Astounding v26n05 (1941 01) (dtsg0318) (sas)

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By ANSON MacDONALD JANUARY • 1941

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SCIENCE-FICTION TtTLE HEGISTERED U. S. PATENT OFFICE CONTENTS JANUARY, 1941 VOL. XXVI NO. 5 The editorial contents cf this magazine have not been published before, are protected bycopyrightand cannot be reprintedwithout the publisher's permission. SERIAL SIXTH COLUMN Anson MacDonoSd . . 9 First of Three Parts Six men and a gadget against six hundred million — the sole hope of a completely crushed and conquered America! NOVELETTES THE MECHANICAL MICE .... Maurice G. Huq\ .. . 54 He spent twelve years and immense labor making the box of wheels — and didn’t know what it was for when he finished. But — it did! DOOM SHIP . Harry Walton . . .128 Tlie cargo was labeled “mining machinery for Mercury” — but the skipper meant it, and the crew, to land in the Sun! SHORf STORIES THE DAY WE CELEBRATE .... Nelson S. Bond ... 42 Slight confusion as to what date, and why celebrate for what event. THE TRAIT.OR Kurt von Rachen . . 74 The Killkenny Cats were determined to kill each other off if the green plague didn’t — hut Colonel Gailbraith had other ideas — LOST ROCKET Manly Wade Wellman , Some iieople — who weren’t on the ship — wanted it lost, and to(^’^ steps to see it was. But those who were on. it had something to say.— THE OPPORTUNISTS E, A, Grosser . . . .116 Handed a chance to play god on a silver platter, who’d refuse it? ARTICLES STARTING POINT Norman R. Goldsmith . 90 A rock is dead, but a lichen lives. Where does life begin? DEAD— AND EMBALMED Arthur McCann . . .160 Concerning Venus, the not-jungle world, and a recent theory of the eternal clouds. Science-fictioneers will not like it. READERS' DEPARTMENTS THE EDITOR'S PAGE 5 IN TIMES TO COME 73 Department of Prophecy and Future Issues. ANALYTICAL LABORATORY 73 BOOK REVIEW ' 115 BRASS TACKS AND SCIENCE DISCUSSIONS 155 The Open House of Controversy. illustrations by Eron, Kramer, Orban and Schneeman COVER BY ROGERS Alt stories in this magazine are fiction. No actual persons are designated either by name or character. Any similarity is coincidental. Monthly publication issued by Street & Smith Publications, Incorporated. 79 Seventh Avenue. New York City. Alien L. Crammer, President; Henry W. Ralston, Vice President; Gerald H. Smith, Treasurer and Secretary. Copyright, 1940, in U. S. A. and Great Britain by Street & Smith Publications, Inc, Reentered as Second-class Matter, February 7, 1938, at the Post OtOce at New York, under Act of Congress of March 3, 1879. Subscriptions to Canada and Countries in Pan American Union, $2.25 per year; elsewhere, $2.75 per year. We cannot accept responsibility for unsolicited manuscripts or artwork. Any material submitted must include return postage. Printed in the U. S. A, & SMITH PUBLICATIONS, INC. • 79 7th AVE.. NEW YORK lATIC.

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Any science-fiction addict can assure you that the way to win a war is to invent a new weapon. To date, that method has not been very suc^ cessfully applied — save in the sense of inventing a new way of using previ- ously known weapons. The development of Inventions takes time, and no one invention is apt to be overwhelming in power. Science advances by an accretion of small, logical steps; usually if A has made an invention, B Is close enough to it to be able to duplicate it from his own previous knowledge which he and A had in common, plus hints gained from the operation of A’s unpleasantness. These considerations do not apply in a conflict of two totally alien cultures, as in a first, and military contact between races which have hith- erto had no intercourse. Very occasionally in the history of science, such sudden and terrific advances are possible. Usually, the required pre-existing conditions are faulty communications — as at present exist between belligerent nations — over a period of several years, and a stage of science in which knowledge is just crossing a threshold of some major importance. Those conditions will exist in the world if the present conflict contin- ues another two years — as it well may. The intentionally restricted com- munications between major powers exist already. Time Is adding the sec- ond factor — and at least two fields of research are at a threshold of major importance. The first and most evident is atomic control — I intentionally use the term “atomic control” rather than “atomic power.”- The latter is as adequate in this connection as a definition of chemistry as the science of how to make matches. Atomic control incorporates atomic power, trans- mutation, and the further possibilities now unknown, but inherent in the availability of Intra-atomic forces. Anson MacDonald’s “Sixth Column” pictures, then, a situation of

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0 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION fair probability, so far as the effectiveness of invention in the world set-up he presupposes. The second major field of research now at a threshold stage is ultra- frequency radio. The invention of the klystron — which is a high-frequency oscillator but not remotely parallel in theory or operation to the common radio tube — has made possible the generation of really powerful ultrafre- quency currents. The ordinary triode radio tube is physically incapable of frequencies beyond about five hundred million cycles per second; the klystron has already been developed to produce hundreds of watts of power at 20,000,000,000 cycles per second — a wave length of less than two centimeters. They have had this instrument less than a year, really, and have only begun to scratch the surface of its possibilities. These ultra- frequency waves do not behave like “radio waves”; they are intermediate between light and radio, partaking of properties of each. They can be focused like light, but conducted like radio. The cuiTcnts travel through a nonconductor — and metal conductors are used as insulators! They can be squirted from the end of a metal hose like a jet of water — and no one yet knows what their ultimate possibilities are. But there is this of interest to Americans in a warring world. The triode amplifier tube that made radio communication pi’acticable was in- vented by an American; the klystron that extended radio frequencies to new limits was an American invention. Practically every major military naval or aeronautical invention of the past half century was invented by Americans — who, having discovered the principles and applications, then used the excellently good judgment to refrain from applying them. The list of American inventions for military use is far too long for listing, but it parallels in most details American industrial development. Nevertheless, principles exclusively applicable to military purposes have usually origi- nated here. In a short war, invention has no time to apply its full weight; in a long-term conflict, the role of inventive ingenuity will be powerful, if not ultimately decisive. In as thoroughly unpleasant a world as we now in- habit, there’s a definite element of comfort in that. A people with the record for inventive ability that Americans have proven can, if forced to A, make of itself a most terrible enemy. The Emtor.

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10 SIHH COLOmO By Bnson IIIacDonalfl Segfjtnifitf cr fhree-p&rf serial of a sfraage rebel- lion. An ufferly conquered America with an army of six men and a mighty — but useless! — weapon. Illustrated by Schneeman “What the hell goes on here?” Whitey Ardmore demanded. They ignored his remark as they had ignored his arrival. Tl^e man at the television receiver said, “Shut up. We’re listening,” and turned up the volume. The announcer’s voice blared out: “ — Washington des- troyed completely before the gov- ernment could escape. With Man- hattan in ruins, that leaves no — ” There was a click as the receiver was turned olf. “That’s that,” said the man near it. “The United States is washed up.” Then he added, “Any- body got a cigarette?” Getting no answer, he pushed his way out of the small circle gathered around the receiver and felt through the pockets of a dozen figures col- lapsed by a table. It was not too easy, as rigor mortis had set in, but he finally located a half-empty pack, from which he removed a cigarette and lighted it. “Somebody answer me!” com- manded Ardmore. “What’s hap- pened here?” The man with the cigarette looked him over for the first time. “Who are you?” “Ardmore, major, intelligence. WTo are you?” “Calhoun, colonel in research.” “Very well, colonel — I have an urgent message for your command- ing officer. Will you please have someone tell him that I am. here and see to it that I am taken to him?” He spoke with poorly controlled ex- asperation. Calhoun shook his head. “Can’t do it. He’s dead.” He seemed to derive some sort of twisted pleasure from the announcement. “Huh?” “That’s right — dead. They’re all dead, all the rest. You see before you, my dear major, all that are left of the personnel of the Citadel — per- haps I should say of the emergency research laboratory, department of defense, this being in the nature of an official report.” He smiled v.'ith half his face, while his eye took in the handful of living men in the room. Ardmore took a moment to com- prehend the statement, then in- quired, “The Pan-Asians?” “No. No, not the Pan-Asians. So far as I know, the enemy does not suspect the existence of the Citadel. No, we did it ourselves — an experi- ment that worked too well. Dr. Led- better was engaged in research in an attempt to discover a means cf — ” “Never mind that, colonel. Whom does command revert to? I’ve got to carry out my orders.” “Command? Military command? Good Lord, man, we haven’t had time to think about that — ^yet. Wait a moment.” His eye roved around

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SIXTH COLUMN 11 the room, counting noses. “Hm-m-m ■ — I’m senior to everyone here — and they are all here. I suppose that makes me commanding officer.” “No line officers present?” “No. All special commissions. That leaves me it.® Go ahead with your report.” Ardmore looked about at the faces of the half a dozen men in the room. They were following the conversa- tion with apathetic interest. Ard- more worried to himself before reply- ing over how to phrase the message. The situation had changed; perhaps he should not deliver it at all — “I was ordered,” he said, picking his words, “to inform your general that he was released from superior command. He was to operate inde- pendently and prosecute the war against the invader according to his own judgment. You see,” he went on, “when I left Washington twelve hours ago we knew they had us. This concentration of brain power in the Citadel was about the only re- maining possible military asset.” Calhoun nodded. “I see. A de- funct government sends orders to a defunct laboratory. Zero plus zero equals zero. It’s all very funny if one only knew when to laugh.” “Colonel!” “Yes?” “They are your orders now. What do you propose to do with them?” “Do with them? What the hell is there to do? Six men against four hundred million. I suppose,” he added, “to make everything nice and tidy for the military mind I should write out a discharge from the United States army for everybody left and kiss ’em good-by. I don’t know wliere that leaves me — hari- kari, perhaps. Maybe you don’t get it. This is all the United States there is left. And it’s left because the Pan- Asians haven’t found it.” Ardmore wet his lips. “Appar- ently I did not clearly convey the order. The order was to take charge, and prosecute the war!” “With what?” He measured Calhoun' before an- swering. “It is not actually your re- sponsibility. Under the changed situation, in accordance with the articles of war, as senior line officer present I am assuming command of this detachment of the United States army!” It hung in the balance for twenty heartbeats. At last Calhoun stood up and attempted to square his stooped shoulders. “You are per- fectly correct, sir. What are your orders?” “What were his orders?” he asked himself. Think fast, Ardmore, you big lunk, you’ve shot off your face — now where are you? Calhoun was right when he asked “With what?” — yet he could not stand still and see the remnant of military organization fall to pieces. You’ve got to tell ’em something, and it’s got to be good; at least good enough to hold ’em until you think of something better. Stall, brother, stall! “I think we had best examine the new situation here first. Colonel, will you oblige me by having the re- maining personnel gather around— say around that big table? That will be convenient.” “Certainly, sir.” The others, hav- ing heard the order, moved toward the table. “Graham! And you — what’s your name? Thomas, isn’t it? You two remove Captain MacAllis- ter’s body to some other place. Put him in the corridor for now.” The commotion of getting one of the ubiquitous corpses out of the way and getting the living settled around a table broke the air of un- reality and brought things into focus.

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13 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION Ardmore felt more self-confidence when he turned again to Calhoun. “You had better introduce me to those here jiresent. I want to know what they do and something about them, as well as their names.” It was a corporal’s guard, a for- lorn remnant. He had expected to find, hidden here safely and secretly away under an unmarked spot in the Rocky Mountains, the most magnifi- cent aggregation of research brains ever gathered together for one pur- pose. Even in the face of complete military disaster to the regular forces of the United States, there remained a reasonable outside chance that two hundred-odd keen scientific brains, secreted in a hide-away whose very existence was unsuspected by the enemy and equipped with every modern facility for research, might conceivably perfect and operate some weapon that would eventually drive out the Pan-Asians. For that purpose he had been sent to tell the commanding general that he was on his own, no longer re- sponsible to higher authority. But what could half a dozen men do in any case.'* For it was a scant "half a dozen. There was Dr. Lowell Calhoun, mathematician, jerked out of uni- versity life by the exigencies of war and called a colonel. There was Dr. Randall Brooks, biologist and bio- chemi.st, with a special commission of major. Ardmore liked his looks; he was quiet and mild, but gave the impression of an untroubled strength of character superior to that of a more extraverted man — he would do, and his advice would be useful. Ardmore mentally dubbed Robert Wilkie a “punk kid.” He was young and looked younger, having an over- grown collie-dog clumsiness, and hair that would not stay in place. His field, it developed, was radiation, and the attendant branches of physics too esoteric for a layman to under- stand. Ardmore had not the slight- est way of judging whether or not he was any good in his specialty. He might be a^genius, but his appear- ance did not encourage the idea. No other scientist remained. There were three enlisted men: Her- man Scheer, technical sergeant. He had been a mechanic, a die maker, a tool maker. When the army picked him up he had been making precision instruments for the laboratories of the Edison Trust. His brown, square hands and lean fingers backed up his account of himself. His lined, set face and heavy jaw muscles made Ardmore judge him to be a good man to have at his back in a tight place. He would do. There remained Edward Graham, private fir.st-class, speciali.st rating officers’ cook. Total war had turned him from his profession as an .artist and interior decorator to his one other talent, cooking. Ardmore was unable to see how he could fit into the job, except, of course, that some- body had to cook. The last man was Graham’s helper, ,Tetf Thomas, pri- vate— background: None. “He wan- dered in here one day,” explained Calhoun. “We had to enlist him and keep him here to protect the secret of the place.” Acquainting Ardmore with the individuals of his “command” had used up several minutes during which he had thought furiously with half his mind about M'hat he should say next. He knew what he had to accomplish, some sort of a shot in the arm that would re,store the mo- rale of this badly demoralized group, some of the old hokum that men live by. He believed in hokinn, being a publicity man by trade and an army man only by necessity. That

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SIXTH COLUMN 13 brougiit to mind another worry — should he let them know that he was no more a professional than they, even though he happened to hold a line eommission? No, that wnuld not be very bright; they needed just now to regard him with the faith that the layman usually holds for the professional. That was the end of the list; Cal- houn had stopped talking. Here’s your chance, son, better not muff it! Then he had it — fortunately it would take only a short build-up. “It will be necessary for us to con- tinue our task assignment indepen- dently for an indefinite period. I want to remind you that we derive our obligations not from our superior officers who were killed in IVashing- ton, but from the people of the United States, through their Consti- tution. That Constitution is neither captured nor destroyed — it cannot be, for it is not a piece of paper, but the joint contract of the American people. Only the x^merican people can release us from it.” Was he rlght.^ He was no lawj^er, and he didn’t know— but he did know that they needed to believe it. He turned to Calhoun. “Colonel Calhoun, will you now swear me in as commanding officer of this detach- ment of the United States army?” I'hen he added, as an apparent after- thought, “I think it would be well for us all to renew our oaths at the same time.” It was a chanted chorus that ech- oed through the nearly empty room. “ T do solemnly swear — to carry out the duties of my office — and to up- hold and defend the Constitution of the United States — against all of its enemies, domestic and foreign!’ ” “So help me God.” “ ‘So help me God!\ ” Ardmore was surprised to discover that the show he had staged had brought tears to his own cheeks. Then he noticed them in Calhoun’s eyes. Maybe there was more to it than he had thought. “Colonel Calhoun, you, of course, become director of resepch. A'ou are second in command. Hut I will carry out the duties of executive officer myself in order to leave you free to pursue your scientific inquir- ies. Alajor Brooks and Captain Wil- kie are assigned to you. Scheer!” “Yes, sir!” “You work for Colonel Calhouri. If he does not need all of your serv- ices, I will assign additional duties later. Graham!” “Yes, sir.” “You will continue your present duties. You are also mess sergeant, mess officer, supply officer — in fact, you are the whole commissary de- l^artment. Bring me a rejxirt later today estimating the number of ra- tions available and the condition of perishables. Thomas works for you, but is subject to call by any mem- ber of the scientific staff any time they want him. That may delay meals, but it can’t be helped.” ‘Wes, sir.” “You and I and Thomas will per- form all duties among us that do not directly apply to research, and will assist the scientists in any way and at any time that they need us. That specifically includes myself, colonel,” he emphasized, turning to Calhoun, “if another pair of untrained hands is useful at any point, you are di- rected to call on me.” “Very well, major.” “Graham, you and Thomas will have to clear out the bodies around the place before they get too high — say by tomorrow night. Put them in an unused room and hermetically seal it. Scheer will show you how.” He glanced at his wrist. “Two

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14 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION o’clock. When did you have lunch ?” “There . . . uh . . . was none today.” “Very well. Graham, serve coffee and sandwiches here in twenty min- utes.” “Very good, sir. Come along, Jeff.” “Coming.” As they left, Ardmore turned back to Calhoun. “In the meantime, colo- nel, let’s go to the laboratory where the catastrophe originated. I still want to find out what happehed here!” The other two scientists and Scheer hesitated; he picked them up with a nod, and the little party filed out. “You say nothing in particular happened, no explosion, no gas — yet they died.!*” They were standing around Dr. Ledbetter’s last set-up. The martyred scientist’s body still lay where it had fallen, a helpless, disorganized heap. Ardmore took his eyes from it and tried to make out the meaning of the set-up apparatus. It looked simple, but called no fa- miliar picture to mind. “No, nothing but a little blue flame that persisted momentarily. Ledbetter had just closed this switch.” Calhoun pointed to it without touching it. It was open now, a self-opening, spring-loaded type. “I felt suddenly dizzy. When my head cleared, I saw that Ledbet- ter had fallen and went to him, but there was nothing that I could do for him. He was dead — without a mark on him.” “It knocked me out,” offered Wil- kie. “I might not have made it if Scheer hadn’t given me artificial res- piration.” “You were here?” Ardmore asked. “No, I was in the radiation labora- tory over at the other end of the plant. It killed my chief.” Ardmore frowned and pulled a chair out from the wall. As he started to sit down there was a scur- rying sound, a small gray shape flashed across the floor and out the open door. A rat, he thought, and dismissed the matter. But Dr. Brooks stared at it in amazement, and ran out the door himself, call- ing out behind him: “Wait a minute — right back!” “I wonder what’s gotten into him?” Ardmore inquired of no one in particular. The thought flashed through his mind that the strain of events had finally been too much for the mild little biologist. They had less than a minute to wait in order to find out. Brooks re- turned as precitately as he had left. The exertion caused him to pant and interfered with articulation. “Ma- jor Ardmore! Dr. Calhoun! Gentle- men!” He paused and caught his breath. “My white mice are alive!” “Huh? What of it?” “Don’t you see? It’s an extremely important datum, perhaps a cru- cially important datum. None of the animals in the biological laboratory were hurt! Don’t you see?” “Yes, but — Ohi Perhaps I do — the rat was alive and your mice weren’t killed, yet men were killed all around them.” “Of course! Of course!” Brooks beamed at Ardmore. “Hm-m-m. An action that kills a couple of hundred men through rock walls and metal, with no fuss and no excitement, yet passes by mice and the like. I’ve never before heard of anything that would kill a man but not a mouse.” He nodded toward the apparatus. “It looks as if we had big medicine in that little gadget, Calhoun.” “So it does,” Calhoun agreed, "if we can learn to control it.”

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SIXTH COLUMN 15 “Any doubt in your mind?” “Well — wc don’t know why it killed, and we don’t know why it spared six of us, and we don’t know why it doesn’t harm animals.” “So — Well, that seems to be the pro!)lem.” He stared again at the simp!e-ai)|)earing enigma. “Doctor, I don’t like to interfere with your work right from scratch, hut I would ratlier you did not close that switch without notifying me in advance.” , His gaze dropped to Ledbetter’s still ligure and hurriedly shifted. Over the coffee and sandwiches he pried further into the situation. “Then no one really knows what Ledbetter was up to?” “You could put it that way,” agreed Calhoun. “I helped him with the mathematical considerations, hut he was a genius and somewhat im- patient with lesser minds. If Ein- stein were alive, they might have talked as equals, but with the rest of us he discussed only the portions he wanted assistMne on, or details he wished to turn over to assistants.” “Then you don’t, know what he was getting at?” “Well, yes and no. Are you fa- miliar with general field theory?” “Critniny, no!” “Well — that mhkes it rather hard to talk. Major Ardmore. Dr. Led- better was investigating the theoreti- cally possible additional spectra — ” “Additional sjiectra?” “Yes. A^ou see, most of the prog- ress in physics in the last century and a half has been in dealing with tlie electromagnetic spectrum, light, radio, X ray — ” “Yes, yes, I know that, but how about these additional spectra?” “That’s what I am trying to tell you,” answered Calhoun with , a slight note of annoyance. “General field theory predicts the possibility of at least three more entire spectra. You see, there are three types of en- ergy fields known to exist in space; electric, magnetic, and gravitic or gravitational. Light, X rays, all snch radiations, are part of the spec- trum derived from energy rapidly oscillating between electric and mag- netic fields; the electromagnetic spectrum. Theory indicates that similar energy-oscillations between magnetic and gravitic, between elec- tric and gravitic, and, finally, a three-phase oscillation between elec- tric-magnetic-gravitic fields are pos- sible. Each type would constitute a complete new spectrum, a total of three new fields of learning. “If there are such, they would pre- sumably have properties quite as re- markable as the electromagnetic spectrum and quite different. But we have no instruments with which to detect such spectra, nor do we even know that snch spectra exist.” “Do j^ou know,” commented Ard- more, frowning a little, “I’m just a layman in these matters and don’t wish to set my opinion up against yonrs, but this seems like a search for the little man who wasn’t there. I had supposed that this laboratory was engaged in the single purpose of finding a military weapon to combat the vortex beams and bombardment rockets of the Pan-Asians. I am a bit surprised to find the man whom you seem to regard as having been your ace researcher engaged in an attempt to discover things that he was not sure existed and whose prop- erties were totally unknown. It doesn’t seem reasonable.” Calhoun did. not answer; he sim- ply looked supercilious and smiled ir- ritatingly. Ardmore felt put in the wrong and was conscious of a warm flush spreading up toward Ins. face. “Yes, yes,” he said hastily, “I know I’m wrong — whatever it was that

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16 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION Ledbetter found, it killed a couple of hundred men. Therefore it is a potential military weapon — but wasn’t he just mugging around in the dark.!'” “Not entirely,” Calhoun replied, with a words-of-one-syllable air. “The very theoretical considerations that predict additional spectra allow of some reasonable probability as to the general nature of their proper- ties. I know that Ledbetter had originally been engaged in a search for a means of setting up tractor and pressor beams — that would be in the magnetogravitic specTrum — but the last couple of weeks he appeared to be in a condition of intense excite- ment and radically changed the di- rection of his experimentation. He was close-mouthed; I got no more than a few hints from the trans- formations and developments which he had me perform for him. How- ever”— Calhoun drew a bulky loose- leaf notebook from an inner pocket — “he kept complete notes of his ex- periments. We should be able to fol- “Give him the antidote, doc. That’s truth I can’t stand hearing."

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SIXTH COLUMN 17 low his work and perhaps infer his hypo Lileses.” Youno Wilkie, who was seated beside Calhoun, bent toward him. “Where did you find these, doctor?” he asked excitedly. “On a bench in his laboratory. If you had looked, you would have seen them." Wilkie ignored the thrust; he was already eating up the symbols set down in the opened book. “But that is a radiation formula — ” “Of course it is — d’you think I’m a fool?” “But it’s all wrong!” “It may be from your standpoint; you may be sure that it was not to Dr. Ledbetter.” I’hey branched off into argument that was totally meaningless to Ard- more; after some minutes he took ad- vantage of a pause to say, “Gentle- men! Gentlemen! Just a moment. I can see that T am simply keeping you from your work; I’ve learned all that 1 can just now. As I under- stand it, your immediate task is to catch up with Dr. Ledbetter and to discover what it is that his apparatus does — -without killing yourselves in the process. Is that right?” “L would say that is a fair state- ment,” Calhoun agreed cautiously. “Very well, then — carry on, and keep me advised at your conven- ience.” He got up; the others fol- lowed his example. “Oh — ^just one more thing.” “Yes?” ^ “I happened to think of something else. I don’t know whether it is im- portant or not, but it came to mind because of the importance that Dr. Brooks attached to the matter of the rats and mice.” Lie ticked points off on his fingers. “Alany men were killed; Dr. Wilkie was knocked out and very nearly died; Dr. Calhoun experienced only a momentary dis- comfort; the rest of those that lived apparently didn’t suffer any effects of any sort — weren’t aware that any- thing had happened except that their companions mysteriously died. Now, isn’t that data of some sort?” He awaited a reply anxiously, being sub- consciously afraid that the scientists would consider his remarks silly, or obvious. Calhoun started to reply, Imt Dr. Brooks cut in ahead of him. “Of course it is! Now why didn’t I think of that? Dear me, I must be con- fused today. That establishes a gradient, an ordered relationship in the effect of the unknown action.” He stopped and thought, then went on almost at once, “I really must have your permission, major, to ex- amine the cadavers of our late col- leagues, then by examining for dif- ferences between them and those alive, especially those hard hit by the unknown action—” He broke off short and eyed Wilkie s^jecula- tively. “No, you don’t!” protested Wilkie. “You won’t make a guinea pig out of me. Not while I know it!” Ard- more was unable to tell whether the man’s apprehension was real or fa- cetious. He cut it short. “The details will have to be up to you gentlemen. But remember — no chances to your lives without notify- ing me.” “You hear that, Brooksie?” Wilkie jiersisted. Ardmore went to bed that night from sheer sense of duty, not because he felt ready to sleep. His immedi- ate job was accomplished; he had picked up the pieces of the organiza- tion known as the Citadel and had thrown it together into some sort of a going concern — whether or not it was going any place he was too tired

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18 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION to judge, but at least it was going. He had given them a pattern to live by, and, by assuming leadership and responsibility, had enabled them to unload their basic worries on him and thereby acquire some measure of emotional security. That should keep them from going crazy in a world which had gone crazy. What would it be like, this crazy new world — a world in which the su- periority of the white man was not a casually accepted “of course,” a world in which the Stars and Stripes did not fly, along with the pigeons, over every public building? Which brought to mind a new worry: If he was to maintain any pretense of military purpose, he would have to have some sort of a service of information. He had been too busy in getting thern all back to work to think about it, but he would have to think about it — tomorrow, he told himself, then continued to worry about it. He got up, wished passionately for just one dose of a barbiturate to give him a night’s sleep, drank a glass of hot water instead, and went back to bed. Suppose they did dig up a really powerful and new weapon? That gadget of Ledbetter’s certainly looked good, if they could learn to handle it— but what then ? One man couldn’t run a battle cniiser^ — he couldn’t even get it off the ground — and six men couldn’t whip an em- pire, not even with seven-league boots and a death ray. What wuas that old crack of Archimedes? “If I had a lever long enough and a ful- crum on which to rest it, I could move the Earth.” How about the fulcrum.? No weapon was a weapon without an army to use it. He dropped into a light sleep and dreamed that he was flopping around on tire end of the longest lever con- ceivable, a useless lever, for it rested on nothing. Part of the time he was Archimedes and part of the time Archimedes .stood beside him, jeer- ing and leering at liim wdth a strongly Asiatic countenance. Ardmore war too busy for the next couple of w'eeks to w'orry much about anything but the job at hand. The underlying postulate of their ex- istence pattern — that they were, in fact, a military organization which must some day render an accounting to civil authority — required that he should comply wdth, or closely simu- late compliance wdth, the regulations concerning pajrerwork, reports, rec- ords, pay accounts, inventories, and the like. In his heart he felt it to be waste motion, senseless, yet, as a publicity man, he was enough of a jackleg psj'chologist to realize intui- tively that man is creature that lives by symbols. At the moment these symbols of government were all im- portant. So be dug into the regulation manual of the deceased paymaster and carefully closed out the accounts of the dead, noting in each case the amounts due each man’s depeinlents “in lawful money of the United States,” even while wondering de- spondently if that neat phrase would ever mean anything again. But he did it, and he assigned minor admin- istrative jobs to each of the others in order that they might realize in- directly that the customs were being maintained. It was too much clerical work for one man to keep up. He discovered that Jeff Thomas, the cook’s helper, could use a typewriter with facility and had a fair head for figure.'^. He impressed him into the job. It threw more work on Graham, who com- plained, but that was good for him, he thought — a dog needs fleas. He

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SIXTH COLUMN 19 wanted every member of bis com- mand to go to bed tired every night. Thomas served another purpose. Ardmore’s high-strung disposition required someone to talk to. Thomas turned out to be intelligent and pas- sively sympathetic, and he found himself speaking with more and more freedom to the man. It was not in character for the commanding officer to confide in a private, but he felt instinctively that Thomas would not abuse his trust — and he needed nervous release. Calhoun brought up the matter which forced Ardmore to drop his preoccupation with routine and turn his attention to more difficult mat- ters. Calhoun had called to ask per- mission to activate Ledbetter’s ap- paratus, as modified to suit their current hypotheses, but he added an- other and embarrassing question. “Major Ardmore, can you give me some idea as to how you intend to make use of the ‘Ledbetter effect’.^” Ardmore did not know; he an- swered with another question. “Are you near enough to results to make that question urgent.^ If so, can you give me some idea of what you have discovered so far.?” “That will be difficult,” Calhoun repHe<l in an academic and faintly patronizing manner, “since I am con- strained not to speak in the mathe- matical language which, of necessity, is the only way of expressing such things — ” “Now, colonel, please,” Ardmore broke in, irritated more ^lan he would admit to himself and inhibited by the presence of Private Thomas, “you can kill a man with it or you can’t, and you can control whom you kill or you can’t.” “That’s an oversimplification,” Calhoun ai'gued. “However, we think that the new set-up will be AST— 2 directional in its effect. Dr. Brooks’ investigations caused him to hy- pothecate an asymmetrical relation- ship between the action and organic life it is applied to, such that an in- herent characteristic of the life form determines the effect of the action as well as the inherent characteristics of the action itself. That is to say, the effect is a function of the total factors of the process, including the life form involved, as well as the original action — ” “Easy, easy, colonel. What does that mean as a weapon?” “It means that you could turn it on two men and decide which one it is to kill — with proper controls,” Cal- houn answered testily. “At least, we think so. Wilkie has volunteered to act as a control on it, with mice as the object.” Aedmobe granted permission for the experiment to take place, subject to precautions and restrictions. When Calhoun had gone, his mind returned at once to the problem of what he was going to do with the weapon— if any. And that required data that he did not have. Damn it! — he had to have a service of in- formation; he had to know what was going on outside. The scientists were out, of course. And Scheer, for the scientific staff needed his skill. Graham? No, Graham was a good cook, but nerv- ous and irritable, emotionally not stable, the very last man to pick for a piece of dangerous espionage. It left only himself. He was trained for such things; he would have to go. “But you can’t do that, sir,” Thomas reminded him. “Huh? What’s that?” He had been unconsciously expressing his thoughts aloud, a habit he had got- ten into when he was alone, or with Thomas only. The man’s manner

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20 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION encouraged using him for a sounding board. “You can’t leave your command, sir. Not only is it against regula- tions, but, if you will let me express an opinion, everything you have done so far will fall to pieces.” “Why should it? T’ll be back in a few days.” “Well, sir, maybe it would hold to- gether for a few days — though I’m not sure of that. Who would be in charge in your absence.'*” “Colonel Calhoun — of course.” “Of course.” Thomas expressed by raised eyebrows and ready agree- ment an opinion which military cour- tesy did not permit him to say aloud. Ardmore knew that Thomas was right. Outside of his specialty, Calhoun was a bad-tempered, super- cilious, conceited old fool, in Ard- more’s opinion. Ardmore had had to intercede already to patch up trouble which Calhoun’s arrogance had caused. Scheer worked for Cal- houn only because Ardmore had talked with him, calmed him dowm, and worked on his strong Teutonic sense of duty. The situation reminded him of the time when he had worked as press agent for a famous and successful female evangelist. He had signed on as director of public relations, but he had spent two thirds of his time straightening out the messes caused by the vicious temper of the holy harridan. “But you have no way of being sure that you will be back in a few' days,” Thomas persisted. “This is a very dangerous assignment; if you get killed on it, there is no one here who can take over your job.” “Oh, now, that’s not true, Thomas. No mau is irreplaceable.” “This is no time for false modesty, sir. That may be true in general, but you know that it is not true in this case. There is a strictly limited number to draw from, and you are the only one from whom all of us will take direction. In particular, you are the only one from whom Dr. Calhoun will take direction. That is because you know how to handle him. None of the others would be able to, nor would he be able to han- dle them.” “That’s a pretty strong statement, Thomas.” Thomas said nothing. At length i\rdmore went on, “All right, all right — suppose you are right. I’ve got to have military information. How am 1 going to get it if I don’t go myself.-*” Thomas was a little slow in re- plying. Finally he said quietly, “I could try it.” “You?” Ardmore looked him over and wondered why he had not con- sidered Thomas. Perhajis because there was nothing about the man to suggest his potential ability to han- dle such a job — that, combined with the fact that he was a private, and one did not assign privates to jobs requiring dangerous independent ac- tion. Yet perhaps — “Have you ever done any work of that .sort?” “No, but my experience may be specially adapted in a way to such work.” “Oh, yes! Scheer told me some- thing about you. You were a tramp, weren’t you, before the army caught up with you?” “Not a tramp,” Thomas corrected gently, “a hobo.” “Sorry — what’s the distinction?” “A tramp is a bum, a parasite, a man that won’t work. A holm is an itinerant laborer who prefers casual freedom to security. He works for his living, but he won’t be tied down to one environment.” “Oh, I see. Ilm-m-m — yes, and I

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SIXTH COLUMN 21 begin to see why you might be es- pecially well adapted to an intelli- gence job. 1 suppose it must require a good deal of adaptability and re- sourcefulness to stay alive as a hobo. But wait a minute, Thoma.s — I guess I’ve more or less taken you for granted. I need to know a great deal more about you, if yoxi are to be in- trusted with this job. You know, you don’t act like a hobo.” “How does a hobo act?” “Eh? Oh, well, skip it. But tell me .something about your back- ground. How did you happen to take up hoboing?” ^ Ardmore realized that he had, for the first time, pierced the man’s natural reticence. He fumbled for an answer, finally replying, “I sup- po,se it was’ that I did not like being a lawyer.” “What?” “Yes. You sec, it was like this: I went from the law into social ad- ministration. In the course of my work I got an idea that I wanted to write a thesis on migratory labor, and decided that in order to under- stand the subject I would have to exj)erience the conditions under which such people lived.” “I see. And it was while you were doing your laboratory work, as it were, that the army snagged you.” “Oh, no,” Thomas corrected him, “I’ve been on the road more than ten years. I never went back. You see, I found I liked being a hobo.” The detaies were rapidly ar- ranged. 'rhomas wanted nothing in the way of equipment but the clothes he had been wearing when he had .stumbled into the Citadel. Ardmore had suggested a bedding roll, but Thomas wouhl have none of it. “It would not be in charac- ter,” he explained. “I was never a bindlestiff. Bindle.stiffs are dirty. and a self-re.specting hobo doesn’t associate with them. All T want is a good meal in my belly and a small amount of money on my person.” Ardmore’s instructions to him were very general. “Almost any- thing you hear or see will be data for me,” he told him. “Cover as much territory as you can, and try to be back here within a week. If you are gone much longer than that, I will assume that you are dead or impris- oned, and will have to try some other plan. “Keep your eyes open for .some means by which we can establish a permanent .service of information. I can’t suggest what it is you are to look for in that connection, but keep it in mind. Now as to details: Any- thing and everything about the Pan- Asians, how they are armed, how they police occupied territory, where they have set up headquarters, par- ticularly their continental headquar- ters, and, if you can make any .sort of estimate, how many of them there are and how they’re distributed. That would keep you busy for a year, at least; just the same, be back in a week.” Ardmore showed Thomas how to operate one of the outer doors of the Citadel; two bars of “Yankee Doo- dle,” breaking off short, and a door appeared in what seemed to be a wall of country rock — simple, and yet foreign to the Asiatic mind. Then he shook hands w ith him and wished him good luck. Ardmore found that Thomas had still one more surprise for him; when he shook hands, he did so with the grip of the Dekes, Ardmore’s own fraternity! Ardmore stood staring at the closed portal, busy rearrang- ing his preconceptions. When he turned around, Calhoun was behind him. He felt somewhat as if he ha.d been caught stealing

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“2 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE- FICTION jam. “Oil — hello, doctor,” he said quickly. “IIovv do you do, ma jor,” C’alhoun replied with deliheratiou. “May f inquire as to what is going: on?” “Certainly. I’ve sent Lieutenant Thomas out to reconnoiter.” “Lieutenant?” “Brevet lieutenant. T was forced to use him for work far lieyond his rank; I found it expedient to assign him the rank and pay of his new du- ties.” Calhoun jmrsued that point no further, hut answered with another, in the same faintly critical tone of voice. "I supjKi.se you realize that it jeopardizes all of us to send anyone outside? I am a little surprised that you should act in such a matter without consulting with others.” “I am .sorry you feel that way about it, colonel, ” Ardmore replied, in a conseious attempt to conciliate the older man, “hut I am required to make the final -decision in any ca.se, and it is of prime importance to our ta.sk that nothing he permit- ted to .distract your attention from your all-important job of research. Have you conqileted your experi- ment?” he went on quickly. “Yes.” “Well?” ‘“I’he results were positive. The mice died.” “How about Wilkie?” “Oh, Wilkie was unhurt, naturally. That is in accordance with my pre- ilictions.” Jeffkr.sox Tuo.NrAS, Bachelor of Arts magna cum laiide, Univci-sity of California; Bachelor of Law, Har- vard Law School, ])rofessional hobo, jirivate and cook’s helper, and now a brevet lieutenantj intelligence, United States army, spent his fir.st night outside .shivering on ])iue nee- dles where dark had overtaken him. Early the next morning he located a ranchhouse. They fed him, but they were anx- ious for him to move along. “You never can tell when one of lho.se yel- low heathens is going to come snoop- ing around,” a])ologized his host, “and I can’t ah'ord to be arrested for harboring refugees. I got the wife and kids to think about.” But he followed Thomas out to the road, still talking, his natural garrulity prevailing under his caution, lie seemed to take a grim ))leasure in bewailing the catastrophe. “God knows what I’m raising those kids up to. Some nights it seems like the only rea.sonable thing to do is to ])ut them all out of their sorrow. But Jessie — that’s my wife — says it’s a scandal and ifsin to talk that way, that the Lord will take care of things all in Mis own good time. iMaybe .so — but I know it’s no favor to a child to rai.se it up to be bossed around and lorded over by yellow monkeys.” He spat. “It’s not American.” “What’s this about penalties for ha rbo ring refugees ? ’ ’ The rancher stared at him. “Where’ve you been, friend?” “lip in the hills. I haven’t laid eyes on one of the so and so’s yet.” “You will. But then you haven’t got a number, have you? You’d better get one. No, that won’t do you any good; you ’u’d just land in a labor cam]) if you tried to get one.” “Number?” “Begistration number. I-ike this.” He pulled a gla.ssine-covere<l card out of his pocket and displayed it. It had affixed to it a poor but recog- nizable j)icture of the rancher, his fingerprints, and i)ertinent data as to his occupation, marital status, ad- dress, et cetera. 'Fhere was a long, hyphenated number running jicross

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SIXTH COLUMN the top. The rancher indicated it with a work-stained finger. “That first part is my number. It means I have permission from the emperor to stay alive and enjoy the air and sun- shine,” he added bitterly. “The sec- ond part is my serial classification. It tells where I live and what I do. If I want to cross the county line, I have to have that changed. If I want to go to any other town than the one I’m assigned to do my mar- keting in. I’ve got to get a day’s spe- cial permit. Now I ask you — is that any way for a man to live.!'” “Not for me,” agreed Thomas. “Well, I guess I had better be on my way before I get you into trou- . ble. Thanks for the breakfast.” “Don’t mention it. It’s a pleasure to do a favor for a white man these days.” He started off down the road at once, not wishing the kindly rancher to see how thoroughly he had been moved by the picture of his degrada- tion. The implications of that regis- tration card had .shaken his free soul in a fashion that the simple, intel- lectual knowledge of the defeat of the United States had been unable to do. He moved slowly for the first two or three days, avoiding the towns un- til he had gathered sufficient knowl- edge of the enforced new customs to be able to conduct himself without arousing suspicion. It was urgently desirable that he be able to enter at least one big city in order to snoop around, read the bulletin boards, and find a chance to talk with persons whose occupations permitted them to travel. From a standpoint of per- sonal safety he was quite willing to chance it without an identification card, but he remembered clearly a repeater! injunction of Ardmore, “Your paramount duty is to return! Don’t go making a hero of yourself. S3 Don’t take any chance you can avoid and come back!” Cities would have to wait, Thomas skirted around towns at night, avoiding patrols as he used to avoid railroad cops. The second night out he found the first of his objectives, a hobos’ jungle. It was just where he had expected to find it, from his recollection of previous trips through the territory. Never- theless, he almost missed it, for the inevitable fire was concealed by a jury-rigged oilcan stove, and shielded from chance observation. He slipped into the circle and sat down without comment, as custom required, and waited for them to look him over. Presently a voice said plaintively, “It’s Gentleman Jeff. Gripes, Jeff, you gave me a turn. I thought you was a flatface. Whatcha been doin’ with yourself, Jeff?” “Oh, one thing and another. On the dodge.” “Who isn’t these days?” the voice returned. “Everywhere you try, those slant-eyed — ” He broke into a string of attributions concerning the progenitors and personal habits of the Pan-Asians about which he could not possibly have had positive knowledge. “Stow it, Moe,” another voice commanded. “Tell us the news. Jell.” “Sorry,” Thomas refused affably, “but I’ve been up in the hills, kinda keeping out of the army and doing a little fishing.” “You should have stayed there. Things are bad everywhere. Nobody dares give an unregistered man a day’s work, and it takes everything you’ve got just to keep out of the labor camps. It makes the big Red bunt look like a picnic.” “Tell me about the labor camps,”

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ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION Thomas suggested. “I might get hungry enough to try one for a vdiile.” “You don’t know. Nobody could get that hungry.” The voice paused, as if the owner were turning the un- pleasant subject over in his mind. “Did you know the Seattle Kid.^” “Seem to recall. Little squint- eyed guy, handy with his hands?” “That’s him. Well, he was in one, maybe a week, and got out. Couldn’t tell us how; his mind was gone. I saw him the night he died. His body was a mass of sores, blood poisoning, I guess.” He paused, then added reflectively, “The smell was pretty bad.” Thomas wanted to drop the sub- ject, but he needed to know more. “Who gets sent to these camps?” “Any man that isn’t already work- ing at an approved job. Boys from fourteen on up. All that was left alive of the army after we folded up. Anybody that’s caught without a registration card.” “That ain’t the half of it,” added Moe. “You should see what they do with unassigned women. Why, a woman was telling me just the other day — a nice old gal; gimme a handout. She was telling me about her niece. It seems this niece used to be a schoolteacher, and the flat- faces don’t want any American schools or teachers. When they reg- istered her they — ” “Shut up, Moe. You talk too much.” It was disconnected, fragmentary, the more so as he was rarely able to ask direct questions concerning the things he really wanted to know. Nevertheless he gradually built up a picture of a people being systemati- cally and thoroughly enslaved, a pic- ture of a nation as helpless as a man <3ompletely paralyzed, its defenses destroyed, its comimmications en- tirely in the hands of the invaders. Everywhere he found boiling re- sentment, a fierce willingness to fight against the tyranny, but it was un- directed, unco-ordinated, and, in any modern sense, unarmed. Sporadic rebellion was as futile as the scurry- ing of ants whose hill has been vio- lated. Pan-Asians could be killed, yes, and there were men willing to shoot on sight, even in the face of the certainty of their own deaths. But their hands were bound by the greater certainty of brutal multiple retaliation against their own kind. As with the Jews in Germany before the final blackout in Europe, bravery was not enough, for one act of vio- lence against the tyrants would be paid for by other men, women, and children at unspeakable compound interest. Even more distressing than the miseries he saw and heard about ■W'ere the reports of the planned eiimi- nation of the American culture as such. The schools were closed. No word might be printed in English. There was a suggestion of a time, one generation away, when English would be an illiterate language, used orally alone by helpless peons who would never be able to revolt for sheer lack of a means of communica- tion on any wide scale. It was impossible to form any ra- tional estimate of the numbers of Asiatics now in the United States. Transports, it was rumored, arrived daily on the West coast, bringing thousands of administrative civil servants, most of whom were vet- erans of the amalgamation of India. Whether or not they could be con- sidered as augmenting the armed forces who had conquered and now policed the country it was difficult to say, but it was evident that they would replace the white minor ofii-

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SIXTH COLUMN 25 dais who now assisted in dvil ad- ministration at pistol point. When those white officials were “elimi- nated” it would be still more difficult to organize resistance. Thomas found the means to en-' ter the cities in one of the hobo jun- gles. Finny — surname unknown — was not, properly speaking, a knight of the road, but one who had sought shelter among them and who paid his way by practicing his talent. He was an old anarchist comrade who had served his concept of freedom by en- graving really quite excellent Federal Reserve notes without complying with the formality of obtaining per- mission from the treasury depart- ment. Some said that his name had been Phineas; others connected his monicker with his preference for manufacturing five-dollar bills — “big enough to be useful, not big enough to arouse suspicion.” He made a registration card for Thopias at the request of one of the ’bos. He talked while Thomas watched him work. “It’s only the registration number that we really have to worry about, son. Practi- cally none of the Asiatics you will run in to can read English, so it really doesn’t matter a lot what we say about you. ‘Mary had a little lamb — ’ would probably do. Same for the photograph. To them, all white men look alike.” He picked up a handful of assorted photographs from his kit and peered at them near-sightedly through thick specta- cles. “Here — pick out one of these that looks not unlike you and we will use it. Now for the number—” The old man’s hands were shaky, almost palsied, yet they steadied down to a deft sureness as he trans- ferred India ink to cardboard in amazing simulation of machine printing. And this he did without proper equipment, without precision tools, under primitive conditions. Thomas understood why the old artist’s masterpieces caused head- aches for bank clerks. “There!” he announced. “I’ve given you a serial number which states that you were registered shortly after the change, and a classification number which permits you to travel. It also says that you are physically unfit for manual labor, and are permitted to peddle or beg. It’s the same thing to their minds.” “Thanks, awfully,” said Thomas. “Now . . . uh . . . what do I owe you for this?” Finny’s reaction made him feel as if he had uttered some indecency. “Don’t mention payment, my son! Money is wrong — it’s the means whereby man enslaves his brother.” “I beg your pardon, sir,” Thomas apologized sincerely. “Nevertheless, I wish there were some way for me to do something for you.” “That is another matter. Help your brother when you can, and help will come to you when you need it.” Thomas found the old anarchist’s philosophy confused, confusing, and impractical, but he spent consider- able time drawing him out, as he seemed to know more about tbe Pan- Asians than anyone else he had met. Finny seemed unafraid of them and completely confident of his own ability to cope with them when nec- essary. Of all the persons Thomas had met since the change. Finny seemed the least disturbed by it — in fact, disturbed not at all, and com- pletely lacking in any emotion of hate or bitterness. This was hard for him to understand at first in a person as obviously warm-hearted as Finny, but he came to realize that, since the anarchist believed that all government was wrong and that all

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36 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION men were to him in fact brothers, the difference to him was one of de- gree only. Looking at the Pan- Asians through Finny’s eyes there was nothing to hate; they were sim- ply more misguided souls whose ex- cesses were deplorable. Thomas did not see it from such Olympian detachment. The Pan- Asians were murdering and oppress- ing a once-free people. A good Pan- Asian was a dead Pan-Asian, he told himself, until the last one was driven back across the Pacific. If Asia was overpopulated,, let theip limit their birth rate. Nevertheless, Finny’s detachment and freedom from animus enabled Thomas more nearly, to appreciate the nature of the problem. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking of the Pan-Asians as bad — they’re not — but they are different. Behind their arrogance is a racial inferiority com- plex, a mass paranoia, that makes i,t necessary for them to prove to them- selves by proving to us that a yel- low man is just as good as a white man, and a damned sight better. Remember that, son, they want the outward signs of respect more than they want anything else in the world.” “But why should they have an in- feriority complex about the white man.^ We've been completely out of touch with them for more than two generations — ever since the Nonin- terconrse Act.” “Do you think racial memory is that short-lived? The seeds of this are way back in the nineteenth cen- tury. Do you recall that two high Japanese officials had to commit honorable suicide to wipe out a slight that was done Commodore Perry when he opened up Japan? Now those two deaths are being paid for by the deaths of thousands of white officials.” “But the Pan- Asians aren’t Japa- nese.” “No, and they are not Chinese. They are a mixed race, strong, proud, and prolific. From the American standpoint they have the vices of both and the virtues of neither. But from my standpoint they are sim- ply human beings who have been duped into the old fallacy of the State as a super-entity. ‘Ich habe einen Icameraden.’ Once you under- stand the nature of — ” He went off into a long dissertation, a mixture of Rousseau, Rocker, Thoi'eaii, and others. Thomas found it inspira- tional, but unconvincing. On the sthengtit of the forged registration card and Finny’s coach- ing as to the etiquette of being, a serf, Thomas ventured into a medium- sized city. The cleverness of Fin- ny’s work was put to test almost im- mediately. He had stopped at a street corner to read a posted notice. It was a general order to all Americans to be present at a television receiver at eight each evening in order to note any instructions that their rulers might have for them. It was not news; the order had been in effect for some days and he had heard of it. He was about to turn away when he felt a sharp, stinging blow across his shoulder blades. He whirled around and found himself facing a Pan-Asian wearing the green uniform of a civil administrator, and carrying a swagger cane. “Keep out of the way, boy!” He spoke in English, but in a light, sing- ing tone which lacked the customary American accentuation. Thomas jumped into the gutter — “They like to look down, not up” — • and clasped his hands together in the form required. He ducked his head

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SIXTH COLUMN and replied, “The master speaks; the servant obeys.” “That’s better,” acknowledged the Asiatic, apparently somewhat molli- fied. “Your ticket.” The man’s accent was not bad, but Thomas did not comprehend im- mediately, possibly because the emo- tional impact of his first experience in the role of slave was all out of proportion to what he had expected. To say that he raged inwardly is meaninglessly inadequate. The swagger cane cut across his face. “Your ticket!” Thomas produced his registration card. The time the yellow man spent in examining it gave Thomas an opportunity to pull himself to- gether to some extent. At the mo- ment he did not care greatly whether the card passed muster or not; if it came to trouble, he would take this one apart with his bare hands. But it passed. The Asiatic grudg- ingly handed it back and strutted away, unaware that death had brushed his elbow. It turned out that there was lit- tle to be picked up in town that he had not already acquired second- hand in the hobo jungles. He had a chance to estimate for himself the proportion of rulers' to ruled, and saw for himself that the schools were closed and the newspapers had van- ished. He noted with interest that church services were still held, al- though any other gathering together of white men in assembly was strictly forbidden. But it was the dead, wooden faces of the people, the quiet children, that got under his skin and made him de- cide to sleep in the jungles rather than in town, Thomas ran across an old friend at one of the hobo hide-outs. Frank Roosevelt Mit.sui was as American as '37 Will Rogers, and much more Ameri- can than that English aristocrat, George "Washington. His grandfa- ther had brought his grandmother, half Chinese and half wahini, from Honolulu to Los Angeles, where he opened a nursery and continued to study Bushido, the ancient Japanese code of chivalry, while little yellow children grew up around him, chil- dren that knew neither Chinese nor Japanese, nor cared. Frank’s father met his mother, Thelma Wang, part Chinese but mostlj^ Caucasian, at the Interna- tional Club at the University of Southern California. He took her to the Imperial Valley and installed her on a nice ranch with a nice mortgage. By the time Frank was raised, so was the mortgage. Jeff Thomas had cropped lettuce and honeydew melon for Frank Mit- sui three seasons and knew him as a good boss. He had become almost intimate with his employer because of his liking for the swarm of brown kids that were Frank’s most impor- tant crop. But the sight of a flat, yellow face in a hobo jungle made Thomas’ hackles rise and almost in- terfered with him recognizing his old acquaintance. It was an awkward meeting. Well as he knew Frank, Thomas was in no mood to trust an Oriental. It was Frank’s eyes that convinced him; they held a tortured look that was even more intense than that found in the eyes of white men, a look that did not lessen even while he smiled and shook hands. “Well, Frank,” Jeff improvised in- anely, “who ’ii’d expect to find you here. I should think you ’u’d find it easy to get along with the new re- gime.” Frank Mitsui looked still more unhappy and seemed to be fumbling for words. One of the other hobos

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23 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION cut in. “Don’t be a fool, Jeff. Don’t you know what they’ve done to peo- ple like Frank.^” “No, I don’t.” “Well, you’re on the dodge. If they catch you, it’s the labor camp. So is Frank. But if they catch him, it’s curtains^ — right now. They’ll shoot him on sight.” “So.^ What did you do, Frank?” Mitsui shook his head miserably. “He didn’t do anything,” the other continued. “The empire has no use for American Asiatics. They’re liquidating them.” It was quite simple. The Pacific coast Japanese, Chinese, and the like did not fit into the pattern of serfs and overlords — particularly the half- breeds. They were a danger to the stability of the pattern. With cold logic, they were being hunted down and killed. Thomas listened to Frank’s story, “When 1 got home they were dead — all of them. Aly little Shirley, Jun- ior, Jimmy, the baby — and Alice.” Fie put his face in his hands and wept. Alice was his wife. Thomas remembered her as a brown, stocky woman in overalls and straw hat, who talked very little but smiled a lot. “At first I thought I would kill myself,” Alitsui went on when he had sufficient control of himself, “then I knew better. I hid in an irrigation ditch for two days, and then I got away over the mountains. Then some whites almost killed me before I could convince them I was oil their side.” Thomas could understand how that would happen, and could think of nothing to say. Frank was damned two ways; there was no hope for him. “What do you intend to do now, Frank?” He saw a sudden return of the will to live in the man’s face. “That is why I will not let myself die! Ten for each one” — he counted them off on his brown fingers — “ten of tliose devils for each one of my babies — and twenty for Alice. Then maybe ten more for myself, and I can die.” “Hm-m-m. Any luck?” “Thirteen, so far. It is slow, for I have to be very sure, so that they won’t kill me before I finish.” Thomas pondered it in his mind, trying to fit this new knowledge into his own purpose. Such fixed deter- mination should be useful, if di- rected. But it was some hours later before he approached Alitsui again. “How would you,” he asked gen- tly, “like to raise your quota from ten to a thousand each — two thou- sand for Alice?” The exterior alarms brought Ardmore to tlie portal long before Thomas whistled the tune that ac- tivated the door. Ardmore watched the door by reflectoscope from guard room, his thumb resting on a con- trol, ready to burn out of existence any unexpected visitor. When he saw Thomas enter his thumb re- laxed, but at the sight of his com- panion it tightened again. A Pan- xAsian! He almost blasted them in sheer reflex before he checked him- self. It was possible, barely possible, that Thomas had brought a prisoner to question. “Major! Major Ardmore! It’s Thomas.” “Stand where you are! Both, of you.”, “It’s all right, major. He’s an American. T vouch for him.” “Maybe.” The voice that reached Thomas over the announcing phone was still grimly suspicious. “Just the same— peel off all of your clothes, both of you.” They did so, Thomas biting his lip in humilia- tion, Mitsui trembling in agitation.

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SIXTH COLUMN 29 They used the epileptigenic ray on the penned pris- oners till they no longer resembled anything human — He (lid not understand it, and he felt trapped. “Now turn around slowly and let me look you ovei’,” the voice commanded. Having satisfied himself that they were unarmed, Ardmore told them to stand still and wait, then called Graham on the intercommunication circuit. “Graham!” “Yes, sir.” “Report to me at once in the guardroom.”

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30 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION “But, major, ! can’t. Dinner will be — ” “Never mind dinner! Move!” “Yes, sir!” Ardmore ^iointed out the situation to him in the reflectoscope. “You go down there and handcuff both of them from behind. Secure the Asi- atic first. Make him back up to you, and watch yourself. If he tries to jump you, I may have to wiug you, too.” “I don’t like this, major,” Graham protested. “Thomas is all right. He woiddn’t be up to any hanky- panky.” “Sure, man, I know he’s all right, too. But he may be drugged and under control. This set-up could be a Trojan Horse gag. Now get down and do as you are told.” While Graham was gingerly carry- ing out his unwelcome assignment — and making himself, in fact, eligible for a Congressional Medal which he would never receive, for his artist’s imagination perceived too clearly the potential danger and forced him to call up courage for the task — Ard- more called up Brooks. “Doctor, can you drop what you are doing.?” “Why, perhaps I can. Yes, I may say so. What is it you wish.?” “Then come to my office. Thomas is l*ack. I want to know whether or not he is under the influence of drugs.” “But I am not a medical man — ” “I know that, but you are the nearest thing we’ve got to one.” “Very well, sir.” Dr. Brooks examined Thomas’ pupils, tried his knee jerks, and checked his pulse and respiration. “I should say that he was perfectly nor- mal, though exhausted and laboring under excitement. Naturally, this is not a positive diagnosis. If I had more time — ” “It will do for now. Thomas, I trust you won’t hold it against me if we leave you locked up until we have examined your Asiatic pal.” “Certainly not, major,” d’homas told him with a wry grin, “since you’re going to, anyhow.” Frank Mitsui’s flesh quivered and sweat dripped from his face when Brooks stuck the hypodermic into him, but he did not draw away. Presently he relaxed under the influ- ence of the drug that releases inhibi- tions and strips from the speech cen- ters the protection of cortical censor- ship. His face became peaceful. But it was not peaceful a few min- utes later when they began to ques- tion him, nor was there peace in any of their faces. This was truth, too raw and too brutal for any man to stand. Deep lines carved themselves from nose to jaw in Ardmore’s face as he listened to the little man’s piti- ful story. No matter what line they started him on, he always came back to the scene of his dead children, his broken household. Finally Ardmore put a stop to it. “Give him the antidote, doc. I can’t stand any more of this. I’ve found out all I need to know.” Ardmore shook hands with him solemnly after he had returned to full awareness. “We are glad to have you with us, Mr. Mitsui. And we’ll put you to some work that will give you a chance to get some (»f your own back. Right now I want Dr. Brooks to give you a soporific that will let you get about sixteen hours’ sleep; then we can think about swearing you in and what kind of work you can be most useful doing.” “I don’t need any sleep, Mister . . . Major.” , “Just the same, you are going to get some. And so is Thomas, a.s

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SIXTH COLUMN 31 soon as he has reported. In fact — ” He broke off and studied the appar- ently impassive face. “In fact, I want you to take a sleepy pill every night. Those are orders. You1l draw them from me and take them in my presence every night before you go to bed.” There are certain bonus advantages to military abso- lutism. Ardmore could not tolerate the idea of the little yellow man ly- ing awake and staring at the ceiling. Brooks and Graham would quite plainly have liked to stay and hear Thomas’ report, but Ardmore re- fused to notice the evident fact and dismissed them. He wished first to evaluate the data himself. “Well, lieutenant, I’m damn glad you’re back.” “]’m glad to be back. Did you say ‘lieutenant’? I assume that my rank reverts.” “Why should it? As a matter of fact, I am trying to figure out a plausible reason for commissioning Graham and Scheer. It would sim- plify things around here to eliminate social differences. But that is a side issue. Let’s hear what you’ve done. I suppose you’ve come back with all our problems solved and tied up with string?” “Not likely.” Thomas grinned and relaxetl. “I didn’t expect it. But seriously, between ourselves, I’ve got to pull something out of the hat, and it’s got to be good. The scientific staff is beginning to crowd me, particu- larly Colonel Calhoun. There’s no damn sense in them making miracles in the laboratory unless I can dope out some way to apply those mira- cles in strategy and tactics.” “Have they really gone so far?” “You’d be surprised. They’ve taken that so-called ‘Ledbetter ef- fect’ and shaken it the way a terrier shakes a rat. They can do anything with it but peel the potatoes and put out the cat.” “Really?” “Really.” “What sort of things can they do?” “Well — ” Ardmore took a deep breath. “Honestly, I don’t know where to begin. Wilkie has tried to keep me posted with simplified ex- planations, but, between ourselves, I didn’t understand more than every other word. One way of putting it is to say that they’ve discovered atomic power — oh, I don’t mean atom-splitting, or artificial radioac- tivity. Look — we speak of space, and time, and matter, don’t we?” “Yes. There’s Einstein’s space- time concept, of course.” “Of course. Space-time is stand- ard stuff in high school these days. But these men really mean it. They really mean that space and time and mass and energy and radiation and gravity are all simply different ways of thinking about the same thing. And if you once catch on to how just one of them works, you have the key to all of them. According to Wilkie, physicists up to now were just fooling around the edges of the subject; they had the beginnings of a unified field theory, but they didn’t really believe it themselves; they usually acted as if these were all as different as the names for them. “Apparently Ledbetter hit on the real meaning of radiation, and that has given Calhoun and Wilkie the key to everything else in physics. Is that clear?” he added with a grin. “Not very,” Thomas admitted. “Can you give me some idea of what they can do with it?” “Well, to begin with, the original Ledbetter effect — the thing that killed most of the personnel here — Wilkie calls an accidental side issue.

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32 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION Brooks says tliat the basic radiation affected the colloidal dispersal of liv- ing tissue; those that were killed were coagulated by it. It might just as well have been set to release sur- face tension — in fact, they did that the other day, exploded a half a pound of beefsteak like so much dy- namite.” “Huh?” “Don’t ask me how; I’m just re- peating the explanation given me. But the point is, they seem to haAm found out what makes matter tick. They can explode it — sometimes — • and use it for a source of power. They can transmute it into any ele- ment they want. They seem to be confident that they know what to do to find out how gravity works, so that they will be able to handle gravity the way we now handle elec- tricity.” “I thought gravity was not con- sidered a force in the modern con- cepts.” “So it isn’t — but, then, ‘force’ isn’t force, either, in unified field theory. Hell’s bells, you’ve got me bogged down in language difficulties. Wil- kie says that mathematics is the only available language for these ideas.” “WffiuL, I guess I’ll just have to get along without understanding it. But, frankly, I don’t see how they managed to come so far so fast. That changes just about everything we thought we knew. Honestly, how is it that it took a hundred and fifty years to go from Newton to Edison, yet these boys can knock out results like that in a few weeks?” “I don’t know myself. The same point occurred to me, and I asked Calhoun about it. He informed me in that schoolmaster way of his that it was because those pioneers did not have the tensor calculus, vector analysis, and matrix algebra.” “Well, I wouldn’t know,” observed Thomas. “They don’t teach that stuff in law school.” “Nor me,” admitted Ardmore. “I tried looking over some of their work sheets. I can do simple alge- bra, and I’ve had some calculus, though I haven’t used it for years, but I couldn’t make sense out of this stuff. It looked like Sanskrit; most of the signs were different, and even the old ones didn’t seem to mean the same things. Look — I thought that a times b always equaled b times a.” “Doesn’t it?” “Not when these boys get through kicking it around. But we are get- ting way off the subject. Bring me up to date.” “Yes, .sir.” Jeff Thomas talked steadily for a long time, trying very hard to paint a detailed picture of everything he had seen and heard and felt. Ardmore did not interrupt him except with questions intended to clarify points. There was a short silence when he had concluded. Fi- nally Ardmore said: “I think I must have had a sub- conscious belief that you would come back with some piece of information that would fall right into place and tell me what to do. But I don’t see much hope in what you have told me. How to win back a country that is as completely paralyzed and as carefully guarded as you describe the United States to be is beyond me.” “Of course, I didn’t see the whole country. About two hundred miles from here is as far as I got.” “Yes, but you got reports from the other hobos that covered the whole country, didn’t you?” “Yes.”_ “And it was all about the same. I think we can safely assume that what you heard, confirmed by what you saw, gives a fairly true picture.

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SIXTH COLUIVIN 3S IIow recent do you sujjpose was the doj)c you got by the grapevine tele- gra})h ?” “Well — maybe three or four days old for news from tlie East coast- — no more than that.” “1"hat seerhs reasonable. News always travels by the fastest availa- ble route. It’s certainly not very encouraging. And yet — ” He paused and scowled in evident puz- zlement. “And yet I have a feeling that you said something that was the key to the whole matter. I can’t put my finger on it. I began to get an idea while you were talking, then some other point came up that di- verted my mind, and I lost it.” “Maybe it would help if I started in again at the beginning,” suggested Thomas. “No need to. I’ll play the record- ing back piece by piece sometime to- jnorrow, if I don’t think of it in the meantime.” They were interrupted by peremp- tory knocking at the door. Ardmore called out, “Come in!” Colonel Cal- houn entered. “Major Ardmore, what’s this about a Pan-Asiatic prisoner.^” “Not quite that, colonel, but we do have an Asiatic here now. He’s American born.” Calhoun brushed aside the distinc- tion. “Why wasn’t I informed.^ I have notified you that I urgently re- quire a man of Mongolian blood for test experimentation.” “Doctor, with the skeleton staff we have, it is difficult to comply with all' the formalities of military eti- quette. You were bound to learn of it in tlie ordinary course of events — in fact, it seems that you were in- formed in some fashion.” Calhoun snorted. “Through the casual gossip of subordinates!” “I’m sorry, colonel, but it couldn’t be helped. Just at the moment I am trying to receive Thomas’ reconnais- sance report.” “Very well, sir.” Calhoun was icily formal. “Will you be good enough to have this Asiatic report to me at once?” “I can’t do that. He is asleep, drugged, and there is no way to pro- duce him for you before tomorrow. Besides, while I am quite sure that he will be entirely co-operative in any useful experimentation, he is an American citizen and a civilian un- der our protection — not a prisoner. We’ll have to take it up with him.” Calhoun left as abruptly as he had come. “Jeff,” mused Ardmore, glancing after him, “speaking strictly off the record — oh, strictly! — if there ever comes a time when we are no longer bound down by military ne- cessity, I’m going to paste that old beezer right in the puss!” “Why don’t you clamp down on him?” “I can’t, and he knows it. He’s invaluable, indispensable. We’ve ab- solutely got to have his brains for research, and you can’t conscript brains just by handing out orders. Y’know, though, in spite of his bril- liance, I sometimes think he’s just a little bit cracked.” “Shouldn’t be surprised. What does he want Frank Mitsui so bad for?” “Well, that’s somewhat involved. They’ve proved that the original Ledbetter effect depends on some in- herent characteristic of the life form it’s applied to — I call it a natural frequency myself, though I under- stand that gives a false picture. They can tune it down to pick one man out of a group. Now Brooks has an idea, which Calhoun has worked up mathematically, that they can tune it to discriminate be- tween races, knock over all the Asi-

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ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION ■ 34 atics in a group and not touch the white men, and vice versa.” “Whew! That loould be a weapon.” “Yes, it would. It’s just on pa- per so far, but they want to test it on Mitsui. As I gather what they intend to do, they don’t exactly in- tend to kill him, but it’s bound to be dangerous as all hell — to Mitsui.” “Frank won’t mind chancing it,” Thomas commented. “No, I don’t suppose he would.” It seemed to Ardmore that it would probably be a favor to Mitsui to give him a clean, painless death in the laboratory. “Now about another matter. It seems to me we ought to be able to work up a sort of a permanent secret service, using your hobo pals and their sources of in- formation. Let’s talk about it.” Ardmore gained a few days res- pite in which to consider further the problem of military use of the weap- ons at his disposal while the research staff tested their theories concerning the interrelation between racial types and the improved Ledbetter effect. The respite did him no good. He had a powerful weapon, yes; in fact, many powerfid weapons, for it seemed that the new principles they had tapped had fully as protean pos- sibilities as electricity. It seemed ex- tremely likely that if the United States defense forces had had, one year earlier, the tools now available in the Citadel, the United States would never have fallen. But six men cannot whip an em- pire— not by brute force. The em- peror could, if necessary, expend six million men to defeat six. The hordes of the empire could come at them barehanded and win, move over them as an avalanche moves, until they were buried under a moun- tain of dead flesh. Ardmore had to have an army to fight with his won- derful new weapons. The question was: How to re- cruit and train such an army? Certain it was that the Pan-Asians would not hold still while he went into the highways and byways and got his forces together. The thor- oughness with which they had or- ganized police surveillance of the en- tire population made it evident that they were acutely aware of the dan- ger of revolution and would stamp out any such activity before it could possibly reach proportions danger- ous to them. There remained one clandestine group, the hobos. He consulted witli Thomas as to the possibility of or- ganizing them for military purposes. Thomas shook his head at the idea. “You can’t understand the hobo temperament, chief. There is not one in a hundred that could be de- pended on to observe the strict self- discipline necessary for such an en- terprise. Suppose you were able to arm all of them with projectors — I don’t say that is possible, but sup- pose you could — you still would not have an army; you woidd simply have an undisciplined rabble.” “Wouldn’t they fight?” “Oh, sure, they ’u’d fight. They ’u’d fight as individuals, and they would do quite a bit of slaughter un- til some flatface caught them olf guard and winged them.” “I wonder if we can depend on them as sources of inforihation.” “That’s another matter. Most of the road kids won’t have any idea that they are being used to obtain military information. I’ll handpick not over a dozen to act as reporters for me, and I won’t tell them any- thing they don’t have to know.” Any way he looked at it, simple, straightforward military use of tlie new weapons was not expedient.

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SIXTH COLUMN 35 BruLil frontal attack was for the commander who had men to expend. General U. S. Grant could afford to say, “I will fight it out on this line if it takes all summer,” because he could lose three men to the enemy’s one and still win. Those tactics were not for the commander who could not afford to lose ««// men. For him it must be dece])tion, misdirection — feint and slash and run away, ” — and live to fight another day!” The nursery rhyme finished itself in his mind. That was it. It had to be something totally unexpected, some- thing that the Jhm-Asians would not realize was warfare until they were overwhelmed by it. It would have to be something like the “fifth columns” that destroyed the European democracies from within in the tragic days that led up to the final blackout of European civilization. But this would not be a fifth column of traitors, bent on paralyzing a free country, but the antithesis of that, a sixth column of patriots whose privilege it would be to destroy the morale of invaders, make them afraid, unsure of them- selves. And misdirection was the key to ir, the art of fooling! Ardmore felt a little better when he had reached that conclusion. It was something he could understand, a job suited to an advertising man. He had been trying to crack it as a military problem, but he was not a field marshal and it had been silly of him to try to make a noise like one. His mind did not work that way. T'his was primarily a job in publicity, a matter of mob psy- chology. A former boss of his, un- der whom he had learned the racket, used to tell him, “I can sell dead cats to the board of health with a proper budget and a free hand.” AST— 3 Well, he had a free hand, all right, and the budget was no problem. Of course, he could not use the news- papers and the old channels of ad- vertising, but there would be a way. The jjroblem now was to figure out the weak points of the Pan-Asians and decide how Calhoun’s little gad- gets could be used to play on those weak points until the Pan-Asians were sick of the whole deal and anx- ious to go home. He did not have a plan yet. When a man is at a loss for a course of action, he usually calls a conferenoe. Ardmore did. He sketched out to them the sitiw- tion up to date, including all that Thomas had learned and all that had come in by television through the conquerors’ “educational” * broad- casts. Then he discussed the powers that were made available to them by the research staff, and the various obvious ways in which they could be applied as military weapons, empha- sizing the personnel necessary to use each type of weaixrn effectively. Having done so, he asked for sug- gestions. “Do I understand, major,” Cal- houn began, “that after rather jx)int- edly telling us that you would make all military decisions you are now asking us to make up your mind for you.^” “Not at all, colonel. I have still the responsibility for any decisioii, but this is a new sort of military situation. A suggestion from any source may pro^'e valuable. I don’t flatter myself that I have a mo- nopoly on common sense, nor on originality. I would like for every one of us to tackle this problem and let the others criticize it.” “Do you yourself have any plan to offer us.^” “I am reserving my opinions until the rest of you have spoken.”

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86 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION “Very well, sir” — Dr. Calhoun straightened himself up — “since you have asked for it, I will tell you what I think should be done in this situa- tion— what, in fact, is the only thing that can be done. “You are aware of the tremendous power of the forces I have made available.” Ardmore noticed Wil- kie’s mouth tighten at this allocation of credit, but neither of them inter- rupted. “In your resume, you un- derestimated them, if anything. We have a dozen fast scout cars housed here in the Citadel. By refitting them with power units of the Cal- houn type, they can be made faster than anything the enemy can put into the air. We will mount on them the heaviest projectors and attack. With overwhelmingly superior weap- ons, it is only a matter of time until we will have the Pan-Asiatic empire beaten to its knees!” Ardmore wondered how any man could be so blind. He did not him- self wish to argue against Calhoun; he said, “Thank you, colonel. I’ll ask you to submit that plan written up in more detail. In the meantime, does anyone wish to amplify or criti- cize the colonel’s suggestion.^” He waited hopefully, then added, “Come now, no plan is perfect. You must have some details to add, at least.” Graham took the plunge. “How often do you expect to come down to eat.'’” Calhoun cut in before Ardmore could call on him. “Well, I’m damned! I must say that, I consider this no time for facetiousness.” “Wait a minute,” prptested Graham, “I didn’t mean to be funny. I’m quite serious. That’s my depart- ment. Those scout cars are not equipped to keep the air very long, and it seems to me that it will take quite a long time to reconquer the United States with a dozen scout cars, even if we located enough men to keep them in the air all the lime. That means you have to come back to base to eat.” “Yes, and that means the base will have to be held against attack,” Scheer put in suddenly. “The base can be defended with other projectors.” Calhoun’s tone was scornful. “Major, I really must ask that the discussion be confined to sensible issues.” Ardmore rubbed his chin and said nothing. Randall Brooks, who had been lis- tening thoughtfully, pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and began to sketch. “I think Scheer has some- thing, Dr. Calhoun. If you will look here for a moment — here, at this point, is your base. The Pan-Asians can encircle the base with ships at a distance greater than the range of the base projectors. The greater speed of your scout cars will be un- important, for the enemy can well afford to use as many ships as neces- sary to insure our ci'aft not getting past the blockade. It’s true that the scout cars wnll have the projectors with which to fight, but they can’t fight a hundred ships at once, and the enemies’ w'eapons are pow'erful, too— we mustn’t forget that.” “You’re right they’re powerful!” added Wilkie. “We can’t afford to have a known base. With their bom- bardment rockets they could stand back a thousand miles and blow this whole mountain out of the ground, layer by layer, if they knew' we were under it.” Calhoun stood up. “I am not go- ing to remain here and listen to mis- givings of pusillanimous fools. My plan assumed that men would exe- cute it.” He walked stiffly out the room.

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SIXTH COLUMN 37 Ariimore ignored his departure and went hurriedly on, “The objec- tions made to Colonel Calhoun’s scheme seem to me to apply to ev- ery plan for open, direct combat at this time. I have considered several and rejected them for approximately those reasons, at least for reasons of logistics — that is to say, the problem of military supply. However, I may not have thought of some perfectly feasible solution. Does anyone have a direct warfare method to suggest, a method which will not risk per- sonnel?” No one answered. “Very well. Bring it up later if you think of one. It seems to me that we must neces- sarily work by misdirection. If we can’t fight the enemy directly at this time, we must fool ’em until we can.” “I see,” agreed Dr. Brooks, “the bull wears himself out on the cape and never sees the sword.” “Exactly. Exactly. I only wish it were as easy as that. Now do any of you have any ideas as to how we can use what we’ve got without let- ting them know who we are, where we are, or how many we are? And now I’m going to take time out for a cigarette while you think about it.” Presently he added, “You might bear in mind that we have two real advantages: The enemy apparently has not the slightest idea that we even exist, and our weapons are strange to them, even mysterious. Wilkie, didn’t you compare the Led- better effect to magic?” “I should hope to shout, chief! It’s safe to say that, aside from the in- struments in our laboratories, there just isn’t any way in existence to detect the forces we are working with now. You don’t even know they’re there. It’s like trying to hear radio with your bare ears.” “That’s what I mean. Mysteri- ous. Like the Indians when they first met up with the white man’s firearms, they died and they didn’t know why. Think about it. I’ll shut up and let you.” Graham produced the first sugges- tion. “Major?” “Yes?” “Why couldn’t we kidnap ’em?” “How do you mean?” “Well, your idea is to throw a scare into ’em, isn’t it? How about a surprise raiding party, using the Ledbetter effect. We could go in one of the scout cars at night and pick out some really big shot, maybe the prince royal himself. We knock out everybody we come in contact with with the projectors, and we walk right in and snatch him.” “Any oiiinions about that, gentle- men?” Ardmore said, reserving his own. “It seems to have something to it,” commented Brooks. “I would suggest that the projectors be set to render unconscious for a number of hours rather than to kill. It seems to me that the psychological effect would be heightened if they simply awoke and found their big man gone. One has no recollection of what has happened under such circumstances, as Wilkie and Mitsui can testify.” “Why stop at the prince royal?” Wilkie wanted to know. “We could set up four raiding parties, two to a car, and make maybe twelve raids in a single night. That way we could knock over enough of their number- one men to really cause some disor- ganization.” “That seems like a good idea,” Ardmore agreed. “We may not be able to pull off these raids more than once. If we could do enough dam- age right at the top in one blow, we might both demoralize them and set off a general uprising. What’s the matter, Mitsui?”^ He had noticed the Oriental look-

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S8 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION ing unhappy as the plan was devel- oped. Mitsui spoke reluctantly, “It will not work, I am afraid.” “You mean we can’t kidnap them that way.? Do you know something we don’t about their guard meth- ods.?” “No, no. With a force that reaches through walls and knocks a man down before he knows you are there I believe you can capture them, all right. But the results will not be as you foresee them.” “Why not.?” “Because you will gain no advan- tage. They will not assume that you are holding their chief men as pris- oners; they will assume that each one has committed suicide. The results will be horrible.” It was purely a psychological point, with room for difference of opinion. But the white men could not believe that the Pan-Asians would dare to retaliate if it were made unmistakably plain to them that their sacred leaders were not dead, but at the mercy of captors. Besides, it was a plan that offered immediate action, which they were spoiling for. Ardmore finally agreed to its adoption for want of something better, although he had a feeling of misgiving which he suppressed. For the next few days all effort was bent toward preparing the scout cars for the projected task. Scheer performed Herculean mechanical jobs, working eighteen and twenty hours a day, with the others work- ing joyfully under his supervision. Calhoun even came off his high horse and agreed to take part in the raid, although he did not help with the “menial” woi’k. Thomas went out on a quick scouting trip and made certain of the location of twelve well- scattered Pan-Asian seats of govern- ment. In the buoyancy of spirit which resulted from a plan of campaign, any plan of campaign, Ardmore failed to remember his own decision that what was required was a sixth column, an underground, or at least, unsuspected organization which would demoralize the enemy from within. This present plan was not such a one, but an essentially mili- tary plan. He began to think of himself as, if not Napoleon, at least as a modern Swamp Rat, or Sandino, striking through the night at the pro- fessional soldiers and fading away. But Mitsui was right. The television receiver was used regularly, with full recording, to pick up anything that the overlords had to broadcast to their slaves. It had become something of a custom to meet in the common room at eight in the evening to listen to the regu- lar broadcast in which new orders were announced to the population. Ardmore encouraged it; the “hate session” it inspired was, he believed, good for morale. Two nights before the projected raid they were gathered as usual. The ugly, broad face of the usual propaganda artist was quickly re- placed by another and older Pan- Asian whom he introduced as the “heavenly custodian of peace and or- der.” The older man came quickly to the point. The American servants of a provincial governor had commit- ted the hideous sin of rebelling against their wise rulers and had cap- tured the sacred person of the gov- ernor and held him prisoner in his own palace. The soldiers of the heavenly emj)eror had brushed aside the insane profaners in the course of which the governor had most re- grettably gone to his ancestors. A period of mourning was an- nounced, commencing at once, which would be inaugurated by permitting

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SIXTH COLUMN 39 the people of the province to expiate the sins of their cousins. The tele- vision scene cut from the room from which he spoke. Tt came to rest on great masses of humanity, men, women, children, huddled, jammed, behind barbed wire. The pick-up came down close enough to permit the personnel of the Citadel to see the blind misery on the faces of the crowd, the wept- oiit children, the mothers carrying babies, the helpless fathers. They did not have to watch those faces long. The pick-up panned over the packed mob, acre on acre of help- less human animals, then returned to a steady close-up of one section. They used the epileptigenic ray on them. Now they no longer resem- blet! anything human. It was, in- stead, as if tens of thousands of mon- strous chickens had had their necks wrung all at once and had been- thrown into the same pen to jerk out their death spasms. Bodies bounded into the air in bone-breaking, spine- smashing fits. Mothers threw their infants from them, or crushed them in uncontrollable, viselike squeeze. The scene cut back to the placid face of the Asiatic dignitary. He an- nounced with what seemed to be re- gret in his voice that penance for sins was not sufTicient, it was necessary also to be educational, in this case to the extent of one in everj^ thou- sand. Ardmore did a quick calcu- lation in his head. A hundred and fifty thousand people! It was un- believable. But it was soon believed. The pick-up cut again, this time to a residential street in an American city. It followed a squad af Pan- Asian soldiers into the living room of a family. They were gathered * about a television receiver, plainly stunned by what they had just sfeen. The mother was huddling a young girl-child to her shoulder, trying to quiet her hysteria. They seemed stupefied, rather than frightened, when the soldiers burst into their home. The father produced his card w'ithout argument; the squad leader compared it wdth a list, and the sol- diers attended to him. • They had evidently been in- structed to use a method of killing that w'as not pretty. Ardmore shut off the receiver. “The raid is off,” he announced. “Go to bed, all of you. And each of you take a sleeping pill tonight. That’s an order!” They left at once. No one said anything. After they were gone, Ardmore turned the receiver back on and watched it through to the end. Then he sat alone for a long time, trying to get his thoughts back into coherence. Those who order sleep- ing drafts won’t take them. Ardmore kept very much to him- self ft)r the next tw'o days, taking his meals in his quarters, and refusing anything but the briefest of inter- views. He saw his error plainly enough now'; it w'as small solace to him that it had been another's mis- take which had resulted in the mas- sacre— he felt symbolically guilty. But the problem remained with him. He knew now' that he had been right when he had decided on a sixth column. A sixth column! Some- thing which would conform in every superficial waj' to the pattern set up by the rulers, yet w'hich would have in it the means of their eventual downfall. It might take years, but there must be no repetition of the ghastly mistake of direct action. He knew' intuitively that some- where in Thomas’ report was the idea he needed. He played it back again and again, but still he couldn’t get it, even though he now knew it

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40 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION by heart. “They are systematically stamping out everything that is typi- cally American in the culture. The schools are gone, so are the newspa- pers. It is a capital offense to print anything in English. They have an- nounced the early establishment of a system of translators for all business correspondence into their language; in the meantime all mail must be ap- proved as necessary. All meetings are forbidden, except religious meet- ings.” “I suppose that is a result of their experience in India. Keeps the slaves quiet.” That was his own voice, sounding strange in reproduc- tion. “I suppose so, sir. Isn’t it an his- torical fact that all successful em- pires have tolerated the local re- ligions, no matter what else they suppressed.''” “I suppose so. Go ahead.” “The real strength of their sys- tem, I believe, is in their method of registration. They apparently were all set to put it into force, and pressed forward on that to the ex- clusion of other matters. It’s turned the United States into one big prison camp in which it is almost impossi- ble to move or communicate without permission from the jailers.” Words, words, and more words! He had played Them over so many times that the significance was al- most lost. Perhaps there was noth- ing in the report, after all — nothing but his imagination. He responded to a knock at the door. It was Thomas. “They asked me to speak to you, sir,” he said dif- fidently. “What about.?” “Well — they are all gathered in the common room. They’d like to talk with you.” Another conference — and not of his choosing, this time. Well, he would have to go. “Tell them I will be in shortly.” “Yes, sir.” After Thomas had gone, he sat for a moment, then went to a drawer and took out his service side arm. He -could smell mutiny in the very fact that someone had dared to call a general meeting without his per- mission. He buckled it on, then tried the slide and the charge, and stood looking at it. Presently he un- buckled it and put it back into the drawer. It wouldn’t help him in this mess. He entered, sat down in his chair at the head of the table, and waited. “Well?” Brooks glanced around to see if anyone else wished to answer, cleared his throat, and said, “Uh — We wanted to ask you if you had any plan for us to follow.” “I do not have — as yet.” “Then we do have!” It was Cal- houn. “Yes, colonel?” “There is no sense in hanging around here with our hands tied. We have the strongest weapons the world has ever seen, but they need men to operate them.” “Well?” “We are going to evacuate and go to South America! There we can find a government which will be in- terested in superior weapons.” “What good will that do the United States?” “It’s obvious. The empire un- doubtedly intends to extend its sway over this entire hemisphere. We can interest them in a preventa- tive war. Or perhaps we can raise up an army of refugees.” “No!” “I am afraid you can’t help your- self, major.” The tone held mali- cious satisfaction.

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SIXTH COLUMN 41 He turned to Thomas. “Are you with them on this?” Thomas looked unhappy. “I had hoped that you would have a bet- ter plan, sir.” “And you, Dr. Brooks?” “Well — it seems feasible. I feel much as Thomas does.” “Graham?” The man gave him answ^er by si- lence. Wilkie looked up and then away again. “Mitsui?” “I’ll go back outside, sir. I have things to finish.” “Scheer?” Scheer’s jaw muscles quivered. “I’ll stick if you do, sir.” “Thanks.” He turned to the rest. “I said, ‘No!’ and I mean it. If any of you leave here, it will be in direct violation of your oaths. That goes for you, Thomas! I’m not being ar- bitrary about this. The thing you pro|X)se to do is on all fours with the raid 1 canceled. So long as the peo- ple of the United States are hostages at the mercy of the Pan-Asians we can?2of take direct military action! It doesn’t make any difference whether the attack comes from in- side or outside, thousands, maybe millions, of innocent people will pay for it w ith their lives!” He was very much w'rought up, but not too much so to look around and see wdiat effect hfs w'ords were having. He had them back — or would have them in a few minutes. All but Calhoun. They were look- ing disturbed. “Supposing you are right, sir” — it was Brooks, speaking very gravely — “supposing you are right, is there anything we can do?” “I explained that once before. We have to form w^hat I called a ‘sixth column,’ lie low, study out their weak points, and work on them.” “I see. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps it is necessary. But it calls for a sort of patience more suited to gods than to men.” He almost had it then. What was it? “I was never much of a church- goer,” Wilkie said inanely. That was it! That was it! “You’re right,” he said to Brooks. “Have you listened to Thomas’ re- port?” “I listened to the play-back.” “Do you recall the one respect in vdiich white men are still permitted to organize?” “Why, no, I don’t recall that there was one.” “None? Nowhere that they were permitted to assemble?” “I know!” Thomas burst in. “Cluirches!” Ardmore waited a moment for it to sink in, then he said very softly, “Has it ever occurred to any of you the possibilities that might lie in founding a new religion?” There was a short and startled si- lence. Calhoun broke it. “The man’s gone mad!” TO BE CONTINUED.

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42 THt Dfly lilt CtLfBfiflTt By nelson S. Bond Everybody agreed if was a day fo celebrate, buf there was a slight confusion as fo why, how, and for what reason— Illustrated by Eron It had snowed yesterday and the day before. It was snowing now. It would snow again tomorrow and the next day. “ — ^and the day after that,” said Baldy Harrigan, warden of Penal Colony No. 1, Uranus, “and the day after that, and the day after that! And so on. Ad infinooty ” He turned disgustedly from the quartzite view pane. There was nothing to see outside there but roll- ing dunes of frozen carbon dioxide, rime-crusted hills of raw metal, and a tempest of white granules sifting endlessly out of a dull and sullen sky. Beside him, his companion. Rusty Peters — once an inmate of P. C. 1, then a trusty, now, by choice, Baldy’s chief assistant — crammed another fistful of scrap into an al- ready bulging jowl. “Odd which.?” "Infinooty” repeated Harrigan. “That’s Latin for, ‘till it gives you the screaming meemies.’ Don’t it never do nothing but snow on this here lousy planet.?” “Sometimes,” consoled Rusty, “it sleets. Gee, what the hell, Baldy! We ain’t got no squawk. It’s safe an’ warm here in the dome, anyway. S’posin’ we lived in caverns, like the natives? They’ve really got it tough.” Baldy Harrigan’s space-faded eyes crackled. “The toughei-,” he snarled, “the better! Them green scuts give me a headache in the sitting-down place. We could be hearing music and see- ing pictures from New Oslo except for them. Something to pass the time away. “But, no! They pick a season like this to smash up our outside aerials. Which means that all we get in the line of entertainment is coded weather reports and flight transfer orders. “Just wait! The first clear spell comes along, I’m going to take out an expedition and give them dead- pans what-for! Somebody ought to ’a’ done it long ago, anyhow — ” “Don’t look now,” said Rusty, “but it’s been tried. Not once or twice, but about six million times. The Patrol’s been warrin’ on the Uranians ever since the first flight ship dropped gravs here. So what? So they still ain’t managed to squelch ’em. The natives is still makin’ periodic attacks on the Earth col- onies. “For which,” he added pensively, “I don’t know as I blame ’em much. After all, Uranus tons their planet. Till we come along. An’ the Patrol ain’t exactly what you might call no debatin’ team. Its missionary method is bang-bang! with a rotor gun, an’ you’re civilized. R. I. P.” “The Solar Space Patrol — ” began Harrigan stiffly.

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43 They hustled in with weapons at the ready — rescue on the way! And stopped blankly at the scene of supposed carnage — “Yeah, I know. It brang order out o’ chaos. Or so the buttons on tlie unyform say. Nuts, Baldy! The Rocketeers ain’t no diff’rent from any other bunch of conquerors. Tliey do just what England done in India, Holland done in the Pacific, an’ the States done in the Philip- pines. ‘Underneath the starry flag, civilize ’em with a Krag’ — an’ so on!” Rusty grunted, scanned the metal- walled antechamber hopefully with his eyes, and dropped a quivering arc of brown liquid dead-center into a distant gobboon. “Nevertheless — ” said Baldy. “The Uranians are pests,” ad- mitted Rusty. “They git in our hair. They raid our outposts an’ bust up our vallybul equipment an’ when they can git gunpowder — which ain’t often — they even attack domed cities like New Oslo. “But why do we hafta be so rough with ’em? Why not call a big con- ference an’ parley our diff’rences?

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44 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION That would be better’n formin’ par- ties to blast ’em 'out of existence.” “Nevertheless,” repeated Baldy, “and howsomever — ” “Hey!” said Rusty. “What’s up?” The intercommunicating visiplate on the far wall of the chamber had brightened. The face of Tommy Henderson, the Penal Colony’s radioman, was imaged on the gleam- ing platter. “Warden Harrigan?” “Yes.” “An important message from Pa- trol H. Q.” “Go ahead.” “It’s a G. O. signed by Colonel Cochrane, commanding Interplanet- ary Division 134. It says, ‘The governing council of the Planetary Union, in congress assembled, has de- cided to finally achieve a solution of the Uranium problem — ’ ” “Hold it!” snapped Baldy. He stared at his copper- thatched asso- ciate. “I and you must be psychic! Just what we was talking about. We’ll be right there. Sparks!” This last was over his shoulder to the visiplate as he tugged at Baldy’s elbow, his walk breaking into a wad- dling run. The radioman’s puzzled face faded from the plate as the two men hurried through the dome to the communications room. There, a few moments later, they saw the message in its entirety. It was, as Sparks had said, from the commander of the New Oslo garri- son. “ ‘The governing council of the Planetary Union,’ it ran, ‘in con- gress assembled, has decided to finally achieve a solution of the Uranian problem. “ ‘This is to be done immediately, in order that the date of accomplish- ment may coincide with the date of tomorrow — a holiday observed and respected by all Earthmen. “ ‘The present order supersedes all former orders or combat plans. Upon receiving this message, the comman- ders of all outposts will rendezvous instantly to this base for more, and definite, instructions — ’ “And so on, and so on,” concluded Baldy. He looked at Peters with something like awe in his eyes. “Commanders!” he said. “Com- manders of all outposts! Hey . . . that’s me!” But even more dazed was his com- panion. Rusty’s jaw had dropped perilously agape. “Ain’t that a whipper!” whispered Rusty. “ ‘Achieve a solution o’ the ’Ranie problem’. Kickin’ overboard all the old combat plans. An’ all be- cause of a date. What date?” Baldy said curtly, “Don’t look at me. I lost track of time something like nine years ago. Who gives a damn what Earth date it is on a planet which takes eighty-four years to swing around the Sun? The main thing is, there’s going to be some- thing done. At last. And me, I’m in on it. I’ve got to get to — Hey, Sparks!” “Yessir?” “Get Hogan in the lock room. Tell him to get me out a bulger, check and fuel a moto.sled, and call a driver. I’ve got to get to New Oslo, and fa, St!” “Yessir!” Rusty said, “Look, Baldy — when we get there, tell ’em like I just been sayin’, huh? About bein’ kind o’ gentle with the ’Ranies, remember? Honest, I think that’s the smart way to—” “To find out,” snorted Harrigan, “which is hottest, Hades or Mercury! I’ll tell them nothing. Rusty. The Patrol knows what it’s doing. Now, look — you’re in command of this dump while I’m away. Do a good

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THE DAY WE CELEBRATE 45 job of it, and I’ll enter you for a credit boost next period. Keep the men working on them wore-out drain pipes, and see that Slops don't make soup with the dishwater. “And put the stiff on that big soft heart of yours! Lapsley and Youst are supposed to be serving punish- ment hours in sol; don’t go throwing no pink teas or parties for them — un- derstand.^” “Aw, Baldy— ” “Are vou going to do like I say? Or—” “Sure, Baldy. Only, gosh — ” “All right, then. Sparks, get the lock room. Well, Hogan, that you? Got that stuff ready? 0. K. I’ll be right there. O. K.i” He shoved a beefy paw in Peters’ direction. “Carry on, fella. Be seeing you!” Then he was gone. Through the radio-room wall plate. Rusty watched his friend’s motosled nose from the ground lock, swing in a great circle to catch the guide beam, and scud eastward over frost-silvered terrain. The in- cessant snow was like a great, thick veil, first dimming the outlines of the sturdy skier, the one type of mobile unit practical on Uranus’ frozen bosom, then hiding its form entirely. When solid white had obliterated even the tiny red dot of the exhaust. Rusty turned, a still- unanswered question in his eyes. “I don’t get it. Sparks. I don’t get it nohow! It don’t make sense for the Patrol to issue such an order un- less they — Look, you know what day tomorrow is, don’t you, maybe?” The radioman looked helplessly at his audio banks. “Tuesday?” he hazarded. “I know it’s Tuesday,” said Rusty. “I mean — what day of what month? Earth figgerin’?” “Well, it’s like this. Rusty. I’ve been out here a long time. We don’t have much contact with the Outside, you know. And I tried to keep a diary for a while, but, well you know how it is. The days sort of slip by, and—” “In other words,” complained Rusty, “you don’t know. When I got you for a helper, a huluva git I got! It must be some day special to make the Patrol decide — ” Again his eyes sought the quartzite view pane. And then, suddenly, he gasped. Gasped and chortled, a great roar of glee bursting from his lips. “Of course!” “Huh?” said the startled Sparks. “Why, sure! Now I know. Sparks, I’m ashamed o’ myself! Of all of us. We musta left our finer in- stincts behind us when we left Earth!” His eyes sparkled with ex- citement and swift decision. “Sparks, hop the ditty! Audio the workshops, the labs, the rec rooms. I want every man under the dome to be in the auditorium in five minutes flat!” The radioman looked at him dubi- ously. “But Harrigan said — ” “Harrigan said I was in command, didn’t he? Now are you gonna do like I say, or — ” Almost as an after- thought he offered the alternative — “or do I have to yank off your head an’ shove it down your throat?” Sparks said, “I’m doing it, Mr. Peters,” and got to work on the plugs. Rusty rubbed freckled hands together. He had swallowed his chaw some time ago. He would dis- cover that fact later, to his great em- barrassment. But right now he was beaming with delight and enthu- siasm. “Ever since they made me assist- ant warden here,” he gloated, “I been tryin’ to tell the Earth authori-

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40 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION ties that we ain’t no ordinary prison, here at P. C. 1. It’s punishment enough for the men to be eighteen hundred million miles from home, without they should also be treated like scum. “Baldy an’ me managed to con- vince Inspector Wegland of that, the time he cracked up on the steppes. But now we’ve got a chance to prove to the whole damn Universe that, cons or no cons, the inmates of this jug is human bein’s. Complete with feelin’s an’ ee-motions. “Sparks — where was the nearest native hide-out, last time you heard?” “Not far from here. Scar Moun- tains. A half-hour’s run.” “That’s what I thought. So we’re lots nearer the ’Ranies than the Pa- trol is. Which makes my ideer a lallapaloozy. Now, look. Sparks. Here’s what we’re gonna do — ” Colonel Cochkanb of the S. S. P., grim, gray, glorious with medals be- tokening his valor in a half hundred segments of the Universe, stopped talking and studied the faces of the men who had come to New Oslo in response to his summons. “Are there any questions, gentle- men?” Warden Pat Harrigan coughed nervously. He rated as a captain, but he was fully aware that his was only a semimilitary rating. He smoothed a sweating palm over his barren pate. “Ain’t this — ” he began, and stopped, flushing, to begin over again. “Isn’t this a sort of ruthless way to work on the ’Ranies, colonel? After all, like one of the guys in my outfit — my assistant. Rusty Peters — said, Uranus used to be their planet. Till we come here. Maybe we ought to be gentle with them. Negotiate, Cochrane frowned, and a half dozen of his underling oflBcers obedi- ently masked their faces with disap- proval. “Negotiation has proven fruitless, warden. The Uranian natives are a sullen, dangerous, treacherous lot. It is our task to put an end to their periodic uprisings. Force is indi- cated; force concluding in utter anni- hilation should they show resist- ance.” “But if you want peace — ” “That is exactly what we want. But since they will not sign a peace pact, we will adopt the more strin- gent means of ending hostilities.” Cochrane’s chest lifted. “And it is altogether fitting and appropriate that tomorrow should bring Uranus into the family of solar children. A date revered by all Earthmen, hal- lowed in our annals, celebrated by Earthmen the Universe over — ” There it was again. Baldy said, “Oh, yeah. That’s right. Tomor- row’s the . . . er . . . er — ” “The nineteenth of November!” said Colonel Cochrane proudly. “The day we celebrate. Empire Day!” “Hell!” muttered Flarrigan under his breath. “Sure! Empire Day!” He should have guessed it. He should have remembered the mo- ment he saw the message calling him to this meeting. The nineteenth of November was the anniversary of the day on which, some seventy-odd years ago. Earth’s military might had brought about the armistice and eventual peace that welded into a solid empire the four inner planets. Not without reason was it Earth’s greatest holiday. It had taken thirty long years, and millions of lives, and an unguessable wealth in craft and arms to bring about the union now governed so placidly from Earth. The Rollie Rebellion on Mercury, the

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THE DAY WE CELEBRATE 47 Fontanalancl uprising on Mars, the Twelve Years’ Siege of Venus City — all of these had come to a peaceful ending on November 19, 2238 A. D. That day, too, had ushered in a new era. An era of further explora- tion. Earth’s factories, able at long last to cease wholesale production of armaments, had delved into the problem of perfecting spacecraft. From their researches had come such things as the Wittenberg converter, the Holloway vacuum feed cham- bers, the anatherms — and the fron- tiers once more began to roll back before man’s onslaught of knowledge. Where once the planetoids had been a chaotic network of un- plumbed mj^stery, frequented only by .space scavengers and occasional pirate hordes, now it was a huge, charted, floating ore deposit for the entire Solar System. Jupiter had not been — nor could it be for countless centuries — conquered, but two of its satellites now gave refuge to Earth- ling colonists. In the outer rings of Saturn worked space placers, gather- ing to Earth’s wealth the valuable shards of what had once been two .satellites. Uranus boasted its tiny colonies; Neptune was now being studied for a colonization project. And far Pluto was under constant elect rono-mirror bombardment that its icy surface might some day be cleared. Empire Dajd “The day,’’ thought Baldy, “the day we celebrate.” With a swift, devastating nostalgia he re- membered his boyhood on Earth. The public gatherings in vast, but- tressed auditoriums, the political speeches, the flag-waving, the fire- crackers and sandwiches and drinks; the parade of veterans, the evening spectacle of mock warfare in the vaulted lofts of Earth’s soft, blue skies— Empire Day! . Colonel Cochrane was . talking again. “ — more than fitting that this day, symbolic of our great victories in the the past, should also be the day on which we add Uranus to our list of permanent colonies. “And now, gentlemen, to the spe- cific pi’oblem. Our scouts inform me that the headquarters of the Uranian native chief, Ras Tirl, lies in the caverns of the Scar Mountains. There we shall take our punitive ex- pedition. Captain Alancum, you will lead Company A; Captain Larey, Company B — ” Baldy said, “Pardon, sir — you said Scar Mountains? That’s right near P.C. 1.” “Yes, warden. That is why you were summoned to the staff confer- ence. We will use the Colony as our base, in the unlikely event that our aims cannot be completed in one day. . You will, therefore, send a message to your next-in-cornmand, ordering him to arrange food and quarters for us.” “Yes, sir!” said Baldy. Rusty Peters looked v-ith satis- faction upon the huge auditorium of P.C. 1. He had, he thought, done pretty darned well in so short a time. Four hours ago this had been just a meeting place. Now it bristled with equipment for the action to take place. He said, “Hm-m-m!” and rubbed his hands together. Pie said, “Well, that’s that! Slops, everything ready in the culin . . . the cuul . . . the kitchen?” The Colony cook nodded surlily. “Y’eah. But if you ask me — ” “I ain’t askin’ you,” said Rusty. And added piously, “An army travels on its stummick.” “So does a worm,” commented Slops.

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48 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION “O. K. An’ worms win in the end, don’t they? Now, Johnson, Bridges, Howe — you all set?” The three bulger-clad convicts nodded. Each bore a Traimers-Lin- coln heat gun. Johnson, the ap- pointed leader of the trio, said, “We sled to their hide-out, kick up a fuss, get ’em coming after us. And re- treat slowly to the Colony.” “Right,” said Rusty. “Suppose they don’t follow us?” “Suppose Mercury has a snow- storm!” snorted Peters. “They’ll folly you. Them ’Ranies has their faults, but they are the fightin’est fools I ever seen. They'd stalk a human from hell to Hercules. Which is what ye’re bankin’ on. Because when they git here” — again he stared about him with tight satisfaction — “they bump into thisl” Johnson looked dubious. “I don’t know, Rusty. It’s tricky business.” “Tomorrow,” Rusty told him suc- cinctly, “is the day we celebrate. Fust, because it’s a holiday; second, because we’re gonna make the Rocketeers look like monkeys. Now, git goin’!” They got. it was scant seconds later that Sparks brought him the message from Baldy, ordering him to have everything ready for the feeding and f^uartering of three mechanized Rocketeer units. And Rusty grinned. “They,” he opined, “got a su’prise cornin’. By the time they git here, the squabblin’ will be over. But we got to work fast!” Dull, white monotony, endless and unbroken, coursed beneath the runners of the motosled in which he rode. Baldy looked at the chronom- eter on his wri.st. Nine hours. Al- most there. Shortly, through the white veil that shredded itself in- terminably against the foreshield, should appear the hoary crest of the Scar Mountains. It did. Sallow sunlight glinted feebly on towering crags that, through aeons of time, had never known the green mantle of vegeta- tion. Around the topmost peak fin- gered pink and angry streamers of cold fire. An ionic storm in the upper atmosphere. Uranus’ Heavi- side was weak; ever and again it broke down beneath constant cos- mic bombardment, permitting those devasting, body-destroying radia- tions to burst through. Which was another of the many reasons frail man must live in domed cities carven out of the frozen wilderness. The ’Rallies were of hardier breed. Spawn of a mad desolation, all-know- ing nature had supplied them with bodies able to endure infinite rigor. Yet even here, as man had discov- ered to his vast amazement, nature had followed the same rough pattern of form that characterized highest life on all planets. The Uranians walked upright on two legs; from their upper trunks branched jointed arms equipped w’ith hands; hands, six fingers, an opposed thumb. But there were differences, too. The Uranian sense of sight was an abortive sense. ’Ranies could dif- ferentiate only between tones of light and dark, otherwise they were color- blind— as might be expected in a land of white snow and black night. Their eating apparatus w'as equipped with extrasensitive taste-buds — a sharp necessity on a planet w’here the food supply was so limited. Their hearing was dulled by ages of ex- posure to howling gales and shriek- ing .storms; they had no' sense of smell. Which was not strange, con- sidering the fact that they did not breathe through the nostrils, but

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THE DAY WE CELEBRATE 49 respired into a network of sub- cutaneous lung sponges through every pore of their bodies. “Which,” thought Baldy, “ain’t hard to understand. What with an atmosphere of ammonia and stuff — ” The mean body temperature of the Ura Ilians was a remarkable example of colloidal adaptability. Interior chemistry allowed them to with- stand, naked, the biting frigidity of their native planet. Their garments were solely for the purposes of im- pediment-portage and personal adornment. Yet they did not suffer in the least when brought into the domed cities of the Earthmen. They seemed impervious to heat and cold alike; their lunged pores breathed, with equal facility, their own poison- ous atmosphere and the oxygenated Earth atmosphere within the domes. Baldy’s driver brought his sled to a curving stop as the column before him set the style. And already Patrolmen, bulger-clad, armed, were clambering from the convoy. A com- pany began moving toward a narrow pass to the right. Harrigan sought the flag sled of Colonel Cochrane. “Colonel.^'” “Ah, yes, warden. This is the de- file you mentioned, isn’t it.^” “Yes, sir. Only there’s something funny. See them drifts.'*” “Well?” “They ain’t normal for this time of year. Ought to be solid, instead of broken like that. This stonn’s so heavy it covers tracks almost im- mediate, but — ” “Yes?” _ “Well, it looks to me like the ’Ranies is been on the march. And lately, too.” Colonel Cochrane said impatiently, “We’ll know in a few minutes. The first company is approaching the caves now. Reynolds — catch that signal!” A figure, dim in the heights above, was motioning to the commander below. The Signal Corps lieutenant watched intently. Cochrane watched the lieutenant, and Baldy watched the commander. An expression of surprise and alarm communicated itself to three faces, one after an- other. “Yeah?” said Baldy. “There is something wrong?” The lieutenant ignored him, made report to his commander. “He says, sir, they have entered the caverns. But they are empty. The Uranians have gone.” “Gone! But . . . but gone where?” Baldy, a wild surmise suddenly sweeping through him, had climbed to the top of a motosled. Th^re was an old trick of hunters and trappers he had been taught in the Venusian junglelands. It was the stunt of “spotting” a trail by the “pearl neck- lace” method. You got a little eleva- tion, closed your eyes, opened them suddenly. Where, in woodland, a trail had once existed, there would appear a dim, thin, weaving line that would linger for an instant, then dis- appear. Perhaps the same trick would work even on a snow-covered terrain. Everything would be white, of course. But the trail should be newer, closer packed, broken; should show against the smoothness of un- broken drift. It did. Barely visible, disappear- ing even as his eyes strained to mark it. But unmistakable in direction and — in meaning! “Colonel!” “Yes, Harrigan?” “They’ve marched,” said Baldy in a strangled tone, “on the Colony!” There was a jangling commotion at the ground lock. Bells rang, a siren screamed, the face of Hogan

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£0 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION leaped to the visiplate befoi-e Rusty Peters. “They’re coming in, Rusty.” “Good!” Rusty tossed one last look about him, nodded. Every- thing was in readiness. The boys were at their stations. The audi- torium had been set in order for the little “party” he was planning. The necessary items had been brought from the storehouse; every last man had been instructed as to the part he must play. Rusty hurried to the lock cham- ber. Johnson, Bridges and Howe stumbled in from outside, stomping powdery snow from their thick-soled antigrav boots. Rusty, heedless of biting cold metal, impatiently helped Johnson off with his bulger. “You find ’em?” he demanded. Johnson grunted. “If we didn’t, that’s the D. T.’s chasing up across the valley. Like you said, they took out after us. They’ll be here before you can say ‘Andromeda’.” “Nice work!” enthused Rusty. “All right, Hogan — you know what to do next.” Hogan looked grave. He looked doubtful, too. “Rusty, we’ve got a couple of rotor guns mounted on the topside turret. Don’t you think it’d be a good idea to give ’em a couple of blasts, just to prove we won’t stand for no monkey business — ” “That’ll do! I’m in command here. You do what I said. The ideer o’ this whole shindig is to solve the ’Ranie problem for all time, ain’t it? Well, we ain’t gonna do that by bumpin’ off a handful of them an’ lettin’ the rest get away. “This is gonna be the end of our troubles. The end which was wanted by the council when they decided on this day for a settlement — All right, boys! Everything out o’ the lock chamber. It’s gonna be cold in here when we let them gates open. Cold an’ smelly.” Johnson, who had not heard this much of the plan before, gulped his dismay. “You . . . you mean you’re gonna let them come right into the dome? Invade us?” “That’s the general ideer,” said Rusty jovially. “But they’ll massacree us!” “Mebbe. I think not. We’re pre- pared for them.” Rusty chuckled tautly. “Wait till you get a look at our fust line o’ defense. The audi- torium. They got a big sii ’prise cornin’ to them, boy. O. K., Hogan. Open the lock!” Hogan sighed. But his hand pressed a lever. The Earthmen fled from an exposed chamber as the gi- gantic air lock swung open invit- ingly. Baldy Harrigan tapped his driver on the shoulder. “Look, pal,” he pleaded, “can’t you get another hunk of speed out of this crate?” The driver said, “Have to stay in foi-mation, warden. Colonel’s or- ders.” Baldy relaxed. Physically, that is. He threw himself back against the cushions, forcing his body to sit still. But his mind was aflame with anxiety. Not too swiftly had the colonel accepted his opinion as to where the Uranians had gone. With the calm, unhurried precision of the trained Patrolman, he had insisted that the Scar Mountain refuge be searched thoroughly. Which resulted in nothing more than lost time — for the caverns were deserted. Thus, hours had passed since Baldy’s warning that the ’Ranies had marched on P. C. 1. And now,

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THE DAY WE CELEBRATE 51 belatedly, the companies were hurry- ing to the relief of what Baldy feared might be, by now, a desperately be- sieged post. There was only one good thing about it. P. C. 1 was not far away. A half hour’s run — and the thirty minutes had now nearly slipped be- neath the motosled’s gliders. Harri- gan peered once more, and with feverish intensity, toward the dome which should soon loom through the white murk. “There it is!” he cried. The columns had spotted the prison; were swinging in a great arc to take positions before the ground lock. As his sled moved into its alloted post, Baldy squinted — and groaned. “The lock! It’s open!” Then suddenly the motosled was at rest, and Harrigan was throwing himself from it, stumbling, slipping, racing awkwardly across the ground to the commander’s sled. “The ground lock’s open, colonel! They’ve busted in!” “I see that.” Cochrane’s face was grim. He rapped swift commands to his aides. “But, at any rate, we have them trapped now, Harrigan. If they’ve harmed any of your men, we will avenge — ” But Harrigan wasn’t thinking of vengeance. He was thinking of Rusty. And of the dozens of others whom he’d left, yesterday, at P. C. 1. Friends of his, all of the men — even though they were e.xiles from Earth, even though they were convicts and he was their warden. It seemed incredible that maraud- ing ’Ranies should have been able to force entry into the dome — but the proof lay before his eyes. The outer lock gate gaping wide. There was still a chance, though, that the ’Ranies had not penetrated the sec- ondary defense positions. There was AST— 4 another lock beyond this. Then the entire dome was so barred that a handful of men could defend them- selves from many times their number for hours. Baldy was in the van as the three Patrol companies marched in forma- tion to the open lock. His dismay deepened as he saw the interior of that antechamber. There was some- thing radically wrong here! He had half expected to find in the lock evi- dences of a battle. Charred bodies of the ’Ranie invaders, perhaps even the mangled remains of some of his own men. There was — nothing! Only mute evidence that the Uranians had marched into the dome. For inside here, where the gales could not heap their huge drifts of frozen carbon dioxide, there were footprints in the thin hoarfrost. And beyond.? The relief party halted at the second lock. Baldy sprang to an audio unit, pressed its button with trembling fingers. Through its speaker emanated an echo of the tumult within the dome proper. And the Rocketeers heard that which can be, at times, the grimmest of all sounds — the sound of riotous laugh- ter! Baldy’s cheeks were wet with un- ashamed tears. “They’ve won! The damn, mur- dering scoundrels have taken the dome! 'J'hey’re in there torturing my men, gloating over it — ” And Colonel Cochrane’s eyes were like bits of flint; his voice the rasp of a file on stone, as he snapped his grim command: “Make entry!” Fourscore angry, vengeful men of the Space Patrol swung into action as one. The massive lock door shook before their efforts. A steel ram, wielded by strong arms, croonged

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ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION hollowly against the barrier, swung back, forward again. The audio speaker suddenly went dead as the laughter from within ended abruptly in frightened, curious cries. The voices of Uranians bellowed above the shouts of a few Earthlings. And then — “What the hell,” demanded an irate voice, “is going on out there!” The lock wheezed asthmatically, swung back. Pumps sucked the foul Uranian air from the outer cham- ber, replaced it with fresh, pure, artificial Earth atmosphere. And Baldy started as, before him in the lock, appeared the figure of his friend and assistant. Rusty Peters! “That’s a hell of a way,” roared Rusty aggrievedly, “to crash a party!” Once, when Baldy was a young space swab, still wet behind the ears, he had made the mistake of trying to pet an ampie. The jolt of elec- tricity that had knocked him sprawl- ing on that occasion was a mild tingle compared to that which he now ex- perienced as his eyes sought and found the auditorium behind Rusty. The Uranians had invaded P. C. 1 — yes! But how they had invaded the station was another thing. If this was war — if this was murderous onslaught — There was a huge table set in the middle of the hall. It was groaning like a festive board with every deli- cacy known to the storage bins of the Colony. Food galore, and drinks! And more drinks! And still more drinks! And about this banquet table, shoulder to shoulder in riotous amity, were the men of P. C. 1 and their Uranian enemies. The laughter that had chilled Baldy’s blood was not the gloating of fiends and ghouls — it was the gay, and not-too-sober laughter of men and ’Ranies having one hell of a good time! Here a ’Ranie, his green-lipped slit- shaped mouth preposterously wide in a grin, attempted to eat the breast of a fried chicken and at the same time sing his joy. There an Earth- man, weeping with mirth, related in high, intoxicated falsetto a joke that could, to his audience of polygamous Uranians, have seemed only mildly funny at best. Off in one corner a group of Uranians, confused but game, were trying to point their tone- less voices to the harmony of a tune pounded on the piano by burly Don Larkin. And in another corner, a Uranian warrior was solemnly dis- playing his prowess with the blade by slicing, in midair, sugar lumps tossed at him by a circle of admiring cons. Baldy stammered, “Wh-what . . . Rusty, I don’t get it! What’s it all about?” But Colonel Cochrane was an op- portunist. His keen mind sized the situation at a glance, and his order was curt. “Nice work, Peters! Devilishly clever! Don’t know how you did it, but you did! All right, men — grab the Uranians! Clap them in irons!” “Waaaait a minute!” It was Rusty Peters’ turn to look stunned. He barred the entrance as a groiq) of Patrolmen leaped forward. “Grab them? Clap them in irons? Why?” “That’s all right, Peters. You can relax now. I’ll take over. We’ll find out which of them is Ras Tirl, beat the warlike ideas out of his head and — ” “But, dammit!” exploded Rusty, “you don’t have to beat nothin’ out o’ nobody! This here’s Ras Tirl! Hey, Ras! C’mere’n meet the boss o’ the Space Patrol. Ras,” he added

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THE DAY WE CELEBRATE 5S to the shocked colonel, “is a great guy. Him an’ me’s old pals, now.” The outlaw chieftain ambled for- ward. Seven feet of brute strength surmounted by a foolish grin. Ras Tirl was a little bit drunk. He was also, it developed, a little bit on the amative side. He said, “Um frens Rusty, um frens Ras. Hokay. Murkissumuss!” He tried to kiss the colonel. The colonel backed away. Ras Tirl, still grinning, fell forward onto Baldy’s shoulder, held on for dear life. Rusty said, “See.^ It’s all fixed up, colonel, just like the council wanted. We got peace at last. I opened up the outer lock, let ’em come in. Then I shot ’em a big dose of nitrons oxide; got ’em feelin’ jovial. By the time they come out of it, me an’ the men had carted ’em all into the banquet hall. Made a couple friendly speeches, told ’em from now on we was all buddies. “They went for it like homeless pups. For years ns Earthmen been pushin’ ’em around, scarin’ ’em, chas- in’ ’em, never givin’ ’em a break. They almost wep’ with joy. An’ when they got their paws on that good food — the best they ever et in their lives — “Well, anyhow, Ras give me his pledge that from now on his people’d keep peace with Earthmen. An’ anybody will tell you that one thing a ’Ranie never does is go back on his word of honor. So — peace is here. And I’m sorry I misjudged the Pa- trol, colonel. Only yesterday I was tellin’ Baldy the S. S. P. was a pack of bullies. I was wrong. It took kind hearts an’ good guys to think up the ideer of makin’ peace with the ’Ranies on this particular date. Hadn’t it been for that fact. I’d of never thought of the ideer — ” “Day.'*” said Balcfy. “What the blue blazes has the date got to do with it.^” “Yes, Peters,” chimed in Colonel Cochrane. “Just why should you decide to adopt this successful but peaceful plan of operations on — of all days — Empire Day?” Rtlsty’s jaw sagged. “Em-empire Day?” “Why, yes. You knew, of course that — ” “Omigawd! Empire Day!” Rusty put his head in his hands, wagged it violently back and forth. “How the hell should I know! I done all this because I . . . I thought today was Chris’mas!” He stared at Baldy dazedly. Ras Tirl, head cradled on Baldy’s shoul- der, opened his eyes and muttered, “Murkissmus!” and went back to sleep again. Baldy looked at the colonel. It seemed he should say something. He had to say some- thing. He found the right words at last. He said: “Colonel . . . suppose we all have a drink — ” Which w'asn’t a bad idea at that. THE END.

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54 m mtCHOfiicei miGt By IHayrice G. Huyi The inventor had spent twelve years perfecting the machine — o thing of marvelous complexity. Trouble was — he didn't know what it was he'd invented! by Schneeman Illustrated It’s asking for trouble to fool around with the unknown. Burman did it! Now' there are quite a lot of people who hate like the very devil anj'thing that clicks, ticks, emits w'hirring sounds, or generally be- Iia\'es like an asthmatic alarm clock. They’ve got mecha nophobia. Dan Burman gave it to them. ^Mio hasn’t heard of the Burman Bullfrog Battery.^ The same chap! He puzzled it out from first to last and topped it with his now' w'orld- famous slogan: “Po\yer In Your Pocket.” It was no mean feat to concoct a thing the size of a cigarette packet that would pour out a hun- dred times as much energy as its most efficient competitor. Burman differed from e\'eryone else in think- ing it a mean feat. Burman looked me over very care- fully, then said, “When that tech- nical journal sent you around to see me twelve years ago, you listened S3’mpathetically. You didn’t treat me as if I were an idle dreamer or a congenital idiot. You gave me a decent write-up, and started all the publicity that eventually made me much money.” “Not because I loved you,” I as- sured him, “but because I wuis hon- estly convinced that your battery was good.” “JMaybe.” He studied me in a way that conveyed he w'as anxious to get something off his chest. “We’ve been jjretty pally since that time. We’\ e filled in some idle hours together, and I feel that you’re the one of my few friends to wdiom I can make a seemingly silly confes- sion.” “Go ahead,” I -encouraged. We had been pretty pally, as he’d said. It was merely that we liked each other, found each other congenial. He W'as a clever chap, Burman, but there was nothing of the pedantic professor about him. Fortyish, nor- mal, neat, he might have been a fash- ionable dentist to judge by appear- ances. “Bill,” he said, very seriously, “I didn’t invent that damn battery.” “No?” “No!” he confirmed. “I pinched the idea. IVhat makes it madder is that I w'asn’t quite sure of wdiat I W'as stealing and, crazier still, I don’t know from whence I stole it.” “Which is as plain as a pikestaff,” I commented. “That's nothing. After tw'elv'e years of carefid, exacting work I’ve built something else. It must be the most complicated thing in creation.” He banged a fist on his knee, and his voice rose complainingly. “And now' that I’ve done it, I don’t know' W'hat I've done.” “Surely wdien an inventor experi- ments he knows w'hat he’s doing?”

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THE MECHANICAL MICE 55 “Not me!” Burman was amusingly lugubrious. “I’ve invented only one thing in my life, and that was more by accident than by good judg- ment.” He perked up. “But that one thing was the key to a million notions. It gave me the battery. It has nearly given me things of greater importance. On several occasions it has nearly, but not quite, placed within my inadequate hands and half-understanding mind plans that would alter this world far be- yond your conception.” Leaning forward to lend emphasis to his speech, he said, “Now it has given me a mystery that has cost me twelve years of work and a nice sum of money. I finished it last night. I don’t know what the devil it is.” “Perhaps if I had a look at it — ” “Just what I’d like you to do.” He switched rapidly to mounting enthusiasm. “It’s a beautiful job of work, even though I say so my- self. Bet you that you can’t say what it is, or what it’s supposed to do.” “Assuming it can do something,” I put in. “Yes,” he agreed. “But I’m posi- tive it has a function of some sort.” Getting up, he opened a door. “Come along.” It was a stunner. The thing was a metal box with a glossy, rhodium- plated surface. In general size and shape it bore a faint resemblance to an upended coffin, and had the same, brooding, ominous air of a casket waiting for its owner to give up the ghost. There were a couple of small glass windows in its front through which could be seen a multitude of wheels as beautifully finished as those in a first-class watch. Elsewhere, sev- eral tiny lenses stared with sphinx- like indifference. There were three small trapdoors in one side, two in the other, and a large one in the front. From the top, two knobbed rods of metal stuck up like goat’s horns, adding a satanic touch to the thing’s vague air of yearning for midnight burial. “It’s an automatic layer-outer,” I suggested, regarding the contraption with frank dislike. I pointed to one of the trapdoors. “You shove the shroud in there, and the corpse comes out the other side reverently composed and ready wrapped.” “So you don’t like its air, either,” Burman commented. He lugged open a drawer in a nearby tier, hauled out a mass of drawings. “These are its innards. It has an electric circuit, valves, condensers, and something that I can’t quite understand, but which I suspect to be a tiny, extremely efiicient elec- tric furnace. It has parts I recog- nize as cog-cutters and pinion-shap- ers. It embodies several small-scale multiple stampers, apparently for dealing with sheet metal. There are vague suggestions of an assembly line ending in that large compart- ment shielded by the door in front. Have a look at the drawings your- self. You can see it’s an extremely

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56 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION complicated device for manufactur- ing something only little less com- plicated.” The drawings showed him to be right. But they didn’t show every- thing. Any efficient machine de- signer could correctly have deduced the gadget’s function if given com- plete details. Biirman admitted this, saying that some parts he had made “on the spur of the moment,” while others he had been “impelled to draw.” Short of pulling the ma- chine to pieces, there was enough data to whet the curiosity, but not enough to satisfy it. “Start the damn thing and see what it does.” “I’ve tried,” said Burman. “It won’t start. There’s no starting handle, nothing to suggest how it can be started. I tried everything I could think of, without result. The electric circuit ends in those antenna at the top, and I even sent current through those, but nothing hap- pened.” “Maybe it’s a self-starter,” I ven- tured. Staring at it, a thought struck me. “Timed,” I added. “Eh?” “Set for an especial time. When the dread hour strikes, it’ll go of its own accord, like a bomb.” “Don’t be so melodramatic,” said Burman, uneasily. Bending down, he peered into one of the tiny lenses. “Bz-z-z!” murmured the contrap- tion in a faint undertone that was almost inaudible. Burman jumped a foot. Then he backed away, eyed the thing warily, turned his glance at me. “Did you hear that?” “Sure!” Getting the drawings, I mauled them around. That little lens took some finding, but it was there all right. It has a selenium cell behind it. “An eye,” I said. “It saw you, and reacted. So it isn’t dead even if it does just stand there seeing no evil, hearing no evil, speak- ing no evil.” I put a white hand- kerchief against the lens. “Bz-z-z!” repeated the coffin, em- phatically. Taking the handkerchief, Burman put it against the other lenses. Nothing happened. Not a sound was heard, not a funeral note. Just nothing. “It beats me,” he confessed. I’d got pretty fed up by this time. If the crazy article had performed, I’d have written it up and maybe I’d have started another financial snowball rolling for Burman ’s benefit. But you can’t do anything with a box that buzzes whenever it feels temperamental. Firm treat- ment was required, I decided. “You’ve been all nice and mys- terious about how you got hold of this brain wave,” I said. “Why can’t you go to the same source for information about what it’s sup- posed to be?” “I’ll tell you — or, rather. I’ll show you.” From his safe, Burman dragged out a box, and from the box he pro- duced a gadget. This one was far simpler than the useless mass of works over by the wall. It looked just like one of those old-fashioned crystal sets, except that the crystal was very big, very shiny, and was set in a horizontal vacuum tube. There was the same single dial, the same cat’s whisker. Attached to the lot by a length of flex was what might have been a pair of head- phones, except in place of the phones were a pair of polished, smoothly rounded copper circles shaped to fit outside the ears and close against the skull. “My one and only -invention,” said

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THE MECHANICAL MICE 67 Burman, not without a justifiable touch of prifie. “What is it?” “A time-travelins device.” “Ha, ha!” My laugh was very sour. I’d read about such things. In fact, I'd written about them. They were buncombe. Nobody could travel through time, either backward or forward. “Let me see you grow hazy and vanish into the future.” “I’ll show you something very soon.” Burman said it with assur- ance I didn’t like. He said it with the positive air of a man who knows darned well that he can do some- thing that everybody else knows darned well can't be done. He pointed to the crystal set. “It wasn’t discovered at the first attempt. Thousands must have tried and failed. I was the lucky one. I must have picked a peculiarly individual- istic cry.stal; I still don’t know how it does what it does; I’ve never been able to repeat its performance even with a crystal apparently identical.” “And it enables you to travel in time?” “Only forward. It won’t take me backward, not even as much as one day. But it can carry me forward an immense distance, perhaps to the very crack of doom, perhaps ever- lastingly through infinity.” I had him now! I’d got him firmly entangled in his owm absurdi- ties. My loud chuckle was some- thing I couldn’t control. “You can travel forward, but not backward, not even one day back. Then how the devil can you return to the present once you’ve gone into the future?” “Because I never leave the pres- ent,” he replied, evenly. “I don’t partake of the future. I merely sur- vey it from the vantage point of the present. All the same, it is time- traveling in the correct sense of the term.” He seated himself. “Look here. Bill, what are you?” “Who, me?” “Yes, what are you.” He went on to provide the answer. “Your name is Bill. You’re a body and a mind. Which of them is Bill?” “Both,” I said, positively. “True^ — but they’re different pails of you. They’re not the same even though they go around like Siamese twins.” His voice grew serious. “Your body moves always in the present, the dividing line be- tween the past and the future. But your mind is more free. It can think, and is in the present. It can remember, and at once is in the past. It can imagine, and at once is in the future, in its own choice of all the possible futures. Your mind can travel through time!” He’s outwitted me. I could find points to pick upon and argue about, but I knew that fundamentally he was right. I’d not looked at it from his angle before, but he was correct in saying that anyone could travel through time within the limits of his own memory and imagination. At that very moment I could go back twelve years and see him in my mind’s eye as a younger man, paler, thinner, more excitable, not so cool and self-possessed. The picture was as perfect as my memory was excel- lent. . For that brief spell I was twelve years back in all but the flesh. “I call this thing a psychophone,” Burman went on. “When you imagine what the future will be like, you make a characteristic choice of all the logical possibilities, you pick your favorite from a multitude of 'likely futures. The psychophone, somehow — the Lord alone knows how — tunes you into future reality. It makes you depict within your

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58 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE- FICTION miad the future as it will be shaped in actuality, eliminating all the alter- natives that will not occur.” “An imagination-stimulator, a dream-machine,” I scoffed, not feel- ing as sure of myself as I sounded. “How do you know it's giving you the McCoy?” “Consistency,” he answered, gravely. “It repeats the same fea- tures and the same trends far too often for the phenomena to be ex- plained as mere coincidence. Be- sides,” he waved a persuasive hand, “I got the battery from the future. It works, doesn't it?” “It does,” I agreed, reluctantly. I pointed to his psychophone. “I, too, may travel in time. How about letting me hav^e a try? Alaybe I’ll soh'e your mystery for you.” “You can try if you wish,” he re- plied, quite willingly. He pulled a chair into position. “Sit here, and I'll let you peer into the future.” Clipping the headband over my cranium, and fitting the copper rings against my skull where it sprouted ears, Burman connected his psycho- phone to the mains, .switched it on; or rather he did some twiddling that I assumed was a mode of switch- ing on. “All you have to do,” he said, “is to close your eyes, compose, your- self, then try and permit your imagi- nation to wander into the future.” He meddled with the cat's whis- ker. A couple of times he said, “Ah!” iAnd each time he said it I got a peculiar ditheiy feeling around my unfortunate ears. After a few seconds of this, he drew it out to, “A-a-ah!” I played unfair, and peeped beneath lowered lids. The crystal was glowing like rats’ eyes in a forgotten cellar. A -furtive crim- son. Closing my own optics, I let my mind wander. Something was flow- ing between those cojiper electrodes, a queer, indescribable something that felt with stealthy fingers at some secret portion of my brain. I got the asinine notion that they were the dexterous digits of a yet- to-be-born magician who was going to shout, “Presto!” and pull my abused lump of think-meat out of a thirtieth century hat — assuming they’d wear hats in the thirtieth cen- tury. What was it like, or, rather, what wmuld it be like in, the thirtieth cen- tury? W'ould there be retrogression? Would humanity again be composed of scowling, fur-kilted creatures lurking in cai'es? Or had progress continued — perhaps even to the de.- velopmcnt of men like gods? Then it happened! I swear it! I pictured, quite voluntarily, a sav- age, and then a huge-domed individ- ual with glittering eyes — the latter being my version of the ugliness we hope to attain. Right in the midille of this erratic dreaming, those weird fingers warped my brain, dissolved my phantoms, and replaced them with a dictated picture which I wit- nessed with all the helplessness and clarity of a nightmare. I saw a fat man spoufing. He was quite an ordinary man as far as looks went. In fact, he was so nor- mal that he looked henpecked. But he w'as attired in a Roman toga, and he wore a small, black box where his laurel w^reath ought to have been. His aiulience w'as similarly dressed, and all were balancing their boxes like a convention of fish porters. What Fatty was orating sounded gabble to me, but he said his piece as if he meant it. The crowd was in the open air, with great, curv^ed rows of seats vis- ible in the background. Presumably an outside auditorium of some sort.

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THE MECHANICAL MICE 59 Judging by the distance of the back rows, it must have been a devil of a size. Par behind its sweeping ridge a great edifice jutted into the sky, a cubical erection with walls of glossy squares, like an immense glasshouse. “F’wot.?” bellowed Patty, with obvious heat. “Wuk, wuk, wuk, mor, noon’n’ni’! Bok onned, ord this, ord that.” He stuck an indig- nant finger against the mysterious object on his cranium. “Bok onned, wuk, wuk, wuk. P’wot?” he glared around. “P’nix!” The crowd mur- mured approval somewhat timidly. But it was enough for Patty. Mak- ing up his mind, he flourished a plump fist and shouted, “Th’ell wit’m!” Then he tore his box from his pate. Nobody said anything, nobody moved. Dumb and wide-eyed, the Crowd just stood and stared as if paralyzed by the sight of a human being sans box. Something with a long, slender streamlined body and broad wings soared gracefully up- ward in the distance, swooped over the auditorium, but still the crowd neither moved nor uttered a sound. A smile of triumph upon his broad face, Patty bawled, “Lem see’m make wuk now! Lem see’m — ” He got no further. With a rush of mistiness from its tail, but in per- fept silence, the soaring thing hov- ered and sent down a spear of faint, silvery light. The light touched Patty. He rotted where he stood, like a victim of ultra-rapid leoprosy. He rotted, collapsed, crumbled within his sagging clothes, became dust as once he had been dust. It was horrible. The watchers did not flee in utter panic; not one expression of fear, hatred or disgust came from their tightly closed lips. In perfect si- lence they stood there, staring, just staring, like a horde of wooden sol- diers. The thing in the sky circled to survey its handiwork, then dived low over the mob, a stubby antenna in its prow sparking furiously. As one man, the crowd turned left. As one man it commenced to march, left, right, left, right. Tearing off the headband, I told Buiman what I’d seen, or what his contraption had persuaded me to think that I’d seen. “What the deuce did it mean.'*” “Automatons,” he murmured. “Glasshouses and reaction ships.” He thumbed through a big diary filled with notations in his own hands. “Ah, yes, looks like you were very early in the thirtieth cen- tury. Unrest was persistent for twenty years prior to the Antibox Rebellion.” “What rebellion?” “The Antibox — the revolt of the automatons against .the thirtieth century Technocrats. Jackson-Dkj- 99717, a successful and cunning schemer with a warped box, secretly warped hundreds of other boxes, and eventually led the rebels to victory in 30047. His great grandson, a greedy, thick-headed individual, caused the rebellion of the Boxless Preemen against his own clique of Jacksocrats.” I gaped at this recital, then said, “The way you tell it makes it sound like history.” “Of course it’s history,” he as- serted. “History that is yet to be.” He was pensive for a while. “Study- ing the future will seem a weird process to you, but it appears quite a noraial procedure to me. I’ve done it for years, and maybe fa- miliarity has bred contempt. Trou- ble was, though, that selectivity is poor. You can pick on some espe- cial period twenty times in jsucces-

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30 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION sion, but you’ll never find yourself in the same month, or even the same year. In fact, you’re fortunate if you strike twice in the same decade. Result is that my data is very erratic.” “I can imagine that,” I told him. “A good guesser can guess the cor- rect time to within a minute or two, but never to within ten or even fifty seconds “Quite!” he responded. “So the hell of it has been that mine was the privilege of watching the pano- rama of the future, but in a man- ner so sketchy that I could not grasp its prizes. Once I was lucky enough to watch a twenty-fifth cen- tury power pack assembled from first to last. I got every detail before I lost the scene which I’ve never managed to hit upon again. But I made that power pack — and you know the result.” “So that’s how you concocted your famous battery!” “It is! But mine, good as it may be, isn’t as good as the one I saw. Some slight factor is missing.” His voice was suddenly tight when he added, “I missed something because I had to miss it!” “Why?” I asked, completely puz- zled. “Because history, past or future, permits no glaring paradox. Be- cause, having snatched this battery from the twenty-fifth century, I am recorded in that age as the twenti- eth-century inventor of the thing. They’ve made a mild improvement to it in those five centuries, but that improvement was automatically withheld from me. Future history is as fixed and unalterable by those of the present time as is the history of the past.” “Then,” I demanded, “explain to me that complicated contraption which does nothing but say bz-z-z.” “Damn it!” he said, with open ire, “that’s just what’s making me crazy! It can’t be a paradox, it just can’t.” Then, more carefully, “So it must be a seeming paradox.” “O. K. You tell me how to mar- ket a seeming paradox, and the commercial uses thereof, and I’ll give it a first-class write-up.” Ignoring my sarcasm, he went on, “I tried to probe the future as far as human minds can probe. I saw nothing, nothing but the vastness of a sterile floor upon which sat a queer machine, gleaming there in silent, solitary majesty. Somehow, it seemed aware of my scrutiny across the gulf of countless ages. It held my attention with a power almost hypnotic. For more than a day, for a full thirty hours, I kept that vision without losing it — the longest time I have ever kept a future scene.” “Well?” “I drew it. I made complete drawings of it, performing the task with all the easy confidence of a trained machine draughtsman. Its insides could not be seen, but some- how they came to me, somehow I knew them. I lost the scene at four o’clock in the morning, finding my- self with masses of very complicated drawings, a thumping head, heavy- lidded eyes, and a half-scared feel- ing in my heart.” He was silent for a short time. “A year later I plucked up courage and started to build the thing I had drawn. It cost me a hell of a lot of time and a hell of a lot of money. But I did it — it’s finished.” “And all it does is buzz,” I re- marked, with genuine sympathy. “Yes,” he sighed, doubtfully. There was nothing more to be said. Burman gazed moodily at the wall, his mind far, far away. I fid- dled aimlessly with the copper ear- pieces of the psychophone. My

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THE MECHANICAL MICE 61 "J know I made it — but I don’t know what it is. It just stands there and does nothing, but anything that involved must do something.” imagination, I reckoned, was as good as anyone’s, but for the life of me I could neither imagine nor suggest a profitable market for a metal coffin filled with watchmaker’s junk. No, not even if it did make odd noises. A faint, smooth whir came from the coffin. It was a new sound that swung us round to face it pop-eyed. Whir-r-r! it went again. I saw finely machined wheels spin behind the window in its front.

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62 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTfON “Good heavens!” said Biirman. Bz-z-z! Whir-r! Click! The whole affair suddenly slid sidewise on its hidden castors. The devil you know isn’t half so frightening as the devil you don’t. I don’t mean that this sudden demonstration of life and motion got us scared, but it certainly made us leery, and our hearts put in an extra dozen bumps a minute. This cofHn- thing was, or might be, a devil we didn't know. So we stood there, side by side, gazing at it fasci- natedly, feeling apprehensive of we knew not what. Motion ceased after the thing had slid two feet. It stood there, silent, imperturbable, its front lenses eying us with glassy lack of expression. Then it slid another two feet. An- other stop. More meaningless con- templation. After that, a swifter and farther slide that brought it right up to the laboratory table. At that point it ceased moving, began to emit varied but synchronized ticks like those of a couple of sympa- thetic grandfather clocks. Burman said, quietly, “Some- thing’s going to happen!” If the machine could have spoken it would have taken the words right out of his mouth. He’d hai’diy uttered the sentence when a trap- door in the machine’s side fell open, a jointed, metallic arm snaked cau- tiously through the opening and reached for a marine chronometer standing on the table. With a surprised oath, Burman dashed forward to rescue the chronometer. He was too late. The arm grabbed it, whisked it into the machine, the trapdoor shut vvith a hard snap, like the vicious clash of a sfirung bear trap. Simultaneously, another trapdoor in the front flipped open, another jointed arm shot out and in again, spearing with ultra- rapid motion too fast to follow. That trapdoor also snapped shut, leaving Burman gaping down at his torn clothing from which his ex- pensive watch and equally expensive gold chain had been ripped away. “Good heavens!” said Burman, backing from the machine. We stood looking at it a while. It didn’t move again, just posed there ticking steadily as if ruminating upon its welcome meal. Its lenses looked at us with all the tranquil lack of interest of a well-fed cow. I got the idiotic notion that it was happily digesting a mess of cogs, pinions and wheels. Because its subtle air of menace seemed to ha\'e faded away, or maybe because we sensed its entire preocciqiation with the task in hand, we made an effort to rescue Bur- man’s valuable timepiece. Burman tugged mightily at the trapdoor through which his watch had gone, but failed to move it. I tugged with him, without result. The thing was sealed as solidly as if welded in. A large screwdriver failed to y)ry it open. A crowbar, or a good jimmy would have done the job, but at that point Burman decided that he didn’t want to damage the machine which had cost him more than the watch. Tick-tick-tick! went the coffin, stolidly. We were back where we’d started, playing with our fingers, and no wiser than before. There wa.s nothing to be done, and I felt that the accursed contraption knew it. So it stood there, gaping through it.s lenses, and jeered tick-tick-tick. From its belly, or where its belly would have been if it’d had one, a slow warmth radiated. According to Burman’s drawings, that was the location of the tiny electric furnace. The thing was functioning; there could be no doubt about that! If

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THE MECHANICAL MICE 6S Burman felt the same way as I did, be must have been pretty mad. There we stood, like a couple of prize boobs, not knowing what the ma- chine was supposed to do, and all the time it was doing under our veiy eyes whatever it was designed to do. From where was it drawing its power.'* Were those antennae stick- ing like horns from its head busily sucking current from the atmos- phere.!* Or was it, perhaps, absorb- ing radio power? Or did it have internal energy of its own? All the evidence suggested that it was mak- ing something, giving birth to some- thing, but giving birth to what? Tick-tick-tick! was the only reply. Our questions were still unan- swered, our curiosity was. still un- satisfied, and the machine was still ticking industriously at the hour of midnight. We surrendered the problem until next morning. Bur- man locked and double-locked his laboratory before we left. . Police officer Burke’s job was a very simple one. All he had to do was walk round and round the block, keeping a wary eye on the stores in general and the big jewel depot in particular, phoning headquarters once per hour from the post at the corner. Night work suited Burke’s taci- turn disposition. He could wander along, communing with himself, with nothing to bother him or divert him from his inward ruminations. In that particular section nothing ever happened at night, nothing. Stopping outside the gem-be- decked window, he gazed through the glass and the heavy grille behind it to where a low-power bulb shed light over the massive safe. There was a rajah’s ran.som in there. The guard, the grille, the automatic alarms and sundry ingenious traps preserved it from the adventurous fingers of anyone who wanted to ransom a rajah. Nobody had made the brash attempt in twenty years. Nobody had even made a try for the contents of the grille-protected win- dow. He glanced upward at a faintly luminescent path of cloud behind which lay the hidden moon. Turn- ing, he strolled on. A cat sneaked past him, treading cautiously, si- lently, and hugging the angle of the wall. His sharp eyes detected its slinking shape even in the nighttime gloom, but he ignored it and pro- gressed to the comer. Back of him, the cat came below the window through which he just had stared. It stopped, one fore- foot half-raised, its ears cocked for- ward. Then it flattened belly-low against the concrete, its burning orbs wide, alert, intent. Its tail waved slowly from side to side. Something small and bright came skittering toward it, moving with mouselike speed and agility close in the angle of the wall. The cat tensed as the object came nearer. Sud- denly, the thing was within range, and the cat pounced with lithe eager- ness. Hungry paws dug at a sur- face that was not soft and furry, but hard, bright and slippery. The thing darted around like a clock- work toy as the cat vainly tried to hold it. Finally, with an angry snarl, the cat swiped it viciously, knocking it a couple of yards where it rolled onto its back and emitted softly protesting clicks and tiny, urgent impulses that its fdine at- tacker could not sense. Gaining the gutter with a single leap, the cat crouched again. Some- thing else was coming. The cat muscled, its eyes glowed. Another

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64 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION object slightly similar to the curious thing it had just captured, but a lit- tle bit bigger, a fraction noisier, and much different in shape. It resem- bled a small, gold-plated cylinder with a conical front from which pro- jected a slender blade, and it slid along swiftly on invisible wheels. Again the cat leaped. Down on the corner, Burke heard its brief shriek and following gargle. The sound didn’t bother Burke — he’d heard cats and rats and other ver- min make all sorts of queer noises in the night. Phlegmatically, he continued on his beat. Three quarters of an hour later. Police Officer Burke had worked his way around to the fatal spot. Put- i ting his flash on the body, he rolled the .supine animal over with his foot. Its throat was cut. Its throat had been cut with an utter savagery that had half-severed its head from its body. Burke scowled down at it. He was no lover of cats himself, but he found difficulty in imagining any- one hating like that! “Somebody,” he muttered, “wants flaying alive.” His big foot shoved the dead cat back into the gutter where street cleaners could cart it away in the morning. He turned his attention to the window, saw the light still glowing upon the untouched safe. His mind was still on the cat v/hile his eyes looked in and said that something was wrong. Then he dragged his attention back to busi- ness, realized what was wrong, and sweated at every pore. It wasn’t the safe, it was the window. In front of the window the serried trays of valuable rings still gleamed undisturbed. To the right, the sil- verware still shone untouched. But on the left had been a small display of delicate and extremely expensive watches. They were no longer there, not one of them. He remembered that right in front had rested a neat, beautiful calendar-chronometer priced at a years salary. That, too, was gone. The beam of his flash trembled as he tried the gate, found it fast, se- cure. The door behind it was firmly locked. The transom was closed, its heavy wire guard still securely fixed. He went over the window, eventually found a small, neat hole, about two inches in diameter, down in the corner on the side nearest the missing display. Burke’s curse was explosive as he turned and ran to the corner. His hand shook with indignation while it grabbed the telephone from its box. Getting headquarters, lie recited his story. He thought he’d a good idea of what had happened, fancied he’d read once of a similar stunt being pulled elsewhere. “Looks like they cut a disk with a rotary diamond, lifted it out with a suction cup, then fi.shed through the hole with a telescopic rod.” He lis- tened a moment, then said, “Yes, yes. That’s just what gets me — the rings are w'orth ten times as much.” His still-startled eyes looked down the street while he paid attention to the voice at the other end of the line. The eyes wandered slowly, de- scended, found the gutter, remained fixed on the dim shape lying there- in. Another dead cat! Still clinging to his phone, Burke moved out as far as the cord would allow, ex- tended a boot, rolled the cat away from the curb. The flash settled on it. Just like the other — ear to ear! “And listen,” he shouted into the phone, “some maniac’s w’andering around slaughtering cats.” Replacing the phone, he hurried

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THE MECHANICAL MICE 66 back to the maltreated window, stood guard in front of it until the police car rolled up. Four piled out. The first said, “Cats! I’ll say somebody’s got it in for cats! We passed two a couple of blocks away. They were bang in the middle of the street, flat in the headlights, and had been damn near guillotined. Their bodies were still warm.” The second grunted, approached the window, stared at the small, neat hole, and said, “The mob that did this would be too cute to leave a print.” “They weren’t too cute to leave the rings,” growled Burke. “Maybe you’ve got something there,” conceded the other. “If they’ve left the one, they might have left the other. We’ll test for prints, anyway.” A taxi swung into the dark street, pulled up behind the police car. An elegantly dressed, fussy, and very agitated individual got out, rushed up to the waiting group. Keys jan- gled in his pale, moist hand. “Maley, the manager — you phoned me,” he explained, breathlessly. “Gentlemen, this is terrible, terrible! The window show is worth thou- sands, thousands! What a loss, what a loss!” “How about letting us in?” asked one of the policemen, ciilmly. “Of course, of course.” Jerkily, he opened the gate, un- locked the door, using about six keys for the job. They walked in- side. Maley switched on the lights, stuck his head between the plate- glass shelves, surveyed the depleted window. “My watches, my watches,” he groaned. “It’s awful, it’s awful!” said one of the policemen, speaking with beauti- ful solemnity. He favored his com- panions with a sly wink. Maley leaned farther over, the better to inspect an empty comer. “All gone, all gone,” he moaned, “all my show of the finest makes in — Yeecmw!” His yelp made them jump. Maley bucked as he tried to force himself through the obstruct- ing shelves toward the grille and the window beyond it. “My watch! My own watch!” The others tiptoed, stared over his shoulders, saw the gold buckle of a black velvet fob go through the hole in the window. Burke was the first outside, his ready flash search- ing the concrete. Then he spotted the watch. It was moving rapidly along, hugging the angle of the wall, but it stopped dead as his beam set- tled upon it. He fancied he saw something else, equally bright and metallic, scoot swiftly into the dark- ness beyond the circle of his beam. Picking up the watch, Burke stood and listened. The noises of the others coming out prevented him from hearing clearly, but he could have sworn he’d heard a tiny whir- ring noise, and a swift, juicy ticking that was not coming from the instm- ment in his hand. Must have been only his worried fancy. Frowning deeply, he returned to his com- panions. “There was nobody,” he asserted. “It must have dropped out of your pocket and rolled.” Damn it, he thought, could a watch roll that far? What the devil was happening this night? Far up the street, something screeched, then it bubbled. Burke shuddered — he could make a shrewd guess at that! He looked at the others, but appar- ently they hadn’t heard the noise. The papers gave it space in the morning. The total was sixty watches and eight eats, also some

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ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION oddments from the small stock of a local scientific instrument maker. I read about it on my way down to Burman’s place. The details were fairly lavish, but not complete. I got them completely at a later time when we discovered the true signifi- cance of what had occurred. Burman was waiting for me when I arrived. He appeared both an- noyed and bothered. Over in the corner, the coffin was ticking away steadily, its noise much louder than it had been the previous day. The thing sounded a veritable hive of industry. “Wyi.!'” I asked. “It’s moved around a lot during the night,” said Burman. “It’s smashed a couple of thermometers and taken the mercury out of them. I found some drawers and cupboards shut, some open, but I've an uneasy feeling that it’s made a thorough search through the lot. A packet of nickel foil has vanished, a coil of copper wire has gone with it.” He pointed an angry finger at the bot- tom of the door through which I’d just entered. “xVnd I blame it for gnawing ratholes in that. They weren’t there yesterday.” Sure enough, there were a couple of holes in the bottom of that door. But no rat made those — they were neat and smooth and round, almost as if a carpenter had cut them with a keyhole saw. “Where’s the sense in it making those?” I questioned. “It can’t crawl through apertures that size.” “Where’s the sense in the whole affair?” Burman countered. He glowered at the busy machine which stared back at him with its expres- sionless lenses and churned steadily on. Tick-tick-tick! persisted the confounded thing. Then, whir- thunip-click! I opened my mouth intending to voice a nice, sarcastic comment at the machine’s expense when there came a very tiny, very subtle and ex- tremely high-pitched whine. Some- thing small, metallic, glittering shot through one of the rat holes, tied across the floor toward the churning monstrosity. A trapdoor opened and swallowed it with such swift- ness that it had disappeared before I realized what I’d seen. The thing had been a cylindrical, polished ob- ject resembling the shuttle of a sew- ing machine, but about four times the size. And it had been dragging something also small and metallic. Burman stared at me; I stared at Burman. Then he foraged around the laboratory, found a three-foot length of half-inch steel pipe. Drag- ging a chair to the door, he seated- himself, gripped the pipe like a blud- geon, and watched the rat holes. Im- perturbably, the machine watched him and c*ontinued to tick-tick-tick. Ten minutes later, there came a sudden click and another tiny whine. Nothing darted inward through the holes, but the curious object we’d already seen— or another one exactly like it — dropped out of the trap, scooted to the door by which we

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THE MECHANICAL MICE 67 were waiting. Tt caught Burman by surprise. He made a mad .swipe ■with the steel as the thing skittered elusivcly ]nist his feet and through a hole. It had gone even as the weapon walloped the floor. “Damn!” said Burman, heartily, lie held the pipe loosely in his grip while he glared at the industrious eoflin. “I'd sma.sh it to bits except that Fd like to catch one of these ■small gadgets first.” “Look out!” I yelled. He was too late. He ripped his attention away fi'om the eoflin toward the holes, swinging up the heavy length of ])ipe, a startled look on his face. But his reaction was far too slow. Three of the little mys- teries were through the holes and halfway across the floor before his wea])on was ready to swing. The eoflin swallowed them with the crash of a trapdoor. The invading trio had rushed through in single file, and I’d got a better picture of them this time. The first two were golden shuttles, much like the one we’d already seen. The third w-as bigger, speedier, and gave me the notion that j't could dodge around more dexterously. It had a long, sharp projection in front, a wicked, ominous thing like a sur- geon’s scalpel. Sheer speed de- prived me of a good look at it, but I fancied that the tip of the scalpel -had been tinged with red. My spine exuded perspiration. Camk an irritated scratching upon the outside of the door and a white-tipped paw' poked tentatively through one of the holes. The cat backed to a safe distance when Bur- man o})ened the door, but looked lingeringly toward the laboratory. Its presence needed no explaining — the alert animal must have caught a AST— S glimpse of those infernal little whiz- zers. The same thought struck both of us; cats are quick on the pounce, very quick. Gi^'en a chance, maybe this one could make a catch for us. We enticed it in wdth fair words and soothing noises. Its eagemess overcame its normal caution toward strangers, and it entered. We closed the door behind it: Burman got his length of pipe, sat by the door, tried to keep one eye on the holes iind the other on the cat. He couldn’t do both, but he tried. The cat sniffed and prowled around, mewed defeatedly. Its behavior suggested that it was seeking by sight rather than scent. There wmsn't any scent. With feline persistence, the animal searched the whole laboratory. It passed the buzzing coffin several times, but ignored it completely. In the end, the cat gave it up, sat on the corner of the laboratory table and started to wash its face. Tick-tick-tick! w'ent the big ma- chine. Then ivJtir-thump! A trap popped open, a shuttle fell out and raced for the door. A second one followed it. The first wms too fast even for the cat, too fast for the sur- pi’ised Burman as w^ell. Bang! The length of steel tube came dowm viciously as the leading shuttle bul- leted triumphantly through a hole. But the cat got the second one. With a mighty leajr, paw’s extended claws out, it caught its victim one foot from the door. It tried to han- dle the slippery thing, failed, lost it for an instant. The shuttle whisked around in a crazy loop. The cat got it again, lost it again, emitted an angry snarl, batted it against the skirting board. The shuttle lay there, upside dowm, four midget wheels in its underside spinning madly with a high, almost inaudible whine.

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68 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION Eyes alight with excitement, Bur- man put down his weapon, went to pick up the shuttle. At the same time, the cat slunk toward it ready to play with it. The shuttle lay there, helplessly functioning upon its back, but before either could reach it the big machine across the room went clunk! opened a trap and ejected another gadget. With astounding swiftness, the cat turned and pounced upon the new- comer. Then followed pande- monium. Its prey swerved agilely with a fitful gleam of gold; the cat swerved with it, cursed and spat. Black-and-white fur whirled around in a fighting haze in which gold occa- sionally glowed; the cat’s hissings and spittings overlay a persistent whine that swelled and sank in the manner of accelerating or decelerat- ing gears. A peculiar gasp came from the cat, and blood spotted the floor. The animal clawed wildly, emitted another gasp followed by a gurgle. It shivered and flopped, a stream of crimson pouring from the great gash in its gullet. We’d hardly time to appreciate the full significance of the ghastly scene when the victor made for Burman. He was standing by the skirting board, the still- buzzing shuttle in his hand. His eyes were sticking out with utter horror, but he retained enough presence of mind to make a frantic jump a second be- fore the bulleting menace reached his feet. He landed behind the thing, but it reversed in its own length and came for him again. I saw the mirrorlike sheen of its scalpel as it banked at terrific speed, and the sheen was drowned in sticky crimson two inches along the blade. Burman jumped over it again, reached the lab table, got up on that. “Lord!” he breathed. By this time I’d got the piece of pipe which he’d discarded. I hefted it, feeling its comforting weight, then did my best to bat the buzzing lump of wickedness through the window and over the roofs. It was too agile for me. It whirled, accelerated, dodged the very tip of the descending steel, and flashed twice around the table upon which Burman had taken refuge. It ignored me completely. Somehow, I felt that it was responding en- tirely to some mysterious call from the shuttle Burman had captured. I swiped desperately, missed it again, though I swear I missed by no more than a millimeter. Some- thing whipped through the holes in the door, fled past me into the big machine. Dimly, I heard traps opening and closing, and beyond all other sounds that steady, per- sistent tick-tick-tick. Another furi- ous blow that accomplished no more than to dent the floor and jar my arm to the shoulder. Unexpectedly, unbelievably, the golden curse ceased its insane gyra- tions on the floor and around the table. With a hard click, and a whir much louder than before, it raced easily up one leg of the table and reached the top. Burman left his sanctuary in one jump. He was still clinging to the shuttle. I’d never seen his face so white. “The machine!” he said, hoarsely. “Bash it to hell!” Thunk! went the machine. A trap gaped, released another demon with a scalpel. Tzz-z-z! a third shot in through the holes in the door. Four shuttles skimmed through be- hind it, made for the machine, reached it safely. A fifth came through more slowly. It was drag-

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THE MECHANICAL MICE 69 ging an automobile valve spring. I kicked the thing against the wall even as I struck a vain blow at one with a scalpel. With another jump, Burman cleared an attacker. A second sheared off the toe of his right shoe as he landed. Again he reached the table from which his first foe had departed. All three things with scalpels made for the ttible with a reckless vim that was frightening. “Drop that damned shuttle,” I yelled. He didn’t drop it. As the fighting trio whirred up the legs, he flung the shuttle with all his might at the coffin that had given it birth. It struck, dented the casing, fell to the floor. Burman was off the table again. The thrown shuttle lay bat- tered and noiseless, its small motive wheels stilled. The armed conti’aptions scooting around the table seemed to change their purpose coincidently with the captured shuttle’s smashing. To- gether, they dived off the table, sped through the holes in the door. A fourth came out of the machine, es- corting two shuttles, and those too vanished beyond the door. A sec- ond or two later, a new thing, differ- ent from the rest, came in through one of the holes. It was long, round- bodied, snub-nosed, about half the length of a policeman’s nightstick, had six wheels beneath, and a double row of peculiar serrations in front. It almost sauntered across the room while we watched it fascinatedly. I saw the serrations jerk and shift when it climbed the lowered trap into the machine. They were mid- get caterpillar tracks! Burman had had enough. He made up his mind. Finding the steel pipe, he gripped it firmly, ap- proached the coffin. Its lenses seemed to leer at him as he stood before it. Twelve years of intensive work to be destroyed at a blow. Endless days and nights of effort to be undone at one stroke. But Bur- man was past caring. With a ferocious swing he demolished the glass, with a fierce thrust he shat- tered the assembly of wheels and cogs behind. The coffin shuddered and slid be- neath his increasingly angry blows. Trapdoors dropped open, spilled out lifeless samples of the thing’s metal- lic brood. Grindings and raspings came from the accursed object while Burman battered it to pieces. Then it was silent, stilled, a shapeless, use- less mass of twisted and broken parts. I picked up the dented shape of the object that had sauntered in. It was heavy, astonishingly heavy, and even after partial destruction its workmanship looked wonderful. It had a tiny, almost unnoticeable eye in front, but the miniature lens was cracked. Had it returned for re- pairs and overhaul? “That,” said Burman, breathing audibly, “is that!” I opened the door to see if the noise had attracted attention. It hadn’t. There was a lifeless shuttle outside the door, a second a yard behind it. The first had a shoi-t length of brass chain attached to a tiny hook projecting from its rear. The nose cap of the second had opened fanwise, like an iris dia- phragm, and a pair of jointed metal anns were folded inside, hugging a medium-sized diamond. It looked as if they’d been about to enter when Burman destroyed the big ma- chine. Picking them up, I brought them in. Their complete inactivity, though they were undamaged, sug-

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70 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION gested that they had been con- trolled by the big machine and had drawn their motive power from it. If so, then we’d solved our problem simply, and by destroying the one had destroyed the lot. Burman got his breath back and began to talk. He said, “The Robot Mother! That’s what I made — a duplicate of the Robot Mother. I didn’t realize it, but I was patiently building the most dangerous thing in creation, a thing that is a terrible menace be- cause it shares with mankind the ability to propagate. Thank Heaven we stopped it in time!” “So,” I remarked, remembering that he claimed to have got it from the extreme future, “that’s the eventual master, or mistress, of Earth. A dismal prospect for hu- manity, eh?” “Not necessarily. I don’t know just how far I got, but I’ve an idea it was so tremendously distant in the future that Earth had become sterile from humanity’s viewpoint. Maybe we’d emigrated to somewhere else in the cosmos, leaving our semi-intelli- gent slave machines to fight for existence or die. They fought — and survived.” “And then wangle things to try and alter the past in their favor,” I suggested. “No, I don’t think so.” Burman had become much calmer by now. “I don’t think it was a dastardly attempt so much as an interesting experiment. The whole affair was damned in advance because success would have meant an impossible paradox. There are no robots in the next century, nor any knowledge of them. Therefore the intruders in this time must have been wiped out and forgotten.” “Which means,” I pointed out, “that you must not only have de- stroyed the machine, but also all your drawings, all your notes, as well as the psychophone, leaving nothing but a few strange events and a story for me to tell.” “Exactly — I shall destroy every- thing. I’ve been thinking over the whole affair, and it’s not until now I’ve understood that the psycho- phone can never be of the slightest use to me. It permits me to discover or invent only those things that his- tory has decreed I shall invent, and which, therefore, I shall find with or without the contraption. I can’t play tricks with history, past or fu- ture.” “Humph!” I couldn’t find any flaw in his leasoning. “Did you no- tice,” I went on, “the touch of bee- psychology in our antagonists? You built the hive, and from it emerged workers, warriors, and” — I indi- cated the dead saunterer — “one drone.” “Yes,” he said, lugubriously. “And I’m thinking of the honey — eighty watches! Not to mention any other items the late papers may re- port, plus any claims for slaugh- tered cats. Good thing I’m wealthy.” “Nobody knows you’ve anything to do with those incidents. You can pay secretly if you wish.” “I shall,” he declared. “Well,” I went on, cheerfully, “all’s well that ends well. Thank goodness we’ve got rid of what we brought upon ourselves.” With a sigh of relief, I strolled toward the door. A high whine of midget motors drew my startled at- tention downward. While Burman and I stared aghast, a golden shut- tle slid easily through one of the rat holes, sensed the death of the

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THE MECHANICAL MICE 71 Rolx)t Mother and scooted back through the other hole before I co.uld stop it. If Burman had been shaken be- fore, he was doubly so now. He came over to the door, stared in- credulously at the little exit just used by the shuttle, then at the couple of other undamaged but life- less shuttles lying about the room. “Bill,” he mouthed, “your bee analogy was perfect. Don’t you understand.^ There’s another swarm! A queen got loose!” There was another swarm all right. For the next forty-eight hours it played merry hell. Bunnan spent the whole time down at head- quarters trying to convince them that his evidence wasn’t just a fan- tastic story, but what helped him to persuade the police of his veracity was the equally fantastic reports that came rolling in. To start with, old Gildersome heard a crash in his shop at mid- night, thought of his valuable stock of cameras and miniature movie pro- jec'tors, pulled on his pants and rushed downstairs. A razor-sharp instrument stabbed him through the right instep when halfway down, and he fell the rest of the way. He lay there, badly bruised and partly stunned, while things clicked, ticked and whirred in the darkness and the gloom. One by one, all the con- tents of his box of expensive lenses went through a hole in the door. A quantity of projector cogs and wheels went with them. Ten people complained of being robbed in the night of watchesj and alarm clocks. Two were hysterical. One swore that the bandit was “a six-inch cockroach” which purred like a toy dynamo. Getting out of bed, he’d put his foot upon it and felt its cold hardness wriggle away from beneath him. Filled with re- vulsion, he’d whipped his foot back into bed “just as another cockroach scuttled toward him.” Burman did not tell that agitated complainant how near he had come to losing his foot. Thirty more reports rolled in next day. A score of houses had been entered and four shops robbed by things that had the agility and fur- tiveness of rats — except that they emitted tiny ticks and buzzing noises. One was seen racing along the road by a homing railway worker. He tried to pick it up, lost his forefinger and thumb, stood nursing the stumps until an ambu- Wheo a cough, due to a cold, drives you mad. Smith Brothers Cough Drops usually give soothing, pleasant relief. Black or Menthol— 5 Smith Bros. Cough Drops are the only drops containing VITAMIM A Vitamin A (Carotene) raises the resistance of mucous membranes of nose and throat to cold infections, when lack of resist- ance is due to Vitamin A deficiency.

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n ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION lance rushed him away. Rare metals and fine parts were the prey of these ticking marauders. I couldn’t see how Burman or any- one else could wipe them out once and for all, but he did it. He did it by baiting them like rats. I went around with him, helping him on the job, while he consulted a map. “Every report,” said Burman, “leads to this street. An alarm clock that suddenly sounded was abandoned near here. Two automo- biles were robbed of small parts near here. Shuttles have been seen going to or from this area. Five cats were dealt with practically on this spot. Every other incident has taken place within easy reach.” “Which means,” I guessed, “that the queen is somewhere near this point.^” “Yes.” He stared up and down the quiet, empty street over which the crescent moon shed a sickly light. It was two o’clock in the morning. “We’ll settle this matter pretty soon!” He attached the end of a reel of firm cotton to a small piece of silver chain, nailed the reel to the wall, dropped the chain on the concrete. I did the same with the movement of a broken watch. We distributed several small cogs, a few clock wheels, several camera fitments, some small, tangled bunches of cop- per wire, and other attractive odd- ments. Three hours later, we returned ac- companied by the police. They had mallets and hammers with them. All of us were wearing steel leg-and- foot shields knocked up at short notice by a handy sheet-metal worker. The bait had been taken! Sev- eral cotton strands had broken after being unreeled a short distance, but others were intact. All of them either led to or pointed to a steel grating leading to a cellar below an abandoned warehouse. Looking down, we could see a few telltale strands running through the window frame beneath. Burman said, “Now!” and we went in with a rush. Rusty locks snapped, rotten doors collapsed, we poured through the warehouse and into the cellar. There was a small, coffin-shaped thing against one Wall, a thing that ticked steadily away while its lenses stared at us with ghastly lack of emotion. It was very similar to the Robot Mother, but only a quarter of the size. In the light of a police torch, it was a brooding, ominous thing of dreadful significance. Around it, an active clan swarmed over the floor, buzzing and ticking in metallic fury. Amid angry whirs and the crack of snapping scalpels on steel, we waded headlong through the lot. Burman reached the coffin first, crushing it with one mighty blow of his twelve-pound hammer, then bashing it to utter ruin with a rapid succession of blows. He finished ex- hausted. The daughter of the Robot Mother was no more, nor did her alien tribe move or stir. Sitting down on a rickety wooden case, Burman mopped his brow and said, “Thank heavens that’s done!” Tick-tick-tick! He shot up, snatched his hammer, a wild look in his eyes. “Only my watch,” apologized one of the policemen. “It’s a cheap one, and it makes a hell of a noise.” He pulled it out to show the worried Burman. “Tick! tick!” said the watch, with mechanical aplomb. THE END.

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73 Coming up next month is Part Two of “Sixth Column,” of course, but we hasten to point out that this yarn is one of those that gathers momen- tum as it rolls. You’ll enjoy Major Whitey Ardmore, U. S. A., complete with long white beard, long white hair, long white robes, and a genu-wine shining halo flickering about his patriarchic sconce. Also, the possibilities Anson MacDonald suggests for a first-class advei-tising man turned loose with unlimited gadgets on the Pan-Asian lack of imagination makes nice reading. Coming, too, is Nelson S. Bond’s first long novelette in a long time — “Magic City.” Bond has a remarkable diversity of styles; his short this issue is totallj^ different from the strong and sympathetic telling of “Magic City” and of the adventures of two in a world that has forgotten civilization. Among the shorts, Robert Heinlein’s back with one of the screwiest little pieces in a long time. Heinlein, during his naval work, specialized in mathematics. The navy has a lot of use for that study; it’s a bit of a tricky problem figuring ont in advance where a shell will land. Heinlein’s relaxa- tion seems to have been working out three-dimensional pictures of four- dimensional bodies and calculating their actual physical properties. Some of them are very surprising as well as confusing, bnt most of them help make — And He Built a Crooked House” remarkable. An architect who thought a three-dimensional model of a four-dimensional cube would make a striking modernistic house starts things, though the earthquake that made it all too real helped — The Editor. ifliyiiceL LflBOfifliofiy The readers’ reactions to the November issue — containing the third installment of “Sian” — indicate that our belief that “Sian” gained as it went was coiTect. Briefly, things stood thus: Story Axuthor Points 1. Sian A. E. van Vogt 1.24 %. Salvage Vic Phillips 2.45 3. The Exalted L. Sprague de Camp 2.78 4. One Was Stubborn Rene La Fayette 3.33 5. Sunspot Purge Clifford D. Simak 4.5 For explanation of how the point-scores are calculated, see last month’s Lab. The Editor.

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THt IfifllTOR By Kurt von Bachen If you need equipment badly enough, you can usually make your enemy donate it — if you're sharp enough/ Illustrated by Schneeman The sparkling light came through the dull murk of the afternoon like an ancient airway beacon of far-off Earth. And because he had been convinced until that moment that his party was the only humanity on Sereon of Sirius, Steve Gailbraith stopped his stalking of heavily furred cattle and stared. Blink-blink, blink, blink-blink, blinkblinkblink— It was no code, that he knew, and yet it was not regular enough to be a navigational guide. Ex-colonel of an air force, which had been out of existence since the successful revolt of Earth, Steve Gailbraith’s instincts ran to the mili- tary. He saw that they were on a wide, uneven plain, the dun expanse of which offered little cover. If an intelligent hand were guiding that signal, helio or whatever, then it was plainly meant to call to him and his hunters. Steve raised his clenched fist over his head and signaled the time- honored rally and then waited while his men and Vicky Stalton came up. One by one they abandoned their in- tent upon the strange cattle and closed upon him. Vicky, who had been nearest, was first. She bore little resemblance to her portrait which had been posted over Earth as an inspiration to the revolt. The “Flame of Liberty” girl was still blond and beautiful, but her idealistic uniform was in shreds and half the bill of her little soldier’s cap had been ripped away. Disillusion- ment was still written upon her for she had trusted the leaders of the People’s Party, had idealized them and had been cast out for fear that her brilliance as a propagandist would boomerang. “What’s up ? W e haven’t begun to get our meat quota for today.” Steve pointed and she became very quiet. The others stared at the blinking dot on the rocky pinnacle and then looked to Steve. They were ragged tatterdemalions, part of Blacker’s longshoremen, detailed to help Steve get game. One more came up, a scientist of Jean Mauch- ard’s contingent — :distrusted in- tensely by the longshoremen — young enough to see adventure in being thrust bodily from Earth and aban- doned in space, exiled under the guise of “expedition.” “Somebody signaling us,” said the young geologist. “With good intentions, I hope,” said Steve. He led off, Vicky Stalton trying to match his long stride. She became a little afraid of him — if she ever be- came afraid of anything — when his face grew still and his shoulders square, but she was, at the same time, glad of him. At a swift pace they approached the base of the pinnacle but even

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76 The Fury settled slowly toward his smoke signals. They were very evidently suspicious even of a single man — here they eoiild tell no more about the light for it was still focused upon them and still blinking. The great double star of Sirius shed little warmth uiion this place but all of them were puffing and overheated and they paused for a short rest. Two of the longshoremen were lag-

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76 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION gardly in coming up; their complex- ions were greenish for they evidently had a touch of the strange fever which had reached into the expedi- tion to take away three members and lay out many more. “Haven’t the slightest idea of that code, have you.'*’’ said the geologist. “It isn’t regular enough for a code,” said Steve. “It’s trying to at- tract our attention and is guiding us in.” He was a little snappish for he, too, felt weary and hot of brow. “Let’s go on up.” They ^limbed the shale, set back by its sliding almost as much as they ascended, until, worn and blowing, they rounded a last boulder and were confronted — and almost blinded — by the signal. There wasn’t anyone in sight, or any sign that anyone had been there. Steve, shielding his eyes, advanced to the thing and got under it. It was like a wheel, some three feet in circumference, and it had wind vanes on it. Dangling from it at various angles of slant were disks. When the wind turned it, the variant- angles of reflection would make it visible for miles. “Very strange,” said the geologist. “Why do you know this is built of iridanium! Chunks of rocket lining mounted on an astral compass bear- ing. Why this might have been here for centuries. Look! Iridanium was not supposed to wear and yet this shows considerable corrosion. How odd!” Steve scratched around the base and found that tlie spindle was set in solid rock and that the set had been overlaid by years and years of dust. In fact the thing was almost ready to fall. At risk of his fingernails he cleared the pedestal -entirely and then the edge around it to finally discover the corner of a slab. He wrested this from the ground and blew upon it to clear away the dust from a series of indentations which seemed to be writing. “Why that’s English!” cried the geologist. “He can read too,” said Vicky. “What’s it say, Steve?” “If I remember my ancient calen- dars, this was written about fiv'e hun- dred years ago,” said Steve. “It says: ‘If relief ever comes: know that the green fever has taken the entire colony and may soon take me as well. If this is ever read by any- one, please carry back word to Earth that I hope the people who formed this company and then left it to rot sizzle in hell. Confusion to the enemy. Bill Moran.’ ” They were silent then for a long while. That message out of the an- cient first days of space travel, stmck all too close to their own case. For they had been left to rot. Too powerful politically, Jean Mauchard head of the Sons of Science and Dave Blacker, fire-spewing chief of a long- shoreman shock battalion had been “sent” on this expedition to Sereon. And because each thought itself be- trayed by the other, the two con- tingents had been expected to wipe each other out. Steve Gailbraith — - who had shown too much tenderness toward aristocrats in California — ■ had been the one inclusion which had, so far, kept things even, though no one realized it save Vicky Stalton. One of the longshoremen of the hunting party, a twisted runt, looked glassily at Steve. “Th . . . the green fever! It killed them! All of them!” “Yeah,” said Steve. “Then it can’t be cured. Then you scientists have been lyin’ to us!” The geologist, having nothing to do with it and having no conscious fault, dodged the hurled rock and

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THE TRAITOR 77 ilifii dived to safety behind Steve, trying to swing up his black stick in case this went further. Morry Durand, an electrical engineer, had already been killed, some said, by these longshoremen; at least his brains had been battered out of his skull and though the wolves had been at him, wolves don’t bash in men’s brains. “Steady,” said Steve. “By the look of your face. Midget, you’ll be dead before you really have to start worrying about it.” The longshoremen stared at Steve and then at Midget, the runt. The remark had its desired effect. They wanted no fight. “Let’s get back to camp,” said Steve. IN THE HARSH brilliance of the light haze which filled the central dome of the camp, Steve communi- cated his news to Jean Mauchard. Mauchard was a' severe ascetic, lean to a skull, with no sympathy for anyone who did not share his gods — the test tube and the electrode. In particular he despised the ignorant if forceful braggart, Dave Blacker. “This is very interesting,” said ]\fauchard. “Surprising that they knew how to cut iridanium so long ago.” Steve had been doing the talking and now he had turned his attention to a steak. The mouthful paused halfway to his lips and he stared, aghast at the realization that his tale had found no tender spot in Mauch- ard. “Fagar must have known about that expedition,” said Steve. “He has access to the Astrographic Office files and all expeditions are listed there.” “What do jmu mean.^” said Mauchard. “I know why that expedition was never picked up,” said Steve. And he pointed through the crystal sheen of the dome toward the outer dome where half a dozen green-hued men lay gasping. “They knew about green fever. Fagar knew about green fever. He sent you and Blacker here because he knew you hated each other and would probably wipe each other out. He didn’t dare execute us to a man and so he sent us to a place where, if the petty hatred didn’t get us, the green fever would.” “You sound sui*prised,” said Mauchard. “I realized that several days ago.” “If you did, then why did you pick this last fight with Blacker, just when this thirty-day truce was to be “His men killed Durand.” “You have no proof of that.” “I have my ideas and I’ll thank you. Colonel Gailbraith, not to in- trude yours upon them.” Steve put the plate awaj^ from him. “Listen to me, Mauchard. You were put here to die. Doesn’t that arouse any fight in you.^ Haven’t you a good, strong impulse to whip Fagar at his own game.'*” “If I have, it will do me no good. Fagar is Dictator of the Empire of Earth and we . . . well — ” “So you just sit idle here and let his plan wreck you. What have you done to stop this green fever.^” “We have done all we can do. We have found that it is not bac- teriological but chemical, probably caused by some additional ingredient in the atmosphere or the water which we shall shortly isolate — ” “You’ve been trying to isolate it for thirty days and you haven’t suc- ceeded. That means that we’ll all be dead by the time your lads finally squint into the end of a tube and say ‘Ah! Isn’t that amazing!’ And

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78 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION right now you are breeding another war with Blacker to split up this camp.” “I am not!” “I saw Blacker before I saw you. I saw him when I came in and he asked me where a good spot for an- other camp could be found.” “Let him go. We don’t need him now.” “And he doesn’t need you unless you get a cure for green fever. Mauchard, I’ve been very gentle^ — ” “A failing with you, I know,” said Mauchard sarcastically touching upon his hatred for the barbaristic arts of war and soldiers in general. “But I’m through.” “Do tell. I think the men who were with you can kill all the game we want. I suppose you are going to run down to Chicago for tea and sulk.” “Are you going to be civil,” said Steve, “or shall I roast off an ear?” Mauchard, seeing Steve’s hand tense near his heat gun, became civil. “What do you propose?” “I propose to take over command of both groups. Neither of you trust me but at the same time you each hate me less than one another. If I am in command, I shall work for the common good.” Mauchard’s laughter was sound- less. Steve got up. “All right, laugh! But if you think I’m going to lie around here and rot, you’ve a broken switch under your scalp.” He went into the outer dome, past the individual cubicles where the longshoremen and their families lived. He saw a withered wreck of a woman trying to quiet a screaming child whose face was already marked with the hue of fever. He felt suffocated in this central- heated village and strode toward the main entrance. Outside three moons, two a greenish blue and dull and one a bright orange and not much bigger than a fist, bathed the rolling plain in gruesome light. A KNOT of men stood about some- thing on the ground by the river’s edge and Steve wandered toward them. It was Blacker, an incongruous hulk, corpse-eyed, his checkered top- coat pressed back against his legs by the wind. He was standing over a dead man. Across the cadaver, from him were three of his henchmen. “What if he did kill Dui-and,” snarled a longshoreman, “he didn’t , do it like this!” Steve paid little attention to Blacker’s half-hearted attempt to prevent instantaneous violence. Steve rolled the body over with his foot and saw that it had systemati- cally been seared from knees to eyes by a pressure stream of a violent acid. He released his foot and the thing flopped back into the mud on its face. “But only them scientists could do such a thing! It’s them that’s tryin’ to get us. Maybe they even let loose the green fever on us. I don’t notice any of them getting it.” “Cornolt has it,” corrected Steve. “What’s this going to be. Blacker? Another break?” “Shut up,” said Blacker. “When I need your advice I’ll send for you.” “Then you’ll have to send a long way,” said Steve. But they were too heated about the murder to read anything into his remark. Steve walked along beside the river and was aware, after a little, of another with him. Vicky Stalton had followed him, at some distance. She had found, something astonishing about him . with regard to herself: she could feel his moods as clearly as though they

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THE TRAITOR 79 were her own. She wished she could read his thoughts as clearly. Devious and unpredictable, Steve Gailbraith’s dismissal from Fagar’s forces had been, whether Fagar knew it or not, a definite loss. A man who, before thirty, has taken over the govern- jnent of a State and has built him- .self into a model for all revolutionary youth — well, perhay)s Fagar was not too stujjid in ridding himself of such a potential menace. “There’s trouble,” said Steve, al- most talking to himself. “There’s been trouble around me since I was fished out of a garbage can at the age of one,” said Vicky. He stopped and looked fixedly at her. “Are you in favor of staying here and rotting?” “Not I, my good friend.” “And no matter what I do, you’ll give me a hand?” “Well — All right. Fm just as much an outcast as you are, even in this com|)any. ]f Fm not mistaken, you’ve already juilled two fast ones and if my nerves can stand it, why I’ll trail along for a third.” “That's a pale answer,” said Steve. “1 said I’d stick, didn’t I?” “Yeah.” “Well, I meant it.” Steve looketl at her for a moment ami seemed about to add something but he did not. He turned and went up the hill toward the glowing dome of the village. Tuiore was some excitement at the entrance Imt Steve did not bother to ascertain what had ha])pened for he knew that there would be much talk and many threats before the matter came to battle. The folly of the bickering was so clear to him that he had even ascended the annoyance of it to a point where he gazed down with detached contempt. He passed Alauchard who was going out at the summons of a scien- tist to argue the matter with Blacker, and Alauchard did not even see him. Steve turned down a hard-packed corridor and came to a sto]) before a door marked “Communication.” Mauchard’s men, clever with nearly eV'Cry branch of endeavor excej)t diplomacy, had thrown together a few bulbs and coils and transfonners to make an astrophone. Their in- tention had l>een to plead for help and to find any data available on green fever, but with all stations so closely controlled by government and because that government was so anxious to hear the last of them, tlieir pleas had gone in vain — and nobody knew anything about green fever, which fact was probably true. Steve entered. An electrical engi- neer was sitting w'ith his back to the set winding a new coil and scowling. Fie looked up at Steve and the scowl deepened. “Looking for somebody?” said the engineer. “For you,” said Steve. “I wumt to send a message.” “You? Send a message? If you got authority from Jean — ” “I haven’t. My only authority is this. Don’t mo^'e.” The engineer stared at the muzzle of the heat gun and then hopelessly at the d(X)r. “You won’t get any- thing that way.” “Sit over there against the wall,” said Steve. M “If I don’t?” “Why then I’ll have to kill you and that would be a pity.” "Hell of a lot of good it will do you to send a message,” replied the engi- neer, taking the designated position. Steve sat down at the panel and pulled the switch into place. There was a distant hum and the lights faded for a moment until the load was equalized. He knew the call

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80 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION wave for Earth and saw that the ion- beam was already set on it. The screen flickered nervously and then, after a short lapse, glowed bril- liantly and w'as filled with the image of an operator. “This is Gailbraith on Sereon. I want to speak to Fagar personally.” The operator grinned. “Sorry. Nobody is allowed to do that, much less anybody in Sereon.” “Take your job in your hands if you want,” said Steve. “If my news does not reach Fagar — ” “I’ll take it down.” “Get me Fagar.” “Sorry, I can’t do that.” “If he cares anything about space pirates — ” “What."'” “Space pirates.” “I’ll let you speak to a sergeant at Astral Police.” “I’ll compromise for a captain in the navy department.” “I’m not supposed to do this.” Steve watched the screen fade out and then, shortly, blink on again with the image of a disheveled in- dividual who had evidently been having a quiet nap. “This is Gailbraith on Sereon.” “Gailbraith? Never heard of you.” “Colonel Gailbraith.” “Oh! Hey, wait a minute. We're not supposed — ” “I know about that. But I’ve got news. Listen closely. About five hundred years ago there was an ex- pedition to this place.” “I don’t know about that, but go ahead.” “Its gear was stored in coroproof vaults and Mauchard and his men found it. There was a scout cruiser there almost completed and in spite of its design Mauchard had enough extra equipment to bring it up to date. The thing will be finished in about three weeks. I’ve got a belly full of both Mauchard and Blacker and so I’m giving you the informa- tion that they’ve reached an agree- ment to leave this place and attack shipping closer in to the System.” “What the devil ... a scout cruiser?” “Armed with blasters of Mauch- ard’s own invention. If the thing is finished, it will take half the navy half a lifetime to catch it. If you want to prevent it, send the nearest war rocket you’ve got to blast this camp out of existence.” “The Fury is cruising about four days away from you,” said the cap- tain, hastily consulting a chart. “A scout cruiser . . . powerful guns — What do you want out of this?” “I’ll be about five miles north of this camp on a small hill. If I am picked up there, as the Fury comes in, I can direct it to the place where the scout cruiser is building and so let them destroy it before adequate defense can be placed.” “Five miles north . . . small hill — All right. Anything else?” “Tell them that the green fever is not bacteriological but chemical and so is not contagious. Otherwise they’ll have no liking for the job.” “I guess if Mauchard can’t stop it, it must be chemical,” said the cap- tain. “All right, Colonel Gailbraith. I’ll put this through the proper chan- nels immediately.” The screen blanked out and Steve cut the switch. He turned to the place the radio engineer had been but the fellow was gone! The door crashed inward and Mauchard stood there, flanked by both his own men and Blacker. They were armed. “What the devil do you mean, sir?” said Mauchard. “I mean I’m sick of the lot of you!”

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THE TRAITOR 81 said Steve. “Sick of your stupidity and your bickering and 3'our eager- ness to wipe us all out. I’ve no love lost for any of you and I’m damned if I’ll die just because you hate each other!’’ “On the strength of that lie,” raged I^Iauchard, “they’ll wipe us out in .spite of anything we can say!” “Why not?” said Steve. “It’s bet- ter to be dead at the muzzles of flash- cannon than to die slowly from green fever!” “Yeah. Sure,” said Dave Blacker. “Talk yourself hoarse, bucko, but ihat ain’t covering up that you’re a damned spy. If we didn’t wipe our- selves out, you were here to make sure Fagar knew about it. And now on a cooked-up charge ... I got a good idea of what to do with a spy!” One of Slacker’s men enthusiasti- cally clipped down on the trigger of his blastick but he was no soldier. Before he could complete the motion Steve’s heat gun made a frying sound and the man’s face and shoulders were charcoal and then nothing. The others had been slightly behind him and the sickening smoke blinded Ihem for an instant. Steve’s boot slammed the door shut and he trig- gered the lock, fusing it to the jamb. He poised in the center of the room for a moment and then seized a chair to launch himself into the venti- lator shaft which led from the cubicle up to the top of the outer dome. It was just large enough to let him get a purchase with back and knees and so hitch himself upward. He .smashed the heat blocks with the butt of his gun and dropped them out of his way. It was about forty feet to the top of the dome from this portion of the village but he had to go an inch at a time, and it seemed like forty miles. Behind him h.e could hear them shouting as they brought up a torch and then an updraft brought him a breath of choking ozone and metal gas. Straight up he could see one of the three moons, dispassionately looking down upon him. The shouts were louder below and then suddenlj^ still. They had broken through the door and for an instant wondered what had happened to him. Then they were shouting again for they had seen the tom heatbloeks below the ventilator. Steve’s fingers reached the upper rim and he swiftly raised himself, at any moment expecting to feel the scorch of a blastick from below. He threw himself out flat on the dome just as a geyser of flame spouted through the hole and lit the night like a pyrotechnic display. The shouting below .stopped and he real- ized what an excellent target he made on this smooth dome; and within a space of seconds they would be out- side, spotting him with beams. He slid over the surface, wonder- ing if he dared slide down the curve of the dome and drop the thirty-foot vertical at its edges. His arm went down into another ventilator hole. He slid himself over and into it and found that it was slanting at a gentle angle. From outside the dome came re- newed shouting and then the fingers of beams, brilliant in the night mist, locked and interlocked above the ventilator. Steve dropped the last ten feet into the room and found that it was a longshoreman’s billet. Two wmnien emitted startled screams at his ap- pearance, screams which were lost in the furor in the corridors. “Quick!” said Steve. “Which way did he go?” They gaped at him. “Don’t stand there blinking! I followed him down that ventilator. You’re hiding him!”

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82 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION “No, no, no!” protested the younger one, senselessly resorting to tears. “He must have taken the other turn,” said Steve, hurrying to the door. “If you see him, howl for the nearest guard!” And he ducked into the corridor. It WAS dark here, the only light streaming from the grates of the cubicles. Several men had just dashed by, heading for the outside, and Steve swiftly came up on their heels to speed ajong with them though unknown to them. When they came to a turn Steve suddenly seized the rearmost member across the mouth and about the throat and slammed his head into the solid wall. The fellow slumped and Steve yanked off the revolutionary great- cape which the man wore in common with most of the longshoremen. Hauling this about himself Steve stepped over the inert body and hur- ried after the fellow’s mates. They arrived at the entrance in a burst of sound. Outside everyone was yelling and running and staring at the dome. Steve clung close to his party. “It’s that damned soldier!” yelped somebody. “He shot Svenkle!” “Some of you cover the other side. There are only ten men around there!” “I see him!” “That’s the antenna, you half- wit!” Steve’s heart was hammering loudly for he saw now how close he had come to missing a trick. The outer dome had an acid-filled ditch about it and he had considered slid- ing down it! “There he is!” bawled Steve, point- ing. Everyone looked. “Right up on top! Lying flat!” cried Steve. Everyone stared at the top. “Here!” and Steve yanked away the blastick of a guard and blazed furiously at the top of the dome. That started at least a dozen guns going and for the next five seconds the whole group was light-blind from the fire. And when they could see again the fellow who had started it was gone. Not that anybody noticed he was gone, though one man was heatedly demanding the return of his bandoleer. “I see him!” yelled somebody. “Behind the solarmotor!” And they were at it again. By day Steve lay in thick grass and watched them search for him across the illimitable monotony of the plains. By night he sat in rings of fire and amused himself by throw- ing brands at the encroaching, hope- ful wolflike beasts. He was in repose as is a grenade which, having its dial set, sits quietly for a space ere it blows up the pillbox. He was rather amused at himself and life — a bitter sort of amusement. Until less than a year ago he had been the perfect, gawp-jawed ideal- ist, ready to do or die for a cause and glory. And when he had discovered how viciously stupid mankind in the rough can be, how his golden deeds had been less than cheap brass, how his gods had all become clods, he had let it break him. It was galling to remember that he had been broken. If it had not been for Vicky Stal- ton — By day he lay in the deep grass of knolls and watched them try to keep up the meat supply which he had started and maintained. How crude they were in their stalking — but then he had no right to laugh for until this time he had only

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THE TRAITOR 83 stalked men. Had they tried to pre- serve any of the bounteous supply he had brought in to them.?* No, they were buckling their belts tighter and starting the game before it was within howitzer shot. If it had not been for Vicky Stal- ton, he might have let it whip him. What a funny kid she was; how scared of appearing scared. She had a block of wood on her shoulder so light that a breeze could blow it away. What did caste matter now.^ Most of the aristocrats were dead, most of the military caste were buried without honors. She had come from the tenements, but what of that. She had an agile brain and a strange kind of beauty and she’d boosted herself so high that even her own kind was afraid of her. She was still in a daze after the shocks of the past two years of battle and be- trayal. What couldn’t she do when she finally came around to trusting a friend.^ And then, on the afternoon of the third day, when he had despaired of seeing her at all, his keen sight sin- gled her slight form from a group of searcher-hunters. Steve slid backward from the mound,'seeing that they would pass by a certain gully on their way toward some long-furred cattle. He crouched in the water-carved gash and waited with patience. After a little the ragamuffins spread out in a crude, bungling attempt to half- moon the herd and Vicky was left at a point, closing in alone. Steve, run- ning half-crouched, came as close to her as the gully would permit. Then he edged over and on hands and knees went through the long, dun grass. He almost received a blastick cartridge in the face when she sighted him, so certain was she at AST— 6 first that he was a beast of prey. “Vicky!” The blastick trembled and drooped and Vicky’s eyes were sud- denly moist. But she kept her head and casually sat down on a rock while Steve approached to within touching distance of her boots. “I ought to sing out and let them know you’re here,” she said in an attempt at coldness. “You won’t,” said Steve. “How are you?” “Not dead . . . yet. You?” “Living on the cream of the land.” She almost laughed at him for he was gaunt and ragged and dirty — about as far from the immaculate officer he had once been as a core miner is from an interne. “What are they doing in camp?” “Fortifying the place, of course. They’ve put a zone of force around it to a distance of a quarter of a mile — as if that would stand up against anything but infantry. You’ve put us in a terrible state of nerves. If they caught you, they’d lightly heat- cure your hide — on you.” “No doubt. Are you coming with me?” “Why should I?” “To save your neck.” “As a traitor, my neck isn’t valu- able, even to myself.” “But you’re liable to get killed in the village.” “Everybody’s got to die some- time.” “You feel pretty bitter about what I did, don’t you?” “Well,” said Vicky, “it was a good, cheap way to save your own health . . . maybe. But don’t you think that putting your own value at four hundred lives was a bit optimistic?” “Once,” said Steve, “I thought you were bright. The People’s Party got rid of you because you were too in-

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84 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION telligent. Why not show me a sam- ple?” “You were the only one that could have pulled them together back in the village,” said Vicky. “But you chose to throw them all into a grave the old Fury is going to dig for them. If I went with you, maybe I’d find myself being used as a stepping stone. No thanks. Colonel Steve.” “So I’m a traitor, eh?” “You turned coat on the air force and joined the rebs. Course half the force did that but still — You made peace with the aristocrats in Cali- fomia Avhen you made yourself governor there. Course it was silly to follow orders and roast them all. You went on an expedition to Sereon and turned your coat again by hand- ing a lie to Fagar — ” “I was wrong,” said Steve. “They kicked you out of the People’s Party because you’re just a stupid wench!” “I wear the same colors straight through,” said Vicky. “That’s proba- bly stupid, but I’m built that way. If you don’t get away from me now, before I count ten. I’ll call the rest of the party down on you. And how they’d love it! One . . . two — ” He lay there for a short space, looking inquiringly at her so that she had to slow her count and give him time to get away. But after a little he departed, sad-faced and con- cerned. “If you get knocked off in this scrap,” he said with some heat, “then don’t blame me.” “Ten,” said Vicky. But she didn’t call the party together or say a single word about having seen him. “The I'otter,” she snarled to herself angrily. The Fury was a sparkle and flash in the greenish sky, swooping down to coast within three miles of the ground and then hang there above the plane on the invisible stilts of antigravitators. Steve had his fire going on the hill five miles north of the camp and now, seeing that the relief force had ar- rived, he piled wet grass upon the blaze and smothered the whole with the revolutionary great cape, also wet. He lifted the cape, replaced it, lifted it, replaced it, repeating the motion until plumed dots and dashes, spelling the Statter Intersystcra Code symbols, hung on the windless day. “G-A-I-L-B-R-A-I-T-H,” said the smoke. And then, “CX-D-A-LN-F- FR-INX-X.” Which, in SIC, read out: “Cruiser hidden. Advise your landing for further information here.” And then so that there would be no confusion, he repeated it twice. The Fury seemed reluctant, stay- ing over the horizon from the village. But at last dark cartridges, fed with proper spacing into a small caliber autoflash, dropped their sheets of ink in a horizontal banner which spelled, “IS-ENF-MDD” or, “Is enemy force armed.” “Brave, brave lads these new P. R. P. officers,” Steve told himself, building up his fire anew. Then he sent up more smoke. “SA-NX-GG” or, “Blasticks but no higher attack means.” The Fury’s tubes sprayed a short stutter of flame and then it eased down to a landing on the mound. Ladders fell out of her plates and connected with the ground and ten alert marines swarmed, bounced to the grass and advanced on Steve, their sergeant scanning the place for any traps. “Captain wants to see you, sir,” said the sergeant. He grinned a fur- tive welcome for he remembered the way Steve had taken blasticks away from them and the gag had appealed to him. The “sir” came invohm-

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tarily for the sergeant had served in the navy and he knew he addressed an officer. He had been on the hap- hazardly comnaanded Fury long enougli to begin to yearn for the good old days when orders was orders and officers was officers and not ex- privates and seamen that’d got gold- braid-blind all of a sudden and to hell with ’em. “I’ve been expecting you since dawn,” said Steve. “We been tryin’ to find Sereon for two days,” groused the sergeant with a cautious glance over his shoulder. “Memorizin’ parly rules ain’t no help to a man’s navigation at all! Wouldn’t ’a’ found it now if the navi- gator hadn’t shot the truck light by mistake.” “Carry on, sergeant,” smiled Steve and strode off toward the gangway. At the top a scowling mass of man- kind by the name of Lars Lavish was waiting for him. Lars was political leader of the Fury and a special representative of Fagar. “What’s this all about.^” chal- lenged Lars, annoyed that Steve had inspired the orders which had yanked them off comfortable, if wild. Space Station 52A(i7 Sirius. “If the captain is around — ’’ “I’m handling this.” “It’s warfare,” said Steve, “not politics. The captain, please.” “Oh, a book soldier!” But Lars let hiiii pass up the companionway and head for the bridge. The captain, an ex-petty officer, was very doubtful of the whole thing. Doubtful of Steve, of Sereon, of the Expedition and, mainly, of his own ability. He was all set to bluster and bray but he had a malady known as officer-habit and his small eyes sought the floor and his speech was jerky. “Well, well? Well, well, well????? What’s this all about? What’s this all about?” 0 The Icy wastes of the polar regions « • « the greed of men searching for lost treasure • . . the mystery of a ship that disappeared and left no traces • . • the treachery of gold<crazed sailors • • • That's what Doc Savage and his five loyal pals found waiting in the frozen northlands. And that's what helps make this new Doc Savage yarn a winner from start to finish. In addition, we bring you a nine-page, full-color story about Ajax the Sun-Man, showing you how this golden tower of strength came to grips with a powerful dictator and a machine of sabotage. And there are twelve other grand features in this ace of comic maga- zines ... all guaranteed to make DOC SAVAGE COMICS the leader in the field! IL 1 10c A COPY AT ALL NEWSSTANDS

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ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION “T was uncovered sending the in- formation to Fagar and had to fight my way out of the place,” said Steve, not so anxious to relate the incident as to forget to take a cigarette from the desk and light it gratefullv. “Well? Well, well???? My ol-ders said something about a scout cruiser, pirates. A scout cruiser and pirates. Well? Well, well?????” “They found the remains of an ex- pedition that was here before. There was a cruiser there which lacked only a few repairs. And so the plan is for them to fix it up and put out to space and get revenge on Fagar by knocking the devil out of his ship- ping.” “Ah! Pirates. Got to stop this piracy. Got bad during the revolt. Got to stop it. Half the vessels of the navy were made into pirate ships. Got to stop it. Where is it?” “That,” said Steve, “is something I knew a few days ago but know no . longer. When they caught me phon- ing Fagar they moved the ship. They’ve got it hidden somewhere, and this is a pretty big planet.” “Humph! Harumph. Ah, hum!” And the. captain was wondering very desperately what one did next. C. P. O.’s in the old navy, hadn’t ever been taught much strategy or method of procedure. He’d meant to study up, of course, but — “My suggestion would be to at- tack the village with my full landing- forces and secure prisoners. And then use a little burning grass be- tween the toes to make them dis- close the whereabouts of the, cruiser and the men who were to man it when it was finished.” “Cruiser crew not in camp, eh?” said the captain nervously. “The cruiser M'on’t be in fighting condition for a month at least. If you get a few prisoners from the vil- lage, they’ll talk. A little burning grass between the toes — ” “Yes, yes indeed! IMy very thought that. Yes indeecl. Har- umph. Landing force, capture a few prisoners. Of course. Correct procedure. Think 1 don’t know procedure?” “Of course. Every able officer does. I was merely telling, you how the land lay and you’d know what to do about the rest of it.” “Oh naturally, naturally. Of course, of course. Indeed yes.” The marine sergeant and a guai'd were there in the doorway, ordered to stand by in case Steve tried any- thing. But Steve was so evidently sincere and the project so simplified that the captain, glad to be a])- preciated for a change — by an ex- officer of all things — issued his or- ders. “Sergeant, bring Lieutenant Go- nagle here.” xAeout two hours later the landing force, fully equipped, was slogging the five miles to the village, towing some small fieldblazers with them. They were under the command of one Lieutenant Gonagle and their line of inarch looked more like a de- mobilized regiment than a battle force. “Fine body of troops,” said Steve. “Wonderful what individualism will do for an army.” He and the captain and four other officers were standing on the Fury’s bridge near the control jiancls. All turrets were trained on the ^■illage. “Yes, yes, of course,” said the caji- tain, hoping guiltily that Ste\e wouldn’t find out about last week when the crew suddenly voted to go to Station 52A67 Sirius and get drunk. “Yes, yes, of course!!” He changed the subject. “We had no idea that you were an agent until we received orders direct from the

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THE TRAITOR ■ 87 navy department which included your name. I hope . . . erah . . . we weren’t too rough on you coming out here.” Lars had entered the bridge a mo- ment before and on this remark he stopped, thrusting his conical skull forward pugnaciously. “Agent? Him?” “Why yes, of course,” said the cap- tain. “The despatches — ” “He’s no better than Mauchard or Blacker!” said Lars Lavish. “He was sent up here just like they were to get what was coming to a traitor.” “My dear fellow,” said Steve, “you have reminded me to ask to see your papers. There has been a little trou- ble with impersonations in the serv- ice the past few months — ” Lars made a sound which was half snarl, half roar. “My papers? You ask me for my papers? MY papers? 3)o you claim you’ve got authority to inspect the papers of a special repre- sentative of Fagar?” “Well?” said Steve crisply. “Where are they? It won’t do you any good to bluster, my man.” “No good at all,” echoed the cap- tain whose life had been made one long argument by this Lars Tavish’s authority. “No good at all.” Lars would have said something but he could think of no words which would tear Steve apart with enough violence. He was a pitiful picture for he shook from head to boot with pent ferocity and seemed in danger of a fit. “The papers,” insisted Steve. “Yes, yes. The papers!” said the captain. Lars whipped them out and threw them at the captain with such strength that they almost knocked that sturdy lump of humanity flat. But the captain lethargically broke the band and began to open them. They seemed perfectly all right to him. “Forged,” said Steve. “A^es, just as I thought. Forged. Gentlemen,” he said to the others above Lars' howl, “please inspect these papers and verify what I say. Forged. See the blur of the seal? And those fin- gerprints . . . well, look for your- selves.” He indolently stepped back against a fire-gun mount to let them peer over the captain’s shoulders. They were not unintelligent men but the habit of obedience to the military caste was strong in them and they now briefly sought to find something wrong. Lars was rattling with rage and he leaped upon the captain to tear the papers from his grasp and show them that they were all in order. “See?” he screamed, his voice nearly crack- ing. “See? There they are. There’s Fagar’s signature! So I’m not Lars Lavish! So I have no authority!” And he cast the papers away into their faces and whipped about, hand going to his heat gun to make atoms out of Steve. But there was only one thing wrong with that: a sizzling hiss. The fire gun against which Steve had so carelessly leaned had unac- countably swiveled around to point inboard with Steve’s hands curled about its crossbars. The fire from it made Lars Tavish’s hat smoke. But Lars was too far gone in anger to be warned. He dropped flat on the plates and triggered his heat gun. A path of whiteness charred him and sent him skittering along the plates. The captain and the four officers stood in appalled astonishment a second too long. An arc of blazing fury made a vertical ring around them and they dodged back with upflung hands. The arc ceased. Steve patted out the smoldering

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88 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION embers which Lars’ weapon had im- planted in his shoulder. His face was pale but his voice was steady. “Keep away from the phones, there,” he said. “Walk over to the far bulkhead and stand there with your faces to it.” “This . . . this is m-m-mutiny!” said the captain. “Impossible,” said Steve, “since I never was on your side. Not since I was sent out here to get killed off anyway. Treason for treason, gen- tlemen.” And now that they had taken their station, face to bulkhead, he advanced, heat gun in hand, to throw loops of gun cable about them and cinch it tight. They had the corpse of Tavish in plain sight and so made no effort to protest. Steve Avent to the control panel. The televise showed the landing party outside the zone of force of the village and setting up field blazers. Shortly the field blazers were firing — and their charges arc- ing off, deflected by the zone of force. Lieutenant Gonagie watched this action for a little vdiile and then de- cided to send for reserves. Making his voice hoarse, Steve promised them and then, through the speakers, emptied the ship of every man fit for action. This force, lug- ging more field blazers, went loping to Gonagle’s aid and, in about an hour, had completed the encircle- ment of the village force field. An old officer of the technical corps would have moved up the Fury her- ■self and squashed the force zone with antimagnetizers, wrecking the enemy generating equipment by robbing them. But no technical officers were there, the Fury’s lone adviser lying trussed on her bridge. SteAm carefully regulated his sights. He could not hope to hold this ship or the bridge alone for he could only man a small gun by him- self. And so he had to have recourse to his Avits again. He contacted the engine room and got a cone beam. From the bridge he .spotted this beam as accurately as he could. He set it for a diameter of three quarters of a mile and pivoted it on the force zone of the A’illage, making in effect, two zones, one created by the village, the other by the ship. The space between the zones was a ring some eighth of a mile wide. And the troops in the annular ring betAveen could neither blast their AA'ay into it nor out of it. And then Steve began to call up the remaining units of the ship, one by one, “for personal orders.” He Avas fortunate for he only had to kill one man. The sailors AA^ere remark- ably reasonable felloAvs. Tavo days later StcA'e made a tour of the outer zone. He could not Avalk through it any more than the landing party cguld Avalk out of it. It was quite invisible for its repelling force was sufficient to knock a man down. Through this barricade Steve could see Avhere the village screen flattened the grass and through that, the village. The people there had ceased to worry. Their supplies were not yet gone. It amused the long- shoremen to Avarider up and doAvn the unseen inner fence and act much like people at the zoo, mocking the caged animals. The harried landing party had tried to dig but, of course, the force zone went down better than a hun- dred feet and they could not achieve that because of the hardpan at twenty. They had used up consider- able of their charges just in trying to keep Avarm and were now at the end of their second foodless, waterless day, for they had emptied their can- teens of wine on the fiA'e-mile inarch to the place and they had eaten their

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THE TKAITOR 89 iron rations months ago. They had now taken to patrolling up and down the walls as though they could find a weak spot. They no longer returned the jeers cast at them. Steve issued out rations to the men he had jailed and made certain of his generators and passed a quiet night. In the morning he went back to the invisible wall. Lieutenant Gonagle was anxious to capitulate. He had no thought of terms. He could see the Fury and knew there was food there and his politics were no deeper than his stomach. At Steve’s Orders he caused them to dig a deep hole and plant all their weapons so that it would require an hour or two to get them out again. And then, by means of wig-wag Steve made the surrender clear to Mauchard and Blacker in the village. They shut off their force zone and marched forward to com- plete the seizure of the landing party. Steve returned to the Fury and cut off the outer zone. That night Mauchard, standing on the Fury's bridge and plotting out a course preparatory to a take- off, came near to praise. He grum- bled, “Maybe a soldier is good for something after alt.” And then, a little later: “But, of course, it took a scientist to invent force fields in the first place.” Steve grinned for he could afford to grin. He had the questionable crewmen under lock but he had re- leased some thirty to help man the ship. He had both Blacker and Mauchard overawed — at least for the moment. But as they left Sereon behind them, his grin was wider. Vicky was changing the bandage on his shoul- der and Vicky wasn’t looking him in the eye. “Well?” said Steve at last. “You’re drunk on your luck,” said Vicky, trying to be hard about it. “You took California once, so taking the Fury is nothing to me, of course. But you’re aching for praise and you think I’m going to give it to you. Well—” “Well?” “These ex-enlisted officers and a half-soused crew were asking for it. Anybody could have done it with a little nerve.” “Well?” Vicky looked at him, trying hard to think of something tougher. But all she could think about was how much she wanted to kiss him. She turned on her heel and stalked away. The man wasn’t so clever. Hell no. Didn’t even tumble when a blind fool could have seen that a word would have brought her to her knees before him. “Well?” Hell! THE END.

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so SIMIOG POini By Borman B. Goldsmith We’ll agree that rocks don't live, and sponges do. Somewhere In between there's the starting point of life — but where? A science article on the difficulty of drawing the line. lilListrated by Schneeman No one argues that a bacillus is not alive any more than one would claim that a dog frisking across the lawn is dead. The bacillus is small, granted; but when you look at it under a micro- scope you can actually see it swim rapidly about by means of little whiplike i^rojections— hagellae — all around its body. If you put it in a test tube containing nutritious ma- terial, you can prove that it both eats food and eliminates waste prod- ucts. Finally, if you start with one bacillus, and conditions of food, tem- perature, and oxygen are right, and inspect it again tw'enty minutes later • — there will be two bacilli. Twenty minutes more and there will be four. At the end of an hour — eight. In other words, the bacillus has the power of reproduction. Now consider a bottle of sulphuric acid. If you ix)ur it over a drain- board, the liquid will move, though not by its owm power. If it acts upon a piece of zinc, it will “eat” the zinc and eliminate water, a process paralleling wdiat goes on in your own body when you eat and digest a piece of roast beef, though you are willing to admit it is not cpiite the same, even though chemically similar. But of one thing you are sure — you never need to fear the possibility of coming to your reagent shelf sometime and finding that your bottle is now two. or has born a litter of bottlets. You just know' it can’t rcjirotluce. Thus, in the absolute final analysis — reproduction is the one (juality of living matter which cannot be dupli- cated readily. But between the tiny Uviiuj bacil- lus and the relatively huge dead mass of sulphui'ic acid, tlierc are many other substances wdth charac- teristics of life. These living-dead in-betw'een particles a})parently com- prise a long graded scries. They vary in size a good deal more proportion- ately than do an elephant and a mouse. Thus they extend from the Bacil- lus ’prodigiosus — one of the smallest visible bacteria — which is seven hun- dred fifty millimicrons in diameter — about three one hundred thou- sandths of an inch — through the rickettsiae at three hundred millimi- crons, dowm to the almost infinitesi- mal virus of foot and mouth disease at ten millimicrons — four ten mil- lionths of an inch! For comparison, a human red blood cell measures three ten thousandths of an inch. The functions of these various or- ganisms vary with their size — lhat is, the smaller they are the less they can do. Bacillus prodigiosus can live by itself as successfully as a larger animal — moving to a degree, seeking and eating the footl of its choice. But the virus of foot and mouth dis-

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STARTING POINT 91 ease has lost almost every power ex- cept that of reproduction. The cells of the diseased animal in which it lives have been made to take over practically all the functions of diges- tion, respiration, and elimination. About all that remains for it is to make more of its own kind. In accomplishing this multiplying, the disease S2ireads to previously healthy cells. Here is the common characteristic of all these in-between agents. They must live on some other host. They must live within the actual cells of that host — and for that reason are known as intracellular organisms, or are described as inclusion bodies. Living in such a jrarasitic manner, their hosts take up most of their nor- mal functions as eating, digestion, elimination, and respiration. All that remains in some instances is reproduction . Dr. J. Howard Mueller, associate professor of bacteriology at Harvard University, proposed an interesting hypothesis at the Harvard School of Public Health’s Symposium on Virus Diseases. He outlined the following concept, greatly simplified. The more para- sitic an organism becomes, the more functions it loses, until none remains except that of reproduction. Paral- leling loss of function is decrease in size. If all the complicated chemical mechanism — enzymes, amino acids, proteins — which make up living or- ganism are lost, nothing finally re- mains but one large highly complex molecule, a molecule of a peculiar micleoprotein which has the ability to reproduce itself. So much for the hypothesis. Now let’s examine some of these creatures which live in the twilight of life — between the quick and the dead, whose existence depends on an un- — the greatest warrior of all — willing host and who live completely within the cells of that host. The first are the Rickettsiae — , named after Dr. Howard T. Rick- etts, an American bacteriologist, who Hied in 1910 while studying these or- ganisms which were found in cases of typhus. Since Hans Zinsser wrote his “Rats, Lice, and History,” the aver- age American reader is a good deal more conversant with typhus than many American physicians who have never seen a case. Where the disease is apt to occur may be judged from some of its many synonyms — ship fever, camp fever, prison fever. The common denominator of all of these is the rat — and the specific carrier is the rat flea, though the ordinary

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n ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION body louse can also assist. The spe- cific infecting agent appears to be the Rickettsiae. The Rickettsiae are minute spheres or rods, sometimes a combi- nation of the two, which live in the cells of the attacked animal. They appear to like certain cells better than others; if such a bit of tissue is examined under the microscope, it will be found to be packed with these little irregularly round bodies. It is interesting to note that origi- nally quite possibly the Rickettsiae were only parasitic to insects, but as time went on they extended their attack to animals and man. Two reasons for this assumption are that similar organisms appear to attack many insects, and that when Rick- ettsiae are artificially grown in the laboratory they grow better at the lower normal insect temperatures than they do at the higher tempera- tures, normal for mammals. Early in the sixteenth century, Fracastorius recognized typhus. Ty- phus fever has been one of the great epidemic diseases of mankind. Wherever man is crowded under un- hygienic conditions, and rats can breed, and fleas bite, typhus spreads. In the long run, typhus probably kills more soldiers than bullets do during a war. Almost every great war has had its accompanying severe epidemic. In the First World War, the Ger- man, Austrian and Russian armies were ravaged with the disease on the Eastern Front, as well as the civilians in that region. The Germans man- aged to keep the infection partially localized so it never appeared on the Western Front, hence French, Eng- lish and American troops were free of the disease. Had infected men en- tered the Teuton trenches, this dis- ease would have spread everywhere, for conditions in the Allied trenches were ideal for it, and neither rats, lice, nor Rickettsiae are respecters of uniforms or military orders. Important centers of typhus where the disease is always prevalent are central Europe, Russia, northern Africa, Ireland, Siberia, northern China, Indo-China, and Mexico. What effect the present wars in Eu- rope and China will have on further rapid spread can only be conjectured. The disease is restricted in South America to Chile and Peru. Spo- radic cases exist in the United States, esiJecially in the Southeast. As early as 1910, Nathan Brill reported mild cases in New York which were thought to be imported from Cen- tral Europe, but since 1928, a great many cases have been reported from Florida, Alabama, and Georgia. These do not appear to be importa- tions, and check of the lousy living conditions among those who have the disease offers adequate evidence of the American origin. After an individual is bitten by a rat louse or flea carrying Rickettsiae there is an incubation period of eight to twelve days, and then symptoms start abruptly. There are chills and body stiffness and a sharp rise in temperature. Muscle and back pains are present, and the patient is suf- ficiently weak to welcome bed. The face is flu.shed, the expression anx- ious, and the mental condition ex- cited. About the fifth day, irregular pink oval spots appear all over the body, but are most prevalent on the trunk. The tongue is very dry and there is a cough. The skin eruption gradually turns darker till it becomes brownish red or purpli.sh. Fever meanwhile keeps zooming with brief falls. Most severe are the mental and nervous symptoms. The pa- tient becomes delirious, then uncon- scious. His muscles tw’itch; he loses control of his bladder and bowels.

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STARTING POINT 93 If all the symptoms become worse, the patient usually dies about the twelfth day. If not, striking improvement oc- curs. The rash fades, and though the patient may remain delirious, his skin and tongue become moist and his general appearance ceases to be desperate. There have been some interesting and quite successful attempts to pre- pare vaccines for the prevention of typhus fever. The difficulty usually has been that not enough organisms can be artificially cultivated in a test tube — as with ordinary bacterial vaccines — to make a good protective vaccine. Rickettsiae, you will re- mernl)er, requires a liv'ing medium in which to develop plentifully. As a result, some ingenious meth- ods have been developed. Weigl, in 1930, took lice, anesthetized them by placing them on a block of ice, and then injected suspensions of in- fected material into their rectums! The Rickettsiae developed rapidly in the intestinal canals of these lice. The intestines were then dissected out, ground up, and the material suspended in salt solution. This method gave an extremely effective vaccine, but the labors of making it and the small yield make it unprac- tical. Then Zinsser and Castadena, 1931-32, developed another ingen- ious method. Rats protect them- selves against developing typhus by the production of a large number of special cells — lymphocytes — which engulf and destroy the Rickettsiae. Normally, therefore, the Rickettsiae do not develop plentifully in their bodies. But if the rats are subjected to X rays first, the lymphocytes are not produced, the Rickettsiae can multiply in great numbers, and a successful vaccine can be made. Another ingenious method to pro- duce a weakening of the lympho- cytes was to feed the rats a diet defi- cient in certain vitamins. This, in some instances, was more successful than the X-ray method. In the last two years, methods have been developed which enable Rickettsiae to be cultivated in test tubes. This is, of course, a great ad- vantage in cheapness, economy, and efficiency over the earlier methods. The Rickettsiae are grown on minced guinea pig tissue. A still newer method showing great promise is the cultivation of Rickettsiae in living chick embryos. The eggs ar^ inocu- lated and the Rickettsiae grow lux- uriantly in the yoke. To summarize: Methods are now available to produce effective Rick- ettsiae vaccines on a large scale and not too expensively. What this will do to control tjqjhus in southeastern Europe, China, and Mexico can only be conjectured — but the outlook is the most hopeful yet. Rocky Mountain spotted fever is also a Rickettsiae disease. Indians knew of it for years, but it was first reported in 1896 by Surgeon Major W. W. Wood. The disease occurs where a particular insect — the Der- macentor andersoni — a tick, lives; it covers most Rocky Mountain States and is gradually spreading. Within the States themselves, the disease is often restricted to particular locali- ties. In Idaho, for example, the dis- ease occurs only in certain counties, while in Montana it was at one time restricted to the western side of a valley, not invading the eastern por- tion till many years later. But in- fections are being reported more and more frequently all over the United States, especially lately in the East.

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94 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION The disease is almost entirely a spring affair, beginning with the melting of the snows and lasting till the ticks cease their activity early in July. Monkeys, rabbits and guinea pigs can be infected experimentally and, naturally, cattle, sheep, and wild ani- mals are tick-infested. The disease appears to be transmitted entirely by one species of tick, but occasion- ally reports indicate other species may be culpable. The actual infect- ing organism lives within the nuclei of the cells it invades, and is classed among the Rickettsiae. It is related tx) the organism of typhus, jirst how closely it is impossible to say. It has not been cultivated on artificial me- dia, and is not very resi.staht to anti- septics or physical agents, though it can withstand cold temperatures fairly well. Four to eight days after a man is bitten by a tick the disease starts. It commences, as .so many infections, with slight chilliness, malaise, and loss of appetite. There are often muscle pains, especially in the calves and back, and headache. Light hurts the eyes, and there is often nosebleed. The patient feels misera- ble and is generally glad to hurry into bed. Soon his temperature be- gins to rise, reaching a maximum of 104° F. to 105°. Usually on the third day, but sometimes a day or so on either side, a rash develops. It appears as rose-colored spots, about a fourth of an inch across, which dis- appear on pressure. The wrists, an- kles ami back are first attacked, but later arms, legs, chest and abdomen become involved; finally the palms, soles, and scalp. Gradually the spots deepen in color and hemorrhages ap- pear in their centers and between lesions. The skin may acquire a sheen. There may be a peculiar mot- tling which some physicians have compared to that of turkey's eggs. The parasite attacks the lining of blood vessels, producing irritation. In the small vessels there may be enough defensive reaction on the part of the attacked tissues to block the vessel completely. If a part of the body cannot receive enough blood nourishment, it dies and ul- ceration eventually occurs. These dead areas are common about the fingers and toes. Patients are often deliriou.s; I'cst- lessness and sleeplessness are com- mon. The most critical period in the disease is toward the end of the second week. A sudden jumji in the white blood count means some other organism has attacked, also, and is a very dangerous sign. Young people generally recover, the fleath rate climbing with the age. In .some re- gions only a few die; in others over ninety percent. Fifteen percent is probably a fair average. Moderately successful immuni- zation has been obtained by grind- ing up ticks, .soaking the mass in phenol, and injecting the result as a vaccine. Maybe you remember this from the picture “The Green Light.” The best prevention is the destruction of tick.s — an extremely difficult task when one considers the enormous areas to be covered. Dip- ping cattle to get rid of tick infesta- tion is a useful but inade(|uate method. Cultivation of ])re\'iously wooded fields has eliminated the pests from certain regions. In Mon- tana the introduction of other insects parasitic to the ticks has been tried. For the individual, the best preven- tive is to avoid being bitten. This means high laced boots, thick woolen socks, and a strip of greased felt at the wrist and neck lines. Frequent

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STARTING POINT 9S baths and inspection of the body is helpful because ticks may cling for a long time before biting. There is no specific treatment, except trans- fusion from a convalescent or im- mune donor. Just one step in size beneath the Rickettsiae are a group of organisms which attack birds primarily and later man. Love birds are not always loving. They, together with parrots, para- keets, and other members of the psit- tacene family, convey to man a liighly dangerous virus disease — psit- tacosis. Ritter, in 1880, described a ])ueumonialike disease in homes where there were sick birds. The usual story is that there is a sick parrot in the house. Canaries and finches may also be at fault. One or several members of the fam- ily suddenly develop headache, mal- aise, loss of appetite, chills, fever and cannot stand bright lights. Then sleeplessness, delirium, and a non- productive cough ensue. The tem- perature mounts rapidly, not falling if the patient lives until the second or third week, and then only slowly. The physician finds the signs of con- solidation in the chest, but the in- fection does not look quite right for a typical pneumonia. Early there may be X-ray evidence of lung in- volvement. Probably thirty to forty percent of the victims die. Those under thirty years of age seem to have a better chance. There is no specific treatment, and the disease is ex- tremely contagious. The best pro- phylaxis is the complete elimination of birds as pets. In an epidemic in the pet shop of a large Pittsburgh department store, many store em- ployees were mysteriously sick, many died before the cause was dis- covered. You MIGHT think that every virus or viruslike substance is man’s enemy, but he has one friend — the bacteriophage. In 1917, Felix d’Herelle was at- tempting to find some method of making a more potent dysentery vaccine with which to immunize the troops in Flanders. Among his many experiments was one in which he conceived the idea of growing the organisms in filtrates of parent cul- tures. By this method he thought he might obtain a product with greater power to immunize. But to his surprise, the bacilli, in- stead of growing well, grew less. He filtered this partially growing culture through a Chamberland-Pasteur candle, which is a tj^pe of filter too fine to permit bacteria to pass, and added some of this second filtrate to other cultures. To his further as- tonishment the tubes, after first be- coming cloudy as was normal, sud- denly began to clear, until they were as crystallike as if there had never been bacteria added to them. This was indeed curious. When he smeared the clear cultures on a glass slide and looked at them through a microscope he saw only a few shadowy ghosts of bacteria or nothing. Something in the filtrate was destroying or killing the bac- teria. Of course, this was in a way an old thing. For years, various cul- tures had been known suddenly to clear, the bacteria in them appar- ently being dissolved and dying. Some called them suicide cultures. But no matter. D’Herelle deter- mined to find how strong this un- known agent was in dissolving bac- teria. He set up ten tubes. In the first he j3ut some filtrate diluted one to ten with bouillon; in the second, dilated one to a hundred; in the third, one to a thousand; and so on.

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ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION till he reached one to ten million. Then he added the same amount of cloudy cultures to each of the tubes raid to a control to which filtrate had not been added. The bacilli began to grow and all the tubes became cloudy. But then those to which fil- trate had been added gradually be- gan to clear, the ones where the dilu- tion had been greater taking the longer time. Nevertheless, when it did occur, clearing was just as effec- tive in the one-to-teh-million tube as it had been in the one to ten. When he took a culture which had received such a minute bit of filtrate and cleared, filtered it, and then added this filtrate to another set of ten tubes, the same phenomena was re- peated. Now, D’Herelle, who had by this time shifted his experiments to In- dia, realized he had something new. It was something which could be grown generation after generation; he had perpetuated the same race as many as a thousand times. It was effective in unbelievable dilutions — he had cleared cultures with dilu- tions as high as one to a trillion! It multiplied. He could have started with a drop, or even a trillionth of a drop, and make a bathtub full, or a pond, or a whole lake. That was, providing he had enough media, for the substance only multiplied in the presence of bacteria. Without them it simply refused to develop. They seemed to be a sort of food for it. The substance passed through filters which bacteria could not. And it dissolved or lysed bacteria. To this new, mysterious lytic agent he gave the name bacteriophage, or eater of bacteria. What was bacteriophage? D’Her- elle conceived of it as a sort of living organism, perhaps the tiniest. It was just like other bacilli, except smaller; and as the larger bacilli fed on people, so did bacteriophage feed on germs. Another school, however, believed that bacteriophage was not a living substance at all, but more in the nature of a chemical, a sort of self-perpetuating enzyme save it had the ability to reproduce itself. There were violent scientific quarrels. The real answer is pi’obably that no one is quite sure what bacterio- phage is, but its discovery has done much to further virus investigation if for no other reason than it can be handled so much more safely than the far more dangerous viruses. Now, what are these dangerous viruses? They are described and called “filtrable” or “ultramicro- scopic.” They are called filtrable be- cause they can pass through filters which are far too fine to permit any ordinary-sized bacterium — no mat- ter how small — to pass. They are termed ultramicro scopic because they are beyond the range of visi- bility of even the most powerful mi- cro scojres. In size, viruses range from the largest — that of smallpox, which is about six millionths of an inch in diameter — to the smallest recog- nized, that of animal foot-and-mouth disease, which is about four ten mil- lionths of an inch. A great many serious disea.ses have been attributed to viruses. We can only mention the more important. They include — measles, mumps, .smallpox, chickenpox, yellow fever, sleeping sickness, and infantile pa- ralysis. Also probably virus in na- ture are the common cold and influ- enza. Certain forms of cancer are apparently related to viruses. Many plant and animal diseases are caused by this ultramicroscopic agent. Fortunately, against some of these

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97 vims diseases, man has made great progress. One need only mention the success of vaccination against smallpox. Before the time of Ed- ward Jenner, (1749-1823) millions either died or were disfigured for life by smallpox. The story of his ob- servations that English milkmaids who had cowpox never developed smallpox, and from this his develop- ment of vaccination as we know it today, was the first great step in the control of virus diseases. The princi- ple proved here was that a virus dis- ease which existed in one species — the cow — might be transferred to an- other species — man. White not be- ing nearly so fatal »to man as was true smallpox, the animal disease was still able to confer upon humans a high degree of immunity to the real smallpox. The next great step was a method of treatment for rabies or hydropho- bia. “Mad dog!” rings the cry in the hot dog days of midsummer, and mothers clutch their children and shrink when stray dogs scamper about the streets, their jowls drip- ping saliva. Few of these animals have rabies, for the disease is rare even among dogs, but since Aristotle in 300 B. C., man has been taught to fear the water-hating sickness. Many dogs have been slain need- lessly, and many children have died horribly because of false sentiment or fear about dogs and the disease. Rabies is historically significant because it was on it that Pasteur started his famous studies. In 1884, Louis Pasteur demonstrated that hy- dro[>hobia was transmitted by a fil- trable virus, that it was contained in the spinal fluids of the mad animals, and that immunization of man and animals was possible. Not everyone who is bit by a mad dog develops rabies; only forty per- cent of dogs and sixteen percent of humans who are bitten develop the ANYTHING HIS HEART DESIRED • That's what the hero of this story had . . . for a while. Someone asked for lemon-fla- vored paint — and, miraculously, it was pro- duced. And what incredible mixtures he could drink — with no ill results! But then the little Pennsylvania Dutch gnomes began to miss their tribal charm. And when they finally traced it,’ hilarious complications followed. Read this amusing, swift-moving fantasy in February UNKNOWN. It's THE MISLAID CHARM by A. M. Phillips — and guaranteed to give you chills and laughs! UNKNOWN On Sale In December lOc A COPY AT ALL NEWSSTANDS

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98 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FIC-TION Descending orders of life: (1) Pro- tozoa, minute but highly organized animalicules. (2) Far smaller, the bacteria, and, again far smaller (3) virus molecules and tobacco mosaic virus crystals. full-blown disease. . Many animals besides canines are susceptible to the infection. The ^d^us exists in the saliva, and does not have to be in- troduced through a bite. Any break in the skin is sufficient. Where the virus comes in contact with the body is probably of more importance than the number or depths of the wounds, d’he nearer the injury is to the brain, the shorter the incubation period, which is gen- erally between three and eight weeks. Some weeks after a bite, the victim may note numbness or irri- tation around the apparejitly healed wound. His voice becomes husky, and he has trouble swallowing. He is nervous and irritable, is unable to sleep, and has a headache. Great excitability then com- mences. The patient becomes ex- tremely sensitive to all kinds of stimuli. 'I’he slightest tnotion about the mouth causes violent si)asms. Attempts to drink water ])rovoke violent intense pain in the pharynx, so the patient dreads the very sight of water— giving the disease its name. Such a stage lasts foi' about three days. Then <^)aralysis follows, the patient loses con.scioiisness and dies in six to eighteen hours. Without the Pasteur treatment, every patient died. Fifty years and thousands of cases have proved the worth of the treatment. It is done this way. Rabbits have rabies virus inoculated into their brains. A week later the animals are killed and the spinal cords are removed. The cords are then dried and treated with car- bolic acid. The longer a cord has dried, the weaker is the virus it con- tains. Injections are theii given to the child who has been bitten, com- mencing with the oldest segment of cord, hence weakest, and increasing to the .shortest treated, or strongest. During this procedure the i)atient gradually develops immunity to the rabies virus acquired at the original bite. If his immunity develops faster than the virus ascends to his brain, his chances for recovery are good. If his immunity is slower, chances are poor. Prophylaxis consists in the muz- zling of dogs and careful segregation of sick animals. Dogs themselves can be Vaccinated against the dis- ease. Herpes simplex, or feyer bli.ster, is another virus infection which is often

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STARTING POINT 99 associiltcd willi diseases in which tliere is a higli fev'er, though it may occur in those seemingly well. It is most I'reciuently seen in pneu- monia, malaria, and meningitis. Usually one or two blisters form on the lip, itch a bit, rupture, and gen- erally heal in fi\^e or six days. One danger is that ]>rimary lesions of syj)hilis are sometimes laughed off by those having them as “just a fever blister.” Warts, or verrucae, too, are appar- ently caused by a filtrable virus; that is, the material in a wart can be ground uj), pressed, and filtered. The filtrate produces another wart. Treatments for warts are legion, in- cluding burying frogs waved at a dead man in the dark of the moon. One curif)us thing about warts is that purely psychic treatment often does cause their disappearance — which may explain the success of so many witchlike remedies. Since warts are in a measure over- growth of tissue, the question of virus as the cause of cancer has for a long time been projwsed. From time to time, someone will state defi- nitely that cancer is caused by a fil- trable virus. Most of these findings have not stood the test of time or repetition, but the idea that some cancerous growths may be initiated by some filtrable agent akin to the vini.ses is by no means impossible. One type of cancer in chickens — Rous sarcoma — appears to be indis- putably linked with an invisible fil- frable agent. Tumors in one chicken may be cut out, mashed, pressed and filtered, the filtrate injected into an- other chicken, and the same type tu- mor will develop. The procedure can be continued repeatedly. No human cancer, thus far, has been definitely ]>roved to be caused by a virus — ()ut with new discoveries al- AST— 7 most daily in the chemical nature of viruses it is not inconceivable that the answer to part of the cancer problem may be found. To INDIC.4TE how Complex the problem of virus transmission is, consider the following instances. During recent years a disease has been noticed among horses. It is called equine encephalitis and is similar to sleeping sickness in hu- mans. Basically, it is an infection of the brain, and can kill previou-sly perfectly well horses within a few days. The animals first lose all in- terest in their food, then lose their ability to stand, soon slump, and die. In I9,‘>8, one hundred eighty-five thousand horses died. Then yarioiis veterinary schools and the Ihiited States army got busy.. They devel- oped a method of pre])aring vaccine by cutting a small hole in chicken eggs, inoculating them with virus from a diseased horse, and growing the ^'irus in the chick embryo. The embryos were then harvested, treated with formalin to render them noninfections though still capable of conferring immunity, and injected into horses. Largely as a residt of this ^"accination among enormous, numbers of horses throughout the entire country, horse deaths from en- cephalitis fell, in 19.j9, to eight thou- sand. But another problem arose. Cases of horse encephalitis soon appeared in humans and at least twenty-eight died. Now how was this disease car- ried from horses to humans? Insects, especially mosquitoes, were proved able to carry the virus. And within the last year a most startling discov- ery has lieen made. Birds, particu- larly pigeons, have been found to harbor this disease. And then some

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sensational! staff of experts for all major games daring t w.o weeks* IF YOUR WEWS DEALER CANNOT SUPPLY YOU, MAIL COUPON WITH 25c, AND GET YOUR COPY POSTAGE-FREE. iFOOTGAlL YEAR BOOK 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City Here's my quarter — rush me a copy of FOOTBALL YEAR BOOK. Name Address City State

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STARTING POINT 101 enterprising investigators studied the brains of ring-necked pheasants picked up in the wake of the great New England hurricane. Terrify- ingly, encephalitis virus could be cultured from the brains of these wild fowl. Similar observations have been made on mallard ducks. What does this mean.^ It means that if viruses are carried by birds, scarcely any area in the United States, or the world, for that mat- ter, can really be adequately pro- tected. But viruses are not satisfied with birds. Like man, they seek some- thing faster — and now they use air- planes. In the center of Africa a man has yellow fever. He is bitten by a mosquito. The virus enters the mosquito’s salivary glands. The mosquito boards a plane to Cape- town . In two days it can be in Bra- zil. In another two days in Miami. Thus, in less than six days a virus particle which was killing a native in the bush country of deepest Af- rica can be injected into the blood stream of an American anywhere. That is why such rigid fumigation and inspection for insects is per- formed on all planes which enter this country from distant lands. Since 1936, the concept of viruses has changed. To understand this, we must turn for a moment to plant pathology. There is a disease of to- bacco plants called “tobacco mo- saic.” It derives its name from the mottled, moth-eaten, appearance of the leaves of diseased plants. If sick leaA'es are ground into a pulp, jpressed, and filtered through a porce- lain filter so fine it excludes ordinary bacteria, the filtrate will produce the original type of disease. Nothing is visible microscopically. Hence the disease has come to be regarded as a typical virus disease and has been used extensively for experimental purposes, since it can be handled safely by workers in marked con- trast to the human virus diseases, which tend to be extremely fatal. Wendell M. Stanley, of the Rocke- feller Research Institute of Prince- ton, took some infected leaves, pressed them, obtained virus-con- taining filtrate, and then proceeded to purify it by a complex series of chemical maneuvers. After a num- ber of manipulations, he finally ob- tained needlelike crystals. Well, there’s not so much to that, you might argue. But when he placed some of these crystals on healthy leaves, the disease immediately started, and furthermore, he could take the diseased portions and from them infect new healthy leaves. And all, mind you, started from a chemically pure crystal, as dead to our 'previous understanding as a grain of salt. Now what did this mean.^ It in- dicated that certain viruses, instead of being living things, like bacteria, might be merely a unique sort of chemical which had the peculiar capability of reproducing itself. Just as though you put one grain of salt on a lamb chop, and that multiplied to cover the whole piece of meat, and then you took a bit of it and placed it on your neighbor’s chop, only to have it multiply in turn and flavor his, and so endlessly. It also suggested a hope for the control of the viruses. If virus diseases w'ere chemical in nature, it was conceiva- ble that some other chemical might be found which would neutralize the baneful effect of the disease-produc- ing sort. Then all that would be necessary to prevent or cure virus diseases might be the simple taking of a capsule of this neutralizing sub-

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JOS ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION stance. This has not occurred as yet, but work is progressing. But this discovery of the repro- ductive powers of a crystallized chemical substance also leads to an uncomfortable situation; science re- quires exact instruments, and words are instruments as much as scalpels and microscopes. The definition of “dead” and “living” has — disquiet- ingly — begun to resemble a micro- scope with a badly fogged lens. By “dead,” men generally called forth in other men’s minds a concept of something inert, crystalline, purely a single chemical substance, perhaps, incapable of self-reproduction. And — presto! — a crystalline, inert, chemical substance proceeds to dis- play the typical properties of life! In 1937, Stanley showed that at least two virus diseases consisted of enormous protein molecules, perhaps three hundred million times the size of ordinary hydrogen molecules. Further, that by various means, X ray for example, these huge pro- teins might be considerably changed to other proteins. Thus a virus which started as a disease of tobacco plants might, under proper stimula- tion, mutate to a disease of rabbits, thence to one of humans, say to com- mon cold, and then into a more spe- cific type, say infantile paralysis, or sleeping sickness. This is all still highly experimental, but it is the fur- thest advance to date in the explora- tion of the viruses. Dr. Stanley received the American Association for the Advancement of Science’s thousand-dollar prize for his work in 1936. It is interesting to note that the day he was sup- posed to receive the award he was unable to because he had been at- tacked by one of the virus diseases he had just uncovered — influenza. Now what does all this mean? We have traced living particles down from the fairly large Rickettsiae, through the bacteriophage, to the al- most single molecule of chemical germs. These last are at once the weakest and the most dangerous of all to man. As influenza, it drowns him in his own lung fluids; as infantile paraly- sis, it cripples him; as sleeping sick- ness, it slugs his brain. It almost wiped out civilization in the great influenza pandemics of 1917 and 1918. It can again. In September of 1939 there was a meeting of the leading bacteriologists throughout the world. The day the meeting started, so did the war. A secret emergency session was called immediately to determine if any steps could be taken to prevent another great wave of disease. The answer was discouraging. Despite the tremendous progress made in re- cent years, we are little better able to cope with most viruses than we were twenty or forty or a hundred or a thousand j^ears ago. The amaz- ing drug sulfanilamide, effective in so many bacterial diseases, has not been found particularly useful against the virus infections. When viruses strike, they strike, and who- ever finally wins a few kilometers on the Western Front will inevitably have to bow to the one real con- queror— General Flu. So if man continues to kill himself, to waste or destroy his best brains, the ultimate answer may very well be the extinction of life as we know it — and the survival of nothing but a peculiar huge molecule of nucleo- protein which possesses the unique ability to reproduce itself. It may become a chemical world in fact as well as in advertising slogans. THE END.

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103 LOST ROCKtT By manly lUade lUellmao AceidenH will happen, on planet or in space — bat sometimes somebody very much wants them to happen! Illustrated Nobody really saw tlie explosion of the Phobos — she was too far out between worlds for anything but a telescope to follow, and it happened that no telescope was following. One of Spaceways’ best long-shot rockets, carrying supplies and mail from Earth and Mars to the Jovian colo- by Orban nies, she had cut across the orbits ^ of the inner planets, past the Sun, had come almost into opposition to Mars in his own path when it hap- pened. But it would have been a beauti- fully terrible sight, had one been watching — a sudden red-and-gold

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104 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION blooming of the silver-gray torpedo hull, like a seed bursting into radiant life or a dull little star becomihg a nova. A brief, brilliant spreading and spending of fiery blush against the black airless sky; and then a wink-out. The shattered hull, that had been gray, was now too sooty to reflect any light. The Phobos would be invisible to any searcher, unless that searcher blundered close. The radio, of course, was destroyed. Out of sight, the Phobos, and out of hear- ing. Out of universal mind. The scurrying government rescue patrol began its rush with a three fourths conviction that it was too late. Yet the wreck was not yet com- plete. James Murkitt, who had been skipper of the Phobos, stirred dully back to consciousness. His head ached where it had cannoned against something — the metal bulkhead. Slowly he remembered. This was one of the two cells in the brig, for- ward almost in the nose peak of the craft. He was imprisoned here, shorn of rank and reputation, of free- dom, too. And now what.^ He rubbed his injuries, remember- ing slowly what had gone before his locking up. One hour before the take-off at the St. Louis skyport, there had hurried up a legal agent for the Martio-Terrestrial League. Had Skipper Murkitt anything to say about the Phobos’ cargo? Murkitt, tall and tough-limbed, trying to make his lean, young face look extra stern for the sake of dignity, had nothing special to say that hadn’t been said already. The Phobos was canying food, medicines, machine parts. Mail, too, of course, includ- ing a block of vouchers for products of the various moons — Callistan ores, Ganymedean aromatic mosses and so on — as well as a sealed document commissioning a new colonial gover- nor out there. The old one had been too complaisant toward monopolist barons, had let them grow too bloat- ingly rich, and now his more sincere lieutenant was to take over. Well, the League agent had pur- sued, did Murkitt realize that explo- sives were contraband on the barely civilized Jovian moons? Murkitt had known it well, was surprised at such a question; had brushed the agent aside and gone aboard and taken off. Then, hours out and just past Venus, the official voice on the radio. Evi- dence had been examined at home, tending to show that an unlawful case of roving bombs was aboard the Phobos, had been receipted for by Murkitt himself. Murkitt was to consider himself under arrest, and First Mate Hollis would command. On reaching Ganymede, fonnal charges and a trial — All this fantastic ill luck returned to the prisoner’s mind as he looked about him. What d’you know, the cell door was open! Burst open! Murkitt started to rise to his feet — and went out of control. His first attempted step hurled him through the door, brought him up smartly but not heavily against the bulkhead of the corridor outside, as though he had dived through deep water. He rationalized at once. The artificial gravity of the Phobos had been shut off, or otherwise put out of commis- sion. Why? Cautiously, he made paddling mo- tions with his hands. He found out he could swim in the air, he weighed only ounces without the gravity beams to hold him. He glided along the corridor, and looked into the ob- servation room, the foremost com- partment of the whole ship. It was shaped like the inside of a half dome, with a flat floor, a flat bulkhead astern, and the forward

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LOST ROCKET 105 great curve tliat was the inner sur- face of the hull itself. A big port was set there. The tables of sky charts and log books had been violently overset, papers floating like bits of down. Only the radio receiver and vision screen, both dead, were in place on their clamped stand. Murkitt got himself to the rear door- way, that led to the stern of the ship, and put his hand to the knob. He could not pull the door open. Bracing his feet, he tried again. The door gave a little, opening a crack at most, and sudden gales invested him. He ceased trying at once, for he knew the air pressure was falling fast behind that door. “Get back to jmur cell!” snarled someone. Murkitt turned, still holding to the knob. It was the beefy space hand told off to observation duty, which also meant guard duty at the brig. Battiloro was his name and he was broad and truculent, with thick black curls. He half floated at the entrance to the corridor, one hand on the jamb, the other leveling his electro- automatic pistol. “What the devil happened to us?” demanded Murkitt. “Can’t say. The engines blew up, is my guess. I got thrown the whole length of the corridor, into a locker full of papers — but never mind. Get back to your cell, you’re under arrest!” Plainly Battiloro intended to take his guard duty very seriously. Murkitt paddled through the air toward him. “Easy does it,” he counseled. “You must be right — the engines blew up — probably the whole rocket hold. It smashed the bulk- heads everywhere but here in the control room of the brig corridor, and all the air besides this is going fast. You and I must be the only living things left aboard.” As though in frantic denial, some- thing knocked furiously on the other side of the door. Murkitt and Batti- loro stared at each other, then launched themselves airily toward the spot. Both clutched hold, Mur- kitt at the knob, Battiloro at the latch, and braced themselves against the jamb for a supreme effort. A surge of their combined muscles, and the door opened ever so slightly; six inches, twelve. The escaping air tried to hustle them out, but they re- sisted. Whiplike tentacles thrust in, then a shaggy head like a flesh-col- ored chrysanthemum. The rest of the creature managed, to drag itself through the space, and with it trailed something limp. Battiloro and Mur- kitt let the door close. The newcomer was Xonzak, the Martian mechanic’s mate, and with him he had brought the unconscious form of Hollis, the officer who had superseded Murkitt in command of the PJiobos. Hollis, pale and plump, had been cut badly over the fore- head. Droplets of blood oozed forth and sailed away in the gravityless air like little red balloons. He breathed heavnlj^ with closed eyes. Xonzak tried to draw himself erect upon the rear tentacles he used for legs, but, like Murkitt and Battiloro, failed clumsily. Like mo.st Martians in interplanetary jobs, he corseted his bladdery body into rough shape and walked upright instead of crawl- ing like an octopus on his six bone- less limbs. He wore trousers and a tunic, and his outline was roughly that of a terrestrial man with an extra pair of arms. His sensitized face petals, which served him as eyes, ears and nose, were distractedly abristle, and he could scarcely form his hissing words with the artificial voiee box in his breathing orifice. “The sship iss losst,” he managed. “Blown up — torm open back therre.”

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106 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION He flourished a tentacle tip at the door through which he had come. “Already the airr iss almosst gone. It musst be vacuum now — the doorr could not open again. I, conditioned to light breathing on Marrss, man- aged to get herre — drragging poorr Missterr Holliss.” Murkitt stared at his successor, who still sagged limp and quiet, float- ing near the floor. “You two were in the control room.'*” he suggested. “It’s just behind here, and if nobody else was with you, the rest of the ship must be hopeless. Thirty men gone — the whole business blown into splinters. What did it.-*” “That case of bombs you smug- gled,” accused Battiloro. “This is your fault, Murkitt, and you can’t get out of it.” “You lie when you call me a smug- gler, and you lie again when you say it’s my fault,” Murkitt told him in the very mouth of the pistol he held. “Shut up, and let’s take stock of our- selves. Four of us left alive^ — ” “Five,” said Battiloro tri- umphantly, as though scoring a point on Murkitt. “Swen was in thfe other cell. He’d overslept on the last watch, and Flollis sent him into ar- rest. If we’re alive, he must be.” He swam back through the corri- dor, and returned with Swen, who had not even a bruise. Swen was a smiling-faced young blond space hand, a competent workman and full of great, good nature toward all the Universe. “So you escaped, too, skipper!” he cried at sight of Murkitt. “He’s not the skipper,” reminded Battiloro at once. “There’s Skipper Hollis, in the corner — badly hurt.” “He may not rrecoverr,” ventured Xonzak, who was trying to treat the injured man. The blood had ceased to flow, but the wound puffed in ugly fashion. “He’s out of it now, anyway,” re^ plied Murkitt, “and the showdown is among us four. Battiloro, put away that gun. Until Hollis is fit, I as- sume command.” Battiloro shook his stubborn curly head. “You aren’t an officer — not even a member of this ship’s com- pany— since you were put under ar- rest.” “You talk like a space lawyer,” snapped Murkitt. “Remember that I haven’t stood trial yet — was only accused. And this ship hasn’t a com- pany any more; strictly speaking, it isn’t even a ship.” Murkitt let him- self float toward Battiloro, who set his jaw and pointed his weapon. The muzzle seemed to yawn in Murkitt’s face, but did not awe him. “No sshooting, pleasse,” hissed Xonzak anxiously. “Gentlemen,” said Murkitt to the others, “I ask your co-operation — your recognition of my command.” “Of conrrsse, sskipperr,” said Xon- zak readily. “You arre besst fitted forr leaderrship in emergenssey.” “Check to that,” agreed Swen brightly, and Battiloro sniffed fiercely. He flourished the gun. “I’ve got the only weapon!” he half shouted. “If anybody commands, I do! Recognize that, you three, or I’ll start shooting!” “Shoot, then,” dared Murkitt. “Kill one of us, and you must kill the others.” He said that without being sure of his two adherents, but he knew he must bluff. “Then where will you be, Battiloro — alone, with three corpses and maybe a fourth?” He pointed to the silent form of Hollis. “Hand over that pistol, and pay attention to orders.” Battiloro grimaced blackly, but held out his weapon, butt foremost. Murkitt issued orders at once, pretending that there had been no

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LOST EOCKET 107 unpleiksantness. He set Swen to cheeking siip[)!ies, Xonzak to com- puting the voiurne of air left to them, Rattiloro to sealing any slow leaks. He himself went to the fore port to observe. A glance at the star pattern ahead was enough for his spacewise infor- mation. They were still traveling, by the momentum of that mighty final blast, but were far off course. They would miss the Jovian System by millions of miles, and sail away in space — whither? Wasn’t Saturn out there, perhaps directly in the new path? Nobody had ever been to Saturn yet — there would be no res- cue shi))s in those quarters. There could be onl,y a crash of this little re- maining snip of the Phobos, and probably the five of them would be dearl long before. Xonzak reported first, launching himself to Murkitt’s side like some strange canny squid in the aquarium. Sibilantly he reported the inner vol- ume of the control room, the narrow corridor, the two cells and some odd lockers as approximately two thou- sand cubic feet. “That’s four hundred cubic feet for each of us,” commented Murkitt. “Not enough to last very long.” Swen joined them at that moment. He had found some concentrated ra- tions meant for the cell occupants, a full tank of water, and four space ov'erails, complete with magnetized boots and glassite helmets. “Overraliss, sskipperr!” exclaimed Xonzak. “The bootss will ssolve one prroblem — lack of gra\hty need not count now — ” “Right,” approved Murkitt, “and there’s another good feature. Each suit has an oxygen freshener. Bring them here, Swen.” When the space hand had obeyed, the four conscious men donned the magnetized boots and at once were able to stand up on the metal floor, with a sense of weight and balance. Battiloro slung a hammock in which the limp Hollis was lashed. Swen and Xonzak bathed his wounded head, and taped a compress upon the gash. Meanwhile, Murkitt de- tached one of the fresheners from the inside of its overall. It was a brick- shaped piece of spongy chemical, processed to precipitate carbon from breathed air and released the fresh- ened oxygen. “This will break down our output of carbon dioxide for a time,” an- nounced Murkitt, “especially if we don’t exert ourselves too much. When it’s used up we’ll break out another and another. We can live for some days, at least.” “That makes me feel better,” grinned Swen. “Not me,” responded Ba*ttiloro. “We’ll never get out of this.” hlurkitt now had time to examine Hollis in his hammock. Under the wet compress the wound showed compact, the bruising cut of a small blunt object. “How did it happen, Xonzak?” he asked. “I cannot be ssurre — things were abrrupt,” replied the Martian weightily. “Alissterr Holliss wass at the contrrolss. Hiss head musst have sstrruck the end of the massterr leverr.” “Perhaps,” nodded Murkitt. The master le\'er — if in its socket on the control board — woidd ha\ e been in front of Hollis. If his head struck it, there woidd result just such a mark; but a new thought came. “Why would the master lever be in place, Xonzak?” he pursued. “Gen- erally it hangs on the rack — isn’t fitted and used unless the machinery is to be started or stopped — only on the take-off or the landing. And we were in midspace!” The head petals stirred and Xon-

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108 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION zak wagged his cranium. “I cannot ssay, sskipperr. Naturrally, things arre sstill hazy in my mind.” “Naturally,” Murkitt agreed, and replaced the compress. What could Hollis have meant to do with the lever in position, except to stop the .ship? His mind returned to his own arrest, the reason for it. Had Hollis engineered his superior’s downfall, to win command himself, or other re- ward? He wished the injured man would wake up. “He may die at any time,” ob- served Xonzak, as if reading Mur- kitt’s mind. “Let’s eat,” pleaded Battiloro, gruffly. “It may take our minds off this jam.” They ate — not much, for Murkitt had already divided the supplies of food concentrate into slim rations for ten days — and then continued their investigations. Murkitt then sounded the floor of the observation room in various places, tapping with the butt of Battiloro ’s gun. At length he decided that there could be no air left in any of the chambers below. He also examined the light fixtures and the radio equipment. “We’re on a storage battery here in the observation room, not a dynamo,” he remembered, “and the lights are all right for as long as the battery lasts. But why should the radio go to pot?” Standing by the metal stand where the vision screen and the receiver were set, he snapped the switch unavailingly. “No good.” “Rradio iss a delicate mechanissm, eassily jammed,” offered Xonzak dryly. “But I know ssomething about it — I will try to rrepairr.” “Do that,” urged Murkitt, and the Martian began to poke experiment- ally among the wires and tubes. He refastened some connections, tried the switch again with no success. Finally he traced a wire downward to its floor connection. “Herre iss wherre the powerr iss dead,” he announced. “The connec- tion beneath thiss floorr iss brroken.” “And there may be a leak at that point,” chimed in Murkitt. “Feel, Xonzak. You get a suction? Then let’s plug it tight.” He himself pulled the connection from the hole, and Battiloro hurried with cement and a patch of rubber fabric. “That closes it,” he said, smearing furiously. But Alurkitt was fairly scowling at the end of the radio connection he had drawn up from beneath. “Look, Xonzak,” he snapped. Xonzak’s shaggy visage came close. “A clean brreak, ssirr.” Murkitt shook his head. “No. No break. The wire was cut.” He dropped the end of the wire, his scowl becoming a grim ravine be- tween his hard eyes. Sabotage, then, before the explosion. Who had scup- per*ed the control-room radio? Why? Was there relationship between this and the explosion — and did that mean that the explosion was deliber- ate? Murkitt was afraid so. He walked over to Hollis’ hammock, the metal soles of his boots clanking faintly, and studied the injured man. If only he would wake up. “Attention!” he rasped, and the three others came forward expect- antly. “What reason could there be for blowing up the Phobos?” he de- manded. Battiloro cleared his throat nastily. “You ought to know,” he accused. Swell’s usual good nature seemed to desert him. “Don’t talk to the skipper like that,” he admonished Battiloro. “It was an accident — bombs aboard — ” “Roving bombs,” reminded Mur- kitt. “Each with propulsion equip- ment, to be launched and guided by

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LOST ROCKET 109 radio beams, even around corners — and exploded only by a deliberate change of power quality. The only radio in reach was the regular ship set, wasn’t it? As for the engines, they were in fine condition, inspected just before take-off. The fuel — ” And he paused, looking at Xonzak, v/ho as mechanic’s mate would know about it. “PiToperrly mixxed at all timess,” the Martian assured them. “Of courrse, at the unlucky moment I wass away from the enginess — had come into the contrrol rroom, to assk Holliss a rroutine quesstion.” He, too, turned toward the figure in the hammock. “If he wakened, he might help uss clearr up the myss- terry." “He may waken still,” said IMur- kitt. “Well, stand easy. I want to think.” Bct thinking helped very little. It was more evident than ever that the whole disaster was the willful act of someone, presumably a member of the ship’s company — a time bomb placed at the beginning of the voyage could hardly have gone undiscov- ered. But such a wrecker, even if he survived the blast, could hardly hope to escape in the end, to enjoy whatever advantage he had striven for. And, once more, what ad- vantage would there be? The craft had carried staple goods for the Jovian settlements — nothing valuable or rare, and destroyed by now anyway. Vouchers, too, repre- senting a big sum — but good only in exchange for Jovian produce. That was all, except mail — except mail! That demotion of the colonial governor had been aboard. Without its actual sen'ice on the official, like a summons to a court trial, the ally of greedy magnates would still hold his position, for a time anyway. That limited temi might be very valuable to him and his accomplices — Battiloro was approaching trucu- lently, with Xonzak fluttering agi- tatedly after him. The first words spoken showed that it was Battiloro’s turn to read Alurkitt’s mind. “Listen,” said the burly space hand, “I’ve been chinning it over with the Martian brother here. The only reason for blowing up the ship, it looks like, would be to keep that demotion from being delivered to the governor; it would be an inside job, and the insider would put him- self in a safe spot — lilie the cells, for instance — ” “No, no, Battilorro!” protested Xonzak, touching the man’s heavy shoulder. Battiloro shrugged off the tenta- cle. “You planned it, and your own ar- rest! I’m through, I won’t take or- ders from a rat — or even stand him around!” \ And he clipped Murldtt solidly on yj the chin. Murkitt swayed back, almost to the floor, like a pendulum in re- verse. With any considerable gravity to reckon with, he would have slammed heavily down. As it was, a bracing of his leg muscles snapped him back upright, and into the conflict. He broke ground, so that Battiloro plunged awkwardly past as he fol- lowed up the attack. A moment later, IMurkitt’s lean hard hands had seized Battiloro’s outflung left arm. He heard Swnn cry “Wheel” in sud- den ingenuous applause, as he pushed the captured wrist down to the hip, back past it, then up behind. A moment later he had completed the hammer lock. Battiloro howled and swore, and Murkitt forced him to bend helplessly forward.

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110 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION “Xonzak! Swen! Get those shoes off of him!” Murkitt panted. The Martian only dithered, but Swen came readily forward, lifted first one and then the other of Batti- loro’s feet and tugged the magnetized boots away. Battiloro floated miser- ably in midair, still prisoned by Murkitt’s punishing grip. Murkitt towed him out of the ob- servation room, down the corridor, and thrust him into the cell where Swen had been kept. He locked the still adequate door behind the pris- oner, and returaed gloomily. Swen was still grinning, as though in ex- citement, and Xonzak bent about Hollis as though to minister to him. Hollis was resting easily by now, though the bruising cut on his fore- head had turned purple-black. “Battiloro spoke this much truth,” announced Murkitt. “The explosion was probably sabotage, and the guilty one probably arranged to sur- vive the wreck. On top of that, he probably has a plan for his eventual escape. Now, then” — and his voice grew hard — “which of us is guilty.'’” “Not me,” replied Swen at once, his eyes widely earnest. “Norr I,” added Xonzak, more grammatically. “Could it be poorr Missterr Holliss?” “More likely Battiloro,” suggested Swen. “That was why he tried to hang the blame on you, skipper.” Murkitt did not comment. “I wonder,” he hazarded, “if, when his rescue comes, the rest of us will be allowed to live^ — probably not. I rather think that the wrecker fig- ured to be a sole survivor, and any others who escaped are only in his way.” Murkitt went to where the space overalls were spread out, and donned one of them. He tightened the joints at his boot tops, zippered and sealed the front, fastened his gauntlets. He paused, holding the clouded sphere of glassite that did duty as helmet. “I don’t trust you two,” he in- formed Xonzak and Swen. The Martian purred protestingly, the terrestrial gazed open-mouthed, and Murkitt went on: “Somebody among us is guilty of sabotage, mur- der, and treason. It may be Hollis, lying there in the hammock, or Batti- loro yonder in the cell. But it also may be one of you.” He tramped to the stand where the dead radio stood, and laid upon it the electroautomatic pistol that had been Battiloro’s. “Both of you stay away from this,” he warned. “Keep opposite corners of the room — and watch each other. If one of you tries anything funny, the other must dive for this gun and blast him. Understand.? I’m trying to checkmate you both — make you afraid to move until I get back. Because I’m going outside.” “Iss thiss wisse, sskipperr?” par- leyed Xonzak. “It’s necessary,” snapped Murkitt, and on went the helmet. He walked into the cell corridor, and in the opposite direction from the cells. There was a narrow valve- like door — the lock panel. He en- tered, closed it behind him, stood for a moment in a cabinet-sized com- partment, and then opened the outer hatch. In a moment he was out on the hull, standing erect upon it in the airless darkness. He brought an electric torch into play, and for the first time was able to see the extent of the damage. All the ship had been blown up save the nose, a curved piece of the hull that included and sheltered the observa- tion room and the adjacent corridor. Behind this one solid bit, held to-

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Ill ^'etlicr by temioiis mutual attraction, came a jumbled comet’s tail of smashed pieces. IVIurkitt then stared ahead, and saw what he half ex- pectetl — a drifting point of white light, noticeable only to the prac- ticed eyes of a space navigator who knew how to look for movable glows among the fixed patterns of stars. That would be the full rocket flare of a craft, Murkitt told himself, lin- gering far out and away, many hours ahead of them— patrolling back and forth until this smudged derelict re- mainder came into view and reach. Kescue, then, for the agent of the barons on the Jovian moons — death, undoubtedly, for any who had sur- vived with him. And TNfurkitt did not want to die, not without a strug- gle. He walked backward to the .shat- tered edge of the sound hull frag- ment, and swung from it into the midst of the junk. From this direc- tion came the radiance of the Sun far astern, and he was able to see with- out his torch. He had come into the smashed control room, back of the observa- tion cpiarters, and almost at once he spied something — at the foot of the blackened and fused remains of the control board lay a long blackened bar. He picked it up. The master lever! So it hadn’t been in iflace for Hol- lis’ head to smack into — or, if it had, it had fallen free very strangely. Murkitt studied the control board. The master-lever socket was fused completely into a lump — if the lever had been in place, it would have held there by the sudden flux of molten metal. Something fishy, decided Murkitt, about Xonzak’s story. He’d question the Alartian later. But now he must resume his survey of the wreck. First he looked for possible bits of salvage among the mess that had • You want to give something to your friends that will please them. Everyone likes good stories. Then why not keep your friends supplied throughout the year with the same top-notch fiction that ■ delighted you in this magazine? You liked these stories — here's a chance to let your friends enjoy them just as much. And this is an inexpensive way to bring pleasure not only at Christmas time, but all during the coming year as well! Your' friends will be reA Inclosed piease find $2.00 for a year's subscription- to Astounding Science-Fiction, to be sent to Name Address City and State Your Name Address City and State (,$2.25 for Canada; $2.75 foreign) ★ ★★★★★ ★★★★★★ Pr

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312 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION been the engines, but every part had been blown to splinters. He came cautiously along what had once been a corridor and was no\v a frayed metal tube, to the old atms locker, not far from the door of the observa- tion room. His eyes lighted up within his helmet. Here was some- thing: A metal solvent ray thrower, big and powerful enough for his pur- pose. It was as large as a small can- non, but easy to handle without the gravity pull that the ship had once had. Emerging with it, he poked elsewhere in the clutter, and brought- out a tangle of extra-strength steel cable that had escaped the disaster. He lugged his prizes back to the sur- face of the nose cap, and there toiled to unsnarl the cable. When he had done this, he bent one end fast to a stout mooring hook at the center of the nose, cap. The other he attached to the grip of the ray thrower., “Now for it,” he said aloud to him- self, and mused dolefully that only desperate men talk aloud inside their space helmets. Stooping, he undid his magnetized boots. With bits of line he bound the ankles of the overalls so that no air would escape, then stepped out of the boots, which clung firmly in place on the hull. He hoped that his thick socks would baffle for a time the chill of naked space. He took the ray thrower in his arms — its weight was, of course, negligible. And he bent his knees and launched himself with a jump. Away he soared mto the starry blackness, floating outward like a kite. He traveled for many yards, until he came to the end of the cable with ever so gentle a jerk. He rode at an angle well to one side of the scuttled Phobos. He pointed the ray thrower in the direction that the wreck was traveling, and touched its trigger switch. Fire gushed into the dark, fire full of destructive power — and motive power. Like a rocket, the thrower recoiled and hurled backward. W'ith it sped Murkitt, finger still on the switch. Only a moment whipped by before he, the ray thrower and the cable end were all streaming back behind the wreckage, and the fire still flamed. It caused a steady and in- sistent drag. Murkitt touched the cable with a sock-clad toe — it was as taut and humming as a banjo string. Would it snap.^ Would he and the ray thrower fly off into space, sepa- rated even from the fragile pretense of security represented by that one solid tip of the old Phohos? He peered, and saw that the nose cap had changed position. The tug of the recoiling ray thrower against the cable had shifted that course to which it had held ever since the wreck. It shifted more as he wvatched, and more — he could see the difference in its apparent shape. Warily he cut the force of the ray a little — he did not want to serve as a brake to all that momentum, he only sought to change its direction. A minute passed — fire gushing, cable vibrating. And, like a tobog- gan rounding a curve, the mass of scrap metal that had been the Phobos at last reversed itself. It was now pointed for, and traveling toward, the place whence it had come. The Sun was upon the nose cap, the inner planets stared into its face. Among those inner planets w’ould be cruising rockets. One might sight them, haul alongside, investigate— and save. Alurkitt realized that he was hoping, for the first time, to sur- vive this adventure and avert de- struction. He shut off the ray, un-

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LOST ROCKET 113 fastened the thrower and slung it to his girdle by a latch strap. Then he drew himself along the cable, hand over hand, coming at last to the re- mainder of hull and donning his metallic boots. Standing up, he peered down at the port beside his feet, and at the lighted observation room beyond it. Just inside, by the radio stand, Xonzak and Swen confronted each other, tense and watchful. Xonzak flourished his four upper tentacles, threateningly and terrifyingly. Swen shook his head, tautened himself more. Xonzak came a gingerly step nearer, his whole person fairly exud- ing menace. They meant killing — and for what but that one of them knew the other guilty of the crime that had brought about this plight.^ Which would that be? Gazing in fascination, Murkitt checked over all that he remembered of each — it would be Xonzak. Yes, certainly Xonzak. The Martian alone had come unhurt out of the de- struction of all the ship astern of the observation room. He must have felled Hollis with a blow of the un- shipped master lever just before the explosion. The seeming heroism of that rescue was part of the plot, somehow. And now he had betrayed himself to Swen — Swen the stupid one, who nevertheless showed cour- age and determination. Xonzak leaped sidewise for the stand where lay the electroauto- matic pistol. But Swen got there ahead of him. The weapon sprang up in Swen’s hand, flashed once. Xonzak’s flower head flew in rags from his corseted octopus body. Tlie rest of him somersaulted in midair and fell back- ward, sliding gently along the floor into a corner. It lay without a quiver. “Bravo!” whooped Murkitt, al- most deafening himself inside that glassite helmet. He struck with the butt of the ray thrower on the port, and as Swen whipped around with the electroautomatic in his hand, Murkitt stooped toward him and made wide applauding gestures with his gauntleted hands. Swen smiled embarrassedly, like a boy caught stealing cookies, then pointed to the side where the lock panel would be. Murkitt went to the panel, let himself through. Just beyond was Swen, eying him expect- antly. The muffled voice of Batti- loro beat upon them from the direc- tion of the cells, howling for instant release. “I had to do it,” mumbled Swen, as Murkitt unshipped the helmet. “It was splendid!” Murkitt praised, and shook hands vigorously. “So he was guilty, eh.'' Xonzak, I mean?” “Yes — guilty — ” Swen thrust the pistol into his waistband. “He said something that gave him away. I accused him. What did you do out there, skipper?” “Reversed the wreck. We’re head- ing for home.” Murkitt described his feat. “Some ship will rescue us, if we have any luck,” he finished. Swen was silent for some moments, as if digesting this. “You’ll stand by me?” he ventured at length. “Tell that it was necessary for me to kill Xonzak?” jMurkitt assured him that he would, and they went together into the observation room. The first thing they saw was Hollis, still pale and drawn-looking, but struggling to a sitting posture in his hammock. “Swen,” he said sternly, “I charge you with murder.” “No, Hollis,” argued Murkitt. “He killed Xonzak as a traitor and wrecker — ”

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114 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION “I heard all that they said to each other,” Hollis snapped, gaining strength. “I was just coming to when Xonzak accused Swen of engi- neering the whole smash-up for the sake of a bribe from those Jovian money grabbers. And I got my eyes open in time to see Swen add one more death to the number he’s to blame for.” Swen turned to Murkitt with a gesture of pleading helplessness, and Murkitt tried once more to quiet Hollis. “Lie still, old man,” he urged. “You’re still dizzy with that lick Xonzak fetched you.” “Xonzak nothing!” yelled Hollis, glaring. “It was the master lever!” “But it wasn’t in place — ” “No, it hung on the wall! It was thrown loose with the explosion. As I fell out of my seat, I saw it com- ing, but couldn’t dodge — ” “For Heaven’s sake, huny up!” came the pumped-up roar of the im- prisoned Battiloro, loud enough to dominate everything. “Here’s the whole payoff! Right in this cell where Swen was — a radio!” Swen cursed, as one who has over- looked something important, and his hand dropped to the electroauto- matic. “He rigged up a sending set, hid it in his hammock!” Battiloro was blaring. “Must have smuggled parts in with him; it works, too — I’ve had two messages from a Jovian ship lying out there to rescue him — ” And then Swen and Murkitt were struggling for the pistol. Swen’s free fist struck Murkitt twice in the face, but Murkitt did not relinquish his first quick clutch on the hand that held the weapon. He wrung and bent wrist and knuckle until, with a whimper, Swen let go. Murkitt grabbed the gun, tapped Swen with the barrel end, and, as be fell back against the bulkhead, seized his throat. “Confess,” gritted Murkitt, digging the gun muzzle into Swen’s midriff, “or I’ll let you have it, right now!” “All right, all right! I did it . . . you folks found those roving bombs, but I’d smuggled one away, and got sent to the brig to be safe! I had the radio parts ... set ’em up to guide the bomb into the rocket fuel storage, and to contact my rescue ship! I expected to be the only one left alive ... no way to trace it to me, I signed for the bombs in your name — ” And Swen broke off, ex- hausted. “So that’s why they relieved you of command,” said Hollis to Murkitt, casting off his lashings. “I thought it was fishy, skipper. Don’t choke that prisoner to death — he’s needed alive, to make a full statement and carry this wreck home to those Jovian thugs!” Battiloro was pounding on the door of his cell. “New signal on the radio,” he yelled. “Some government ship, back on our track, is cruising ’round — looking for us!” Hollis slipped into the boots that had been taken from Battiloro. With Swen between them, the two officers went down the corridor and opened the cell door. Battiloro was tinker- ing with the makeshift radio. “Shall I give ’em a signal back, to show where we are?” he asked. “I don’t know much, but I can spark out a warning. What?” “Just say, ‘S O S’,” Murkitt told him. “The three most beautiful let- ters in the alphabet.” THE END.

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115 's! Life On Other Worlds, by H. Spencer Jones, MacMillan Co., New York, 1940. One book really “down the alley” for science-fictionists, “Life On Other Worlds” is a fairly comprehensive re- view of the possibilities of extra- terrestrial life. Logically, it starts with a discussion of the conditions necessary for the existence of life — as we know it — and a consideration of the research means available to ns. This preliminary work is done concisely, clearly, and — most re- markable!— in a way that suggests that the author realized that he was not talking to a collection of mental infants. Throughout the book, the attitude is that of a specialist in one line — astronomy — explaining his conclusions, and the reasons for those conclusions, to a mental equal who has not had his specialized train- ing. In trying to compress the immense amount of background into a book the size of an ordinary novel, his ref- erences to past scientific gains are necessarily fieeting. They’re refresh- ers, reminders fully intelligible to someone with a background — but he expects considerable mental agility in his reader. Which is fine for a science-fiction reader who has that background. The main portion of the book di- vides the planets and satellites into three main divisions; worlds without atmosphere, tlie giant planets, and the terrestrial-type planets. The conclusions reached are based on the best data available as of 1940 — very different indeed from the material known in 1930, and with some addi- tions since 1935. The section on Mars is particularly complete and in- teresting. The final considerations of the book deal with extra-solar possibili- ties. To that point, the material is clear, forceful, and satisfying, the conclusions understandably based. From that point on the material be- comes as maddeningly uncertain as the data with which he must work. It’s no fault of Jones’; the fault’s with the data available. The very maddening mistiness of it is as fasci- nating, however, ^s the clarity of the preceding sections. To consider logically the possibili- ties of extra-solar system worlds, something must be decided about the origin of the Solar System. On the basis of the System’s origin, some logic could be built up as to the probable frequency of worlds. But no satisfactory explanation of the origin of our own planets is available — we don’t know whether this is actually an expanding uni- verse which may, at the time of the origin of the planets, have been very different. We don’t know — But if you’re interested in a sound, complete discussion of extra-terres- trial life possibilities, this book is readable, clear, and about the most complete now extant. It’s recom- mended. J. W. C., Jr. ASX— 8

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IIG in( oppofiTyniSTS By {). Grosser ff was a magnifieenf, uplifting ideal when if started. The power to remake a world gone wrong. But somehow — fhe wrongness crept into the ideal and out of the world— Illustrated by F. Kramer Dan scuttled into the brush and crouched silently in the semidark- ness. If he were seen, he carried his own death sentence under his arm. At the thought he clutched the book tighter. The shabby volume was the one remaining treasure of the village, and their one hope that some day they might throw off the yoke of the* Masters. No one in the village could understand the things the Elders called “words.” But its pos- session gave them hope. And now, someone must have told the Masters. Since the moment the field workers had spied the strange rolling house of the Masters — “autos,” the Elders called them — the village had been like a disturbed ant hill. The one thought paramount in the minds of the villagers had been to save the book. The Elders had given the book to Dan and told him to hide. In every village there were a few whose births had pur- posefully not been recorded. Unac- countables, they were called. And Dan was an Unaccountable. He listened intently. A nervous perspiration dampened his unyouth- fully hardened body. His white skin had been sun and wind tanned to a deep bronze, but now he was al- most pale. He heard a metallic bang, and knew that the Masters had got out of their auto and closed the door. Now the village folk would be lining up for the roll call. Dan looked more like an animal than a man, crouching in the brush, until he smiled. He was suddenly very glad that he was an Unaccount- able. Sometime later he heard another metallic bang, and he breathed more freely. The Masters had given up. Probably thej^ thought the report had been made by a jealous trouble maker. Dan- crawled out of the brush and stood up. He was happy, walking to the village. Once again the Mas- ters had ibeen thwarted, even though they didn’t know it. He strode around the corner of a rude cabin and halted frozenly. The villagers were still lined up in the square. The blasters were still call- ing the roll. There were two autos, instead of one. One of the Masters was reading the names from a great book; two others were near him, one on his left and one on his right, with their hands on their terrible “guns” that killed with a loud noise; and a fourth Master sat in the turret that rose like a bubble over the top of the auto, and his hands were on the even more terrible “stuttering gun.” Dan wanted to turn and run, but he knew that he didn’t have a chance. The eyes of the Masters were on

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117 “We had the chance — so we decided to play God!” The old man shrugged. “It hasn’t worked.”

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118 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION him. He straightened under their gaze, determined that if he had to (he they wouldn’t get any satisfaction out of id.s dying. Finally the Master with the great book asked: “Are you Rolf? Is that the book?’’ Strangely, his voice wasn’t threatening. It was cold, unemo- tional, blit it was not the voice of a Master who speaks to a wrong- doer. From the corner of his eye Dan saw Rolf start to speak, and he also saw the man next to Rolf press his knife to Rolf’s back. With the few words from the Master they all knew the name of the traitor. But it would do no good. Dan knew that death was all he could expect. Even if he could explain his iwssession of a book, and it had never been done yet, there was still the fact that he was an Unaccountable. The AIaster frowned. “Answer!” he commanded sharply. Dan started to say. No, when his father stepped forward and inter- rupted. “His name is Dan Rolf,” he said respectfully. The Master turned. “And who are you?” “His father . . . Alaster,” the old man replied, and Dan could see that he choked on the title. But luckily the Masters didn’t notice. The Master with the great book that told him the names of all in the village turned again to Dan. He was smiling as he reached for the book. “Two names, huh? It doesn't take you illiterates long to get ideas. It’s a good thing you can’t put them down in black and white and re- member them.”» He looked at the book, then passed it to the Master on his left. “A book of short sto- ries,” he said. “I’m glad it wasn’t TIone With the Wind.’ I think I’m going to get hysterical the next time we scrape up a copy of that. They sure must have sold a lot of them just before the change.” He looked at his great book, then at the assembled villagers. He closed the book with a snap. “Oh, let’s skip it! We’ve got the book.” They started toward the autos. “C’mon,” said one to Dan. “You’ll get your reward.” Dan stood motionless. He looked at the silent villagers, at his father, his mother, Elsa — Would he have to leave them? The Masters got into the autos. The one who carried the great book looked at Dan severely, suspicion crept into his eyes. “Well? Don’t you want to be a Novice ... to become a Master?” Dan went to the auto, got in, and held tightly to the seat as it moved away from the village. One of the Masters rolled down the glass win- dow. Dan watched, marveling, and forgetting some of his fear. “Pheu!" said the Master. “Don’t you fellows ever take baths?" Dan reddened. “The . . . the river’s" awfully cold in winter,” he mumbled. “Lay off the kid!” commanded the Alaster who carried the book, then turned to Dan. “Never mind this fellow', Dan. He has the same effect on others, himself. You and the book will go to St. Louis: the book to the Central Library; and you’ll get your hypos and training, and there wall be a room and tub for you alone.” The auto flashed over the ancient bridge and fhey caught a glimpse of the frozen surface. T'he Master shuddered. “I don’t blame you; I’d never take one if I had to chop that ice first. Sometimes I think the Supreme Master overdoes it w'hen he decrees that those poor clods can’t have any metals except

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THE OPPORTUNISTS 119 one small knife. God! Think of having to cook with pottery!” The other glanced at him and said nothing. The Master seemed to become uneasy. “But, of course, the Supreme Master has good rea- son for everything he does. And the Supreme Master is supreme!” To Dan the words sounded like a recitation. He watched the others closely to discover all that he could. But the incident had dampened the spirits of the two Masters and they sped along in silence with the other car and the other pair following. St. Louis was like a great mon- ster, sprawling over the land. But it seemed to Dan that the monster was nearly dead. Wide, smoothly paved streets were nearly deserted. Only a few people were in the parks. It was a city for a million inhabit- ants, and in it lived only thousands. Dan liked his village and the bar- baric simplicity much better. The city was something straight from the olden days and by its very empti- ness made a person think always of the change. He was taken to a hospital. A doctor injected a nearly colorless fluid into his arm, then a week later the injection was repeated. Dan felt sick and irritable for several days, then he recovered and was taken to another part of the city k.nd assigned to classes in a large school. Hour after hour of tedious drilling with fundamentals — day after day —weeks! And Dan learned to read! The time came when he could look at a book and see more in the print than a dirty page. The words came to mean something to him. He read voraciously. He learned that the change was caused by something other than the Supreme Master. That the Supreme Master only became a Master and Supreme after the change. That a thing called the sleeping sickness had caused the change. For years it had been known, had been com- mon, but not common enough to be accounted a menace. Then a new form of the sickness had swept out of the Great Lake region to the northeast and enveloped ' the world as a great plague. Transportation ceased — then communication. The frail civilization built up at a high cost in blood and sweat had tumbled. The new plague was not fatal. It was worse! It affected the mind. It paralyzed those centers concerned with reading. The entire world with the exception of the Masters was stricken with alexia. And all the while the plague was sweeping the Earth the Supreme Master labored in his laboratory. He guarded himself and his cowork- ers as best he could, but the day came when they, too, caught the con- tagion. First one, then the other of the men became dependent entirely on memory, and found it unreliable for fine work. Still the Supreme Master labored on. He infected animals, tried to develop a serum — tried immuniza- tion, but it didn’t immunize. The plague settled down quietly to stay. It became endemic. And as more and more mistakes were made from faulty memories, barbarism engulfed the world. The Supreme Master and one other labored alone. They succeeded in producing a serum and protected themselves. But they were alone, until they discovered that their serum would cure the alexia. It washed the brain of the last linger- ings of the sickness and men and women became normal once again. The awful power latent in their hands must have conceived the idea

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ISO ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION of remaking the world — on differ- ent lines. The serum was developed further, but those who received its blessings were rigidly selected. A new world would be developed. But something within Dan pro- tested at the inequality. Many — nearly all — of the books were those printed before the change. And the world they spoke of so casually seemed to him infinitely more nearly right and just. But he hardly ex- pected the Old Masters, and the sons and daughters of the Old Masters, and those informers who had become Masters to agree with him. So he kept his opinions to himself, and studied the harder. Dan was reading in his room of the apartment house which was used by the Advanced Novitiates as a barrack. The door opened and he looked up with irritation. His room was his, alone. Privacy was a privi- lege. “H’lo, kid,” greeted the man standing in the doorway. Dan recognized him. It was the Master who had carried the great book at the village, and who had reprimanded the other Master. Dan crossed the room with out- stretched hand, smiling. “I’m glad to see you! How did you ever get down here?” Then he halted un- certainly as the other released his hand. “You know,” he said, “I never did know your name.” The other laughed. “Harker,” he informed. “And I came down for my semiannual needling. It’s sup- posed to be good for a year, but I’m taking no chances. Then I had to bring in the collected books and the new servant quota from the mountains. I thought I’d look you up, to see how you were coming along. I see you can read, any- way.” He nodded toward the well- filled bookcase and the open book on the table. Dan nodded. “Any from my vil- lage?” he asked. “Three,” Harker replied, then pulled a book out of his pocket and offered it to Dan. “Here’s my ex- cuse for coming. I thought you might like to read it. It’s the book you turned in — a bunch of short sto- ries, none of them very good — though one’s got an idea that would play hell with us if any of the illit- erates caught on. Plot hinges on a guy putting sugar in gasoline to prevent its vaporizing. Wouldn’t that play hell with us while we’re still using stocks made before the change, and most of that concen- trated right here at St. Louis?” “Yeah,” Dan agreed absently. “What are the names of the three?” “The three what? Oh, you mean the illiterates! I always pick the best-looking . . . trio of beauts named Joan, Elsa, and Margy. Take Joan if you want one — the last two are wild cats.” Dan paled, but said nothing. Somehow he had always known it would happen. Elsa was too pretty to hide forever in a village when the Masters always chose that type. He fought to hold his anger in check. One unconsidered mow and — “What’s the matter, Dan? You look sick.” “I am. Elsa and I were going to be married.” Harker tossed the book to the table. Dan smiled bitterly wdien he remembered with what care the vil- lage had protected the book. Harker gripped his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “If I’d known — ” “Oh, it would have happened sooner or later.”

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THE OPPORTUNISTS 181 “Whv don’t you put in a claim for her?” “Me? A Novice?” “Yeah! That’s right; I forgot you haven’t the right yet. And I can’t because Fm married. Judy’d raise hell.” “Maybe she’d never find out,” Dan suggested. Ilarker snorted. “She’s here with me. I tried to tell her she should trust me, but she just took one look at that trio and packed her things.” Dan cursed. “I’ll smash this Mas- ter business if — ” “Shh! For God’s sake, kid! Be quiet or you’ll find yourself at the end of a rope . . . the wrong end.” “It would—” “Shut up!” Harker snapped. “Now,” he continued when Dan was silent, “I was going to suggest that you come with me and explain to Judy and maybe we can work it.” Harker had taken rooms in one of the few hotels being maintained. He and Dan took the elevator and were admitted to the suite by Judy herself. Dan looked at the middle- aged blonde and quit hoping. She looked hard, unsympathetic. But, nevertheless, he pleaded his case. When he finished, Judy reached out and patted his hand. “You poor kids,” she said, sniffing. “It’s just like a book. Sure we’ll do that for you, and anything else that we can.” She turned to Harker and completed harshly, “And if I catch you mak- ing a pass at the girl, I’ll scalp you!” Harker took Dan’s arm and hastily ushered him out of the room. “That woman’s a devil,” he mut- tered when they were walking down the hall to the elevators. “Well, you beat it on home, and I’ll at- tend to the business. I’ll bring her around to see you as soon as I can ... or rather, probably Judy will.” Dan returned to his room, but there was no more studying that night. The protest that had lain quietly in his mind for weeks, had suddenly become an aching, burn- ing thing. This “new world”! It w’as not a new w'orld! It was but a filthy fungoid growth arising from the rotting remnants of the old. He remembered what Harker had said — -“most of the gasoline stored at St. Louis . . . not producing any . . . sugar prevents vaporization.” If a person were to pollute the storage tanks this “new world” would collapse before it could pro- duce sufficient supplies of its own. Dan read the story, then chuckled. Ylaybe he and those illiterate vil- lagers hadn’t been so far wrong after all in believing they had possessed the way to freedom. The next morning he went to his classes with a new determination. But it was hard to concentrate when a phantom face with dark, sparkling eyes and a quick-curving mouth per- sisted in interfering with his sight. He tried to call Harker twice, but could get no answer. Before start- ing for his room he tried again and was rewarded with the same results. But when he got home he found Harker waiting. Something in the older man’s expression warned him. He waited. “Well?” he prompted. “I’m sorry, Dan. Sorry as hell. But I couldn’t put it over. I tried, but she has been assigned to the laboratory and I couldn’t do a thing.” “Laboratory? What do they want with her there?” “God only knows,” Harker re- plied, turning away to look out the window.

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122 ASTOirNDING SCIENCE-FICTION Dan’s fingers closed on his shoul- der like clamps. He pulled the older man around so he could look into his eyes. “Harker,” he said, “you don’t like this system any more than I do . . . do you?” Harker said nothing for a full five seconds. Then he said, “Don’t talk so damn loud.” Dan. relaxed a little, almost smiled. “I thought not,” he said. “I don’t know your reasons, but I liad a hunch as soon as you came here with that Imok . . . and said what you did.” “Well, go on,” urged Harker. “I’m going to get Elsa out of here, and wreck this whole pretty scheme of the Masters. “y\.re you with me?” Harker hesitated. It seemed to Dan that the other’s mind was working with lightning rapidity, but nothing of the thoughts showed on the man’s face. “Well?” he prompted. “Others have the same idea,” Harker said in a low voice, “about the ‘new world,’ I mean.” Dan’s face was a personified ques- tion. He waited. “I have been feeling you out,” Harker went on. “I've been won- dering if you wouldn’t like to join us. We are ready to strike.” “When?” “Are you with us? Kemember Elsa—” ■ “You know I am.” “0. K.! You’ll help me. I’m on one of the trucks and we’re going to the warehouses, then to the tank farm — at three tomorrow morning. Be ready.” “The sugar trick?” Dan asked as Harker started toward the door. Harked nodded. “And be ready,” he repeated. “We’re short of men and need every hand we can get.” Once Harker was gone, Dan’s thoughts centered on Elsa. What good woidd it do her if the revolt was staged tomorrow morning. She needed help now. He went to the window. It was dusk, soon it would be dark. He resolved to break the strict curfew law. Somehow— in some way — he must find a way to enter the labo- ratory building. It would be barely possible after dark. There were few guards. He waited impatiently and wished that the days were as short as they had been four monlhs ago in mid- winter. Spring had its peculiar dis- advantages and right now the worst seemed the increased number of day- light hours. He crept down the fire escape stealthily. It was only seven thirty, but he hadn’t been able to wait longer. The last flight of steel stairs — the one that lowered automatically with his weigiit — screeched horribly. He leaped to the pavement and fled to the darkness of an alley. There he w'aited until he felt sure that no one had heard, then he started toward the Aledical Center. A dozen times he dodged into the protecting darknesses, and was glad that this “new world” hadn’t yet acquired the efficiency necessary to keep the streets well lighted. At last he came in sight of the Medical Center, a huge building that had once been a hospital, but with the decrease in population many of the hospitals had become unneces- sary and this had been devoted to re- search and the preparation of su[)- plies. There was only one jjair of guards that Dan could see, but then, there was only one entrance that he could see. He didn't even consider trying to pass the guards, but instead, crept

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THE OPPOKTUNISTS 123 along the shadowed street a hundred and fifty yards farther, waited until neither was looking in his direction, then dashed across the strip of lawn to the shrubbery that surrounded the building. He crept stealthily around the building toward the back, and the action brought to his mind the memory of the last time he had engaged in a similar occupation. He prayed that this adventure wouldn’t end so disconcertingly as that had. He found the rear entrance easily enough, but just in time, saw the guard stationed there. He was wait- ing for the fellow to turn away so he could make a rush, when he saw a second guard move restlessly in the shadows near the poorly lighted doorway. No chance there either! He felt confident that he could handle a single guard silently, but a second guard would give the alarm. And if they turned out the guard to look for him, he wouldn’t have a chance. He crept back the way he had come. There had been several lighted windows, but he avoided them and tried those of the rooms in dark- ness. But all were possessed of ex- cellent screens and he wasn’t even able to reach the glass. Dan stood up cautiously, hoping his clothes would blend with the neutral colored building, and peered through one of the lighted windows. The room was empty, but the screen was securely fastened. He heard the rnurmur of voices and crouched low again. Finally he concluded that the voices were coming from the next lighted window and went to that. He peered inside cautiously, then stared. An old man was busy at a workbench and doing all the talking, but Dan stared at the young woman who was helping. It was Elsa. “Now, my dear,” said the old man, “get me a flask of distilled water; it is in the bottle marked ‘H’ — that’s two straight lines up and down, con- nected by a shorter, horizontal line . . . 2 — that’s the snaky-looking line that can’t make up its mind which way to go, and it’s at the bottom of the ‘H’ — ” “I know,” said Elsa eagerly. “O . . . the flattened circle that’s balanced on end.” “Good!” the old man approved, beaming. “You are learning fast. I think this is an excellent way to learn letters and numbers. I’d tell the council, if they weren’t running such a dirty business. I had no idea it would all turn out like this. If I had . . . well, it has, so there’s no use talking about it. Oust me, will they? But I forget — they did. That was day before yesterday, or was it the day before that? Well, it doesn’t matter! I’ll show the little nincompoops! So they won’t even listen to my reports any more! Well, let’s drop the subject. Anger only shortens a person’s life. Now, if you will give me the distilled water . . , no, never mind the flask; make it a beaker — I’m thirsty.” Elsa opened the bottle and tipped the cradle to fill the beaker. Don looked closer at the window. It was ajar, practically open, but the screen was latched. He lifted his eyes to see the old man drinking thirstily, and then looked directly into Elsa’s eyes. Her lips parted; eyes widened. “Ah-h!” said the old man when he finished. “Best water you can get; no bugs in it . . . that is, not many. Do you know, my dear, that absolutely pure water can be con- sidered a fabulous substance; that

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194 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION no matter . . . What’s the trou- ble?” He turned to follow her gaze. Dan ducked and waited, cursing, for the alarm. But none came. He heard the old man repeat his ques- tion, and heard Elsa say, “I ... I thought I saw that . . . that young man I was telling you about.” The old man chuckled. “It’s spring, my dear. But it’s too bad it wasn’t he. We could unlatch the screen and invite him inside where the night patrol wouldn’t bother him. Almost like Romeo and Juliet, isn’t it? Ah, love is a won- derful thing, and so is spring. I remember once when I was teaching at the Advanced Masters School. I was forty and just getting my second wind . . . My dear, there is some- one out there. I distinctly heard a scraping then. See if it’s Romeo!” A moment later Dan heard the window open wide and the latch of the screen click open. “And if it is — ask him in,” called the old man. “From your story he must be a combination of Hercules, Apollo, and a few other Greek gods . . . must have an extremely in- teresting character.” The old man sounded harmless enough. Dan decided to risk the chance and stood up. “Dan!” cried Elsa. “So it is he!” exclaimed the old man. “Snatch him in and I’ll play Cupid for a while.” Dan scrambled over the window sill and gathered Elsa into his arms. His lips sought hers hungrily. The old man watched shamelessly, and with great enjoyment. At last he could remain quiet no longer. “That reminds me — ” he started. Dan looked at the old man. “Who’s he?” he asked Elsa. “He was a member of the council, but they kicked him out when he tried to prove to them that the plague was losing its virulence. That the illiterates were becoming im- mune.” “Called me senile, they did,” in- terjected the old man aggrievedly. “Hell! Sure I am! I’m nearly a hundred! But I still got more sense than the lot of them put together. I had sense enough forty years ago to see that things weren’t working out as we had planned. I wanted to call the whole thing off, but they wouldn’t let me. And their sons are still worse.” “You don’t like the Masters, either?” “Nope! I hate ’em all . . . even myself at times. It was a dirty business. Science should not be pro.stituted. But we had big ideas for a new world wdth no w^ars, and no poverty. But things never seem to w'ork out as you plan them.” “Are you sure that the illiterates are becoming immune?” Dan asked doubtfully. The old man pointed jubilantly to Elsa. “She’s learning to read,” he cackled, “and she never had any of that damn serum.” Dan looked to Elsa for confirma- tion. She nodded. “It’s true, Dan.” Dan turned back to the old man. “And you really hate the Masters’ rule?” he asked. “Yep! And them, too!” “Then we’ve got work to do,” said Dan, crossing to the door and peer- ing out on the hall. “This artificial protection of the Masters has kept them from becoming immune and all w'e have to do is destroy every drop of the supply and beat it.” “Eh? What’s that, young man? Destroy? There’s been too much

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125 of tliat already. Besides they’d no- tice it and prepare a new supply.” “You’re right,” admitted Dan. “It would be useless. The idea’s no good.” “Yes, it is, young man; yes, it is,” the old fellow argued. “But it lacks finesse — the finish that comes with age. Now, we can destroy the supply and replace it with some- thing else that won’t work! How’s that?” He beamed, waiting, for ap- proval. “Rotten,” grinned Dan. “They’d notice that, too. It wouldn’t react.” “Oh, but the stuff I give them will. I’ll fix something that will make them as sick as dogs — and Til be sure not to use any myself. That’d be foolish, wouldn’t it?” “Yeah,” Dan agreed dryly. “Let’s start.” “Fine! Fine! Come right this way; I know where it is kept. I know where everything, is kept. I’ve been around here longer than any of those little nincompoops and know more tha)i all of them put to- gether. We’ll fix them. We’ll fix the whole mess . . . just like I wanted to do forty years ago.” Dan and Elsa followed the old man down the corridor to the main laboratory and they brought out the serum. They smashed the delicate containers heartlessly, sent the con- tents down the drain and the glass into a box for later dis]DOsal. Then they began the long, tedious task of preparing facsimiles containing a substance which the old man glee- fully guaranteed to be semideadly. At two, they were finished, and the old man leaned back against a work- bench and surveyed their accom- plishment. “Should have been done forty years ago,” he muttered. “We thought we would be supermen, but we weren’t; we were just a bunch of lousy opportunists enslaving men.” of science 9 Fighting the battles of rich and poor. Doc Savage and his pals see to it that justice triumphs — always ! This modern miracle man was trained from the cradle to defend the underdog — and how he does it! No other humem being in history ever had such a wealth of knowledge . . . commanded such loyalty , . . faced such perils. Every Doc Savage novel is crammed full of thrills , . . besides entertaining information to help you understand how he achieves his colossal feats. Get to know Doc Savage and his pals in the most successful fiction magazine of the past decade. 10 CENTS AT ALL NEWSSTANDS

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ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION U9 Dan glanced up at the clock, re- membered Harker. “I’ve got to go,” he said quickly. “Harker and I will put on the finishing touch before morning.” “It’s finished now,” stated the old man positively. “Summer is com- ing and that is always the critical period.” “But every little bit helps,” said Dan, kissing Elsa. “I’ll come back tomorrow night and we’ll steal a car and leave.” The old man watched them, chuckling reminiscently, then when Dan had opened the window and started out, he asked, “What was that name?” Dan dropped to the ground out- side and looked back at the old man suspiciously. Then his suspicion faded. It was absolutely without cause. The old man had demon- strated his worth. “Harker,” he said, and disap- peared into the night. The old man turned to the box of broken glass, lifted' it to take it away, then dropped the box with a curse. “Call him back! Call him back!” he ordered Elsa. Unquestioningly Elsa ran to the window, looked out and called as loudly as she dared. But there was no answer. She called again, then the old man was insisting that she come with him. He moved rapidly toward the entrance, despite his age, and Elsa was forced to run at times to keep up with him. “Wh-what’s the matter?” she gasped. “I tliought that name was fa- miliar. Damn my memory! There’s a major of the secret police named Harker; usually he acts iis a.n. agent 'provocateur.” Dan sped through the darkened streets toward home. He arrived far ahead of the appointed time for his meeting with Harker, and then had to wait nervously in his room. Harker arrived on the dot. Dan opened the door in response to the gentle rapping. “Hurry,” whispered Harker, “but don’t make any noise. Mustn’t dis- turb others.” “O. K.,” answered Dan, fastening the belt of his coat and following Harker into the hall. Silently they went down, using the stairs. A small truck stood at the curb, with a man standing on the running board. He leaped to the sidewalk when they ap- proached. Harker made no introductions, but climbed behind the wheel, growling, “Get in the middle, Dan.” He started the auto smoothly and they sped along the silent streets. The motion seemed to awaken Harker’s tongue. “At last the Masters are going to get what they deserve,” he said, as though to start the conversation. “Yep,” agreed Dan. “It’ll sure play hell with them if it works. But it sounds almost too simple. I’m glad it isn’t our only — ” “O. K., Jones,” Harker cut in. “You heard it. Did you get the record?” “Sure thing.” “Put the cuffs on him then. Use your gun butt on him if he gets tough. Don’t take any chances shooting in here. That'll come at dawn.” Dan looked from one to the other and the steel clicked securely around his wrists before he was fidly awake to the situation. Then it was use- less to struggle. “But the sugar — in the gasoline?” he protested, •

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THE OPPORTUNISTS 127 Harker laughed harshly. “I’ve used that a dozen times and it’s good for a dozen more. We always test the Novices this way. Put some illiterate they might love on the spot —then show them a way to gum up the works. It might work, at that. It does in smaller quantities.” “B-but Judy . . . what about her.?” “That is one of my few mistakes,” Harker said. “I told you she was a devil, and she’s got her hooks in me and won’t let go. Some day, though, I’ll be able to figure a way out.” Dan relapsed into silence. He could see no reason for hope, and felt none. Only one thing was there for which he was glad — Harker had interrupted before he could tell about the serum. The Masters would not for long be Masters. He smiled bitterly when he found the old man and Elsa waiting at the station. And he discai’ded even that last comfort. And with it gone and Elsa working with him, he found that he no longer cared much. The old man stepped forward briskly. “Good work, major,” he congratulated. “I’ll take charge of the prisoner.” “But — ” Harker started to ob- ject. The old man straightened a full two inches and Harker col- lapsed. “Yes, sir,” he said meekly. “It shall be as you wish. Master. The prisoner is yours.” “I want a pi.stol, too,” demanded the old man. “And the keys.” He received the weapon promptly and threatened Dan with it. “Now, march!” he commanded. “You should make a good specimen.” Elsa followed them outside, eying the old one a bit anxiously. She hoped the fellow was only an ex- cellent actor, but things had been too smooth for him to be of any aid to them. His integrity must be considered beyond question. They halted at the side of a fast speedster. The old man unlocked the cuffs and handed Dan the pis- tol, chuckling. “Take it before there’s an acci- dent. And get in this auto and head for your hills.” “You’re going to let us go.?” said Elsa. “Sure, what did you think.?” “Who are you.?” asked Dan. “I used to be Supreme Master, until day before yesterday ... or was it the day before that.? Damn my memory! Maybe a good touch of the plague will do me good . . . can’t do much harm anyway.” “Then you started all this?” ques- tioned Dan. The old man nodded. “But for the last forty years I’ve been only a figurehead for their dirty work. Anyway, v.'e are finishing the whole mess now.” “Why don’t you come with us?” asked Elsa from the auto, and Dan halted to second the invitation. “Nope. I’m too old,” he said regretfully and watched Dan get be- hind the wheel. Dan was wonder- ing anxiously whether or not his few weeks’ training would prove suffi- cient to cope with the machine. He started the engine cautiously, and felt an increasing confidence with his success. He looked up at the old man with a grin. “Good-by.” “Wait a minute!” cried the old fellow. “I’ll tell you . . . you come back next year and teach me how to read, and I’ll see if I can’t get my third wind. And bring the youngster, too,” he concluded with a leering cackle. THE END.

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1S3 Doom SHIP By Harry lllalton The ship was done, half wrecked, and her crew was dene. Oufcasfs, the useless dregs. /Ind the ship was bound for the Sun — though that wasn't her officiai port of call! Illustrated by Schneeman “Hey, you!” Garth turned slowly. It had been a long time since anybody had taken the trouble to call him, even that way. He wasn’t sure the shout was meant for him. “Want a berth?” asked the dim figure on the landing-stage platform. The bitterness of disappointment M-elled up like acid in Garth’s mind. How often he had heard those words, that were only the prelude to an oft- rehearsed farce. He knew it by heart now and had no desire to un- dergo another performance. “Yeah,” said Garth. “I want a berth, but I can’t pass a physical.” He expected the man above to turn away at that. The man stayed. He said: “We got kind of a good doctor on board. Maybe he’ll pass you. Come on up.” Garth stood still, swaying a little as men of his kind did. Pass him on a physical? Not a chance. “He won’t pass me,” he called up. The shadowy figure silhouetted against the ship’s open port gestured impatiently. “You got nothing to lose by try- ing. We pay five credits anyway if you’re rejected. Come on.” That was different. The bitter- ness in Garth gave way to anticipa- tion. He licked his dry, feverish lips. Five credits would cool them for a ■while. Five credits would still a lit- tle of the raging hunger within him. He’d be rejected, of course. He sw'ung up the stairway to the landing stage. An old-fashioned fluorescent farther up the cradle shed pale light on the ship’s hull. The paint on her was thin, scratched by a thousand forgotten impacts, so that you could hardly read her name and origin. Carlyle Castle — Tarma, V. A freighter, of course. Garth had never heard of her, but obvi- ously she was a veteran and in urgent need of hands to offer five credits on rejections. The man, who wore a second mate’s stars, motioned him through the port and into a grille-floored cor- ridor with steel walls even barer of paint than the hull. Their footsteps woke eehoes from the dim depths. You could look down through the floor, through a maze of metal, and count three levels; four in all, be- cause this was the upper deck. Earth built, she was. Garth thought. Off the Martian run, perhaps, and re- registered here on Venus for third- class freight service. I\Tiat differ- ence did it make? He wasn’t sailing on her. He looked at the second mate, a gorillalike brute in build, with a face to match, and was almost glad he wasn’t sailing. Garth could read faces, and he knew this was a man he wouldn’t have tolerated for a sin- 4

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129 This sluggard, underpowered ship could never escape now. The Sun’s mighty gravity already bound her to death — gle watch on his ship. And then self-contempt twisted his lips in a wry grimace. His ship! He’d never have a ship again. Gale Garth was through. Not an owner in the sys- tem would intrust so much as a ten- der to him. Even the hulking sec- ond mate walking beside him would be accounted worth ten of his kind. In thk main saloon three men waited. One, wearing the single star of a captain, sat behind a battered table littered with papers. Two oth- ers in mufti stood by, cigarettes clamped between their lips; one had a stethoscope dangling from his neck. Garth took no further notice of them. The rest would be routine, with perhaps a kick or a curse when they learned what he was. "Name.?” snapped the captain. "Gale Garth.” "What was your last ship.?” "Stellar Queen. Jupiter run.” "Doctor, examine this man.”

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130 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION The doctor came negligently for- ward, ran the stethoscope over Garth’s chest in a perfunctory man- ner, then stepped back while Garth, obeying the mumbled command, took off his shirt. Now they’d know — There was a gasp from the doctor as he caught sight of the character- istically indrawn stomach, the ribs starkly plain beneath the pallid, glossy skin. “When did you eat last.’” he asked sharply. They found out quicker now. Garth thought. But it made no dif- ference. He hadn’t expected to pass — just to get the five credits. “Two years ago,” he answered, and was conscious of the third man taking the cigarette from his .mouth in astonishment. But the doctor reacted otherwise. Rage contorted his face. His fist came up threateningly, and Garth stumbled backward with a scream of terror that welled up from his very soul. The fist dropped harmlessly to the doctor’s side. He swung to- ward the table. “This man's a dew- log drinker, captain. His basic me- tabolism has been radically altered by the drug — and he hasn’t the cour- age of a cornered rat. He may live five years, certainly no more, unless he quits the stuff.” “This voyage,” said the captain dryly, “won’t last any five years. Will you pass him.’” Garth, astonished, saw the doctor nod. “With the reservations men- tioned. But he’ll be no good to you without dewlog. You’ll have him in a .sick bay half the time.” The captain onlv grinned wolf- ishly. He was of the same type as the mate, with perhaps just enough additional intelligence to get a third- class master’s certificate. “Look sharp, man,” the gruff voice aroused him. “Your papers.’” Bewildered, Garth shook his head'. Didn’t they know a dewlog drinker couldn’t get papers at any clearance port in the system? He hadn’t had any for two years. And without pa- pers you couldn’t get a berth even on a fourth-rate tramp such as this. “Found them in his shirt, cap- tain,” said the third man, who had been silent up to now. He hung a stained packet on the table. Garth watched in stunned amaze- ment as the captain unwrapped it, spread out the stamped and sealed voucher of a certified spaceman. In- credulously he read his own name in the spaces provided; and, ending a list of ships, the name Stellar Queen. Then he remembered that the captain hadn’t asked questions in the usual order, and that the third man had turned aside to write some- thing when the doctor came forwardt “Why the hell,” the captain- wanted to know, “don’t you space- hogs sign your papers’ I can’t ac- cept them this way.” The room reeled about Garth-. Through a haze he saw the captain, leering at him, holding up a pen> Without meaning to do so, he took it, scrawled his signature twice be- neath the master’s stubby thumb. He’d dreamed of this hopelessly for so long he would hav e done it in his sleep. “You’re signed on. Get your equipment from the slop chest and find a bunk forward,” said the cap- tain. It was like a. pailful of cold water in his fevered face. Garth had ex- pected anything but this, anything- but being provided with bogus pa- pers, passed on the physical, and- signed on immediately. A cold chill of realization came over him; he wtrs no longer fit to take a berth. A year

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DOOM SHIP 131 ago it could have been the salvation of him. Now it meant torture. Nau- sea shook him when he thought what it meant— going for weeks without the stuff that was meat and drink to him, vomiting up ordinary food because his atrophied stomach couldn’t handle it, while his nerves shrieked for the anodyne denied them. “I can’t go,” he gasped. “The doc’s right — I’m no good without dewlog. I’d go crazy without it. I only came up for the five credits on rejection.” “You’re signed on,” the master re- peated. “Mercury voyage. Go for- ward.” Terror lent Garth a sort of cour- age. “Even if you have me legally, captain, you’re better off without me. I can’t face a voyage any more. I’d be a liability. You’re better off to go short-handed than to take me.” “I’ll be the judge of that,” snarled the master. “Now go forward — or we’ll have a little discipline here.” Garth looked about wildly. The second mate had stepped close to him. The doctor looked stonily into space. The third man blocked the doorway. He was trapped. “You want to go forward.'*” asked the mate with a cold grin. “Or you want a little discipline.'*” His hand came up, clenched into a hard, knotted fist. Garth stared at it while horror welled up in his mind — the horror a normal man sees in the knout or the rack. For to Garth’s dewlog-sodden, abnormally sensitive nerves, all pain was multi- plied a hundredfold. A scratch or pinch was agony. A blow — He went forward, the mate follow- ing. Automatically, his horror- numbed senses took note of things that were not as they should be — rotted fire hose in the corridor racks, broken valves, dogs missing from the AST— 9 bulkhead doors, toim gaskets, and a dozen lesser evidences of neglect. The mate stopped, flung aside a wall panel that covered a mess of tangled clothing, shoes, and safety belts. “Pick ’em out. Sharp, now.” Gaith pawed the stuff over. The uniforms were filthy, faded, patched things. Most of the shoes lacked soles. He found a passable outfit, but the safety belts were grained, cracked, worn-out. It would be as much as your life was worth to trust any of them in an emergency. He flung them aside. But the mate threw one on top of his bundle. “Regulations. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. Come on.” The panel snapped shut, they trudged through niore corridors, brought up in what was evidently the crew’s quarters, a huge, dirty cubicle with bunks ranged about the walls two deep. Four of tbem were occupied by motionless, blanketed figures. “Tired?” asked the mate with mock solicitude. “You look it, ' Ain’t been getting enough sleep. We’ll fix that—” Garth looked at him in astonish- ment that turned to terror when he understood the leer upon the mate’s face. He screamed as the other ad- vanced, fists swinging. The cry bub- bled in his throat as hard-swung knuckles exploded against his chin. Then came merciful darkness of body and mind. “Hi, waddies. Wot d’yuh know.? The stiff’s cornin’ to now, ’e is.” Garth heard the words, a shuf- fle of feet, and the muted, hull-trans- mitted roar of rocket motors all in the same instant of awakening. He felt spent and feverish, which was not strange, considering the fact that he had taken no dewlog for forty-

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13:3 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION eight hours before getting on board. He opened his eyes to the bunk wall, and a sputtering little flourescent that winked constantly with the twenty-cycle delivery of the lighting generators. He turned his head and looked into a face as dark and wiz- ened as a monkey’s. “Hullo,” said the face, cracked by a tooth -revealing grin. “From the way yuh were snoozin’, I thought yuh were either dead or Pedersen must of sung yuh a lullaby.” “Who’s that.^” asked Garth thickly, sitting up. “Yuh don’t know.?” inquired mon- key-face. “The second mate, old bull-face. The captain’s name is Dickby.” Sharp memories surged back. Garth came out of the bunk stand- ing, swaying slightly, instantly aware of the change to artificial gravity. “The clearance inspector — he been on board.?” Monkey -face chuckled. “Sure ’e was — hours ago. Found all ship- shape and regulation — what ’e saw, leastwise. We’re cleared for Mer- cury, waddy.” “Mercury!” snarled a new voice. “Cleared for hell, you mean. Tell him the truth, Jonkin.” Garth looked at the speaker, a lean, tall, hard-set man of indetermi- nate age, swarthy and almost bald. From ear to chin, a long scar lent character to an already unusual face. Black eyes burned tragically in deep- sunk sockets. A man sunk below his station. Garth thought, like himself. “What does he mean?” he asked the wizened little man, Jonkin. “Mean? ’E don’t mean nothin’ that ’e knows of. That’s the Croaker, as we call ’im. Croaker Holt. A year he’s been on this ship, an’ still he’s croakin’. Don’t pay ’im no mind, waddy.” “This voyage’s different,” snarled Holt. “You know it is. Mercury! Think they’ll miss that chance? This is the trip.” Jonkin shrugged hjs shoulders, turned his back on tlie tall man. “Wot’s yuhr name, waddy?” “Gartii.” There was a silence, as though he might wish to say more. Then Jonkin spoke again, dryly: “Thanks for tellin’ us the story of yuhr life. Guess we each have a story that we’re not so anxious to tell. It’s mess time. Cornin’?” Garth surprised Holt’s eyes upon him. “Guess so. Nobody’s assigned me a watch yet.” Jonkin grunted, led the way. Others in the bunkroom followed. At the mess table they sat down in two long rows. Garth looked them over as curi- ously as they did him. Port sweep- ings, he decided, and worse. Shifty- eyed, drink-sodden, apathy and hopelessness in their every glance and gesture. A crew he wouldn’t have put out of port with in the old days. He himself was no better — yet the captain had refused to release him. Why? Why should any mas- ter deliberately burden himself with such a set of men? A burly ruffian entered from the galley, deposited a steaming kettle upon the table and vanished. There was a flurry of arms, metal plates, and spoons as the kettle was slid along. Garth filled his dish with a smelly mixture of flour, shredded meat, and less recognizable ingredi- ents. “Swill, that’s what it is,” growled Jonkin at his elbow. -“All we get on this tub is swill and di.shwater.” But Jonkin heaped his plate and proceeded wolfishly to devour the stuff, while Garth’s shrunken stom- ach did flipflops within him. Sooner or later, of course, he would have to

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DOOM SHIP 133 eat. He took up a spoon and toyed with the footl Holt’s eyes were upon him again, burning, speculative. Garth forced the stuff into his mouth. Every instinct, natural as well as drug-born, urged him to spit it out. He couldn’t bring himself to chew it, but swallowed wryly and put in a second spoonful. On the sixth he gagged, and then in panic rose sharply from the bench. “Second door to yuhr right,” Jon- kin remarked matter-of-factly, and Garth hastened off as directed, fol- lowed only by a few brief, uninter- ested stares. Getting rid of what he’d eaten didn’t help much. He was still fe- verish, but only dewlog could remedy that. When he got back to the cor- ridor it was to encounter the burly second mate, Pedersen. “Up and about, hey?” said the latter, smiling at him unpleasantly. “Maybe, after all the rest you’ve bad, you’re ready for work. Come along, sharp.” Garth followed him down two steel-runged ladders, along a corri- dor that ran the length of the ship, into a shallow, drum-shaped cham- ber that was a maze of trusses and thrust girders. The circular rear wall against which these abutted was studded with two-foot pressure disks, from behind which issued the thun- derous roar of blasting rockets. The chamber M'as a bedlam of sound; trusses danced with vibration. In the air was the reek of hot metal and leaking combustion gases. Still grinning, the mate opened an equipment cabinet, drew forth a portable motor, a wrench, and a droplight at the end of a long cord. “Series F rockets,” he roared above the din, “have been choking under blast. They’re shut off now. You know what to do?” Garth nodded, licked his dry lips. Regulations required that all the tubes be shut off before a man be sent into any of them to brush off the carbon deposits. But the Car- lyle Castle was beyond regulations now. The mate threw the wrench down. “Get going. We can’t get our speed without those tubes. I’ll look in later.” He disappeared, slamming the bulkhead door behind him, leaving Garth alone in the fume-laden rocket chamber. That was against regula- tions, too. Two men should have been here. It was too easy for one alone to succumb to monoxide and heat. His head was already reeling, but he clamped the wrench over a capscrew, forced it protestingly around. When all twelve on the first disk were out, he lifted the hot pres- sure plate off its studs. Choking fumes swirled back out of the tube. He attacked another disk to give the first tube time to clear. By the time he had all six off he was staggering with w'eakness born of hunger, heat, and the omnipresent monoxide gases. The motor sputtered rather badly, and its wire scratch-brush ran sadly out of tune. He dragged it and the droplight with him as he crawled into the first tube. There was room to creep — none to turn around in. Ahead, the throat narrowed down, although still farther aft it flared again into a narrow taper. The place was an oven, heated even through the refractory casing by the rockets still operating. From aft, where the space end of the tube was sealed by an automatically seating plug, came the thin hiss of escaping air. The plug wasn’t seating per- fectly. He started the noisy motor, set to work in the narrow throat of the tube. The wheel bit into the sooty.

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134 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION incli-tliick deposit. Carbon dust clouded before his face, bit his throat. The Stellar Queen had had automatic machinery for this work. But this wasn’t the Stellar Queen. His head was filled with a surg- ing ache. His drug-ridden body shrieked protest against its cramped position. In a haze of near delirium he swept the brush around. The rackety little motor drowned out the hissing aft. Slowly he worked back- ward— and suddenly, above the noise of the motor, came a squeal of twisted, torn metal and a roar of outrushing air. A terrific blast hurled Garth aft, headfirst. He had a momentary glimpse, through the stern end of the tube, of coal-black sky and hotly bright stars. Then he was fighting for his life. He knew that the safety plug had blown, that the tube was open to space. Air shrieked past him- — the ship’s atmos- phere escaping into vacuum. Car- l>on crusts tore his fingers as he clutched madly for handholds. Lit- tle by little he was being pushed into the throat of the tube. Once past that, he would be blown into space like a bullet from a rifle barrel. The blast inched him relentlessly aft, despite his struggles. His head was in the narrowed throat. He braced arms and shoulders against the rim just behind it. A hurricane of air held him spread-eagled, tore the breath from him, filled his head with a roaring cataract of sound. I'he narrow circle of sky visible through the tube reeled and blurred before his buffeted senses. I'here were voices behind him, faint and far off. Semisuffocation was fast robbing him of conscious- ness, for his lungs could get no air from that shrieking blast. Every fiber of his beaten body cried for sur- render, for the instantaneous death of space rather than this. The circle of sky was gone in a reeling chaos of pain and darkness. Something clutched his ankles and tugged mightily. He felt him,self drawn back, the crushing weight on his arms lifted. Air roared past him as he was pulled over the lip of the tube and lifted, to the floor. There was the clang of the jn-essure plate being replaced. He never knew whether he had or hadn’t lost consciousness. Blurred pictures of the monkey-faced little Jonkin bending over him, and of an- other man he didn’t know, and Pe- dersen. Greater than any of these loomed pain, dewlog sharpened. His chest ached viciously. His lacerated hands burned as though dipf>ed into acid. His skull felt as though about to explode. “ ’E’ll live,” came Jonkin’s squeaky voice, “but it was a close thing, no mistake.” Jonkin lifted Garth’s head and let a burning trickle of fluid flow into his mouth. The stuff almost choked Garth, but he saw then that he was back in the bunkroom, and that the stranger was a towheaded youngish man wearing the twin stars of a first mate — a very different sort from Pe- dersen. “Glad to see you coming around,” said the mate. “No need to talk now. Stay here a watcli or two.” “Yuh got ’im to thank, waddy,” put in Jonkin. “ ’E come a-runnin’ and found yuh like a cork in a bot- tle. Pedersen was all for clampin’ back the plate and lettin’ yuh go, to save air. But not Mr. Denham, here. ’E made us haul you out.” “That’ll do, Jonkin,” said Den- ham. “Pm glad we got there in time, Garth. The air circulators tripped an alarm when the plug blew; and, of course, the instruments told us where the leak was. No harm

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DOOM SHIP 135 done, and we can spare the air well enough.” He nodded pleasantly and left, Jonkin following him, while Garth sank into a coma of fatigue and weakness which mercifully dulled the pains within him. From that inauspicious begin- ning, life aboard the Carlyle Castle settled into a routine. Garth was grateful to be assigned to Denham’s watch, and so to escape the rawhid- ing which Pedersen would have dealt him. Sinister as the ship had first seemed, it was apparently nei- ther better nor worse than many similar tramps, poorly manned and equipped, which scoured the space lanes with cargoes that other vessels couldn’t afford to handle. From very necessity Garth leai’ned, although not without spasms of weakness that kept him in his bunk a great deal at first, to assimilate the .starchy, ill-cooked food served to the crew. Denham showed himself more than tolerant, and never drove him beyond endur- ance. In gratitude. Garth drove himself, resisting the onslaughts of his abnormal hunger so far as he could. Slowly the fever induced by lack of dewlog sank, as his me- tabolism swung back toward nor- mal. He began even to think of re- claiming the life he had lost on that last voyage of the Stellar Queen. But at such times he wondered whether, with money in his pocket and dewlog available, he would re- sist the temptation of the drug. Even now the craving was at times so strong he would scarcely have stopped at murder to obtain the stuff. “I’ve been given to understand that you were a dewlog drinker. Garth,” the first mate once ^aid. “You don’t look like a man to adopt the habit deliberately. Accident?” Denham’s manner relieved the question of all offensiveness, and Garth was grateful both for his use of the past tense and for the benefit of doubt which Denham accorded him. “Yes, sir,” he answered. “I sailed on the Stellar Queen for Jupiter. Asteroid pierced our fuel tanks and set us adrift. It was eighteen months before a patrol found us out there— not like the heavily traveled inner orbits, you know. Two thirds of us were gone by then — starvation. The rest of us were kept alive by some bottled stuff we’d found smug- gled aboard. If we had found it sooner, everybody could have Sur- vived—in a fashion. It was dewlog. You don’t leave dewlog alone after living on it for three months. But it saved our lives.” Denham nodded. There were a few other stories of addicts made through similar circumstances. But Garth kept to himself the additional fact that he had been, not a space- man, but captain of the ill-fated Stellar Queen. Of all the ship’s crew. Holt re- mained a mystery — or perhaps it was Holt’s manner rather than the man. himself. He watched Garth with furtive interest, and more than once seemed on the point of making confidences which failed to material- ize. The Carlyle Castle was well past the midpoint between the orbits of Venus and Mercury, and sweeping in a great spiral toward the latter planet, when Holt and Garth were told off to break out some cases*of supplies in the cargo hold. To get at the boxes wanted, they had to shift a part of the ship’s paid cargo, which consisted largely of monster packing cases of tremendous weight.

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136 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION Only because of the ship’s weak arti- ficial gravity were they able to move them at all, and even then their mass made it a tricky, dangerous business. “Mining machinery,’’ said Garth, reading the stenciled designation. “Funny they’d trust expensive stuff like that to this sort of ship.’’ Holt’s smoldering eyes met his. “That ain’t all that’s funny about this ship,’’ he answered darkly, and lapsed into his customary moody si- lence. From Jonkin, Garth had learned that Holt had been an officer once, but in a blaze of temper had knocked down a rawhiding master — techni- cally an act of mutiny which barred him from getting legitimate papers. His voucher, Garth imagined, had also been furnished by Dickby, Pe- dersen & Co. The work went on until Holt, in a fit of moody abstraction, let his steel bar slip from under a case they were shifting. With a howl of warn- ing he jumped back, and Garth es- caped the tumbling juggernaut by a hair. The case teetered over, dropped with a screech of splintered W'ood across the corner of another, and crashed to the floor. Several boards had been stove in, exposing tlie contents to view. Garth drew a dismayed breath as the droplight showed a long crack in the heavy metal casting inside, then scowled as the light revealed other cracks; rusty, broken edges. He tore more boards away and stood with Holt looking at the Carlyle Castle’s cargo. The “mining machinery’’ was scrap steel. Holt drew a deep breath. “I told them,’’ he said fiercely. “I told all of you — this is the trip.’’ “What do you mean?’’ “What do you think?’’ sneered Holt. “A rusty tub leaves Venus with a cargo of expensive machinery on board. She’s been tramping for a year, so she has no trouble getting insurance after proving there’s a full crew on board. But the machinery is junk. There’s no other cargo, and you can’t make money by carrying scrap to Mercury.” “You mean — ” “I mean she’s a death ship,” snarled Holt. “A shipful of corpses — you, me, everybody but the of- ficers. She isn’t meant to get any- where. She’s due to be listed ‘lost in space,’ and the owners will collect for her and for a million credits’ worth of mining machinery they never owned. Our lives? The hell with them. That’s what I mean. Garth.” It was plausible, especially in view of the bogus cargo. But, Garth con- sidered, this was Croaker Holt talk- ing. “I don’t think Denham would be in on a thing like that,” he objected. “Maybe not Denham,” Holt said, “but Dickby and Pedersen are. They’ll jump ship in one of the ten- ders to save themselves. They can lie low on one of the asteroids and collect their cut later on. The rest of us won’t be so lucky. We go with the ship.” Garth shook his head, uncon- vinced. They stowed the broken case behind some others, and Holt said no more, although his manner from then on was even gi'immer than before. His .story started whisper- ings among the crew, however, and Garth could sense a growing uneasi- ness aboard the ship. What if Holt were right? The officers, with law on their side, were masters of the situation. Upon them depended the safe navigation of the vessel. If they chose to hurl the Carlyle Castle into the Sun, not a soul on board would know until it was too late.

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DOOM SHIP 137 And then, for two age-long watches, during which he tossed fe- verishly in his bunk, Garth forgot about Holt’s suspicions entirely. When he was again on his feet, Den- ham set him to polishing brass in the control turret, light work intended to let him regain his strength. Garth had never been in this part of the ship before, and the familiar al- though old-fashioned instruments awoke pangs of memory in him. Captain Dickby, intently at work with the calculator, paid him no at- tention. There was no sound in the room but the click of the machine and the dry whisper of the air cir- culators, for the rockets had long been shut off. Garth had been at work about half an hour when Denham burst uncere- moniously into the turret, his blond hair disheveled and his usually neat uniform spotted with grime. Garth looked up in astonishment, but the captain, absorbed in his calculations, was unaware of Denham’s presence Tjntil the first mate stood before him. Dickby looked up then, and an un- fathomable expression flashed over his face. With a quick sweep of one arm, he brushed aside the papers he had been working on. “Mr. Denham!” he snarled. “What are you doing here? Isn’t it your watch below?” “It is, sir,” Denham answered a bit breathlessly, “but I have a spe- cial report to make. It’s urgent — ” “It’s urgent, Mr. Denham, that my officers stick to their duties until relieved. What’s this report?” The first mate flushed, but an- swered promptly. “Life tender No. 2 is unfit for service, sir. It has been deliberately tampered with, gaskets damaged, valve threads hammered, and the rocket-control cables slashed.” “Very well, Mr. Denham,” snapped Dickby. “I note your re- port. How did you learn of this?” “It’s the first officer’s duty to in- spect life tenders, sir. I’ve done so regularly, but never found anything to report before. That is why I know this is deliberate sabotage, and that it was done since we left Venus.” “I see. Very well, I’ll confer on repairs with Mr. Pedersen when he comes on watch. Carrj^ on, Mr. Den- ham.” But Denham stubbornly re- mained. “Your pardon, sir. The work can’t wait one watch. Repairs will take upwards of thirty hours. Should we miss Mercury, we’d have to take to the tenders not more than fifty hours from now — ” “I am well aware, Mr. Denham, of the dangers of a Mercury passage,” rapped Dickby. “You may begin dismantling the valves, if that is nec- essary. Have you any idea who may be responsible for this?” “None whatever.” “We’ll talk about that later, then. Carry on.” Denham left the turret. The captain, after a few scowling glances at Garth, also climbed down into the ship proper. His mind busy with what he had overheard. Garth worked automatically until he came to the calculator table. The papers were gone, but Dickby had forgot- ten to clear the machine. Beneath its windows appeared a course set- ting, the position of the ship from which it had been calculated, its speed, and a row of corrections. Acting upon an unreasoned im- pulse, Garth turned to the observa- tion scope and got a sight on Mer- cury. From its position and the fig- ures on the calculator, he hastily worked out upon the chart pinned to the table the relative future positions

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133 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION of ship and planet. So puzzling was the result that he hastily rechecked it without finding any error. By fol- lowing the course given, the Carlyle Castle would intersect ¥£ercury’s or- bit only after that tiny world had passed the point of intersection. At the sound of footsteps on the metal deck below, he hastily stuffed the scribbled sheets of figures into his pocket, set the observation scope back in its* former position, and bus- ied himself with polishing its brass standard. A moment later Dickby climbed the turret ladder, still frown- ing, and sat down heavily before the calculator. There was a clicking rumble of gears as he cleared the mst- ctiine, then only the fall of tumblers as he plunged into further calcula- tions. What he had just learned dis- turbed Garth far more than Holt’s suspicions and the discovery of the Carlyle Castle’s fraudulent cargo. Did the captain mean to miss Mer- cury and allow the ship to be caught in the immense gravitational trap of the Sun? If not, why was he plot- ting a course which would do just that? What did the sabotage of the life tender mean? And why had only one, and not both, been tam- pered with? Was it because Dickby and Pedersen planned to escape from the doom freighter in the other, as Holt had said? Was this a death ship, meant to vanish for the profit of the owners? The bo gus cargo was a point in Holt’s favor. So were the general air of neglect about the ship and the fact that undesirable men were helped, even to the extent of being given fake vouchers, to obtain berths aboard her. Evidently Dickby wanted such men — men without pa- pers, without recourse to spacemen’s courts, without ties— men of the lost legions of space, whose disappear- ance would stir neither comment not inquiry. Death ships were legends in every port, and certainly behind some of the wild tales was a solid wall of facts. Probably many such ves.sel.s were never suspected, for they might cruise for years as legitimate tramps, only to vanish without leaving sur- vivors— or, at any rate, no talkative ones. Even if the men on board grew suspicious, they were not the sort who could afford to jump ship in the hope of finding another berth. More likely they would retnain, hop-, ing always to escape the last fatal voyage somehow. It might be, on the other hand, that the Carlyle Castle was merely engaged in some comparatively harmless smuggling for which the “mining macliinery’’ was a blind. That would explain tlie choice of the men, some of whom were probably fugitives from the law already. As for Dickby’s course reckoning, care- ful navigators sometimes worked out alternative courses as a check upon the one they adopted, and this might have been the captain’s purpose in setting up the fatal calculation Garth had found u])on the machine. But the sabotage of the life tender was not so easily explained, unle.ss there were two distinct factkm.s aboard. Did the Carlyle Castle carry a secret and valuable cargo which the officers meant to smuggle to Mercury, and which .sotne un- known member or members of the crew planned to highjack? Such highjackers might have put the sec- ond tender out of commission to eliminate pursuit when making their escape in the othei- tender. The Car- lyle Castle itself — underpowered as most freighters — could not possibly overtake the speedy smaller vessel. It was a theory, at least — a possi- ble alternative to Holt’s explanation

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DOOM SHIP 139 — but. Garth saw no way to prove or to disprove either of them. Which- ever was true, most of the crew were mere pawns in a game whose exist- ence they scarcely suspected. Finished in the control turret, Garth went below to find his watch at work on the life tender. Valves were being removed and taken apart for rethreading in the machine shop. Denham was tracing the severed control cables on a greasy blueprint, and at once commandeered Garth’s help. Dozens of fine wires, the vi- tal nerves of the little ship’s control system, had been slashed. The dam- age was thorough and could only have been meant to render the life- ship inoperable. Yet it could all have been done by one man — Pedersen, for instance — in fifteen or twenty minutes. Repairing it. Garth thought, would take rather more than the thirty hours Denham had estimated. The watch over, Denham dis- missed the men for mess and a few hours of sleep, himself remaining to turn the work over to Pedersen. Garth wondered, as he ate, whether the second mate were the saboteur. If so, he would probably make at least a pretense of caiTying on the repairs as the obvious and easiest way to quiet suspicion. The men were aroused now, with no need of Holt’s dark and fiery speeches to awaken them to their peril. If the Carlyle Castle overshot Mercury, as ships had before' this, their lives might depend upon the tiny, high- powdered tenders, which could attain escape velocity even after the parent vessel was irrevocably trapped by the Sun’s gravitational pull. The talk continued even in the bimkroom. There Holt’s remarks, bolstered by the mystery of the life- ship, wrought the crew to a pitoh where a word from Garth of his ob- servation in the control turret would have brought on open mutiny. Knowing that, he kept silent. Un- founded revolt could mean only dis- aster for every man on board. Time enough for that if the Carlyle Castle missed Mercury. He listened and said nothing. Abruptly, like the fliekering out of a lamp, voices ceased. Garth looked up. In the doorway was the evilly grinning face of Pedersen. His cold eyes swept them contemptuously for a full minute while the men stared back, cowed, uncertain. Deliber- ately he spat and turned on his heel, leaving silence behind him. Two men slowly pulled blankets back and rolled into their bunks. Others sheepishly climbed out of stained dungarees. Holt ripped out an oath. “You yellow-bellied fools! That’s what he came for. Are you going to be done in without a fight.'*” They shrugged their shoulders. Uncertainty, and Pedersen’s appear- ance at the psychological moment, had taken the fight out of ‘them for the present. Holt lapsed into bitter silence, but instead of getting into his bunk, sat down at the tiny table, his head in his hands. Habit, however, soon claimed the others. Snores presently announced their sleep, deep and genuine. Garth, at first wide awake, felt a sudden, overpowering drowsiness just before unconsciousness came. His last glimpse was of Holt, slumped down at the table and snoring lustily. There was a sickly, sweetish taint in the atmosphere when Garth awoke — and the electric clock over the door declared that he had slept not five, but twelve, hours. He was on his feet in an instant, aware of a slight nausea, and it flashed through his mind that the air had been

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140 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION drugged, probably by pouring a vola- tile anesthetic into the circulators. “Holt!” he bellowed. “Jonkin! Kelders!” The men called stirred uneasily, but only Holt sat up, blinking un- comprehendingly. Garth pointed to the clock. “We’ve been drugged. Help me wake them.” Holt responded at once, and to- gether they woke the others, who grumbled and cursed at being aroused. But the effect of the drug had worn off, and presently all were on their feet, astonished and uneasy to learn how long they had slept. “It don’t make sense, it don’t,” muttered little Jonkin. “Wot’s the matter.!' Wot is it?” “It’s Pedersen,” Holt grated. “It^s the officers’ dirty little gamble with your lives, you white-livered, gutless rats. Weve passed Mercury!” Men looked at one another, aghast at the truth of it. Had the shi^j’s course been correct, they should be braking for a landing on Mercury at this moment. But the rockets were silent. They were speeding un- checked, on a course that could have only one destination. “The Sun!” One man, white under the oily smudges on his face, uttered the thought of all. “Come on,” Garth said. “Find out where we stand — ” In a body they left the bunkroom, uneasy because there was only si- lence where there should have been the whir and hammer of the machine shop, the murmur of working men. Instead, only the ever-active air cir- culators hummed whisperingly. They were passing the machine shop when a roar from Holt brought all to a stop. One of the lathes was running, shiny, new-cut brass revolv- ing in its headstock. On the floor, silmost hidden, slumped a man. He was not alone. Crumpled be- side the machines lay all fifteen of Pedersen’s watch. In a few minutes they were awakened and telling their story. They had been sent aft by Pedersen to work on the damaged valves, and while working they had felt drowsiness come on. Most of them had sat down wherever they could for a few minutes of relaxa- tion, as they thought. A few, fight- ing sleep, had sprawled their length when at last it overcame them. They refused at first to believe how long they had slept. Thirty strong, they came to the midship bulkhead. Holt grasped the door handle, tugged, and with an oath, applied both hands. Others gripped it, many together, to no more purpose. The door held. “It’s dogged on the other side, of course,” said Garth. “We’re locked m. “Now what?” snarled Holt. “Jimmies,” ordered Garth. “Pry- bars from the machine shop. And one man go to Deck 3 and try the door there.” They watched Jonkin, monkey- like, de.scend the ladder. Through the floor grilles they could see him climb down the next. He was back in less than a minute. “Locked it is, and tighter’n this, if anything,” he reported dolefully. Meanwhile the steel prybars had been brought. Men wedged them into the thin, gasketed crack be- tween door and bulkhead. Hope- less, Garth knew, unless some flawed piece of metal snapped under the strain. But that strain was never applied. Before the sudden squeal of unoiled metal, the unmistakable chock of dogs thudding back, the bars were withdrawn. Thirty men waited in tense expectancy. The door swung open — and a bul-

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DOOM SHIP 141 let thudded plonk into the steel bulk- head. Denham, coatless and with a crooked ribbon of dried blood down one cheek, stood swaying in the door- way. Garth sprang forward and steadied him while seeking the source of the shot. The corridor stretched dim and empty before him, but it could be only Pedersen or Dickby — everybody else was accounted for. “Get them!” said Denham weakly. “Loading Tender 1. Hurry — couldn’t stop them myself.” Garth propped Denham against ihe wall and set off at a run through the corridor. Holt and Kelders were close to him, the others strung out behind, as they burst out of the passageway into the compartment giving upon the lifeship deck. A gun barked twice. Garth felt the whis- tling passage of a bullet. Beside him a man pitched forward without a sound. But the momentum of their rush carried them forward — thirty men against two, steel bars against auto- matics. The odds. Garth realized, were still against them. Dickby stood by the port tube of Tender 1, his gun threatening. Pedersen was hauling a bulky, burlap-wrapped package aboard the lifeship — four similar ones lay on the floor just outside the tube. “I’ve got ten explosive bullets in this clip,” roared Dickby. “Any of you that want the guts blasted out of you come on!” That stopped them. An explosive bullet is a messy way to die, and, too, it seemed infinitely closer than the death of the Sun, still hours away. Garth, who had even less to lose than the rest of them, suddenly decided it wasn’t worth his while to wait. He snatched Holt’s bar and flung it, all in one frenzied move- ment. It struck Dickby on the knee, and the bullet meant for Garth exploded viciously against the ceiling grids. Other bars hurtled murderously across the deck. One spun end over end to hit Pedersen squarely across one temple. The second mate dropped the package he was carry- ing and slumped at Dickby’s feet. The captain, roaring with the pain of his shattered knee, made grim use of his gun. Bullets bit into the mass of men behind Garth, and while they hesitated for a rush, Dickby hauled Pedersen into the port tube. “They’ll get away,” Garth shouted. “Come on — ” He led the rush, snatched a pry- bar from the floor and thrust its wedgelike tip into the narrowing gap between door and frame. Too late. Bolts snicked home. The steel panel settled inward that fraction of an inch that told of tightly drawn dogs. For tw'enty sec- onds there was a silence loud with the harsh breathing of baffled, beaten men. From beyond the curved wall of the tender well came loud clickings as magnetic grapples Iqt go, then a muffled roar — and si- lence. “Got away!” snarled Holt. “Dirty murderers — ” “Bear a hand with the wounded,” said Garth. “Then we’ll see what’s what.” He was shocked to find that one of the six men on the floor was Den- ham, his shirt bloodsoaked at the armpit, where a bullet had burst without actually entering. Kelders and another man were dead. A fifth insanely waggled a handless wri,st. One more was only touched, but the ifest was absurdly alive with a gaping wound in the chest. “Get these men to bunks,” he or- dered. “Any of you know first aid?”

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ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION U9. ‘"Aye” growled Holt. “I do — not that it’ll help them — or us, now.” Nkfertheuess, Holt was comiie- tent, and after seeing that the others would he cared for, Garth hurried to Denham, who had been carried to his cabin. While he was dressing the wound, the first mate regained con- sciousne.ss. “Wasn’t much good— out there,” Denham murmured. “They made it?” “Pedersen was hurt. Dickby pulled him along, though. You’re mauled up yourself. Hurt?” “Could be worse,” Denham admit- ted. “You’ve got a clip on the head, too.” “That must have happened just before the lights went out for me. I was waiting for Pedersen — and then woke up in my own bunk with a hjeadache. Must have been drugged, becau.se it was hours later. I went forward and caught them loading the tender. Couldn’t do any- thing— guessed you’d be locked in. I headed aft. Dickby must have heard me. He followed. You know the rest.” Garth finished the bandaging. “We’re not sure about the ship yet — except that we should have reached Mercury before this. I’m afraid you won’t be able to get around. I’ll take a check if you like.” Denham nodded. Garth left, went up into the control turret. The in- .struments were undamaged; e\'ery- thing was in flight order. He took bearings, checked them with a scope reading on Mercury, now dwindling far ahead of the Carlyle Castle, and rechecked, but he already knew what the result had to be. The ship was s{)iraling toward the Sun. The truth must have been written large in his eyes, for Denham nod- ded, bleak-faced, at sight of him, “You’re sure?” “Triangulation and .scope reading check,” Garth answered. “Sunward acceleration positive. IVo hundred ten tons of fuel in the tanks — ” “For a mass of thirty thousand tons,” finished Denham. “Twice that much couldn’t give us escape velocity. Do the men know?” “They’ve guessed.” “Have to keep morale up. Never know — an eleventh-hour miracle. If we don’t let ourselves crack.” “Miracles such as we need,” Garth said, “don’t happen.” Denham leaned back wearily. “I’m weaker than I thought. Some- body bos to take over — discipline — our only chance. You, Garth. You’ve been an officer.” “I was master,” said Garth slowly, “of the Stellar Queen.” “I guessed ... it was like that. You’re acting captain. Everything ... in your hands. Do what 5mu can.” He closed his eyes and lay back exhausted. Garth left, went forward again to the second lifeship. The clo.sest examination convinced him that the tender could not be made spaceworthy in the time left them. When he reached the control cubby he was sure of it. I'he switchboard had been wrecked. Out in the corridor, Garth laughed — laughed in a tone he woiddn’t have recognized as his own six hours ago. Gale Garth, acting captain of the Carlyle Castle! By Heaven, he was a master again! And a ship wa.s un- der him. Captam Garth! ITie mo- ment he had dreamed of for two ghostly, hopeless years. Now it had come and it was a farce. Master? Aye, he v/as master. A ship? No, this was a coffin he commanded — -a

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DOOM SHIP 143 coffin manned by walking corpses, and its destination death. He laughed again, a hard, shivery laugh. And then he saw Jonkin .standing at his elbow, an almost re- spectfid Jonkin, with something in his hand. “I been to see Mr. Denham, and he says you’re captain now. I got somethin’ maybe yon ought to see. It come from those bags Pedersen was tryin’ to haul aboard.” Jonkin thrust the thing into Garth’s hands, which shook a little as he unwrapped the straw-and- paper packing, for it was all hell- ishly familiar. He would have recog- nized the shape of that bottle anywhere, unlabeled though it was. “It’s dewlog,” he said harshly, his nerves suddenly raw. “The captain and Pedersen were running a bit of smuggling, after all, on the side. We nipped that, though.” He fixed Jon- kin with a furious eye, while his heart whipped wildly. “Dewlog, you understand? Lock it up. Let no- body touch it. Don’t tell the oth- ers.’’ Jonkin bobbed his head and was off. But Garth stumbled to Dick- by’s cabin and sat down heavily, for every nerve in his body was a-trem- ble with desire. Dewlog! It was said you wanted it worse than ever the first six months you left it alone, and with him it had been only six weeks. His metabolism still wasn’t quite normal; his system was starved for elements it couldn’t as yet. obtain from anything but dewlog. The drug would put new life in him, strength he hadn’t had since leaving Venus. Of course, it meant losing all the ground he’d gained. If he went back to the stuff now he’d never be able Deal tough beards a knockout blow. And save yourself both time and dough Use Thin Gillettes for shaves that click- You’ll find it’s easy to look slick! Itigic/ Inspection assures absolute uniformity

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DOOM SHIP 115 And then he knew. It came in a full flash now, and his whipping heart settled to a hammering thump that he could feel in his temples. A moment’s thought that had almost slipped past him in his insane desire for dewlog — and it held, perhaps, the life of every soul aboard the Carlyle Castle! He copied weight-distribution fig- ures from the drawing, raced to the control turret and plunged into cal- culations. Thirty-seven hours! If it could be done in that time there was a chance. A chance, with fate offering no odds — He raced out of the turret, howling for Jonkin, and when that monkey- faced little spaceman appeared, seized his arm in a grip that made him wince. “Quick!” snapped Garth. “How many space suits on board “Eh? Three, maybe, and two of them not fit to leave ship in. I stowed that dewlog safe — ” “Never mind the dewlog. How about cutting and welding torches?” “Ask Holt. ’E should know — han- dled it last, ’e did. But we got two, maybe three outfits. Plenty of gas, too.” “Assemble all hands in the main cabin. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Hurry!” .Jonkin hurried off, and Garth hastily visited the fuel tanks, to take direct readings from the gauges there as a check upon the readings elec- trically recorded in the turret. There wasn’t, as Denham had said, half enough fuel to attain escape velocity this close to the Sun. The Carlyle Castle was too big. Her mass trapped her. Dickby knew that, or he would have dumped the tanks. Garth grinned with satisfaction. 'Fhere was as much fuel as he had hoped for — and the tanks lay well aft. He climbed back to the main deck, and shortly afterward faced the assembled crew. There was the sullenness of death about them. Discipline, he knew, hung by a thread. Hopeless, afraid, knowing themselves once betrayed, they were ugly in their very despair and as silent as trapped animals. But there was a collective snarl on their faces as they watched Garth. Garth waited, outwardly calm, his face as impassive as he could make it. He waited, as though time were eternity, as though the Carlyle Cas- tle were not rushing headlong to doom until the shuffling of feet ended, until he commanded the si- lence. “There’s just one reason I want to talk to you,” he said slowly. “Every- thing Holt has been telling us is true. We’re headed for the Sun. The life tender is a wreck. Dickby and Pe- dersen have done their best to see that none of us ever gets back to tes- tify against them. But if you want to live badly enough to work for it, there’s a fifty-fifty chance. It’s all together — or none of us. What do you say?” They said nothing at first. More suspicious than ever, already unac- customed to thinking in terms of life, they remained mute. Then Holt’s voice, harsh, incredulous, spoke for them all. “Don’t lie. Garth. There’s no such chance — not even a thousand-to-one chance.” Garth answered calmly, unan- gered. “But I say that there is. It’s not a sure thing. It’s desperate and clumsy. It may fail. Maybe the odds aren’t as good as I think. You may work like the devil and roast anyway for all the good it does. But if you’re men, you’ll want to play the chance — no matter what the odds may be.”

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14« ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION “What’s the scheme?” cried a voice. “My secret,” Garth answered coldly. “If you choose to die like trapped rats, that’s your business — and you need no master. If you want to live you’ll take my orders — it has to be done that way. Work together or not at all. We’re short- handed as it is. What do you say?” “I say you’ll tell us what’s up,” growled a red-haired giant, leaping forward. “We’ve got a right to know. Make him tell, mates!” A roar of assent went up. The men moved forward in a solid mass, despite Holt’s efforts to hold them back. “Better talk. Garth!” he bellowed. “Talk fast.” The gigantic redhead sprang at Garth, fists swinging. A blow on the side of his neck sent lightning thrusts of pain into Garth’s brain. He saw the fist swing again — and fury con- vulsed his muscles. His knuckles cracked on the giant’s cheekbone. Stars exploded as something hit him solidly below one eye. Through a fog of pain he saw the redhead’s jaw, swung madly, felt the impact of bone on bone. The man was down. Holt was roaring with the fury of a stricken bull, and laying about him with cold and telling precision. Even little Jonkin, squealing with excite- ment, ranged himself beside Garth, who was fighting now like an insensi- ble automaton. Submerged in pain. Garth no longer felt each blow, but doggedly returned what he got with all the energy he could draw from his aching body — a nightmare of mo- tion, blurred in agony that flickered again and again along dewlog-raw nerves. Then there was a clear space be- fore him, and Jonkin, bleeding from the mouth, and Holt, breathing in great gasps, standing before the other men. Their eyes were on Garth. “Give yoiir orders,” said Holt, “We’ll take them.” Garth swayed, steadied himself against the wall. Couldn’t let him- self slip now — they were waiting. Waiting to work. Aye, and he was master! “Holt, you’re first mate. Take cutting torches and rip the inner plates off the forward hull. Patch leaks as you go. Send the plates back to me. Jonkin, you’re second mate. Break out the space suits and patch them. Take two men. I want fourteen men myself. Get going.” They did, and within an hour, un- der Garth’s critical eye, the various units were functioning satisfactorily. Within the ship’s blunt bow, eight sweating, puzzled men were peeling inner hull plates off. Occasionally the hiss of air was heard, escaping through some opening iir the scarred and dented outer hull. If large enough to be troublesome, the leak was sealed with sputtered-on, in- stantly solidified metal. The de- tached plates were carried aft by a second crew, while a third was car- rying the useless lifeship’s flasks of liquid oxygen into the Carlyle Castle and transferring the tender’s fuel to the parent vessel’s tanks — a small but possibly valuable addition to their reserve of power. Garth meanwhile stalked from level to level, measuring and mark- ing hull girders, cables, conduits and pipes on blueprints he had found in the control turret. Sleep was forgot- ten, food wolfed down with scarcely a pause. Just forward of the engine and generator room, three levels be- low the turret, men under Garth’s direction cut apart wiring, pipes and floor gratings, insulating ’or sealing the severed ends v/here necessary.

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DOOM SHIP 147 Lights winked out here and there through the ship as connections were broken. Oily water sloshed about the generator pits. Jagged ends of girders and floor grids gleanaed dull silver in the flicker of emergency lamps. It was unnerving to see the sud- den shadows loom and darkness fall in the long, echoing corridors of the old ship. Men looked askance at Garth’s work, the more uneasily as lamp after lamp winked out forever. More than ever, the Carlyle Castle seemed a death ship, mutilated and darkened, eerie with impending doom. It was an impression not easily denied, and men who had first worked with willing good humor grew sullenly silent as the hours went by. Garth felt their change of mood, but had neither time nor patience to deal with it. The first tangible inti- mation that something was wrong came to him with a realization of sudden stillness, a cessation of sound, a hushing of hammers and torch flames and saws. He straightened from the girder he had just marked and turned around. He was on Deck 2 then, and should have been alone, but at the head of the ladder- way, all fourteen of his men were gathered, first among them the huge redheaded man Weldon, whom Garth had knocked out once before. But there was a difference now. Not anger, but a berserk fear, sat in Wel- don’s eyes — the eye.s of a man con- vinced of death, and doubting all else. In the eyes of the others that same panic was mirrored. Garth stood up, rigidly alert. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Get back to your work. Lively!” “We’re through workin’,” bellowed Weldon. “Think we’re fools? Think you can make us forget by rawhid- AST— 10 in’ us? You lied — there ain't a chance. Tricked us — and we’re get- tin’ you for it.” He advanced, his mouth working, one fist clenching and unclenching spasmodically, the other white- knuckled w ith its grip on a steel bar. Garth stood his ground. To retreat would be to bring the pack down. “Tricked us with lies! Made us sweat our guts out!” mouthed Wel- don furiously. “But we’re through now — ” The bar lifted — and Garth plunged forward, ramming into Wel- don’s body before he could reverse the motion of the heavy steel. The man went down, with Garth on top of him, but the ship’s slight artificial gravity instantly nullified that ad- vantage. Weldon heaved convul- sively and they rolled over until Garth could feel the bars of the floor grid under his back. His left hand held down Weldon’s wrist, and with it the murderous bar, although the other strained furiously to release it. Steel slithered against steel. The tip of the thing caught in the floor grat- ing, and Garth exerted all his strength in twisting the hand that held it. With a howl of pain, Wel- don let go. The bar teetered, slipped through the floor. Garth’s eyes fol- lowed it as though fascinated. His straining body was suddenly rigid. “God! The generator!” Oath and prayer strangely com- mingled— and then disaster in a flash of hellish white and red, the blue glare of burning copper, a semi- explosion that ripped and echoed from level to level. Metal screeched as though in unendurable pain. Half the fluorescents winked out, and in the wan glow of those left, men looked at one another as though stunned. Garth was on his feet, unhindered by Weldoii and, plunging through

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148 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION the compact mass of men, hurtled down the ladder to the engine switchboard. He cut the ignition on the auxiliary motor, and the shaft groaned to a stop. “Electrician!” he called. “Aye, sir.” The man came for- ward docilely enough, shocked into obedience, but shook his head. “She’s done for. Commutator’s stripped.” “Spare?” Garth rapped out. “Ain’t none aboard, sir.” It was a stunning blow to Garth. This generator, delivering four thou- sand volts D. C., supplied the rocket igniter.s. Without it the blasts couldn’t be lit off. “How about rectifying the A. C. output?” The other grunted negatively. “No rectifying equipment aboard that could handle that much cur- rent.” Garth swore. “We’ve got to have this generator. Repair it somehow — if it runs ten minutes, it’ll do. The rest of you get back to work.” Sheepishly, the ex-mutineers obeyed to a man. Either the acci- dent had shocked them back to san- ity, or Garth’s concern about the ruined generator convinced them more than words that he actually had a plan for their salvation. The work went on. Squarely across the Carlyle Castle, supplementing the bulkhead just forward of the control turret and generator room, grew a wall of tough alloy steel. Made of the hull plates Holt’s men had stripped off forward and welded to- gether into an air-tight whole, it cut the ship into two parts — the aft sec- tion only about one third of the ves- sel’s total length. To the rear it was securely braced by a network of steel welded to hull — hull girders and transverse beams. Thirty of the precious hours were gone when that much was done. Holt’s men, as well as Garth’s, gath- ered before the wall, sweat-stained and weaiy. “Three suits ready,” reported Jon- kin proudly. “Not like new, but they’ll hold up.” “We’ll need them soon,” said Garth, “because we’re going to cut the hull through right here. Cut the ship in two. One part is dead weight — cargo, lifeship, and air circulators — which we can do without. The smaller part has the turret, fuel tanks, and rocket motors. That’s ours. The Carlyle Castle, thirty thousand tons, couldn’t be budged from the course Dickby gave her. But our part of her won’t be more than nine thousand mass tons. We’ve fuel enough and tubes enough to accelerate nine thousand mass tons to escape velocity. We’ll be crippled by lack of bow steering jets, but once we’re free of the Sun we can rig a heliograph to reach Mer- cury or Earth and get a rescue ship sent out after us. Meanwhile we’ll have plenty of liquid oxygen, stores and water.” A ragged cheer went up as, with the vision of life before them, men went back to work. The last girders marked by Garth were cut in planned succession, the few remain- ing conduits and cables cut and sealed. With that the ship’s artifi- cial gravity vanished. Hand lines were rigged spider-web fashion, and men walked with mincing steps to avoid being flung from their foot- holds. The inner plates of the double- walled hull, just forward of the newly erected bulkhead, were burned through with the toi’ches in a straight line about the ship’s circum- ference. Air was escaping from a

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DOOM SHIP 149 dozen fissures when Garth ordered all hands aft. They filed through the little steel box that had been welded over the bulkhead door to form an air lock. Garth, Holt and a third man remained outside, donned space suits, and with the torches attacked the outer hull through the slit already opened. Hissing flames cut a slender black line through which air roared free into space. Smoking arcs curved around and met. The two parts of the severed ship, with a gap between them that was black as space on one side, white with the glory of the Sun on the other, still sped together as one, although the pressure of escap- ing air had driven them a little far- ther apart. Tapping the other men on the shoulders. Garth motioned them to the air lock, while he made a last inspection of the work. The rem- nant of the Carlyle Castle that now harbored life looked as though lopped off by a gigantic sheers. An ungainly stump, its severed arteries sealed shut, it looked anything But navigable. Yet its shape was of no importance here in the vacuum of space. Streamlining was indispens- able only in ships meant to take off and land on atmosphere-clad planets. Garth was last-to enter what was now the ship. Holt’s men were seal- ing a few leaky seams in the bulk- head which it had been impossible to detect before. Everything now hinged upon the four-thousand-volt D. C. generator. Without its cur- rent to heat the igniters to the six- thousand-degree temperatnre neces- sary to light off, all the work done was valueless. The generator. Garth OLD MR. BOSTON SAYS: “MY APRICOT NECTAR IS A TREAT YOUIL CHEER!” rich AS y brandy. S0CD7HAS HON£Y! / ^^HBRCSWEi DRINK A ^Sthatcets^ ^mMYlHONEY,, Mt. Boston’s Apricot Nectar is a liquor with the tempting flavor of ripe apricots. “Rich as brandy, smooth as honey,” you’ll enjoy drinking it straight. A handy drink- ing cup tops each pint bottle. A Beverage Liqueur prepared by Ben-Burk, Inc., Boston, Masr. I ' /TsmEDRtmmAr ^ DOEsmemcK aoTwmriTTAi^s ' WMAK£mUCLfOKf 0U> MR .BOSTON MRICOT NECTAR MSO BlACiCaEPRr • PEACH • 'WUP CHERRY -70 PROOF

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DOOM SHIP 151 ery ampere of output for the all- important igniters. “It’s holding, by glory!’’ bellowed Holt, and Garth pressed the turret telegraph lever to notify Denham that he might light off. The motion was never finished. Without warning, there came a snarl of ripping insulation. Blue-white fire flashed. Something hit the ceiling grid with terrific force. A brush holder broke with a crash. Smoke gushed as Garth tore open the igni- tion switch. For the second time the generator grated to a stop. The commutator was a smoking ruin, blackened to the core, some of its bars flung out bodily by centrifugal force. “Pluto’s moons!’’ gasped the elec- trician. “It took the windings that time.” It was true, d'he armature wind- ings were a black, sticky mess, short- circuited and burned out by the faulty commutator. “Rewind it,” snapped Garth. ’riie man shrugged. “Seven or eight hours, at least, if we have enough wire aboard.” Seven hours! Garth felt his strength sag under that ultimatum. In less than two hours it would be too late. They would be too close to the Sun to attain escape velocity, their mass of fuel reserve considered. Already, despite the refrigeration equipment still operating in this part of the ship, the temjrerature stood at a point only too eloquent of their close a[)proacli. All of them had long since stripped to the waist. Denham was painfully descending tlie steehrunged ladder, probably apprised by the noise that something had gone wrong. He made no com- ment at sight of the ruined machine. “How about using the lifeship gen- erator.'*” asked Garth. “Too small,” Denham replied. “The tender uses the new Starr igni- tion system, with built-in igniters that take only a tenth the juice the old ones do.” “So that’s out,” said Garth bit- terly. To have come this far — and fail! For they had failed. It only remained to tell them so. False hope could be cruder than the truth. “That’s that, then. We can’t light off. There’s nothing else to be done.” They didn’t understand at once. Their eyes mirrored a dull refusal of belief, like those of children faced with tragedy. But as understanding dawned despite themselves, men turned soberly away. “Can’t light off?” asked Holt. “Give me a suit and a torch. I’ll light off — from outside.” Garth shook his head. “Torch isn’t hot enough. The fuel kindles at six thousand degrees. Under that, atomic combustion won’t start. Sorry, Holt — ” It was ghastly irony to come so close as this, only to give up. Irony, too, that they had plenty of current — of the wrong kind. If only the ig- niters could be made to operate on alternating current. But that was impossible. Not only was the volt- age too high, but even if they carried the overload momentarily, self- induction would fuse the firing coils instantly. Would fuse them instantly! Garth seized the electrician in a grip that made the man’s jaw drop open with pain and astonishment. “The A. C. overload relays — what do they break at?” “Twelve hundred amps, as they’re set now,” the man answered. “But you can’t use A. C. on the igniters!” “We’re going to,” Gartli snapped. “Set the breakers at fifteen hundred amps — the highest you can without endangering the generator. We’ll

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1152 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION ruin the igniters — but we’ll light off doing it. Cut the A. C. over to the igniter circuit and stand by those re- lays. Each time I signal after they break, close them.” “Aye, sir,” gasped the electrician, and set to work. While the change-over was being made, Denham took Garth aside. “You realize this mayn’t work. Garth?” the first officer asked wor- riedly. “The igniters may fuse back of the coils. It’s burning our bridges, although I don’t say you shouldn’t try.” “You may be right,” Garth admit- ted. “In fact, I expect some of them to fuse back of the coils, but if only one in each bank of tubes does light off, we can get the other tubes lit from that one. With D. C., of course, the cables would melt before the igniters themselves, but with A. C. we’ll have self-induction built up in the firing coils themselves — a local current of tremendous amper- age. I’m banking on that.” “And Tm with you,” Denham said, closing the subject. - Witli Garth, Denham watched the men complete the connections, then preceded him into the control turret. After seeing to it that the first officer was .securely strapped into his ac- celeration chair, and fastening him- self similarly before the dual control, (Jarth set the telegraph lever to “Stand by” position. “Hcre^s to luck!” said Denham softly. Garth nodded. At a touch of his hand the acceleration alarm sounded its v/arning below. He inched for- v^'ard the stubby lever that fed gas to one of the six port steering jets, set the telegraph lever to “Stand by for firing,” and pressed the ignitor switch . From three levels below came the crash of opening overload relays. Nothing else. No roar of blazing gases or flash of the red lamp before him that would indicate the tube had lit off. He pushed the fuel-feed lever shut, signaled the engine room to close the circuit breakers, and upon its acknowledgement fed fuel to the second of the port tubes. The igniter switch went down. Again circuit breakers crashed open. Nothing else broke the silence of the doomed ship. Denham’s lips were compressed to a knife line, but his eyes spoke the significance of the moment. Two of the six jets had failed to light off. Had those two igniters failed prema- turely, in some weak spot back of the ignition coils, and therefore were unexposed to the combustible gases? Or would they ail fail in the same way? Signal and acknowledgment from below. The third fuel lever forward, further this time. A wait until Garth was sure the tube was well primed. His thumb pressed the igniter but- ton. A shudder of exploding gases racked the crippled ship, settling at once to the muted roar of a single rocket tube in action. Denham’s frozen lips broke into a triumphant grin as Garth fed fuel to the tube nearest the one firing. It caught ex- plosively from the flame of the first, and the roar of power was doubled. Through the turret port the ampu- tated hulk ahead could be seen .shift- ing slowly to port. Breathlessly, Garth watched it. If a single over- looked projection caught and locked the two parts together, delay — per- haps disaster — was inevitable. Then, abruptly, the danger was past as edge cleared edge with a scant foot to spare. Garth kept the side jets firing until the dead hulk was several hundred feet abeam.

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153 then cut the tubes to an idling blast. Again the telegraph clicked signal and acknowledgment. He opened the fuel feed of the first stern jet, but the relays crashed open without ef- fect. The second and third tubes failed also. But the fourth caught furiously, and from its flame he was able to light oft' the entire bank. Ac- celeration crushed him and Denham back into their seats. Six of the last bank failed before the seventh caught, but with that all went into action. The crippled fragment of the Carlyle Cafstle underwent such acceleration as the old ship could never have experienced. Garth let his heavy arms drop to his sides. His body was already aching under the punishment of ac- celeration, which must continue as long as their fuel held out, until the ship, cometlike, attained escape ve- locity. Denham, studying the ac- celeration meter, nodded reassur- ingly. There was nothing more that could be done, and now, for the first time during the driving exertion of the past thirty-eight hours. Garth knew himself to be near collapse. Slekp should have been impossi- ble under the acceleration they were undergoing, but when Garth was again conscious he knew that he had fallen asleep where he sat. Denham was smiling quizzically. The rockets were silent, the mad surge of acceler- ation gone. But it was still hot in the turret, the sunlight as fierce as before. Had the tubes failed. Garth wondered.'' “We’re rounding the Sun,” said Denham. “Speed’s a bit over a hun- dred miles per second, which gives us a very fair margin above- escape ve- locity. Fuel’s gone now, but I caught a helk) from Mercury — they put one of the new electronic detectors on us when we tnissed connection. A pa- trol flier will be on hand to pick us up in about ninety hours. The crew. AMERICA NEEDS MEN TRAINED ru Finance YourTrainh Where do you fit in today's gigantic defe program and industrial expansion? Nov the time for you to get your training for a gc pay job in Electricity — the mighty power t makes the whole defense program possible. K at Coyne, in 12 short weeks, you can train your Big Opportunity, and you don’t need much money for I’U finance your train- ing and let you pay for it in easy monthly payments after you graduate. “Learn- By-Doing” on real electrical machinery. Learn airplane ignition work, wind arma- tures, learn power plant operation, do house and factory wiring, etc. EXTRA; 4 weeks course in RADIO included at no extra tuition charge. <‘LEARN BY DOING” Coyne“Learn-By-Doing” training is EASY, First, the instructor tells you how to do a job. Then he shows you. Then you do the job yourself. Not a correspondence course. You don’t need previous experience or advanced education. Get your tralaing NOW. Pay for it after graduation in easy monthly payments. If you need part-time work to help out with board and room expenses, my employment depart- ment will help you find it. Low-cost Board and Room plan. Lifetime Employment Service after you graduate. GET MY STORY I have a mighty interesting BIG FREE BOOK that I want to send you. It’s packed with pictures of students at work in my shops. Send for it today. With the book I'll also send you all the facts*about Cojme training and my plans to help you even though you have little money. No obligation. No salesmen will call. Mall the coupon today. H. C. LEWIS, President COYNE ELECTRICAL SCHOOL 500 S. Paulina St., Dept. 90-45, Chicaea, III. ■— MAIL THIS COUPON TODAY—' I H. C. LEWIS, President ! COYNE ELECTRICA.L SCHOOL I 500 S. Paulina St., Dept. 90.45. Ctiicado, Dear Mr. Lewis: Please send me your all the facta about Coyue. I I I NAME I I I I I ADDRESS. CITY THEN the job -You do yourself

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154 SPEED YOUR PROGRESS WITH THIS COMPLETE UNDERWOOD PORTABLE TYPING UNIT Here is an Underwood Portable Typewriter that stands on its own feet. The Built-in Typing Stand /oWi into the Portable Carrying Case; You can type anywhere .;;anytime! IT’S BUIIT-IM Get this exclusive Underwood Portable Typewriter with Built- In Typing Stand on convenient terms. iASY PAYMENTS Ask your local Under- wood Portable Dealer today about this modern Portable Writing Machine that will speed your personal progress. UNDERWOOD ELLIOTT FISHER COMPANY ONE. PARK AVENUE, NEW YORK, N. Y. Sales ond Service Everywhere :k ~k 'k 'k -k iic k k k THE BEST DETECTIVE STORIES OF THE YEAR ARE IN STREET & SMITH’S DETECTIVE ANNUAL 25 CENTS A COPY AT ALL NEWSSTANDS kkkkkkkkk j WILL YOU WEAR THIS SUIT I and Make up to $12 in a Day! i • Let me send you a fine all-wool union tailored suit i FREE OF ONE PENNY COST. Just follow my A easy plan and show the suit to your friends. Mate up 9 to $12 In a day easily. Partial Payment Plan. No f.xv^rience — no liouse-to-house canvassing necessary, SEND FOR SAMPLES— FREE OF COST Write today for FREE details. ACTUAL SAMPLES and “sure-fire” money-getting plans. Send no money. H. J. COLLIN, PROGRESS TAILORING COMPANY 500 So. TItroop Street, OepL N-103. Chicago, lllinoli incidentally, have asked me to con- vey their respects — and thanks.” There was a sound from the turret ladderway, and the wizened little face of Jonkin appeared on deck. He saluted Garth smartly. “Yuhr pardon, sir, but it’s about that there dewlog I’ve stored in the brig. It’s safe there, but things was happening so fast I forgot to give yuh the key.” He held out the bit of metal, and, as though it were a symbol of his de- sire, Garth felt the stark, familiar longing flush his veins. Nerves sharpened by dewlog clamored for that surcease from pain and tension that only the drug could give. He could have it — for the taking of a key. Denham wouldn’t stop him. Garth licked his hot lips, glanced at the first officer, who stood qui- etly by, making no sign. And then Garth heard his own voice, harsh with the rawness of his nerves. “The dewlog will be offered as ad- ditional evidence against the captain and second mate. Mr. Denham will take the key.” Strangely, his own words gave him strength. They were like cool water thrown upon the fire of his desire. In that moment he knew that he had won for himself more than mere ex- istence. His body still craved dew- log— would crave it for months still. But something in himself, something submerged and beaten since the evil adventure of the Stellar Queen, had been revived. He knew that he would never again touch the stuff; knew that, for the first time in two years, he was on the way back to the life he loved. Denham pocketed the key as Jon- kin vanished down the ladderway. The two men in the turret looked at each other. Then Denham thrust forth his hand. “Congratulations!” he said softly, '“Captain Garth.” THE END.

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155 BRASS TUCKS Did the explanation satisfy? Dear Mr. CampT)eH: Like the Yin and Yang of Chinese pliiiosopliy — a combination of complemen- tary force.s tfiat forms a f>ertect whole, like bread and butter — Astounding and Un- knmmi balancje eacli other completely. When the science of Astounding becomes boring, the fantasy of Unknown refreshes. And vice versa. But now to the October Astounding: Being one of tho.se rare people that read each installment of a serial as it appears. I found the second part of “Sian” even more intere.sting than the fir.st. But van Vogt had better make his explanation of the tendrilless slans good! The surprise end- ing of “Farewell To The Master” made it a close second, with “Butyl and the Breather” third. This latter was an e.x- cellent sequel to “The Ether Breathers.’’ The article by Ley is, in my opinion, the laist thi.s year with the exception of “The Science Of Withering.” Brass d'acks is bigger and better than ever. G. It. Wall says he would like to eee A.stounding with the .same tyf>e cover as Unknown. That cover is best on Unknotmi, bacau.se fanta.sy paintings, no matter how well drawn, may give the impression of a horror mag. .'\stounding, on the other hand, looks much more distinguished with a beau- tiful four-tone painting. — Bill Stoy, 140-98 Burdeu Cresc'ent, Jamaica, N. Y. And “Sian” gets better as it goes! Dear Mr. Campbell: How could you? Why did you do it? Why did such a thing happen to me? I refer to your new serial effort, “Sian.” Here I was up in amis agin’ the .super- men, after a thorough dose of “But With- out Horns” in Unknown. Wouldn’t it be terrible for a Thing like John Miller to move in on the human race, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera? So I wa,s an Anti-Evo- lutionist. Then along comes “Sian” — in which it’s the supermen that are in a pickle. Now I’m so far gone as to be preaching against Homo Sap! Yet I .still think A- E. van Vogt and Norvell W. Page are BOTH examples of the best in science-fiction writ- ing today. Anyway, the conclu,slon right now is that “Sian” is a great yarn. — Paul Carter, 158 S, University St., Blackfoot, Idaho. The navy’s still doing all right, thanks! Dear Mr. Campbell: Before the start of this .salvo, let me state I have never written to any maga- zine in all the years I have been reading science-fiction, but when the army takes a. slap at the navy — .stand by for a broad- side! . Let me explain to Corporal Meyer that it i.s quite understandable why the army

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1£6 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION doesn’t write science-fiction. It has long been known' that the army’s brains are in its feet — at least to the navy — and it takes brain.s located in the proper storage vault to write science-fiction and sell it to Astounding! So enough for that. I have been reading Astounding and JJn- lenown since the first copy of each hit the newsstands, and find them well worth the forty cents per month they cost me. As for the stories, some arc good, some are bad, and a few are super. In the latter class goes “Final Blackout’’ and the “Gray Lensman.” Some day they will rate as classics, alongside such stories as Merritt’s “The Moon Pool” and “The Blind Spot,” by Hall and Flint. Congratulations to L. Ron Hubbard and Dr. Smith. Hoping this letter will find Astounding getting bigger and better, and Corporal Meyer doing K. P. — Mrs. J. A. Thomas, 1350 Heilman Street, Long Beach, Calif. Ralph Williams is working on another, longer yarn. Dear Mr. Campbell; I’ve l)een reading all sorts of science- fiction mags for about two years, but Astounding still rales tops on my list. I have been unfortunate enough to be out of work at present, so I Inive had to rely on one s.f. mag a month — Astounding, of course — and I’ll keep on getting my copy every month if I have to steal, beg or bor- row it! Your Nova serial “Sian” has turned out even better than it sounds. I always wait until 1 have all the installments before 1 read serials, but I just couldn’t wait so long to read “Sian,” so now I can hardly wait until next month to read the next in- stallment. By the way, I am not Ralph Williams, the author; but 1 was rather surprised to see my name at the head of a story. I would like to meet him sometime. Hi.s story “Emergency Landing” was pretty good. — Il.alph Williams, 107 Wayne Street, Valparaiso, Indiana. But doesn’t Cartier’s style ht some Astounding yarns? Dear Mr. Campbell: Your ballyhoo and promotion for “Sian!” — I still like the exclamation point — is one hundred irercent justified. “Sian!” sets van Vogt on a par with Weinbaum, Smith & Co. I am saying this although I have only read three parts — I am not one of these strong- minded souls who take serials in one dose — and I also say that “Sian!” really rates the “Super-Nova” designation. I very nearly wound up in the 'I'erritorial Hospital for the Insane last Friday. I pur- chased Unknown, with. “Typewriter in the Sky” and “Darker Than You Think” and Astounding with “Sian!” and “Salvage” on that date, and had one hell of a time trying to decide what to start off w'ith, 1 finally wound up with a decision favoring the “save-the-best-for-the-la.st” policy, and cracked the short shorts first, tlien went into “Salvage,” “Typewriter in the Sky,” a bit of “Darker Than You Think” — T am saving this for a Sunday morning, as I don’t think it would promote sleep — and last but not least “Sian!”. I should heap a few curses upon your already well-condemned soul for not includ- ing Kathleen Layton in your cover for “Sian!”. Now, dammit. I’ll never know what she really looked like. Why in the name of Klono’s burnished beard d’you have Cartier in Astounding? He should be in Vnknoton and no place else but. Was it psychology or a typographical er- ror that left off the period in the last sen- tence of the third installment of you-know- what? Story ratings for the November issiie; “Sian,” “Salvage,” “The Exalted,” “The Search for Zero,” “One Was Stubborn,” “Sunspot Purge.” — C. J. “Mike” Fern, Jr., Atherton House, Univensily of Hawaii, Honolulu, Hawaii. Sometimes a story is the better for leav- ing something for the reader to think on. Dear Sir: This is a new experience to me. Although I regularly read Brass Tacks 1 have never felt the urge before to participate in it.s discussions. But now, since reading Han-y Bates’ “Farewell to the Ma.ster” for the second time, I feel I must tell you how much I enjoyed it. It w’as really different. It has a poignant something about it that I never have experi- enced in any otlier story, 'I'he idea of a huge robot having a super.scientific mind and utilizing it for good and to create beau- tiful creatures, such at Klaatu, instead of engines of destruction aimed at interplanet- ary conquest is most refre.shing. It is not all cluttered up with the explanation of in- tricate machinery as most stories are. I like a little of that if a .story is based on fact, but when it is a flight of the wild-

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157 est imagiualion wherein such apparatus could not i>o.ssibly exist, then I object to so much description of alloys and instruments whose very names are senseless. Maybe I feel this way l>ecause I am a female and jwrhaps not such an avid student of pure scieiM’e. I lead science-fiction because it is so different. It stimulates the imagination and because I firmly believe nothing to be impossible to science today and years to come. Getting back to Mr. Bates’ story, it just screams For a sequel. In fact, if one isn’t forthcoming I will Feel an awful empty place inside me where Klaatu entered for .so short a time and then left so suddenly and tragically. It was a definite shock to find he was not the master and this fact coming at tlie end of the .story as it did in itself (iemands a sequel to tell us all about these two strangers, and. please, Mr. Bates, Gnute isn’t a robot at all, is he? — Arline E. Doanc, 47 Common Street, Providence, K. I. scitnct Discussions For square root signs you get a special typewriter — for the calculus of state- ment, try Mace’s “Principles of Logic.” Ley referred to the “Handbook of Chemistry and Physics." Dear Mr. Campbell: Mr. Zollinger seems a bit confused. Per- haps this yrill help. I’m a junior in high school; yon experts please excuse this. First, a theory nunst fit the facts, but facts, not necessarily any theory. According to the Our Graduates Run 47 of ALL the Identification Bureaus in America! Send for complete list of over 600 Bureaus where our groduotes have been placed in good pasitions at FINGER PRINT EXPERTS Then write the nearest Bureau and learn what our graduates think of us! We have space here to list only ft FEW of tliese more than -BOO institutiona. so bft sure to send for the complete list I State of Utah State of Ohio Boston. Mass. New York, N. Y. Pittsburgh. Pa. St. Paul, Minn. Mexico City, Mex. Augusta. Ga. Seattle. Wash. Omaha, Neb. Des Moines, la. Montreal, Can. Schenectady, N. Y. Scranton, Pa. Lincoln. Nab.. Mobile, Ala. Little Rock. Ark. Pontiac, Mich. Havana, Cuba Miami, Fla. Birmingham, Ala. Columbus, Ohio Galveston, Tex. Houston, Tex. Cedar Rapids, Iowa Windsor. Oni State of Michigan State of Wash. State of Mass. State of Illinois State of Idaho State of Colorado State of Iowa Elgin, 111. Syracuse, N. Y. )h Tampa. Fla. r Long Beach. Cal. St. Louis, Mo. Lansing, Mich. Burlington, la. Erie, Pa. Oklahoma City, Okla. Trenton, N. J. Detroit, Mich. El Paso, Tex. Pueblo, Colo. Salt Lake City, Utftll Atlantic City. N. Ju Sioux City, Iowa Rochester. N. Y. Cleveland. Ohio Spokane. Wash. Fort Worth, Tex,.' Shreveport, La. Waltham, Mass, Berkeley. Calif, Paterson. N. J. 1 Want a Regular Monthly Salary Be a Secret Service and Identification Expert! Enjoy the thrill of getting your man— with no personal danger — PLUS a regular monthly paid salary and the opportunity to share in Rewards. Learn at home, in spare time, and at low cost tUo unique secrets of this young, fascinating and fast growing profea- 8ion. You have exactly the same opportunity that was oflfered the hundreds of our graduates who now hold splendid positions in more than 600 institutions. Each of these bureaus lias anywhere from ONE to FIFTEEN of OUT graduates on regular salaries— and nevr openings develop from time to time. Wonderful Opportunity for TRAINED MEN In This Young, Fast Growing Profession. Of the thousands of towns in America, three-fourths are still with- ’ out identification bureaus. Many more are bound to come! That spells OPPORTUNITY. But you must be READY. It's easy to master this profession that combines thrill.s with personal safety AND the security of a steady income. We show you HOW— just an we have already shown the hundreds who now hold good pav positions. ■TDITpf The Confidential Reports Operator r imEib ■ 3S to His Chief. Just rush coupon? Follow this Operator’s exciting hunt for a mur- derous gang. Also, get free, “The Blue Book of Crime.'' shoiviitg the wonderful opportunities in the field of Finger Prints and Ortma Detection. Take your first step TODAY toward a steady incoma and success. Mail coupon NOW! INSTITUTE OF APPLIED SCIENCE 1920 Sunnyside Ave., Dept. 2779, Chicago. INSTITUTE OF APPLIED SCIENCE 1920 Sunnyside Ave., Dept. 2779, Chicago. Gentlemen: With no obligation on my part, send me dential Reports of Operator No. 38. also illustrated Book of Crime,” complete list of bureaus employing graduates, together with your low prices and Easy Terms (Literature will be sent ONLY tp persons stating their Name

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BKASS TACKS AND SCIENCE DISCUSSIONS 159 We beOiUise of certain physical shortcomings of either our sense or our mechanical tools. But it is never insoluble because of its own nature. !t is true that recent studies of the elec- tron show the laws of ordinary mechanics to break down in their case, so that it is impossible to determine as a certainty both the position and velocity of an electron — and in that case, quantum mechanics was invented which .solved the problem nicely, not as a cerlainty, but as a probability. And that is jnst as valid a solution. In fact, it we could invent tools capable of handling a single electron — which we can’t so tar— w^e might reduce the electron to certainty as well. To be more .s[>ecific, psychology seems to occiit>y the same place itr Mr. Bridges’ mind, that organic chemistry did in the mind of the chemist of the early nineteenth century. Then, organic chemistry was considered to he a sj)ccial province of the science, dis- tinct itt its very nature from ordinary pro- saic inorganic chemistry. Organic com- pounds could he created only by living tis- sue, and required a vital force out of reach of ordinary man. I'liat conception w'as blasted pretty thor- oughly. There is today no dividing line at all between organic and inorganic chemis- try. ’I'liere is not a single chemical process or a single chemical law which is unique to either organic or inorganic chemistry. It is true that organic chemistry as a rule is more complicated than inorganic, but that is only because the chemicals themselves are, as a rule, more complicated. It is true that organic chemists cannot control their reac- tions as well as inorganic chemists can con^ trol theirs — as I found out in every organic lab throng'll which I ever siiflfered — but that is only because, in general, orga'nic reactions are a trifle more complicated. The big point is that in all cases the diU ference is only one of degree. It is as easy, theoretically, to synthesize protopla,sm as it is to produce oxygen — because there i.s no chemical principle involved in the one that is not involved in the other^ — but the practi- cal difficulties are greater in the first case, and more time need he taken to solve them. In fact, so nonexistent is the boundary line taitween organic and inorganic today that the only definition of organic chemistry that will hold water is: “Organic chemistry is the chemistry of tlie carbon compound, s.’' The only reason that can he given for pick- ing carbon compounds rather than thallium compounds or germanium compounds for special study is not becaii.se of the connec- tion of carbon compounds with life — organic chemists prefer not to mix the two if they can help it — but simply liecaiise there are so many carbon compounds. Tlie analogy is plain. Substitute for in- organic chemistry and organic chemistry, tlie sciences of chemistry and psychology. Take digestion; it is a simple chemical affair. Food is a me.ss of chemicals; en- zymes are a bunch of proteins; the intestinal tract is a mere semipermeable membrane ruled by definite physico-chemical laws. There is nothing mysterious about it. It is not as easy as A B C and probably never will be, but some day, sup{x»sing science to advance steadily it will be at least as easy as L M N. Now then, why should the proce.s,ses of thought and the nervous system f*e any more mysterious? The cliemieals involved are more complicated. The reactions arc more intricate. Electrical current.s are mixed up in it. But there isn’t a single new principle involved. It is the same old stuff a little further messed-up. Mr. Bridge says “A stimuli applied to a grasshopper may always bring forth the same reaction, but men vary.” I beg your pardon, Mr. Bridges, but men don’t vary — not if it’s the same stimulus under the sa.me conditions. Your point is that men are so comi>licated that the same stimulus can never be applied under exactly the .same conditions. Granted! It remains for psychology to incorporate into the eventual strict law's of mathematical physics and chemistry that wall be developed the effect of any possible change of condition, s upon any given stimulus. And progress won’t stop under tho.se con- ditions. Mathematical psychology may show just exactly why Einstein i.s Ein.stein — but he’ll still be Einstein in spite of that. If you want an analogy — chemistry show.s why hydrogen will burn in oxygen and in chlorine but not in argon, and in spite of that hydrogen continues to burn in oxygen and chlorine and not in argon. In fact, it W'e can understand Einstein and Hitler down to the mathematical whys and where- fores, we might try to boost along a few Einsteins and cut down on a few Hitlers, and progress might really get going. Plea.se respond, Mr. Bridges, if you’re not convinced. Even Tan Poms may be wrong — outside of “Homo Sol” where, as hero, lie is always right. — Isaac Asimov, 174 Wind- sor Place. Brooklyn, New York.

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160 The mystery of Venus’ clouds may have been solved^ — in a way not particularly pleasing to the science- fictionist, at any rate. It begins to appear that Venus, far from being a tropical-jungle planet, is definitely dead — deader than Mars or even the Moon. Venus, in fact, may be a neatly embalmed corpse, preserved in formaldehyde! Spectroscopic work has proven these facts, to date: there’s a per- fectly enormous quantity of carbon dioxide in Venus’ atmosphere. If all Earth’s air were compressed to sea- level density instead of diminishing in density with increase in altitude, the atmosphere would be about five and one half miles deep instead of six hundred miles. The cloud lay- ers on Venus are far above the sur- face of the planet, certainly, so that what we can see of the atmosphere is not the densest part. But the spectroscope shows that there is so much carbon dioxide in the visible part that it alone would make a layer of atmosphere two miles deep under the conditions that would re- duce Earth’s whole atmosphere to five and one half miles. That’s a rather overwhelming amount of car- bon dioxide. Detecting such immense quanti- ties of carbon dioxide isn’t very diffi- cult— the greatest one encountered was in getting a thick-enough layer of carbon dioxide gas here on Earth to check the identification, A tube forty meters long with carbon dioxide at forty times atmospheric pressure had to be constructed be- fore spectrum lines of equal strength could be secured for final proof. The trouble came in spectrum analysis for water vapor and oxygen. flBflintO! It’s simple enough to prove there’s iron in the Sun’s chromosphere. Take a solar spectrum, and there are the lines characteristic of iron — iron vapor in fact. We know with com- plete assurance that there is no boil- ing-hot iron in Earth’s atmosphere, so the iron vapor must be in the Sun, But take a spectrum of Venus, and there are, naturally, wide, strong lines of oxygen and water vapor. All home-grown or not, though,? Cer- tainly some are — Earth’s own atmos- phere, through which that light naturally had to travel, impressed its spectrum on it. The trick is to find some way of pi’oving how much, if any, of the impression was made by Venusian oxygen and water. It can be done in two ways. The Moon has no atmosphere, we know. Therefore, the spectrum of light re- flected by the Moon will show Earth’s oxygen, and that only. Com- paring that result with the spectrum of Venus would bring out any dif- ferences. None have been detected. Secondly, at certain times of the year, Eaiih and Venus are moving relative to each other in the line of sight at many miles a second. The Doppler shift of the spectrum will then shift any spectrum lines origi- nating in Venus to one side of those originating on Earth, and make them separately visible. None have been detected. Our tests are sensitive enough to detect 1/1 000th of the amount present in Earth’s atmos- phere— which means that there is practically no oxygen, certainly, and no tropical humidity in evidence. Assume, as is reasonable, that when Venus cooled from the incan- descence of its birth, it lost most of its hydrogen before it had cooled to

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IGl a point where compounds could form. Further cooling would see the formation of liquid magma, then a crust of rocks, finally the beginnings of seas. Oxygen is the second most active element existent; only the rare and virulently corrosive fluorine can displace it from its compounds readily. No inorganic process of planetary formation could keep oxy- gen free in the atmosphere; in the original formation of planets it goes down in metal oxides, rock oxides, and remains as gaseous carbon and hydrogen oxides, A newly cooled planet of Venus’ size would, then, have small seas and lakes, and an atmosphere of helium, neon and simi- lar inert gases, carbon dioxide and water vapor. Nitrogen might or might not be present; at high tem- peratures metal nitrides form quite readily and can lock away a world’s nitrogen. Now plants, by means of chloro- phyl catalyst, can rapidly convert carbon dioxide and water to carbon organic compounds and free oxygen. Ultraviolet light can do the same,' but much more slowly, forming, as the plant is suspected of forming, formaldehyde — practically nothing but a carbon atom stuck in the mid- dle of a water molecule: H2CO. The reaction of water plus carbon dioxide to formaldehyde plus oxygen is easily reversible. But the reaction of oxygen plus rock to oxidized rocks is not reversible; in the presence of the surface crust, the oxygen pro- duced by the reversible reaction woukl be extracted slowly and steadily as it was formed, and with the oxygen missing, the reaction be- comes irreversible. Also, while formaldehyde itself is a gas, it very rapidly and readily forms a more complex polymer, poly- oxymethjdene, that is a white, pow- dery substance — and that doesn’t re- act as readily in the reverse direction as formaldehyde. Given a planet near the Sun, MY OFFER IS AMAZING Tes— absolutely FREE! $6.00 worth of ac- tual full size padiases of famous Zauol Food, Grocery, and Household Products! I make this e.witing offer to every man and woman who wants to earn money in spare or full time taking orders for more than 200 necessities. Don’t wait. Rush your name and address today and don't send one penny. Nothing to pay us for these products now or any lime. MAKE MONEY EASY: WAY NO EXPERIENCE-SPARE TIME Thousands of men and women everywhere are earning welcome cash easily with my vast line of Home Needs — Coffee, Tea, Spices. Toilet Articles, Soaps, etc. Even without experience you can .MAKE MONEY as my Dealer in your town. I equip you fully with actual products FREE to try and show — and even give you liberal credit. Just see your friends and neighbors witli my thrilling values and Premium Of- fers. amazing Ic Sales, and otiicr Bargain Specials. SEND NO MONEY! Just write today — now — and say you want to make money for yourself witli Zanol Food and Bouselmtd Product.s. niat’s all! Get my big assortment of $6.60 worth of actual full size products FREE! Send no money. But write me TODAY. ZANOL, 1946 Monmouth, Cincinnati, O. START $1260 to $2100 Year Get Ready Now For 1941 Examinations Railway Postal Clerics City Mail Carriers City Postoffice Clerks Clerks At .Washington Stenographers — Typists Messengers Etc. J FRANKLIN INSTITUTE Dopt. L195 Rochester, N. Y. 32 Page Ciril Service Book— FREE Mail Coupon / -.r today— / 3.m6 SURE / y Rush to me, entirely free of charge, 32 page book with: (1) A full de- j5> scription of U. S. Govern- / raent jobs; (2) A list of / U. S. Government Jobs;. (.3) / Tell me how to qualify for a job. / /

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