 4. 3:47 pmest. Two attached permits granted each duelist the privilege of carry- ing one handgun with a capacity of not more than ten cartridges of not less than .32 caliber. Below the per- mits appeared an additional mes- sage: L. Dan due at Watauga Duelpen. 11:46 amest.

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80 ROBERT ERNEST GILBERT For duel with J. George . “Government and Taxes!” Dan cuRcd. Throwing Stonecyphcr’s permit, he leaped into the green and gold butterflier and slammed the canopy. The four wings of the seini-ornithopter blurred with mo- tion, lifting the craft into tlte sky. The forward wings locked wi^ negative dihedral, the rear wings angled to form a ruddevator, and the five-bladcd propeller whined, driving the butterflier in a shallow dive for the peninsula. C.\TRIONA said, “Ah hope he’s late, and they shoot him. Ah knew you*d finally have to fight, but — ” “You keep out of it next time,” said Stonecypher. “I happen to know that feller’s killed two wom- en in the pen. He don’t care for nothin'. Oughta known better than to let him come here. He made out like he wanted a guard dog, and 1 thought — ” “Nevah mind, Stony. Ah’ve got to help you. You nevah even fiahed a gun.” “Later, Cat. The ringmaster may want to stay for dinner. I'll look after the mules.” Catriona touched Stonecypher’s cheek and went to the house. Stone- cypher unharnessed the Appaloosa mules. While they rolled, he took, from an empty hay rack, a rubber- tipped spear and a tattered cloth dummy. The dummy’s single ann terminated in a red flag. Stonecypher concealed spear and dummy beneath the floor of the dog house. Going to the paddock, he patted the bull between the horns, which had been filed to a needle point. “Still goin’ through with it?” Stonecypher asked. “Yaaaa,” the bull lowed. “Yaooo kuhl Daan. Err’ll kuhl uhhh kuh- lerrs.” “All right, Moe. Til kill Dan, and you kill the killers.” Stonecy- pher stroked the jnassive hemi- sphere of the bull’s jaw. “Goodbye, Moe.” “Gooodba,” the hull echoed. He lovered his nose to the shelled com seasoned with molasses, the rolled oats, and the ground barley in the trough. Stonecypher walked down the road to the staircase of stone that dammed the old Kingsport Reser- voir, abandoned long before Kings Lake covered the city. A red elec- tric truck crawled up the steep road hewn from the slope the gap formed by Dolan Branch. NN'hcn the truck had crossed the bridge below the buttressed dam, Slonecyyjher sjx)kc to the fat and sweltering man seated beside the driver. “I’m M. Stonecypher. Proud for you to visit my farm. Dinner’s ready up at the hotise.” “No, no time,” smiled the fat man, displaying stainless .steel teeth. “Only time to sec the bull. I thought we weren’t going to make that grade! Why don’t those scien- tists develop synthetic elements, so that we can have atomic power again? This radio-electric i.s so un- reliable! I am Ringmaster A. Os- well. naturally. This heat is excru- ciating! I had hoped it would be cooler up here, but something seems to have happened to our in-

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THY ROCKS AND RILLS 81 land-oceanic climate this summer. Lead us to the bull, Stonecypher!” Clinging to the slatted truck bed, Stonecypher directed the stoic driv- er to paddock. The electric motor rattled and stopped, and Ringmaster Oswcll wheezed and squiitned from the cab. The ring- master wore a vaguely Arabic cos- tume, in ail variations of red. The bull lumbered bellowing around the fence. His horns raked white gashes in the beech tree forming one corner. He tossed the feed trough to splintering destruc- tion. “Magnificent!” Oswcll gasped. Then the ringmaster frowned. “But he looks almost purple. His horns are rather short.” “Stay back from the fence!” Stonecypher warned. “He’s real wide between the horns, ringmas- ter. 1 reckon tlie spread’ll match up to standard. Same stock my grandfather used to sell Boon Bull- ring before the water. Wouldn’t sell ’ini, only the tenants are scared to come about the house.” Oswell fingered his balloon neck and inumblecl, “But he's odd. That long hair on his neck ... I don’t know . . .” The bull’s horns lifted the min- eral feeder from the center of the paddock. The box rotated over the rails and crashed in a cloud of floured oyster shells and phosphate .salt at the ringmaster’s feet. Oswell took cover behind the truck driver, who said, “Fergus'd like him. Jeeze! Remember dat brown and white spotted one he kilt last year on Forrest Day? Da crowd like ta never stopt yelling!” Ringmaster Oswell retreated far- ther, as, under the bull’s onslaught, a piece of concrete broke from the top rail, exposing the reinforcing rod within. “Fergus does like strange ones,” he admitted. Stonecypher said, “Don’t let the mane bother you. There’s one of these long-haired Scotch cows in his ancestors. He’s not really pur- ple. Just the way the light hits ’im.” Oswell chew^ lacquered finger- nails with .steel dentures. His blood- shot eyes studied the spotted and speckled .^ppaloosa mules chasing around the pasture, but the sight failed to register on his brain. “The crowd likes a good show on De- pendence Day,” he proclaimed. “I considered trying a fat Aberdeen Angus with artificial horns for laughs, but this may do as well. I must find some sliade! I’ll take him, Stonecypher, if fifteen hundred in gold is agreeal)le.” “Sold,” Stonecypher said. The word cracked in the middle. ^Vhile the ringmaster, muttering about trying bulldogs sometime, re- tired to the narrow shadow of the dog house, the driver backed the truck to the ramp. Stonecypher opened the gate and waved his handkerchief. The bull charged into the truck, and the driver locked the heavy doors. From within his red burnoose, Oswell produced a clinking bag. “Fifteen hundred,” he said. From other recesses, he withdrew docu- ments, notebook*, and a pencil. He said. "Here is a pass for you and one for any woman-subject you may wish to bring. You’ll want to see your first bull on Dependence Day! And here is the standard re- lease absolving you of any damage

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82 ROBERT ERNEST GILBERT the bull may do. Oh, yes! His name and number?” "Number?” "Yes, his brand.” "Not branded. Make it Number 1. Name’s Moe.” Oswell chuckled. “Moe. Very good! Most breeders name them things like Chainlightning and Thunderbird. Your GE number?” “I’m not a Government Em- ployee.” “You’re not?” Oswell wheezed. “How unusual! Your colors? He’ll wear your colors In his shoulder.” “Yeah. Black.” “Black?” “Dead black.” Oswell, scribbling, managed a faint smile. "Sorry I can’t accept that invitation to lunch.” He strug- gled into the truck. “Hope this bull is brave in the ring. Nice antique old place you have here! I don’t see a feed tower, but you surely don’t use pasture — ” The ringmas- ter’s babble passed down the road with the truck. Stonecypher watched the ve- hicle descend the dangerous grade. He lifted his square hat from his black hair, dropped it on the ground, and crushed the reeds un- der a booted foot. The temporary house, a squat cubical structure, stood at the end of a spruce-lined path beside the ruin that a thrill party had made of the century-old farm house. The plastic screen squeaked when Stonecypher opened it. He stood on the white floor of the robot kitchen and dug a fifty dollar gold piece from the bag Oswell had given him. Glaring at the head of the woman with Liberty inscribed on her crown, he muttered, “Thirty pieces of gold.” Catriona called, “Oswell’s lucky he couldn’t stay foah diimah! Ah had the potassium cyanide all ready.” Stonecypher passed through the diner door into a room containing more yellowed history books and agricultural pamphlets than eat- ing utensils. Catriona waited by the table. She held a large revolver in her right hand. IIVTEHMEZZn STONECYPHER stood on Bay Knob, near the ruins of the old FM transmitter station, looking down at the Tennessee Lakes. Catriona sat behind him and held the revolver on her thigh. Stonecy- pher said, "I never see it but I wonder how it looked before the water.” Before him, North Fork, an arm of Kings Lake, twisted across the Virginia line four and one-half miles away, while to Stonecypher’s right, Boone Lake sparkled like a gigantic, badly drawn V. He did not look toward Surgoinsville Dam securing Kings Lake far to the west. The Tennessee Lakes were born in 1918 when Wilson Dam spanned the Tennessee River at Muscle Shoals, Alabama; but their growth was retarded for fifteen years, until an Act of Congress injected them with vitamins. Then the mile-long bastions of concrete crawled be- tween the ridges. Norris, Wheeler, Pickwick Landing, Guntersville, Watts Bar, Kentucky, Cherokee,

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THY ROCKS AND RILLS 83 Fort Henry, Boone, Sevier, Sur- goinsville — almost innumer- able dams blocked the rivers. The rivers stopped and overflowed. The creeks swelled into rivers. Congressional Committees in- vestigated, the Supreme Court tested the dams against the Consti- tution, ethnologists and archeolo- gists ha.stily checked for Indian relics; and the dams, infused with youthful vigor, matured. Begin- ning with Norris, which backed up the Clinch and Powell Rivers to inundate 25,000 acre.s and displace 3,000 families, the dams expanded mighty aquatic muscles. The Ten- nessee, the Little Tennessee, the Nolichucky, the Holston, the French Broad, the Watauga, the Hiwassce, the Little Pigeon — all the rivers spread their waters into lengthy, ragged lakes, changing the map of Tennessee more than any natural cataclysm, such as the great earthquake of 1811, had ever done. The Lakes provided jobs, electric power, flood control, soil conserva- tion, a fi.shcrman’s paradise, milder winters, cooler summers, and they covered all the really good farming land in the eastern part of the .state. Gatriona loaded the revolver. It was an obsolete .357 Magnum with a Sj/i inch barrel, and the cartridge cases of the metal-piercing bullets had a greenish sheen. “Now, put it in the holstah, and be ca’eful,” Catriona said. Stonecypher wore the holster, a leather silhouette studded with two spring clips opening forward, on a belt and secured to his leg by a thong. Gingerly, he took the re- volver and dipped it under the clips. “I’ve kept outa duels all my life,” he said, “but, so long as it’s for you, I don't much mind.” “Ah’ll mind if he kills you. You do like I tell you, and you can beat him. Whv, niah best act in the How-To Cahnival was How to Win a Duel. Cou’se, they didn’t know ah was really drawin’ befoah the buzzah sounded. Why, ah used to set two plates ten yahds apaht, draw two revolvahs, and shoot both plates, all in foah-tenths of a second!” Stonecypher grinned. “Sorry I missed that carnival first time it came through here. I coulda seen you in that costume they poured on you, three years earlier.” “Nevah mind the veiled compli- ments. Now, try it!” Stonecypher faced the target, a sheet of p!astil)oard roughly sawed to the shape of a man, and backed by a heap of earth removed from the new, as yet dry, pond in which they stood. Catriona pressed a small buzzer concealed in her palm. Stonecypher’s big hand closed on the revolver butt, pushing the weapon up and forward. The sound of the shot rattled away over the mountain top. “That’s good!” Gatriona cried, consulting the sonic timer. “One and two-tenths seconds from buz- zah to shot!” “But I missed,” Stonecypher pro- tested. “Look bad on te%'ee.” “You’ll hit him. Watch the re- coil next time.” Stonecypher drew and fired a second wild shot. He snorted, “Con- found Westerns, anyhow!” “Weste’ns?” “Sure. That’s where this duelin*

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started. Used to, almost ever* movie or tevee was called a Western. Sort of a fantasy, because they were just slightly based on real history. They generally showed a feller in a flow- ered shirt, ridin’ a Tennessee Walk- ing Horse, and shootin’ a gun. Ever’bodv in these Westerns had a gun, and they all shot at each Other. “The youngin’s were hep on ’em, so they all wore toy guns, and a whole generation grew up on Westerns. When they got big, they carried real guns. I’ve heard my great-uncle tell about it, how be- fore the Government built duel- pens and passed laws, you couldn’t hardly cross the Lakes without nin- nin’ Into a bunch of fools on water calves skis shootin’ at each other.” grazec “You leave the histo’y books alone foah awhile,” Catriona com- manded, “and practice. The ten- ants and all’ll tend to the wo’k. Try it loaded and empty. Hook this lit- tle buzzah to the timeah, and prac- tice. Ah've got to go see the chickens.” “ ’Bye, teacher.” Stonccypher dropped the buzzer in his pocket and watched her vanish into the grove. He fired the remaining shots, nicking the target once. With the revolver bolstered, he followed the padi to the summer pasture.

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THY ROCKS AND RILLS 85 Stonecypher cupped his liands around his mouth and yelled, “Smart-calves! Smart-calves to school!” The entire herd turned sorrow- ful e)TS on him. Seven of the calves and four of the yearlings trotted to the gate, which Stonccyphrr held open, and jostled out of the pasture. As the calves began to lie down under the trees, a white heifer-caJf nuzzled Stonecypher’s hand and bawled, “Paaapy gyoing a fyightt?” “Yeah, he’s goin’ to fight,” Stone- cypher answered. “Your pappy’s gone to the bullring. He suggested it, and made die choice himself. He’s got real courage. You oughta all be proud of him.” The calves haw'led their pnde. Including those remaining in the pasture, they presented a colorful variety of spots, specks, splotches, browns, reds, blacks, and even occa- sional blue and grccnidi tinges. Stonccypher .sat facing them from a stump. He said, “I’m sorta late for the lesson, today, so we'll get on with it. Some of this will be repetition for you yearlings, but it won’t hurt. If you get too bored, tlicre’s corn and cottonseed meal in die trough, only be (juiet about it. “Now. To look at y«*u all. nobody would think vou’rc the same breed of cattle; but you. and your mam- inys, and Moe are the only Atohmy cattle on Earth. It’s usually hard to say exactly when a breed started ; but you all started a long, long time ago, on July 16, 1945, near Alamogordo. New Mexico, when they exploded the first Atomic Bomb.” At mention of Atomic Bomb, who had succeeded the Bogger Man as a means of frightening cdiildren, one of the younger calves bawled. Her polled, brindled moth- er ran in ungainly fashion to the fence and mooed widi great carry- ing power. “All right!” Stonccypher yelled. The cow closed her big mouth, but stayed by the gate. “Can’t go by what you hear the tenants tell their kids,” Stonccypher cautioned the calf, “Atomic Bomb is as dead as the tank and the battleship. “Now, like I was sayin’, the sci- entists put Atomic Bomb on a hun- dred foot tower and blowcd him up. There was a flash of fire, and an awful racket, and the blast mist'd up a lot of dirt and dust from the ground. All this dust achumin’ around in the cloud buinpt'd into little bits of metal and stulT that was highly radioactive. That means, the basic atoms of matter had been thrown out (rf kilter, .sorta deranged. The protons and electrons in an atom oughta be about equal for it to be stable, but these were shootin’ off elec- trons, or beta particles, and givin’ off something like powerful x-rays, called gamma rays, and things like that. “Anyhow, this radiation affected all the sand and bits of rock and dirt in that l)omb cloud. This radia- tion is dangerous. Some of it will go right through several inches of lead. Enough’ll kill you. Your an- cestors were ten miles or so from w'here Atomic Bomb w’ent off. “They were just plain Whileface cattle. They weren’t supposed to be there, but I reckon none of the sci- entists bothered to warn ’em. The

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86 ROBERT ERNEST GILBERT dust started settlin’ all over your ancestors. In about a week, there were sores and blisters on their backs. The red hair dropped off. When it grew back, it was gray. “The scientists got real excited when they heard about it, ’cause they wanted to see how horrible they could make Atomic Bomb. So, they shipped fifty-nine cattle up to Oak Ridge. That was a Govern- ment town, a hundred miles .south- west of here, where they made some of the stuff to put in Atomic Bomb. The University of Tennessee was runnin’ an experimental farm there. They had donkeys, and pigs, and chickens, and other animals that they exposed to radioactivity. Then they killed ’em and cut ’em up to see what had happened. I know it’s gruesome, but that’s how it was. “The awful fact is, the scicnti.sts slaughtered more than half that original Atohmy herd for experi- ments. Some of the rest, they — uh — married. Wanted to see if the calves had two heads, or something; if radioactivity had speeded up the mutation rate. “Back then, they didn’t under- stand much about mutation. Some claimed a little radioactivity would cause it, some said a whole lot, and some said it wouldn’t hurt a bit.” “Whaa mootyaaonn?” asked the calf which was not yet assured of the extinction of Atomic Bomb. “Well, you-all are all mutations. I’ve told you how life starts from one cell. This cell has thread-like things in it called chromosomes, and the chromosomes are made up of things called genes. Mutations, sort of unexpected changes, can take place in either the chromosomes or the genes. You see, when this one cell starts dividing, every gene makes a copy of itself; but, some- times, the copy is a little different from the original. Lots of things, like x-rays and ultraviolet rays, heat, chemicals, disease, can cause this. Radioactivity had caused mutation in some experiment, so the scientists were anxious to see what happened with these cattle. “Genes determine the way an animal develops. Two mutant genes can start reactions that end up as a man with one leg, or maybe as a bull with the intelligence of an eight-year-old man. Lots of muta- tions are recessive. They may be carried along for generations. But, when two like mutant genes come together in reproduction, the ani- mal is bound to be something dif- ferent, the way you eleven calves are. “Now. The scientists watched the Atohmy cattle for fifteen or twen- ty years, and nothin’ much hap- pened. They started sayin* radio- activity wasn’t dangerous, and a man could walk into a place right after Atomic Bomb went off, and it wouldn’t matter. They should be here to see the mess in Japan today. All the time, though, I think the cattle were changing. It may have been in little things like the length of hair, or the shape of an eyeball, or the curve of a horn, so the sci- entists couldn’t tell without they made exact measurements all the time. “Then, a bull-calf was bom. He had shaggy black hair, and his horns grew in a spiral like a ram’s. Some scientists said, ‘I told you so!

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THY ROCKS AND RILLS 87 It speeded the mutation rate!’ “Others said, ‘He’s a natural mutation, or else, a throw-back to prehistoric wild cattle. It happens in every breed. Atomic Bomb Iiad nothing to do with it.’ “They married the bull, and then they fixed to slaughter ’im to see what his insides was like. The bull fooled ’em, though. He came down with contagious pleuro-pneumonia, the first case in years, ‘cause it was supposed to have been wiped out in this country away back in the Nineteenth Century. They had to cremate the bull for fear die disease would spread. Ever’ one of the calves were normal Whitefaces. “Finally, the nineteen Atohmy cattle that were left were put up for sale. My great-grandfather, Cary McPhecter, bought ’era and shipped ’em here to Bays Moun- tain. He’s the man started this farm where there was nothin’ but rattle- snakes, and trees, and rocks.” "Whyy theyea selll um?” a red roan calf interrupted. “Well, they sold 'em ’cause Oak Ridge had been condemned. That was several years after the German Civil War. It was peace time, for a change, and folks were .rick of Atomic Bomb. Anyhow, new, mod- ern plants for makin’ the stuff had been built in secret places a lot easier to defend. The women were cryin’ for more automatic kitchens, so the Bureau of Interior Hydro- electric Power (that’s the name Federal Pow'er, Inc., went by then) put another dam across the Clinch River below Norris. Bush Lake cov- ered up Oak Ridge. “There wasn’t much mutation, except for color, in you Atohmy cat- tle, till seven years ago when your pappy, Moe, was born. I remem- ber— ” A hoarse excited voice shouted from a distance. “Thrill party!” it cried. “Thrill party!” STONEGYPHER leaped off the stump, stamped his rig^t foot to restore circulation, and yelled on the run, “That’s all todayl Stay under the trees!” He loped along the pasture fence and across the makeshift target range. Two tenants. Teddy and Will, stood on the dirt heap with pitchforks in their hands. Over Bay Knob, an old Model 14 butterflier hovered on ribrating wings. Sloppy white letters on the sides of the air- craft spelled such slang expression.'i as, “Flash the MAGNETS,” "Su- percOlossalSoniC Flap ship,” and “Redheads amble OTHer canop.” An impossible number of mid- dleschool-age boy’s bulged from the cabin windows. Methodically, they dumpi'd trash and garbage over the transmitter station ruins. The but- terfiier wheeled and flapped over the pasture. Red clover bent and writhed in the artificial wind from the omithopter wings. Cows bawled and ran wild. Calves fell over each other. Stonecypher jumped the fence. He w’rested the revolver from the holster. “Clear out, or I’ll shoot!” he ho’vvled. Voices spilled from the butter- flier. “He got a handgun!” “Dis ain’t legal!” “Whatcha say, tall, bones, and ugly?” Stonecypher aimed the Magnum

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88 ROBERT ERNEST GILBERT at the shaven head in the pilot’s seat. The boys looked faint. Agi- tated air thundered as the butter- flier lifted straight up two hundred feet and glided away in the direc- ton of Surgoinsville Dam. Teddy and Will stood by with pitchforks unrelaxed. Will spat a globule of tobacco juice. “The thangs these here psychologists git made law!” he sneered. “You want me to make out a Thrill Damage Claim?” “No, Will,” Stonecypher said, “just deduct it from taxes.” Teddy looked at the revolver and said, “Ever’body oughta take guns to ^em crazy youngin’s. Reckon you’ll git into trouble?” “No. It’s an empty antique. That’s legal. You guys did all right. Let the calves back in, huh?” The tenants left by the gate, and, with a minimum of driving, urged the calves into the pasture. Stone- cypher watched the men pass through the grove. Although the tenants undoubtedly recognized the peculiarities of the calves, they never mentioned them. Since the late 1700’s, through Revolution, Civil War, automobile, the Depart- ment of Internal Revenue, the mul- tiple bureaus that had controlled the Lakes, the Moon rocket, and the expedition to Pluto, these people had remained suspiciously inter- ested in strangers, suspicious of in- door plumbing, doubtful of the Government, quick-tempered, and as immovable as Chimney Top. They had exchanged little except log and frame houses for concrete. The tenants, not really tenants, had been squatting on Bays Moun- tain when Cary McPheeter bought the farm ; and there they stayed. Stonecypher vaulted the fence. Catriona, with hands firmly plant- ed on hips, stood in the dry pond. Stonecypher said, “If I just knew what these thrill parties think they’re up to, it might help.” Catriona shook her head of red- yellow hair. “Nevah mind them. Ah told you to practice shootin*, but the minute ah turn mah back, you run off and staht teachin’ those calves! You’ve got to practice, Stony! You’ve nevah done any shootin’, and L. Dan’s killed ten people. Ah — ” “Watch the tears, or you’ll have red and green eyes,” Stonecypher said. Clumsily, he ejected the shells and reloaded the revolver. He oc- cupied two seconds in drawing and firing. The bullet struck dirt a yard to the left erf the target. SONATA A SHORT vicious thunderstorm lashed Bays Mountain on the afternoon of July 3. As the storm passed, a blood-red butterflier, with a pusher propeller in the tail and a plastic bull head on the nose, de- scended in the young Sudan grass. Stonecypher dropped the saw — he had been clearing away a beech limb the storm left in the aban- doned paddock — and strolled to greet Ringmaster A. Oswell. “Stonecypher!” the ringmaster announced. “That storm almost caught us!” Oswell’s stainless steel teeth clacked, and the breezes trailing the thunderclouds bal- looned his orange silk kimono. “I never liked these butterfliers.

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THY ROCKS AND RILLS 89 They*re too slow, and that swoop- ing motion! Five hundred miles per hour may seem fast to a man your age; but in my day, back before petroleum was classified as arma- ment, we had jets! Real speed!” “Come on up to the house, ring- mastbr,” Stonecypher invited. “I’ll mix up some dextrose and citric acid.” “No. no time,” the fat man panted. “Only time to see you about that bull you sold me. Tlie storm took a limb of your beech tree! Al- most the only one left, I suppose. About that bull, Stonccyphcr. you know I was a bit hesitant when I bought him, but my driver talked me into it. I’m so disappointed I had him drafted immediately!” “But, what — ” Stonccyphcr at- tempted to ask. “The young woman there in the butterflier is a much better driver and pilot,” Oswell bal)blcd. “I wouldn't have believ’cd it of a woman! She weighs a good ninety- eight pounds, too! That bull — he has changed completely since we put him under the stands. He eats well, but he shnw.s no spirit at all. Tomorrow is the big day. Stone- cypher! I can’t disappoint the crowd! I thought he might be sick, but the vet says not. Tliat bull let the vet come into the cage and made absolutely no attempt to kill him!” “But does Fergus — ” “Fergus’s manager saw the bull! He’s all for it. Fergus made an ex- tremely poor showing on Memorial Day, and the manager thinks this odd bull would provide a real comeback! 1 advised against it This heat is terrible! The storm didn’t cool the air at all.” Stonccyphcr maneuvered the perspiring ringmaster into the shade of the beech. He said, “I wanta do the fair thing with you, ringmaster, so I’ll give you a guar- antee, in writing if you want. If that bull’s not the bravest ever fought in Highland Bullring, I give you double-money-back.” Oswell’s face wobbled in a tenta- tive smile. He counted his stubby fingers. “Double-money -back?” “Yeah. 1 wanta get into the busi- ness. My grandfather used to sell bulls, Then my father came along, and he wouldn’t sell a one.” “Yes. Yes, I once tried to reason with him, but — ” “He had funny ideas,” Stonecy- pher pressed his advantage. “I nev- er did understand the old man my- self. He used to lecture me on some- thing he called the Man-Animal War. He said one of the wwst things in the w ar was the thousands of bulls that had been tortured to death.” “Peculiar idea. Of course — ** “He claimed bullfights slipped up on this country. Back when it wasn’t legal, they spaded up the ground real go^. There were movies, and books, and magazines, and foreign broadcasts, all ravin’ about how brave and noble it was for a bunch of men to worry and torture a stupid animal like a bull, till he couldn’t hardly bold bis head up, and then run a sword in *im.” “Naturally, you — ” “I don’t luiow how' many times he told me a bull had more brains than a horse, but less then a jack- ass. He said buUfightin’ wasn’t a sport, even if the bull got a man

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90 ROBERT ERNEST GILBERT sometimes ; and he had the idea the worst thing was the four or five horses, that ever’ bull killed, took with *im. They had some bloodless bullfights in California, and the nut colonies out there like it so good, first thing you know, we really had it. It came to East Tennessee ’cause this was one of the biggest cattle- raisin’ sections, before the Lakes took the grazin’ land.” “Surely, Stonecypher, you — ” “My father always claimed if the bullfighters were near as brave as they said, they’d take on a really intelligent animal sometimes, like a man-eatin’ tiger. He even thought a man was mentalill to fight a bull in the first place.” Stonecypher grinned. “No, you don’t ne^ to worry about me, ringmaster. I hate to admit it, but the old man is the one who was mentalill.” Oswell revealed all of his steel teeth in a broad smile. “You had me worried!” he wheezed. “Now, your offer.” “I’ll go even better,” Stonecy- pher said, “just to show how set I am on gettin’ back in the business. If Moe’s not brave, I got two yearlin’s you can have for free.” “How generous! You’ve reas- sured me, Stonecypher. I have con- fidence, now, that the show will be a great success! I must go! You have no conception of the life a ringmaster leads before a fight. I won’t require a written gfuarantee. I trust you, Stonecypher! See you tomorrow, I hope! I never liked July. If the Government would only make more Lakes, it might cool off! I hope — ” The whir of the red btrtterflier’s wings terminated Oswell’s dis- course. With a face like a gored bullkiller, Stonecypher watched the ringmaster’s departure. Another butterfiier hpvered above the mountain. This one was green and gold with the canopy pushed back and a glint of twin lenses in the cockpit. Will appeared at Stonecypher’s side. He spat in a long arc and said, “That’s a new one, ain’t it, peepin’ from a butterfly? 1 reckon L. Dan never got kilt in that other duel like 1 hoped he would. You want us to git you outa this, Stone- cypher?” “No, Will.” “We can see you git to the Smokies. The Givemment’ll never find you down in there.” ^ “I’ll be aU right, Will. If he does kill me, take care of Catriona. And look after the calf records.” “Sure thang.” Stonecypher walked slowly to- ward Catriona’s open-topped sun- bathing tent DANSE MACAHHE UELMASTER R. Smith ad- justed his black tarn. “Do not touch your shooting hand to your weapon until the buzzer sounds,” he instructed. “Otherwise, the weapon may be carried as you wish. At the slightest infringement of the rules, a robot gun will kill you. If you have any elaborate last words, say them now; because the pen is soundproof.” He laughed an obvi- ously much rehearsed laugh. L. Dan wore orange tights today, but no armor, since the rules re- quired deulists to present naked

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THY ROCKS AND RILLS 91 torsos for probable bullets. Stone* cypher faced the duelinaster. “I reckon this room is the only place a man really has free speech,” he said. ‘‘You’re deaf, and can’t sec good enough to read lips, and me or him will soon be dead. ”1 don’t believe in this duclin’. It pves a man who’s wrong a chance to kill one who’s right. A man shouldn’t oughta have to die because he’s right. Just like ever’- thing else in this Manly Age. It’s painful. That oughta be our motto, More Pain, ju.st like in the Ma- cliine Age it was More Gadgets At Any Cost.” “Why don’t you go on tevee?” Dan jeered. “She’ll soon forget you, farmer.” Stonccypher’s words rolled over the hobbyist. “I reckon the Manly Age came because a man started thinkin’ he wasn’t much of a man any more. He was just as fast as his car, and just as strong as his elec- tric lawn mower. And a loud mi- nority of the women was claimin’ they could do anything a man could, and maybe better. So tlie men started playin’ football in shorts and huntin’ c.ach other on game preserves, and the women went back to the kitchen and bed- room. Lots of things that went on undercover come out in the open. Cockfights, dogfights, coon-on-a- log, duels, stallion fights, bullfights. “And people like you, L. Dan, went on livin’. You got no right to live. You don’t do any useful work. The Earth is slowly starvin’, and you take the grub out of some fel- ler’s mouth who might could help a little. That’s why — ” “Time!” announced the duel- master with his face close to a large clock on the wall. He opened the door. Two men carrying a body on a stretcher passed. The body had four bullet wounds in it. Dan said, “That drivel gives me a real reason to kill you, farmer. I’ll be good to her for a few days.” As prearranged, Dan took the * right branch of the corridor and Stonecypher, the left. A hooded snan gave Stonecypher the Mag- num revolver and shut him into a space resembling a windowed closet with a door on cither side. Stone- cypher secured the revolver in the clip holster. His bony hands formed knotted fists. The pen door slid back. Stone- cy|3hor stepped into a room thirty by ninety feet with three bullet- marred concrete walls and a fourth wall of bulletproof glass, behind which sat the ghoulish audience. Dan, crouched and with his pistol in the crook of his left elbow, ad- vanced. His right hand fluttered an inch from the pistol butt. Stonecypher, grotesque with thin chest exposed and overall bib wrapped around belt, waited. Two photoelectric robot machine guns followed each movement of the duelists. A buzzer sounded. Dan’s index finger failed to reach the trig- ger, for a guardian machine gun removed the hobbyist’s head in a short efficient burst. The noise of a louder buzzer punctuated the exe- cution. When the soxmdproof inner door of the closet opened, the hooded man, who had a pair of crossed pis- tols tattooed on the back of his right hand, said, “He was too anxious.” “Yeah,” Stonecypher grunted.

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92 ROBERT ERNEST GILBERT The man watched Stonecypher pass out to the street. Stonecypher snapped up the bib of his overalls. An extremely rare bird, a robin, hopped from his path and con- tinued a fruitless search for insects. Stonecypher walked down Watauga Street until the pavement vanished under the brownish-green water of Kings Lake. Catriona squealed when she saw him. Ignoring all Correct Proce- dures, she almost knocked him down and attempted to smother him. "Ah told you it just took prac- tice!” she blubbered. “You did it, Stony!” With muffled mumbles, Stone- cypher managed to put her in the Tenite canoe. The few people along the quay, who had witnessed the illegal manner of their meeting, watched with shock, or with in- credulity, or with guarded admira- tion. When they saw that Stonecy- pher’s hand rested on a bolstered revolver, they lost their curiosUy. Wading, Stonecypher shoved ^e canoe off and hopped aboard. As he took up the paddle, Ills hand trailed in the water and released the small buzzer that had made pos- sible Catriona’s best carnival act. For July, the afternoon was cool. Blue-gray clouds drifted before larger di^ white masses. To the southwest opened the mile-wide mouth of Horse Creek; and, far beyond, the great blue pyramid of Chimney Top Mountain stood de- fiantly above Sevier Lake. The world seemed water broken only by partly submerged hills and mountains. Stonecypher gazed across the Lake at Bays Mountain and at the five Cement Islands apparently Boating against that backdrop. Softly, he said, “Some follw call the big one Martyrs Island. There’s a marble pillar right in the middle. Nobody knows who put it there, and the Government never both- ered to knock it down. I reckon the poison ivy’s covered it by now, but I went and read the inscription, once, when I was a boy. It says: “They moved me off the Powell River. They covered my farm with water. I bought me another near Beans Station. The water covered it. I was getting old, but I built at Galloway Mill. When they flooded that, I gave up and lived in Kingsport. I will not move again.” The canoe bounded over the choppy water, one hundred feet above the silted streets of the flooded city of Kingsport. Stone- cypher said, "The time I was there, you could still find a few copter- trooper helmets and old cankered shells. Couple of years back, a diver brought up two skulls off shore.” Catriona’s eyes remained moist, but she smiled. Her teeth were beautiful. "It’ll be all rahght. Stony. You can’t change the wo'ld in one dav. You did fine, and Moe will too.” “I told you to stay at the bull- ring,” Stonecypher said. "Ah couldn’t watch that! And those puny, little, mousy women stare and talk about me, because thcah’s a little meat on mah cah-

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THY ROCKS AND RILLS 93 cass. Oswell said Moe would be last, anyhow. Ah was so wo’ied about you, ah couldn’t sit still.” Only a few boats, mainly those of piscatorial maniacs, were on the lake. Stonecypher glared at them and muttered, “1 hope 1 did right by Moe. He wanted to fight. May- be, Catriona, if I’d had you when I found out he could talk — not ju.st mimic — I’d of raised him difl'crcnt. Maybe I shouldn’t have shown him that bullfight movie, but I won- dered what the only bull to see a bullfight from outside llie ring thought about it. “That led him to wantin’ to know all about the Man-Animal War. I told him the best I could, how one of a man’s basic drives is to exterminate, ever’ since prehis- toric times when he did in the vvooly mammoth and rhinoceros. Tlie do- do, quagga, passenger pijii^'on, great auk, aurochs. Key df'rr, bisi»n. Af- rican elephant, gorilla, tiger - therc’.s an awful list. Why, five hun- dred species of iiummals, alotu*, have become estinrt siiue 1 .A. I)., ’bout four hundred of tlu-m si>u<‘ A man’ll even kill oil’ oiIht men, like die Neanderthals and the Tasmanians!” Sionecyplier resti-d die paddle and grinned, faintly, at Catriona reclining in the bow. “I guess you’ve heard diis before.” “Go rahght ahead, Stony," Catri- ona sighed. “Ah like to heah yoali speech. It’s the only time you really get angry, and you look so fine and noble.” “Yeah. Well. I told Moe how a man exterminates useful or harm- les.s species, and then he lets dan- gerous ones, like rats, eat lum out of hoii.se and home. Course, I ex- plained this was just kinship. Folks used to argue man come from a monkey, or from spontaneous com- busdon, or something. Now we got fossil proof he’s not like anything anybody ever saw. He’s a case of straight line development all the way back to the first mammal, a sort of rat.” The canoe glided past Highland Pier. Every type of small water- craft, from a punt, through an electric motorboat, to a sloop, had docked. More boats lined the shore on either side of the pier. The fly- ing field contained so many butter- fliers and copters that there seemed no possibility of any of them taking ofl’. Human voices welled in a mob roar from the great open cylinder of the bullring. A huge banner draped on die curving white wall proclaimed, in ten-foot letters: DEPENDENCE DAY BULLFIGHT HONOR THE GREAT GOVERNMENT ON WHICH WE DEPEND SIX BUI.LS— THREE KILLERS Stonecypher ran the canoe aground in a patch of dead weeds, 1‘xixiscd by a slight lowering of the lake level, and helped Catriona over the rocks that lined the bank. Me said, “I told Moe other things men do to animals. All the labora- tory butchery, done because it would be cruel to treat a man like that, but it’s all right with a ani- mal, like takin’ out a dog’s brains and lettin’ ’im live. I told him about huntin’, how the kudu become ex- tinct ’cause a bunch of fools wanted to see w'ho could kill the one with

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94 ROBERT ERNEST GILBERT the biggest horns. “I told him the things done to domestic animals. Dehornin’, emas- culatin’, brandin’, slaughterin’ with sledge hammers and butcher knives, keepin’ ’em in filthy bams. A man tells hisself he’s superior to other animals. If he does somethin’ bad, he u.ses words like inhuman, brutal, animal instincts, instead of admittin’ it’s just typical behavior. And the psychologists take some animal, say a dog, and put him in a maze, sometliing the dog never saw before. If the dog don’t run the maze in two seconds flat, they say he's a pretty stupid animal. He just operates on instinct, but they can’t say how instinct operates. They’ll have a time explainin’ Moc’s instincts. “I reckon the American bison made Moe madder than anything. They killed the bison off, ’cept for protected herds, in the Nineteenth Century. A hundred years lal«ir, the herds had got pretty big, so they declared open season on bison. No more bison.” A recorded voice growled, “No guns permitted in ring. Deposit gun in slot. No guns permitted in ring.” Stonecypher moved his permit in ineffectual passes before the elec- tric eye. He shrugged, dropped the revolver into the riot, and left his thumb print. Catriona displayed the passes Ringmaster Oswell had given them. The tcveer blinked, and the gate granted admission. They rode the escalator to the sixth tier and squirmed through pandemonium to their seats. The male portion of the crowd wore every possible style and color of dress, in complete emancipation from the old business suit uniform, but the women wore sober false- bosomed sundresses and expressed excitement in polite chirps. Stone- cypher pressed his mouth against Catriona’s ear and whispered through the din, “You got to un- derstand, Cat, whatever happens, Moe wanted it. He says he can scare some killers into givin’ up bullfights and maybe help stop it.” “He’ll do fine, Stony.” Several spectators stopped vent- ing tlieir wrath on the unfortunate man in the ring to gawk at the couple. Catriona’s unorthodox phyrique aroused sufficient amaze- ment; but, in addition, Stonecy- pher gave her the front seat and took the rear one, the correct place for a woman, himself. Below, through a rain of plasti- bottles and rotten eggs, a tired man walked to the barrier which Oswell adverti.sed as the onlv wooden fence in seven states. Behind the killer, a small electric tractor dragged out the bloody carca.ss of a bull. A gasping, gibbering little man grabbed Stonecypher’s arm and yelped, “Illard is the clumsie.st kill- er, he ran the sword in three times, and the kid with the dagger had to stick twee before they finished, Big Dependence Day Bullfight my jet! This is the worst in years, Fergus made the only clean kill all after- noon, and I flew every one of eighteen hundred miles myself to see it, this last bull better be good!” The little man waved his bag of rotten eggs. Although the bullfight followed the basic procedures established by Francisco Romero in the Spain of

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THY ROCKS AND RiLLS 95 1700, changes had occurred, in- cluding the elimination of all Span- ish words from the vocabulary of the spectacle since the unpleasant dispute with the Spanish Empire twenty years Ixifore. The gaudy costpmes worn by participants had been replaced by trunks and sneak- ers. A purring grader smoothed the Simd. The crowd fjuieted, except for those iicai' the box of Ringmas- ter Oswcll. 'I'hcy suggested in ob- si enc tejTiis that the ir immov be re- funded. A trumpet recording blared. A Miulct dot)r, inscril>ed, “Moe of Bays Mountain Fann,” opened. 1‘lu* irowd awaited the first wild rusli of ilie bull. It failed to materialize. vmxw n\Ai.E SLOWLY, Mor came tlirough the doorway. Above, (ni a plat- form inside tlie hanier, stoc>d a gray-haireci man who stuck identi- fying, streamered il-ul' into bovine shoulders. His hand s\sc])i down, carrying StonccypluT’s chosrn col- ors, black. Moc’s walk upset the man’s tim- ing. His arm moved too stum. Mtw’.s front hooves left tin* gmund. Honrs hooked. The gray-liaircd him again. He smashed against the barrier. Tomas threw his cape over the bull’s face. The

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96 ROBERT ERNEST GILBERT left horn pinned the cape to Tomas’s n^ed chest over the heart. Moe retired to the center of the ring and bellowed at the crowd, which, delirious from seeing hu- man blood, applauded. Blood cov- ered Moe’s horns, dripped through the long hair on his neck, and trickled down between his eyes. Quavering helpers removed the bodies. The first lancer, livid and trembling, rode a blindfolded horse into the ring. “He’ll fix this horse!” the crowd slavered. “We’ll see guts this time!” Moe charged. The lancer backed his mount against the barrier and gripped his weapon, a stout pike. Sand sprayed like water as Moe swerved. On the left side of the horse, away from the menacing pike, Moe reared. The lancer left the saddle. A tangle of naked limbs thrashed across the wooden fence and thudded against the wall of the stands. Twenty-five thousand people held their breaths. The blindfolded horse wailed with dilated nostrils and every muscle vibrating in ter- ror. Moe produced a long red tongue and licked the horse's jaw. Fergus dispersed the tableau. Red-haired, lean, and scarred with many past gorings, the popular killer stalked across the sand drag- ging his cape and roaring incom- prehensible challenges. In the stands, the cheer leaders of the Fer- gus Fanclub lead a welcoming yell. “Yeaaaa, Fergus! Fergus! Fergus! Rah, rah, rah^’ Moe wandered through the help- ers trying to distract him from the horse and looked at the killer. Fer- gus stamped his foot, shook the cape, and called, “Bull! Come on! Charge!” Moe completely circled the killer, who retired in disgust when another lancer rode into the ring. “Stick him good!” Fergus di- rected. The pike pointed at the great muscles of Moe’s back, as the bull charged. Moe’s head twisted in a blur of violence. Teeth clamped on the shaft behind the point. Too surprised to let go, the lancer fol- lowed his weapon from the saddle. He released his hold when Moe walked on him. Like some fantastic dog stealing a fresh bone, the bull trotted around the ring, tail high and pike in mouth. The crowd laughed. Wild-eyed men carried out the trampled lancer. A third, and extremely reluctant, lancer reined his horse through the gate. A pike in the mouth of a ton of beef utterly unnerved the man. He stood in the saddle and jumped over the barrier where a rain of rot- ten eggs from the booing fans spat- tered him thoroughly. An uninjured bull pawed alone in the sand when the trumpet recording announced the end of the lancers* period. The crowd noises softened to a buzz of speculation, questions, and com- ment, as the realization that weird events had been witnessed slowly penetrated that collective mind. The bull had not touched a horse, no pike had jabbed the bull, and five men had been killed or In- Govemment!” a clear jured. “Great

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THY ROCKS AND RILLS 97 voice swore. “That ain’t no bull, it’s a monster!” Tliis opinion came from a sticker in Illard’s team. Fer- gus attempted to persuade the man to help, since both of Fergus’s stick- ers were dead. Part of the crowd agreed with lire stii ker’s tluMight. for people began moving furtively to the exits with cautions glances at the animal in llu' ring. ’I'hcy, of course, could not know tiuit tin* bull had been trained, with rul)her- tipped pikes and ilimiiiiirs, in every phase of the bulllight; tltal he knew the first, and only, law of staying alive in the ring, “Charge the man and m»t the cloth.’' The clouds that had obscured the sky all tlay formed darker masses tinted with pink to the east, and the black clot of a turkey buz- zard wheeled soaring in the gloom. Carrying, in either hand, a barbed stick sparkling with plastic stream- ers, Fergus wnlkc'd into the ring. His assistants uiutiously flanked him with capes, Moe dropped the pike and charged in the ajiproved manner of a bull. Fergus raised the sticks high and brought them down on the humped back, although the back was not there. Tlie sticks dropped in the sand. As the killer leaped aside in the completion of a reflex action, a horn penetrated the seat of his trunks. The Fergus Fanclub screamed while their hero dangled in ignominy from the horn. Moe ignored tlae flapping, frantic capes. The killer gingerly gripped a horn in either hand and tried to lift him- self off. Gently, Moe lowered his head and deposited the man beside an opening. Fergus scrabbled to safety like a rat to a hole. Four helpers with capes occupied the ring. When they saw death ap- proaching on cloven hooves, two of them cleared the fence. The third received a horn beside his back- bone and tumbled into the fourth. A dual scream, terrible enough to insure future nightmares, echoed above the screeching of the crowd. Moe tossed tlie bodies again and again across the bloody sand. Silence slithered over the High- land Bullring and over a scene reminiscent of the ring’s bloody parent, tlie Roman Arena. Men sprawled gored, crushed, and dead across the sand. A section of the blood-specked barrier leaned splin- tered and cracked, almost touching the concrete wall. Unharmed, Fer- gus stood on one side of the battle- ground, Illard on the other. Fergus reached over the wooden fence for red flag and sword. Turning his back on the heaving Moe, who .stood but ten feet be- hind, the killer faced the quaking flesh that was Ringmaster Oswell, high up in the official box. The killer’s voice shook, but the bitter satire came through the sound of departing boats and aircraft. Fer- gus said, ‘T dedicate this bull to Ringmaster Oswell who has pro- vided for us tliis great Dependence Day Bullfight in honor of the Great Government on which we all de- pend.” He turned and faced the bull. Moe, for once, rushed the red flag, the only thing that made bull- fights possible. His great shoulders presented a fair target for the sword. Fergus, perhaps the only bull-

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98 fighter ever to be gored in the brain, died silently, lire sword raked a shallow gash long Moe’s loin. In the sixth tier of the stand.s, saliva drooled from the slack mouth of the little man seated be- side Stoneiypher. “Now’s your chance. Illaid!” the man stjualled. “Be a hero! The last of the bull- fighters! Kill him. Illard!” Illard walked on shaking legs over bodies he did not sec. He was short, fur a killer, and growing bald. 1 Ic picked up the sword Fer- gus had dropped, looked into the gory face of the bull, and toppled in the sticky sand. The sword quiv- ered point-first beside his body. hei:es.sio\al A WIND whipped down into Highland Bullring. Riding the wind, blacker than the clouds, the Inquisitive turkey bu/.zard gliiled over the rim of the stands with air whistling through the spatulnte feathers of rigid wings. The buz- zard swooped a foot above Moe’s horn.s and soared swiftly over the opposite side of the ring. That started the panic, although Moe’s charge accentuated it. He crashed into the sagging section of the barrier. Cloven hooves scraped the wooden inclined plane, and Moc stopped with front feet in the first tier of the stands. He bellowed. The bull killed only one specta- tor, a man on whom he stejiped. The hundreds who died killed themselves or each other. They ROBERT ERNEST GILBERT leaped from the towering rim of the ring, and they jammed the exits in writhing heaps. Moe’s precarious stance slipped. Slowly, he slid back into the ring, where Ringmaster Oswell, quiver- ing in a red toga, gestured from the darkness under the .stands, The fat man squeaked and waved. Moe’s charge embodied the gen- uine fighting rage of a maddened bull. The scarlet door closed be- hind him. Stonecypher, with fists bloody and a heap of unconscious fear- crazed spectators piled before him, sat down. “Well. Moe,” he whis- pered, ‘T reckon you got even for a few of the bulls that’s been tor- tured to death to atnuse a bunch of nuts. Maybe it wasn’t the right way to do it. I don't know. If I’d only had the gun—” Catriona turned a white mask of a face up to Stonecypher. “They killed him, in thenh?” “Sure. Bullfigluin’ never was a s|x>rt. The bull can’t win. If he’s not killed in the ring, he’s slaugh- tered under the stands.” “You have nioah smart-bulls. Stony.” The black copter came in with the sunset and hovered over the sand. The face of Duclmaster Smith peered out under his black tarn, while a hooded man, with pis- tols tattooed on his hand, aimed an automatic rifle. The duelniaster smiled at Stonecypher and cried, “You really should have waited un- til you were farther out in the Lake, before you dropped that lit- tle buzzer in ^e water.” THE END

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Fights of th« Future '^EN YEARS from now, our air fighting will probably bo done by high-flying automatic machines controlled from the ground by technicians. War vidims will be the unlucky ones on whom the bombs arc released, while the men who do the actual fighting will be comparatively safe. Powerful destructive bombs and intercepting missiles will chase each other at s|x*«’ds, heals and heights that the liuinan body could never stand. Until recently, the speed of sound was considered mysterious and unbeatable. Today, our fighting planes can beat this speed in short spurts. And this i.s only the beginning. The National Advisory Coinmiltei* for Aeixinau* tics, in expcrinu-niing with designs for planes and miwiles of ilie fu- ture, is exploring the hy)KTM>nic regions. This Ixjgins at five times the speed of sound. And at more than five miles up, where super- planes must fly. sound’s sjK'cd comes to 3,300 miles per hour. The dangers at such sjirrds arc tremendous. But there will lx- no reason for man to expose himself to these rigors. The machines that his skill and brains develop wilt do that for him. The danger of overheating is the principal barrier when planes and missiles are pushed through the air. At three times the speed of sound, the friction between the air and the surface of the plane produces a temperature of 600 degiees F. At five times sound, the temperature may reach 1,600 dcgrcc.s. This would melt most metals into a shapeless mass, kill the crew and destroy the equipment. This heat is created in the thin boundary layer of air around the aircraft. \N'hile for short spurts of uliraspecd it will not soak into the craft, for sustained flight even te.st planes must be virtually flying re- frigerators. Titanium and other such metals capable of beating the heat effect will be used to overcome this dan- ger. There is even talk of construct- ing supersonic planes of a glass laminate made of fiber glass and held together by a suitable bond- ing resin, like polyester. The phe- nolics and melamines could also be used as bonding resins. From varied tests and uses, this type of glass ap- pears able to w ithstand the searing skin friction temperature generated in uhra-high «pecd flight much bet- tcT than most metals used in to- day’s aircraft. From all indications, air fighting of (he future will probably be strictly impersonal. The machines themselves will be the pilots; the crew on the ground will merely start the machinery to working and guide them along their way. The wars in which our children and grandchildren will share will un- doubtedly be infinitely more de- 99

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100 SCIENCE BRIEFS structive, overwhelmini^ and far- fetched than anything we can dream up in today’s fiction. The Robot Whipping Boy HE ROBOT of science fiction may soon have an actual coun- terpart who will be used to perform the kinds of work that humans con- sider too dangerous — such as clear- ing up radioactive debris, dis- mantling bombs, closing broken gas mains, etc. To operate this type of mechan- ism, it would be necessary to mount the robot on a vehicle radio- controlled from a console set up a safe distance away. The radio-con- trolled arms will manipulate like human arms, while the operator will get a three-dimension^ view of the progress of the work through his binocular television camera. Thus, the mechanical hand re- sponding to the action of the oper- ator’s hand will work almost with a sense of touch in handling the dangerous objects. As the operator’s hand doses upon an object, the tnccbanical hands will do likewise, so that the o[>erator will feel the resistance imposed by the object that U being handled some distance away. Lost New World T THE VERY bottom of the sea — a depth of approxi- mately five, and in some cases 6^, miles — there exists an entire world of sea life. This was described in the reports of a recent deep sea ex- pcditi<Hi made by a Danish naval vessel. Twenty-seven different va- rieties of sea life were dredged up from their black world where they live in close to freezing tempera- tures, and under pressures of about 15,000 poimds to the square inch. Included were all types of crea- tures similar to poljps and co^al, all sedentary-type animals, but it is possible that larger and more active creatures such as a type of fish and squid also exist at these depths. Right now, however, it is impos- sible to do more than vaguely scratch the surface of this world, since we haven’t developed the right tools for sea bottom research. What we have to work with now is still in a crude state. Scientists also found that the bottom of the sea was infested with bacteria which showed major differences in character from bac- teria found on land or in surface waters. It’s the last frontier on otir planet: the bottom of the sea. Watch Those Scales! TO JUDGE from an 1800-year- old Roman bronze weighing instrument on exhibit in a Balti- more, Maryland, art museum, it would seem that the ancient Roman merchant didn't have as much of an opportunity to weight the scales as his modern counter- parts do. According to the instrument ex- hibited, the Roman scale worked on the lever principle. There is a 14-inch portable bronze rod which hangs by any one of tliree hooks, each on a different face of the rod. The item to be weighed is hung on hooks which are suspended from a

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SCIENCE BRIEFS 101 chain at the end of the short arm of the lever. This idea is very simi- lar to that used in certain types of scales in use ttxlay. Only a .single counterweight, however, was used in the old Ro- man scale to balance tin* object be- in^ weighed. Its operation was simple: all one did was slide the counterweight hark and forth along the graduated .scale on the long ann of the lever until it bal- anced. The weight could then be read from the scale. The entire in- strument has three fares and three scales, each one exposed when the scale is hung by its corresponding hook. Voodoo Con Kill You! HE EXPRESSION “sc-ared to death” is more* than just that. According to Ois. W. Proctor Har- vey of Washington and Samuel A. Levine of Bosic'n, writing for the Journal of thf Amnican Medical Association, it is possible to be lit- erally frightened to dcMlh. Although (Ic.itli from fright is rather rare, abnormal heartbeats caused by fright from a prolonged and highly irregular pattern which the doctors say could lead to ven- tricular nbrillalion. This is a situa- tion where groups of heart muscles beat independently and without rhythm and the heart is unable to pump blood, thus resulting in death. Animal c-xperiments show' a nervous pathway from the hypoth- alamus— tlic base of the brain — to the heart. This — to a nonnal per- son in a highly frightening emo- tional situation — could cause types of ventricular irregularities which could result in death. The “voodoo” and “hexing” deaths of Africa and South Amer- ica and Australia are not myths. They actually do occur. The emo- tion^ stress of the terrorized fear brought out by “voodoo” or “hex- ing” can cause death, but it would be a gradual process rather than a sudden one. Things We Never Knew Until Recently nr HE prehistoric buffalo, ^ according to bones recently un- earthed in Texas, was almost twice as large as his modem progeny. The reason women are usually smaller than men is that the female — or estrogenic — hormone has a growth-suppressing action which is exerted through its stimulation of the adrenal gland to produce hor- mones similar to cortisone. These honnones depress the rate of en- ergy production and have a pow- erful action in checking replace- ment of skin cells and suppressing growth in general. A cubic foot of atmosphere at ground level holds three million times the amount of air of a cubic foot of atmosphere at an altitude of 100 miles. If laid edge to edge, the blood cells carried in the average adult human body would stretch 1 16,000 miles. One ordinary' glass marble could make 100 miles of glass fiber. The energy in an average thun- derstorm is equal to that dissipated by 50 A-bombs of the type dropped over Hiroshima.

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Norm Venner^s fancy was pretty well fixed on thoughts of elec- tronic calculators — until the invention started making passes at the inventor! THE Hninantic /Inalape By W. W. Skupeldyckle Illustrated by Ed Enish Mathematicians are just like people: old, young, fat, thin, male, female. This one was male, thirty-five, with steady brown eyes and a nice smile when he re- membered to use it. His name was Norman Venner. and besides being a mathematical whiz generally, he had. designed and built an elec- tronic brain, or calculator, which was in some ways smarter than himself — and a lot less diffident. Electronic calculators are invari- ably given acron^mic names such as BINAG, SEAG, and MANIAC, and nine out of ten of them are of the digital type. This is a nice way of saying that they count on their fingers. Thc/re nearly as big as ya^ts, and cost more, but can cal- culate a million times faster than any human. Norm’s machine was of the ana- logue type, which is less flexible, less complex, and vastly smaller and cheaper. He called it the ICWEA (ICK-wee-ah), which stood for “I Can Work ’Em All!’' It could, loo! It was especially good at deriving equations from curves, which was really something. Charley Oglethorpe burst into the office one morning, catching Norm in a brown study. “Hi, Gen- ius. How is she perking now?” “All right, except the pen skips a little sometimes and makes a messy curve.” “Have to damp that arm better. When can I have her to work on?” “Soon a.s I finish these Mugu problems.” Charley stared at him. “Mugu. Guided-missile center. It’s nice busine.ss if we can get it — the digitals are all booked up months ahead, and the particular type of problem they send us b right up our alley.” “I thought you w’ere kidding me, 102

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104 W. W. SKUPELDYCKLE like that Boolean Algebra stufT.” “Wasn’t kidding then, eitlicr.” “I’ll stick to instrument-making, thanks. You math guv's never have any fun.” Norm shrugged, turned to the telephone, and called an CNtcnsion. “Hennosa.” It was a rich, |jlca.s* ant voice. “Vic? IIow about the rest of the Mugu cards? Ready yet?” "I’ll send diem up right away. Just finished them.” "Who was tliat?” Charley in- quired. “Vic Hermosa. Smart boy.” Charley smiled a little. There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Norm called. 'I'he door opened, and a small, neat girl entered. Her long bob was dark and silky, but windblown. She tossed her head and her hair set- tled into place, as if she had just brushed it. She extended a pack of punched cards. "Thank you,” Nonn said, grave- ly- The girl looked up at him sud- denly, and he stepped back a little. She had sur|3rising, dccp-violet eyes, and their glance seemed to hav-c a tangible impact. She nod- ded grave acknowledgment and left. "Damn it, I wish I could do that!” Norm complained. "Make goo-goo eyes?” “No. Shake my head so mv hair would automatically be combed like hers. I’ve been fighting this cowlick ever since I’ve been a kid — stocking caps, gunk, the works. Still got it. And the part moves around and I have to hunt for it.” "Know who she is?” "Nope. Clerk, mes.senger, I guess. They’re always hiring new ones." “Doesn’t she ever speak?” “Of course site — come to think of it, I’ve never heard her. Must say it’s a relief after the usual yack- cty-yack. Haven’t anytliing to talk to her about, an>wav. She’s just a child.” “A pretty one, though.” "Yes, she is.” “You sure don’t know any- thing about women. If anyone made eyes at me that way, I’d do something alxnu it.” "What, for instance?” Norm in- quired dryly. "Well, of course, I’m married. But I'd find out wlio she was, any- how. Sometimes I think you’re dead and don’t know It.” “Sometimes I agree with you." Norm said. He led one of the punch cards into the transmitter head, whii h fingered the holes and told ICWEA what tlic problem was. ICWEA began drawing a curve on the cur\'c tracer. It would liave taken Norm or anyone else davs to arrive at the an.swer. “Sec? Skips here and tliere, but I can ink in the gaps.” “Looks like the pen catches on the paper a little. I'll grind the point while I’m at it. Say, that thing really tliinks, doesn’t it?" “In a way. Generally, the digi- tals have it all over the analogues when it comes to reasoning, but I built an extra brain into her." “Where?” “The ‘Y’ path. Remember? Tries several appropriate methods in sue-

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THE ROMANTIC ANALOGUE 105 cession. I analyzed my own meth- ods of attack, and built the same methods into her. She’s an elec- tronic except faster and more accurate.” “I bet. She’s more alive than you are.,\Vhy don’t you step out a lit- tle? First thing you know, you’ll be getting old, and it’ll be too late.” “Leave the match-making to the women. I may be old, but I'm not an old fool. It’s fall, not spring.” “Yeah? All you need to be an old fool is just a little more time.” ORM IGNORED HIM, and took a card from his desk. It seemed to be an extra, not with the pack. He put it in the machine. The curve-tracer began to draw a rather abrupt curve, which mean- dered half across the sheet before Norm realized what it was. Sud- denly, an image leaped to his mind’s eye and he watched with fascination while the pen traced this roatheraatical' impossibility to the far end of the paper, and in obedience to several successive neg- ative _ factors in the problem re- traced in the opposite direction a litde lower down. A head, a slightly lifted elbow, full rounded breast, a knee luxuri- ously drawn up, a dangling arm, all in one continuous line. There was nothing obvious about it; it was formalized, but with the indi- vidual style that is the artist’s signa- ture. Once seen, the image persis- ted. “Hey, Charley, look at this!” “Yeah. What about it?” “What about it! You ever see anything like it?” “Sure. It’s a closed loop, like a hysteresis curve.” "An hysteresis curve. But this isn’t one. Look closely.” “Of course, it has harmonics and variables in it. Might be one of those gas-discharge curves, if the gas tube happened to be defective. ' I’ve seen some funny . . .” “Look! It’s a reclining figure, with the brad turned toward you — sec?— and the forearm over the head — Breast, knee here, foot with the toe pointed, calf, thigh, and the near arm hanging. Re- markabie, once vou see it . . “You’re crazy. All I can see is a closed loop with some wrinkles in it.” “Why, it’s nearly as plain as a photograph! 1 can’t under- stand . . .” “Plain, my eye! If that’s the arm hanging down, and this the hand, where are the fingers? That ‘hand’ is just an oval. You got some imag- ination if you can get a reclining figure out of that.” “Not a nude of the beer-garden type, I grant you. This is real art. Know what this means? Have you any idea how complex a formula must be to trace a curve like this? Just a plain hyperbola is bad enough. This is a test of the ma- chine. Those Mugu boys have worked out this formula to see if she could break it down and draw the equivalent . curve, though I don’t see how they did it. Even the larger digitals would find this a tough nut to crack, but our baby is a whiz at curves, see? I wonder how they justified the machine- time on it. Of course it is barely possible that they derived the equa-

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106 W. W. SKUPELDYCKLE lion themselves, but it must have taken weeks if they did.” “Maybe it took us tong as you say, but I still can’t see any reclin- ing figure in that curv'e. It’s just a closed curve with some wiggles and bumps on it.” “In anv case, I’m going to send this to Mugu right away. They'll want to know how long it took.” “I wouidirt, if I were you.” “Why not?” “Maybe trouble developed in the inaihine. Better run some more cards through it first. But right now I’m going home. We’re having a roast tonight. Say, why don’t you come to supper with us? Alice would hi' delighted — she w’as just wondering what liappened to you. ril phone her . . “No, no! I have to — look, I got to find out what this means, vou sec? It isn’t that — explain it to Alice, will you? We need this c<m- tract, need all the work wc can get, you understand?” “Sure, sure. IIow about next week? OK? Well, see you in the morning.” Charley left, grinning to himself as he closed the door be- hind him. IIJORM DIDN’T SEE the grin. li He was already puzzled enough; ICWEA behaved herself perfectly on the next five c.ards, and kept her mind on her business. Meanwhile, Norm studied the first curve again. Funny Charley couldn’t see it — the figure was puz- zling at first, until you got the idea, but then it was so clear. Or was it? Suddenly, he couldn’t see it him- self. He turned it upside down and sidewaN’s; it was just a funny closed curve, having neither mathematical nor structural significance. Maybe he was going crazy! He threw the curve down on his desk and, soothed by the whirring of the tracer motor, fell into a brown .study. Suddenly, the image of the brunette with the violet eves appeared. No reclining nude, she; site shook her head in that habitual gesture and her long bob fell per- fectly in place. She turned, with demurely downcast lashes and looked up at him with her violet eyes, and Norm came out of liis trance with a start. lie removed the last cur\T -a sijnple hy[jt*rboUc curve, probably a problem in .atlcnuaiion or decay of some kind - and put in the last pundi-card. 'Fhe machine started up immediately; the curv’e was elliptical. Then a vertical down- stroke*. retraced and with a gentle half-loop added. It was writing! P-r-o-p-i-n-q . . . What might this be? He watched, fascinated, as the letters continued. “Propinquity is the mother of love,” it said, and stopped. llis trained mathematical logic gave him an immediate solution to the enigma : he was cracking up. It was utterly impossible to derive the equation to wTite “propin- quity” in Spencerian script in less than a hundred man-hours, nor could a mathematical calculator be hired for so frivolous a purpose. It was fantastic, impossible; therefore, it w'as not so, and he wa.s either dreaming or crazy. Maybe lljinking about diat little brunette . . . Sure- ly not; still, lie had been driving himself pretty hard. In the mom-

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THE ROAAANTIC ANALOGUE 107 ing he would be fresh and alert. If it were a trick, he’d catch the trickster. And if it turned out to be a perfectly logical curve, he’d see a doctor. He left the curve in the niachine, closed the ventilator in the wail over* his desk, and turned on the burglar alarm. I'his was nothing so crude as a loose board with a switch, but a quite elaborate elec- tronic circuit that produced a field near the door. It wouldn’t work on j^osts, but if any material body en- tered that field, it would trip the alarm and start a regular Mardi Gras. Security required by govern- ment contracts hardly demanded so much, but for n small plant it was sufficiently cheap, and Charley had had a lot of fun with it. Char- ley! Have to keep him out, too; and being its daddy, he'd know how to disable the aLirni. Of course, it would really be sufficient to tie a thread across the door which would break if anyone entered. He had no thread, but after a moment’s thought, he pulled a three-cent stamp out of his bill-fold, and turned out the office-light. After glancing up and down the hall, he stuck the stamp on the door so that it would tear if the door opened. IN THE MORNING, the stamp was still intact, and it was hard to see, even in broad daylight. The paper in the curve-tracer was per- fectly blank, and there was no punch-card in the transmitter head. It might still be an elaborate joke, but the chances were small. He might be cracking up, or may have imagined the whole thing. The best thing to do would be to put it entirely out of his mind. He succeeded in this until mid- morning, when ICWEA called him a “handsome devil.” He jerked the punch-card out of the transmitter and called Vic. “Hermosa.” That voice! It made chills run * up and down his backbone. A man had no right to a voice like that. “Vic? Bring up the calculations for the last batch of punch-cards, will you? I want to check something. The card numbers are F-141 through F-152.” “Right away.” Vic wasn’t especially gabby. A good-looking young Latin, who knew as much math as most, they'd probably lose him to the draft any day now. Presently, someone knocked on the door. “Come in.” It wasn’t Vic; it was the girl. She laid the pack of problems and their attached work-sheets on the desk, shook her hair into place — did she even have to comb it in the morning when she got up? — looked him briefly in the eye, and turned to go. “How is Vic these days?” Norm inquired, whimsically. “Is he able to get about?” The girl smiled politely at this obvious badinage and left. He checked the problems against cards as he came to them. He knew the punch code well enough to do this in his head, since the kind of operation indicated was quite obvious. But the problems ended with F-151, and the “hand- some devil” card was F-152. He got on the phone again.

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108 W. W. SKUPELDYCKLE “Vic? What’s your next card number?” “F-153.” One expected a little guy to have a high voice; this one was quite deep, but soft. “Are the cards numbered very far ahead?” “We usually number a couple of dozen cards, and assign the num- bers to the problems as they come in, from a scratch sheet.” “Any of the cards been lost?” “Oh yes, on occasion. So far, we’ve recovered them all — there are only two rooms where they could be. Up there or down here.” Thai voice! How could a man have a voice like that? And why should he care if one did? Why even notice it? Instead of going to the cafeteria for lunch, he drove downtown and consulted the fam- ily doctor, who laughed at him. Reassured, he returned to the plant and got a sandwich and milk be- fore going to his office. Old Doc Heffelbauer might be wrong, but he usually wasn’t. Norm liked sev- eral men, but he didn’t dream about any of them; if he was off his rocker, it was in some other manner. Visual delusions, for in- stance. The thing to do was to see Vic face to face. He called the office manager. “Henry? Send Vic Her- inosa up there, will you? I want to talk to him.” “Vic Hermosa? He’s in the Army. Didn’t you know?” “No, I didn’t. Who is the guy that answers the phone in Aat fruity voice?” Henry lowered his voice. “Guy? That’s Vic’s sister Virginia. She took Vic’s place when he left. Sim- plified the security investigation, and she’s good, too. About as good as Vic, I’d say.” “You mean to tell me a little girl like her cotild have a voice that deep?” “Startling, isn’t it? Of course, it’s actually a low contralto or tenor, but you expect her to be a lyric so- prano. Shall I send her up to see you. “No, no. I want to think a bit first. Say, who interviewed her?” “Charley, I suppose. Just a for- mality, anyhow; the Hermosas and the Oglethorpes are neighbors, you know.” ONDERFUL STUFF! Eso- teric phenomena in a sealed office! His very own calculating ma- chine made calculated love to him; his best friend was evasive, and the i’unior mathematician he thought le had been talking to every day for a couple of weeks was in the army. He might hammer away at all con- cerned until all the cards were ac- counted for, but that would dis- rupt office routine. Strategy, that was the thing! Be mighty peculiar if he couldn’t break up this busi- ness, now that he had an idea what wa.s going on. But did he? Whoever punched the cards needed the proper equa- tions derived first, and that called for a digital or an analogue com- puter. Preferably his own ICWEA, because she was especially good at curves. Deriving them by the old methods was just too much horse- work for any joke. And it didn’t have to be a joke, either. The joke might be just the cover for a more

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THE ROMANTIC ANALOGUE 109 sinister activity — hash! If that were the case, why call attention to it with funny-businc5s? But what hurt was the girl’s be- ing mixed up in it. He could take a rib from Charley, for instance, but the girl was practically a stranger — unfortuiutrly. Women could be cruel, as his inoihor had often warned liiiii. Me thought of his mother's last year in the hos- pital and winced. She had sacri- ficed so much for him; and yet, wa.s it really l)etier to be a free bachelor than an old family man like Charley? 'Iheie wasn't any- thing the matter with Alice that he could see. Charley loved her; that was plain. Tortight should solve the thing, once and for all. Ih‘ left the plant, speaking to everyone he met as he usually did. Then he .sneaked back in, with the guard's help, and hid in his own olliu- with the lights out. His phone rang and he almost answered it before he remembered that he was supposed to be gone. The building wa.s hy rto means de- serted; probably there was some- one working overiinie in more than one department, though the main business, for tlie day was finished. After a bit, tin* phone rang again, and he ignored it. Waiting was hard. He couldn't read, so he let his mind wander: tlie next modification to ICWEA — what a romantic old thing she was! He needed a haircut; he’d have to get one tomorrow, before the hair grew down over his ears. What a voice that girl had — and those eyes! Would they get further work from Mugu? How could they con- tact other Government agencies? ICWEA was w'orking out pretty good; would it be better to try to sell ICWEAs to anyone who wanted them, or to keep the old girl busy and work problems for others? Eventually, the former, though for the time being it might be better to continue as they were until the old girl was well known. Under present conditions, that shouldn’t take — what was that hiss- ing noise, a radiator? He listened closely. Hiss, hiss, hiss. No, it was a rubbing sound, with a scrape and an occasional hollow thump. Not loud, but close at hand. The ventilating system — how obvious, now! He watched a white hand disengage the catches and carefully lower the grill to his desk. A small figure in white cover- alls wormed its way out of the opening, landed on its hands on top of his de.sk, kicked feet clear and cartwheeled to the floor with disdainful ease. A head-shake set- tled a long bob in place; who could do that? Virginia Hermosa, and no one else! She couldn’t see him against the shine of the window. She turned ICWEA on and let her warm up, meanwhile fastening a large sheet of paper on the bed of the curve- tracer with tape. She put a blank card in the punching head, opened the door of the patching-panel cabinet and rearranged the patch- cords there. What a lab assistant she would make! Wasted in Set-up; anyone could punch cards, with a little practice. Well, not anyone, but any mathematician could. How thor- oughly she knew this machine!

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no W. W. SKUPELDYCKLE Charley must have told her, or her brother, plenty! With the curve-tracer runnin" at slow speed, she held the stylus steadily on the words she had writ- ten on the paper; the coordinates and rates were fed into IGWEA’s brain, she derived the horrible equations corresponding to the script, and obligingly translated these in turn to punchings on the card. So simple, when you saw It. But who would think of putting a bur- glar alarm on an air-duct? She could go all over the building through the walls if she chose. She was small enough to get through the ducts easily, though the vertical sections must be tough, even for so athletic a girl. The punching head stopped. Vir- ginia restored everything to its original condition, stuck tlte card she had punched into a pile of them, folded the paper and stuffed it into her pocket, and turned to go. Norm put on the lights. STARTLED, she whirled, churn- ing the air with her hands to keep her balance. He held his hand out for the paper. “No!” she said, her voice shrill with excitement. Wordlessly, he closed in on her, and after a brief struggle pulled the paper out of her pocket. It said, simply, “I love you.” Norm looked at Virginia, who turned her head away. “I can’t appreciate the joke just now, though I realize it must be very funny. Charley will enjoy it. But what a lot of trouble. Suppose you had got stuck in the duct, then what? Is it worth the risk? And the violation of security is very seri- ous.” “I’m going to quit anyway,” she muttered. So deep a voice for such a small girl! “Why did you do it?” “Well, it all started as a joke. Charley said you were shy, and — and — well . . .” “I see. Natural enough, I sup- pose. And you pretended to be your brother on the phone.” “No, I never said I was Vic,” she denied, quickly. He was handling this «all wrong; he wasn’t getting anywhere. All this was just talk, evasive talk. “Charley hired you?” “Yes. When Vic left for basic training.” “I see. Charley’s quite a joker, and it was hard to refuse him.” “It was kind of a joke at first, but you’re overlooking something: he’s very fond of you. He really is! He brags all the time about how smart you are, and what a nice guy.” “Charley’s married, and he wants to see me married, too.” “And you don’t like girls?” “Listen, you made that drawing, loo, and all the other stuff?” ‘^es.” An idea raised its pretty head. “Listen, I’ve decided to be very angry about this. You’ve made a fool of me, and I’m not going to let you get away with it. Now, I know a place that’s quiet, and has very good steaks; I’m going to t.ake you to supper and bawl you out. Better get into .street-clothes, and don’t take all night.” “Sorry, I couldn’t possibly. Some

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THE ROMANTIC ANALOGUE 111 other time, perhaps.’* “Tonight. Now. Get going.” “No. I have a date,” “Break itl” “No! You may be my boss, and I may be a forward hussy, but to- night I’m going home, and you can*t stop me!” How silly could you get? Sud- denly he understood the way of a man with a maidj love was older than conversation, and they both saw and understood through and beyond any silly words. In fact, the silUer the words, the better! “That’s what you think! You’re going with me, or you’re going to jail. They’ll put you in a dark cell with the rats. They have their own specially-bred rats, you know.” He leered, slyly. “You wouldn’t dare!” He shrugged, elaborately, and turned to the phone. She darted past him to the door and he caught her, pulled her back out of the hall. She was surpriangly strong and determined, and she ducked when he kissed her. “That one was a mess, wasn’t it?” he complained. She relaxed and began to laugh, and he joined her. She looked into his eyes a long moment, and pulled his head down, kissed him tenderly. “You don’t give a girl much choice — one big rat or a lot of little ones.” “I’ll give you no choice at all. I’ll teach you to play tricks on me! Hurry up and change.” “One of the girls keeps a semi- formal in her locker. I can borrow ■ it and we could go dancing.” “I don’t dance. Never learned. Couldn’t we just talk?” “We could, but we won’t; you’ll never learn any younger. You seem light enough on your feet Come on, it’ll be fun!” “Tonight I can do anything! You take too long to change, and I’ll tear the buildiilg down brick by brick with my bare hands, hear me?” “No, please don’t! I’ll hurry, I promise!” He waited impatiently at the door of the locker room. Now that he knew how to talk to a girl, he wanted to talk, and talk, and talk some more. He planned extrava- gant things to say when she came out, but when she appeared, smil- ing, he was struck dumb. She took his arm and they half ran, half skipped out of the building to his car. THE END BACK ISSUES — For those who collect science fiction maga2ines, and for those reading IF for the first time who want to catch up on the good stories they’ve missed, we have managed to obtain a I limited number of copies of all earlier issues. The/re available at 35c ehch, from the Circidation Dept., Qtiinn Publishing Co., Kingston, N. Y.

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If this story has a moral, it is: don*t shoot too soon, or you may never know what you hit! IN THE FOREST By Leslie Perri tllustrated by Dick Rockwell THERE was a wind. It blew scarlet maple leaf lay unmoving on * through the topmost branches the inky surface of a cold spring, of the tall trees in a silent, autum- Behind an interlacing of nakedly- nal forest- Dry leaves trembled ner- white birches a young deer stoc^ vously as the dark tree trunks still with wide lacquered eyes fixed stirred in a thrust of the wind. A on him. Its tar-black nostrils shone 112

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IN THE FOREST 113 in a quivering of fright and then like the wind it rustled momentarily on the forest floor of crackling leaves and disappeared. He breathed heavily with disap- pointment. He had transmitted fear, his own apprehensions, again. He moved from the protection of an overhanging rock. The ease with which he moved delighted him sensuously. This sportive ex- hilaration had to be curbed ; it made him less sensitive to the prob- lem at hand. He had to communi- cate. There were obviously lower or- ders, mainly the winged beings, Some were tiny and fragile. They would approach and light on him with the unwarincss of the naive, trusting to their speed to escape from danger. From them he had no consciousness of intelligence. They buzzed and swarmed and hummed with monotonous idiocy. The larger winged beings were more interesting but they wore the drabness of the forest on their sleek wings. They would not come close but made inquiring sounds and swooped away at his approach. He had learned to move silently through the silent forest. He felt almost weightless and inflnitely agile and this delight he had to re- nounce for the time. He could walk erect, or run with incredible rapidity. And when he stood erect his body attained a new vitality and with his head above the lower woody vegetable growths he ex- perienced a new dignity and re- gality. He was no petitioning refu- gee from the pitiless vise of unend- ing cold. Here in this autumnal forest was the warmth and promise of spring, for him. Excitement made him warmer and more jubilant still. He had to communicate. But with whom? With which of these beings could he share his unbelievable adven- ture? He ran down a sloping floor of the forest and ran and ran, slip- ping and sliding on the leaves un- til he was breathless. And came to halt in a marshy spot with the spikes of dried vegetation tower- ing about him. His heart beat with transcendental joy. He ached to babble of his happiness and then to relive his adventure in the telling of it to another intelligence the equal of his. He breathed more slowly and more slowly yet. Above the trees, caught in the web of branches, a brilliant blue sky gleamed and vir- gin cloud forms of purest white drifted slowly above the trap of the forest. And there, lower than the clouds, was the magnificence of a burning sun, a brilliance whose golden shadow wanned the tree trunks, the faces of the dry leaves, the soft, sucking black earth of the marsh and — him. In this warmth he luxuriated, with every sensibili- ty in his being. His body had starved for warmth. And while he stood thus, a long slithering form passed before him, describing in its movement across the moss and rocks and black leaf- moulded earth resilient, graceful curves. It passed him without no- tice, conveying nothing, an im- penetrable life form. And then, as suddenly, his mus- cles tightened and he withdrew reluctantly from the warmth of the sun.

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114 LESLIE PERRl E MOVED closer into the dried, tassel-topped grasses, feeling the scrape of sharp seed- bearing burrs as they clung to him. In a closely woven burrow, hidden from the sun and the reach of the wind, he heard a new sound, a louder, sharper crackle in the for- est. A new scent crowded into the burrow and overpowered him with a new sensation, a suffocating awareness of danger. He was cold again, and taut. The shadow from which he had escaped enclosed him again. This same deadly shadow of fear sapped his new vitality and destroyed his sensuous joy. There was tliat sharper sound, a baying shrillness that resounded through the forest quiet and ham- mered at the tree trunks and un- resisting vegetation with an unrea- soning in.sistencc. The echo of this new, insane voice of danger stirred him. He moved cautiously and quick- ly from the burrow and through the marsh. He was not erect now, but low and rapid-moving. He thought desperately of sun-ival now, not communication. Tliis howling, yapping being had found him out, scented him in the forest and he knew only that he had to escape. TTie forest floor rose gradually to greater and greater heights. He recognized the terrain and tlie character of this part of the forest. There was, at the summit, a sud- den drop down a face of Irregular outcroppings of stone. And at the base of this lay a vast body of w’a- ter in which he could hide. He could manage the tall face of stone, hiding and blending into its cold greyness. The baying and yapping was closer and he moved even more rapidly. The chase seemed directed to him, not purpfoselcss. Behind the baying and shrill crying of this hunter was yet another will. And this chilled him with hopeless hor- ror. He felt instinctively that he could communicate with this will, that this wa.s the intelligence he sought. But between it and him was this unleashed agent for his destruction. He ran more quickly and with a new sensation of weariness as the slope mounted. The vegetation was green here, and somewhat sparser. There were fewer places of refuge. At times he ran without the protection of any covering, only the moss and green ground vines underfoot. As he reached the summit he hc.'ird a new sound, a sharp unde- cipherable crack and whine over- head. When he had reached the top of the sharp rise, he stood erect for a moment, seeking the surest path for his descent of the sharp rock face. The body of wa- ter below gleamed wan7ily blue. The sun was a glorious, almost per- fectly round entity, low in the sky. His body .straightened involuntar- ily, rose up in the warmth of the sun, darkly and strangely outlined against the unbroken blue of the sky. And then as the crack and whine of the gun sounded in the evening quiet, not once but twice, and inexpertly a third time, lus shape crumbled against the sky and he toppled from the clilT edge into the still blue of the lake below.

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IN THE FOREST The man breathed heavily as he came up the hill. He was red- faced from exertion and frustra- tion. He was heavy and clumsy in the perfection Abercrombie and Fitch had tailored into his hunting clothes. He held his rifle, an ex- pensive and aesthetically beautiful instrument of destruction, like a blunt, ugly club. He stood at the edge of the clUT 115 and looked down. There was noth- ing. Only the serenity of the early evening, the unanswering quiet of the lake, the ridge of mountains, the darkening sky. “Now what in the hell was that?” the man muttered. The dog, beside him, shivered and sat down suddenly. Its howl was unbidden, imdirected, and it filled the forest with unrest THE END SPACESHIP— 1975 “A SPHERE of dully gleaming it can go. In theory, gravity acts metal some fifty feet in diam- instantaneously, and even the eter, it rests on stubby, retract- electo-magnctic waves that able -legs beside the buildings of carry power travel at up to the port center. Carriers speed 186,000 miles per second. . to and fro from refrigerated This is a quotation from warehouses, carrying cargo to “The Sky’s No Limit,” an arti- the conveyer lift built into the cle in the March 1953 issue of ship’s base. The Sooner Magazine^ which “The load consists of 8,000- is published by the University odd men and women, each of Oklahoma Association. It frozen solid in a coffin-like was written by Dwight V. block of chemical ice. Living Swain, old-time science fiction organic matter is the one thing writer and instructor in jour- the duplicator units can’t repro- nalism at that school. Mr. duce • . . Swain sneers at rockets but says “Now the last of the ice- we’ll have space travel by 1975; blocks is aboard, the dozen-odd the key inventions will be a crewmen at their stations, the “wireless power transmitter,” a hatches sealed. The sphere “contragravitational device,” floats for a moment, barely off and a “transmutational dupli- the ground, while the stubby cator” — this last being an am- stabilizing legs retract. Then, swer to all problems of supply, slowly at first (in order to Far-fetched? Maybe. But avoid the heat of atmospheric though we’re betting on rockets, friction) it soars into the sky. Mr. Swain just might have No one knows for sure how fast something there.

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE (Continued from page 51) done to do it in another way. Ruiz- Sanchez raised his hand. Immedi- ately Chtexa walked toward the ship. “I wish you a good journey,” the Lithian said, “wherever you may go. I wish also that your road may lead back to this world at some fu- ture time. I have brought you the gift that I sought before to give you, if the moment is appropriate.” Cleaver had straightened up and wa.s now glaring suspiciously at the Lithian. Since he did not under- stand the language, he was unable to find anything to which he could object; he simply stood and radi- ated unvvelcomcness. “Thank you,” Ruiz-Sanchez said. This creature of Satan made him miserable, made him feel intoler- ably in the wrong. How could Chtexa know — ? The lithian was holding out to him a small vase, scaled at the top and provid(“d with two gently looping handles. The gleam- ing porcelain of which it had been made still carried inside it, under the glaze, the fire which had formed it; it was iride.scent, alive with long quivering festoons and plumes of rainbows, and the form as a whole would have made any potter of Greece abandon his trade in shame. It was so beautiful that one could imagine no use for it at all. Certainly one could not fill it with left-over beets and put it in the refrigerator. Besides, it would take up too much space. “This is my gift,” Chtexa said. “It is the finest container yet to come from Xorcdeshch Gton; the material of which it is made con- tains traces of every element to be found on Liihia, even including iron, and thus, as you see, it shows the colors of every shade of emotion and of thought. On Eartli, it will tell Earthmen much of Lithia.” “We will be unable to analyze it,” Ruiz-Sanchez said. “It Is too perfect to destroy, too perfect even to open.” “Ah, but we wish you to open it,” Chte.xa said. “For it contains our other gift.” “Another gift?” “Yes, a more important one. A fertilized, living egg of our species. T;ike it with you. By the time you rcaih Earth, it will be ready to hatch, and to grow up with you in your strange and marvelous W’orld. The container is the gift of all of us; but the child inside is my gift, for it is ray child.” Ruiz-Sanchez took the vase in trembling hands, as tliough he ex- pected it to explode. It shook with subdued flame in his grip. "Goodbye,” Clitexa said. He turned and walked away, back to- ward the entrance to the path. Cleaver watched him go, .shading his eyes, “Now what was that all about?” the physicist said. “The Snake couldn’t have made a bigger thing of it if he’d been handing you his own head on a platter. And all the 116

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A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 117 dme it was only a pot!" Rulz-Sanchcz did not answer. He could not have spoken even to himself. He turned away and began to ascend the cleats, cradling the vase carefully under one elbow. While he was still climbing, a shad- ow passed rapidly over the hull — Cleaver’s last crate, being borne aloft into the hold by a crane. Then he was in the airlock, with the rising whine of the ship’s gen- erators around him. A long shaft of light from outside was cast ahead of him, picking out his shadow on the deck. After a moment, a sec- ond shadow overlaid his own: Cleaver’s. Then the light dimmed and went out. The airlock door slammed. THE END THE TROUBLE WITH BUBBLES (Continuid from pagt 65) A Red Cross ship landed, its ports grating open. Dollies shuttled across to it, loading injured men. Two relief workers appeared. They opened the door to Hull’s car, getting in the back. 'Drive us to town.” They sank down, ex- hausted. “We got to get more help. Hurry it.” “Sure.” Hull started the car again, gained speed. “How did it happen?” Julia asked one of the grim-faced ex- hausted men, who dabbed auto- matically at the cuts on liis face and neck. “Earthquake.” “But why? Didn't they build it so — ” “Big quake.” The man shook his head wearily. "Nobody expected. Total loss. Thousands of cars. Tens of thousands of people.” The other worker grunted. "An act of God.” Hull stiffened suddenly. His eye.i flickered. “What is it?” Julia asked him. "Notlung.” "Are you sure? Is something wrong?” Hull said nothing. He was deep in thought, his face a mask of startled, growing horror. THE END

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lyiiiiiiiiitiuiiiiiiiiiiiinnniiiiiiiiiiiifiiiiiuiiiiiuiiinuiiiii^ THE COMETH iiiuiinoiiiiiiiQiyiiiiiiiiiuiiiuiniiiiiniuu^^^^^ PERSECUTION COMPLEXITIES Dear Sir : Your issue of March, 1953, con- tained an article entitled “Galileo the Persecuted.” That Galileo was persecuted is true, but as to why he was perf?ecuted your author seems to be mistaken. 1. It was not heresy to teach the Copemican theory. 2. The question revolves around, not the subject matter of his teaching, but how he taught it. In the ^st place the work of Copernicus, “De Revolutionibus Orbium Caelestium,” which was published many years before Gali- leo, owed its publication to the fi- nancial support of two Catholic Cardinals and was dedicated to Pope Paul III. This is established Wstorical fact. Would a Pope — any Pope — allow a heretical work to be dedicated to him? Second, Galileo taught the Co- pemican theory as an established fact, not a theory. Newton (1687) proved the theory, not Galileo. One other point: Galileo, in sup- porting his theory, rejected the tra- 1 didonal interpretation of some of the texts of the Bible. For this he was pimished, not for trying to ad- vance science or for being so intel- lectually in advance of his time. Every issue has two sides ; maybe the author would like to investi- gate my side. Let him review Car- dinal Nicholas of Cusa (1401- 1464), Canon Copernicus (1473- 1543), and an article on this sub- ject by Hilaire Belloc in “Difficul- ties,” published 1932, London, by Eyre and Spottiswoode. — Thomas F. Hardacre 124 Myrtle St. Lawrence, Mass; HIS PAIN, OUR GAIN Dear Editor: I dislike writing letters of praise, but I am of the opinion that one is in order for the March issue. I read a lot of science fiction: good, bad, indifferent, and sometimes — stinking. I usually write of the stinking issues of magazines, so it pains me deeply to write a letter such as this. Ivar Jorgenson’s Deadly City was better than good, and likewise for Kenneth O’Hara’s Thy Name is Woman. The overall effect which everyone I know got from the last- mentioned story is the one I believe the author intended : a good “sick” feeling. There are three other stories in the March issue which I consider outstanding: Bryce Walton’s The Victor (although I cannot con- ceive of any victory, other than death, being possible; overthrow of “the system” being impossible), Frank Quattrochi’s The Sword 18

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THE POSTMAN COMETH 119 (well-written, with no weaknesses in plotting), and Waldo T. Boyd’s The Salesman, a neat, well-written bit of subtle humor so rare in sci- ence-fiction. I’d like to conpliment your art editor, Ed Valigursky, for his fine choico of story illustrations. The cover-picture, and the two black- and-white pictures inside, are ex- cellent and in the best taste. Your magaaine make-up, by the way, was discussed in the Depart- ment of Journalism (rf the Univer- sity of Houston as an outstanding example of good make-up. — Edward F. Lacy III 6923 Schley St. Houston 17, Texas EXCUSE OUR AIRFOILS Gentlemen : I should first like to compliment you on the breadth and conceptual design of the inside cover drawings in the March issue of IF. However, to be a bit technical; granting that the invader rocket would have wings and control sur- faces for navigation in an atmos- phere, and granting further the air intakes since the craft might on occasion change over to jet oper- ation— it is not conceiv^le that the homing missiles would have air- foils of any nature. Since the missiles are obviously designed for operation on and around an airless world, airfoils as lifting or control surfaces would be totally useless and superfluous. If guidance ir to be achieved, re- action vanes in the exhaust stream or rocket steering nozzles must be employed. But the drawings are lovely. — ^J. R. Schoenbaum Chief Engineer, Airlectron Inc. P. O. Box 151, Caldwell, N. J. WIDE MARGIN FOR ERROR Gentlemen: Curiosity impels an inquiry about my story in the March 1953 issue of IF. Why did you change the name? I am not refering to the name of the story, for in all justice I have to admit MARGIN OF ERROR is a better title than the one I sub- mitted. I mean why did you change the name of the author? Does Deeming have a nicer ring to it than Deming? — Richard Deming 787 Central Ave. Dunkirk, N. Y. Well, yes, since you ask. But we do apologize. ENCORE, PLEASE Dear Sir: I would like to make a sugges- tion, hoping you will be able to adopt it. Cotild you persuade the author Kenneth O’Hara to write a sequel to his “Thy Name is Wom- an”? The possibilities for such a story are many. The theme of that novelette, as you know from recent newspapers, is not so extraordinary, but the build up could be made so. I do sincerely.hope that this sug- gestiem can be worked, and believe me I shall await each edition. — John H. Hayes 32 Main St. Bethel, Conn.

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120 THE POSTMAN COMETH lt*s safe to say Kenneth O’Hara will appear in these pages again, though any sequel must be at least as good as the original to be ac- cepted, and that isn’t always easy. As for the timing of “Thy Name is Woman,” it was sheer coincidence; science is catching up with all kinds of science fiction! QUESTION AND ANSWER Dear Sir: I like Ed Valigursky’s illustrations but how in the hell can his space- ships land? — B('rt McDougle Belpre, Ohio The inude covers of this issue show (a) a spaceship landing and (b) a spaceship landed. Any other questions? WE WON’T STAMPEDE Dear Mr. Quinn: I should like to congratulate you. On what? On not being stampeded in a blind panic, into making a horrid thing out of your mag, but instead, hewing to the line and using discretion and discrimination and excellence as criteria for select- ing the stories you print. What do I mean by “thing”? Well, it’s that nauseous combina- tion: big-name, spillane-lonnigan, yellow-joumal-hollyw'ood thing that so many editors seem to think they have to have or go on the rocks, heck knows why. Please stay like you are, huh? Don’t catch that squirrel- ly virus. If you stay like you are you’ll be thriving when the rest are just a memory in the Congressional Library files. Say, if you’re not careful, you’re liable to become the best mag. And that’s some statement, from a fan who has been firmly loyal to Astounding, since volume one num- ber one! —Phyla Phillips 222 East 7th St. Mishawaka, Ind. Thank you. Phyla. We’re blush- ing slightly, but you summed up our present and future editorial policy so well ive couldn’t resist printing your Utter. STF’S BIG SHOW Gentlemen : Willy Ley ha.s accepted our invi- tation to be the guest of honor and principal speaker at the 1 1th World Science Fiction Convention, which will be held at the Bellevue Strat- ford Hotel in Philadelphia over the Labor Day weekend this year. Wil- ly’s scientific accomplishments are many and varied, and his talks are always delightfully entertaining, so this is sure to be a worthwhile event for fans and readers. Willy’s talk will climax an ex- ceptionally interesting program; we’ve made a special effort to sur- pass last year’s Chicago convention and think we’ve succeeded, though it wasn’t easy. Memberships or further information may be ob- tained by writing Box 2019, Phila- delphia 3, Pennsylvania. — Milton A. Rothman

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TITAN H fhe 'orqest of Soturn's nine moons — almost ‘os lorge os the plonet in fact! The sotellite is believed to have an at- mosphe'e, and it is else probable that water in o pcrpetuolly trorer stote iS present The man m the foreground obeve is compiling data, wnile the other two gozc at the cloud-cove red planet end its unique rings. \Dfowing$ by Ed Voltgursky'

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