Astounding v50n04 (1952 12) (Gorgon776)

Page 1

Page 2

STREET & SMITH’S Astounding SCIENCE FICTION DECEMBER 1952 f

Page 3

HADOW THE Sponsored every week over the entire Mutual Broadcasting System by Wildroot Company , /nc., makers of Wildroot Cream-Oil, America’s most popular hair tonic, Lady Wildroot Shampoo and Lady Wildroot Cream Hair Dressing

Page 4

Accountancy Home-Study made interesting and practical thru problem method VOU know as well as we do that Accountancy fits many men' for posi- tions that pay four and six and ten thou- sand dollars a year — gives many other men unusual opportunity to start a profitable growing business of their own. You probably realize also that the accounting profession faces the greatest opportunity it has ever had. The only question is — just how practical is it for you to train yourself adequately in Accountancy through home study? And the answer lies in the LaSalle Prob- lem Method. For this modern plan of training not only makes Accountancy study at home thoroughly practical but makes it interest- ing as well. And here’s how: You Learn by Doing Suppose it were your privilege every day- to sit in conference with the auditor of your company or the head of a successful accounting firm. Suppose every day he were to lay before you in systematic order the various problems he is compelled to solve, and were to explain to you the prin- ciples by which he solves them. Suppose that one by one you were to work those problems out — returning to him every day for counsel and assistance — Granted that privilege, surely your advancement would be far faster than that of the man who is compelled to pick up his knowledge by study of theory alone. Under the LaSalle Problem Method you pursue, to all intents and purposes, that identical plan. You advance by solving problems. Only — instead of having at your com- mand the counsel of a single individual — one accountant — you have back of you the organized experience of a great busi- ness training institution, the authoritative findings of scores of able accounting spe- cialists, the actual procedure of the most successful accountants. Thus — instead of fumbling and blunder- ing—you are coached in the solving of the very problems you must face in the higher accounting positions or in an accounting practice of your own. Step by step, you work them out for yourself — until, at the end of your training, you have the kind of ability and experience for which business is willing and glad to pay real money. One-Tenth of All C.P.A.’s Are LaSalle Trained If you want still more proof, remember that over 3800 C.P.A.’s — approximately one-tenth of all those in the United States who have passed the difficult examination for this coveted degree — are LaSalle alumni. And knowing these facts, ask yourself if there can be any further question about the practicability of this training for you — ask rather if the real question is not about the size of your own ambition and the quality of your determination. For Accountancy is no magic wand for the lazy or the fearful or the quitter — it offers success only to the alert adult who has the courage to face the facts and the will to carry on till the job is done. If you are that individual, the coupon below, filled out and mailed, will bring you free the information that may open up to you the future of which you have dreamed — ability and income and success. Is it not worth getting that information? LASALLE EXTENSION UNIVERSITY A Correspondence Institution 417 S. Dearborn, Dept. H-171 Chicago 5, III. I want to be an accountant. Send me without obliga- tion, "Accountancy, The Profession That Pays." Name .. .Age, . , M „ Address ?»* . . . . , ... . , . , ... . . r, . , ... City , Zone & State

Page 5

yZdtcrUMc/inQ SCIENCE FICTION DECEMBER 1952 VOL. L, NO. 4 NOVELETTE noise level by Raymond F. Jones 7 SHORT STORIES pest by Randall Garrett and Loti Tabakow 44 ME AND FLAPJACK AND THE MARTIANS by Mack Reynolds and Fredric Brown 60 THE IMPACTED MAN ARTICLE THE TINIEST TIME TRAVELER by Robert Sheckley 68 . by David Fox 83 SERIAL the currents of space by Isaac Asimov 104 (Conclusion) READERS’ DEPARTMENTS THE editor s page . . . . IN TIMES TO COME THE REFERENCE LIBRARY BRASSTACKS 6 43 by P. Schuyler Miller 96 164 Adv. Mgr. WALTER J. MC BRIDE Editor Assistant Editor JOHN W. CAMPBELL, JR. KAY TARRANT COVER BY WELKER Illustrations by Orban, Pawelka and van Dongen The editorial contents have not been published before, are protected by copyright and cannot be reprinted without publishers’ permission. All stories in this magazine are fiction. No actual persons are designated by name or character. Any similarity is coincidental. Astounding SCIENCE FICTION published monthly by Street & Smith Publications, Incorporated at 575 Madi- son Avenue, New York 22, New York. Gerald H. Smith, President; Ralph R. Whittaker, Jr., Executive Vice President; Arthur P. Lawler, Vice President and Secretary; Thomas H. Kaiser, Treasurer. Copyright, 1 952, in U. S. A. and Great Britain by Street & Smith Publications, Inc. Entered as Second Class matter at the Post Office, New York, N. Y. Subscriptions $3.50 for one year and $6.00 for two years in United States and Possessions; $4.50 for one year and $7.75 for two years in Canada; $4.75 for one year and $8.00 for two years in Pan American Union, Philippine Islands and Spain. Elsewhere $5.00 for one year and $8.50 for two years. When possible allow four weeks for change of address. Give old address and new address when notifying us. We cannot accept responsibility for unsolicited manuscripts or art work. Any material submitted must include return postage. All subscriptions should be addressed to Subscription Dept., Street & Smith Publications, Incorporated, 304 East 45th Street, New York 17, New York. $3.50 per Year in U. S. A. Printed in the U. S. A. NEXT ISSUE ON SALE DECEMBER 17, 1952 35c per

Page 6

The World’s Standard Conversational Method • Professional and Educational Advancement • Greater Scientific and Business Opportunities • Doubled Travel Enjoyment •Wider Social and Cultural Horizons • Special Assignments in Armed Forces, Government Service Another language helps you "go places" in business, where great opportunities are inter- national; in the armed forces and government agencies, where bi -linguistic ability is needed; in science, travel and cultural achievement, where new adventures await you! AN "ASTOUNDING" FACT You Can Learn Another language in just 20 minutes a day AT HOME! FRENCH • SPANISH • GERMAN • JAPANESE ITALIAN • PORTUGESE • RUSSIAN • HEBREW NORWEGIAN — any of 29 languages — available by Linguaphone — No textbook can teach you to SPEAK Linguaphone is the natural way to learn a language — actually the same way you learned English even before you went to school. You bring a foreign land right into your own home — You hear men and women speak in their native tongue. You listen — you learn , you understand! You speak with correct pronunciation, proper tonal inflection. You learn to read and write — it's all amazingly easy. LINGUAPHONE INSTITUTE • 7912 Radio City, N. Y. STOP Wishing — START Talking FREE book gives fascinating facts about LINGUAPHONE — why it is used internationally by colleges, schools, U.N., I.R.O., government agencies, armed services, and has been the choice of more than one million home study students. Mail coupon TODAY! Course approved for Veterans' Training LINGUAPHONE INSTITUTE 7912 Radio City, N. Y. 20, N. Y. Send me the FREE Linguaphone Book. I want to learn language. for (state purpose) Name. . Address City . . . , Zone State

Page 7

■ R M ■ QUESTION The mystics — who have long dis- played a rather adolescent character- istic of having absolute convictions without soundly developed basis — have sometimes hit some perfect bull’s-eyes. They’ve long held that the physical world is all illusion, for instance. You know, darned if they weren’t right! “ Solid ” matter actually turns out to be just as illusory as they said, But the trouble with them was that their statements didn’t make any sense at all; an idea is useful not just because it’s true, but because you know why it’s true. The mystics have long maintained that Man had something separate, apart from, and different from that which animals have. They called it “soul” — but had no answer to what that was. The scientist says “I don’t know; someday I may find out whether that is valid or not. Until then, I have no statement to make.” That is the only possible conclusion that can be based on true knowledge. 6 The attitude “Man is simply a more complex animal, different in degree but not in kind,” is just as indefensible as the attitude of the mystic — and is, in fact, a mystical attitude itself. Such an attitude insists that the speaker “knows” this to be the case, without any proof of that “knowledge” whatsoever. Which is, of course, the attitude of pure mys- ticism. Actually, the true scientist must recognize that under many circum- stances a difference of degree does, in fact, produce a difference in kind when a certain critical level is reached. For example, one piece of anthracite will not burn in air; therefore a pile of anthracite must be noil-burnable be- cause that is just a more complex case of one-piece-won’t-burn, isn’t it? And by measuring the radioactivity of a 0.1 gram sample of U-235, it might be calculated mathematically that it would be perfectly safe to stand fifteen feet from a seventy-five pound Continued on page 170 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 8

NOISE LEVEL The problem handed them was a nice , simple, clear-cut item: They saw that one man had done the impossible — and they saw, Loo, that they had to duplicate his feat. BY RAYMOND F. JONES Illustrated by von Dongen NOISE LEVEL 7

Page 9

I. Dr. Martin Nagle studied the paint on the ceiling of the outer anteroom of the Office of National Research. After ten minutes he was fairly cer- tain which corner had been painted first, the direction of advance across the ceiling, and approximately how long it had taken. It was a new building and a new paint job, but these facts were evident in the brush marks and brush hairs left in the paint. On the whole, the job was something of an indication of how things were in general, he thought somewhat sadly. He studied the rug. Specifications should have been higher. The manu- facturer undoubtedly operated on the principle of “don’t throw away sec- onds; you can always sell them to the Government.” His watch showed twenty-five min- utes spent in the study of the ante- room. It was all he was going to give it. He picked up his briefcase and top coat and moved toward the door. He almost collided with a gray- suited figure, then backed away in pleasant recognition. “Berk!” The face of Dr. Kenneth Berkeley lighted as he gripped Martin Nagle’s free hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “What are you doing out here in this waiting room, Mart?” “I got invited to some conference with all the top dogs and high brass, but the boys in blue wouldn’t let me in. I was just on the way back to Cali- fornia. But you’re one of the last I expected to meet here. What are you doing, Berk?” “I work in ONR. I’m on this con- ference myself. They sent me out to look for you. Everybody else has arrived.” “I saw the parade from here. Dykstra of MIT, Collins of Harvard, and Mellon from Cal Tech. A high- powered bunch.” “It is. And they’re all waiting on you! Come on. We’ll talk later.” Mart jerked a thumb towards the office opening off the anteroom. “The boys in there seem to have doubts as to whether I can be trusted not to pass things on to the Comrades. I can’t wait around. It’ll probably take sLx weeks to clear me. I thought all that would have been taken care of. Evidently it wasn’t. Give my regards to everybody, and tell Keyes I’m sorry I hadn’t been cleared for classi- fied projects. I guess he didn’t know it.” “No, wait — this is absolutely silly,” said Berk. “We’ve got to have you in there. Sit down and we’ll have this thing cleared in five minutes!” Mart sat down again. He had never worked on any classified projects. The fingerprinting and sleuthing into the past of his colleagues had always seemed distasteful to him. He knew Berk didn’t have a chance now. He’d 8 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 10

seen more than one good man twiddle his thumbs for six months to a year while his dark past was unearthed. Rising voices from the inner office of the FBI agent became audible. Mart caught snatches of Berk’s bari- tone roar. “Utterly ridiculous . . . top drawer physicist . . . electro fields . . . got to have this man — ” After the FBI office there were still the offices of Military Intelli- gence and Naval Intelligence to hur- dle. It was a fantastic triple barrier they had woven about this conference. On coming in he had chuckled at this further evidence of frantic bureaucrats to button up the secrets of nature which lay visible to the whole world. In a moment Berk came striding out, red-faced and indignant. “You stay right there, Mart,” he said furiously. “I’m going to get-Keyes on this thing, and we’ll find out who’s got a right to get into this place besides the janitor!” “Look, Berk — I don’t mind. I don’t think you ought to bother Keyes with this — ” “I’ll be right back. This thing has gone too far.” Mart felt rather foolish. It was not his fault he couldn’t get by the se- curity officers, but that failure in- duced a faint sense of guilt. Berk returned within minutes. With him were two men in uniform, a brigadier general, and a naval cap- tain. With them was Dr. Keyes, Director of ONR. Martin knew him only by reputation — which was very top-drawer indeed. Keyes approached with a direct friendly smile and offered his hand. “I’m very sorry, Dr. Nagle, re- garding this delay. I had no idea that you would be stopped at the se- curity desk. I issued instructions in plenty of time for the conference that everyone invited be properly cleared. Somehow this formality was overlooked in your case. But I am sure that we shall be able to make satisfactory emergency arrangements -within a few moments. If you will wait here while I confer with all these gentlemen — ” They closed the door of the inner office, but Mart could not help strain- ing his ears at the rumble of sounds that filtered through. He caught a phrase in a voice that belonged to one of the security officers :“ . . . De- manded these triple security screens yourself — ” And another from Keyes: “. . . The one man who may be able to crack this thing for us — •” Mart had come reluctantly. His wife had protested, and the two chil- dren had set up a tremendous wail that it might mean no summer vaca- tion at all. He rather wished he had heeded their protests. The moment a man became involved in something so classified it required triple passes from the Army, Navy, and FBI and NOISE LEVEL 9

Page 11

he could say good-by to freedom. He wondered how Keyes had become involved in such a circuitous business. Keyes had done monumental work on electromagnetic radiation. And he wondered, too, what Ken- neth Berkeley was doing here. It was way out of his field. Berk was a top psychologist in the mechanics of learning, and experimental training procedures. It looked to Mart as if both of them were wasting their time in security clearance wrangles. He was not particularly intrigued by the possible magnitude of the problem under consideration. A man sitting by a mountain stream under an open summer sky had the most ponderous problems of nature before him if he chose to consider them. None couched in hush-hush terms behind closed lab doors could have any greater import. At last the door opened. Mart arose. Dr. Keyes led the procession out of the room. All of the men were a little more strained in their expressions than when they went in, but Keyes took Mart’s arm. “It’s all right. You have full clear- ance now. Your papers will be issued and ready when you come out. But let’s get to the conference at once. We’ve kept the others waiting.” As Mart stepped inside the con- ference room he caught his breath involuntarily. Besides the brilliant array of his colleagues in fields closely allied to his own, there was a display of gold splashed uniforms of all mili- tary services. He had quick recogni- tion of several lieutenant generals, vice admirals, and at least one mem- ber of the JCS. Berk ushered him to a seat in the front row. He felt doubly guilty that these men had been kept waiting, although it was no direct fault of his. At the front of the room a projec- tion screen was unrolled on the wall. A sixteen mm. projector was set up near the rear. On a table on the far side a tarpaulin covered some kind of irregular object. Keyes stepped to the front of the room and cleared his throat briefly. “We will dispense with the formal- ity of introducing each of you gentle- men. Many of you are acquainted, professionally or personally, and I trust that all will be before this project is many hours old. “The top classification nature of the material we are about to discuss has been emphasized to you by the triple filter of security officers who have passed upon your admission to this room. That which is discussed here you will properly regard as worthy of protection with your own life, if such an extreme consideration should be forced upon you at some future time.” The military members of the au- dience remained immobile, but Mar- tin Nagle observed an uneasy shifting 10 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 12

among his fellow scientists. All of them were to some degree uncom- fortable in the presence of the military assumption that you could lock up the secrets of nature when they lay all about like shells upon the seashore. But Keyes wasn’t a military man. Mart felt his muscles become a little more rigid as the significance of this penetrated. “Ten days ago,” said Keyes very slowly, “we were approached by a young man, an inventor of sorts, who claimed to have produced a remark- able and revolutionary invention. “His name was Leon Dunning. He had an unusual regard for his own abilities, and expected, apparently, that everyone else would have the same regard on sight. This trait led him to a rather unpleasant presenta- tion of himself. He would talk with no one but the Director of the Office, and made such a nuisance that it became a question of seeing him or calling the police. “His case was drawn to my atten- tion, and I finally chose to see him. He had some rather startling claims. He claimed to have solved the prob- lem of producing an antigravity machine.” Martin Nagle felt a sudden sinking sensation within him — and an im- pulse to laugh. For this he had can- celed the kids’ summer vacation! Maybe it wasn’t too late to get back— He glanced at his colleagues. Dykstra was bending over and rub- bing his forehead to hide the smile that appeared on his lips. Lee and Norcross gave each other smiles of pitying indulgence. Berkeley, Mart noted, was almost the only scientist who did not move or smile. But, of course, Berk was a psychologist. “I see that some of you gentlemen are amused,” continued Keyes. “So was I. I wondered what was the best means of getting rid of this obnoxious crackpot who had forced his way into my office. Again, it was a question of listening until the ridiculousness of his claims became self-evident, or having him thrown out. I listened. “I tried to draw him out regarding the theories upon which his device operated, but he refused to discuss this in detail. He insisted such dis- cussion could be held only after a demonstration of his device. “With a free Saturday afternoon that week, I agreed to watch. Dunning insisted that certain military per- sonnel also be invited and that films and tape recording equipment be available. Having gone as far as I had, I agreed also to this and rounded up some of the gentlemen who are with us this afternoon. “He wanted no other kind of pub- licity, and so we arranged to meet at the small private airfield at the Dover club. That was just one week ago today. He demonstrated. “A small pack was attached to his shoulders by straps. I assisted him in putting it on. It weighed perhaps NOISE LEVEL 11

Page 13

thirty-five or forty pounds. It had no visible means of propulsion such as propeller or jets, and no connection to an external power source. Seeing it, I felt extremely ridiculous for having invited my military guests to such a futile performance. “We stood in a circle about ten feet in diameter around him. When the pack was fastened, he gave us a kind of pitying smile, it seemed, and pressed a switch at his belt. “Instantly, he rose straight up into the air in a smoothly accelerated climb. We spread apart to watch him. At about five hundred feet, he came to a stop and hung motionless for a moment. Then he dropped back down to the center of the circle.” Keyes paused. “I see a variety of expressions on your faces. I presume some of you consider us who observed it as victims of hallucinations or out and out liars. We agreed afterwards that it was very fortunate that Dun- ning insisted on motion pictures of the demonstration. These we have for your inspection. If you will, please — ” He signaled to his assistants. The shades were drawn and the projector at the rear started with a whirr. Mart found himself leaning forward, his hand clutching the desk arm of the chair. This was something he didn’t even want to believe, he thought! On the screen there appeared a scene of the encircling men. In the center, Dunning appeared to be in his 12 late twenties. Mart could detect at once the type that Keyes had de- scribed— a snotty young jerk who knew he was good and figured others better catch on to that real fast. Mart knew the type. You run in to them in senior engineering classes in every school in the country. He watched the circle back from Dunning. There was a clear shot of the alleged inventor standing with the weird pack on his back. He fum- bled a moment with the key switch at his belt, then rose abruptly from the ground. Mart stared. The picture panned up jerkily as the operator evidently re- treated for a longer range view. He watched closely for any sign of emana- tion from the pack. He had to remind himself of the foolishness of looking for such. There was certainly no type of jet that could operate this way. But antigravity — Mart caught a feeling that was a cross between a prickle and a chill moving slowly along the upper length of his spine. The motion on the screen came to a halt. Then slowly Dunning lowered himself to the middle of the circle once more. The screen went dark, and lights flashed on in the room. Mart jerked, as if waking from a hypnotic spell. “We paused at this point,” said Keyes. “Dunning became more talka- tive and discussed somewhat the basic theories of his machine. For this we used the tape recorder he had ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 14

insisted on bringing along. “Unfortunately, the record is so poor due to high noise level and dis- tortion that it is next to unintelligible, but we will play it for you in a moment. “Following the discussion, he agreed to make another demonstra- tion showing an additional factor, horizontal flight control. We’ll have the movie of this, now.” He touched the light button. The scene appeared once more. This time the circle opened at one side and Dunning rose in a rather steep arc and leveled off. Against the back- ground, he seemed about as high as the roof of the hangar beyond. For about a hundred feet he drifted slowly, then accelerated his pace. Mart felt a wholly irrational impulse to laugh. It was Buck Rogers in full attack. Abruptly the screen flared. A puff of light exploded from the pack on Dunning’s back. For a terrible mo- ment he seemed suspended in an attitude of violent agony. Then he plunged like a dropped stone. The camera lost him for an instant, but it caught the full impact of his body on the field. During the fall, he turned over. The pack was beneath him as he crashed. His body bounced and rolled a short way and lay still. Keyes moved to the light switch, and signaled for the raising of the shades. Someone rose to do this. No one else moved. The room seemed caught in a suspension of time. “There you have it, gentlemen,” said Keyes in a quiet voice. “You will begin to understand why you were called here today. Dunning had it — antigravity. Of that we are ab- solutely sure. And Dunning is dead.” He drew a corner of the canvas from the table by the far wall. “The remains of the device are here for your examination. So far, we see only burned and bloody wreckage in it. Under your supervision it will be carefully photographed and disman- tled.” He dropped the cover and returned to the center of the platform. “We went immediately to Dunning’s house with a crew of investigators from ONR assisted by security officers of the services. “Dunning’s quite evident paranoia was carried out in an utter lack of notes. He must have lived in constant fear that his work would be stolen. His laboratory was excellent for a private worker. What his income was we don’t know as yet. “He also had an astonishing library — astonishing in that it covered not only the sciences, but almost every occult field as well. This, too, remains somewhat of a mystery. “We investigated his college back- ground. He appears to have had diffi- culty in getting along at any one college, and attended at least four. His curriculum was as varied as his library. He studied courses in electri- NOISE LEVEL 13

Page 15

cal engineering, comparative religion, advanced astronomy, Latin, the theory of groups, general semantics and advanced comparative anatomy. “We managed to contact about twenty of his instructors and fellow students. Their uniform opinions de- scribe him as paranoid. He was utterly without intimates of any kind. If he communicated his theories to anyone, we do not know about it. “So .the only record we have of the expressions of the man who first de- vised an antigravity machine is this poor quality tape.” He nodded again to the operator at the rear of the room. The latter turned on the recorder whose output was fed to a speaker on the table in front. At once the room was filled with a hissing, roaring garble. The sound of planes taking off — the everyday noise of the airport. Beneath the racket was the dead man’s voice, a thin, rather high-pitched sound carrying through the background noise a tone of condescension and impatient tol- erance. Mart listened with ears strained to make sense of the garble. His eyes caught Berk’s and reflected his de- spair of ever getting anything out of the mess. Keyes signaled the operator. “I see that you are impatient with this recording, gentlemen. Perhaps there is no purpose in playing it in this conference. But each of you will 14 be given a copy. In the privacy of your own laboratories you will have oppor- tunity to make what you can of it. It is worth your study simply because, as far as we know, it contains the only clues we possess.” Mart raised a hand impatiently. “Dr. Keyes, you and the others at the demonstration heard the original discussion. Can’t you give us more than is on the tape?” Keyes smiled rather bitterly. “I wish that we could, Dr. Nagle. Un- fortunately, at the time it seemed that the semantic noise in Dunning’s explanation was as high as the engi- neering noise on the tape. We have however, filled in to the best of our recollection on the written transcript, which we will give you. “This transcript gives what has been pieced together by phonetic experts who have analyzed the tape. Observers’ additions are in paren- theses. These were added only if all observers agreed independently, and may or may not be accurate. Is there any other question?” There were, they all knew, but for the moment the impact seemed to have stifled the response of the whole audience. . Keyes took a step forward. “I wonder if there is any one of you who underestimates the seriousness of this problem now. Is there anyone who does not understand that this secret must be regained at all cost? “We know that within the field of ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 16

present knowledge there lies the knowledge necessary to conquer grav- ity— to take us beyond the Earth, to the stars, if we wish to go. “We know that if one young Amer- ican could do it, some young Russian could also. We have to duplicate that work of Dunning’s. “The full facilities of ONR are at your disposal. Access to Dunning’s laboratory and library and the re- mains of his machine will be granted, of course. Each of you has been selected, out of all whom we might have called, because we believed you possess some special qualification for the task. You cannot fail. “We will meet again this evening, gentlemen. I trust you understand now the necessity for absolute se- curity on this project.” II. A long time afterwards, Martin Nagle recalled that he must have been in a partial stupor when he left that conference room. He felt a vague and unpleasant sensation about his head as if it had been beaten repeatedly with a pillow. He and Kenneth Berkeley went out together. They paused only long enough to make polite greetings to his fellow physicists whom he had not seen for a long time. But he was in a hurry to leave. To get rid of that feeling in his head. In front of the ONR building he NOISE LEVEL 15

Page 17

stopped with his hands in his pockets and looked over the unpleasant gray of the city’s buildings. He could close his eyes and still see a man rising straight up into the air — soaring at an angle — dropping like a plummet. All at once he realized he hadn’t even stopped to examine the remains of the instrument under the tarpaulin. He turned suddenly on Berkeley. “The psychology of this thing — is that where you’re in on it, Berk? ” His companion nodded. “Keyes called me in when he wanted an in- vestigation into Dunning’s past. I’m staying, I guess.” “You know it’s impossible, don’t you?” said Mart. “Utterly and com- pletely impossible! There’s nothing in our basic science to explain this thing, let alone duplicate it.” “Impossible? Meaning what?” “Meaning that I’ve got to . . . that everyone of us has got to shift gears, back up, retrace who knows how far — twenty years of learning — five hundred years of science? Where did we go off the track? Why was it left to a screwball like Dunning to hit it right?” “He was an odd character,” mused Berk. “Astrology, mysticism, levita- tion. There’s quite a bit in the tape about levitation. That’s not so far removed from the concept of anti- gravity at that, is it? ” Mart made a rough noise in his throat. “I expect to hear any moment that his first successful flight was 16 aboard a broomstick.” “Well, there’s quite a bit of lore about broomsticks — also magic car- pets and such. Makes you wonder how it all got started.” The shock was slow in wearing down. Martin returned to the hotel after the evening conference, which was spent mostly in examination of the wreckage. It was as Keyes had said, hopeless. But there was an indefinable some- thing about gazing upon the remains of what had been the realization of an impossible dream. Mart felt a kind of frantic yearning to reach out and touch that mass and convert it back to the instrument it had once been by sheer force of will. As if be- lieving it possible would make it so. And wasn’t there some essence of truth in this, he thought? Dunning had believed it could be done and had done it. Reputable men in science didn’t believe such things possible — Now, in his hotel room, Mart sat on the edge of the bed looking out the window and across the night lights of the city. There were certain things you had to accept as impossible. The foundation of science was built upon the concept of the impossible as well as the possible. Perpetual motion. The alchemist’s dream — as the al- chemist dreamed it, anyway. Antigravity— All man’s experience in attempting ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 18

to master nature showed these things could not be done. You had to set yourself some limitations. You had to let your work be bounded by cer- tain Great Impossibles or you could spend a lifetime trying to solve the secret of invisibility or of walking through a brick wall. Or trying to build a magic carpet. He stood up and walked to the win- dow. There had been growing all afternoon a sense of faint panic. And now he identified it. Where could you draw the line? It had to be drawn. He was sure of that. It had been drawn once before, quite definitely. In the 1890s they had dosed the books. Great minds believed then that science had en- compassed the universe. All that was not known belonged to the Great Impossibles. Then had come radium, the Roent- gen tube, relativity, cosmic rays. The line vanished. Where was it now? A few hours ago he would have said he could define it with fair ac- curacy. Tonight he did not know. He went to bed. After an hour he got up and called Kenneth Berkeley. The clock said almost midnight. It didn’t matter. “Berk,” he said into the phone. “Mart. I’ve just been thinking. The whole crowd will be going through Dunning’s lab and his library. What’s the chance of you getting me out there first thing in the morning? Just the two of us. I’d like to beat the crowd.” “I think I can arrange it,” said Berk. “Keyes wants each of you to work as you wish. I’ll tell you more about that tomorrow. I’ll call you as early as I can.” It rained during the night, and when Berk called for Mart in his car, the city was dismal with fog, lessening even further the reality surrounding them. “Keyes wasn’t much in favor of this,” said Berk as they drove away from the hotel. “It’s liable to make some of the others mad, but frankly, I’m sure he’s convinced that you’re the member of the class most likely to succeed.” Mart grunted. “Least likely, I’d say. I’m not sure that I’m convinced yet that Dunning didn’t have some terrific joker in here somewhere.” “I know what you mean, but you will. It comes gradually. And easier for you. You’re the youngest of the group. Keyes thinks some of the older men may spend all their time proving Dunning couldn’t do it. How do you feel about that? Is that the way you’re heading, or are you going to try to find out what Dunning did?” “Anything a jerk like Dunning can do, Nagle can do double — once Nagle is convinced that Dunning did it.” Berk threw back his head and laughed. “Keyes will love you, boy. He’s been afraid he wouldn’t find a single top John in the country who 17 NOISE LEVEL

Page 19

would really try.” Dunning’s place was in the shabby, once fashionable sector of town where the owners of the gingerbread mon- sters were no longer able to meet the upkeep or sell them to anyone who was. It had been learned that the house actually belonged to an uncle of Dunning, but so far he had not been located. A guard was on duty at the front entrance. He nodded as Berk and Mart showed their passes. “Dunning’s laboratories and shops are on the first floor,” said Berk. “Upstairs, is his library. He slept in one of the third floor bedrooms, but the rest are vacant. A lot of cooking seemed to have been done in the back kitchen. He left a well stocked larder. Where do you want to start? ” “A quick look through the labs to begin. I want to get the feel of the layout.” On the right of the entrance hall- way, they came into a small but ex- tremely well equipped chemistry lab- oratory. The place seemed well used, but immaculate. A complex frac- tionating setup was on the worktable. “Almost the only piece of writing in the whole place was found on a small pad here,” said Berk. “A bit of scratch work computation without any formulas or reactions.” Mart grunted and moved on to the adjacent room. Here was the more familiar hodgepodge of the electronic experimenter, but even in this there was instantly apparent the mark of a careful workman. Breadboard layouts were assembled with optimum care. Test leads were carefully made of rubber covered or shielded wire and equipped with clips instead of being the usual random lengths of colored connecting wire hastily stripped and tied to a terminal. A sizable bank of rack and panel mounted equipment was not recog- nizable at once as to function. It ap- peared to be a setup that might be- long to any careful experimenter who had no regard for his bank account. This would need further study, but Mart continued moving through to the next room, a machine shop, as well equipped for its functions as the previous rooms. A six-inch lathe, a large drill press, and a milling machine were the chief items. Mart whistled softly as he stood in the middle of the room and looked back the way they had come. “When I was a kid in high school,” he said, “this is exactly the kind of a place I thought Heaven would be.” “And it had to belong to a person like Dunning, eh?” said Berk with a slow smile. Mart turned sharply. His voice became low and serious. “Berk — * whatever Dunning may have been, he was no jug-head. A paranoid, maybe, but not a jug-head. He could do things. Look at this.” 18 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 20

He picked up a weird looking as- sembly from a nearby table and held it up in the light. It gleamed with a creamy sheen. A silver plated bit of high frequency plumbing. “That’s beautiful,” said Mart. “There’re not more than three or four university shops in the whole country that can turn out a piece like that. I’ve had to fight for weeks to get our machinists to come up with anything that complex and then it would be way out of tolerance.” He hefted the piece of plumbing lightly. He knew it was just right. It had the feel of being made right. Berk led the way across the hall. He opened the door for Mart. There, against the walls of the room, were panels of a compact digital computer, and on the other side an analogue computer. “But you haven’t seen anything yet,” said Berk. “The surprise of your life is upstairs.” Gravity was a force, Mart thought as he climbed the stairs. You only lick force with force — -in the world of physics, at least. In politics and hu- man relations, force might yield to something more subtle, but if Dun- ning had licked gravity it was with some other — and presently known — • force. Physics was at least aware of every force that existed. There were no gaps except perhaps the one tem- porarily occupied by the elusive neutrino. Dunning’s machine was ingenious. But it could be nothing but a clever application of well known laws and forces. There was no miracle, no magic in it. Having decided this on a slow, verbal basis, Mart felt some- what more at ease. He followed Berk into the library. There was not simply one room of it, but an entire suite had been con- verted and shelved. There were cer- tainly several thousand volumes in the place. “This is the one that may interest you most.” Berk stepped into the nearest room on his left. “A is for Astrology,” he said. He gestured toward a full section of shelving. Mart scanned the titles: “Astrology for dhe Novice,” “Astrology and the Infinite Destiny,” “The Babylonian Way,” “The Course of the Stars.” He hopefully pulled the latter vol- ume from the shelf against the possi- bility it might be an astronomy text. It wasn’t. He quickly put it back with its fellows. “Well read, too,” said Berk. “We examined quite a number and they have copious notations in Dunning’s handwriting. This may be the one place we can find real clues to his thinking — in such marginal notes.” Mart waved a hand in violent rejection of the somber volumes and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “Junk!” he muttered. “This has no bearing on Keyes’ problem at all, of course. But it certainly ought to be a problem of interest to you. NOISE LEVEL 19

Page 21

“A guy would need two separate heads to hold an interest in the things downstairs and in this nonsense at the same time.” “But Dunning had only a single headj” said Berk quietly. “Maybe it’s all part of a whole that we don’t see — and that Dunning did.” Mart pursed his lips and looked at the psychologist. “I’m serious,” said Berk. “My field is primarily the human mind, and only secondarily the subjects with which the mind deals. But we see in Dunning a single mind that can whip the matter of antigravity, that can hold an interest in the fields represented by the laboratories below, and can digest the material of this library. “Now, actually, there is no true schizophrenia. In the skull of each of us is only a single individual, and anyone examined closely enough can be found to have a remarkably con- sistent goal, no matter how apparently erratic his activities. “Perhaps much of the material Dunning found in both the library and in the laboratory proved re- dundant, but I would say that Dun- ning’s genius apparently lay in his ability to extract relevant material from the redundant without cata- gorically rejecting entire areas of human thought.” Mart smiled tolerantly and turned away. He found himself facing a section of shelves covered with works on East ’Indian Philosophy. Six or eight feet of space was devoted to the subject of Levitation. Mart jabbed a finger at the titles. “Anything those boys can do by hocus-pocus Nagle can do twice as fast by x’s and y’s and by making electrons jump through hoops.” “That’s all Keyes wants. How soon can you deliver? ” III. After lunch, they returned to ONR. Mart was assigned an office and given a copy of the Dunning tape. He put aside the prepared transcript, as Keyes had suggested, and prepared to listen, unbiased. He turned on the recorder and winced at the garble of sound that blared forth again. With one hand on tKe volume control he rested his chin on his arm in front of the speaker and strained to hear through the noise the scarcely audible voice of Dunning. Near the beginning, he caught the word “levitation” mentioned many times. There was a full phrase, “levi- tation which was first successfully demonstrated to the Western world by the English medium — .” The buzz of a plane cut off the rest of it. Mart rewound the tape and listened to that much of it again. At each mention of levitation an image flared up in Mart’s mind. An image of a dirty, scrawny Indian fakir equipped with a filthy turban, a coil of rope ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 20

Page 22

over one arm, and a basket with a snake in the other hand. But Dunning had produced anti- gravity. What semantic significance had he found in the word? Mart growled to himself in irrita- tion and let the tape run on. There was nothing more in those first few feet of it. He perked up his ears at a phrase “earth effect” separated by a garble from “distribution of sunspots unexplained to date by astronomers, and politely ignored by all experts — .” It struck a faint bell of recollection in Mart’s mind. He scratched a note on a pad to check on it. The sound dissolved again to hissing and roaring, through which the dead man seemed to taunt him. He gath- ered that much talk was on the sub- ject of “planetary configurations — .” Astrology. He groaned aloud and closed his eyes through a compara- tively long stretch of audibility: “Magnetic storms on Earth predicta- ble through movements of the planets in terms of quadrature -—fields of data observed through thousands of years and do not fit explanations now ac- cepted for other phenomena.” It shifted apparently, after many minutes, to comparative religion. “ Galileo and Newton,” Dunning said, “affected man’s thinking more than they knew. They clipped from re- ligion its miracles and from physics its imagination ... of India there’s more conquest of the physical uni- verse than in a score of American re- search laboratories.” And that was the last of it. The tape fizzled out in a long garble of buzzing planes and faulty recording. Mart turned off the machine. That was it. The mind and work of the first man to directly conquer gravity ! With an almost physical weariness he turned to the transcript and scanned through it. There was more, but it was astonishing how little addi- tional information was actually added from the memories of the original observers. Mart supposed Dunning’s words were such a shock to those military and scientific minds that they were stunned into semi-perma- ment amnesia in respect to the things he said. He leaned back in the chair, sum- ming up what he had heard. Dun- ning’s thesis seemed to be that much sound data had been excluded by conventional scientists from standard theories. The dead man had believed much of this data could be found and explained in the various realms of astrology, East Indian mysticism, movements of sunspots, the levitation of mediums, and a host of other un- orthodox areas. Where was the thread of rational thought that could find its way through this? He closed his eyes again, trying to feel for a starting point. There came a knock on the door, and a voice. “May I come in, Dr. NOISE LEVEE 21

Page 23

Nagle?” It was Keyes. Mart rose and offered a chair. “I have just finished the tapes and transcription. There is very little to go on.” “Very little indeed,” said Keyes. “When you were a youngster entering a contest for the first time you had a feeling for it. You know what I mean. It’s in your throat and chest, and in your stomach. It goes all the way through your legs to your toes. “It’s the feeling of your entire organism — a feeling that you haven’t got a chance to win — or that you are going to aquit yourself to the maxi- mum ability within you, regardless of the strength of others. Do you under- stand me?” • Mart nodded. “What kind of a feeling do you have about this, Dr. Nagle?” Mart relaxed and leaned back with his eyes half closed. He understood Keyes. He had gone through the range of all possible feelings since yesterday afternoon. Which one of them had remained with him? “I can do it,” he said quietly to Keyes. “I could wish for more data, and I’m not wholly in sympathy with Dunning’s approach. But I can ex- amine the data he had, and re-examine the data I have. And I can- do it.” “Good!” Keyes stood up. “That’s what I came in to find out. And your answer is what I hoped to hear. You may expect that your reaction is not quite universal among your colleagues, 22 although ‘ I feel all will co-operate. But some of them will be licked before they start, because they will feel, and persist in feeling that the thing ought not to be.” Dr. Kenneth Berkeley had never ceased to wonder at the constitution of man. When he was very young he had wondered why some of his fellows believed in fairies, and others did not. He wondered why some could believe the moon was made of green cheese, and others were equally sure it could not be so. He grew to wonder intensely just how man knew anything for sure, and that long road of wonder led to the present moment of his status as fellow in psychology at ONR. He was grateful for the privilege of being on this project under the leadership of Dr. Keyes. Keyes ap- preciated more than any other physi- cist that he had known the importance of the fact that an individual is a man first and a scientist second — that there is no true objectivity in science. There is no divorcing the observer from the observed, and every scien- tific theory and law, no matter how conscientiously propounded and ob- jectively proved is nevertheless col- ored by the observer. Berkeley was intrigued by the study of the physicists’ reactions to the situation in which Dunning’s dis- covery and death had placed them. Martin Nagle had reacted approxi- ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 24

mately as Berkeley expected. They had known each other well during undergraduate days in college, drift- ing apart later as their professions diverged. Through the day Berkeley con- ducted the rest of the scientists through the house. A number of them had made requests to go privately as Mart had done. Others went in groups of three or four. But by the end of the day all had visited the place except Professor Wilson Dykstra. During the first day, Dykstra con- fined himself to a study of the tape and transcription. He did not present himself for a visit to the Dunning house until the following morning. Berk called at his hotel. He kept the psychologist waiting fifteen minutes before he finally appeared through the revolving doors. Dykstra was a small, round man in his late sixties, owlish in heavy framed glasses. His jutting lower lip seemed to signify his being perpetually on the defensive, as if he couldn’t believe the world were really as he saw it. But Berk knew he was a great man in his own field. He had contributed much to the elucidation of Einstein’s work in relation to gravity, which was the reason for his being invited to participate in the project. The sky was threatening, and Dykstra clutched a black umbrella to his chest as he emerged from the hotel. Berk waited with the car door open. “Good morning, Dr. Dykstra. It looks as if we’ll -be alone this morning. Everyone else took a visit to Dun- ning’s yesterday.” Dykstra grunted and got in. “ That’s the way I wanted it. I spent a full day yesterday going over that ridicu- lous tape recording.” Berk moved the car out into the line of traffic. He had rather felt from the very first that the project could get along just as well without Dykstra. “Were you able to derive anything at all from it? ” “I have reached no conclusion as yet, Dr. Berkeley. But when I do, I do not believe it is going to be that young Dunning was the unadulterated genius some of you people consider him. Surely you, a psychologist, can understand the type of mind that would produce such a mixture of un- related and irrelevant, not to say mythological material ! ” “There are many strange things about the human mind, which we do not know,” said Berk. “One of the least understood is the point at which genius ends and nonsense begins.” “In physics the march is steadily upward! We have no doubt as to which way lies progress.” Berk let that one ride. A man who saw in the world such terrible sim- plicity might ultimately find Dun- ning’s mystery completely transparent. He cofildn’t risk that possibility by arguing. NOISE LEVEL 23

Page 25

They drew up to the old mansion Dunning had occupied. Dykstra sur- veyed it from the car. “The kind of a place you would expect,” he grunted. It was difhcult to estimate what was going on in the physicist’s mind as he came into the laboratories. In the first room he scanned the shelves of reagents. He took down a dozen bottles and examined their labels closely. Of some he removed the stoppers and sniffed cautiously, then replaced them all on 'the shelf in mild disdain. He spent a long time examining the fractionating setup in the center of the room. He spotted the pad of computations left there and drew an old envelope from his pocket and did some comparison scribbling. In the electronics room he turned to look through the doorway. “Why would any man want two such labora- tories as these? ” His inspection was much more thorough than that of any of the others, including Martin Nagle. Berk supposed that Mart and many of the others would be back, but Dykstra was going through with a fine toothed comb the first time. He poked through the machine shop. “Well equipped,” he muttered, “for a man who likes to tinker.” 24 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 26

But he was highly impressed by the computer room. He examined the settings of the instruments and the chart papers. He opened every desk drawer and shuffled through the scat- tering of papers inside. Red-faced, he turned to Berk. “This is absurd! Certainly there would be charts, papers, or something showing the man’s calculations. These instruments are not here for show; they’ve obviously been used. Someone has removed the computational ma- terial from this room ! ” “It’s just as we found it,” said Berk. “We don’t understand it any better than you.” “I don’t believe it,” said Dykstra flatly. The reaction of the physicist to the library was the Thing Berk was most interested in. He let Dykstra look at will over the strange and exotic col- lection of volumes. At first Dykstra reacted like a sud- denly caged animal. He ran from the shelves of mythology, got a glance at the section on astrology, hurried from there to the books on faith- healing, and made a spiral turn that brought him up against the region of material on East Indian philosophy. “What is this,” he bellowed hoarsely, “a joke?” The pudgy figure seemed to swell visibly with indignation. “The next room would interest you most, perhaps,” said Berk. Dykstra almost ran through the adjoining door as if escaping some devil with whom he had come face to face. Then, catching sight of the titles here, he began to breath easily and with an audible sighing of relief. He was among friends. With an air of reverence, he took down a worn copy of Weyl’s “Space Time Matter,” and a reissue of the relativity papers. “It isn’t possible,” he murmured, “that Dunning owned and under- stood both of these libraries.” “He understood and conquered gravity,” said Berk. “And this is the place in which he did it. This is the last of the clues we have to show you.” Dykstra put the books carefully back on the shelves. “I don’t like it.” He glanced back to the other room as if it were a place of terror. “There’s something wrong,” he murmured. “Antigravity! Whoever heard of such a thing? And how could it come out of a place like this? ” IV. That afternoon, they met again in conference. There was agreement that they would tackle the problem. Only Professor Dykstra exhibited a con- tinuing belligerence toward the affair, yet he made no move to withdraw. Full co-operation of military facili- ties were pledged by the representa- tives of the services. The center of investigation was to be at ONR, however, with branching research NOISE LEVEL 25

Page 27

wherever needed. No ope had conceived even a tenta- tive starting point which he cared to discuss with his colleagues. Most of them had spent the morning re-read- ing the relativity papers and staring at the ceiling of their respective offices. They agreed to work as loosely or as closely as the problem demanded. Until some working program could be initiated by some of them, it was decided to hold daily seminars to try to spark each other into creative thought. A minor honor came to Mart in his election as chairman of the semi- nar. It gave him uneasiness because he was junior in age and profession to all of them. But his eminence in electro-fields made him a likely co- ordinator of the project. Mart selected a representative sam- ple from the occult section of Dun- ning’s library and took it to his own office. He settled down amid an aura of astrology, spiritualism, mysticism, religion, sunspot data, and levitation. He had no specific purpose, only to expose his own mind to the atmos- phere in which Dunning had operated. Dunning had found the goal. The tracks he walked in had to be located, no matter where they were picked up. Some of the stuff was boring, much could be nothing but sheer delusion. Yet his dogged pursuit left him in- trigued by some of the material. The reports on poltergeism at Leander fcastle near London, for example. They were well reported. Independent cross references verified each other very well. The works on levitation were far more difficult to credit. There was a hodgepodge about purification of the body and the soul, of reaching assorted states of exalta- tion above the ordinary degree of mortal. Yet levitation had occurred, ac- cording to reports of witnesses who might not be considered too un- reliable. And what did this have to do with religion — in which Dunning had had tremendous interest, to judge by the notations he made? There were miracles in religion, Mart reflected. Antigravity was a miracle. Miracle: that which is considered impossible and which cannot be dupli- cated by the observers, even after it has been seen. In scientific law there is a differ- ence. It can be applied by anyone with sufficient IQ. But the worker of miracles does not come out of the laboratory or halls of learning. He rises spontaneously out of the mountains or out of the wilderness, and gathers novices who seek with all their hearts to equal the Master. But they never do. Always there is a difference. The magic of miracles seems unteachable. It has its own spontaneous majesty, or is nothing but old-fashioned hoodwinking. There 26 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 28

seemed, to Mart, no in-between. Antigravity. Was it natural law, or miracle? Had Dunning found the bridge that made only a single category of the two? Or was he a performer of mira- cles, whose art could not be taught, but would arise spontaneously, full blown? Mart slammed the books shut and pushed them to the rear of the desk. He pulled a scratch pad out of the drawer and began penciling furiously the basic Einstein equations. By the end of the first week there was little to report. The daily seminars had been held, but outside of re- educating each other in the exotic concepts of the relativity world they had achieved nothing. Or so it seemed to Mart. Keyes seemed quite pleased, however, and Berk mentioned that they should be congratulated on their progress. As if they had taken a major step for- ward in merely meeting and agreeing to undertake the project. And maybe they had, Mart thought. He found himself in difficulty as chairman of the seminar. Invariably, in such a group there is a member who undertakes to educate his col- leagues anew in all the basic sciences. In this case, it was made doubly diffi- cult because the self-appointed in- structor was Professor Dykstra. That he was capable of teaching them a good deal, there was no ques- tion. But on the Saturday at the end of this first week he arose with a par- ticularly triumphant expression and strode to the blackboard where he began scrawling his barely legible chicken marks. “I have achieved the thing for which I have been looking, gentle- men,” he said. “I am able to show that no such instrument as we have had described to us is possible without a violation of Dr. Einstein’s postulate of equivalence. If we admit the cor- rectness of this postulate — as we all do, of course — then you will see from Equation One that — ” Mart stared at — and through — the equations that Dykstra had scrawled. He listened with half an ear. It looked and sounded all right. But something had to be done about Dykstra. Dykstra was wrong — even with his equations being right. Where was it, thought Mart. It was something you couldn’t name or scarcely define. Maybe it was in th e. feeling that Keyes talked about, the feeling that goes all through you down to your toes. He knew what Dykstra ’s feeling was, all right. It touched him like the prox- imity of a thousand-ton refrigeration unit going full blast. Dykstra thought they were fools to be monkeying with this project, and remained with it only because he considered it his sol- emn duty to show them this irrefuta- ble fact. He was dragging the feet of the whole group. But in spite of him, all NOISE LEVEL 27

Page 29

the rest were pulling in the other direction, Mart knew. In this week, they had all achieved an acceptance of the validity of Dunning’s accom- plishment. And that, after all, was something of an achievement, he decided. In Mart’s vision, the equations on the board became surrounded by fuzzy signs of the Zodiac. Dykstra had completed his argument and Mart stood up. “Since you have presented us with such elegant proof of your thesis, doctor,” he said, “and since we have all become aware of the reality of Dunning’s accomplishment, the only conclusion we can make is that the basic premise is at fault. I would say you have submitted very excellent reasons for doubting the validity of the postulate of equivalence!” Dykstra stood a moment as if he could not believe his ears. He turned to his seat indecisively as if trying to make up his mind to ignore or answer the statement. Finally, he grew red and his body seemed to swell as heJaced Mart. “My dear Dr. Nagle, if there is anyone in this room who does not understand that the postulate of equivalence has been established be- yond any possibility of refutation I would suggest that he resign from this project immediately!” Mart restrained a grin, but warmed to his subject. He had no purpose but to needle Dykstra, and yet — “Seriously, doctor — and I throw this out to all of you: What would happen if the postulate of equivalence were not true? “You’ve been as shocked as I by the items from Dunning’s library, but I would like to ask: What is the significance of the postulate of equiv- alence in the accomplishment of the medium who is able to rise unsup- ported from a couch, in what is cer- tainly a well authenticated instance of levitation? “Why is the literature of the East so full of material on levitation? I think Dunning asked that question and got some sensible answers. If the postulate of equivalence doesn’t fit those answers, perhaps we had better re-examine the postulate. As a matter of fact, if we ever expect to duplicate Dunning’s work, we will have to ex- amine every postulate we’ve got that pertains in any way to gravity.” Professor Dykstra abandoned what he considered had become a disorderly argument. He resumed his seat with a grandiose appeal to the equations on the board. Unexpectedly, Jennings, a thin dry man from Cal Tech took the floor. “I agree wholeheartedly with Dr. Nagle,” he said. “Something 'has been happening to me this past week. I see it in most of you, also, whether you are aware of it or not. “By the age of forty the average research physicist seems to acquire an 28 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 30

intuitive ability to fend off anything that doesn’t jibe with the Laws as he knows them. “Then we become heads of de- partments while the younger fellows come along and assimilate the data that didn’t fit in our generation, and get credited with the discoveries we have passed over. “We seem to establish a sort of gateway in our minds, floodgates if you will, through which the mass of physical universe data flows. As we become older and more learned we adjust the setting of this gate to the point -where nothing new can be trapped behind it. We cling to that which we had in our youth and abruptly we are creatures of history. “I feel the experiences of the past week have jarred my mental flood- gates on their very hinges. Once more, I feel able to accept and retain data which I have not encountered before. I think Dr. Nagle is right. We have to re-examine all we have learned to this point concerning gravity. If any factors of East Indian lore or spirit- ualism prove relevant, I do not think Physics will be shattered to its founda- tions if we assimilate such data. “We cannot escape the fact that one man solved antigravity. Eight days ago not one of us would have admitted the possibility. Today we are charged with the responsibility of moving forward in time and catch- ing up with it.” Mart was tired after that seminar. It became^a stormy affair. There seemed a kind of anger submerged not far below the surface of each of them. An anger at themselves for hav- ing been on the wrong track for so long, a kind of diffused rage at the whole physical universe for playing such tricks when asked a straight- forward question. More than one had balked at Mart’s drastic suggestion. Sanders had said, “. . . and there can be no revision of the postulate of equivalence. Any data which indicates it automatically leaves the observer of that data suspect.” Mart called Kenneth Berkeley’s office as soon as the seminar was ended. “Hi, Berk,” he said. “Yeah — how’s it coming? I’ve been wanting to get over your way the last couple of days. I haven’t noticed any of you boys moving out into the machine shops yet. I suppose you are still in the paper-work stage.” “We haven’t got there , yet,” mut- tered Mart. “I have more important things than antigravity to discuss with you. How are you set up for a couple of days’ fishing? ” “Fishing? I could probably make it. All work and no play and that sort of thing — I don’t need to remind you, of course, of the need for top speed on this Project Levitation — ” “I’m going fishing,” said Mart. “You coming along or not?” NOISE LEVEL 29

Page 31

“ I’m coming. I can get the loan of a cabin on the best trout stream the other side of Fulton’s Fish Market. When will you be ready? ” “I’ll have to rent some gear. If you know a good place, I can be ready in an hour and we can pick it up on the way.” “I’ll have to check my own gear, provided Judith hasn’t thrown it out in the last three years since I used it. It’s about a two hundred mile drive. W e can make it by midnight.” Mart and Berk had done a good deal of fishing together one summer following their Junior year. They had spent much of that year and all of the summer settling the abstruse prob- lems of the Universe with quite divergent results. At the end of the summer Mart had been of the total conviction that life was wholly soluble in terms of the external world. If a man had some- thing good and useful to do in shaping the world to his own dream, he would be a sane and happy man. Berk had arrived at' the opposite pole in the conviction that man’s life lay within the thin shelter of his own skin. Now each of them had moved a good way towards the other’s camp. Mart thought of this as they drove through the night. He reminded Berk of it. “ If the world were as college Juniors See it, all our troubles would be over,” said Berk. “There is probably no 30 time in a man’s life when he is so com- pletely of a single minded point of view.” “I don’t know. There’s Dykstra. He hasn’t changed an opinion since he was a Junior. He’s going to prove Dunning didn’t have antigravity or bust. He knows it can’t be done.” “How about the others?” “This week has been a period of metamorphosis. They’ve changed. We’re where we can do some work, now.” There was a caretaker on the property Berk had borrowed. Fie had things ready when the two men ar- rived. Mart determined to put every- thing connected with ONR out of his mind while he was there. He sat down and wrote a letter home, which helped in that direction. In the morning he arose in the clear mountain air, and to the enor- mous song of birds in the pines beyond the house, and he felt that he had truly forgotten all else but this. The smell of bacon and eggs floated in from the kitchen as he met Berk out- side the door. “It’s nice to know a psychologist who knows a millionaire. Could we have had breakfast in bed if we had ordered it? ” Berk laughed. “Not on your life. Wait till Joe gets you out in the woods. Then you’ll see how much coddling you’ll get.” “Let’s not take him along,” said Mart. “I’d like to be alone as much ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 32

as possible.” “Sure. Joe won’t mind. He’s the one who knows all the good fishing holes, though — ” “The fish don’t matter,” said Mart. The forest was moist with dew, and • the pre-dawn chill remained in the ravines through which they descended towards the river. It was still shad- owed by the mountains here, and quiet except for the few birds who had not abandoned its gray light for the pink tipped hills above. Mart knew at once that this was what he needed. He donned the hip boots and tested the spring of the new glass rod he had rented. “I guess I’m old-fashioned,” he said. “I like the feel of the old ones better.” “I’m still using mine,” said Berk. “Matter of fact, I believe it’s the same one I had the last summer we were together.” They sloshed out into the water a little way above a quiet pool. It wasn’t wide enough for both of them there, so Mart moved along upstream. “Some guy published an article the other day,” he said, “in which he claimed the average time of catching a fish in a stream like this is two hours and nineteen minutes. Didn’t we do better than that?” “Seems like we did a lot better. If we don’t, we’ll have to get Joe to make a lunch today.” They did considerably better. By noon, Mart had six and Berk had seven good trout. “I’ll write the fish researcher a letter,” said Mart, “and your family will eat trout for a week.” After lunch they sat with their backs against a tree on the bank and watched the water flowing past. “Have you got any attack on the project at all?” said Berk. Mart told him about the last semi- nar. “Dykstra may be entirely right. His math makes a pretty picture. But I was serious when I suggested the re-examination of the postulate of equivalence — at least as it now stands.” “You’re ahead of me,” said Berk. “What is the postulate of equiva- lence? ” “It was proposed by Einstein in one of his first papers, the 1907 one, I think. He postulated that the effects of inertia are equivalent to those of gravity. “That is, in an object propelled at a constant rate of acceleration, a man would feel effects that could not be distinguished from those of gravity. He could walk, function, and would have weight just as if he were on a large mass having gravitational at- traction. “Conversely, an observer inside a freely falling elevator in Earth’s gravi- tational field would observe no effects of gravity inside that elevator. He could stand on a scale, and would register no weight. Liquid would not NOISE LEVEL 31

Page 33

pour from a glass. Jt has been stated that no mechanical experiment could ever reveal the presence of Earth’s gravitational field in the interior of any such frame of reference moving freely in this field of gravitation. We have accepted this assumption for a long time. “There are good reasons for ac- cepting it, good, sound mathematical reasons. Yet we have not empirically exhausted all possible means of de- tecting a gravitational field under such conditions, and it is foolish to exclude the possibility. “So — Dykstra has made a good point in his fairly rigorous demonstra- tion that a mechanism such as Dun- ning’s would demand the abandon- ment of the postulate of equivalence. It may well be that the postulate is an unwarranted assumption, based upon inadequate data. If so, that’s a good starting point. What the next step might be, I don’t know.” “Is gravity a kind of a something that can be identified otherwise than as a mathematical symbol — or through the observation of a falling apple? ” “No. That’s all it is, actually. A symbol in our formulas that stands for an unidentified something which manifests itself in the attraction be- tween masses.” “How about a flowing something, like this stream? ” “Gould be. Nobody knows.” The water eddied about a projecting rock near the bank. Berk threw in a 32 handful of sticks he had been idly breaking in his hand. Swiftly, thejl flowed together and converged in the center of the whirlpool by the rock. “Might be a point of view,” he said, “in which it could be postulated that those sticks gravitated toward each other under a mutual attraction.” “It wasn’t attraction in them,” said Mart thoughtfully. “It was forces pushing and pulling on them. Gravity — a pushing and pulling, maybe. But a pull or a push of what? That Dunning! He knew!” Sitting on the porch in the dark, after dinner, Mart had a feeling of satisfaction, a vague sense of having accomplished something during the day. He didn’t know what, but it didn’t matter. It was something — “You know,” he said suddenly, “the thing we need to know, and that you psychologists ought to be able to tell us is where ideas come from. “Take the first cave man with two brain cells big enough to click to- gether. Where did he get the idea to put a fire in his cave? I think that’s the problem you and I tried to solve a long time ago. Where do they come from — inside or outside?” He paused and gave the mosquitoes his atten- tion. “Keep going,” said Berk. “I haven’t any further to go. I’m thinking about gravity again.” “What are you thinking?” “How to get a new idea concerning ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 34

it. What does a man actually do when he cooks up a new theory, a new mechanism? I feel like I’m being sucked into that problem constantly, instead of the one I’m supposed to be attacking.” “Well, what are you doing? You’re trying to cook up a new idea — ” “I’m thinking right now about this afternoon. Something flowing — but it would be something you couldn’t get a picture of — like space-time. Now that it’s been brought into the open, I think I really have never liked the postulate of equivalence. Just a feeling knocking around through a few mole- cules in my cranium. The postulate is wrong. “Then I try to picture something flowing through the dark of space. It couldn’t be a three-dimensional flow like a river.” .He sat up straighter and slowly withdrew the cigar from his mouth. “It couldn’t be — But it could be a flow — He stood up suddenly and turned towards the house. “Look, Berk, you’ve got to excuse me, if you don’t mind. I’ve got some math to do.” Berk’s cigar tip brightened in a Jong, glowing moment. “Don’t mind me,” said the psychologist. V. Berk had no idea what time Mart went to bed that night. In the morn- ing he found him in the same position working furiously, and had the im- pression Mart had not retired at all. He observed he’d changed clothes, at least. “The fish are calling,” said Berk. Mart glanced up. “ Give me another half hour. Look, the fish can wait. I’ve got to get back to the office as soon as possible. There’s something here I want to keep on with.” Berk grinned agreeably. “Go to it, boy. I’ll get the car packed. You say when.” In town he went directly to his own office without seeing anyone. There, he continued the work begun the night before. As he proceeded, some of his initial enthusiasm waned. It would be two or three days before he would be ready to invite inspection. One of his manipulations several pages back turned out to be in error. He retraced slowly through the maze. A little after three there came a knock. He looked up in irritation as Dykstra walked in. “Dr. Nagle! I’m glad you’re in. I tried and couldn’t find you yester- day.” “I took a day off for fishing. Can I help you?” Dykstra slid into the chair on the other side of the desk with an almost furtive motion. Mart frowned. “I have something of extreme importance to discuss regarding the project,” said Dykstra. He leaned forward confidentially, his eyes squint- ing a little behind the owlish glasses. NOISE LEVEL 33

Page 35

“Do you realize,” he said, “that this entire project is a fraud?” “Fraud! What are you talking about?” “I have been over the Dunning house, so called, with a fine toothed comb. I proved to you in our last seminar that the postulate of equiva- lence denied the possibility of any such device as this Dunning is sup- posed to have invented. Now, I can assure you that Dunning never ex- isted! We are the victims of a base fraud.” He clapped the palms of his hands upon the top of the desk in triumphal finality and leaned back. 34 “I don’t understand,” murmured Mart. “You shall. Go over that labora- tory. There is no consistency. Ex- amine the shelves of reagents. Ask what possible chemical endeavor could be carried out with such a random selection of materials. The electronics section is as hodgepodge as the corner television shop. The com- puters have never been used in the room they are in. And that library — ■ it is obvious what an intellectual packrat’s rest that is! “No, Dr. Nagle, for some incon- ceivable reason we are the victims of a base fraud. Antigravity! Do you ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-EICTION

Page 36

suppose that anyone here actually thought they could make us believe it? “Now, what I want to know is why we have been sent on this fool’s errand when the nation needs the talents of each one of us so badly? ” Mart felt a faint sickness in the pit of his stomach. “I’ll admit there are strange things about this presenta- tion. If what you say should be true, how can the eyewitness accounts be explained? ” “Perjury! ” snapped Dykstra. “I can hardly imagine a member of the JCS involved in such. I am sorry, but I do not share your opin- ion. As a matter of fact, I have done a good deal of work toward our goal. “As of this moment, I am prepared to say definitely that the postulate of equivalence is not going to hold.” Red-faced, Dykstra stood up. “I’m extremely sorry you hold such views, Dr. Nagle. I had always believed you a young man of great promise. Per- haps you shall yet be when proper light is thrown upon this abominable fraud perpetrated upon us. Good day!” Mart didn’t bother to rise as Dykstra stomped out the door. The visit bothered him. Absurd as the accusations were, they threatened the foundation upon which he worked. If he could not be sure that Dunning’s device had performed as described he was subject to the buffeting of all his prior assurance that antigravity was nonsense. But the JCS involved in a reason- less and silly fraud as Dykstra pro- posed— ! He turned back to his sheets of computations with almost frantic energy. When it was almost time that most of them would be leaving he reached for the phone and called Jennings. The man was an able mathe- matician and could work this through if any one could. It was not as far along as Mart would have liked it, but he had to know if he were at the entrance to a blind alley, “Can you come over for a mo- 35 NOISE LEVEL

Page 37

merit?” he said. “I’ve got something I’d like to show you.” In a few moments Jennings ap- peared. As he came in the door he gave Mart the momentary impression of an old-time country preacher ruf- fled with righteous indignation at the sins of his congregation. He blurted out before Mart had a chance to speak. “Did you see Dykstra this afternoon running around with some cock and bull story about the project being a fraud?” Mart nodded. “Why Keyes ever let an old fool like him in here — Dyk has been a fine man. But he’s shot his wad. I called Keyes at once.” “ I guess all of us have had natural suspicions like Dykstra ’s,” said Mart, “but not enough to go completely overboard as he has.” “I’ve talked to several of the others. They are upset, some of them. I tried to lift them out of it. But what is it you’ve got? Anything that looks like an answer? ” Mart slid the sheets across the desk. “The postulate of equivalence is out. I’m pretty sure of that. I’ve been computing the possible field of motion circulating through curved space. It turns out to be an eight- dimensional thing, but it makes sense. I’d like you to look it over.” Jennings’ eyebrows raised. “Very good. Of course, it’s not easy for me to accept the renunciation of the postulate of equivalence, you under- 36 stand. That’ has been around for forty-five years now.” “We may find something to fit in its place.” “You have no other copy of this?” Mart shrugged. “I can do it again.” “I’ll take good care of them.” Jennings put the papers in an inside pocket. “But suppose you do demon- strate the possibility of such a flow? Where do we go from there? Have you any idea?” “Some,” said Mart. “I watched a whirlpool yesterday. Ever watch what happens to sticks when they are thrown into one. They go toward each other. That’s gravity.” Jennings frowned. “Now wait a minute, Mart — ” Mart laughed. “Don’t get me wrong. Consider this flow. I don’t know what properties it might have. It would have to take place through four of the dimensions involved. But when we get through, we’ll develop the expression for the curl of such a flow through material substance. “Suppose such a curl exists. Whirl- pools appear. It’s a crude analogy. Your mind can’t get hold of it. We need the math. But perhaps we can show that the curl is in such a direc- tion as to cause a reduction of spatial displacement between masses causing the curl. Could that make sense?” Jennings had been sitting very still. Now he smiled and spread his hands on the desk top. “It could. The curl of an eight-dimensional flow would ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 38

be fairly complex. But if it develops all right, what then?” “Then we build a device to stream- line matter through this flow, so that curl will not develop.” Jennings sat back in his chair as if suddenly limp. “Holy smoke, you’ve got it all figured out! But wait a minute, that would simply nullify gravity. How about antigravity? ” Mart shrugged. “We find a way to introduce a reverse curl vector.” “That does it, boy, that does it.” Mart laughed and walked to the door with him. “Yeah, I know how the thing sounds, but, look — I’m really not kidding. If this gravita- tional flow expression works out, the rest of it could follow. It could, Jennings.” Jennings faced him with all amuse- ment gone out of his face. “I’m not laughing. Mart,” he said, “not at you, anyway. If we get the answer to this whole thing it’s going to be something like that. It’s just that everything we’ve postulated up to now has so completely blocked any thinking of this kind that a man has to be pre- pared to consider himself slightly rocky to even talk about it.” It was a day later when Berk called him. “Hey, Mart, why. didn’t you let us know right away about Dyks- tra? If Jennings hadn’t called, we might have got to him too late.” “What do you mean?” “This story he’s been giving about the project’s being a fraud. I hope you weren’t bothered by it.” “Not much. Are you going to kick him off the project? ” “That follows, naturally. He’s in a rest home now. His mind was so congealed that he couldn’t accept the reality of Dunning’s work. He flipped his lid in a mild sort of way. He’ll be all right in a few weeks and can go back to teaching.’’ “I’m sorry about it. We almost have the answer he was afraid to face, I believe.” Impatiently, Mart threw his thesis open to the whole seminar that day. It was a bit hard to take for some who had been inclined somewhat in Dyks- tra’s direction, but the math was clean enough to appeal to all of them. They pitched in almost as a solid unit to try to obtain a formulation con- vertible to metal and electrons and fields. Jennings was the one who carried it all the way. He rushed into Mart’s office three days later without knock- ing and slapped some sheets on the desk. “You were right, Mart,” he ex- claimed. “Your field does show curl in the presence of material substance. We’re on our way to Dunning’s flying belt!” But when it came, Mart was dis- mayed. The entire group worked in a thirty-six hour seminar to whip the work into final shape. The result was NOISE LEVEL 37

Page 39

that an antigravity machine could be built. But it would be the size of a hundred ton cyclotron ! Mart told Keyes what they had. “It’s a far cry from Dunning’s flying belt,” he said. “We’ll continue trying to boil it down if you want us to, or we can submit a practical design that will work now in the shape we’ve got it in.” Keyes glanced at the sketches Mart had prepared. “It isn’t exactly what we’d expected, but I think we’d better build it. The important thing right now is to get a practical antigravity machine functioning. Refinements can come later. The shops are yours. How long will it take? ” “It depends on what you wish to put into it in the way of men and machines. With a round-the-clock crew I believe the model could be ready in about three weeks.” “It’s yours,” said Keyes. “Build it.” It was actually over four weeks be- fore the first demonstration was scheduled in the big machine shop protected by the triple security seal that had shrouded the whole project. Those in attendance were the ones present at the first conference plus a few of the workmen who had helped build the massive device. The demonstration was simple, al- most anticlimactic after the hectic seminars they had sweated out the past weeks. Mart stepped to the switchboard that seemed diminutive under the high, steel-arched ceiling of the shop. He threw the main power switches and then adjusted slowly a number of dials. Almost imperceptibly, and without wavering, the enormous disklike mass rose in the center of the shop. It hov- ered without visible support three feet above the floor. The disk was thirty feet in- diameter and three feet thick. Its tonnage was evident in the long crack in the con- crete floor beneath the I-beams laid temporarily to support it. Dr. Keyes reached out a hand to touch the mass. He pushed with all his might. Mart smiled and shook his head. “It’ll move if you push long enough and hard enough. But it has almost the inertia of a small battleship. A far cry, as I said, from Dunning’s flying belt. But we’ll keep trying.” “It’s a monumental achievement,” said Keyes, “and I congratulate you all.” While they watched, Mart touched the controls again and slowly lowered the mass to the I-beam supports. He cut the power. “ I would like all of you to return to the conference room at this time,” Keyes said-. “There, we have some additional data to give you.” Mart fell in step beside Berk on the way out. “What’s up now?” he said. “Are they going to pin tin medals on us?” 38 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 40

“Better than that,” said Berk. “You’ll see.” Once more they found themselves seated almost as they had been that eventful day weeks ago. Keyes took his usual position at the head. “There is no need of telling any of you gentlemen what this achievement means to our country and for all man- kind. Antigravity will revolutionize the military and peacetime transport of the world — and in time will take man to the stars. “Now — I have someone I would like to introduce to you.” He stepped aside and beckoned through the doorway to the next room behind him. Someone came through in response. Then Keyes stood aside. A startled gasp went through the audience. Before them stood Leon Dunning. He smiled at the group a little wryly. “I see you know me, gentle- men. I hope none of you will bear me any hard feelings or consider me the repulsive character I have been painted. The script called for it. An unpleasant young jerk, is the way it was described I believe.” Jennings was on his feet. “What is the meaning of this, Dr. Keyes? I think we are entitled to an explana- tion!” “Indeed you are, Dr. Jennings. And you shall have one.” Keyes re- placed Dunning who took a seat. “To a considerable extent, our friend, Professor Dykstra, was correct. The original data given you at the begin- ning of this project was a hoax.” A wave of startled cries and pro- tests arose from the assembly. Keyes raised a hand. “Just a moment, please. Hear me out. I said that the initial data was a hoax. There was no Leon Dunning, inventor of antigravity de- vices. We put on a show, and faked a film. There was no antigravity. “Today, there is an antigravity ma- chine in existence. I want you to consider very carefully, gentlemen, just where the hoax in this matter truly lies.” He paused for a moment, looking into the eyes of each of them, then stepped aside. “Our chief psy- chologist, Dr. Kenneth Berkeley, will give you the remainder of the story.” Berk got to his feet and moved to the front as if reluctant to do what had to be done. “If any of you are angry,” he said, “I am the person to whom it should be directed. Project Levitation was the direct result of my proposal. “Do not think, however, that I am apologizing. I object to the term hoax, or fraud, which Professor Dyks- tra called it. How can we call it a hoax when out of it has come a thing with potentialities that cannot be grasped by any of us at this time?” “But why, mar,, why?” Jennings exploded impatiently. “Why this hocus-pocus, this nonsense, this ir- relevance about astrology, levitation, and mysticism! Why wasn’t it set up NOISE LEVEL 39

Page 41

as a straightforward project. We aren’t a bunch of high school kids to be tricked into something we don’t want to do!” “Suppose you give me the answer to that?” said Berk. “How would you have responded to a letter from I)r. Keys's inviting you to take part in a project to build an antigravity machine? How many of you would have remained in your safe and sane universities where crackpots are not allowed to spend the people’s money as they are in Government institu- tions? “We are thankful we had no more than one Professor Dykstra on the project. He refused to accept the data we provided and his goal became to prove antigravity impossible. How many of you would have come with the same goal if our little make- believe had not spurred you on? “Dykstra could not face the data in a rational manner. As a result he suffered a nervous breakdown, which was, of course, the result of a long chain of previous incidents. “On the other hand, those of you who could accept the data we handed you were able to knock out the pre- conceptions about antigravity and achieve that which you had consid- ered impossible. “Essentially, this was a project in psychology, not physics. We could have chosen something besides anti- gravity. The results, I predict, would have been the same. I have observed 40 'J many scientists at work in the labora- tory and library. I have studied the educational preconceptions they bring to their work. Before a problem is tackled, a decision is already made as to whether it is possible or im- possible. In so many cases, as exem- plified by Professor Dykstra, the in- terest in the problem is only to the extent of proving the decision correct. “If you will forgive me for using you for guinea pigs in my project, I submit to you that I have given a far more powerful technique for scientific investigation than you have ever possessed before. The technique of the conviction that any desired an- swer can be found. You have not been hoaxed at all. You have been shown a new' and powerful scientific method . “If you could and did lick a prob- lem previously impossible to you, in a matter of w-eeks, how many more of your own research problems are just waiting for this new approach?” There was a good deal more said at the meeting. Some of it was highly confused. Berk’s explanation was not understood at all by several of them. It would take a long time for it to sink in thoroughly, even for him, Mart thought.’ There was just a trace of anger within him that he found hard to put down. But he chuckled at the smooth way in which Berk had engi- neered the project. He’d bet the psychologist had some uneasy mo- ments because of Dykstra ! ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 42

There was a sort of stunned feeling in his mind as he began to recognize the absolute truth of what Berk had demonstrated. He saw it reflected in the faces of some of the others, a sort of blank, why-didn’t-somebody-tell- me-this-before look. It was finally agreed they would meet again the next day to thresh out their reactions to what had been done. As soon as they were able to break away, Berk took Mart’s arm. “I al- most forgot to tell you, you are in- vited to dinner tonight.” 11 That had better not be a hoax,” said Mart. After dinner, the two of them went out into the patio with which Berk struggled to give his city lot the dig- nity of an estate. They sat down on a garden seat and watched the moon come up through the neighbor’s tele- vision antenna. “I want the rest of it,” said Mart. “The rest of what?” “Don’t be coy. The rest of the guys are going to get it out of you in the morning, but I want it first.” Berk was silent for a while then he started speaking. He lit a pipe and got it going well. “Jennings almost had it in that speech about the flood- gates of the mind which you men- tioned. You and I almost had it back there when we were trying to solve the problems of the Universe in school. “It boils down to the thing you asked me up in the mountains: What is the process of thinking? Where does original thought come from? “Consider the abstruse equations you cooked up in a matter of days on the gravitational flow around the curvature of space. Why didn’t you do it ten years ago? Why didn’t some- body else do it a long time ago? Why you, and nobody else? “I wanted you on the project es- pecially, Mart, because I want you to give me a hand with this thing, if you will. It’s a little more than I can handle. I don’t know whether it’s physics or psychology or some weird cross between the two. “Anyway, here’s where I started: You know communication theory. You know that any kind of data can be put in code form consisting of pulses. For example, a complex photo- graph codified in terms of half-tone dots. There are many possible meth- ods of coding information into pulses. The code can use dot-dash, it can use time-separation between pulses, it can use pulse amplitude, a thousand diSerent factors and combinations of factors. But any information can be expressed as a special sequence of pulses. “One such sequence is: ‘Every body in the universe attracts every other body in the universe’; another, ‘The secret of immortality is — •’, and still another, ‘Gravity is itself the result of the action of — and it can be nullified by — ’ NOISE LEVEL 41

Page 43

“Any answer to any question can be expressed in terms of a special se- quence of pulses, wherein some rela- tionship between the pulses is a codi- fied expression of the information. “But, by definition, pure noise is a completely random sequence of pulses, containing pulses in all possible re- lationships. “Therefore: any information-bear- ing message is a special subclass of the class 'noise.’ Pure noise, there- fore, includes all possible messages, all possible information. Hence, pure noise, which is actually another term for pure probability, is omniscient ! “Now, that isn’t just an exercise in scholastic logic. It is a recognition that all things can be learned, all things can be achieved.” Mart stirred and blew a violent cloud of cigar smoke at the moon. “Hold it!” he exclaimed. “There’s got to be some limit to the territory you take in.” “Why? Is my logic wrong in regard to noise and information?” “Gad, I don’t know. It sounds good. It’s right, of course, but exactly what does that have to do with the operation of the human mind and Project Levitation? ” “From a structural standpoint, I can’t answer that question — yet. Functionally, it appears that there must be in the human mind a mech- anism which is nothing but a pure noise generator, a producer of random impulses, pure omniscient noise. 42 “Somewhere else there must be another mechanism which is set to either filter the production of random noise or control its production so that only semantically meaningful forms are allowed to come through. Evi- dently, the filter is capable of being set at any level to filter out anything we choose to define as noise. “So we go through the rough proc- ess of growing up, we go to school, and get educated, we get a red line setting on the noise filter which rejects all but a bare minimum of data pre- sented by the external universe, and our internal creativeness as well. “Facts in the world about us are rejected from then on when they don’t fit. Creative imagination is whittled down. The filter takes care of it auto- matically once we give it a setting.” “And your project here,” said Mart, “the stuff on Babylonian mysticism, astrology, and the rest of that crud — ” “The whole pattern was set to be as noisy as possible,” said Berk. “We didn’t know how to produce anti- gravity, so we gave you a picture of a man who did, and made it as noisy as possible to loosen up your own noise filters on the subject. I offered you a dose of omniscient noise on the subject of antigravity, and the one inescapable conclusion that it had been done. “Everyone of you had previously set your filters to reject the idea of antigravity. Nonsense! No use looking ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 44

for that. Work on something useful. “ So I suggested to Keyes we assem- ble a bunch of you double-domes and slap you solidly with the fact that it ain’t nonsense, it can be done, Bud. Give you some omniscient noise to listen to, loosen up your filters, and let the answer come through out of your own mental productiveness. “It worked. It always will work. All you’ve got to do is get the lead out of your pants and the rocks out of your head, and the arbitrary noise filter settings corrected on a few of the other things you’ve always wanted to do — and you can find a proper an- swer to any problem you care to investigate!” Mart glanced up at the moon spreading silver across the sky. “Yeah — there’s the stars,” he said. “I’ve always wanted the stars. Now we’ve got antigravity — ” “And so you can go to the stars — if you want to.” Mart shook his head. “You and Dunning— first we’ve got it, then we haven’t. “You get us to produce antigravity. And it becomes a mere gimmick ! Sure we could see the planets, maybe even go beyond the solar system before we die. But I guess I’m going to stay here and work with you. A paltry planet or two isn’t so much, after all. If we could learn to utilize the maximum noise level of the human mind we could master the whole Universe!” THE END IN TIMES TO COME Poul Anderson is back next month with his first really long one — “ Un-Man.” The title is a rather nice double play, as you will find out by reading the piece. The “Un-Man” had a rough time with his enemies. They killed him in Singa- pore, and they killed him again in Shanghai, and in Denver, Madrid and Buenos Aires, also. He died of an accident on Mars, brought on partly by old age. At that time, however, he was working on the problem of his murderers in Buenos Aires and San Francisco while taking his wife — who didn’t know he died in Denver — to safety. The title is a double play — but the yarn somewhat more than that. The “Un-Man’s” murderers were even more confused than that paragraph above suggests. . . . Also coming up is the discussion of “The First Power Pile ” — data on the new nuclear reactor at the Argonne Laboratories that produces more fissionable material than it uses and produces power at the same time. The Editor. NOISE LEVEL 43

Page 45

PEST BY RANDALL GARRETT AND LOU TABAKOW Einstein did not go far enough in his discussion of Relativity. Noiv consider the idea of what a " pest ” is, for instance . . . Koleen Makeer, sociologist, diplo- mat, and police officer, found herself suddenly in need of help; a situation which did not occur often to a member of the Galactic Service. Not, let it be understood, that Koleen was superhuman; it was sim- ply that there are very few situations in which G. S. officers will allow them- 44 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 46

selves to become embroiled unless they are masters of that situation. Unfortu- nately, her position was not one of Koleen’s own choosing. Judgment, in the spa tio temporal blur of ultralight velocities, is at best a touchy thing. Koleen had made a slight error in judgment which, quite luckily, did not result in her death. The Sqqinordian police cruiser had come too uncomfortably close to her course after having chased her better than fifteen hundred light-years from Sqqinor. To evade it, she had made an almost suicidal dash at the last moment to- ward a nearby sun, rushing by it at a velocity far too great for the huge con- centration of mass in the vicinity. It wouldn’t have mattered much had she gone on in a geodesic line — the ship could have taken even that terrific strain. But Koleen asked too much of th,e ship. In order to elude the pursuit that was boiling up so close behind, she changed course, turning four thou- sandths of a second of arc at almost precisely the wrong moment. The ultralight generator warped, thereby killing the ship’s mass-time field. Koleen suddenly found herself coasting gently toward a planet of the too-near sun. A fatalist might have postulated that it was fate that permitted such a coincidence; any one of the millions of other religions in the galaxy might have credited it to some deity or other. Koleen gave credit to neither — she didn’t even bother to think about it. Nevertheless, at the exact moment when her mass-time field ceased to function, Koleen’s ship was pointed toward a planet which was as near to being urthtype as any she had ever seen. Quickly, automatically, the plan- etary drive began to function. For a fleeting second, Koleen won- dered where she was. Somewhere, she knew, in the vast star clouds of the central galaxy. But her exact bearings she did not — could not — know. Only, the ship’s homing autopilot could ever get her home again from here. As she brought the ship to a smooth landing on a broad green plain of the miraculously handy planet, Koleen be- gan to suffuse the air around her with a terminology which was not only un- printable— a large portion of it was unspellable. Koleen prided herself on the fact that in the fifty-two years she had been with Galactic Service she had learned to speak fluently in one hundred and thirty-one different lan- guages and had learned to swear acidly in another two hundred or so. Her first mistake had been to make that asinine remark about how nice and clean Sqqinor looked from a cou- ple of thousand miles up ; a statement which had roused the ire of a vast majority of the eight million inhabit- ants who had listened to her vised speech. She had been cut off at once, of course, by the Censor for Public PEST 45

Page 47

Morals and had barely had time to make it to her ship before the Sqqi- nordian police had been ordered to arrest her. On top of that, she had made one of the most stupid blunders in inter- stellar navigation — that of coming too close to a stellar concentration of mass. The only solace she could offer her- self was that she had successfully evaded the Sqqinordian cruiser — for a time. After thoroughly villifying her own character, intelligence, ability, and personal appearance — the last of which had not been enhanced by the foul clothing and lack of bathing en- forced by her stay on Sqqinor — Koleen activated the front viewing plate and looked at the world outside. She was completely surrounded by a vast spread of green which looked rather like a well-kept grass lawn. In the distance toward her right, she could see the lower slopes of a series of rolling hills. A glance at the sample intake indicator assured her that the air was breathable, although perhaps a little high in oxygen. All in all, a very pretty place. But Koleen Makeer was not the explorer type. She would stay right inside her ship until she repaired its circuits. She was creeping up on the eighty mark, and middle-aged women, she reasoned, have no business prowling over the surface of a strange and possibly hos- tile world. Koleen was one of those big, heavy- boned women that middle age doesn’t seem to bother much. Her hair was be- ginning to gray a little, and she no longer possessed the beauty that ac- companies the first flush of youth, but her features were handsomely regular, and her figure was still muscularlv curvaceous. A woman doesn’t survive long in the Galactic Service unless she keeps herself in condition. For several minutes, she sat looking out at the green, meadowlike plain surrounding her without actually see- ing it. Her mind was concentrating on the damage that might have oc- curred to her only means of transpor- tation. She suddenly realized that she was a little afraid to go down to the drive room and look, and that realization alone forced her down the narrow tubeway toward the drive compart- ment. Then, for better than four hours, she meticulously searched the impressed circuits for damage. Area after area showed clear on the tester. Nothing. Then she climbed up over the massive plastoid circuit housing and opened up the ten-centimeter-square shield that covered the stasis generator. The inside was covered with the shiny blackness of condensed metallic vapor. The short strip of neodymium in the transphase area had been com- pletely vaporized by the energies that had blasted through it. With a sigh of relief, Koleen opened ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 46

Page 48

the spare-kit beneath the housing. A cold hand grabbed hard at her throat. Empty! Almost frantically, she pawed through the kit for the replacement strip that should have been there. The kit re- mained empty. Then she calmed herself and bitterly consigned the idiot inspector who had forgotten to check her spare kit to the various hells of half a hundred civili- zations. Almost sadistically, she pic- tured herself applying red-hot needles to some of the tenderer part of his anatomy. She thought bitterly: If I didn’t know better , I’d think I was being plotted against l If only something had gone wrong with the impressed circuits! There was nothing simpler than re-impressing them on the molecular structure of the great plastic cube. But no ! It had to be the neodymium strip ; a little piece of metal the easiest thing to replace imaginable. All she needed was something to replace it with. Wearily, hopelessly, Koleen climbed down off the drive generator, made her way forward to the sleeping compart- ment, plopped down on her narrow bunk, and stared at the wall. If the Sqqinordians decided to search, it would be only a matter of days until they pinpointed her. And sweet-talking her way out of this one was strictly impossible; the tentacled Sqqinordians were about as receptive to her charms as a hunk of granite. If she wanted to avoid a first- hand knowledge of the notorious Sqqinordian prison system, she’d bet- ter figure out a way to replace the ruined part. Oh, sure! Replace the ruined part; as simple as that. The trouble was, how did one go about picking up a strip of neodymium on a primitive planet? From space she had seen no signs of cities or other indications of an ad- vanced technology. How did one go about locating a de- posit of rare earths? How did one go about separating neodymium from the dozen other closely related ele- ments? Of course, she could always start toward home, using her planetary drive — that is, if she could figure a way to up her normal life expectancy from one hundred and fifty years to one hundred and fifty centuries. She wrinkled her nose distastefully; she could already smell the fetid odor of a Sqqinordian prison. The unbelievably bad luck that had caused that particular part of the drive to blow was canceled out by the equally unbelievable good luck that had put this particular planet in her path. She smiled wryly to herself as an old axiom came to mind: Every action has an equal and oppo- site reaction. Any change will have to be for the better. That one releasing thought permitted 47 PEST

Page 49

her to sleep. Exhausted as she was from the long periods of wakefulness that had been required to allow her to avade the Sqqinordian pursuit, it was not until then that the tension actually released itself. The warning vibrator woke her. Re- freshed by sleep, her normally highly reactive mind came fully awake at the first touch of the vibration. Something alive and moving was within range of the ship’s detectors. Moving quickly, she entered the control room and activated the trans- parency control of the front viewing screen. Before her spread a vast carpet of green resembling a well-kept lawn. A few kilometers to the right the level expanse gave way to a series of gently rolling slopes that led to a group of low- undulating hills. The grasslike vegeta- tion flowed over the hills in the shme unbroken carpet. Except for the greenish growth, no sign of trees or any other sort of plant life was visible, certainly no moving object that could have activated the vibrator. She pulled on her bulky space armor, deciding that safety was more impor- tant than comfort in the present situ- ation. Checking to make sure that her Ludenbergs were fully charged, she gingerly opened the lock and stepped out. She noted that the green vegetation was mosslike and extended in an un- broken line to the horizon. Nowhere I 48 on the bright sunlit meadow could she see a moving form. She was about to reenter the lock to check the vibrator, when a peculiar scratching sound caused her to freeze in mid-stride. The rasping sound seemed to be coming from the hull. Something was on top of the ship! You idiot! Falling for the oldest am- bush in the book! If only they don’t — She eased out her Ludenbergs, and slowly raised her eyes toward the top of the hull. Perched across the top of the ship were a group of cuddly-looking little animals closely resembling the koala, except for the fact that they had huge earlike appendages that stood erect like a rabbit’s ears. The group of little animals sat and gazed unblinkingly at her as though wondering what she was. As she gazed back a tremor shook them and the ears flopped down and hung flabbily like those of a hound, while the little creatures continued to stare at her. Finally one of them stood and se- dately began to climb down the slop- ing hull. Koleen couldn’t help smil- ing at the solemn, precise maneuver- ing. It reached the ground and on its hind legs walked slowly toward her. She backed a couple of steps and raised her Ludenbergs in warning, but the little creature paid no attention to the threatening gesture. It looked up at her with its solemn brown eyes and, raising its ridiculous floppy ears, brushed her armor-en- ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 50

closed calves with the tips. She looked down with a smile. “Well — if you’re not a cute little fellow!” . Then, to herself: Careful , Koleen. It may act like a kitten, but it’s alien. It could be looking for the softest place to bite. She smiled at the thought of any animal, alien or not, biting through the tricarboluminum armor. The little creature sat back on its haunches and gazed at her appealingly. Feeling secure in her space armor, she reached down and lifted it into her arms. As she rubbed its smooth fur with her sheathed hand, it nestled closer against her and continually brushed her face-plate with the tips of its long ears. “What’s the matter, fella? Starved for affection?” she asked. The little animal suddenly began to squirm and she dropped it to the ground, where it quieted and once more sat back and gazed at her. Koleen stared back. Well, if there’s no intelligent life on this planet, at least it’s plentifully supplied with pets. She lifted the little animal in her arms and stepped toward the lock of the ship. Koleen hesitated for a mo- ment, and then shaking her head, gently lowered the little creature to the ground. “No!” she said. “You’d better stay out.” Inside her ship, she stripped off the bulky armor, donned a pair of shorts and a sweat shirt, and once more took stock of the situation. If the planet boasted any inhabit- ants with a high technological ad- vancement, they took pains to keep the evidence as well as themselves well hidden. No, it was more likely that this was an unspoiled Eden completely overgrown with a layer of thick moss which evidently served as food for the gentle herbivorous little creatures who inhabited it. Her planetary drive would easily bridge the distance to any of the sister planets in the system, but she doubted that she had enough time to make a star map and discover where any other planets might be. For that matter, it was more than likely that this was the only planet in the system capable of even supporting life. Despite the conjectures of theoretical biology, no form based on anything but carbon had ever been discovered. She could use her ultrawave radio to ask for help, but long before it arrived the Sqqinordians would home in on her. She had no doubt that the receivers on the Sqqinordian Police Cruisers were all tuned and waiting for just such an attempt on her part. No! The only answer was to flash into ultralight and be hundreds of light-years away before the Sqqi- nordians could locate her. With a good lead she could reach home sector be- fore they could close in. What she needed was a tiny strip of 49 PEST

Page 51

neodymium! She decided to try her luck at locat- ing a deposit of the rare earths, though how she would go about the difficult task of separating out the neodymium — I’ll worry about that after I find the ore, she thought optimistically. She pulled a one-piece coverall over her shorts and zipped it up. Her Ludenbergs would make good digging tools set at low power. She grabbed up an empty plastic container, folded it, and stuffed it into a pocket. Got to ham something to carry the ore — if I find any. She had. scarcely stepped out of the lock when the little animal was rub- bing against her leg. It was the same one she had picked up before, judging by its markings. The rest were no- where in sight. She reached down and roughed its fur without slacking pace. Twice, be- fore she reached the* lower slopes of the hills, she almost fell as the little creature threw her off balance rubbing against her calves. The second time she paused and pointed back toward the ship. "Get lost, you little pest,” she com- manded, with mock severity. It fell back on its haunches as though hurt and gazed at her with limpid brown eyes. She reached down and tenderly rubbed the top of its head. "Don’t get offended,” she said half- teasingly, half-tenderly, "but you are a little pest.” It squirmed away at her touch, then stood erect and let its ears droop in so comical a manner that Koleen couldn’t help grinning. In a slight depression between two hummocks she stopped and looked around. The same unbroken carpet of green stretched out in all directions. Koleen smiled wryly at her predica- ment. She had read once that the rare earths were quite common. Good. But quite common where — on one certain planet, or on any planet? On the sur- face or deep underground? In moun- tains or on alluvial plains? Did they come pure or mixed with other metals? She looked at the little animal who sat regarding her quizzically. “Can’t you be some help, you nui- sance? All I need is a tiny piece of neodymium about this big.” She formed a “U” with her thumb and forefinger. The ears stood up and the little creature turned its head from side to side in a ludicrous manner. “Oh, never mind, come on,” she laughed. Turning, she started off to- ward a hill that looked somewhat higher than the rest. A hill indicates rock strata close to the surface. There might be a chance — The moss was fairly slippery, which made navigation of the hillside rather difficult, especially with the little animal tagging at her heels. Finally, she reached a moss-covered outcrop- ping and stopped. Carefully, she burned away the 50 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 52

vegetation with her Ludenberg, then kicked away the ashes and dust. Rock. She cut out a chunk of the rock, dropped it into the container, and went on. Hours later, she had collected better than eighty samples, each tagged and numbered. The spectroscope on the ship would tell her whether any of them contained traces of the ore she needed. Rehind her, the flop-eared little creature gazed interestedly at her every motion. Catastrophe came as she was climb- ing down a fairly steep hillside. The animal rubbed against her legs and, off balance as she was, Koleen slipped on the moss and fell, twisting her leg beneath her. She started to ,get up and an ex- cruciating pain shot through her ankle. She sat on the soft moss and looked at the little creature who had backed up a pace. “Now what do I do?” Then, at its beseeching look: “Oh, it’s not your fault. I guess you can’t help it if you are a pest.” It crawled up on her lap trustingly, waving its ridiculous floppy ears. Tenderly Koleen hugged the little beast to her, whereupon it began to wriggle in her arms until she let it tumble back to the ground. It raised its ears and regarded her unblinkingly. Koleen slipped off the sweat shirt and made a tight bandage which en- abled her to hobble painfully back to the ship with the little beast tagging along at her heels like a well-behaved puppy. By the time she reached the ship dusk had come, and the mighty grandeur of the Central Galactic star clouds blazed in the sky. The Pest followed her into the ship and watched quietly as she bathed her ankle. She examined the injured member with the penetroscope and found, to her relief, that the pain was caused by nothing more than a strained tendon. She wrapped it tightly with a band- age which enabled her to move about without too much pain. As she leaned back to relax, the Pest came to her and crawled up into her lap. It raised its ears and brushed her face softly with the tips. She grimaced at the tickling sensa- tion. “You are a pain in the neck,” she informed him, holding her head out of reach. ' He looked up at her and she smiled down tenderly. Koleen felt the little body stiffen, and then began to struggle. She let him slide down to the floor where he once more grew quiet and stood regard- ing her. She started to get ready for a shower still feeling unclean after her sojourn on Sqqinor. Then she looked down at PEST 51

Page 53

the little creature and slipped back into the coveralls. “Come on, Pest,” she said, lifting it and carrying it into the control cabin. “You wait here until I bathe. I feel like a goldfish with you staring at me all the time.” She closed the door, pulled off the coveralls, and switched on the water. She was just beginning to enjoy the feeling of being clean for the first time in weeks when the cabin door swung open. Two eyes regarded her with undisguised fascination. “I thought that door locked!” she cried. She toweled herself vigorously while the little creature watched unemotion- ally. She slipped into a robe and, scoop- ing him up, unceremoniously dumped him outside the ship and closed the lock, checking to make sure it was locked. Then she emptied the sack of rock samples and began preparing them for the analyzer. Five minutes per sample. Eighty samples. Nearly seven hours had passed before she got the final reading from the machine. “Minute trace only.” Such a small amount that even the analyzer couldn’t compute it. None of them contained neodymium. Methodically, Koleen searched ev- ery square inch of the tiny ship to see if by chance the replacement strip somehow had got misplaced. No dice. 52 The precious strip of metal was lying unnoticed at the bottom of some canine-bred mechanic’s kit. The strain of the past hours coupled with her injured foot was beginning to tell on Koleen, and she found her head nodding. Popping a “Nosleep” pill into her mouth, she sat down once more to try to figure out something. No new ideas. She had exhausted every possibility. Every possibility? What a laugh ! She had done nothing. But what was there to do? If only there had been some form of life on this planet with at least a rudimentary in- telligence, she might have somehow been able to obtain the ore. Instead, the sole inhabitants had to be a bunch of teddy bears. Pest was a cute little fellow, though. He must have belonged to someone or something once, else why was he so starved for affection? A wild animal doesn’t crave affec- tion! Or did they? She couldn’t know. Even if there were intelligent beings, she had no way of contacting them. Still, it wouldn’t do any harm to see. She sprang to her feet and opened the lock. Pest stood there as though waiting. “Come on in, you little devil,” she cried. He ambled in and, ignoring her this time, began to inspect the interior of the ship much as a puppy in a strange ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 54

place. He pawed around the controls and then seemed to find the radio interesting. “Yes, Pest? Do you know some- thing?” she cried excitedly. At her voice he turned and sat back on his haunches, regarding her sol- emnly. She cried exasperatedly, “Now I expect teddy bears to talk. I must be going off the deep end.” A sudden loud hip from the detector cut off her self-condemnation. She hopped painfully into the control room and looked at the screen. A Sqqinordian cruiser had flashed by only a few light-years away! Still, that hip shouldn’t bother her too much. After all, it might simply mean that the Sqqinordian cruiser had given up the chase. They could only know the approximate volume of space where she had disappeared, and they might assume that she had eluded them permanently. But somehow that didn’t fit in with Sqqinordian psychology. She and they were a long way from both her own destination and Sqqinor, but they could radio for help and she didn’t dare to. She could feel the uncomfortable thought scratching at the base of her prefrontal lobes : They’re not giving up. Not yet, anyway. Koleen closed her eyes and mas- 53 PEST

Page 55

saged the bridge of her nose with a thumb and forefinger. Her foot both- ered her intensely, and her head had begun to ache from lack of sleep. For the hundredth time she cursed the inspector who had forgotten to put the spare strips in place, and cursed her- self for not double-checking. Something touched her leg, and she opened her eyes. “Hello, Pest. What do you want now?” It was soothing to have the little creature around. Somehow, her deep-seated maternal instinct bathed all her troubles in a roseate aura when it was permitted to come to the fore. “C’mere, you.” She picked him up and began absently to caress the soft, smooth fur on his head. As usual, Pest squirmed and snuggled closer, his floppy ears-that-were-not-ears gently caressing her face. “You’re cute,” she said, “but you’d be a lot cuter if you weren’t always underfoot. Now get down. I have work to do.” She set him down on the deck again and as she did so, Pest pricked up his ears, then let them droop dis- consolately. Koleen stood up and walked over to the refrigerator, trying to ignore the twinge in her bad leg and the chafing from the bandage. There didn’t seem to be the slightest trace of hunger in her, only pain and weariness and worry. Still, she had to eat. It was cold, and it was tasteless, and she had to force it down, but she seemed to feel a little better after- 54 ward — a little more relaxed. Suddenly, a new thought came. Maybe she could get something on her receiver that would give her some sort of information. If she could disconnect the transmitter section so the instru- ment wouldn’t spray her location all over space, she might be able to listen in on Sqqinordian communications. At least it was something to do, something to keep her mind off the stink and horror of a Sqqinordian prison cell. She prowded around through the tool locker until she had everything she might need, went back to the control room, and squatted on the floor in front of the transceiver unit. After making sure that the power was cut off at source, she removed the stelloid panel that protected the sensitive circuits from dust. Then she plugged in the circuit tracer and began to feel her way around among the complexities of the circuits and pseudo-circuits before her. Disconnect here — reconnect there — rebalance — change — add — subtract — replace — . So intent was she on her work that the noise didn’t seem to register for a moment. Then the crash was repeated, and she stood up quickly and walked as rapidly as possible back to the tool locker. On the floor of the room sat the Pest, his ears drooping sadly, in the midst of the disarray that had fallen ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 56

from an open cabinet. Koleen closed her eyes in a mixture of relief and dismay. The particular cabinet he had opened didn’t contain any of the more delicate instruments, only cutters, clamps, and hammers. But this was the last straw; the little monster was going out now, and it was going to stay out. Even the com- panionship it gave wasn’t worth the trouble. She snapped out a harsh, hard epi- thet, stepped forward, grabbed it by the scruff of the neck and almost jerked it to its feet before she saw that its left foot was caught beneath a heavy machine hammer. • And, in that instant, all her resolu- tion collapsed within her. Her grasp on the Pest became more gentle, almost a caress. “Poor little fella! Does it hurt?” she asked softly. Carefully, she lifted the hammer from the foot and eased it over to one side. “Quit squirming, stupid, you’ll hurt yourself.” She picked up the little animal, carried it into her bunk, and opened the medical cabinet in the wall. Hold- ing tight to the leg, she held the foot in the focus of the penetroscope and looked into the binocular eyepiece. It was hard to tell, from the peculiar bone structure, whether everything was as it should be or not. There were no sharp edges, so it was probable that nothing was broken, but there might be something out of place. “Now quit squirming!” she ad- monished the Pest again. With much difficulty, she managed to get the unhurt paw underneath the ’scope for comparison while holding the other to keep the Pest from hurting himself. As far as she could tell, the bones had not been hurt by the blow. The musculature and tendon struc- ture, too, seemed normal. About all she could find was a couple of surface areas where the cells had been crushed and the tissue bruised. Finally she stood up and released Pest. “I think you’ll live. I imagine it hurts a bit, but maybe that will teach you not to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.” Pest sat looking at her with an al- together inscrutable expression on its wide-eyed face. Koleen couldn’t help grinning at the pestiferous little thing. “Come on, bub, you’re still going outside. I have work to do, and I can’t be bothered by your shenanigans.” She picked him up and carried him to the air lock. “Out you go. But don’t go too far,” she added, placing him gently on the mosslike vegetation. She closed the lock behind her and went back to the control room to the partially disabled transceiver. Nearly three hours had passed be- fore the two components were sepa- rated from each other enough to per- mit her to pick up signals without giving out any in return. Not until then did she energize the receiving sec- PEST 55

Page 57

tion and set it to the frequency used by the Sqqinordian Police. The speaker hummed quietly to it- self, but otherwise no sound came forth. Perhaps, after all, they had actually given up the chase. Come to think of it, why did she consider herself so im- portant to the offended moral code of Sqqinor? There was only one question: How long would she have to wait be- fore she could safely send for help? She looked at the detector screen. Nothing. That, at least, was some consola- tion. Should she, perhaps, get some sleep? The thought seemed to bring an al- most unbearable weight down on her brain. Great Heavens, yes, you fool!! Get into bed! “ Glyggithabordikolbixozz! ” ejacu- lated the receiver imperatively. Koleen snapped erect in her seat with the sudden realization that she had been half dozing. “Plironobinngusdrothyliqq ! ” Koleen couldn’t understand it, but she recognized it for what it was. Scrambled Sqqinordian! A sudden bright line crossed the de- tector and vanished. Less than eight light-years away and moving away from Sqqinor! She glanced at the re- corder. During the few minutes she had dozed, no less than three traces had crossed the field of the detector. And all in the same direction ! 56 They could not possibly be the same ship; the Sqqinordian forces were go- ing to comb the area until they found her! The black, dank walls of a Sqqinor- dian prison suddenly loomed around her, terrifying in their almost solid reality. There was nothing she could do but wait. They would comb every stellar system in the vicinity. As long as she didn’t use her drive, they wouldn’t be able to locate her at stellar distances, but if they ever got within two or three billion miles of her, they could easily spot the latent en- ergies in her ship. That meant they would have to cut their drive some- where in the vicinity of every star and give their detectors a chance to find her. She put her hand to her head. Think! Think! She visualized the cone of space they would be searching; its apex at her last known position and its base — Depending on the number of ships that were searching for her, she had, at least, two dayS. The receiver kept up its intermit- tent harsh nonsense. Another bright line crossed the detector. Come on, gal, pull yourself together! There was, after all, only one way out. She would have to call home, tell them what had happened, and let the Sqqinordian police pick her up. At least that way she wouldn’t have to spend too much time in their pad- locked sewers. ASTOUNDING SCIENCE -FICTION

Page 58

With an effort, she forced out of her mind the unpleasant realization that she would have to spend weeks — per- haps months — in the filthy, disease- ridden environment of the Sqqinordian prison system, eating the sickening unclean messes that would be pushed into her cell six times in every ro- tation of Sqqinor. Forget it! If it’s inevitable, lean back and enjoy it. It isn’t as if I’ll be there forever. For the first time in years, loneliness seemed to creep into the ship with her. And, almost automatically, she went to the air lock and opened it. Pest was waiting there, patiently. “Come on in, chum. I’m giving a going-away party. We’ll get a bite to eat and I’ll have a big bath and a good night’s sleep before I call in.” She turned and walked back inside allowing the little animal to follow her, in its stately, deliberate manner. Koleen knew full well that within an, hour of her calling home the Sqqinordians would have her fully covered — boxed in — and under arrest for violation of their Morality Code. Therefore, any comforts she was going to enjoy would have to come now, before she called. Pest didn’t seem to appreciate any of the food she offered him. He didn’t exactly turn up his nose at it, he sim- ply seemed to look curiously at it as though he were trying to figure out what it could possibly be. As far as Koleen was concerned, it tasted good. Now that she had de- cided upon a definite plan of action, the tension in her mind had completely relaxed. Even the horrors of Sqqinor couldn’t disturb her equilibrium too much, once she had made up her mind to face them. After the meal, she stripped off her coverall, stepped into the shower, and scrubbed herself thoroughly. She softly hummed the “Ballad of the Vagabond Lover ” to herself and grinned inwardly when she thought of the additional scandal that would fall on her when the police cruisers picked her up and found that she had just bathed. As she rubbed herself vigorously with the towel, the Pest stood watch- ing her, his ears standing up on his head, giving him the appearance of a fat, slightly frightened jackrabbit. “Where am I going to put you to keep you out of mischief while I take a nap? Come on.” She picked him up and carried him squirming into the sleeping compart- ment. There, she sat him in her bunk while she made a soft bed from some of her clothing. “I don’t know whether you sleep or not, but if you do, here’s as good a place as that moss outside. For a while, this is going to be your sleeping quarters.” Koleen picked him up again, put him on the floor of the closet and pushed it shut. “Good night, fella.” PEST 57

Page 59

And then, for the first time in too many hours, she lay back on her bunk and collapsed into dreamless sleep. She didn’t even notice it when the closet door swung softly open. Pest stood blinking at her with his soft, large eyes. Six hours later, feeling better than she had for days, Koleen set to'work on the transceiver to connect the two sections together again in order to call home. Would it be necessary to reconnect them completely? No, she decided, def- initely not. She didn’t need the scram- bler, and the transceiver co-ordina- tion was unnecessary, since she neither needed nor expected a reply to her message. If she could — The stelloid cover came off again, and she began to reconnect leads in the more vital places. She ignored the subtler interconnections that fused the two units into one smoothly integrated instrument — they didn’t count just now. Bzut! Bzzzzzzzzzz! Koleen turned quickly. Pest was standing over one of the testing ma- chines. He had quite obviously pushed the master switch. “Here, you! Get away from that!” Koleen grabbed at the little animal. Pest, startled, backed off. In the process, he stumbled over another piece of equipment and fell, crashingly, into the transceiver unit! 58 Disaster! As the little beast picked itself up from the debris, Koleen could only stare, her brain numb with shock. Then sudden, flashing anger boiled to the surface. “ Why you little — •! ” She lapsed into Waldusian, a language which prob- ably contains more shockingly foul expletives than any other language in the galaxy. She grabbed him by one paw, dragged him bodily to the lock, and, with one ’ well-aimed foot, sent him sprawling across the mossy vegetation. As she slammed the lock behind her, the Pest sat up. The expression in his eyes was, somehow, not quite so unfathomly blank as before. Inside, Koleen stared at the trans- ceiver. A closer, less emotional look showed that the wreckage was not as bad as it had looked at first. If that blockhead inspector hadn’t forgotten to check the replacements for the ra- dio, too, there might be a chance that she could repair the instrument before the Sqqinordians got there. She opened the replacement kit, pulled out a drawer, and looked inside. The proper units were there all right, but they hardly even registered upon her consciousness. Beside them, its green identifying stripe plainly visible across its center, lay a small neodymium, strip. Her brain seemed to shift suddenly into high gear without going through the intermediate stages of reasoning. ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 60

Had she taken the trouble to check herself, she would have found that less than eight minutes elapsed be- tween the time she found the strip and the time she had secured it and was back at the control panel. Cautiously, she lifted the ship above the planet’s atmosphere, aimed it at a right angle to the Sqqinordian’s line of search, and cut in the ultradrive. It would take them at least three minutes to get a line on her, and even more than that to align themselves along her course of flight. By then, she would be well away from them and could set her homing device to get her back home. Half an hour later, she cut in the autopilot. She didn’t know where she was, with respect to home, but the pilot did. It would get her there safely. Then, having nothing better to do, she turned to the repair of the trans- ceiver. She thought grimly: At least I don't have to worry about that Pest any more! Galoth to the Assembly: It is gone. As soon as it found the metal strip, it reacted as expected and removed itself from our world in order to escape its pursuers. I wish to extend my apologies for not discerning its trouble earlier, but it was not until the thing became unconscious that I was able to discern what went on within its brain. Only with the aid of the metal strip could it leave. The Assembly to Galoth: How can we be sure it will not return to our world? Galoth: Neither it nor its pursuers know where our planet is with refer- ence to their own. Their minds are of such small capacity that they must leave such orientation to a device in the ship. It is fortunate that I was able to find- its need before it was able to use its home calling device. Had it done so, our world’s location would have been known to them. As it is, I had to par- tially destroy the mechanism so that the thing would not call. The Assembly: Have you ascertained what it was that caused such a dis- turbance along our neural bands? Galoth: Partially. Our appearance was such that it called forth an emo- tional effect which filled our neural receptors with unwanted signals, thereby causing uncontrollable squirmings. Even when our receptors were lowered and in- active, contact with the creature was impossible because physical intimacy brought forth even stronger reactions. When the creature finally became un- conscious, I was able to make enough contact to discover its need for the metal strip and its intention to use the calling device because the emotional reaction was inoperative. The Assembly: It is good. The crea- ture’s telepathic disturbance was so great that it disrupted our communication almost to the breaking point. Our con- gratulations on your solution of the problem. At least we don’t have to worry about that pest any more. THE END PEST 59

Page 61

ME AND FLAPJACK AND THE MARTIANS BY MACK REYNOLDS AND FREDRIC BROWN Illustrated by Pawelka Telepathy would , if nothing else , aid greatly in settling questions of relative intelligence of different species . . . Want a hear how Flapjack saved the world from the Martians, huh? All right, partner. It happened on the edge of the Mojave, just south of Death Valley. Me and Flapjack was . . . “Flapjack,” I told him complain- ingiy, “you ain’t worth a whoop no more since you done got rich. You’re too all-fired proud these days to be ploddin’ through the desert doing an honest day’s work. Ain’t yuh?” Flapjack didn’t answer. He ignored me and looked ahead of him dis- gustedly at the sand, the dust, the little clumps of cactus. He didn’t have to answer; just his whole attitude made it plenty clear he wished we was back in Crucero, or maybe up in Bishop. I frowned at him. “Sometimes,” I told him, “I think you was just never 60 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 62

cut out for this, Flapjack. Oh, sure, you’ve spent most of your life in the desert and the mountains, just like I spent most of mine. And maybe you know ’em better than I do; I gotta admit it was you and not me that stumbled on that there last strike we made. But I stilt don’t think you like the desert and the hills. “I think I got reason for sayin’ that, Flapjack. It’s the way you’ve acted ever since we got a few dollars in the poke from that strike. Now you don’t have to look hurt like that. You know the way you been carryin’ on ever since we got money in the bank. A real caution/ Why as soon as we get into Bishop or maybe Needles, what do you do? You make a beeline for the nearest saloon, that’s what you do. Gotta let everybody in town know we got money to spend.” ME AND FLAPJACK AND 1'iIE MARTIANS 61

Page 63

Flapjack yawned and kicked up the dust underfoot. He didn’t mind my talking on and on, because you get to where you kind of like to hear some- body’s voice out in the desert, but he wasn’t paying no real attention to what I was saying. But I didn’t let that stop me. I laid it into him. I said, “And you ain’t satisfied to spend our money in just one bar, neither. The minute you finish off a gallon of beer in one saloon, you head for the next. You’re gettin’ yourself talked about, Flapjack. But that don’t make no difference to you. In fact, like I said, you’re gettin’ yourself so all-fired proud you don’t care what anybody says about you. “It ain’t as though we got so much money we can retire. If we tried livin’ in town permanentlike, we’d be flat broke in no time. Especially with the way you hang around in saloons and guzzle beer. Well, at least you don’t buy drinks for the house; guess you think on account of that I ain’t got no complaints cornin’.” Flapjack snorted at my words and stopped. “Oh, you think we oughta make camp, huh?” I said. I let my eyes go around the landscape. “All right, I guess one place is as good as another. Ain’t no water within a dozen miles anyhow.” I took the pack off Flapjack’s back and began to set up my little tent. I’d never packed a tent before I’d made my strike — or Flapjack had made it 62 for me — but that hombre in the store had caught me in a weak moment with money in my pocket and he’d talked me into it. A piece of foofaraw, but it served Flapjack right for hav- ing to carry it. Flapjack watched me for a minute and then ambled off to size up the possibilities of a little graze or such 'other grub as a burro can rustle up in the desert. I knew he wouldn’t wander far and that I didn’t have to watch him or hobble him, so I minded my own business and let him mind his. It wasn’t no exaggeration, what I’d been telling him. He’d been acting up for days and the reason was plain to see. Flapjack wanted to get back to where he could get his ration of beer every night, and some good fancy feed to top it off with. Ever since he kicked over that rock and made the silver strike, he’s had credit in every bar in every town around here. He just walks in and the bartender fills a bucket with beer for him and he drinks it down, and then he ambles on to the next bar^ He’s crazy about beer. Holds it pretty well, too. Maybe I should never have made the arrangements, but, like I said, it was Flapjack that made the strike, so I thought it was only fair. Even if once in a while I regret it, like the time he got in the fancy place in Crucero by mistake and got out in the middle of the fancy dance floor and — well, you can’t expect a burro to know better than that, can you? And there ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 64

weren’t any people dancin’ just then anyway so I don’t see what they made such a big fuss about. Funny thing, Flapjack never done anything like that in a place where he was wel- come, and I sometimes wonder. Espe- cially after what happened with the Martians. But we ain’t quite got to that yet. Anyway I was just jawing at Flap- jack; I was gettin’ just about ready for a trip to town myself, and maybe that’s why I was takin’ it out on him. I like a trip to town just as well as Flapjack does, only I ain’t there no length of time before I get fed up with all the noise and the folks and the buildings and sleeping in beds and I just got to get out and head for the hills again. That’s the only thing me and Flapjack really differ on; he’d rather stay longer. I was makin’ supper half an hour later and Flapjack probably thought I didn’t see him go into the tent. He was scoutin’ around for something to steal. Flapjack’s the stealingest burro I ever did see. If he thinks it’s some- thing I want, he’ll steal it quicker’n you can say “Holy Hominy,” even if he don’t like it or want it himself. I recollect the time I was gettin’ tired of the way he’d swipe pancakes in the morning, so I cooked up a batch with lots of red pepper in them. You think he’d let out a peep? Not Flapjack. He was so happy about getting away with swiping my pancakes that he didn’t care how awful they tasted. Flapjack’s a caution, Flapjack is. But I started out to tell you about the Martians. Maybe I better. It was coming on morning; let’s see now, just to be accuratelike, it must’ve been August 6th or maybe August 7th, sometimes you lose track in the desert. Anyway, I opened my eyes when I heard Flapjack bray, real indignant- like. I knew something was up; Flap- jack doesn’t use that tone of bray unless. I stuck my head out of the tent just in time to see this here— well, balloon was what I thought it was at first — balloon on fire. Fire was shootin’ out from beneath it like crazy. I expected a big explosion any minute. But it didn’t explode. The balloon settled down no more than maybe fifty feet away, and the flames died out. “Holy Hominy,” I said to myself and to Flapjack, “it must’ve blowed all the way from some fair some- wheres. ” I crawled the rest of the way out of the tent, figurin’ on gettin’ over to where that thing had come down to investigate-like. I didn’t expect no folks to be there cause there wasn’t no basket slung underneath. And if there had been, both the basket and the folks in it would’ve been fried to a crisp, the way that thing had been spouting fire as it came down. I’d plumb forgot about Flapjack. 63 ME AND FLAPJACK AND THE MARTIANS

Page 65

You can’t blame him for feeling kind of skittish, but instead of runnin’ away he’d backed up toward the tent. And when he heard me movin’ behind him, he let go with his hind hoofs real quick. I don’t think he done it on purpose. But that’s all I remember for a while. When I woke up again, it was good and light. I must’ve been out at least an hour, could have been two. I put my hand up to my head and groaned and then, sudden, I remembered that balloon. I staggered up to my feet and looked over at it. That balloon wasn’t no balloon. I seen one balloon back in Missouri at a fair and I seen pictures of other ones, and this thing, whatever it was, wasn’t any balloon. I’ll guarantee you that. Besides, whoever heard of anybody being inside a balloon? Maybe I shouldn’t say anybody, I should say anything, on account of the critters that was dartin’ in and out of a door in the side of that thing sure wasn’t ordinary folks. First thing that come to my mind was maybe it was something from a circus; they have the darndest freaks and animals — and contraptions, too — at a circus. Only I couldn’t decide whether these things was freaks or animals. They was somewhere in between. Anyhow, these critters was dartin’ in and out of the big ball that I’d taken for a balloon, sometimes on their back legs sometimes on all fours. On two legs, they was about four feet high, and on four they was only knee- high to a heifer, on account of their legs — and arms, if their front legs was arms — was so short. They was carryin’ all sorts of funny devices which they was settin’ up on the desert just about halfway between me and that ball-contraption they went in and out of. And three of ’em swarmed around puttin’ together what the others brought ’em. Then I noticed Flapjack. He was standin’ right near ’em and didn’t look afraid at all. Just curious, like any burro is. Well, I got up my courage and meandered over that way and took a look at the thing they was workin’ on, but I couldn’t make nothing of it. I said, “Hullo,” and they didn’t an- swer me and didn’t pay no more attention to me than if I was a prairie dog. So I went around ’em, keepin’ my distance, and went up to the side of this ball and reached up and touched it. Holy Hominy! It was made out of metal as smooth and hard as the barrel of a Colt and it was as big as a two-story house. One of the funny-lookin’ little crit- ters came along and shooed me away, kinda waving a thing in his hand that looked something like a flashlight. I had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t no flashlight and I wasn’t too 64 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 66

curious, just then, to find out what would happen if he did more than wave it at me, so I got. I went back about twenty feet or so and watched. Pretty soon they seemed to have finished putting together whatever it was they’d been working on. Flapjack was standing only a few feet away from it by now, and I started to wan- der up closer but one of ’em waved a flashlight at me again and I got back. Two of ’em stood there on their hind legs pulling levers and twisting knobs. There was a kind of loud- speaker on top of it, like you used to see on old-fashioned phonographs. Suddenly the loud-speaker said: “It should be correctly adjusted now, Mandu.” You could have knocked me down with a pebble. Here were these things looking like they’d escaped from a zoo and they had a talking machine of some kind or other. I sat down on a rock and stared at the loud-speaker. “It would seem so,” the loud- speaker said. “Now if this terrestrial has the type of mentality that we have deduced, we should be able to communicate.” All of the critters walked away from the device except one and he looked direct at Flapjack and said, “ Greetings.” “Greetings, yourself,” I said. “Flapjack’s a burro, so how’s about talking to me?” “Will one of you,” said the loud- speaker, “please attempt to stop that domesticated creature over there from making his fantastic noises? ” Flapjack hadn’t been makin’ any noise that I could hear. But a flash- light got waved at me so I shut up to see what’d happen. \ “I assume,” said the loud-speaker, “that you are the dominant intelli- gence of this planet. Greetings from the inhabitants of Mars.” A funny thing about that there loud-speaker; something makes me remember every dang word it said, just like it said ’em, even when I still don’t rightly know what all the fancier words mean. While I was tryin’ to figure the an- swer to what they’d said, danged if MOVING? Going to have a new address? We can’t send your regular Astounding SCIENCE FICTION along if you don't warn us ahead of time. If you’re going to move, let us know six weeks in ad- vance. Otherwise you’ll have a neglected mailbox! Write SUBSCRIPTION DEPT. Astounding SCIENCE FICTION 304 East 45th St., New York 17, N. Y. ME AND FLAPJACK AND THE MARTIANS 65

Page 67

Flapjack didn’t beat me to the draw. He opened his mouth, showed his teeth and brayed real hearty. “Thank you,” said the loud- speaker. “And in answer to your question, this is a sonic telepathor. It, in a manner of thinking, broad- casts my thoughts and they are repro- duced in the mind of the listener in the language which he speaks and understands. The sounds you seem to hear are not the exact sounds that come from the speaker; it emits an abstract sound pattern which your subconscious, with the aid of the carrier wave, hears as expression in your own language. It is not selective; many creatures speaking many tongues would all understand what I am thinking. Our adjustment con- sisted in tuning the receiver part, which is selective, to the particular pattern of your individual intelli- gence.” “You’re crazy,” I yelled. “Why don’t you fix that danged thing so it can understand what / say? ” “Please keep that animal quiet, Yagarl,” said the loud-speaker. Flap- jack looked at me over his shoulder reproachfully. That didn’t worry me. But one of the critters with flash- lights waved it at me again and that did. And anyway the speaker was blaring again and I wanted to hear what it said so I listened. “We of Mars had the same diffi- culty,” it was saying. “Happily, we 66 have been *ible to solve the problem by substituting robots for domesti- cated animals. Obviously, however, you have a different situation. Through the lack of suitable hands, or even tentacles, you have found it necessary to domesticate one of the lower orders which is so equipped.” Flapjack brayed briefly and the loud-speaker said, “Naturally you wish to know the purpose of our visit. We wish your advice in solving a problem that is vital to us. Mars is a dying planet. Its water,, its at- mosphere, its mineral resources, are all practically exhausted. If we had been able to develop interstellar travel, we might seek an unoccupied planet somewhere in the galaxy. Un- fortunately we have not; our ships will take us only to other planets in the solar system and only the discov- ery of an entirely new principle would enable us to reach the stars. We have not found even a clue to that prin- ciple. “In the solar system, yours is the only planet — besides Mars — that can support Martian life. Mercury is too hot, Venus has no land surface and an atmosphere poisonous to us. The force of gravity of Jupiter would crush us and all of its moons are — like yours — airless. The outer planets are im- possibly cold. “So we are faced with the necessity, if we wish to survive, to move to Earth— peaceably if you submit; for- cibly if we must use force. And we ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 68

have weapons that can destroy the population of Earth within days.” “Just a minute,” I yelled. “If you think for a minute that you can — ” The critter who had been aiming a flashlight at me lowered it at my knees and, as I started toward the one who’d been operating the speaker contraption, he pushed a button. My knees suddenly went rubber and I fell down. Also I shut up. My legs just didn’t work at all. I had to use my arms to get to a sitting position so I could see what was going on. Flapjack was braying. “True,” the speaker said. “That would be the best solution for both of us. We do not wish to occupy — by force or otherwise — an already civilized planet. If you can really suggest another answer to our prob- lem—” Flapjack brayed. “Thank you,” said the loud- speaker. “I am sure that will work out. Why we did not think of it our- selves I cannot imagine. We appre- ciate your assistance immeasurably; we offer you our heartfelt gratitude. We leave with good will in our hearts. We shall not return.” My knees worked again and I got up. I didn’t go anywhere, though. My knees had been out of commission for a full minute and I was thinking that if that flashlight thing had been pointed higher and had stopped my heart working for a full minute I wouldn’t be worrying about my knees. Flapjack brayed just once more, and not for long this time. The funny- looking critters began to take their contraption with the speaker apart and carry it a piece at a time back to the big ball they’d come in. It and them were all back in the balloon that wasn’t a balloon in ten minutes, about, and the door in it closed. The bottom of it began to fire up again and I ran back to where my tent was and watched from there. And all of a sudden the contraption •whooshed, upward and disappeared almost straight up into the sky. Flapjack came strolling over toward me, kind of avoiding my eyes, like. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?” I asked him. He wouldn’t answer me. But I guess he did think so. Later on that same day he stole my pan- cakes again. And that's the whole story, partner. That's how Flapjack saved the world from the Martians. You want to know what he told ’em? Well, I’d like to know, loo, but he won’t tell me. Hey, Flapjack, come over here. You had enough beer for tonight. All right, partner, here he is. You ask him. Maybe he’ll tell you. Or maybe he won’t. Flapjack’s a caution, Flapjack is. But go ahead and ask him. THE END ME AND FLAPJACK AND THE MARTIANS 67

Page 69

THE IMPACTED IAN BY ROBERT SHECKLEY A contractor on a big job is apt to have many headaches. Little things can go wrong — minor flaws that mar the whole work. Illustrated by Orban TO: CENTER Office 41 ATTN: Controller Miglese FROM: Contractor Carienomen SUBJ: A TT A LA M etagalaxy Dear Controller Miglese: This is to inform you that I have completed contract 13371 A. In the -re- gion of space coded ATTALA I have constructed one metagalaxy, incorporat- ing 549 billion galaxies, with the normal distribution of star clusters, variables, novae, et cetera. See attacked data sheet. The outer limits of ATTALA meta- galaxy are defined in the accompanying map. Speaking for myself, as chief de- signer, and for my company, I am con- fident that we have done a sound con- struction job, as well as a work of great artistic merit. 68 We welcome your inspection. Having fulfilled the terms of our con- tract, the agreed-upon fee is payable at any lime. Respectfully, Carienomen Enclosed: 1 data sheet, installations 1 map of metagalaxy ATTALA TO: Construction Headquarters 334132, Extension 12 A TTN: Chief Designer, Carienomen FROM : Asst. Controller Miglese SUBJ: ATTALA Metagalaxy Dear Carienomen: We have inspected your construction, and have held up your fee accordingly. Artistic! I suppose it’s artistic. But haven't you forgotten our prime concern in construction work? ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 70

Consistency , just to remind you. Our inspectors discovered large amounts of unexplained data occurring even around the metagalactic center, a region one would think you would build with care. That can't go on. Luckily, the region is unpopulated. And that’s not all. Would you care to explain your spatial phenomena? What in chaos is this red shift you’ve built in? I’ve read your explanation of it, and it doesn’t make any sense to me. How will planetary observers take it? Artistry is no excuse. Furthermore, what kinds of atoms are you using? Carienomen , are you trying to save money with shoddy materials? A good percentage of those atoms were unstable! They break down at the touch of a finger, or even without the touch of a finger. Couldn’t you fi.gure out any other way of lighting your suns? Enclosed is a data sheet, outlining the findings of our inspectors. No payment until they’re cleared up. And there is another serious matter, just brought to my attention. Evidently you weren’t watching too closely for stresses and strains in your spatial fabric. We have detected a time-flaw ne-ar the periphery of one of your galax- ies. It is small, at present, but it could grow. I suggest that you take care of it at once, before you have to rebuild a galaxy or two. One of the inhabitants of a planet THE IMPACTED MAN 69

Page 71

impinging on the flaw is impacted al- ready; wedged into the flaw, due entirely to your carelessness. I suggest that you correct this before he moves out of his normal time-sequence, creating para- doxes right and left. Get in touch with him, if need be. Also, I have word of unexplained phe- nomena on some of your planets; items such as flying pigs, moving mountains, ghosts, and others, all enumerated in the complaint sheet. We won’t have this sort of thing, Carienomen. A paradox is strictly for- bidden in the created galaxies, since a paradox is the inevitable forerunner of chaos. Take care of that impaction at once. I don’t know whether the impacted in- dividual realizes it yet. Miglese Enclosed: 1 complaint sheet Kay Masrin folded the last blouse into the suitcase, and, with her hus- band’s assistance, closed it. "That’s that,” Jack Masrin said, hefting the bulging case. “ Say good-by to the old homestead.” They looked around at the furnished room where they had spent their last year. “Good-by, homestead,” Kay said. “Let’s not miss the train.” “Plenty of time.” Masrin started to the door. “Shall we say good-by to Happy Boy?” They had given Mr. Harf, their landlord, that nickname because he smiled, once a month, when 70 they handed him the rent. Of course, he immediately reshaped his mouth to its usual prim line. “Let’s not,” Kay said, smoothing out her tailored suit. “He just might wish us luck, and what would happen then?” “You’re perfectly right,” Masrin said. “No use starting a new life with Happy Boy’s blessings. I’d rather have the Witch of Endor curse me.” With Kay following him, Masrin walked to the head of the stairs. He looked down at the first floor landing, started to take the first step, and stopped abruptly. “What’s wrong?” Kay asked. “Have we forgotten anything?” Masrin asked, frowning. “ I checked all the drawers and un- der the bed. Come on, we’ll be late. Masrin looked down the stairs again-. Something was bothering him. He searched quickly for the source of the trouble. Of course, they had prac- tically no money. But that had never worried him in the past. He did have a teaching job, finally, even if it was in Iowa. That was the important thing, after a year of working in a bookstore. Everything was going right. Why should he be worried? He took a step down, and stopped again. The feeling was stronger. There was something he shouldn’t do. He glanced back at Kay. “Do you hate leaving that much?” Kay asked. “Let’s go, or Happy Boy’ll charge us another month’s rent. Which, ASTOUNDING SCIENCE - FICTION

Page 72

for some strange reason, we haven’t got.” Still Masrin hesitated. Kay pushed past him and trotted downstairs. “See?” she said from the first floor landing. “It’s easy. Come on. Walk to Mummy.” Masrin mumbled a few subdued curses and started down the stairs. The feeling became stronger. He reached the eighth step, and — He was standing on a grassy plain. The transition was as sudden as that. He gasped and blinked. The suit- case was still in his hand. But where was the brownstone? Where was Kay? Where, for that matter, was New York? In the distance was a small blue mountain. There was a clump of trees nearby. In front of the clump was a dozen or so men. Masrin was in a dreamlike state of shock. He observed, almost idly, that the men were short, swarthy, thickly muscled. They wore loin cloths, and carried beautifully carved and pol- ished clubs. They were watching him, and Masrin decided it was a tossup, who was the most surprised. Then one of them grunted some- thing, and they started moving toward him. A club bounced off his suitcase. The shock dissolved. Masrin turned, dropped the suitcase and ran like a greyhound. A club whacked his spine, nearly knocking him over. He was fac- ing a little hill, and he bounded up it, arrows showering around him. A few feet up, he realized that he was back in New York. He was at the top of the stairs, still in full stride, and before he could stop himself he had run into the wall. Kay was on the first floor landing, looking up. She gasped when she saw him, but didn’t say anything. Masrin looked at the familiar murky mauve walls of the brownstone, and at his wife. No savages. “What happened?” Kay whis- pered, white-faced, coming up the stairs. “ What did you see? ” Masrin asked. He didn’t have a chance to feel the full impact of what had happened. Ideas were pouring into his head, theories, conclusions. Kay hesitated, gnawing at her lower lip. “You walked down a couple of steps and then you were gone. I couldn’t see you any more. I just stood there and looked and looked. And then I heard a noise, and you were back on the stairs. Running.” They walked back to their room and opened the door. Kay sat down at once on the bed. Masrin walked around, catching his breath. Ideas were still pouring in, and he was hav- ing trouble sifting them. “You won’t believe me,” he said. “Oh won’t I? Try me!” He told her about the savages. the impacted man 71

Page 73

“You could tell me you were on Mars,” Kay said. “I’d believe you. I saw you disappear!” “My suitcase!” Masrin said sud- denly, remembering that he had dropped it. * “Forget the suitcase,” Kay said. “I have to go back for it,” Masrin said. “No!” “I must. Look, dear, it’s pretty ob- vious what happened. I walked through some sort of a time-flaw, which sent me back to the past. I must have landed in prehistoric times, to judge by the welcoming committee I met. I have to go back for that suitcase.” “Why?” Kay- asked. “Because I can’t allow a paradox to occur.” Masrin didn’t even wonder how he knew this. His normal egotism saved him from wondering how the idea had originated in his mind. “Look,” he said, “my suitcase lands in the past. In it I’ve got an electric shaver, some pants with zippers, a plastic hairbrush, a nylon shirt, and a dozen or so books — some of them pub- lished as late as 1951. I’ve even got Ettison’s ‘Western Ways’ in there, a text on Western civilization from 1490 to the present day. “The contents of that case could give these savages the impetus to change their own history. And suppose some of that stuff got into the hands of Europeans, after they discovered America? How would that affect the present? ” 72 “I don’t know,” Kay said. “And you don’t either.” “Of course I know,” Masrin said. It was all crystal-clear. He was amazed that she wasn’t able to follow it logically. “Look at it this way,” Masrin said. “ Minutiae makes history. The present is made up of a tremendous number of infinitesimal factors, which shaped and molded the past. If you add an- other factor to the past, you’re bound to get another result in the present. But the present is as it is, unchange- able. So we have a paradox. And there can’t be any paradox!” “Why can’t there?” Kay asked. Masrin frowned. For a bright girl, she was following him very poorly. “Just believe me,” he said. “Paradox isn’t allowed in a logical universe.” Allowed by whom? And he had the answer. “The way I see it,” Masrin said, “ there must be a regulating principle in the universe. All our natural laws are expressions of it. This principle can’t stand paradox, because . . . be- cause— ” He knew that the answer had to do with suppressing the funda- mental chaos, but he didn’t know why. “Anyhow, this principle can’t stand paradox.” “Where did you get that idea?” Kay asked. She had never heard Jack talk that way before. “I’ve had these ideas for a long time,” Masrin said, and believed it. “There was just never any reason ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 74

to talk about it. Anyhow, I’m going back for my suitcase.” He walked out to the landing, fol- lowed by Kay. “Sorry I can’t bring you any souvenirs,” Masrin said cheer- fully. “ Unfortunate!}' , that would re- sult in a paradox also. Everything in the past has had a part in shaping the present. Remove something, and it’s like removing one unknown from an equation. You wouldn’t get the same result.” He started down the stairs. On the eighth step, he disappeared again. He was back in prehistoric America. The savages were gathered around the suitcase, only a few feet from him. They hadn’t opened it yet, Masrin noticed thankfully. Of course, the suitcase itself was a pretty paradoxical article. But its appearance — and his — would probably be swallowed up in myth and legend. Time had a certain amount of flexibility. Looking at them, Masrin couldn’t decide if they were forerunners of Indians, or a separate sub-race which didn’t survive. He wondered if they thought he was an enemy, or a garden- variety evil spirit. Masrin darted forward, shoved two of them aside, and grabbed his suit- case. He ran back, circling the little hill, and stopped. He was still in the past. Where in chaos was that hole in time, Masrin wondered, not noticing the strangeness of his oath. The sav- ages were coming after him now, starting around the little hill. Masrin almost had the answer, then lost it as an arrow sped past him. He sprinted, trying to keep the hill between himself and the Indians. His long legs pumped, and a club bounced behind him. Where was that hole in. time? What if it had moved? Perspiration poured from his face as he ran. A club grazed his arm, and he twisted around the side of the hill, looking wildly for shelter. He met three squat savages, coming after him. Masrin fell to the ground as they swung their clubs, and they tripped over his body. Others were coming now, and he jumped to his feet. Up! The thought struck him sud- denly, cutting through his fear. Up! He charged the hill, certain that he would never reach the top alive. And he was back in the boarding house, still holding the suitcase. “Are you hurt, darling?” Kay put her arms around him. “What hap- pened?” Masrin had only one rational thought. He couldn’t remember any prehistoric tribe that carved their clubs as elaborately as these savages. It was almost a unique art form, and he wished he could get one of the clubs to a museum. Then he looked at the mauve walls wildly, expecting to see the savages come bounding out of them. Or per- THE IMPACTED MAN 73

Page 75

haps there were little men in his suit- case. He fought for control. The think- ing portion of his mind told him not to be alarmed; flaws in time were pos- sible, and he had become wedged, impacted in one. Everything else fol- lowed logically. All he had to do — But another part of his mind wasn’t interested in Logic. It had been staring blankly at the impossibility' of the whole thing, uninfluenced by any ra- tional arguments. That part knew an impossibility when it saw one, and said so. Masrin screamed and fainted. TO: CENTER Office 41 ATTN: Asst. Controller Miglese FROM: Contractor Carienomen SUBJ: ATTALA Metagalaxy Dear Sir: I consider your attitude unfair. True, I have utilized some new ideas in my approach to this particular metagalaxy. I have allowed myself the latitude of artistry, never thinking I would be beset by the howls of a static , reactionary CENTER. Believe me, I am as interested as you in our great job — that of suppressing the fundamental chaos. But in doing this, we must not sacrifice our values. Enclosed is a statement of defense concerning my use of the red shift, and another statement of the advantages gained by using a small percentage of unstable atoms for lighting and energy purposes. 74 ,4s to the time-flaw, that was merely a small error in duration-flow, and has nothing to do with the fabric of space, which is, I assure you, of first-rate quality. There is, as you pointed out, an in- dividual impacted in the flaw, which makes the job of repair slightly more difficult. I have been in contact with him, indirectly of course, and have succeeded in giving him a limited understanding of his role. If he doesn’t disturb the flaw too much by time-traveling, I should be able to sew it up with little difficulty. I don’t know if this procedure is possible, though. My rapport with him is quite shaky, and he seems to have a number of strong influences around him, counsel- ing him to move. I could perform an extraction of course, and ultimately I may have to do just that. For that matter, if the thing gets out of hand I may be forced to extract the entire planet. I hope not, since that. would necessitate clearing that entire portion of space, where there are also local observers. This, in turn, might necessitate rebuilding an entire galaxy. However, I hope to have the problem settled by the time I next communicate with you. The warp in the metagalaclic center was caused by some workmen leaving a disposal unit open. It has been closed. The phenomena such as walking mountains, et cetera, are being handled in the usual way. ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 76

Payment is still due on my work. Respectfully , Carienomen Enclosed: 1 statement, 5541 pages, Red Shift 1 statement, 7689 pages, Unstable Atoms TO: Construction Headquarters 334132, Extension 12 ATTN: Contractor Carienomen FROM: Asst. Controller Miglese SUBJ: ATTALA Metagalaxy Carienomen: You will be paid after you can show me a logical, decently constructed job. I'll read your statements when and if I have time. Take care of the flaw-im- paction before it tears a hole in the fabric of tpace. Miglese Masrin recovered his nerve in half an hour. Kay put a compress on a purple bruise on his arm. Masrin started pacing the room. Once again, he was in complete possession of his faculties. Ideas started to come. “The past is down,” he said, half to Kay, half to himself. “I don’t mean really ‘down’; but when I move in that apparent direc- tion, I step through the hole in time. It’s a case of shifted conjoined ’di- mensionality.” “What does that mean?” Kay asked, staring wide-eyed at her husband. “Just take my word for it,” Masrin said. “I can’t go down.” He couldn’t explain it to her any better. There weren’t words to fit the concepts. “ Can you go up? ” Kay asked, com- pletely confused. “I don’t know. I suppose, if I went up, I’d go into the future.” “Oh, I can’t stand it,” Kay said. “What’s wrong with you? How will you get out of here? How will you get down that haunted staircase?” “Are you people still there?” Mr. Harf’s voice croaked from outside. Masrin walked over and opened the door. “I think we’re going to stay for a while,” he said to the landlord. “You’re not,” Harf said. “I’ve al- ready rented this room again.” Happy Boy Harf was small and bony, with a narrow skull and lips as thin as a, spider’s thread. He stalked into the room, looking around for signs of damage to his property. One of Mr. Harf’s little idiosyncrasies was his belief that the nicest people were capable of the worst crimes. “When are the people coming?” Masrin asked. “This afternoon. And I want you out before they get here.” “Couldn’t we make some arrange- ment?” Masrin asked. The impossibil- ity of the situation struck him. He couldn’t go downstairs. If Harf forced him out, he would have to go to pre- historic New York, where he was sure his return was eagerly awaited. And there was the over-all problem of paradox! “I’m sick,” Kay said in a stifled 75 THE IMPACTED MAN

Page 77

little voice. “I can’t leave yet.” “What are you sick from? I’ll call an ambulance if you’re sick,” Harf said, looking suspiciously around the room for any signs of bubonic plague. “I’d gladly pay you double the rent if you’d let us stay a little longer,” Masrin said. Harf scratched his head, and stared at Masrin. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand, and said, “Where’s the money? ” Masrin realized that he had about ten dollars left, and his train tickets. He and Kay were going to ask for an advance as soon as they reached the college. “Broke,” Harf said. “I thought you had a job at some school?” “He does,” Kay said staunchly. “Then why don’t you go there and get out of my place?” Harf asked. The Masrins were silent. Harf glared at them. “Very suspicious. Get out before noon, or I’ll call a cop.” “Hold it,” Masrin said. “We’ve paid the rent for today. The room’s ours until twelve midnight.” Harf stared at them. He wiped his nose again, thoughtfully. “Don’t try staying one minute over,” he said, stamping out of the room. As soon as Harf was gone, Kay hurried over and closed the door. “Honey,” she said , “why don’t you call up some scientists here in New 76 York and tjell them what’s happened? I’m sure they’d arrange something, until . . . how long will we have to stay here? ” “Until the flaw’s repaired,” Masrin said. “But we can’t tell anyone; es- pecially, we can’t tell any scientists.” “Why not?” Kay asked. “Look, the important thing, as I told you, is to avoid a paradox. That means I have to keep my hands off the past, and the future. Right?” “If you say so,” Kay said. “We call in a team of scientists, and what happens? Naturally, they’re skeptical. They want to see me do it. So I do it. Immediately, they bring in a few of their colleagues. They watch me disappear. Understand, all this time there’s no proof that I’ve gone into the past. All they know is, if I walk downstairs, I disappear. “Photographers are called in, to make sure I’m not hypnotizing the scientists. Then they demand proof. They want me to bring back a scalp, or one of those carved clubs. The news- papers get hold of it. It’s inevitable that somewhere along the line I pro- duce a paradox. And do you know what happens then? ” “No, and you don’t either.” “I do,” Masrin said firmly. “Once a paradox is caused, the agent — the man who caused it — me — disappears. For good. And it goes down in the books as another unsolved mystery. That way, the paradox is resolved in its easiest way — by getting rid of the ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 78

paradoxical element.” “If you think you’re in danger, then of course we won’t call in any scientists,” Kay said. “Although I wish I knew what you were driving at. I don’t understand anything you’ve said.” She went to the window and looked out. There was New York, and beyond it, somewhere, was Iowa, where they should be going. She looked at her watch. They had already missed the train. “Phone the college,” Masrin said. “Tell them I’ll be delayed a few days.” “ Will it be a few days? ” Kay asked. “How will you ever get out?” “Oh, the hole in time isn’t perma- nent,” Masrin said confidently. “It’ll heal — if I don’t go sticking myself in it.” “But we can only stay here until midnight. What happens then? ” “I don’t know,” Masrin said. “We can only hope it’ll be fixed by them” TO: CENTER Office 41 ATTN: Asst. Controller Miglcse FROM : Contractor Carienomen SUBJ: MORSTT Metagalaxy Dear Sir: Herein, enclosed, is my bid for work on the new metagalaxy in the region coded MORSTT. If you have heard any discussions in art circles recently , I think that you will see that my use of unstable atoms in ATTALA Meta- galaxy has been proclaimed “the first great advance in creative engineering THE IMPACTED MAN 77

Page 79

since the invention of variable lime- flow.” See the enclosed reviews. My artistry has stirred many favor- able comments. Most of the inconsistencies — natural inconsistencies, let me remind you — - in A TT ALA Metagalaxy have been cor- rected. I am still working with the man impacted in the time-flaw. He is proving quite co-operative; at least, as co-opera- tive as he can be, with the various in- fluences around him. To date, I have coalesced the edges of the flaw, and am allowing them to harden. I hope the individual remains immobile, since l really don’t like to extract anyone or anything. After all, each person, each planet, each star sys- tem, no matter how minute, has an inte- gral part in my metagalactic scheme. Artistically, at any rate. Your inspection is welcomed again. Please note the galactic configurations around the metagalactic center. They are a dream of beauty you will wish to carry with you always. Please consider my bid for the MORSTT Metagalaxy project in light of my past achievements. Payment, is still due on ATTALA Metagalaxy. Respectfully, Carienomen Enclosed: 1 bid, for MORSTT M elagalaxy project 3 critical review's, ATTALA Metagalaxy “It’s efeven forty-five, honey,” Kay said nervously. “Do you think we 78 could go now?” “Let’s wait a few minutes longer,” Masrin said. He could hear Harf prowl- ing around on the landing, waiting eagerly for the dot of twelve. Masrin watched the seconds tick by on his wrist watch. At five minutes to twelve, he de- cided that he might as well find out. If the hole wasn’t fixed by now, an- other five minutes wouldn’t do it. He placed the suitcase on the dresser, and moved a chair next to it. “What are you doing? ” Kay asked. “I don’t feel like trying those stairs at night,” Masrin said. “It’s bad enough playing with those pre-Indians in the daylight. I’m going to try going up, instead.” His wife gave him an under-the-eyelids no w-I-know-you ’re- cracking look. “It’s not the stairs that does it,” Masrin told her again. “It’s the act of going up or down. The critical dis- tance seems to be about five feet. This will do just as well.” Kay stood nervously, clenching and unclenching both hands, as Masrin climbed on the chair and put one foot on the dresser. Then the other, and he stood up. “I think it’s all right,” he said, teetering a little. “I’m going to try it a little higher.” He climbed on the suitcase. And disappeared. It was day, and he was in a city. But the city didn’t look like New ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 80

York. It was breathtakingly beautiful — so beautiful that Masrin didn’t dare breathe, for fear of disturbing its fragile loveliness. It was a place of delicate, wispy towers and buildings. And people. But what people, Masrin thought, let- ting out his breath with a sigh. The people were blue-skinned. The light was green, coming from a green- tinged sun. Masrin drew in a breath of air, and strangled. He gasped again, and started to lose his balance. There was no air in the place! At least, no air he could breathe. He felt for a step behind him, and then tumbled down — ■ To land, choking and writhing, on the floor of his room. After a few moments he could breathe again. He heard Harf pound- ing on the door. Masrin staggered to his feet, and tried to think of some- thing. He knew Harf; the man was probably certain by now that Masrin headed the Mafia. He would call a cop if they didn’t leave. And that would ultimately result in — “Listen,” he said to Kay, “I’ve got another idea.” His throat was burning from the atmosphere of the future. However, he told himself, there was no reason why he should be surprised. He had made quite a jump forward. The composition of the Earth’s at- mosphere must have changed, gradu- ally, and the people had adapted to it. But it was poison for him. “There are two possibilities now,” he said to Kay. “One, that under the prehistoric layer is another, earlier layer. Two, that the prehistoric layer is only a temporary discontinuity. That under it, is present New York again. Follow me?” “No.” “I’m going to try going under the prehistoric layer. It might get me down to the ground floor. Certainly, it can’t be any worse.” Kay considered the logic of going some thousands of years into the past in order to walk ten feet, but didn’t say anything. Masrin opened the door and went out to the stairs, followed by Kay, “Wish me luck,” he said. “Luck, nothing,” Mr. Harf said, on the landing. “Just get out of here.” Masrin plunged down the stairs. It was still morning in prehistoric New York, and the savages were still waiting for him. Masrin estimated that only about half an hour had gone by here. He didn’t have time to wonder why. He had caught them by surprise, and was twenty yards away before they saw him. They followed, and Masrin looked for a depression. He had to go down five feet, in order to get out. He found a shelving of the land, and jumped down. He was in water. Not just on the surface, but under. The pressure was tremendous, and Masrin could not see THE IMPACTED MAN 19

Page 81

i sunlight above him. He must have gone “through” to a time when this section was under the Atlantic. Masrin kicked furiously, eardrums bursting. He started to rise toward the surface, and— He was back on the plain, dripping wet. This time, the savages had had enough. They looked at him, material- ized in front of them, gave a shriek of horror, and bolted. This water sprite was too strong for them. Wearily, Masrin walked back to the hill, climbed it, and was back in the brownstone. Kay was staring at him, and Harf’s jaw was hanging slack. Masrin grinned weakly. “Mr. Harf,”he said, “will you come ~ into my room? There’s something I want to tell you.” TO: CENTER Office 41 ATTN: Asst. Controller Miglese FROM: Contractor Carienomen SUBJ: MORSTT Metagalaxy My dear Sir: I cannot understand your reply to my bid for the job of constructing MORSTT Metagalaxy. Moreover, I do not think that obscenity has any place in a business letter. If you have taken the trouble to inspect my latest work in ATTALA, you will see that it is, lake it all for all, a beautiful 80 job, andi one that will go a long way toward holding back the fundamental chaos. The only detail left to attend to is the matter of the impacted man. I fear I shall have to extract. The flaw was hardening nicely, when he blundered into it again, tearing it worse than ever. No paradox as yet, but I can see one coming. Unless he can control his immediate environment , and do it at once, I shall take the necessary step. Paradox is not allowed. I consider it my duly to ask you to reconsider my bid for the MORSTT Metagalaxy project. A nd I trust you will excuse me for bringing this oversight to your attention, but payment is still due. Respectfully, Carienomen “So that’s the story, Mr. Harf,” Masrin said, an hour later. “I know how weird it sounds; but you saw me disappear yourself.” “That I did,” Harf said. Masrin went into the bathroom to hang up his wet clothes. “Yes,” Harf said, “I guess you dis- appeared at that.” “I certainly did.” “And you don’t want the scientists to know about your deal with the devil? ” Harf asked slyly. “No! I explained about paradox, and — ” “Let me see,” Harf said. He wiped ASTOUNDING SCIENCE -FICTION

Page 82

his nose vigorously. “Those carved dubs you said they had. Wouldn’t one of those be valuable to a museum? You said there was nothing like it.” “ What? ” Masrin asked, coming out of die bathroom. “Listen, I can’t touch any of that stuff. It’ll result in “Of course,” Harf said, “I could call in some newspaper boys instead. And some scientists, I could probably make me a nice little pile out of this devil-worship.” “You wouldn’t!” Kay said, remem- bering only that her husband had said something bad would happen. “Be reasonable,” Harf said. “All I want is one or two of those clubs. That won’t cause any trouble. You can just ask your devil — ” “There’s no devil involved,” Masrin said. “You have no idea what part one of those clubs might have played in history. The club I take might have killed the man who would have united these people, and the North American Indians might have met the Europeans as a single nation. Think how that would change — ” “Don’t hand me that stuff,” Harf said. “Are you getting me a dub or aren’t you?” “ I’v6 explained it to you,” Masrin said wearily. “And don’t tell me any more about Ibis paradox business. I don’t under- stand it, anyhow. But I’ll split fifty- fifty with you on what I get for the club.” “No.” “O.K. I’ll be seeing you.” Harf started for the door. “Wait.” “Yes?” Harf’s thin, spidery mouth was smiling now. Masrin examined his choice of evils. If he brought back a club there was a good chance of starting a paradox, by removing all that the club had done in the past. But if he didn’t, Harf would call hi the newspapers and scien- tists. They could find out if Harf was speaking the truth by simply carrying him downstairs; something the police would do anyhow. He would disappear, and then — ” With more people in on it, a paradox would be inevitable. And all Earth might, very possibly, be removed. Al- though he didn’t know why, Masrin knew this for a certainty. He was lost either way, but getting the club seemed the simpler alterna- tive. “ I’ll get it,” Masrin said. He walked to the staircase, followed by Kay and Harf. Kay grabbed his hand. “Don’t do it,” she said. “There’s nothing else I can do.” He thought for a moment of killing Harf. But that would only result in the electric chair for him. Of course, he could kill Harf and take his body into the past, and bury it. But the corpse of a twentieth cen- tury man in prehistoric America might constitute a paradox anyhow. Suppose it was dug up? Till IMPACTED MAN 81

Page 83

Besides, he didn’t have it in him to kill a man. Masrin kissed his wife, and walked downstairs. There were no savages in sight on the plain, although Masrin thought he could feel their eyes, watching him. He found two clubs on the ground. The ones that struck him must be taboo, he decided, and picked one up, expecting another to crush his skull any moment. But the plain was silent. “Good boy!” Harf said. “Hand it here!” Masrin handed him the club. He went over to Kay and put his arm around her. It was a paradox now, as certainly as if he had killed his great- great-grandfather before he was born. “That’s a lovely thing,” Harf said, admiring the club under the light. “Consider your rent paid for the rest of the month — The club disappeared from his hand. Harf disappeared. Kay fainted. Masrin carried her to the bed, and splashed water on her face. “What happened?” she asked. “I don’t know,” Masrin said, sud- denly very puzzled about everything. “All I know is, we’re going to stay here for at least two weeks. Even if we have to eat beans.” TO: CENTER Office 41 ATTN: Asst Controller Miglese 82 FROM: Contractor Carienomen SUBJ: MORSTT Metagalaxy Sir: Your offer of a job repairing dam- aged stars is an insult to my company and myself. We refuse. Let me point out my work in the past, outlined in the brochure I am enclosing. How can you offer so menial a job to one of CEN- TER’S greatest companies? Again, I would like to put in my re- quest for work on the new MORSTT Metagalaxy. As for ATTALA Metagalaxy — the work is now completed, and a finer job cannot be found anywhere this side of chaos. The place is a wonder. The impacted man is no longer im- pacted. I was forced to extract. However, I did not extract the man himself. In- stead, I was able to remove one of the external influences on him. Now he can grow out normally. A nice job, I think you’ll admit, and solved with the ingenuity that character- izes all my work. My decision was: Why extract a good man, when I could save him by pulling the rotten one beside him? Again, I welcome your inspection. I request reconsideration on MORSTT Metagalaxy. PAYMENT IS STILL DUE! Respectfully, Carienomen Enclosed: 1 brochure, 9978 pages THE END ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 84

An ASF Factual Article THE TINIEST TIME TRAVELER BY DAVID FOX lime travel is an old idea in science fiction; this discusses a new physical theory which suggests that a positron is, in actual fact, an example of mat- ter traveling backward in time — and of information from the future coming to the past! Problem: What kind of crystal causes maximum time-deflection of electrons? I want a crystal ball! As Mark Twain said about the weather, everyone talks about taking a trip into the past, but nobody ever does anything about it. Perhaps electrons have done some- thing about it, though. Whether they have or not depends on one’s point of view. 'Die conventional point of view is t hat both electrons and positrons move forward in time, in the sense that the direction from cause to effect is from jiast to future; an external influence on either particle affects its future his- T1IE TINIEST TIME TRAVELER 83

Page 85

These two photographs, from Brookhaven National Laboratories, are typical of the direct information we have about positrons. Ion tracks in a cloud chamber in a powerful magnetic field; the arrows point to the trace of an electron-positron incident. The two prints represent two views, at 90° angles, of one event. The 84 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 86

tightly wound spirals here and there indicate the paths of electrons traveling at lower energies, their paths twisted into tight knots by the powerful magnetic field. THE TINIEST TIME TRAVELER 85

Page 87

Fig. 2. Annihilation of an electron-positron pair. tory, but not its past. Physicists im- plicitly made this assumption when using the original development of the Dirac theory of the electron to study processes in which electrons and posi- trons are involved. It was shown by R. P. Feynman * that another approach is possible. An electron moving backwards in time would appear to us as a positron mov- ing forwards in time. One can there- fore treat all positrons as backward traveling electrons, with causality directed towards the past. A disturb- ance will affect the past history of the positron; information about the dis- turbance is transmitted towards the past. Using this interpretation, Feyn- man carried out a new development of the Dirac theory. He introduced no new mathematical postulates, so the theory is essentially the same as the original development, and the predic- * R. P. Feynman, Physical Review 76, 749, 769, (1949). 86 tions of the results of experiments are unchanged, but the philosophical im- plications are very different. There is nothing in Feynman’s work that tells us how to build time ma- chines, even in principle. The only practical purpose is to provide physi- cists with a simpler method of making certain complicated calculations. But the new viewpoint does lead to a greater insight into the space-time behavior of elementary particles. K Fig. 3. Pair production followed by pair annihila- tion. ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 88

Protons and neutrons probably be- have in the same way as electrons as far as time reversal is concerned. The analogues of the positron — “anti- electron ” — are the antiproton and the antineutron. Neither of these particles has been detected as yet, but there is reason to believe that they exist — the same reason that led physi- cists to predict the existence of the positron before it was discovered. Adopting the new point of view, anti- protons and antineutrons may be treated as backwards traveling pro- tons and neutrons, respectively. Protons and neutrons are sometimes lumped together under the term “nu- cleons”; antiprotons and antineutrons may, therefore, be called “antinucle- ons”. Presumably, an “antiatom” could exist, with antinucleons in the nucleus and with positrons as the orbital particles. Such an atom would have a reversed time direction, according to the Feynman concept. Antimolecules could be built up from these anti- atoms, and so forth. Let’s speculate about human time travel. If a man traveled backwards in time, in the Feynman sense of the term, we would see all his electrons as positrons, his nucleons as antinucle- ons. Conversely, if we could create a man made up of antiatoms, he would travel backwards in time, again in the Feynman sense. Fig. 4. Pair production followed by annihilation of the same pair. THE TINIEST TIME TRAVELER 87

Page 89

Note that in speaking of the back- wards travel of the antiman, the phrase “in the Feynman sense” is stressed. It would be nice to be able to say that our antiman would travel backwards in the biological sense: That he remembered the future and that he grew biologically older to- wards the past. But there is no reason to assume that this is so. There is too big a gap between our knowledge of elementary particle events and bio- logical processes. More important, there is nothing in the mathematical theory of elementary particles that gives a time direction to causality or the transmission of information. The direction is implicit only in the point of view that is adopted. With our Fig. 5. Scattering of an electron wave forwards and backwards in time. The labeling corre- sponds to that of Figures 1 and 2. However, the letters no longer correspond to sharply defined points. present knowledge, there is no more reason to use the Feynman approach to guess that our antiman and a nor- mal man would travel in opposite time directions- — biologically —than there is to use the conventional view to guess that they would travel in the same direction. Nor can both guesses be correct. For there is certainly an experimentally detectable difference between remembering the past and remembering the future, or between growing biologically older in one di- rection or the other. Whatever our antiman would do about biological time travel, he would have to be careful to breathe air, eat food, and wear clothing made up of antiatoms. When a particle meets one of its antiparticles, the two annihilate one another and their mass-energy is transformed into the energy of elec- tromagnetic or mesonic radiation. If the antiman breathed normal air, the particles of the air would annihilate his antiparticles. The resulting con- centration of energy, in the form of photons and mesons, would make an atomic bomb look like a firecracker. We can get a better picture of the reverse time travel concept if we take a look at a few elementary processes in which an electron takes part. Figure 1 is a space-time diagram of the emission of a photon by an elec- tron. Any point on the diagram repre- sents a particular position in space at a particular time. The one-dimen- sional space axis actually represents ASTOUNDING SCIENCE -FICTION

Page 90

the three dimensions of space. The path of the electron in space and time is indicated by the solid line, the photon path by the dashed line. An electron travels from the posi- tion and time corresponding to point A to a different position at a later time, point B. At B, because of a local dis- turbance not shown on the diagram, it emits a photon. Because it must supply the photon’s momentum, the electron recoils, just as a gun recoils when it “emits” a bullet. The effect of the recoil is indicated on the dia- gram as a change of the direction of motion in space. Now consider the process of the annihilation of an electron-positron pair, diagrammed in Figure 2. First, the conventional approach will be used to treat the positron motion. (The arrows along the paths have no meaning for this part of the discus- sion.) An electron starting at D and a positron starting at I move closer to- gether as time goes on. At E, they meet and annihilate one another. The mass and kinetic energy of the pair are converted into the energy of a photon, which is created at E. According to the Feynman point of view, the posit ron can be treated as an electron moving backwards in time. Fig. 6. Modification of Figure 3. An electric field at N deflects the positron so it meets the second electron at H’ instead of at H. The dotted line NH shows the path taken in Figure 3, where there was no deflecting field. With this interpretation, we have a different picture of the pair annihila- tion process. An electron travels from D to E. At E, it emits a photon. Now, energy bears the same relationship to time as momentum does to space. Just as the photon’s momentum, sup- plied by the electron, causes a recoil in space, so the emitted energy causes a “time recoil.” In the case shown in G TI-IE TINIEST TIME TRAVELER 89

Page 91

Figure 2, the time recoil is large enough to reverse the time direction of travel, so that the same electron moves from E to the earlier point, F. We see the same electron at two different places at the same time be- cause it passes through that time twice. Once it passes through back- wards, and therefore that part of the path would appear to us as the path of a positron moving forward in time. With this description, the arrows have meaning. They show the direc- tion of travel in space and time of the single particle. We can now treat pair annihilation as a special case of the emission of a photon by an electron. In Figure 1, the time recoil is not great enough to cause a time reversal ; in Figure 2, it is. There's something missing in what’s been said so far. We can see what it is Fig. 7. Wave picture corresponding to portion of path GHH’NJ in Figure 6. 90 if we try to answer the question, “Which way does a road run?” We may establish a convention-— “all roads lead to Rome”flj-but such a convention does not account for travel in both directions. When we speak of travel in either direction, we imply the existence of a variable that does not appear on an ordinary road map. Usually we take time as this additional variable. By comparing the variation of his position along the road with the variation of time, a traveler knows in which direction he is moving. When time itself is a co-ordinate of the road map, we need another vari- able if we wish to consider travel in either direction. If a particle — or a man— -travels backwards in time, it is at a later point first, at an earlier point last. The use of the words “first” and “last” implies that some- thing besides time is changing; the additional variable increases as time decreases, so it cannot be time itself. Some of the variables that may be used to determine the direction of time travel are the accumulation of memory and of historical records, and causality. Some authors of time travel stories have lumped these variables into what they call “psychological time”. A man traveling backwards in time — say from E to F in Figure 2 — would think of E as earlier than F — psychologically earlier — even though it is time-later. This gives backward time travel some meaning. The rest of ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 92

us would see him at F first, then at E; for us, psychological time would have l he same direction as physical time. An analogue of psychological time for the electron is the phase of its Dirac wave function.* Associated with each electron, and describing its behavior, is a wave. The phase of a wave motion designates the portion of the cycle of the wave; it is closely related to the angle in a circular motion. The phase of an ordinary electron increases towards the future; the phase of a positron decreases in that direction. An electron traveling back- wards in time would have a greater phase at an earlier time, just like a positron moving forwards in time. It can be shown that it is impossible to distinguish between these two situa- tions. ■» The directions of the arrows in Figure 2 are the directions of increas- ing phase. Point E is phase-earlier than F, even though it is time-later. From D to E, there is the normal re- lationship between phase and time — “ normal ” only because there are very few positrons in the world compared to the number of electrons. Now let’s look at a more compli- cated process: Pair creation followed by pair annihilation (Figure 3). First * A better, variable to use for this purpose is some- thing called the “proper time’’ of the electron. However, it is easier to get a physical picture of the phase. The qualitative results are the same, which- ever variable is used. from the conventional point of view: At J, a photon is annihilated and its energy goes into the creation of an electron-positron pair. (Pair creation is the reverse of the process of pair annihilation.) The electron goes off towards K, while the positron goes to H, where — and when — it meets an- other electron, which came from G. The positron and the second electron annihilate one another and produce a photon. Three particles are involved here — two electrons and a positron. Feynman-wise, we can just follow the arrows, which point in the direc- tion of increasing phase. Only one particle is involved. As far as the elec- tron is concerned, its “phase clock” tells it that it is traveling from G to H to J to K. At PI, it emits a photon and ■ is kicked back in time; at J, it absorbs a photon and is kicked forward. For an interval of time, we see three particles, because the electron makes three trips through that interval. To quote Feynman: “It is as though a bombardier flying low over a road suddenly sees three roads and it is only when two of them come together and disappear again that he realizes that he had simply passed over a long switchback in a single road.” There’s another way in which this double process can take place (Figure 4). The annihilation is kept in the family. Instead of the positron bump- ing into some strange electron, the two particles that were created to- gether at L are brought together again TI-IE TINIEST TIME TRAVELER 91

Page 93

by some external force and annihilate one another at M, with the produc- tion of a photon. All this is from the conventional point of view. Again we follow the arrows to see what the new interpretation leads to. An electron travels from L to M along the path on the right, emits a photon at M and is kicked back in time along the left-hand path, back to L where it absorbs a photon and recoils forward in time along the right-hand path to M, where it — et cetera. Although the cycle occurs only once on the space- time diagram, it goes on indefinitely from this point of view. In order to create a pair, a photon must have an energy equal to the total mass-energy of the pair. For an electron-positron pair, the minimum energy is about a million electron volts, which is easily obtained with present day high energy accelerators. It re- quires billions of electron volts to create a nucleon-antinucleon pair. En- ergies of that order will be available from machines now under construc- tion, such as the University of Califor- nia’s bevatron — named after the sym- bol bev: billion electron volts. Nucleons interact much more strongly with meson fields than they do with the electromagnetic field. It is therefore likely that nucleon pairs will be created from mesons much more often than from photons. In Figures 1-4, the dashed lines may represent mesons, and the solid lines 92 nucleons. The comparison of phase-change with time-change is more than just a mathematical recipe for determining the direction of time travel. There is some connection with our intuitive ideas about moving backwards in time. This connection is based on the wave properties of the positron. The description of electron motion used so far, in which the particle travels along well defined paths, is a crude one. It does not account for all the properties of the electron. A better description is obtained by considering the wave associated with the particle. The direction of motion of the wave is the direction of motion of the par- ticle, but a definite path cannot be determined. Instead, we can only determine the probability of finding the particle at a given point in space- time; this probability is proportional to the intensity of the wave at that point. An electron wave can be scattered in all space-time directions by a dis- turbance, just as a wave in a pond is scattered by an object at the surface of the water. Figure 5 is a diagram of such a scattering process. A wave strikes a disturbance represented by the shaded region and is scattered forward and backward in time. The disturbance may be due to the electro- magnetic field associated with ab- sorbed or emitted photons, or to some externally supplied field. For sim- plicity, the photon waves are not ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 94

shown, and only two small portions of the scattered wavelets are drawn. Lines such as X-X are wave fronts — the successive crests of the wave, for example. The phase is the same all along any wave front, and it increases from one front to the next in the direc- tions indicated by the arrows. The phase of an electron wave increases towards the future; the phase of a positron wave increases towards the past. The wave scattered by the dis- turbance towards F is, therefore, a positron — backwards-traveling elec- tron— wave. figure 5 is the wave picture for both Figure 1 and Figure 2. The main wave — parallel straight lines — is as- sociated with the portion of the path A to li in Figure 1, or D to E in Figure 2. When the electron reaches the dis- turbance, there is a certain probability that it will be deflected without under- going a time reversal, as in Figure 1. 'I'll is probability is determined by the intensity of the portion of the forward scattered wave shown in Figure 5. Similarly, the intensity of the back- ward scattered wave gives the prob- ability that the electron will recoil backwards in time, as in Figure 2. The particles may also be deflected through other angles than those shown in Figures 1 and 2. These probabilities are given by the portions of the scat- tered wave that were omitted from Figure 5. According to our intuitive ideas of causality, it is the disturbance that THE TINIEST TIME TRAVELER causes the back scattering to appear at F; that is, the direction of causality is reversed in time for the positron wave. This makes the idea of back- wards time travel more than just a mathematical definition. There’s another way of looking at this picture. A change in the disturb- ance changes the intensity of the back scattering that reaches F. We can, therefore, think of the positron wave as transmitting information back- wards in time from the disturbance to F. It could not transmit information from F to the disturbance; it would take a forward moving electron wave to do that. The wave picture used in the con- ventional approach is considerably different. Implicit in the older view- point is the concept that all waves propagate towards the future, and consequently that information from a disturbance is always transmitted for- ward in time. Similarly, the direction from cause to effect is forward in time for all waves; the future develops con- tinuously from the past. We see then that the two approaches imply opposite time directions of causality or of the transmission of information in the case of positrons. It is not surprising when a new physical theory leads to a new philo- sophical interpretation of nature. How- ever, Feynman’s work is not a new theory; rather, it is a new interpreta- tion of an older theory. No new postulates are made. As in the original 93

Page 95

form of the theory, the Dirac equation for the electron wave function is taken as the starting point. The solu- tion of the equation is carried out by a different method, consistent with the new approach. Because the math is basically the same, the two interpretations must lead to the same predictions of the results of experiments. Therefore, there is no way of checking which point of view is correct. Perhaps a future modification of the theory, necessitated by new experimental find- ings, will be compatible with one but not the other viewpoint. In that case, we could tell which is the right ap- proach. But it may be that all such modifications are compatible with both views, so that it is meaningless to ask which is correct. In the meantime, we are faced with the fact that the same mathematical theory leads to two opposing points of view with opposite directions of caus- ality and of time travel for the posi- tron. This is not a contradiction because these directions are not im- plicit in the basic mathematical theory ; they arise only from the point of view that is adopted. This duality leads to an interesting paradox. In Figure 6, the situation shown in Figure 3 has been modified. An electric field at N deflects the posi- tron before — time-earlier — it can reach H, so that the annihilation takes place at H’ instead. From the conventional point of view, there is nothing mysterious about the' results. The electric field is applied time-earlier than H or H’, so it can affect the annihilation process. With the new interpretation, the situation is peculiar. With either ap- proach, the same result must be predicted for any experiment. Yet it would seem as if the Feynman ap- proach could not possiby predict the same result here. How does the elec- tron know that it must wait until it reaches H’ before it recoils? After all, the field at N is applied phase-later than H or H’. If the direction of trans- mission of information is the same as the direction of increase of phase, how can the field at N affect the phase- earlier parts of the path? Furthermore, the field is turned on phase-earlier than J. It would seem as though a strong enough field at N could prevent the pair creation from taking place at J. But the field is turned on time-later than J, after the annihilation has already taken place. Does this mean that we can change the course of past history? Obviously not, since the two viewpoints must give the same answer. But how can the Feynman approach lead to the same result, in view of the above discussion? To answer these questions, we must abandon the oversimplified picture of the electron traveling along well de- fined paths and instead consider the wave properties of the motion. 94 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 96

Figure 7 is the wave picture that corresponds to the portion of the path GHH’N of Figure 6. Again only a small part of the scattered wave is shown, and the photon waves are omitted. If we introduce the electric field at N, we cannot say definitely that the time reversal will take place at H’ instead of at H. Instead, the probability of its occurring at H is reduced and the probability of its happening at H’ is increased. This corresponds to a change in the in- tensity of the wavelets scattered back- ward from H and from H’. The nature of the influence of N on H and H’ has changed, as compared with the cruder description, but there is still an in- fluence. The paradox is still not ex- plained. How (does .the wave know when it is at H or H’ that part of it will reach N, phase-later? The answer lies in an important dif- ference between Figures 6 and 7. In the incorrect picture of Figure 6, the electron does not pass through N until phase-later than H or H’. The wave, on the other hand, cannot be confined to a limited region of space- time. The main wave passes through N, phase-earlier than the disturbance at H. The field at N is also a disturb- ance that can scatter the main wave. THE Part of this scattered wave will reach H and H’. Since this scattering is from N to H or to H’, the field at N sends information to the latter points; i.e., it can influence the conditions and therefore change the back scat- tering at those points. The situation is much more com- plicated than this. For example, there may be several scatterings back and forth between N and H’. This multiple scattering provides additional infor- mation at H’. All that has been shown so far is that what arrives at the shaded area is changed by the introduction of the field at N, and that therefore the back scattering from that area is also changed. To show that these changes will lead to exactly the same results as would be obtained with the conven- tional view involves a complicated mathematical proof. Similar reasoning leads to the con- clusion that' there is no difference between the two points of view in predicting the events at J. Nothing in the Feynman approach can lead to the possibility of changing the course of past history. At least, until a new theory comes along. END THE TINIEST TIME TRAVELER 95

Page 97

THE REFERENCE LIBRARY BY P. SCHUYLER MILLER PARADISE SOUGHT Utopian stories are, most readers would agree, one of the fundamental fields of science fiction. Science fiction, almost by definition, recognises no boundaries to its speculation; man’s societies are not excepted. Science fiction, on the other hand, is by no means so generally accepted as a medium for utopian speculation. Why this is, we will discuss later — from one reader’s point of view. At the moment, there are two excellent studies of utopian literature, published during the last year, which you should investigate. The older of the two books was finished in 1948 and first appeared in England in 1950, after the author’s death. “Journey Through Utopia,” by Marie Louise Berneri (Beacon Press, Boston. 1951. 339 pp. S3. 75) is also the more readable and broader of the two. However, it is in many ways complemented by “The Quest for Utopia,” by Glenn Negley, Pro- fessor of Philosophy at Duke Uni- versity, and J. Max Patrick, Associate Professor of English at Queens College (Henry Schuman, New York. 1952. 599 pp. $6.75). “The Quest for Utopia” is funda- mentally an anthology of utopias from Sir Thomas More in 1516 down to an unnamed student of one of the 96 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 98

authors in 1947. Classical utopias running back to 900 B.C. — the pre- sumed date of Lycurgus’ Spartan state, described centuries later by Plutarch — are discussed very briefly. On the other hand, Miss Berneri has excerpted and discussed these earlier utopian writings quite thoroughly, and has done likewise with several others which Negley and Patrick glossed over. The two books duplicate each other only in a relatively few obvious landmarks: More’s “ Utopia,” Campanella’s “City of the Sun,” Bacon’s “New Atlantis,” De Foigny’s “Terra Incognita Australis,” Cabet’s “Voyage to Icaria,” Wells’ “Modern Utopia,” and Hertzka’s “Freeland.” This must be said at once for the casual reader: these old utopias are for the most part deadly dull reading. But buried in them are more ideas for future or other-worldly societies than the writers of science fiction can use up in a long, long time. In nearly twice the number of pages and a considerably larger book than “Journey Through Utopia,” Negley and Patrick have offered by far the richer sample of utopian writ- ing. Obviously they could not include all the text of the twenty-seven uto- pias sampled — representative excerpts are quoted, and other parts para- phrased. For good measure they have thrown in a list of one hundred sixteen “modern” utopias dating between Robert Pemberton’s “The Happy Colony” of 1854 and George Orwell’s THE REFERENCE LIBRARY “1984” to represent only the “better known” of the multitude of utopian writings of this century-long period available in English. Negley and Patrick are also broader in their definition of utopian writing than is Miss Berneri. By their defini- tion the acceptable utopia is (1) fictional, (2) descriptive of a particular state or community (which may, of course, be planetwide), and (3) based on the political structure of that fic- tional state. They admit to their classification both the positive uto- pias, which hold up a model for human society to emulate, and the satires or negative utopias — “dystopias” — which depict — as in Huxley’s “Brave New World” or Orwell’s “1984”— a model to be avoided. Miss Berneri, on the other hand, accepts only the positive utopia, though she recognizes the importance of the negative type. She would open her arms to the sheer fantasies of Rabelais and Cyrano de Bergerac: Negley and Patrick have no use for them. “The Quest for Utopia ” opens with a general discussion of utopias, then follows with a section of modern utopias of the last century (1850- 1950). Of those excerpted, only Igna- tius Donnelly’s “Caesar’s Column,” Bellamy’s “Looking Backward” (which sold half a million copies!), and Wells’ “A Modem Utopia” are likely to be familiar to the casual science-fiction reader: the book offers 97

Page 99

eight others. There is a flash-back to a brief discussion of classical utopias; an excerpt from Sir Thomas More; another brief commentary on the utopian literature of 1500-1850; and finally a section of fifteen selections from books of the latter period. Here More, Bacon’s “New Atlantis,” and perhaps Campanella’s “City of the Sun” and Ludwig Holberg’s “Niels Klim” will be familiar — the latter thanks to August Derleth’s historical anthologies, “Beyond Time and Space” and “Far Boundaries.” ■ The book closes with a chapter on “Contemporary Utopian Thought” for which Professor Negley claims primary responsibility. In it he com- ments : “The once diverting and often sug- gestive field of utopian fantasy has been exploited, perhaps under the comic-book influence, into a bastard' literary device known as ‘science fic- tion.’ This product bears about the same resemblance to utopian specula- tion that the tales of Horatio Alger bore to the economic theories of Adam Smith.” And a little later: “Con- temporary utopian fantasies are more likely to reflect literary skill than pro- found social or political significance. In fact, utopia has today become a device or vehicle available for purely literary purposes.” Ironically, Negley and Patrick men- tion among their modern utopian novels Stanton A. Coblentz’s “The Sunken World” (Fantasy Publishing 98 Co., Inc., 1948) which originally ap- peared in Amazing Stories Quarterly, and they quote from the new edition of “Equality; or A History of Lith- conia,” the first American utopian novel (1802), published in 1947 by a science-fiction house, Prime Press, which has also done an even hand- somer edition of Mary Griffith’s “Three Hundred Years Hence” (origi- nal publication 1836; Prime, 1950). These limited editions of American utopian novels should be known to every scholar. The Negley-Patrick attitude aside, for the moment, Miss Berneri’s book will probably be of greater interest to the average reader though it offers a less rich sample of actual utopian writing. It is most valuable for the running commentary which accom- panies the excerpts and shows them in relation to the thought of their times and the lives and personalities of their writers. Negley and Patrick have pref- aced each selection with lengthy biographical sketches of the authors, and have a number of general chap- ters, but theirs is not the dear and unified ’ picture of “Journey Through Utopia.” That Miss Berneri was not entirely blind to science fiction is shown by the fact that she cites Jack Williamson’s “. . . And Folded Hands” not the book version, “The Humanoids,” which did not appear until after her death. It is unfortunate that she did not live to give us her more generous opinion of the place of ASTOUNDING SCIENCE -DICTION

Page 100

science fiction in the scheme of uto- pian literature. To return to the Negley-Patrick criticism of our “bastard literary de- vice,” science fiction. By their defini- tion they are probably right. Utopian writing, as they see it, is above all deadly serious. (“The sheer fantasy ... is of no utopian interest.”) Its writers — e.g. Campanella — have wound up in jail or on the torture rack for their outrageous suggestions. James Harrington wanted Cromwell to use his “Oceana” as a model for a new England. Theodor Hertzka’s “Freeland” was nearly translated into an utopian colony in East Africa; Etienne Cabet’s “Voyage to Icaria” launched a series of “Icarian” colon- ies in America, headed by the author himself. The last of these fell victim to its own prosperity in 1898. . Traditional utopian novels have commonly incorporated plots or ro- mances of one sort or another, and these have commonly been dismal failures by present-day standards. Your normal utopia stands still in its tracks while the inne.rmost workings of the society are explained. This fail- ing, may I submit, has survived in typical science fiction down to pretty recent times — certainly into the ’30s. It is one of the readily acknowledged flaws in “ Genus Homo” that Messers de Camp and Miller followed the utopian rather than the science- fiction tradition and explained the gorilla society instead of showing it in action. Science fiction — good modern sci- ence fiction — must, on the other hand, tell a story. If it deals with societal variations, as it does more often than not these days, it must do so subtly, by showing how the imagined or projected society reacts upon the peo- ple who are a part of it or who intrude on it. And that, I submit, is a good deal harder and calls for a good deal more writing ability than preaching a sermon on how to change the world. Nor, judging from some of the samples offered by Negley and Patrick, is the science-fiction writer’s imaginary so- ciety much less logical or attractive than the assorted dictatorships from Plato to More and on down the line to “1984.” But, you may protest, a great many of the reforms suggested in utopian literature have been put into practice — and often because of thought, dis- cussion, and action stirred up by the book. Right — and for that very rea- son science fiction is happy to welcome utopian writing into its genre, dull as the stuff may be to read. But the scientific predictions of utopia have generally not been so successful — though More imagined incubators to take the place of setting hens, and Francis Bacon went overboard with more and more wondrous gadgets than you’d find anywhere outside of science fiction. Let’s look at it this way. Just about 99 THE REFERENCE LIBRARY

Page 101

everyone feels he — or she — under- stands human nature and human society. We’re all human, aren’t we? We know what we like, don’t we? And by the same token, we all feel we’re competent to cuss out the gov- ernment or someone’s else government or human society in general. If we have the time we’re quite capable of writing up a utopian outline of our own. On the other hand, by no means everyone is willing to admit to an understanding of science or what it may lead to. Fresh out of an agricul- tural era, we’re sometimes rather proud of the fact that we don’t know what goes on under the hood or be- hind the television screen. Basically, intrinsically, it’s a good deal harder to predict mechanical and scientific advances correctly than to guess how people will react. Nowa- days, at least, we’re working pretty close to the frontier of. understanding and a hundred years ahead is a good deal farther than a thousand years seemed, a century ago. On the other hand, it’s practically a great deal harder to design a work- ing society than to build a working machine. In terms of John Campbell’s editorial in the September issue, in utopian thinking and writing we’re likely to stick at the Wish step, or Wish plus one or both Speculations, whereas in science — and science fic- tion— we keep right on going to Production. 100 The critic, literary or social, feels himself qualified to judge the validity of utopian ideas. Doesn’t he have a deep understanding of humanity? But he doesn’t understand science and he can’t appraise science fiction — not on its own terms, at least. If utopias are again to be an influen- tial part of our literature, their au- thors must be skilled novelists — Huxleys and Orwells, and more. Since the great novelists have understood men, they can if they will create utopias of significance for our future. But too few novelists understand science well enough to project it suc- cessfully or reasonably — and science must be a fundamental part of any future society. Are we caught iir a vicious circle then? Not entirely— and Marie Louise Berneri shows the way out better than Professors Negley-and Patrick. If science fiction is to survive as litera- ture, we all admit that its writers will have to gain stature as novelists — as students of humanity. When we have among us men and women who can project human society and science witli equal authority and understand- ing, there may be a new era of utopias — and new worlds in which to test them. Some odds and ends of general interest have been accumulating far too long, and had better be tagged on now rather than go any longer. From time to time writers familiar in these ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 102

pages will crop up elsewhere in the literary news. When it’s science fic- tion, I try to get hold of it and give you a report. When it isn’t, I’ll try at least to mention it. I hope that an archeological report in which I had a hand will be published some time during the next year, for example, by the New York State Museum — but that’s extraneous. Way last spring Dr. Joseph A. Winter published a book, ‘‘Are Your Troubles Psychosomatic?” (Julian Messner, New York. 222 pp. $3.50), which has had excellent reviews. I haven’t seen it yet, but Frank G. Slaughter, physician and novelist, said in The New York Times recently: “. . . timely and well written . . . something of a primer in the psy- chosomatic field. . . . Dr. W’inter works up very gradually from the simplest concepts, things that every- one can understand because they are a part of everyday experience.” Sounds good. Isaac Asimov, biochemist at Boston University when he isn’t tinkering with the Foundations, is co-author of a textbook for medical students, “Biochemistry and Human Metabol- ism.” I haven’t seen it, either, and not knowing the co-author or authors haven’t been able to locate it in the usual bibliographical references — which lag several months behind publication dates. Reports are that a pretty complex subject has been made readable and understandable to any- one with standard college chemistry. The new sixth edition of Mentor’s “Good Reading” (New American Library, 35fi) has a section on science fiction by Professor J. O. Bailey of the University of North Carolina. He’s been reading since his “Pilgrims Through Space and Time” appeared; but he hasn’t discovered that most of Wells is back in print from Dover Publications. And a few weeks ago a form letter caught up with me in Pittsburgh an- nouncing the organization of Science- Fantasy Writers of America by a California group who got together in a bull session last June. The organiza- tion hopes to do for science fiction and fantasy writing what the mystery Writers of America have done for the mystery story. Since Anthony Boucher is a power in both organizations, chances are the SFWA is off to a good start. Among the other charter mem- bers: A. E. van Vogt, Jack William- son, Fredric Brown, Ray Bradbury, Cleve Cartmill. Forrest J. Ackerman, at 915 South Sherbourne Drive, Los Angeles 35, California is Secretary pro tem. Next month the basic library poll. Lists are still coming in. ROBOTS HAVE NO TAILS ... by Lewis Padgett. Gnome Press, New York. 1952. 224 pp. $2.75 In these days of the sociological trend in science fiction it is a relief to find occasional stories which are just THE REFERENCE LIBRARY 101

Page 103

plain fun — fun to read, and obviously fun to write. When such stories do turn up, it is likely that Henry Kutt- ner, in the wry guise of “Lewis Padgett,” is involved. Here are the Gallegher stories from these ultra-serious pages, neatly as- sembled between covers with a por- trait of Galloway Gallegher and a Gallegher gadget on the jacket. I am rather sorry that the gadget in ques- tion is not that “Proud Robot ” of the opening story, name of Joe, but we can’t have everything. Five stories which appeared here between 1943 and 1948 have been assembled in a somewhat different order from that in which you first read them. Gallegher, you recall, is the subconscious genius who can’t generate unless he is plastered — then, sober, has to retrieve his fortunes from the resulting shambles. In “ The Proud Robot” he creates Joe, the robot with a Narcissus complex. Then “Gallegher Plus” finds him with a machine that eats back yards. Pres- ently three Lybblas from Mars try to enlist his aid in conquering the world, and we are simultaneously introduced to Grandpa from Maine. In “Ex Machina” Gallegher acquires a blue- eyed generator and a tantalizing brown animal which steals his beer, and loses Grandpa and a client. And in “Time Locker” the villain meets a sticky end in a unique way> Pure entertainment, lavishly sup- plied. 102 THE MIXED MEN, by A. E. van Vogt. Gnome Press, New York. 1 952. 223 pp. $2.75 This story of extragalactic roving was distinctly minor van Vogt when it first appeared here in 1943-45 as three connected stories, and it still is. It is the story of the colossal war- ship Star Cluster, sent by the Earth empire to map the Greater Magellanic Cloud. There, just as its commander, the Right Honorable Gloria Cecily, Lady Laurr of Noble Laurr, Grand Captain and what have you, is finish- ing a routine task she bumps into a weather station of the Fifty Suns — a federation sprung from Earth of fif- teen thousand years before, and lost like a needle among the millions of suns of the Cloud. She must find those fifty suns — and doing it, mixes into the three-way conflict among their people, the Dellians, the non-Dellians, and the Mixed Men. This is — I should almost say “of course” — a superman story. Maltby, hereditary leader of the Mixed Men, has among other things two minds and very unusual powers in each of them. In a parlous position in the Fifty Suns, he must nevertheless take on the Lady Laurr, and great is the en- suing carnage. Shipwrecked by a space-storm — a fruitful van Vogtian concept — cast away on a planet of a remarkable sun, married and unmar- ried— seemingly without ruffling a Dellian hair — slaughtered and reas- sembled, he still isn’t very convincing ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 104

and there’s a distinct inclination to say, “So what?” Seems to me the pieces carried more punch than the whole, which is way, way out of the class of “Sian,” “Null A,” and the “Weapon Shops.” DESTINATION: UNIVERSE! by A. E. van Vogt. Pellegrini & Cudahy, New York. 1952. 295 pp. $3.00 You can precipitate an argument at any fan convention, any time at all, by making the dogmatic state- ment that A. E. van Vogt’s niche in the science-fiction hall of fame is as a novelist — “Sian,” “World of Null A,” “ Weapon Shops ” — or, conversely, a short-story writer — “ Far Centau- rus,” “Black Destroyer,” et cetera. To date there has been only one vol- ume, FPCI’s “Out of the Unknown” (a joint collection with E. M. Hull — Mrs. v.V.) plus innumerable anthol- ogy selections to bolster the anti- novelists. Now, in the first of two or three books of shorts which Pellegrini and Cudahy are making out of the long-expected Arkham House “Away and Beyond,” the world-twister comes to the aid of the short-story enthusi- asts. “Destination: Universe!” might be taken as an alternate title for the first of the ten stories in the book, the un- forgettable and unforgotten “Far Centaurus.” The twist-upon-a-twist was scarcely needed in this story of the way Man’s culture passed Man by. Yet, in their own ways, the Ganae of “The Monster,” the Iilah of “Dor- mant,” Bill Jenner in “The Enchanted Village,” Skander of “Dear Pen Pal,” or the Yevd in “The Sound” have declared their ultimate destination A) be the universe, and nothing less. The Rulers, who give their title to another tale, have already staked out their claim to one corner of the universe over a span of five millennia. And in the concluding story, “The Search,” Drake and the Possessors are extend- ing their control over not alone one universe but an infinity of them. In that short of short-shorts, “Defense,” an old culture and a young one pass each other on their ways to different but ironically identical destinations. This leaves us only “A Can of Paint” to bear out August Derleth’s contention that van Vogt is concerned with nothing but his story. This is the whimsical science-fiction puzzle-yarn in one of its best incarnations. What would an ideal can of paint be like — and once you had it, how would you get rid of it? If you don’t remember — for six of the ten stories appeared here in ASF between 1942 and 1949 — buy “Destination: Universe!” and find out — and while you’re at it, reserve a copy of the next chunk of “Away and Beyond ” to come from the Pellegrini & Cudahy presses. It’s too bad that the current insanity in printing costs kept this from being another Arkham House giant, but the result will be two or three “bests” instead of one. THE REFERENCE LIBRARY 103

Page 105

THE CURRENTS OF SPACE BY ISAAC ASIMOV Third of three parts. The currents of Man s spatial politics are one thing ; the blind currents of Nature , however , react neither to pleading , anger , or human willfullness. But willful men will still try . . . Illustrated by van Dongen Synopsis 1'his is the story of three political groupings in the human-occupied galaxy of the future: 1. Trantor, ruler of half the inhabited worlds of the galaxy and aspiring to establish a Galactic Empire which will bring peace and prosperity to the warring star systems, is particularly interested in 2. Fiorina, an impoverished, peasant world which, nevertheless, is llie only source in all the galaxy for the miracle textile, kyrt. The kyrt trade is the rich- est single traffic in the galaxy and is un- der the exclusive control of a planet near Fiorina which is called 3. Sark. For centuries Sark has held Fiorina in a firm and ruthless grip, draining it of its best men and keeping it ground under a tyranny. Sark is able to do this because of two institutions: the Patrollers and the Townmen. The Pa- trollers are a police force composed of alien mercenaries, neither Sarkite nor Florinian. The Townmen are Florinian natives who in turn for certain privileges act as subordinate officials over Florinian towns on behalf of the Sarkite absentee landlords, or “ Squires In addition, there is the nonpolitical, scientific body, the Interstellar Spatio- analytic Bureau — also known as the I.S.B. — whose function it is to analyze the elementary composition of the ex- tremely rarefied matter in the galactic reaches between the stars. At the time, the story opens, Selim Junz, a high offi- cial in the I.S.B. has been searching for nearly a year for a missing spatioana- lyst, whose last received message was an emergency call stating that he knew of a 104 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 106

vast danger of galactic proportions hang- ing over Fiorina, and demanding instant consultation with the I.S.B. The spalio- analyst is never heard of again. Junz suspects that Sark has impris- oned or murdered the spatioanalyst to prevent his story from getting out since they want nothing to interfere with the smooth functioning of the kyrt trade. Junz does not seriously concern himself with such stories of danger from a spa- tioanalyst, since those persons are no- toriously neurotic and unstable as other- wise they would not fear planets so much nor be so willing to spend long months in isolation in space in the course of their duties. Most spatioanalysts come from Earth, a planet with a radioactive crust, and hence one which breeds insecurities among its people. Junz enlists the aid of Ludigan Abel, Trantorian ambassador to Sark. To- gether they arrange that all spatioana- lytic texts in Sarkile libraries be placed on reserve and any non-Sarkite requests for permission to see them be reported to them. Meanwhile, on the planet Fiorina, interest centers about a “half-wit” known as Rik. A year earlier he had been found on the outskirts of a village in a state of complete mindlessness. Valona March, a local peasant girl and Myrlyn Terens, the local Townman, take charge of him. THE CURRENTS OP SPACE 105

Page 107

Slowly his brain heals. When he sud- denly remembers how to talk, the fright- ened Valona secretly takes him to a city doctor who recognizes Rik’s symptoms to be the result of a psycho-probing. A psy- cho probe is an instrument that can be used to mold or destroy a mind and is usually used on criminals or psycho- paths. Before the doctor can report this, he dies in a traffic accident. Later, Rik begins remembering dim facts about his early life. T evens, the Townman, decides to follow this up by taking him to the library in Upper City. {The chief city on Fiorina is divided into a Lower and Upper City. The Upper City is exclusively Sarkite, but Town- man privileges enable T evens to set fool on it.) In the library, Rik consults an ency- clopedia and recalls as a result that he was once a spatioanalyst. A n attempt to consult spa/ioanalylic texts, however, re- sults in their being stopped by the li- brarian and kept from leaving the li- brary by a Patroller. However, Valona March, who has grown to love Rik, fol- lows the two in her anxiety for his safety, first to the city, then to the library. She knocks down the Patroller. Since this is a serious crime, there is nothing to do but flee, with a Patroller squad-car in pursuit. They are saved at the last minute by a Florinian inhabi- tant of Lower City, called the Baker, who hides them by leading them through a dummy oven to hidden rooms. This Baker, as it turns out, is a Tranlorian agent. 106 The Townman suspects this and since he is a Florinian patriot as a result of ex- periences on Sark at the time of his edu- cation, he fears Tranlorian domination as much as he fears Sarkite domination. He therefore escapes, assuring Valona that he will return. At the outskirts of Ike city, in the early dawn hours, the T own- man enters a local precinct station, kills the lone Patroller in charge and puts on the Patroller’s uniform. Meanwhile, the Baker, having jilted Rik and Valona with new non-Florinian clothes, and an other-planet passport, is prepared to send them away from Fior- ina to the safety of Tranlorian territory. As they leave the bakery, however, the Townman, in his Patroller disguise, ap- proaches and shoots down the Baker. Rik and Valona do not recognize the Townman, however. In the belief that he is a Patroller, they run for it and in the confusion, escape. Rik, his memory con- tinuing to return, is eager to get on board ship. He persuades Valona therefore to make for the spaceport, as had been the Baker’s original plan, and there to slow away on any available skip. They do so. What they do not realize, however, is that the ship they choose is the same ship which is about to carry the Lady Sarnia of Fife back to Sark, that lady being the daughter of the most powerful land- owner on Sark, the Squire of Fife. The Townman, in his Patroller dis- guise, pursues Rik and Valona to the spaceport but is too late to prevent their stowing away. He learns of the fact that the ship carries the Lady Sarnia and he ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 108

makes up his mind to gel to Sark at any cost. For one thing his life is forfeit on Fiorina, for another, he knows that Rik with his dimly remembered spatioana- iytic past and his babblings of danger to Fiorina may be a vital weapon against the Sarkite dominance over Fiorina, and he must, therefore, get him back. The Townman makes his way back to Upper City, still as a Patroller. He knows he cannot keep this disguise since, by now, the true Patrollers must know of the impostorship. lie therefore manages to kill a Squire and exchange clothing. How, as a Squire, he makes his way to one of the space-yacht ports that ring Upper City where the Squire killed by the Townman owns a yacht. The Town- man would gladly use this yacht to escape from Fiorina but he hasn’t the slightest notion of how to pilot one. He is trapped. On board the Lady Sarnia’s ship, meanwhile, Rik and Valona are quickly detected, since their body-heat registers on the ship’s instruments. The Lady Samia, who feels kindly, in a conde- scending way, toward Florinians, cross- examines them at length, despite the conviction of the captain of the ship that Rik and Valona are dangerous crimi- nals. The captain’s point of view is borne out by a message from the Depart- ment of Security — Depsec — of Sark to the effect that it is known he has stow- aways on board and that the stowaways are to be delivered to Depsec upon ar- rival at Sark. Meanwhile, great doings are taking place on Sark. While the routine admin- istration of Sark is in the hands of a celibate Florinian civil service, the big wheels are the “Great Squires each of whom is absolute lord of a separate Sark- ite continent. The most powerful of the Great Squires is the Squire of Fife, the Lady Sarnia’s father, who one year be- fore had called one of the rare meetings of all five Great Squires. At the time, blackmailing letters had been received by all Squires and Fife had connected this with the recent disappearance of a spa- lioanalyst. He believed that this marked the beginning of a campaign by Trantor to undermine Sarkite sovereignty on Fiorina and to take over control of the kyrt trade. However, a year had passed in which nothing had happened to strengthen Fife’s theory, until the disturbances, centering about Rik, began on Fiorina. A second meeting of Squires resulted. Fife outlined a theory tending to prove that Rik was the missing spalioanalyst, that someone had kidnaped and psycho-probed him, and had then hidden him on Fiorina to await a proper time for using him fur- ther. Fife then proceeded to claim that no one on Sark had the power to so manipu- late the spatioanalyst except one of the Great Squires and therefore accused some one of his listeners — exactly which one he could not say — as a traitor to Sark. He announces that he is taking over com- plete control of all the continents on Sark and will thenceforward be sole manipu- lator of the kyrt trade. The other Great Squires protest vehe- mently, claiming the entire story to be a THE CURRENTS OF SPACE 107

Page 109

fraud. Fife stuns them into silence by announcing that the spatioanalyst is on board a Sarkite ship and is now in his hands. He also announces that the Town- man whose activities have included the slaying of a Tranlorian agent, two Pa- trollers and a Sarkite is also captured and on the way to Sark. Now we must go back a few hours to the yacht-port at which the Townman, still uncaptured, is desperately haunting the yacht, belonging to the man he killed, which he cannot pilot. PART 3 XIII. The port’s lights brightened evenly as the twilight deepened. At no time did the overall illumination vary from that to be expected of somewhat sub- dued late afternoon. At Port 9, as at the other yacht ports of Upper City, it was daylight throughout Fiorina’s ro- tation. The brightness might grow un- usually pronounced under the midday sun, but that was the only deviation. Markis Genro could tell that the day proper had passed only because in passing into the port, he had left the colored night-lights of the city behind him. Those were bright against the blackening sky but they made no pre- tense of substituting for day. Genro paused just inside the main entrance and seemed in no way im- pressed by the gigantic horseshoe with its three dozen hangars and five take- 108 off pits. It was part of him, as it was part of any experienced yachtsman. He took a long cigarette, violet in color and tipped with the flimsiest touch of silvery kyrt, and put it to his lips. He cupped his palms about the exposed tip and watched it glow to greenish life as he inhaled. It burnt slowly and left no ash. An emerald smoke filtered out his nostrils. He murmured, “ Business as usual ! ” A member of the yacht committee, in yachting costume, with only a dis- creet and tasteful lettering above one tunic button to indicate that he was a member of the committee, had moved up quickly to meet Genro, carefully avoiding any appearance of hurry. “Ah, Genro! And why not business as usual?” “Hello, Doty. I only thought that with all this fume and fuss going on, it might occur to some bright boy to close the ports. Thank Sark it hasn’t.” The committeeman sobered. “You know it may come to that. Have you heard the latest? ” Genro grinned. “How can you tell the latest from the next-to-the-latest? ” “Well, have you heard that it’s defi- nite now about the native — the killer.” “You mean they’ve caught him. I hadn’t heard that.” “No, they haven’t caught him. But they know he’s not in Lower City.” “No? Where is he then?” “Why, in Upper City. Here.” “Go on.” Genro’s eyes widened, then wrinkled in disbelief. I ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 110

“No, really,” said the committee- man, a little hurt, “I have it for a fact. The Patrollers are swooping up and down Kyrt Highway. They’ve got City Park surrounded and they’re us- ing Central Arena as a co-ordination point. This is all authentic.” “Well, maybe.” Genre’s eyes roved carelessly over the hangared ships. “I haven’t been at 9 for two months, I think. Are there any new ships in the place? ” “No. Well, yes, there’s Hjordesse’s Flame Arrow.” Genre shook his head. “I’ve seen that. It’s all chromium and nothing else. I hate to think I’ll have to end by designing my own.” “Are you selling Comet V?” “Selling it or junking it. I’m tired of these late models. They’re too auto- matic. With their automatic relays and trajectory computers, they’re killing the sport.” “You know, I’ve heard others say the same thing,” agreed the commit- teeman. “Tell you what. If I hear of an old model in good condition on the market, I’ll let you know.” “Thanks. Mind if I wander about the place?” “Of course not. Go ahead.” The committeeman grinned, waved, trotted away. Genre made his slow rounds, his cigarette, half-gone, dropping from one side of his mouth. He stopped at each occupied hangar, appraising its THE CURRENTS OP SPACE contents shrewdly. At Hangar 26, he displayed a height- ened interest. He looked over the low barrier and said, “Squire?” The call was one of polite inquiry, but after a pause of several moments, he had to call again, a little more peremptorily, a little less politely. The Squire who emerged to view was not an impressive sight. For one thing, he was not in yachting costume. Secondly, he needed a shave, and his rather repellent-looking skullcap was yanked down in a most unfashionable manner. It Seemed to cover half his face. Lastly, his attitude was one of peculiarly suspicious over-caution. Genre said, “I’m Markis Genre. Is this your craft, sir? ” “Yes, it is.” The words were slow and tense. Genre disregarded that. He tilted his head back and looked over the yacht’s lines carefully. He removed what was left of his cigarette from be- tween his lips and flicked it high in the air. It had not yet reached the high- point of its arc when^ with a little flash, it vanished. Genre said, “ I wonder if you’d mind my coming in?” The other hesitated, then stepped aside. Genro entered. He said, “What kind of motor does the craft carry, sir? ” “Why do you ask?” Genro was tall, skin and eyes were dark, hair crisp and cut short. He topped the other by half a head, and his smile showed white, evenly-spaced 109

Page 111

teeth. He said, “To be very frank, I’m in the market for a new ship.” “You mean you’re interested in this one? ” “I don’t know. Something like it, maybe, if the price is right. But any- way, I wonder if you’d mind my look- ing at the controls and engines? ” The Squire stood there silently. Genro’s voice grew a trifle colder. “As you please, of course.” He turned away. The Squire said, “I might sell.” He fumbled in his pockets. “Here’s the license!” Genro looked at each side with a quick, experienced glance. He handed it back. “You’re Deamone?” The Squire nodded. “You can come in if you wish?” Genro looked briefly at the large port-chronometer, the luminescent hands indicating the beginning of the second hour after sunset. “Thank you. Won’t you lead the way? ” The Squire rummaged his pockets again, and held out a booklet of key- slivers. “After you, sir.” Genro took the booklet. He leafed through the slivers, looking at the small code marks for the “ship stamp.” The other man made no attempt to help him. Finally, he said, “This one, I sup- pose? ” He walked up the short ramp to the air-lock balcony and considered the fine seam at the right of the lock care- 110 fully. “I don’t see — Oh, here it is.” And he stepped to the other side of the lock. Slowly, noiselessly, the lock yawned and Genro moved into the blackness. The red air-lock light went on auto- matically as the door closed behind them. The inner door opened and as they stepped into the ship proper white lights flickered on over all the length of the ship. Myrlyn Terens had no choice. He no longer remembered the time, long since, when such a thing as “choice” had existed. For three long, wretched hours, now, he had remained near Deamone’s ship, waiting and helpless to do anything else. It had led to noth- ing till now. He did not see that it could lead to anything but capture. And then this fellow came with an eye to the ship. To deal with him at all was madness. He could not possibly maintain his imposture at such close quarters. But then, he could not pos- sibly remain where he was, either. At least within the ship there might be food. Strange that that had not oc- curred to him before. There was. Terens said, “It’s close to dinner time. Would you like to have some- thing?” The other had scarcely looked over his shoulder. “Why, later, perhaps. Thank you.” Terens did not urge him. He let him roam the ship and applied himself ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 112

thankfully to the potted meat and cellulite wrapped fruit. He drank thirstily. There was a shower across the corridor from the kitchen. He locked its door and bathed. It was a pleasure to be able to remove the tight skull- cap, at least temporarily. He even found a shallow closet from which he could choose a change of clothing. He was far more master of himself when Genro returned. Genro said, “Say, would you mind if I tried to fly this ship? ” “I have no objection. Can you handle this model?” asked Terens, with an excellent imitation of non- chalance. • „ “I think so,” said the other, with a little smile. “I flatter myself I can handle any of the regular models. Any- way, I’ve taken the liberty of calling the control tower and there’s a take-off pit available. Here’s my yachtsman’s license if you’d like to see it before I take over.” Terens gave it as cursory a glance as Genro had given his. “The controls are yours,” he said. The ship rolled out of the hangar like an air-borne whale, moving slowly, its diamagnelized hull clearing the smooth packed clay of the field by three inches. Terens watched Genro handling the controls with fingertip precision. The ship was a live thing under his touch. The small replica of the field that was upon the visi-plate shifted and changed THE CURRENTS OF SPACE with each tiny motion of every contact. The ship came to a halt, pin-pointed at the lip of a take-off pit. The dia- magnetic field strengthened progres- sively towards the ship’s prow and it began tipping upward. Terens was mercifully unaware of this as the pilot room turned on its universal gimbals to meet the shifting gravity. Majes- tically, the ship’s rear flanges fitted into the appropriate grooves of the pit. It stood upright, pointing to the sky. The duralite cover of the take-off pit slipped into its recess, revealing the neutrized lining, a hundred yards deep, that received the first energy thrusts of the hyperatomic motors. Genro kept up a cryptic exchange of information with the control tower. Finally, “Ten seconds to take-off,” he said. A rising red thread in a quartz tube marked off the disappearing seconds. It made contact and the first surge of power tore backward. Terens grew heavier, felt himself pressing against the seat. Panic tore at him. He grunted, “How does it handle? ” Genro seemed impervious to accel- eration. His voice had almost its nat- ural timber as he said, “Moderately well.” Terens leaned back in his chair, try- ing to relax with the pressure, watch- ing the stars in the visi-plate turn hard and bright as the atmosphere vanished from between himself and them. The 111

Page 113

kyrt next to his skin felt cold and damp. They were out in space now. Genro was putting the ship through its paces. Terens had no way of telling that first- hand but he could see the stars march steadily across the visi-plate as the yachtsman’s long, slim fingers played with the controls as though they were the keys of a musical instrument. Fi- nally, a bulky orange segment of a globe filled the visi-plate’s clear sur- face. “Not bad,” said Genro. “You keep your craft in good condition, Deamone. It’s small but it has its points.” Terens said, carefully, “I suppose you’d like to test its speed and its Jumping capacity. You may, if you like. I have no objection.” Genro nodded. “Very well. Where do you suggest we take ourselves? What about — ” He hesitated, then went on, “Well, why not to Sark.” Terens breathed a little more quickly. 112 He had expected that. He was on the point of believing himself to be living in a world of magic. How things forced his moves, even without his conniv- ance. It would not have been difficult to convince him that it was not “things ” but design that prompted the moves. His childhood had been steeped in the superstitions that the Squires fostered among the natives and such things are hard to outgrow. On Sark was Rik and his returning memories. The game was not over. He said, wildly, “ Why not, Genro? ” Genro said, “Sark it is then.” With gathering speed, the globe of Fiorina slanted out beyond the visi- plate’s view and the stars returned. “What’s your best time on the Sark- Florina run? ” asked Genro. “Nothing record-breaking,” said Terens. “About average.” “Then you’ve done it in better than six hours, I suppose? ” “On occasion, yes.” “Do you object to my trying to ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 114

shave five?” “Not at all,” said Terens. It took hours to reach a point far enough from star-mass distortion of the space fabric to make a Jump pos- sible. Terens found wakefulness a torture. This was his third night with little or no sleep and the tensions of the days had exaggerated that lack. Genro looked at him askance, “ Why don’t you turn in?” Terens forced an expression of live- liness on to his sagging facial muscles. He said, “It’s nothing. Nothing.” He yawned prodigiously and smiled in apology. The yachtsman turned back to his instruments and Terens’ eyes glazed over once again. Seats in a space-yacht are com- fortable by very necessity. They must cushion the person against accelera- tions. A man not particularly tired can easily and sweetly fall asleep upon them. Terens who could, at the mo- THE CURRENTS Of SPACE ment, have slept on broken glass, never knew when he passed the borderline. He slept for hours; he slept as deeply and as dreamlessly as ever in his life. He did not stir; he showed no single sign of life other than his even breath- ing, when his skullcap was removed from his head. Terens woke blearily, slowly. For long minutes, he had not the slightest notion of his whereabouts. He thought he was back in his Townman’s cottage. The true state of affairs seeped back in stages, as it usually does. Eventually he could smile at Genro, who was still at the controls and say, “I guess I fell asleep.” “I guess you did. There’s Sark.” Genro nodded toward the large white crescent in the visi-plate. “When do we land?” “About an hour!” Terens was awake enough now to sense a subtle change in the other’s . 113

Page 115

attitude. It was an icy shock to him that the steel-gray object in Genro’s hand turned out to be the graceful bar- rel of a needle-gun. “What in Space-—” began Terens, rising to his feet. “Sit down,” said Genro, carefully. There was a skullcap in his other hand. Terens raised a hand to his head and his fingers found themselves clutching sandy hair. “Yes,” said Genro, “it’s quite obvi- ous. You’re a native.” Terens stared and said nothing. Genro said, “I knew you were a na- tive before I ever got on poor Dea- mone’s ship.” Terens’ mouth was cotton-dry and his eyes burnt. He watched the tiny, deadly muzzle of the gun and waited for a sudden, noiseless flash. He had carried it so far, so far, and had lost the gamble after all. Genro seemed in no hurry. He held the needle-gun steady and his words were even and slow. “Your basic mistake, Townman, was the thought that you could really outwit an organized police force in- definitely. Even so, you would have done better if you hadn’t' made the unfortunate choice of Deamone as your victim.” “I didn’t choose him,” croaked Terens. “Then call it luck. Alstare Deamone, some twelve hours ago, was standing in City Park, waiting for his wife. There was no reason, other than senti- 114 ment, for'him to meet her there of all places. They had met in that very spot originally, and they met there again on every anniversary of that meeting. There’s nothing particularly original about that sort of ceremony between young husbands and wives, but it seems important to them. Of course, Deamone did not realize that the com- parative isolation of the spot made him an appropriate victim for a mur- derer. Who would have thought that in Upper City? “In the ordinary course of events, the murder might not have been dis- covered for days. Deamone’s wife, however, was on the scene within half an hour of the crime. The fact that her husband was not there astonished her. He was not the type, she explained, to leave in a fury because she herself was a trifle late. She was often late. He' would more or less have expected that. It occurred to her that her husband might be waiting for her inside ‘ their ’ cave. “Deamone had been waiting out- side 1 their ’ cave, naturally. It was the nearest one to the scene of the first as- sault, consequently, and the one into which he was dragged. His wife en- tered that cave and found . . . well, you know what she found. She man- aged to relay the news to the Patrol Corps through our own Depsec offices, although she was almost incoherent with shock and hysteria. “How does it feel, Townman, to kill a man in cold blood, leaving him ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 116

to be found by his wife at the one spot most steeped with happy memories for them both.” Terens was choking. He gasped out, through a red mist of anger and frus- tration, “You Sarkites have killed millions of Florinians. Women. Chil- dren. You’ve grown rich out of us. This yacht — ” It was all he could manage. “Deamone wasn’t responsible for the state of affairs he found at birth,” said Genro. “If you had been born a Sarkite, what would you have done? Resigned your estates, if any, and gone to work in the kyrt fields? ” “Well, then, shoot,” cried Terens, writhing. “ What are you waiting for? ” “There’s no hurry. There is plenty of time to finish my story. We weren’t certain as to the identity of either the corpse or the murderer, but it was a very good guess that they were Dea- mone and yourself respectively. It seemed obvious to us, from the fact that the ashes next to the body were of a Patroller uniform, that you were masquerading as a Sarkite. It seemed further probable that you would make for Deamone’s yacht. Don’t over- estimate our stupidity, Townman. “Matters were still rather complex. You were a desperate man. It was in- sufficient to track you down. You were armed and would undoubtedly commit suicide if trapped. Suicide was some- thing we did not wish. They wanted you on Sark and they wanted you in working order. “It was a particularly delicate af- fair for myself and it was quite neces- sary to convince Depsec that I could handle it alone; that I could get you to Sark without noise or difficulty. You’ll have to admit that is just what I’m doing. “To tell you the truth, I wondered at first if you were really our man. You were dressed in ordinary business cos- tume on the yacht-port grounds. It was in incredibly bad taste. No one, it seemed to me, would dream of im- personating a yachtsman without the proper costume. I thought you were being deliberately sent in as a decoy, that you were trying to be arrested while the man we wanted escaped in another direction. “I hesitated and tested you in other ways. I fumbled with the ship’s key in the wrong place. No ship ever invented opened at the right side of the air lock. It opens always and invariably at the left side. You never showed any sur- prise at my mistake. None at all. Then I asked you if your ship had ever made the Sark-Florina run in less than six hours. You said you had — occa- sionally. That is quite remarkable. The record time for the run is over nine hours. “I decided you couldn’t be a decoy. The ignorance was too supreme. You had to be naturally ignorant and prob- ably the right man. It was only a question of your falling asleep — and it was obvious from your face that you THE CURRENTS OF SPACE 115

Page 117

needed sleep desperately — disarming you and covering you quietly with an adequate weapon. I removed your hat more out of curiosity than anything else. I wanted to see what a Sarkite costume looked like with a sandy- haired head sticking out of it.” Terens kept his eyes on the whip. Perhaps Genro saw his jaw-muscles bunch. Perhaps he simply guessed at what Terens was thinking. He said, “Of course, I must not kill you, even if you jump me. I can’t kill you even in self-defense. Don’t think that gives you an advantage. Begin to move and I’ll shoot your leg off.” The fight went out of Terens. He put the heels of his palms to his fore- head and sat there, rigid as bone could make him. Genro said, softly, “Do you know why I tell you all this? ” Terens did not answer. “First,” said Genro, “I rather en- joy seeing you suffer. I don’t like mur- derers and I particularly don’t like natives who kill Sarkites. I’ve been ordered to deliver you alive but noth- ing in my orders says I have to make the trip pleasant for you. Secondly, it is necessary for you to be fully aware of the situation since after we land on Sark, the next steps will be up to you.” Terens looked up. “What!” “Depsec knows you’re coming in. The Florinian regional office sent the word as soon as this craft cleared Fiorina’s atmosphere. You can be sure of that. But I said it was quite neces- sary for pie to convince Depsec that I could handle this alone and the fact that I have makes all the difference.” “I don’t understand you,” said Terens, desperately. With composure, Genro answered, “I said ‘they’ wanted you on Sark; ‘they’ wanted you in working order. By ‘they’ I don’t mean Depsec; I mean Trantor!” XIV. Selim Junz had never been the phlegmatic type. A year^of frustration had done nothing to improve that. He could not sip wine carefully while his mental orientation sat upon suddenly trembling foundations. In short, he was not Ludigan Abel. And when Junz had done with his angry shouting that on no account was Sark to be allowed freedom to kidnap and imprison a member of the I.S.B. regardless of the condition of Trantor’s espionage network, Abel merely said, “I think you had better spend the night here, doctor.” Junz said, freezingly, “ I have better things to do.” Abel said, “No doubt, man, no doubt. Just the same, if my men are being blasted to death, Sark must be bold, indeed. There is a great possibil- ity that some accident may happen to you before the night is over. Let us wait a night then and see what comes of a new day.” Junz’s protests against inaction came 116 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 118

to nothing. Abel, without ever losing his cool, almost negligent, air of indif- ference, was suddenly hard of hearing. Junz was escorted with firm courtesy to a chamber. In bed, he stared at the faintly luminous, frescoed ceiling — on which glowed a moderately skillful copy of Lenhaden’s “Battle of the Arcturian Moons” — and knew he- would not sleep. Then he caught one whiff, a faint one, of the gas, somnin, and was asleep before he could catch another. Five minutes later, when a forced draft swept the room clean of the anaesthetic, enough had been admin- istered to assure a healthful eight hours. __ He was awakened in the cold half- light of dawn. He blinked up at Abel. “What time is it?” he asked. “Six.” “Great Space.” He looked about and thrust his bony legs out from un- der the sheet. “You’re up early.” “I haven’t slept.” “What?” “ I feel the lack, believe me. I don’t respond to anti-somnin as I did when I was younger.” “Well?” Junz asked. “Surely you don’t wake through the night and rouse me at six unless you have some- thing to tell me.” “You’re right. You’re right.” Abel sat down on the bed just vacated by Junz and threw his head back in a laugh. It was high-pitched and rather THE CURRENTS OF SPACE subdued. His teeth showed, their strong, faintly-yellow plastic incon- gruous against his shrunken gums. “I beg your pardon, Junz,” he said. “I am not quite myself. This drugged wakefulness has me a little lightheaded. I almost think I will advise Trantor to replace me with a younger man.” Junz said, with a flavor of sarcasm not entirely unmixed with sudden hope, “You find they haven’t got the spatioanalyst after all? ” “No, they do. I’m sorry but they do. I’m afraid that my amusement is due entirely to the fact that our nets are intact.” Junz would have liked to say, “Damn your nets,” but refrained. Abel went on, “There is no doubt they knew Khorov was one of our agents. They may know of others on Fiorina. Those are small fry. The Sarkites knew that and never felt it worthwhile to do more than hold them under observation.” “They killed one,” Junz pointed out. “They did not,” retorted Abel. “It was one of the spatioanalyst’s own companions in a Patroller disguise who used the blaster.” Junz stared. “I don’t understand.” “It’s a rather complicated story. Won’t you join me at breakfast? I need food badly.” Over the coffee, Abel told the story of the last thirty-six hours. Junz was stunned. He put down his 117

Page 119

own coffee cup, half full, and returned to it no more. “Even allowing them to have stowed away on that ship of all ships, the fact still remains they might not have been detected. If you send men to meet that ship as it lands — ” “Bah. You know better than that. No modern ship could fail to detect the presence of excess body heat.” “It might have been overlooked. Instruments may be infallible but men are not.” “Wishful thinking. Look here. At the very time that the ship with the spatioanalyst aboard is approaching Sark, there are reports of excellent re- liability that the Squire of Fife is in conference with the other Great Squires. These intercontinental con- ferences are spaced as widely as the stars of the galaxy. Coincidence?” “ An intercontinental conference over a spatioanalyst?” “An unimportant subject in itself, yes. But we have made it important. The I.S.B. has been searching for him for nearly a year with remarkable per- tinacity.” “Not the I.S.B. ,” insisted Junz. “Myself. I’ve been working in almost an unofficial manner.” “The Squires don’t know that and wouldn’t believe it if you told them. Then, too, Trantor has been inter- ested.” “At my request.” “Again they don’t know that and wouldn’t believe it.” Junz stood up and his chair moved automatically away from the table. Hands firmly interlocked behind his back, he strode the carpet. Up and back. Up and back. At intervals, he glanced harshly at Abel. Abel turned unemotionally to a sec- ond cup of coffee. Junz said, “How do you know all this?” “All what?” “Everything. How and when the spatioanalyst stowed away. How and in what manner the Townman has been eluding capture? Is it your purpose to deceive me?” “My dear Dr. Junz.” “You admitted you had your men watching for the spatioanalyst inde- pendently of myself. You saw to it that I was safely out of the way last night, leaving nothing to chance.” Junz remembered, suddenly, that whiff of somnin. “‘I spent a night, doctor, in con- stant communication with certain of my agents. What I did and what I learned comes under the heading of, shall we say, classified material. You had to be out of the way, and yet safe. What I have told you just now I learned from jny agents last night.” “To learn what you did you would need spies in the Sarkite government itself.” “Well, naturally.” Junz whirled on the ambassador. “Come, now.” “You find that surprising? To be 118 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 120

sure, Sark is proverbial for the stabil- ity of its government and the loyalty of its people. The reason is simple enough since even the poorest Sarkite is an aristocrat in comparison with Florinians and can consider himself, however fallaciously, to be a member of a ruling class. “Consider, though, that Sark is not the world of billionaires most of the galaxy thinks it is. A year’s residence must have well convinced you of that. Eighty per cent of its population has its living standard at a par with that of other worlds and not much higher than the standard of Fiorina itself. There will always be a certain number of Sarkites who, in their hunger, will be sufficiently annoyed with the small fraction of the population obviously drenched in luxury, to lend themselves to my uses. “It is the great weakness of the Sarkite government that for centuries they have associated rebellion only with Fiorina. They have forgotten to watch over themselves.” Junz said, “These small Sarkites, assuming they exist, can’t do you much good.” “Individually, no. Collectively, they form useful tools for our more im- portant men. There are members even of the real ruling class who have taken the lessons of the last two centuries to heart. They are convinced that in the end Trantor will have established its rule over all the galaxy; and, I be- lieve, rightly convinced. They even suspect that the final dominion may take place within their lifetimes, and they prefer to establish themselves, in advance, on the winning side.” Junz grimaced. “You make inter- stellar politics sound a very dirty game.” “It is, but disapproving of dirt doesn’t remove it. Nor are all its facets unrelieved dirt. Consider the idealist. Consider the few men in Sark’s govern- ment who serve Trantor neither for money nor for promises of power but only because they honestly believe that a unified galactic government is best for humanity and that only Tran- tor can bring such a government about. I have one such man, my best one, in Sark’s Department of Security, and at this moment he is bringing in the Townman.” Junz said, “You said he had been captured.” “By Depsec, yes. But my man is Depsec and my man.” For a moment, Abel frowned and turned pettish. “His usefulness will be sharply reduced after this. Once he lets the Townman get away, it will mean demotion at the best and imprisonment at the worst. Oh, well!” “What are you planning now?” “I scarcely know. First, we must have our Townman. I am sure of him only to the point of arrival at the spaceport. What happens thereafter — ” Abel shrugged, and his old, yellowish skin stretched parchmentlike over his cheekbones. THE CURRENTS OF SPACE 119

Page 121

Then he added, “The Squires will be waiting for the Townman as well. They are under the impression they have him, and until one or the other of us has him in our fists, nothing more can happen.” But that statement was wrong. Strictly speaking, all foreign em- bassies throughout the galaxy main- tained extraterritorial rights over the immediate areas of their location. Gen- erally, this amounted to nothing more than a pious wish, except where the strength of the home planet enforced respect. In actual practice, it meant that only Trantor could truly main- tain the independence of its envoys. The grounds of the Trantorian Em- bassy covered nearly a square mile and within it armed men in Trantorian cos- tume and insignia maintained patrol. No Sarkite might enter but on invita- tion, and no armed Sarkite on any ac- count. To be sure, the sum of Tran- torian men and arms could withstand the determined attack of a single Sarkite armored regimentfor not more than two or three hours, but behind the small band was the power of re- prisal from the organized might of a million worlds. It remained inviolate. It could even maintain direct mate- rial communication with Trantor, with- out the need of passing through Sark- ite ports of entry or debarkation. From the hold of a Trantorian mother-ship, hovering just outside the hundred- 120 mile limit that marked off the bound- ary between “planetary space” and “free space,” small gyroships, vane- equipped for atmospheric travel with minimum power expenditure, might emerge and needle down— half-coast- ing, half-driven — to the small port maintained within the Embassy grounds. The gyroship which now appeared over the Embassy port, however, was neither scheduled nor Trantorian. The mosquito-might of the Embassy was brought quickly and truculently into play. A needle-cannon lifted its puck- ered muzzle into the air. Force screens went up. Radioed messages whipped back and forth. Stubborn words rode the im- pulses upward, agitated ones slipped down. Lieutenant Canrum turned away from the instrument and said, “I don’t know. He claims he’ll be shot out of the sky in two minutes if we don’t let him down. He claims Sanctuary.” Captain Elyut had just entered. He said, “Sure. Then Sark will claim we’re interfering in politics and if Trantor decides to let things ride, you and I are broken as a gesture. Who is he?” “Won’t say,” said the lieutenant with more than a little exasperation. “Says he must speak to the ambassa- dor. Suppose you tell me what to do, captain.” The short-wave receiver sputtered and a voice, half-hysterical, said, “Is anyone there? I’m just coming down, ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 122

that’s all. Really! I can’t wait another moment I tell you.” It ended in a squeak. The captain said, “Great Space, I know that voice. Let him down! My responsibility!” The orders went out. The gyroship sank vertically, more quickly than it ought to; the result of a hand at the controls that was both inexperienced and panicky. The needle-cannon main- tained focus. The captain established a through line to Abel and the Embassy was thrown into full emergency. The flight of Sarkite ships that hovered overhead not ten minutes after the first vessel had landed maintained a threatening vigil for two hours, then departed. They sat at dinner, Abel, Junz and the newcomer. With admirable aplomb, considering the circumstances, Abel had acted the unconcerned host. For hours he refrained asking why a Great Squire needed Sanctuary. Junz was far less patient. He hissed at Abel, “Space! What are you going to do with him?” And Abel smiled back, “Nothing. At least until I find out whether I have my Townman or not. I like to know what my hand is before tossing chips onto the table. And since he’s come to me, waiting will rattle him more than it will us.” He was right. Twice, the Squire launched into rapid monologue and twice, Abel said, “My dear Squire! THE CURRENTS OF SPACE 121

Page 123

Surely serious conversation is unpleas- ant on an empty stomach.” He smiled gently and ordered dinner. Over the wine, the Squire tried again. He said, “You’ll want to know why I have left Steen Continent.” “I cannot conceive of any reason,” admitted Abel, “for the Squire of Steen ever to have to run from Sarkite vessels.” Steen watched them carefully. His slight figure and thin, pale face were tense with calculation. His long hair was bound into carefully arranged tufts held by tiny clips that rubbed against one another with a rustling sound whenever he moved his head, as though to call attention to his disre- gard for the current Sarkite clipped- hair fashion. A faint fragrance was ex- haled by his skin and clothing. Abel, who did not miss the slight tightening of Junz’s lips and the quick way in which the spatioanalyst patted his own short, woolly hair, thought how amusing Junz’s reaction might have been if Steen had appeared more typically, with rouged cheeks and coppered fingernails. Steen said, “There was an inter- continental conference today.” “Really?” said Abel. Abel listened to the tale of the con- ference without a quiver of counte- nance. - “And we have twenty-four hours,” Steen said, indignantly. “It’s sixteen hours now. Really!” “And you’re X,” cried Junz, who had beemgrowing increasingly restless during the recitation. “You’re X. You’ve come here because he’s caught you. Well now, that’s fine. Abel, here’s our proof as to the identity of the spatioanalyst. We can use him to force a surrender of the man.” Steen’s thin voice had difficulty making itself heard over Junz’s staunch baritone. “You’re mad. Stop it ! Let me speak, I tell you. Your Excellency, I can’t re- member this man’s name.” “Dr. Selim Junz, Squire.” “Well, then, Dr. Selim Junz, I have never in my life seen this idiot or spa- tioanalyst or whatever in the world he may be. Really! I never heard such nonsense. I am certainly not X. Imag- ine believing Fife’s ridiculous melo- drama! Really!” Junz clung to his notion. “Why did you run then?” “Good Sark, isn’t it clear? Oh, I could choke. Really! Look here, don’t you see what Fife was doing?” Abel interrupted quietly. “If you’ll explain, Squire, there will be no inter- ruptions.” “Well, thank you at least.” He con- tinued, with an air of wounded dig- nity. “The others don’t think much of me because I don’t see the point of bothering with documents and statis- tics and all those boring details. But, really, what is the Civil Service for I’d like to know? “Still that doesn’t mean I’m a ninny, you know, just because I like 122 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-EICTION

Page 124

my comfort. Really ! Maybe the others are blind, but I can see that Fife doesn’t give a darn for the spatio- analyst. I don’t think he even exists. Fife just got the idea a year ago and he’s been manipulating it ever since. “He’s been playing us for fools and idiots. Really! And so the others are. Disgusting fools! He’s arranged all this perfectly awful nonsense about idiots and spatioanalysis. I wouldn’t be sur- prised if the native who’s supposed to be killing Patrollers by the dozen isn’t just one of Fife’s spies in a red wig. Or if he’s a real native, X suppose Fife has hired him. “ I wouldn’t put it past Fife. Really ! He would use natives against his own kind. That’s how low he is. “Anyway, it’s obvious that he’s us- ing it just as an excuse to ruin the rest of us and to make himself dictator of Sark. Isn’t it obvious to you? “There isn’t any X at all, but to- morrow, unless he’s stopped, he’ll spread the sub-etherics full of conspiracies and declarations of emergencies and he’ll have himself declared Leader. We haven’t had a Leader on Sark in five hundred years but that won’t stop Fife. He’d just let the constitution go hang. Really! “Only I mean to stop him. That’s why I had to leave. If I were still in Steen, I’d be under house arrest. “As soon as the conference was over, I had my own personal port checked, and, you know, his men had taken over. It was in clear disregard of continental THE CURRENTS OP SPACE autonomy. It was the act of a cad. Really! But nasty as he is, he isn’t so bright. He thought some of us might try to leave the planet so he had the spaceports watched, but” — here he smiled in vulpine fashion and emitted the ghost of a giggle— “it didn’t occur to him to watch the gyroports. “Probably he thought there wasn’t a place on the planet that would be safe for us. But I thought of the Tran- torian Embassy. It’s more than the others did. They make me tired. Espe- cially Bort. Do you know Bort? He’s terribly uncouth? Actually dirty. Talks at me as though there were something wrong with being clean and smelling pleasant.” He put his fingertips to his nose and inhaled gently. Abel put a light hand on Junz’s wrist as the latter moved restlessly in his seat. Abel said, “You have left a fam- ily behind. Have you thought that Fife can still hold a weapon over you?” “I couldn’t very well pile all my pretty ones in my gyroplane.” He reddened a trifle. “Fife wouldn’t dare touch them. Besides, I’ll 'be back in Steen tomorrow.” “How?” asked Abel. Steen looked at him in astonish- ment. His thin lips parted. “ I’m offer- ing alliance, your excellency. You can’t pretend Trantor isn’t interested in Sark. Surely you’ll tell Fife that any attempt to change Sark’s constitution 123

Page 125

would necessitate Trantor’s interven- tion.” “I scarcely see how that can be done, even if I felt my government would back me,” said Abel. “How can it not be done?” asked Steen, indignantly. “If he controls the entire kyrl trade, he’ll raise the price, ask concessions for rapid delivery and all sorts of things.” “Don’t the five of you control the price as is? ” Steen threw himself back in the seat. “Well, really! I don’t know all the de- tails. Next you’ll be asking me for fig- ures. Goodness, you’re as bad as Bort.” Then he recovered and giggled, “I’m just teasing, of course. What I mean is that with Fife out of the way, Tran tor might make an arrangement with the rest of us. In return for your help, it would only be right that Tran- tor get preferential treatment, or even, maybe a small interest in the trade.” “And how would we keep interven- tion from developing into a galaxy- wide war? ” “ Oh, but really, don’t you see? It’s plain as day. You wouldn’t be aggres- sors. You would just be preventing civil war to keep the kyrt trade from disruption. I’d announce that I’d ap- pealed to you for help. It would be worlds removed from aggression. The whole galaxy would be on your side. Of course, if Trantor benefits from it afterward, why, that’s nobody’s busi- ness at all. Really!” __ Abel put his gnarled fingers together 124 and regarded them. “I can’t believe you really mean to join forces with Trantor.” An intense look of hatred passed momentarily over Steen’s weakly-smil- ing face. He said, “Rather Trantor than Fife.” Abel said, “I don’t like threatening force. Can’t we wait and let matters develop a bit — ” “No, no,” cried Steen. “Not a day. Really! If you’re not firm now, right now, it will be too late. Once the dead- line is past, he’ll have gone too far to retreat without losing face. If you’ll help me now, the people of Steen will back me, the other Great Squires will join me. If you wait even a day, Fife’s propaganda mill will begin to grind. I’ll be smeared as a renegade. Really! I! I! A renegade ! He’ll use all the anti- Trantor prejudice he can whip up and you know, meaning no offense, that’s quite a bit.” “ Suppose we ask him to allow us to interview the spatioanalyst? ” “ What good will that do? He’ll play both ends. He’ll tell us the Florinian idiot is a spatioanalyst, but he’ll tell you the spatioanalyst is not a Florin- ian idiot. You don’t know the man. He’s awful!" Abel considered that. He hummed to himself, his forefinger keeping gen- tle time. Then he said, “We have the Townman, you know.” “ What Townman? ” “The one who killed the Patrollers and the Sarkite.” ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 126

“Oh! Well, really! Do you suppose Fife will care about that if it’s a ques- tion of taking all Sark?” “I think so. You see it isn’t that we have the Townman. It’s the circum- stances of his capture. I think, Squire, that Fife will listen to me and listen very humbly, too.” For the first time in his acquaint- ance with Abel, Junz sensed a lessen- ing of coolness in the old man’s voice, a substitution for it of satisfaction, almost of triumph. XV. It was not very usual for the Lady Samia of Fife to feel frustrated. It was unprecedented, even inconceivable, that she had felt frustrated for a full twenty-four hours now. The commander of the spaceport was Captain Racety all over again. He was polite, almost obsequious, looked unhappy, expressed his regrets, denied the least willingness to contradict her, and stood like iron against her plainly stated wishes. She was finally forced from stating her desires to demanding her rights as though she were a common Sarkite. She said, “I suppose that as a citizen I have the right to meet any incoming vessel if I wish.” She was poisonous about it. The commander cleared his throat and the expression of pain on his lined face grew, if anything, clearer and more definite. Finally, he said, “As a matter of fact, my lady, we have no wish at all to exclude you. It is only that we have received specific orders from the Squire, your father, to forbid your meeting the ship.” Samia said, frozenly, “Are you ordering me to leave the port, then?” “No, my lady.” The commander was glad to compromise. “We were not ordered to exclude you from the fx>rt. If you wish to remain here, you may do so. But, with all due respect, we will have to stop you from ap- proaching closer to the pits.” He was gone and Samia sat in the futile luxury of her private ground-car, a hundred feet inside the outermost entrance of the port. They had been waiting and watching for her. They would probably keep on watching her. If she as much as rolled a wheel on- ward, she thought indignantly, they would probably cut her power-drive. She gritted her teeth. It was unfair of her father to do this. It was all of a piece. They always treated her as though she understood nothing. Yet she had thought he understood. He had risen from his seat to greet her, a thing he never did for anyone else now that mother was dead. He had clasped her, squeezed her tightly, aban- doned all his work for her. He had even sent his secretary out of the room because he knew she was repelled by the native’s still, white countenance. It was almost like the old days be- fore grandfather died when father had not yet become Great Squire. THE CURRENTS OF SPACE 125

Page 127

He said, “Mia, child, I’ve counted the hours. I never knew it was such a long way from Fiorina, When I heard that those natives had hidden on your ship, the one I had sent just to insure your safety, I was nearly wild.” “ Daddy! There was nothing to worry about.” “Wasn’t there? I almost sent out the entire fleet to take you off and bring you in with full military secur- ity.” They laughed together at the thought. Minutes passed before Samia could bring the conversation back to the sub- ject that filled her. She said, casually, “What are you going to do with the stowaways, Dad? ” “ Why do you want to know, Mia? ” “You don’t think they’ve plans to assassinate you, or anything like that? ” Fife smiled, “You shouldn’t think morbid thoughts.” “You don’t think so, do you?” she insisted. “Of course not.” “ Good 1 Because I’ve talked to them, Dad, and I just don’t believe they’re anything more than poor harmless people. I don’t care what Captain Racety says.” “They’ve broken a considerable number of laws for ‘poor harmless people,’ Mia.” “You can’t treat them as common criminals, Dad.” Her voice rose in alarm. “How else?” “The man isn’t a native. He’s from a planet called Earth and he’s been psycho-probed and he’s not responsi- ble.” “Well, then, dear, Depsec will realize that. Suppose you leave it to them.” “No, it’s too important to just leave to them. They won’t understand. Nobody understands. Except I!” “Only you in the whole world, Mia?” he asked indulgently, and put out a finger to stroke a lock of hair that had fallen over her forehead. Samia said, with energy, “Only I! Only I! Everyone else is going to think he’s crazy, but I’m sure he isn’t. He says there is some great danger to Fiorina and to all the galaxy. He’s a spatioanalyst and you know they spe- cialize in cosmogony. He would knowl ” “How do you know he’s a spatio- analyst, Mia?” “He says so.” “And what are the details of the danger?” “He doesn’t know. He’s been psy- cho-probed. Don’t you see that that’s the best evidence of all. He knew too much. Someone was interested in keep- ing it dark.” Her voice instinctively fell and grew huskily confidential. She restrained an impulse to look over her shoulder. She said, “If his theories were false, don’t you see, there wouldn’t have been any need to psycho-probe him.” “Why didn’t they kill him, if that’s the case?” asked Fife and instantly 126 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 128

regretted the question. There was no use in teasing the girl. Samia thought a while, fruitlessly, then said, “If you’ll order Depsec to let me speak to him, I’ll find out. He trusts me. I know he does. I’ll get more out of him than Depsec can. Please tell Depsec to let me see him, Dad. It’s very important.” Fife squeezed her clenched fists gently and smiled at her, “Not yet, Mia. Not yet. In a few hours, we’ll have the third person in our hands. After that, perhaps.” “The third person? The native who did all the killings? ” “Exactly. The ship carrying him will land in about an hour.” “And you won’t do anything with the native girl and the spatioanalyst till then?” “Not a thing.” “Good! I’ll meet the ship.” She rose. “Where are you going, Mia?” “To the port, father. I have a great deal to ask of this other native.” She laughed, “I’ll show you that your daughter can be quite a detective.” But Fife did not respond to her laughter. He said, “I’d rather you didn’t.” “Why not?” “It’s essential that there be nothing out of the way about this man’s ar- rival. You’d be too conspicuous at the port.” “What of it?” “I can’t explain statecraft to you, Mia.” “Statecraft, pooh.” She leaned to- ward him, pecked a quick kiss at the center of his forehead and was gone. Now he sat helplessly car-bound in the port while far overhead there was a growing speck in the sky, dark against the brightness of the late afternoon. She pressed the button that opened the utility compartment and took out her polo glasses. Ordinarily, they were used to follow the gyrating antics of the one-man speedsters which took part in stratospheric polo. They could be put to more serious use, too. She put them to her eyes and the descend- ing dot became a ship in miniature, the ruddy glow of its stern drive plainly visible. She would at least see the men as they left, learn as much as she could by the one sense of sight, arrange an interview somehow, somehow there- after. Sark filled the visi-plate. A conti- nent and half an ocean, obscured in part by the dead cotton-white of clouds, lay below. Genro said, his words a trifle un- even, as the only indication that the better part of his mind was perforce on the controls before him, “The space- port will not be heavily guarded. That was at my suggestion, too. I said that any unusual treatment of the arrival of the ship might warn Trantor that something was up. I said that success THE CURRENTS OF SPACE 127

Page 129

depended upon Trantor being at no time aware of the true state of affairs until it was too late. Well, never mind that.” Terens shrugged his shoulders glumly. “What’s the difference?” “Plenty, to you. I will use the land- ing pit nearest the East Gate. You will get out the safety exit in the rear as soon as I land; walk quickly but not too quickly toward that gate. I have some papers that may get you through without trouble and may not. I’ll leave it to you to make necessary action if there is trouble. From past history, I judge I can trust you that far. Outside the gate there will be a car waiting to take you to the Embassy. That’s all.” “What about you?” Slowly Sark was changing from a huge featureless sphere of blinding browns and greens and blues and cloud-white, into something more alive; into a surface broken by rivers and wrinkled by mountains. Genro’s smile was cool and humor- less. “Your worries may end with yourself. When they find you. gone, I may be shot as a traitor. If they find me completely helpless and physically unable to stop you, they may merely demote me as a fool. The latter, I sup- pose, is preferable, so I will ask you, before you leave, to use a neuronic whip on me.” The Townman said, “Do you know what a neuronic whip is like?” “Quite.” There were small drops of perspiration at his temples. 128 “Haw do you know I won’t kill you afterward? I’m a Squire-killer, you know.” “I know. But killing me won’t help you. It will just waste your time. I’ve taken worse chances.” The surface of Sark as viewed in the visi-plate was expanding; its edges rushed out past the border of visibility ; its center grew and the new edges rushed out in turn. Something like the rainbow of a Sarkite city could be made out. “ I hope,” said Genro, “you have no ideas of striking out on your own. Sark is no place for that. It’s either Trantor or the Squires. Remember.” The view was definitely that of a city now and a green-brown patch on its outskirts expanded and became a spaceport below them. It floated up toward them at a slowing pace. Genro said, “If Trantor doesn’t have you in the next hour, the Squires will have you before the day is out. I don’t guarantee what Trantor will do to you, but I can guarantee what Sark will do to you.” Terens had been in the Civil Serv- ice. He knew what Sark would do with a Squire-killer. The port held steady in the visi- plate, but Genro no longer regarded it. He was switching to instruments, rid- ing the pulse-beam downward. The ship turned slowly in air, a mile high, and settled, tail down. A hundred yards above the pit, the engines thundered high. Over the hy- A ST O UNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 130

draulic springs, Terens could feel their shuddering. He grew light and giddy in his seat. Genro said, “Take the whip. Quickly now. Every second is important. The emergency lock will close behind you. It will take them five minutes to won- der why I don’t open the main lock, another five minutes to break in, an- other five minutes to find you. You have fifteen minutes to get out of the port and into the car.” The shuddering ceased and in the thick silence, Terens knew they had made contact with Sark. The shifting diamagnetic fields took over. The yacht tipped majestically and slowly moved down upon its side. Genro said, “Now!” His uniform was wet with perspiration. Terens, with swimming head and eyes that all but refused to focus, raised his neuronic whip — Terens felt the nip of a Sarkite au- tumn. He had spent years in its harsh seasons until he had almost forgotten the soft eternal June of Fiorina. Now his days in Civil Service rushed back upon him as though he had never left this world of Squires. Except that now he was a fugitive and branded upon him was the ulti- mate crime, the murder of a Squire. He was walking in time to the pound- ing of his heart. Behind him was the ship and in it was Genro, frozen in the agony of the whip. The lock had closed softly behind him, and he was walking down a broad, paved path. There were workmen and mechanics in plenty about him. Each had his own job and his own troubles. They didn’t stop to stare a man in the face. They had no reason to. Had anyone actually seen him emerge from the ship? He told himself no one had, or by now there would have been the clamor of pursuit. He touched his hat briefly. It was still down over his ears, and the little medallion it now carried, was smooth to the touch. Genro had said that it would act as identification. The men from Trantor would be watching for just that medallion, glinting in the sun. He could remove it, wander away on his own, find his way to another ship — somehow. He would get away from Sark — somehow. He would es- cape— somehow. Too many somehows! In his heart, he knew he had come to the final end, and as Genro had said, it was either Trantor or Sark. He hated and feared Trantor, but he knew that in any choice it could not and must not be Sark. “You! You there!” Terens froze. He looked up in cold panic. The gate was a hundred feet away. If he ran — But they wouldn’t allow a running man to get out. It was a tiling he dared not do. He must not run. THE CURRENTS OF SPACE 129

Page 131

The young woman was looking out the open window of a car such as Ter- ens had never seen, not even during fifteen years on Sark. It gleamed with metal and sparkled with translucent gemmite. She said, “Come here.” Terens’ legs carried him slowly to the car. Genro had said Trantor’s car would be waiting outside the port. Or had he? And would they send a woman on such an errand? A girl, in fact. A girl with a dark, beautiful face. She said, “You arrived on the ship that just landed, didn’t you?” He was silent. She became impatient. “Come, I 130 saw you leave the ship!” She tapped her polo glasses. He had seen such glasses before. Terens mumbled, “Yes. Yes.” “ Get in then.” She held the door open for him. The car was even more luxurious inside. The seat was soft and it all smelt new and fragrant and the girl was beautiful. She said, “Are you a member of the crew? ” She was testing him, Terens imag- ined. He said, “You know who I am.” He raised his fingers momentarily to the medallion. Without any sound of motive power, the car backed and turned. ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 132

At the gate, Terens shrank back into the soft, cool, kyrt- covered up- holstery, but there was no need for caution. The girl spoke peremptorily and they passed through. She said, “This man is with me. I am Sarnia of Fife.” It took seconds for the tired Terens to hear and understand that. When he lurched tensely forward in his seat, the car was traveling along the express lanes at a hundred per. A laborer within the port looked up from where he stood and muttered briefly into his lapel. He entered the building then and returned to his work. His superintendent frowned and THE CURRENTS OF SPACE made a mental note to talk to Tip about this habit of lingering outside to smoke cigarettes for half an hour at a time. Outside the port one of two men in a ground-car said with annoyance, “ Got into a car with a girl? What car? What girl?” For all his Sarkite costume, his accent belonged definitely to the Arc- turian worlds of the Trantorian Em- pire. His companion was a Sarkite, well- versed in the visi-cast news releases. When the car in question rolled through the gate and picked up speed &s it be- gan to veer off and upward to the express level, he half-rose in his seat 131

Page 133

and cried, “It’s the Lady Sarnia’s car. There isn’t another like it? Good gal- axy, what do we do? ” “Follow,” said the other, briefly. “But the Lady Samia — ” “She’s nothing to me. She shouldn’t be anything to you, either. Or what are you doing here?” Their own car was making the turn, climbing upward onto the broad, nearly empty stretches on which only the speediest of ground travel was per- mitted. The Sarkite groaned, “We can’t catch that car. As soon as she spots us, she’ll kick out resistance. That car can make two-fifty.” “She’s staying at a hundred so far,” said the Arcturian. After a while, he said, “She’s not going to Depsec. That’s for sure.” And after another while, he said, “She’s not going to the Palace of Fife.” Still another interval and he said, “I’ll be spun in space if I know where she’s going. She’ll be leaving the city again.” The Sarkite said, “How do we know it’s the Squire-killer that’s in there. Suppose it’s a game to get us away from the post. She’s not trying to shake us and she wouldn’t use a car like that if she didn’t want to be followed. You can’t miss it at two miles.” “I know, but Fife wouldn’t sen (Pit is girl to get us out of the way. A squad of Patrollers would have done the job better.” “Maybe it isn’t really the lady in it.” “ We’re going to find out, man. She’s slowing. Flash past ancLstop around a curve!” “I want to speak to you,” said the girl. Terens decided it was not the ordi- nary kind of trap he had first consid- ered it. She was the Lady of Fife. She must be. It did not seem to occur to her that anyone could or ought to interfere with her. She had never looked back to see if she were followed. Three times as they turned he noted the same car to the rear, keeping its distance, neither clos- ing the gap nor falling behind. It was not just a car. That was cer- tain. It might be Trantor, which would be well. It might be Sark, in which case the lady would be a decent sort of hostage. He said, “I’m ready to speak.” She said, “You were on the ship that brought the native from Fiorina? The one wanted for all those killings? ” “I said I was.” “Very well. Now I’ve brought you out here so that there’ll be no inter- ference. W7as the native questioned during the trip to Sark?” Such naivete, Terens thought., could not be assumed. She really did not know who he was. He said, guardedly, “Yes.” “Were you present at the question- ing?” 132 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 134

“Yes.” “Good. I thought so. Why did you leave the ship, by the way? ” That, thought Terens, was the ques- tion she should have asked first of all. He said, “I was to bring a special report to — ” He hesitated. She seized on the hesitation eagerly, “To my father? Don’t worry about that. I’ll protect you completely. I’ll say you came with me at my orders.” He said, “Very well, my lady.” The words, “My lady,” struck deeply into his own consciousness. She was a lady, the greatest in the land, and he was a Florinian. A man who could kill Patrollers could learn easily how to kill Squires, and a Squire-killer might, by the same token, look a lady in the face. He looked at her, his eyes hard and searching. He lifted his head and stared down at her. She was very beautiful. And because she was the greatest lady in the land, she was unconscious of his regard. She said, “I want you to tell me everything that you heard at the questioning. I want to know all that was told you by the native. It’s very important.” “ May I ask why you are interested in the native, my lady?” “You may not,” she said, flatly. “ As you wish, my lady.” He didn’t know what he was going to say. With half of his consciousness, he was waiting for the pursuing car to catch up. With the other half, he was growing more aware of the beautiful girl sitting near him. Florinians in the Civil Service and those acting as Townmen were, theo- retically, celibates. In actual practice, most evaded that restriction when they could. So it was all the more important that he had never been so near a beautiful girl in a car of such luxuri- ance under conditions of such isola- tion. She was waiting for him to speak, dark eyes — (such dark eyes) — aflame with interest, full red lips parted in anticipation, a figure more beautiful for being set off in beautiful kyrt. She was completely unaware that any- one, anyone, could possibly dare har- bor a dangerous thought with regard to the Lady of Fife. The half of his consciousness that waited for the pursuers faded out. He suddenly knew that the killing of a Squire was not the ultimate crime after all. He wasn’t quite aware that he moved. He knew only that her small body was in his arms, that it stiffened, that for an instant she cried out, and then he smothered the cry with his lips — There were hands on his shoulder and the drift of cool air on his back through the opened door of the car. His fingers groped for his weapon, too late. It was ripped from his hand. Sarnia gasped wordlessly. THE CURRENTS OF SPACE 133

Page 135

The Sarkite said with horror, “Did you see what he did?” The Arcturian said, “Never mind ! ” He put a small black object into his pocket, and smoothed the seam shut. “Get him,” he said. The Sarkite dragged Terens out of the car with the energy of fury. “And she let him,” he muttered. “She let him.” “Who are you?” cried Samia with sudden energy. “Did my father send you?” The Arcturian said, “No questions, please.” “You’re a foreigner,” said Samia angrily. The Sarkite said, “By Sark, I ought to bust his head in.” He cocked his fist. “Stop it!” said the Arcturian. He seized the Sarkite’s wrist and forced it back. The Sarkite growled sullenly, “There are limits. I can take the Squire-killing. I’d like to kill a few myself, but stand- ing by and watching a native do what he did is just about too much for me.” Samia said, in an unnaturally high- pitched voice, “Native?” The Sarkite leaned forward, snatched viciously at Terens’ cap. The Town- man paled but did not move. He kept his gaze steadily upon the girl and his sandy hair moved slightly in the breeze. Samia moved helplessly back along the car seat as far as she could and then, with a quick movement, she cov- 134 ered her face with both hands, her skin turning white under the pressure of her fingers. The Sarkite said, “What are we going to do with her?” “Nothing.” “She saw us. She’ll have the whole planet after us before we’ve gone a mile.” “Are you going to kill the Lady of Fife,” asked the Arcturian, sarcas- tically. “ Well, no. But we can wreck her car. By the time she gets to a radio- phone, we’ll be all right.” “Not necessary.” The Arcturian leaned into the car. “My lady, 1 have only a moment. Can you hear me?” She did not move. The Arcturian said, “You had bet- ter hear me. I am sorry I interrupted you at a tender moment but luckily, 1 have put that moment to use. I acted quickly and was able to record the scene by tri-camera. This is no bluff. 1 will transmit the negative to a safe place minutes after I leave you and thereafter any interference on your part will force me to be rather nasty. I’m sure you understand me.” He turned away. “She won’t say anything about this. Not a thing. Come along with me, Townman.” Terens followed. He could not look back at the white, pinched face in the car. Whatever might now follow, he had accomplished a miracle. For one mo- ment, he had kissed the proudest ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 136

Lady on Sark and had felt the fleeting touch of her Soft, fragrant lips. XVI. Diplomacy has a language and a set of attitudes all its own. Relationships between the representatives of sov- ereign states, if conducted strictly ac- cording to protocol, are stylized and stultifying. The phrase, “unpleasant consequences” becomes synonymous with war and “suitable adjustment” with surrender. When on his own, Abel preferred to abandon diplomatic double talk. With a tight personal beam connecting himself and Fife, he might merely have been an elderly man talking amiably over a glass of wine.- He said, “You have been hard to reach, Fife.” Fife smiled. He seemed at ease and undisturbed. “A busy day, Abel.” “Yes. I’ve heard a bit about it.” “Steen?” Fife was casual. “Partly. Steen’s been with us about seven hours.” “I know. My own fault, too. Are you considering turning him over to us?” “I’m afraid not.” “He’s a criminal.” Abel chuckled and turned the gob- let in his hand, watching the lazy bubbles. “I think we can make out a case for his being a political refugee. Interstellar law will protect him on Trantorian territory.” “Will your government back you?” “I think it will, Fife. I haven’t been in the foreign service for thirty-seven years without knowing what Trantor will back and what it won’t.” “I can have Sark ask for your re- call.” “What good would that do? I’m a peaceable man with whom you are well acquainted. My successor might be anybody.” There was a pause. Fife’s leonine countenance puckered. “I think you have a suggestion.” “I do. You have a man of ours.” “What man of yours?” “A spatioanalyst. A native of the planet, Earth, which, by the way, is part of the Trantorian domain.” “Steen told you this?” “Among other things.” “Has he seen this Earthman?” “He hasn’t said he has.” “Well, he hasn’t. Under the circum- stances, I doubt that you can have faith in his word.” Abel put down his glass. He clasped his hands loosely in his lap and said, “Just the same, I’m sure the Earth- man exists. I tell you, Fife, we should get together on this. I have Steen and you have the Earthman. In a sense, we’re even. Before you go on with your current plans, before your ultimatum expires and your coup d’etat takes place, why not a conference on the kyrt situation generally.” “I don’t see the necessity. What is happening on Sark now is an internal THE CURRENTS OF SPACE 135

Page 137

\ matter entirely. I’m quite willing to guarantee personally that there will be no interference with the kyrt trade regardless of political events here. I think that should end Trantor’s legiti- mate interests.” Abel sipped at his wine, seemed to consider. He said, “It seems we have a second political refugee. He received sanctuary not more than three hours ago. A curious case. One of your Florinian subjects, by the way. A Townman. Myrlyn Terens, he calls himself.” Fife’s eyes blazed suddenly. “We half suspected that. By Sark, Abel, there’s a limit to the open interference of Trantor on this planet. The man you have kidnaped is a triple murderer. You can’t make a political refugee out of him.” “Well, now, do you want the man?” “You have a deal in mind? Is that it?” “The conference I spoke of.” “For one Florinian murderer. Of course not.” “But the manner in which the Townman managed to escape to us is rather curious. You may be interested J) Junz paced the floor, shaking his head. The night was already well- advanced. He would like to be able to sleep but he knew he would require somnin once again. Abel said, “I might have had to threaten force, as Steen suggested. 136 That would have been bad. The risks would have been awful, the results uncertain. Yet until the Townman was brought to us, I saw no alterna- tive, except of course, a policy of do- nothing.” Junz shook his head violently, “No. Something had to be done. Yet, it amounted to blackmail.” “Technically, I suppose so. What would you have had me do?” “Exactly what you did. I’m not a hypocrite, Abel. Or I try not to be. I won’t condemn your methods when I intend to make full use of the results. Still, what about the girl.” “She won’t be hurt as long as Fife keeps his bargain.” “I’m sorry for her. I’ve grown to dislike the Sarkite aristocrats for what they’ve done to. Fiorina, but 1 can’t help feeling sorry for her.” “As an individual, yes. But the true responsibility lies with Sark itself. Look here, old man, did you ever kiss a girl in a ground-car?” The tip of a smile quivered at the corners of Junz’s mouth. “Yes.” “So have I, though I have to call upon longer memories than you do, I imagine. My eldest granddaughter is probably engaged in the practice at this moment, I shouldn’t wonder. What is a stolen kiss in a ground- car, anyway, except the expression of the most natural emotion in the galaxy. “Look here, man. We have a girl, admittedly of high social standing, ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 138

who, through mistake, finds herself in the same car with, let us say, a crimi- nal. He seizes the opportunity to kiss her. It’s on impulse and without her consent. How ought she to feel? How ought her father to feel? Chagrined? Perhaps. Annoyed? Certainly. Angry? Offended? Insulted? All that, yes. But disgraced? No! Disgraced enough to be willing to endanger important af- fairs of state to avoid exposure? Non- sense. “ But that’s exactly the situation and it could happen only on Sark. The Lady Sarnia is guilty of nothing but willfullness and a certain naivete. She has, I am sure, been kissed before. If she kissed again, if she kissed in- numerable times, anyone but a Florin- ian, nothing would be said. But she did kiss a Florinian. “It doesn’t matter that she did not know he was a Florinian. It doesn’t matter that he forced the kiss upon her. To make public the photograph we have of the Lady Samia in the arms of the Florinian would make life un- bearable for her and for her father. I saw Fife’s face when he stared at the reproduction. There was no way of telling for certain that the Townman was a Florinian. He was in Sarkite cos- tume with a cap that covered his hair well. He was light-skinned, but that was inconclusive. Still, Fife knew that the rumor would be gladly believed by many who were interested in scandal and sensation and that the picture would be considered incontrovertible proof. And he knew that his political enemies would make the greatest pos- sible capital out of it. You may call it blackmail, Junz, and maybe it is, but it’s a blackmail that would not work on any other planet in the galaxy. Their own sick social system gave us this weapon and I have no compunc- tion about using it.” Junz sighed. “What’s the final ar- rangement? ” “We’ll meet at noon tomorrow.” “His ultimatum has been postponed then?” “Indefinitely. I will be at his office in person.” “Is that a necessary risk?” “It’s not much of one. There will be witnesses. And I am anxious to be in the material presence of this spatio- analyst you have been searching for so long.” “I’ll attend?” asked Junz, anx- iously. “Oh; yes. The Townman as well. We’ll need him to identify the spatio- analyst. And Steen, of course. All of you will be present by trimensic per- sonification.” “Thank you.” The Trantorian ambassador smoth- ered a yawn and blinked at Junz through watering eyes. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve been awake for two days and a night and I’m afraid my old body can take no more antisom- nin. I must sleep.” With trimensic personification per- 137 THE CURRENTS OR SPACE

Page 139

fected, important conferences were rarely held face to face. Fife felt strongly an element of actual inde- cency in the material presence of the old ambassador. His olive complexion could not be said to have darkened, but its lines were set in silent anger. It had to be silent. He could say nothing. He could only stare sullenly at the men who faced him. Abel! An old dotard in shabby clothes with a million worlds behind him. Junz! A dark-skinned, woolly-haired interferer whose perseverance had pre- cipitated the crisis. Steen! The traitor! Afraid to meet his eyes! The Townman ! To look at him was most difficult of all. He was the native who had dishonored his daughter with his touch yet who could remain safe and untouchable behind the walls of the Trantorian Embassy. He would have been glad to grind his teeth and pound his desk if he had been alone. As it was, not a muscle of his face must move though it tore beneath the strain. If Sarnia had not — He dropped that. His own negligence had cultivated her willfullness and he could not blame her for it now. She had not tried to excuse herself or soften her own guilt. She had told him her private attempts to play the interstellar spy and how horribly it had ended. She had relied completely, in her shame and bitter- ness, on his understanding, and she 138 would fiave that much. She would have that much, if it meant the ruin of the structure he had been build- ing. He said, “This conference has been forced upon me. I see no point in say- ing anything. I’m here to listen.” Abel said, “I believe Steen would like to have his say first.” Fife’s eyes filled with contempt that stung Steen. Steen yelled hisSnswcr, “You made me turn to Trantor, Fife. You violated the principle of autonomy. You couldn’t expect me to stand for that. Really.” Fife said nothing and Abel said, not without a little contempt of his own, “Get to your point, Steen. You said you had something to say. Say it.” Steen’s sallow cheekbones reddened without benefit of rouge. “ I will, and right now. Of course, I don’t claim to be the detective that the Squire of Fife represents himself to be, but I can think. Really! And I’ve been thinking. Fife had a story to tell yesterday, all about a mysterious traitor he called X. I could see it was just a lot of talk so that he could declare an emergency. I wasn’t fooled a minute.” “There’s no X? ” asked Fife, quietly. “Then -why did you run? A man who runs needs no other accusation.” “Is that so? Really?” cried Steen. “Well, I would run out of a burning building even if I had not set the fire myself.” “Go on, Steen,” said Abel. ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 140

Steen licked his lips and turned to a minute consideration of his fingernails. He smoothed them gently as he spoke. “But then I thought, why make up that particular story with all its com- plications and things. It’s not his way. Really! It’s not Fife’s way. I know him. We all know him. He has no imagination at all, your excellency. A brute of a man! Almost as bad as Bort.” Fife scowled “Is he saying some- thing, Abel, or is he babbling?” ' “ Go on, Steen,” said Abel. “J will, if you’ll let me talk. My goodness! Whose side are you on? I said to myself — this was after dinner —why would a man like Fife make up a story like that. There was only one answer. He couldn’t make it up. Not with his mind. So it was true. It must be true. And, of course, Patrollers had been killed, though Fife is quite capa- ble of arranging to have that happen.” Fife shrugged his shoulders. Steen drove on, “Only who is X? It isn’t I. Really! I know it isn’t I! And I’ll admit it could only have been a Great Squire. But what Great Squire knew rngst about it, anyway? What Great Squire has been trying to use the story of the spatioanalyst for a year now to frighten the others into some sort of what he calls ‘united effort’ and what I call surrender to a Fife dictatorship? “I’ll tell you who X is.” Steen stood up, the top of his head brushing the edge of the receptor cube and flatten- THE CURRENTS OF SPACE ing as the uppermost inch sliced off into nothingness. He pointed a trem- bling finger. “He's X. The Squire of Fife. He found this spatioanalyst. He put him out of the way, when he saw the rest of us weren’t impressed with his silly remarks at our first confer- ence and then he brought him out again after he had already arranged a military coup.” Fife turned wearily to Abel. “Is he through? If so, remove him. He is ail unbearable offense to any decent man.” Abel said, “Have you any comment to make on what he says? ” “Of course not. It isn’t worth com- ment. The man is desperate. He’ll say anything.” “You can’t just brush it off, Fife,” called Steen. He looked about at the rest. His eyes narrowed and the skin at his nostrils was white with tension. He remained standing. “Listen. He said his investigators found records in a doctor’s office. He said the doctor had died by accident after diagnosing the spatioanslyst as the victim of psycho- probing. He said it was murder by X to keep the identity of the spatio- analyst secret. That’s what he said. Ask him. Ask him if that isn’t what he said.” “And if I did?” asked Fife. “Then ask him how he could get the records from the office of a doctor who was dead and buried for months unless he had them all along. Really!” Fife said, “This is foolish. We can 139

Page 141

waste time indefinitely this way. An- other doctor took over the dead man’s practice and his records as well. Do any of you think medical records are destroyed along with a physician?” Abel said, “No, of course not.” Steen stuttered, then sat down. Fife said, “What’s next? Have any of you more to say? More accusations? More anything?” His voice was low. Bitterness showed through. Abel said, “Why, that was Steen’s say, and we’ll let it pass. Now Junz and I, we’re here on another kind of business. We would like to see the spatioanalyst.” Fife’s hands had been resting upon the desk top. They lifted now and came down to clutch the edge of the desk. His black eyebrows drew to- gether. He said, “We have in custody a man of subnormal mentality who claims to 140 be a spatioanalyst. I’ll have him brought in!” Valona March had never, never in her life dreamed such impossibilities could exist. For over a day now, ever since she had landed on this planet of Sark, there had been a touch of won- der about everything. Even the prison cells in which she and Rik had been separately placed seemed to have an unreal quality of magnificence about them. Water came out of a hole in a pipe when you pressed a button. Heat came out of the wall, although the air outside had been colder than she had thought air could possibly get. And everyone who spoke to her wore such beautiful clothes. She had been in rooms in which were all sorts of things she had never seen before. This one now was larger than any yet but it was almost bare. It had ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 142

more people in it, though. There was a stern looking man behind a desk, and a much older, very wrinkled man in a chair, and three others — One was the Townman! She jumped up and ran to him. “Townman! Townman!” But he wasn’t there! He had got up and waved at her. “Stay back, Lona. Stay back!” And she passed right through him. She had reached out to seize his sleeve ; lie moved it away; she lunged, half- stumbling, and passed right through him. For a moment, the breath went out of her body. The Townman had turned, was facing her again, but she could only stare down at her legs. Both of them were thrusting through the heavy arm of the chair in which the Townman had been sitting. She could see it plainly, in all its color and solidity. It encircled her legs but she did not feel it. She put out a trembling hand and her fingers sank an inch deep into upholstery they could not feel either. Her fingers re- mained visible. She shrieked and fell, her last sensa- tion being that of the Townman’s arms reaching automatically for her and herself falling through their circle as though they were pieces of flesh- tinted air. She was in a chair again, Rik hold- ing one hand tightly - and the old, wrinkled man leaning over her. He was saying, “Don’t be fright- ened, my dear. It’s just a picture. A photograph, you know.” Valona looked about. The Town- man was still sitting there. He wasn’t looking at her. She pointed a finger, “Isn’t he there?” Rik said, suddenly, “It’s a trimensic personification, Lona. He’s somewhere else, but we can see him from here.” Valona shook her head. If Rik said so, it was all right. But she lowered her eyes. She dared not look at people who were there and not there at the same time. Abel said to Rik, “So you know what trimensic personification is, young man? ” “Yes, sir.” It had been a tremen- dous day for Rik, too, but where Valona was increasingly dazzled, he had found things increasingly familiar and comprehensible. “Where did you learn that?” _“I don’t know. I knew it before . . . before I forgot.” Fife had not moved from his seat behind the desk during the wild plunge of Valona March toward the Townman. He said, acidly, “I am sorry to have to disturb this meeting by bring- ing in an hysterical native woman. The so-called spatioanalyst required her presence.” “It’s all right,” said Abel. “But I notice that your Florinian of subnor- mal mentality seems to be acquainted with trimensic personification.” THE CURRENTS OR SPACE 141

Page 143

“He has been well drilled, I imag- ine,” said Fife. Abel said, “Has he been questioned since arriving on Sark?” “He certainly has.” “With what result?” “No new information.” Abel turned to Rik. “What’s your name?” “ Rik is the only name I remember,” said Rik, calmly. “Do you know anyone here?” Rik looked from face to face, with- out fear. He said, “Only the Townman. And Lona, of course.” “This,” said Abel, gesturing toward Fife, “is the greatest Squire that ever lived. He owns the whole world. What do you think of him?” Rik said, boldly, “I’m an Earthman. He doesn’t own me.” Abel said in an aside to Fife, “I don’t think an adult native Florinian could be trained into that sort of defiance.” “Even with a psycho probe?” re- turned Fife, scornfully. “Do you know this gentleman?” asked Abel, returning to Rik. “No, sir.” “This is Dr. Selim Junz. He’s an important official at the Interstellar Bureau of Spatioanalysis.” Rik looked at him intently. “Then he’d be one of my chiefs. But I don’t know him. Or maybe I just don’t remember.” Junz shook his head, gloomily, “I’ve never seen him, Abel.” “That’s something for the record,” muttered t'ife. “Now listen, Rik,” said Abel. “I’m going to tell you a story. I want you to listen with all your mind and think. Think and think! Do you un- derstand me?” Rik nodded. Abel talked slowly. His voice was the only sound in the room for long minutes. As he went on, Rik’s eyelids closed and screwed themselves into knots. His lips drew back, his fists moved up to his chest, and his head bent forward. He had the look of a man in agony. Abel talked on, passing back and forth across the reconstruction of events as they had originally been presented by the Squire of Fife. He talked of the original message of disas- ter, of its interception, of the meeting between Rik and X, of the psycho- probing, of how Rik had been found and brought up on Fiorina, of the doc- tor who diagnosed him and then died, of his returning memory. He said, “That’s the whole story, Rik. I’ve told you all of it. Does any- thing sound familiar to you?” Slowly, painfully, Rik said, “I re- member the last parts; you know, the last few days. I remember something further back, too. Maybe it was the doctor, when I first started talking. It’s very dim. But that’s all.” Abel said, “But you do remember further back. You remember danger to Fiorina.” 142 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 144

“Yes. Yfes. That was the first thing I remembered.” “Then can’t you remember after that? You landed on Sark and met a man.” Rik moaned, “I can’t. I can’t re- member.” “Try! Try!” Rik looked up. His white face was wet with perspiration. “I remember a word.” “What word, Rik?” “It doesn’t make sense.” “Tell us, anyway.” “It goes along with a table. Long, long ago. Very dim. I was sitting. I think, maybe, someone else was sit- ting. Then he was standing, looking down at me. And there’s a word.” Abel was patient. “What word.” Rik clenched his fists and whispered, “Fife!” Every man but Fife rose to his feet. Steen shrieked, “I told you” and burst into a high-pitched bubbling cackle. XVII. Fife said, with tightly-controlled passion, “Let us end this farce.” He had waited before speaking, his eyes hard and his face expressionless until in sheer anticlimax the rest were forced to take their seats again. Rik had bent his head, eyes screwed pain- fully shut, probing his own aching mind. Valona pulled him toward her- self, trying hard to cradle his head on thU currents of space her shoulder, stroking his cheek softly, Abel said, shakily, “Why do you say this is a farce?” Fife said, “Isn’t it? I agreed to this meeting in the first place only because of a particular threat you held over me. I would have refused even so if I had known the conference was in- tended to be a trial of myself with renegades and murderers acting as both prosecutors and jury.” Abel frowned and said with chilling formality, “This is not a trial, Squire. Dr. Junz is here in order to recover the person of a member of the I.S.B., as is right and duty. I am here to protect the interests of Trantor in a troubled time. There is $0 doubt in my mind that this man, Rik, is the missing spatioanalyst. We can end this part of the conference immediately if you will agree to turn over the man to Dr. Junz for further examination, includ- ing a check of physical characteristics. We would naturally require your further help in finding the guilty psycho-prober and in setting up safe- guards against a future repetition of such acts against what is, after all, an interstellar agency which has con- sistently held itself above regional politics.” Fife said, “Quite a speech! But the obvious remains obvious and your plans are quite transparent. What would happen if I gave up this man? I rather think that the I.S.B. will man- age to find out exactly what it wants to find out. It claims to be an interstellar 143-

Page 145

agency with no regional ties, but it’s a fact, isn’t it, that Trantor contrib- utes two-thirds of its annual budget? I doubt that any reasonable observer would consider it really neutral in the galaxy of today. Its findings with re- gard to this man will surely suit Trantor’s imperial interests. “And what will these findings be? That’s obvious, too. The man’s mem- ory will slowly come back. The I.S.B. will issue daily bulletins. Bit by bit, he will remember more and more of the necessary details. First, my name. Then, my appearance. Then, my exact words. I will be solemnly declared guilty. Reparations will be required and Trantor will be forced to occupy Sark temporarily, an occupation which will somehow become permanent. “There are limits beyond which any blackmail breaks down. Yours, Mr. Ambassador, ends here. If you want this man, have Trantor send a fleet after him.” “There is no question of force,” said Abel. “Yet I notice that you have carefully avoided the implication in what the spatioanalyst has last said.” “There isn’t any implication that I need dignify by a denial. He remem- bers a word, or says he does. What of it?” “Doesn’t it mean anything that he does?” “Nothing at all. The name, Fife, is a great one on Sark. Even if we assume the so-called spatioanalyst is sincere, he had a year’s opportunity to hear 144 the name on Fiorina. He came to Sark on a ship that carried my daughter; a still better opportunity to have heard the name of Fife. What is more natural than that the name became involved with his trace memories. Of course, he may not be sincere. This man’s bit- by-bit disclosures may be well-re- hearsed.” Abel thought of nothing to say. He looked at the others. Junz was frown- ing darkly, the fingers of his right hand slowly kneading his chin. Steen was simpering foolishly and mutter- ing to himself. The Florinian Town- man stared blankly at his knees. It was Rik who spoke, forcing him- self from Valona’s grasp and standing up. “Listen,” he said. His pale face was twisted. His eyes mirrored pain. Fife said, “Another disclosure, I suppose.” Rik said, “Listen! We were sitting at a table. The tea was drugged. We had been quarreling. I don’t remem- ber why. Then I couldn’t move. I could only sit there. I couldn’t talk. I could only think, Great Space, I’ve been drugged. I wanted to shout and scream and run, but I couldn’t. Then the other one, Fife, came. He had been shouting at me. Only now he wasn’t shouting. He didn’t have to. He came around the table. He stood there, towering over me. I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t do anything. I could only try to turn my eyeballs up ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 146

toward him.” Rik remained standing, silent. Selim Junz said, “This other man was Fife?” “I remember his name was Fife.” “Well, was he that man?” Rik did not turn to look. He said, “I can’t remember what he looked like.” “Are you sure?” “I’ve been trying.” He burst out, “You don’t know how hard it is. It hurts! It’s like a red-hot needle. Deep! In here ! ” He put his hands to his head. Junz said, softly, “I know it’s hard. Hut you must try. Don’t you see you must keep on trying. Look at that man! Turn and look at him!” Rik twisted toward the Squire of Fife. For a moment, he stared, then turned away. junz said, “Can you "remember now? ” “No! No!” Fife smiled grimly. “Has your man forgotten his lines, or will the story seem more believable if he remembers my face the next time around?” Junz said, hotly, “I have never seen this man before, and I have never spoken to him. There has been no arrangement to frame you and I am tired of your accusations in that direc- tions. I am after the truth only.” “Then may I ask him a few ques- tions?” “Go ahead.” “Thank you, I’m sure, for your kindness. Now you . . . Rik, or what- ever your real name is — ” He was a Squire, addressing a Flor- inian. Rik looked up. “Yes, sir.” “ You remember a man approaching you from the other side of the table as you sat there, drugged and helpless.” “Yes, sir.” “The last thing you remember is this man staring down at you.” “Yes, sir.” “You stared up at him, or tried to.” “Yes, sir.” “Sit down.” Rik did so. For a moment, Fife did nothing. His lipless mouth might have grown tighter, the jaw muscles under the blue-black sheen of the stubble on his cheeks and chin bunched a bit. Then he slid down from his chair. Slid down! It was as though he had got down on his knees there behind the desk. But he moved from behind it and was seen plainly to be standing. Junz’s head swam. The man, so statuesque and formidable in his seat, had been converted without warning into a pitiful midget. Fife’s deformed legs moved under him with an effort, carrying the un- gainly mass of torso and head forward. His face flushed but his eyes kept their look of arrogance intact. Steen broke into a wild giggle and choked it off when those eyes turned on him. The rest sat in fascinated silence. Rik, wide-eyed, watched him ap- 145 THE CURRENTS OF SPACE

Page 147

proach. Fife said, “Was I the man who ap- proached you around the table?” “I can’t remember his face, sir.” “I don’t ask you to remember his face. Can you have forgotten this?” His two arms went wide, framing his body. “Can you have forgotten my appearance; my walk?” Rik said, miserably. “It seems I shouldn’t, sir, but I don’t know.” “But you were sitting, he was stand- ing, and you were looking up at him.” “Yes, sir.” “He was looking down at you; ‘towering’ over you, in fact.” “Yes, sir.” “You remember that at least? You’re certain of that?” “Yes, sir.” The two were now face to face. “Am I looking down at you?” Rik said, “No, sir.” “Are you looking up at me?” Rik, sitting, and Fife, standing, stared levelly at one another, eye to eye. “No, sir.” “Could I have been the man?” “No, sir.” “Are you certain?” “Yes, sir.” “You still say the name you re- member is Fife? ” “I remember that name,” insisted Rik stubbornly. “Whoever it was then, used my name as a disguise?” “He . . . he must have.” Fife rtirned and with slow dignity struggled back to Ifis desk and climbed into his seat. He said, “I have never allowed any man to see me standing before this in all my adult life. Is there any reason why this conference should continue? ” Abel was at once embarrassed and annoyed. So far the conference had back-fired badly. At every step, Fife had managed to put himself in the right, the others in the wrong. Fife had successfully presented himself as a martyr. He had been forced into conference by Trantorian blackmail, and made the subject of false accusa- tions that had broken down at once. Fife would see to it that his version of the conference would flood the galaxy and he would not have to de- part very far from the truth to make it excellent anti-Trantorian propa- ganda. Abel would have liked to cut his losses. The psycho-probed spatio- analyst would be of no use to Trantor now. Any “memory” he might have thereafter would be laughed down, made ridiculous, however true it might be. He would be accepted as an instrument of Trantorian imperialism, and a broken instrument at that. But he hesitated, and it was Junz who spoke. Junz said, “It seems to me there’s a very good reason for not ending the conference just yet. We have not yet determined exactly who is responsible 146 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 148

for the psycho-probing. You have accused the Squire of Steen, and Steen has accused you. Granting that both of you are mistaken and that both are innocent, it still remains true that you each believe one of the Great Squires is guilty. Which one, then?” “Does it matter?” asked Fife. “As far as you’re concerned, I’m sure it doesn’t. That matter would have been solved by now except for the interfer- ence of Trantor and the I.S.B. Even- tually, I will find the traitor. Remem- ber that the psycho prober, whoever he is, had the original intention of forcing a monopoly of the kyrt trade into his own hands, so I am not likely to let him escape. Once the psycho prober is identified and dealt with, your man here will be returned un- harmed to you. That is the Only offer I can make and it is a very reasonable one.” “What will you do with the psycho prober?” “That is a purely internal matter that does not concern you.” “But it does,” Junz said, ener- getically. “This is not just a question of the spatioanalyst. There’s some- thing of greater importance involved and I’m surprised that it hasn’t been mentioned yet. This man, Rik, wasn’t psycho-probed just because he was a spatioanalyst.” Abel was not sure what Junz’s in- tentions were, but he threw his weight into the scales. He said, blandly, “Dr. Junz is referring, of course, to THE CURRENTS OR SPACE the spatioanalyst ’s original message of danger.” Fife shrugged. “As far as I know, no one has yet attached any impor- tance to that, including Dr. Junz over the past year. However, your man is here, doctor. Ask him what it’s all about.” “Naturally, he won’t remember.” Junz retorted angrily. “The psycho probe is most effective upon the more intellectual chains of reasoning stored in the mind. The man may never re- cover the quantitative aspects of his life work.” “Then it’s gone,” said Fife. “What can be done about that?” “Something very definite. That’s the point. There’s someone else who knows, and that’s the psycho prober. He may not have been a spatioanalyst himself ; he may not know the precise details. However, he spoke to the man in a state of untouched mind. He will have learned enough to put us far on the right track. Without having learned enough he would not have dared to destroy the source of his in- formation. Still, for the record, do you remember, Rik?” “Only that there was danger and that it involved the currents of space,” muttered Rik. Fife said, “Even if you find out, what will you have? How reliable are any of the startling theories that sick spatioanalysts are forever coming up with. Many of them think they know the secrets of the universe when 147

Page 149

they’re so sick they can barely read their instruments.” “It may be that you are right. Are you afraid to let me find out? ” “I am against starting any morbid rumors that might, whether true or false, affect the kyrt trade. Don’t you agree with me, Abel?” Abel squirmed inwardly. Fife was maneuvering himself into the position where any break in kyrt deliveries resulting from his own coup could be blamed on Trantorian maneuvers. But Abel was a good gambler. He raised the stakes calmly and unemo- tionally. He said, “I don’t. I suggest you listen to Dr. Junz.” “Thanks,” said Junz. “Now you have said, Squire Fife, that whoever the psycho prober was, he must have killed the doctor who examined this man, Rik. That implies that the psycho prober had kept some sort of watch over Rik during his stay on Fiorina.” “Well?” “ There must be traces of that kind of watching.” “You mean you think these natives would know who was watching them.” “Why not?” Fife said, “You are not a Sarkite and so you make mistakes. I assure you that natives keep their places. They don’t approach Squires and if Squires approach them they know enough to keep their eyes on their toes. They would know nothing of being 148 watched.” Junz quivered visibly with indigna- tion. The Squires had their despotism so ingrained that they saw nothing wrong or shameful in speaking of it openly. He said, “ Ordinary natives perhaps. But we have a man here who is not an ordinary native. I think he has shown us rather thoroughly that he is not a properly respectful Florinian. So far he has contributed nothing to the dis- cussion and it is time to ask him a few questions.” Fife said, “That native’s evidence is worthless. In fact, I take the oppor- tunity once more to demand that Trantor surrender him to proper trial by the courts of Sark.” “Let me speak to him first.” Abel put in, mildly, “I think it will do no harm to ask him a few questions, Fife. If he proves unco-operative or unreliable, we may consider your re- quest for extradition.” Terens who, till now, had stolidly concentrated on the fingers of his clasped hands, looked up briefly. Junz turned to Terens. He said, “Rik has been in your town since he was first found on Fiorina, hasn’t he? ” “Yes.” “And you were in town all that time? I mean you weren’t on any ex- tended business trips, were you?” “Townmen don’t make business trips. Their business is in their town.” “All right. Now relax and don’t get ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 150

touchy. It would be part of your busi- ness to know about any Squire that might come to town, I imagine.” “Sure. When they come.” “Did they come?” Terens shrugged. “Once or twice. Pure routine, I assure you; Squires don’t dirty their hands with kyrt. Un- processed kyrl, that is.” “Be respectful!” roared Fife. Terens looked at him and said, “Can you make me?” Abel interrupted smoothly, “Let’s; keep this between the man and Dr. Junz, Fife. You and I are spectators.” Junz felt a glow of pleasure at the Townman’s insolence, but he said, “Answer my questions without side comments please, Townman. Now who exactly were the Squires who visited your town this past year? ” Terens said, fiercely, “How can I know? I can’t answer that question. Squires are Squires and natives are natives. I may be a Townman but I’m still a native to them. I don’t greet them at the town gates and ask their names. THE CURRENTS OF SPACE 149

Page 151

“I get a message, that’s all. It’s ad- dressed ‘Townman’. It says there’ll be a Squire’s Inspection on such-and- such a day and I’m to make the neces- sary arrangements. I must then see to it that the mill-workers have on their best clothes; that the mill is cleaned up and working properly; that the kyrl supply is ample; that everyone looks contented and pleased ; that the houses have been cleaned and the streets policed ; that some dancers are on hand in case the Squires would care to view some amusing native dance; that maybe a few pretty g — ” “Never mind that, Townman,” said Junz. “ You never mind that. I do.” After his experiences with the Florinians of the Civil Service, Junz found the Townman as refreshing as a drink of cold water. He made up his mind that what influence the I.S.B. could bring to bear would be used to prevent any surrender of the Town- man to the Squires. Terens went on, in calmer tones, “Anyway, that’s my part. When they come, I line up with the rest. I don’t know who they are. I don’t speak to them.” “Was there any such inspection the week before the city doctor was killed? I suppose you know what week that happened.” “I think I heard about it in the newscasts. I don’t think there was any Squire’s inspection at that time. I can’t swear to it.” 150 “Whdin does your land belong to?” Terens pulled the corners of his mouth back. “To the Squire of Fife.” Steen spoke up, breaking into the give-and-take with rather surprising suddenness. “Oh, look here. Really! You’re playing into Fife’s hands with this kind of questioning, Dr. Junz. Don’t you see you won’t get any- where? Really! Do you suppose if Fife were interested in keeping tabs on that creature there that he would go to all the trouble of making trips to Fiorina to look at him. What are Patrollers for? Really!” Junz looked flustered. “In a case like this, with a world’s economy and maybe its physical safety resting on the contents of one man’s mind, it’s natural that the psycho prober would not care to leave the guardianship to Patrollers.” Fife intervened. “Even after he had wiped out that mind, to all intents.” Abel pushed out his lower lip and frowned. He saw his latest gamble sliding into Fife’s hands with all the rest. Junz tried again, hesitantly. “Was there any particular Patroller or group of Patrollers that was always under- foot.” “I’d never know. They’re just uni- forms to me.” Junz turned to Valona with the effect of a sudden pounce. A moment before she had gone a sickly white and her eyes had become wide and stary. Junz had not missed that. ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 152

He said, “What about you, girl?” But she only shook her head, word- lessly. Abel thought, heavily, There's noth- ing more to do. It’s all over. But Valona was on her feet, trem- bling. She said, in a husky whisper, “I want to say something.” Junz said, “Go ahead, girl. W7hat is it? ” Valona talked breathlessly and with fright obvious in every line of her countenance and every nervous twitch of her fingers. She said, “I’m just a country girl. Please don’t be angry with me. It’s just that it seems that things can only be one way. Was my Rik so very important? I mean, the way you said?” Junz said, gently, “I think he was very, very important. I think he still is.” “Then it must be like you said. Whoever it was who had put him on Fiorina wouldn’t have dared take his eye away for even a minute hardly. Would lie? I mean, suppose Rik was beaten by the mill superintendent or was stoned by the children or got sick and died. He wouldn’t be left helpless in the fields, would he, where he might die before anyone found him? They wouldn’t suppose that it would just be luck that would keep him safe.” She was speaking with an intense fluency now. “Go on,” said Junz, watching her. “Because there was one person who did watch Rik from the start. He found him in the fields, fixed it so I would take care of him, kept him out of trouble and knew about him every day. He even knew all about the doc- tor, because I told him. It was he! It was he!” With her voice at screaming in- tensity, her finger pointed rigidly at Myrlyn Terens, Townman. And this time, even Fife’s super- human calm broke and his arms stiffened on his desk, lifting his mas- sive body a full inch off his seat, as his head swiveled quickly toward the Townman. XVIII. It was as though a Vocal paralysis had gripped them all. Even Rik, with disbelief in his eyes, could only stare woodenly, first at Valona, then at Terens. Then came Steen’s high-pitched laugh and the silence was broken. Steen said, “I believe it. Really! I said so all along. I said the native was in Fife’s pay. That shows you the kind of man Fife is. He’d pay a native to — ” “That’s an infernal lie.” It wasn’t Fife who spoke, but the Townman. He was on his feet, eyes glistening with passion. Abel, who of them all seemed the least moved, said, “What is?” Terens stared at him a moment, not comprehending, then said, chokingly, “What the Squire said. I am in the pay of no Sarkite.” THE CURRENTS OF SPACE 151

Page 153

“And what the girl said? Is that a lie, too?” Terens wet his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. “No, that’s true. I am the psycho prober.” He hurried on. “Don’t look at me like that, Lona. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I didn’t in- tend any of what happened.” He sat down again. Fife said, “This is a sort of device. I don’t know exactly what you’re plan- ning, Abel, but it’s impossible on the face of it that this criminal could have included this particular crime in his repertoire. It’s definite that only a Great Squire could have had the nec- essary knowledge and facilities. Or are you anxious to take your man Steen off the hook by arranging for a false confession?” Terens, hands tightly clasped, leaned forward in his seat. “I don’t take Trantorian money, either.” Fife ignored him. Junz was the last to come to him- self. For minutes, he could not adjust to the fact that the Townman was not really in the same room with him; that he was somewhere else on the Embassy grounds; that he could see him only in image form, no more real actually than was Fife who was twenty miles away. He wanted to go to the Townman, grip him by the shoulder, speak to him. alone; but he couldn’t. He said, “There’s no point in arguing before we hear the man. Let’s have the details. If he is the psycho prober, we need the details 152 badly. If he isn’t, the details he’ll try to give its will prove it.” “If you want to know what hap- pened,” cried Terens, “I’ll tell you. Holding it back won’t do me any good any longer. It’s Sark or Trantor after all, so to Space with it. This will at least give me a chance to get one or two things into the open.” He pointed at Fife in scorn. “There’s a Great Squire. Only a Great Squire, says this Great Squire, can have the knowledge or the facilities to do what the psycho prober did. He believes it, too. But what does he know? What do any of the Sarkites know? “They don’t run the government. Florinians do! The Florinian Civil Service dfees. They get the papers, they make the papers, they file the papers. And it’s the papers that run Sark. Sure, most of us are too beaten even to whimper, but do you know what we could do if we wanted to, even under the noses of our Squires? Well, you see what I’ve done. “I was temporarily traffic manager at the spaceport a year ago. Part of my training. It’s in the records. You’ll have to dig a little to find it because the listed traffic manager is a Sarkite. He had the title but I did the actual work. My name would be found in the special . section headed: Native Per- sonnel. No Sarkite would have dirtied his eyes looking there. “When the local I.S.B. sent the spatioanalyst’s message to the port with a suggestion that we meet the ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 154

ship with an ambulance, / got the message. I passed on what was safe. This matter of the destruction of Fiorina was not passed on. “I arranged to meet the spatio- analyst at a small suburban port. I could do that easily. All the wires and strings that ran Sark were at my fingertips. I was in the Civil Service, remember. A Great Squire who wanted to do what I did, couldn’t, unless he ordered some Florinian to do it for him. I could do it without anyone’s help. So much for knowledge and facility. “I met the spatioanalyst, kept him away from both Sark and the I.S.B. I squeezed as much information out of him as I could and set about using that information for Fiorina and against Sark.” Words were forced out of Fife. “You sent those first letters?” “I sent those first letters, Great Squire,” said Terens, calmly. “I thought I could force control of enough of the kyrt lands into my own hands to make a deal with Trantor on my terms and drive you off the planet.” “You were mad.” “Maybe. Anyway, it didn’t work. I had told the spatioanalyst I was the Squire of Fife. I had to, because he knew that Fife was the biggest man on the planet, and as long as he thought I was Fife, he was willing to talk openly. It made me laugh to real- ize that he thought Fife was anxious to do whatever was best for Fiorina. “Unfortunately, he was more im- THE CURRENTS OF SPACE patient than I was. He insisted that every day lost was a calamity, wrhile I knew that my dealings with Sark needed time more than anything else. I found it difficult to control him and eventually had to use a psycho probe. I could get one. I had seen it used in hospitals. I knew something about it. Unfortunately, not enough. I set the probe to wipe out the anxiety from the surface layers of his mind. That’s a simple operation. I still don’t know what happened. I think the anxiety must have run deeper, very deep, and the probe automati- cally followed it, digging out most of the conscious mind along with it. I was left with a mindless thing on my hands. I’m sorry, Rik.” Rik, who had been listening in- tently, said, sadly, “You shouldn’t have interfered with me, Townman, but I know how you must have felt.” “Yes,” said Terens, “you’ve lived on the planet. You know about Pa- trollers and Squires and the difference between Lower City and Upper City.” He took up the current of his story again. “So there I was with the spatioanalyst completely helpless. I couldn’t let him be found by anyone who might trace his identity. I couldn’t kill him. I felt sure his mem- ory would return and I would still need his knowledge, to say nothing of the fact that killing him would forfeit the good will of Trantor and the I.S.B. which I would eventually need. 153

Page 155

Besides, in those days, I was incapable of killing. “I arranged to be transferred to Fiorina as Townman and I took the spatioanalyst with me on forged pa- pers. I arranged to have him found; I picked Valona to take care of him. There was no danger thereafter except for that one time with the doctor. Then I had to enter the power plants of Upper City. That was not impossible. The engineers were Sarkite but the janitors were Florinian. On Sark I learned enough about power mechan- ics to know how to short a power line. It took me three days to find the proper time for it. After that, I could murder easily. I never knew, though, that the doctor kept duplicate records in both halves of his office. I wish I had.” Terens could see Fife’s chronometer from where he sat. “Then, one hun- dred hours ago — it seems like a hun- dred years — Rik began remembering again. Now you have the whole story.” “No,” said Junz, “we have not. What are the details of the spatio- analyst’s story of planetary destruc- tion?” “Do you think I understood the details of what he had to say? It was some sort of . . . pardon me, Rik . . . madness.” “It wasn’t,” blazed Rik. “It couldn’t have been.” “The spatioanalyst had a ship,” said Junz. “Where is it?” “On the scrap heap long ago,” said Terens. “An order scrapping it was sent out. My superior signed it. A Sarkite never reads papers, of course. It was scrapped without question.” “And Rik’s papers? You said he showed you papers ! ” “Surrender that man to us,” said Fife, suddenly, “and we’ll find out what he knows.” “No,” said Junz. “His first crime was against the I.S.B. He kidnaped and damaged the mind of a spatio- analyst. He belongs to us.” Abel said, “Junz is correct.” Terens said, “Now look here. I don’t say a word without safeguards. I know where Rik’s papers are. They’re where no Sarkite or Trantorian will ever find them. If you want them, you’ll have to agree that I’m a political refugee. Whatever I did was out of partiotism, out of a regard for the needs of my planet. A Sarkite or a Trantorian may claim to be patriotic; why not a Florinian as well.” “The ambassador,” said Junz, “has said you will be given over to the I.S.B. I assure you that you will not be turned over to Sark. For your treat- ment of the spatioanalyst, you will be tried. I cannot guarantee the result, but if you co-operate with us now, it will count in your favor.” Terens looked searchingly at Junz. Then he said, “I’ll take my chance with you, doctor. According to the spatioanalyst, Fiorina’s sun is in the pre-nova stage.” “What!” The exclamation or its 154 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 156

equivalent came from all but Valona. “It’s about to explode and go boom,” said * Terens, sardonically. “And when that happens all of Fiorina will go poof, like a mouthful of tobacco smoke.” Abel said, “I’m no spatioanalyst, but I have heard that there is no way of predicting when a star will explode.” “That’s true — until now, anyway. Did Rik explain what made him think so?” “I suppose his papers will show that. All I can remember is about the carbon current.” “What?” “He kept saying: The carbon cur- rent of space; the carbon current of space. That, and the words, catalytic effect. There it is.” Steen giggled. Fife frowned. Junz stared. Then Junz muttered, “Pardon me. I’ll be right back.” He stepped out of the limits of the receptor cube and vanished. He was back in fifteen minutes. Junz looked about in bewilderment when he returned. Only Abel and Fife were present. He said, “Where—” Abel broke in instantly. “We have been waiting for you, Dr. Junz. The spatioanalyst and the girl are on their way to the Embassy. The conference is ended.” “Ended! Great galaxy, we have only begun. I’ve got to explain the possibilities of nova-formation.” Abel shifted uneasily in his seat. “It is not necessary to do that, doc- tor.” “It is very necessary. It is essential. Give me five minutes.” “Let him speak,” said Fife. He was smiling. Junz said, “Take it from the be- ginning. In the earliest recorded scien- , tific writings of galactic civilization it was already known that stars ob- tained their energy from nuclear trans- formations in their interiors. It was also known that, given what we know about conditions in stellar interiors, two types, and only two types, of nuclear transformations can possibly yield the necessary energy. Both in- volve the conversion of hydrogen to helium. The first transformation is direct: two hydrogens and two neu- trons combine to form one helium nu- cleus. The second is indirect, with several steps. It ends up with hydro- gen becoming helium, but in the inter- mediate steps, carbon nuclei take part. These carbon nuclei are not used up but are re-formed as the reactions pro- ceed,'so that a trifling amount of car- bon can be used over and over again, serving to convert a great deal of hydrogen to helium. The carbon acts as a catalyst, in other words. All this has been known back to the days of prehistory, back to the time when the human race was restricted to a single planet, if there ever was such a time.” “If we all know it,” said Fife, “I THE CURRENTS OF SPACE 155

Page 157

would suggest that you are contribu- ting nothing but a waste of time.” “But this is all we know. Whether stars use one or the other, or both, nuclear processes has never been de- termined. There have always been schools of thought in favor of each of the alternatives. Usually, the weight of opinion has been in favor of the direct hydrogen-helium conversion as being the simpler of the two. “Now Rik’s theory must be this. The hydrogen-helium direct conver- sion is the normal source of stellar energy, but under certain conditions, the' carbon catalysis adds its weight, hastening the process, speeding it up, heating up the star. “There are currents in space. You all know that well. Some of these are carbon currents. Stars passing through the currents pick up innumerable atoms. The total mass of atoms at- tracted, however, is incredibly micro- scopic in comparison to the star’s weight and does not affect it in any way. Except for carbon! A star that passes through a current containing unusual concentrations of carbon be- comes unstable. I don’t know flow man}’' years or centuries or millions of years it takes for the carbon atoms to diffuse into the star’s interior, but it probably takes a long time. That means that a carbon current must be wide and a star must intersect it at a small angle. In any case, once the quantity of carbon percolating into the star’s interior passes a certain 156 critical amount, the star’s radiation is suddenly boosted tremendously. The outer layers give way under an un- imaginable explosion and you have a nova. “Do you see?” Junz waited. Fife said, “Have you figured all this out in two minutes as a result of some vague phrase the Townman remem- bered the spatioanalyst to have said a year ago.” “Yes. Yes. There’s nothing sur- prising in that. Spatioanalysis is ready for that theory. If Rik had not come up with it, someone else would have shortly. In fact, similar theories have been advanced before, but they were never taken seriously. They were put forward before the techniques of spatioanalysis were developed and no one was ever able to account for the sudden acquisition of excess carbon by the star in question. “But now we know there are car- bon currents. We can plot their courses, find out what stars intersected those courses in the past ten thousand years, check that against our records for nova formation and radiation variations. That’s what Rik must have done. Those must have been the calculations and observations he tried to show the Townman.' But that’s all beside the immediate point. “What must be arranged for now is the immediate beginning of an evacua- tion of Fiorina.” “I thought it would come to that,” ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 158

said Fife, composedly. “I’m sorry, Junz,” said Abel, “but that’s quite impossible.” “Why impossible?” “ When will Fiorina’s sun explode?” “I don’t know. From Rik’s anxiety a year ago, I’d say we had little time.” “But you can’t set a date?” “Of course not.” “When will you be able to set a date?” “There’s no way of telling. Even if we get Rik’s calculations, it would all have to be rechecked.” “ Can you guarantee that the spatio- analyst’s theory will prove to be cor- rect?” Junz frowned. “I am personally certain of it, but no scientist can guar- antee any theory in advance.” “Then it turns out that you want Fiorina evacuated on mere specula- tion.” “I think the chance of killing the population of a planet is not one that can be taken.” “If Fiorina were an ordinary planet, I would agree with you. But Fiorina bears the galactic supply of kyrt. It can’t be done.” Junz said, angrily, “Is that the THE CURRENTS OR SPACE 157

Page 159

agreement you came to with Fife while I was gone? ” Fife intervened. He said, “Let me explain, Dr. Junz. The government of Sark would never consent to evacuate Fiorina, even if the I.S.B. claimed it had proof of this nova theory of yours. Trantor cannot force us because while the galaxy might support a war against Sark for the purpose of maintaining the kyrt trade, it will never support one for the purpose of ending it.” “Exactly,” said Abel. “I am afraid our own people would not support us in such a war.” Junz found revulsion growing strong . within him. A planet-full of people meant nothing against the dictates of economic necessity! He said, “Listen to me. This is not a matter of one planet, but of a whole galaxy. There are now twenty full novae originating within the galaxy every year. In addition, some two thousand stars among the galaxy’s hundred billion shift their radiation characteristics sufficiently to render uninhabitable any habitable planets they may have. Human beings occupy one million stellar systems in the galaxy. That means that on an average of once every fifty years, some in- habited planet somewhere becomes too hot for life. Such cases are a matter of historical record. Every five thousand years, some inhabited planet has a . fifty-fifty chance of being puffed to gas by a nova. “If Trantor does nothing about Fiorina, if it allows it to vaporize with its people on it, that will serve notice to all the people of the galaxy that when their own turn comes, they may expect no help, if such help is in the way of the economic convenience of a few powerful men. Can you risk that, Abel? “On the other hand, help Fiorina and you will have shown that Trantor puts its responsibility to the people of the galaxy above the maintenance of mere property rights. Trantor will win the good will that it could never win by force.” Abel bowed his head. Then he shook it wearily. “No, Junz. What you say appeals to me, but it is not practical. I can’t count on emotions as against the assured political effect of any at- tempt to the end the kyrt trade. In fact, I think it would be wise to avoid investigating the theory. The thought that it might be true would do too much harm.” “But what if it is true?” “We must work on the assumption that it is not. I take it that when you were gone a few moments ago, it was to contact the I.S.B.” “Yes.” “No matter. Trantor, I think, will have enough influence to stop their investigations.” “I’m afraid ncjj:. Not these investi- gations. Gentlemen, we will soon have the secret of cheap kyrt. There will be no kyrt monopoly within a year, 158 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 160

whether or not there is a nova.” “ What do you mean?” ‘‘The conference is reaching the es- sential point now, Fife. Kyrt grows only on Fiorina of all inhabited plan- ets. Its seeds produce ordinary cellu- lose elsewhere. Fiorina is probably the only inhabited planet, on a chance basis, that is currently pre-nova, and it has probably been pre-nova since it first entered the carbon current, per- haps thousands of years ago, if the angle of intersection was small. It seems quite probable, then, that kyrt and the pre-nova stage go together.” “Nonsense,” said Fife. “Is it? There must be a reason why kyrt is kyrt on Fiorina and cotton else- where. Scientists have tried many ways of artificially producing kyrt elsewhere, but they tried blindly, so they’ve always failed. Now they will know it is due to factors induced in a pre-nova stellar system.” Fife said, scornfully, “They’ve tried duplicating the radiation qualities of Fife’s sun.” “With appropriate arc lights, yes, that duplicated the visible and ultra- violet spectrum only. What about radiation in the infrared and beyond? What about magnetic fields? What about electron emission? What, about cosmic ray effects? I’m not a physical biochemist so there may be factors I know nothing about. But people who are physical biochemists will be look- ing now, a whole galaxy of them. Within the year, I assure you, the so- MEN OF OTHER PLANETS WAS $3.00 NOW 98^ Here’s the biggest science bargain of the year — this illustrated, hard-cover book that Pellegrini & Cudahy published at $3.00 last year now offered at only 98c WHILE OUR SUPPLY OF 100 COPIES LASTS. Written by Kenneth Heuer (of the Hayden Planetarium staff), “MEN OF OTHER PLANETS” gives reasoned analysis of the kinds of life possible on the planets, moons and asteroids of outer space. Gives a vivid picture of what science has discovered up to now about the worlds of the solar system and beyond, ranges of temperature, variety of climates and atmospheres, etc. 28 illustrations by R.T. Crane. Foreword by Prof. C. H. Smiley of Brown Univ. 165 pp. $.98 2. SCIENCE AND THE MEANINGS*OF TRUTH by Martin Johnson, author of highly praised “Time, Knowledge and the Nebulae.” Brilliant discussion of ever-fascinating subject of reality. No advanced mathematics. 179 pp. Clothbound, $2.75 3. SCIENCE AND HYPOTHESIS by Henri Poin- care. 272 pages. Paperbound, $1.25 4. SCIENCE AND METHOD by Henri Poincare. 288 pp. Paperbound, $1.25 CHRISTMAS GIFTS DE LUXE SCIENCE-FICTION CLASSICS IN SPECIAL CLOTHBOUND GIFT EDITIONS 5. 28 SCIENCE FICTION STORIES OF H. G. WELLS. Includes two full-length novels, Star Be- gotten and Men Like Gods. 928 pages. Clothbound. Bargain at $3.95 6. SEVEN SCIENCE FICTION NOVELS OF H. G. WELLS. First Men in the Moon, Food of Gods, Days of Comet, Invisible Man, Island of Dr. Moreau, Time Machine, War of Worlds — all un- abridged. De luxe clothbound. 1015 pages. $3.95 7. FIVE ADVENTURE NOVELS OF H. RIDER HAGGARD. She, King Solomon’s Mines, Allan Quatermain, Allan's Wife, Maiwa’s Revenge. De- luxe clothbound. Unabridged. $3.95 8. FLaTLAND by E. A. Abbott. Intro, by Banesh Hoffman. 128 pages. Clothbound, $2.25 (Paperbound), $1.00 SUPPLIES LIMITED — MAIL COUPON TODAY 1 1 | Dover Pub., Dept. 135, 1780 B’way, N. Y., N. Y. * Send books circled below: ■ MEN OF OTHER PLANETS. | 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. (paper) 8. (cloth) IBooks returnable in ten days for full; cash refund. Name . . A ddress . ■ I enclose $. I postage. full payment. Dover pays THE CURRENTS OF SPACE 159

Page 161

lution will be found. “Economics is on the side of hu- manity now. The galaxy wants cheap kyrt, and if they find it or even if they imagine they will shortly find it, they will want Fiorina evacuated, not only out of humanity, but out of a desire to turn the tables, at long last, on the &yrLgouging Sarkites.” “Bluff!” growled Fife. “ Do you think so, Abel? ” demSfided Junz. “If you help the Squires, Tran- tor will be looked on not as the saviors of the kyrt trade, but of the kyrt mo- nopoly. Can you chance that?” “Can Trantor chance a war?” de- manded Fife. “War? Nonsense! Squire, in one year your holdings on Fiorina will be worthless, nova or not. Sell out. Sell out all Fiorina. Trantor can pay for it.” “Buy a planet?” said Abel in dis- may. “Why not? Trantor has the funds, and its gain in good will among the people of the universe will pay it back a thousandfold. If telling them that you are saving hundreds of millions of lives is not enough, tell them that you will bring them cheap kyrt. That will do it.” “I’ll think about it,” said Abel. Abel looked at the Squire. Fife’s eyes fell. After a long pause, he, too, said, “I’ll think about it.” Junz laughed harshly. “Don’t think too long. The kyrt story will break 160 quickly enough. Nothing can stop it. After that, neither one of you will have freedom of action. You can each strike a better bargain now.” The Townman seemed beaten. “It’s really true?” he kept repeating. “Re- ally true? No more Fiorina.” “It’s true,” said Junz. Terens spread his arms, let them fall against his side. “If you want the papers I got from Rik, they’re filed among vital statistic files in my home town. I picked the dead files, records a century back and more. No one would ever look there for any reason.” “Look,” said Junz, “-I’m sure we can make an agreement with the I.S.B. We’ll need a man on Fiorina, one who knows the Florinian people, who can tell us how to explain the facts to them, how to best organize the evacuation, how to pick the most suitable planets of refuge. Will you help us?” “And beat the game that way, you mean? Get away with murder? Why not?” There were sudden tears in the Townman’s eyes. “But I lose anyway. I will have no world, no home. We all lose. The Florinians lose their world; the Sarkites lose their wealth; the Trantorians their chance to get that wealth. There are no winners at all.” “Unless,” said Junz, gently, “you realize that in the new galaxy,— a galaxy safe from the threat of stellar instability, a galaxy with kyrt availa- ble to all, and a galaxy in which politi- ASTOUNDINC. SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 162

cal unification will be so much clos- er— there will be winners after all. One quadrillion winners. The people of the galaxy; they are the victors.” EPILOGUE “Rik! Rik!” Selim Junz hurried across the port grounds toward the ship, hands outstretched. “And Lona! I’d never have recognized either of you. How are you? How are you?” “ As well as we could wish. Our letter reached you, I see,” said Rik. “Of course. Tell me, what do you think of it all?” They were walking back together, toward Junz’s offices. Valona said sadly, “We visited our old town this morning. The fields are so empty.” Her clothing was now that of a woman of the Empire, rather than that of a peasant of Fiorina. “ Yes, it must be dreary for a person who has lived here. It grows dreary even for me, but I will stay as long as I can. The radiation recordings of Fiorina’s sun are of tremendous theo- retical interest.” “So much evacuation in less than a year! It speaks for excellent organiza- tion.” “We’re doing our best, Rik. Oh, I think I should be calling you by your real name.” “Please don’t. I’ll never get used to it. I’m Rik. That’s still the only name I remember.” Junz said, “Have you decided whether you’re going to return to spatioanalysis? ” JUST PUBLISHED The Christmas f Gift for Fen! $<950 ONLY W 42 GREAT STORIES! 576 PAGES! It’s the biggest science-fiction col- lection ever published in one vol- ume. But its greatness does not depend on quantity alone. Just look at this partial list of authors and order fast— in time for holiday giving. LEIMERT DE CAMP PRATT GRINNELL STURGEON ROCKLYNNE WINTERBOTHAM BOUCHER KNIGHT MATHESON ASIMOV QUANTITY LIMITED. Order today to make sure of getting as many copies as you’ll need. Order from CROWN PUBLISHERS, Dept. A-12, 419 4th Ave., N.Y. 16. Save postage by remitting now Refund in 10 days if not delighted. TIiNN BRADBURY LEINSTER VANCE VAN VOGT JONES PADGETT MAUROIS FYFE LONDON CLARKE DEL RAY THE CURRENTS OF SPACE 161

Page 163

Rik shook his head. “I’ve decided, but the decision is, no. I’ll never re- member enough. That part’s gone for- ever. It doesn’t bother me, though. I’ll be returning to Earth. By the way, I rather hoped I’d see the Townman.” “I think not. He decided to go off today. I think he’d rather not see you. He feels guilty, I think. You have no grudge against him?” Rik said, “No. He meant well, and he changed my life in many ways for the better. For one thing, I met Lona.” His arm went about her shoulder. Valona looked at him and smiled. “Besides,” Rik went on, “he cured me of something. I’ve found out why I was a spatioanalyst. I know why nearly a third of all spatioanalysts are 162 recruited from the one planet, Earth. Anyone living on a radioactive world is bound to grow up in fear and inse- curity. A misstep can mean death and our planet’s own surface is the greatest enemy we have. “That makes for a sort of anxiety bred into us, Dr. Junz; a fear of plan- ets. We’re only happy in space; that’s the only place we can feel safe.” “And you don’t feel that way any longer, Rik.” “I certainly don’t. I don’t even re- member feeling that way. That’s it, you see. The Townman had set his psycho probe to remove feelings of anxiety and he hadn’t bothered to set the intensity controls. He thought he had a recent, superficial trouble to deal with. Instead there was this deep, ingrained anxiety he knew nothing of. He got rid of all of it. In a sense, it was worth getting rid of it even though so much else went with it. I don’t have to stay in space now. I can go back to Earth. I can work there and Eartli needs men. It always will.” “You know,” Junz said, “why can’t we do for Earth what we’re doing for Fiorina? There’s no need to bring up Earthmen in such fear and inse- curity. The galaxy is big.” “No,” said Rik, vehemently. “It’s a different case. Earth has its past, Dr. Junz. Many people may not be- lieve it, but we of Earth know that Earth was the original planet of the human race.” “ Well, perhaps. I can’t say, one way ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 164

c r tn A A > > KNOWLEDGE is the equipment of the scientist. Do you know all you want to know, about subjects that we might be. able to help you with? Subjects such as — Operations Research • Mathematics • Sym- bolic Logic • Automatic Computing Machinery • Robots • How to Explain Clearly • Sta- tistics • Cybernetics .... EDMUND C. BERKELEY & ASSOCIATES New York and Boston Makers of Simon, the Minia- ture Mechanical Brain, and Squee. the 'Robot Squirrel — see covers and articles Oct. 1950 and Dec. 1951 Radio Electronics — Berkeley is au- thor of Giant Brains or Ma- chines that Think, Wiley, 1949 and Machine Intelligence ASF Jan. '52 1) PUBLICATIONS— Construction of Living Robots, $1.00. Circuit Algebra — Introduction, $1.80. A Summary of Symbolic Logic and its Practical Applications, $2.50. Many others — brief — full of information — from 1 5c to $5.50 — all returnable in seven days for full refund if not satisfactory (add 1 0c per item for handling and mailing). Write for list of Publications. 2) COURSES OR GUIDED STUDY — By mail — Beginning or advanced — Individual or study-groups — Fitted to your interests and needs — Cost, $9.00 to $35.00 — Scholarships. See partial list of subjects above. We have enrollments in 38 states, Alaska, Hawaii, and 9 foreign countries. Some comments from students: "... The course is very interesting, and 1 have found it immediately applicable to ray work.” — M. S. in Industrial Engineering in large manufacturing company, New Jersey. *‘...I should like to add that I enjoyed taking this course, and my correspondence with you.” — Vice- President of insurance company. New York. Write: EDMUND C. BERKELEY & ASSOCIATES, 19 MILK ST., R4S, BOSTON 9, MASS. or the other.” “It was. It’s a planet that can’t be abandoned; it mustn't be abandoned. Some day we’ll change it; change its surface back to what it once must have been. Till then — we’re staying.” Valona said, softly, “And I’m an Earthwoman now.” Rik was looking out at the horizon. Upper City was as garish as ever, but the people were gone. He said, “How many are left on Fiorina?” “About twenty million,” said Junz. “ We work slower as we go along. We have to keep our withdrawals bal- anced. The people that are left must always maintain themselves as an economic unit in the months that are THE left. Of course, resettlement is in its earliest stages. Most of the evacuees are still in temporary camps on neigh- boring worlds. There is unavoidable hardship.” “When will the last person leave?” “Never, really.” “I don’t understand.” “The Townman has applied un- officially for permission to remain. It’s been granted, also unofficially. It won’t be a matter of public record.” “Remain?” Rik was shocked. “But for the sake of all the galaxy, why?” “I didn’t know,” said Junz, “but I think you’ve explained it when you talked of Earth. lie feels as you do. He says he can’t bear the thought of leav- ing Fiorina to die alone.” END Till". CURRENTS OF SPACF. 163

Page 165

BRASS TACKS Dear Mr. Campbell: The occasional letters on the history of science fiction, published in your magazine, have led me to realize that I have in fact been a reader of this form of belle lettres back well before 1920. Indeed, some of my favorite titles have been omitted from these discussions. For example, Mark Twain’s “A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court” (1889) is not mentioned even in L. O. Bailey’s “Pilgrims through time and space” (1947), although its basic theme — the impact of modern mechanical science and methodology on a primitive soci- 164 ety — foreshadows many recent stories, including even the story “Stardust” in your July issue. The method of time travel Clemens uses is, of course, merely the old dream trick; but with all due respect, this differs from the “faster than light drive” gimmick only in being frankly a device. Another neglected classic is J. A. Mitchell’s. “Drowsy” (1917 — he was then editor of the penultimate instar of Life magazine). The antigravity unit that is used to visit the moon, among other places, is not rooted in any particular scientific concept, but the psychology of the inventor is con- ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 166

vincing, and the description of his telepathic gift is startlingly realistic, to those who suspect the existence of these experiences. The preface to this book could well be taken as a charter for Science Fiction. I would quote it in toto, but would prefer to whet your curiosity by giving the last lines: “So, if this story of Drowsy seems a fairy tale, let us remember that the At- lantic cable would be a fairy tale to Columbus.” On the border of fantasy, though it has an elaborate apparatus of scien- tific jargon, is Algernon Blackwood’s “The Centaur” (1911); a rather con- fused jumble of Greek mythology, supposed to have had an experiential basis; the idea of a super-race of humanoids; and a sort of pagan na- ture worship. The genre of this book, with Kipling’s “The Children of the Zodiac ” from Many Inventions (1891) leads directly to the pure fantasy of Norman Douglas’ “In the Beginning” (1928), a slightly bawdy story of an imaginary race — patterned on the gods of Greek Mythology, if these can be imagined to have a modern Weltan- schauung. This in turn is akin* to George Meredith’s allegory of an Arabian Nights Entertainment world, “The Shaving of Shagpat” (1898). But to bring in these fables or allegories, because they have a uto- pian or other-world setting, can lead only to the thought that all science fiction, and fantasy, even including the mathematician Dodgson’s “Alice in Wonderland ” (1865) and “Through the Looking Glass” (1871) — though I recognize that some refuse to admit that mathematics is a science — are offshoots from the main branch of science fiction. All have their roots in Gulliver’s “Travels into Several Re- mote Nations of the World” (1727), for is not Dean Swift’s “Voyage to For Your STF BOOKSHELF THE PETRIFIED PLANET ■ $2.95 A new departure in STF — Scientist John D. Clark presents specifications of a possible new world to writers Pratt, Piper, and Merril. Three original and memorable stories. THE CONTINENT MAKERS AND OTHER TALES ■ $2.95 By l. Sprague de Camp The first collection of de Camp’s Viagens Interplonetarias series. WITCHES THREE ■ $3 95 lieber's CONJURE WIFE, Pratt’s THE BLUE STAR, and Blish’s THERE SHALL BE NO DARKNESS. A giant volume. THE REFUGEE CENTAUR ■ Ulus. $3.00 By Antoniorrobles The roaring misadventures of a modern centaur out of time and place. WORLD OF WONDER ■ $3.95 Fletcher Pratt, Ed. Widely hailed as the ideal introduction to stf. 445 pp., 19 stories. These books make splendid gifts ! TWAYNE PUBLISHERS, Inc. 34 East 23rd St. New York 10 BRASS TACKS 165

Page 167

Laputa, Balnibarbi, Luggnagg, Glubb- dubdrib, and Japan” recognized as authentic science fiction, and is not “A Voyage to the Houynhnms ” a good “humanoid” story? One is even tempted to suggest that Puck — “Midsummer-Night’s Dream,” circ. 1596 — who, forsooth would “put a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes,” or better than ten miles per second, is the true progenitor of the space opera. — Stowell Rounds, Can- nondale, Connecticut. And, of course, Aesop — date I don’t know — is not to, be omitted from the roster! Dear Mr. Campbell: In your stimulating editorial, “HOW DO YOU THINK” you re- quest readers to offer suggestions for the Brass Tacks Department. Fof purposes of this discussion, let the fictional part of the magazine represent the dream-imaginative por- tion of our thinking which goes on in the less conscious part of our thinking apparatus in more or less unappre- hended form. Sir Henry Head places the feeling-imaginative functions pre- dominantly in that portion of the brain which may be roughly called the thalamus. The analytical, con- sciously computing activity is assumed to be carried on predominantly in the cerebral cortex. This idea has been exposed at length in a book, “The Neural Basis of Thought,” by G. G. 166 ' Campion and G. Elliot Smith. In Astounding Science Fiction, the fic- tional imaginative stuff may be clas- sified as predominantly thalamic. The cortical exercise is provided by the articles, the editorials, and by the transition between the two, Brass Tacks. In the February issue, there is an article by Crispin Kim-Bradley, “Symbolic Logic and Metamathe- matics,” distinctly cortical in nature. On page 95 he mentions George Boole and his famous Laws of Thought. Kim-Bradley says that Boole “ac- tually reduced reasoning to a kind of calculation — but not all reasoning. Beyond a certain level a method is still lacking.” The author is correct as far as he goes, but for the informa- tion of those of your readers who might be interested, I venture to suggest that he might have gone a little further. We might say that the “ Occidental ” side of Boole (action) is stressed and the “Oriental” side (introspection), ignored. Mrs. Mary Boole provided that thalamic side after the death of her husband. Jevons said that “Boole means something that no one has understood yet; the world is not yet ready to understand him.” Mary Everest Boole appears to have tried to translate George Boole’s meta- physics to the world. His mathemati- cal symbols were successfully trans- lated back into word symbols by Pere Gratry. Gratry’s “Logique” was ASTOUNDING SCIENCE -FICTION

Page 168

ROCKET ™E MOON? SOON! As All Nations Race to Conquer Space — Join The United States Rocket Society: Biggest of Them All! To readers of ASTOUNDING a SPECIAL introductory member- ship is yours for only Si. 00 per year. Includes 1 year subscrip- tion to “ROCKETS” (the world’s only magazine devoted to Space Travel). Also, member discounts on rocket books, and other items. Avail yourself of this trial opportunity NOW. Thru your Society contact others who think as you do. Print your name and address and send $1.00 to: U. S. ROCKET SOCIETY • Box 29, Glen Ellyn, Illinois translated by Dr. Milton Singer of the University of Chicago. Mrs. Dummer, in her book “Why I Think So,” com- ments on Mary Boole’s comments on Gratry. In the limited space at the disposal of Brass Tackers, we may get a rough summary by quoting a passage from Mary Boole: • “This secret for inducing inspira- tions of new knowledge is embodied in Boole’s Thought-Equation, X + (not - X) = 1 where 1 stands for the Unit of Thought for the time being. . . . Pere Gratry, the Oratorian, formulated the truth which it expresses in language on which George Boole felt he could not improve. Gratry'made the law of re- union after tension on contrast the basis of a method of procuring sug- gestions and revelations; a method as systematic and regular, and as scien- tific as any invention used by elec- tricians for inducing currents. . . .” (Many years before Freud and modern psychotherapy, Mary Boole added that) “whatever comes to the con- scious from the cellar of the mind must be verified by the conscious mind, for imagination taken as hypothesis may be of great value, taken as fact may lead to insanity.” Briefly, the operation of thinking is held to proceed as follows: The Thalamus begins the process. 1. It indulges in creative reverie. 2. The product of this reverie is ex- teriorized in the form of an idea. At this point the Cortex takes over. 3. Using examination, computation, or analysis, it ascertains the opposite or contrary of this idea. * 4. It sets up a calibrated scale be- tween the idea and its opposite. 5. By evaluation it determines the 167 BRASS TACKS

Page 169

ideal point on this scale, the relative position that is, which makes for opti- mum efficacy in the expression or im- plementation of the idea in question. Readers who are interested in ex- periments in practicing creative think- ing may find instructions for use of the method in Gratry’s “Logique,” or in Mary Boole’s “Collected Works.” — Hilaire Hiler, President, Fremont College, Santa Fe, New Mexico. It’s so much easier to define what a hand does that it’s no great wonder mechani- cal-level evolution progressed so milch faster than has the mind-level evolu- tion. But until we can define “crea- tive” with respect to the mental level ... we have trouble thinking about it! Dear John: Much intrigued by the article on comets by Willy Ley in the July issue. On reading Ley’s note on Halley’s Comet, as depicted in the Bayeaux Tapestry, I immediately got out a copy of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle — always keep one around the house for light reading — and noted the entry for the year 1066 beginning as follows: “In this year King Harold came from York to Westminster . . . Then was, over all England such a token seen in the heavens as no man ever before saw. Some men said that it was cometa the star, which some men call the haired star; and it appeared first on the eve Litania Major, the 8th 168 before the Kalends of May, and so shone all the seven nights.” The Chronicle didn’t mention Hal- ley’s again on any of the dates listed by Ley in his article. Comets were fre- quently seen in those dim, dark days, though, on other dates, along with plenty of other fearsome sights. In 773, a fiery crucifix appeared in the heavens after sunset; in 793 “dire forewarnings came over the lands of the Northumbrians” and fiery drag- ons were seen flying in the air; in 806 a cross appeared “in the moon on a Wednesday at dawn;” in 1106, a strange star appeared in the south- west, “small and dim, but the light that stood from it was very bright, and like an exceedingly long beam shining to the northeast; and one evening it seemed as if a beam from over against the star darted directly into it.” That same year, we have the rather unusual report of two moons in the sky “before day,” the one in the east and the other in the west, both full! Shades of Charles Fort! — John M. Patrick, First Lieutenant, U. S. Marine Corps, 2621 Burgundy Road, Alexandria, Virginia. If memory serves, there was one of the rare local-galaxy super-novas in 1106. Brit there is a bit of a problem; is it scientifically acceptable to consider the evidence of the chronicles re Halley’s Comet, where it fits our own ideas, and yet call them “ unreliable ” with respect to those other phenomena? ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 170

WHAT TIES ”BEYONB HYPNOSIS”? A new discovery rips the curtain of mystery from Hypnosis and related topics and presents the formerly baffling why's and how’s of this No. 1 Unknown of the mind in easily understandable form. The author’s sweepingly simple postulates also reveal — THE TRUTH ABOUT BH.V.YKTH S — Neurosis, Psychosis and Psychosomatic Disorders — The Mechanisms of Visions, Apparitions and Miracle Healing — A Missing Link in the Heredity Hypothesis — Etc. A clear, scientific explanation of mysteries that have perplexed generations, written with power and lucidity. Hugh Lacy’s “Beyond Hypnosis” reduces human thought and behavior to a science of belief with workable axioms. Order “Beyond Hypnosis” from Independent Publishing Co., Box 510 ASF, Whittier, Calif. $3.00 — No C.O.D.’s. Calif, purchasers add 3% sales tax. Cloth hound. If not satisfied return in 10 days for refund. ( )r is it more honest to just consider them useless as data sources? Dear Mr. Campbell: Concerning a question that has caused much controversy in Brass Tacks and elsewhere: Should the physical scientists be blamed for much of (lie current world crisis — for mak- ing (he horror of atomic war possible? This brings to mind another perti- nent question. If, for fear of the con- sequences, our much-maligned scien- lists had refused to do the nuclear re- search necessary to produce an atomic bomb, would they be hailed today as Noble Saviors of the Race? Or might 1 hey stand accused by a majority of people as the black traitors who re- fused to bring forth the needed super- weapon and helped the enemy to gain superiority? It has been pointed out and is, I believe, quite apparent that the majority of the populace — the “com- mon people” — must accept most of the responsibility for war. Whether stone axes or atomic bombs are used, war is waged because a group, as a group, computes war as the solution to its tangled and clashing social con- flicts with another group. If the sociologists, psychologists, et cetera do have any workable an- swers to the problems of world peace and unity — as, say a super social catalyst for vaporizing Iron Curtains — they had better come forth with them and soon. With an H Bomb in the offing, they may not get another chance! — Hal J. Martin, 745 Chap- man Street, San Jose, California. Maybe a tip from the biochemist rather than the physicist is needed; instead of violent vaporizing of the Iron Cur- tain, perhaps we need some sort of digestive enzyme! BRASS TACKS 169

Page 171

Continued from page 6 cube of the pure material — After all, it’s just a more complex case of the 0.1 gram sample, isn’t it ... ? There are a lot of instances in the observed phenomena of science wherein there are critical mass effects, or critical complex effects. Every one of them is an instance of an increasing complexity of interactions. Increase of intelligence appears to be a function of increasing complexity of interactions — of increasing ability to interact data. We might at least hold the attitude that there is a pos- sibility that increase in degree here might well lead to a change in type of reaction — to a critical change of phase, so to speak, causing a reaction- type B, which is, in lower levels of complexity relatively unimportant, to acquire a level of importance such that it overshadows the previously domi- nant reaction-type A. Something, certainly, has happened that sets man apart from other ani- mals. Most animal species, for in- stance, use tools of one sort or an- other. The beaver builds dams, by using the very effective tools of his chisel-teeth and his mason’s-trowel tail. The lion uses the highly efficient tools of his trade — daggers in his jaws and knives in his feet, as well as the bludgeon in his forepaw. He’s devel- oped tools for the butcher’s trade. Man, on the other hand, has done the same things in a different way; instead of developing the tools as part of his own ''structure and being, he has developed the tools all right — but as part of his detachable environment. He started building these detach- able tools to reproduce the effects of the mechanical tools of the lion, the beaver, and other animals. The periph- eral tools, one might call them. The mole has digging tools; Man invented shovels. Then Man invented detachable muscles — steam power and later elec- tric power. He’s duplicating and exag- gerating some body-function there, too. Man has as detachable parts of his total being muscles stronger than a thousand elephants. Man’s latest trick is developing de- tachable nervous systems. The cyber- netic gadgetry is simply an external and detachable nervous reflex system. As of now, he’s succeeded in getting interrelated units that have peripheral action tools powered by electric mus- cles, and operating under the control of electronic nervous systems. I don’t know whether you can quite name the phenomenon, but it does seem to me that some sort of critical- mass effect of intelligence has been encountered — that Man can not prop- erly be classed as “different in degree but not in kind.” Man’s at least show- ing the unique characteristic of build- ing detachable extensions of his being as his normal way of life, whereas such methods are exceptional indeed in any other organism. The Editor. 170 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Page 172

From at.op the hill, near Munye-ri, Korea, the enemy suddenly opened up a barrage. The squad was trapped. Lieutenant Rodriguez (then Pfc., with only seven months service) broke loose and dashed up the fire- swept slope, throwing grenades. He wiped out three foxholes and two gun positions. Alone, he accounted for 15 enemy dead, led the rout of the en- emy, and saved the lives of his squad. “When you have to take chances to reach an objective, that’s O.K.,” says I /ieutenant Rodriguez. “But when you can find a surer way to reach your goal, so much the better. “I believe a strong, peaceful Amer- ica is our objective. And the sure way to reach it is through backing our strength with your strength by invest- ing in U. S. Defense Bonds now!” ★ ★ ★ Now E Bonds earn more! 1) All Series E Bonds bought after May 1, 1952 aver- age 3% interest, compounded semi- annually! Interest now starts after 6 months and is higher in the early years. 2) All maturing E Bonds automatically go on earning after maturity— and at the new higher interest! Today, start invest- ing in better-paying Series E Bonds through the Payroll Savings Plan! leace is for the strong! For peace and prosperity save wi th US. D efense Bonds! 77/ c V. S. Government dors not pay for this advertisement . It is donated by this publication in cooperation with the. Advertising Council and the Magazine Publishers of America.

Page 173

I Became a Hotel Hostess8* Lana Mitchell, Now Host- ess-Housekeeper Though Without Previous Hotel Experience “When you’re past 40, it’s not easy to find a new occupation. One day I an- swered a Lewis advertisement and enrolled. My position as Hostess-House- keeper was secured for me by the Lewis Placement Bureau immediately upon graduation. I am really happy in my job and give thanks to Lewis Training for a wonderful new start.” “How I Stepped Into a BIG PAY Hotel Job** W. Bradley Hall Becomes Hotel Manager Increasing His Income 50% Without Hotel Experience “When I enrolled in the Lewis School, I was a Railroad Conductor. Shortly after- wards I worked in a Chicago hotel. Within a year I was earning 50% more than in my previous position. Later I became Manager of an Iowa hotel, and recently took over the ‘Y’ cafe and am my own boss. I have made good, thanks to Lewis Spare-Time Home-Study Training.” o w Step Into A Well-Paid Hotel Position Well-paid important positions, ever-increasing opportunities and a sound, substantial future await trained men and women in essential hotels, clubs, res- taurants, defense housing, of- ficers’ and service clubs. Lewis graduates are “making good” as managers, assistant mana- gers, stewards, executive house- keepers, hostesses and in 55 other types of well-paid posi- tions. Record-breaking travel and defense needs mean greater opportunities than ever. Previous experience proved un- necessary in this business where you’re not dropped because you are over 40. Lewis Training qual- ifies you at home, in spare time. FREE book describes this fas- cinating field. It tells how you are registered FREE of extra cost in Lewis N ational-Placement Service. Mail coupon today! Lewis Hotel Training School, Room VX-3561, Wa%H. 7, D. C. COURSE APPROVED FOR VETERANS' TRAINING 8 S 1 LEWIS HOTEL TRAINING /f fi | SCHOOL, Room VX-3561, 5U“fE^fUlj B Washington 7, D. C. 2 B 8 !! Send me, without obligation, your Free Book. I want * _ to know how to u 'alify for a well-paid position at * ^ home in leisure time. I 8 B Name a I Please Print Name and Address B Address 8 I City Zone State * S O Check here if eligible for Veterans' Training. 1 K » *.<3