SCIENCE-FICTION DE 




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SCIENti FICTION 

Reg. U. S. Pah Off. 

CONTENTS 

DECEMBER, 1949 VOL. XLIV, NO. 4 



NOVELETTE 

THE WITCHES OF KARRES, hy James H. Schmitz .... 7 

SHORT STORIES 

REVERSION, by M. C. Pease 45 

A CAN OF VACUUM, by L. Ron Hubbard' 81 

SERIALS 

GULF, by Robert A. Heinlein 54 

(Conclusion) 

. . . AND NOW YOU don’t, by Isaac Asimov . . . - . . .120 

(Part Two of Three Parts) 

ARTICLES 

BACTERIAL TIME BOMB, by Arthur Dugan . 93 

SCIENCE AND “truth”, by Willy Ley 96 

READERS’ DEPARTMENTS 

THE editor’s page 4 

IN TIMES TO COME 80 

THE ANALYTICAL LABORATORY 02 

BRASS TACKS 114 



Editor 

JOHN W. CAMPBELL, JR. 

W2ZGU 

Assistant Editor 

C. TARRAN T 

COVER BY ZBOYAN 

Illustrations by Cartier, Orbon and Rogers 

The editorial contents have not been published before, are protected by copyright and cannot be re- 
printed without publishers' permission. All stories in this magazine are fiction. No actual persons are 
designated by name or character. Any similarity is coincidental. 

Monthly publication issued by Street & Smith Publications, Incorporated at 775 Lidgerwood Avenue, 
jKUzabeth, New Jersey. Reentered as Second Class matter October 19, 1948 at the Post OfB.ce at Eliza- 
beth, New Jersey, under Act of Congress of March 3, 1879. Copyright, 1949, in tT. S, A. and Great 
IJritain by Street & Smith Publications. Inc. Allen L. Grammer, Chairman of the Board; Gerald H. 
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$2.50 per Year in U. S. A. Printed in the U. S. A. 25e per Copy 

NEXT ISSUE ON SALE DECEMBER 20, 1949 



AST-IN 



DIGITAL COMPUTER 



Dr. Warren S. McCulloch is a 
neuropsychologist at the University 
of Illinois— and one of the few 
specialists in the field who can talk 
electronics with the best of the elec- 
tronic calculator machine specialists. 
He delivered a talk on the human 
brain before a meeting of the Ameri- 
can Institute of Electrical Engineers 
a while back that, taken in conjunc- 
tion with some of the articles we 
have run recently on such calculat- 
ing machines, makes fascinating 
reading. 

The best of the modern calculators 
are electronic relay-type devices, 
using ten thousand vacuum tube re- 
lays or so. These, says Dr. McCul- 
loch gently, have approximately as 
many relays aS the “brain” of a flat- 
worm. The flatworm is about the 
lowest creature on the evolutionary 
scale that bothers to distinguish one 
end of its body from the other. The 
human brain, on the other hand, con- 
tains about ten billion relays. 

The brain-relays are battery- 
oJ>erated, each relay having its own 
built-in battery, which operates on a 
sugar-oxygen to water-carbon di- 
oxide chemistry. The entire ten 
billion relays operates on a power 
input of approximately 2.4 watts, or 
roughly two ten-thousandths of a 
milliwatt per relay. 

These individual relays— neurones. 



or nerve cells, of course— operate oh 
a true, relay basis. They have two 
conditions, fire or not-fire. The 
whole operation of the brain is pre- 
cisely like that of a digital calcula- 
tor of the relay-computer type. 

,As recent articles in this magazine 
have indicated, the great problem in 
modern calculators is number- 
storage, or memory devices. Three 
basic types are used in modern ma- 
chines ; the soldered-in memory, the 
punched-card memory, and the de- 
lay-line memory. Each has its ad- 
vantage for certain types of func- 
tion. 

The “soldered-in. memory” is 
used for such things as multiplication 
tables that are basic necessities, re- 
quiring continuous availability and 
frequent use. 

The punch-card memory is used 
for reference data tables, special 
instructions that may frequently be 
referred to, and for storing for later 
use solutions to problems that have 
already been solved and which may 
be needed in the handling of future 
problems. 

The delay-line type memory is a 
short-term fast memory; riffling 
through punched cards to select the 
desired item takes time, and it takes 
time to punch cards. If the machine 
is multiplying 127 by 34— well, the 
digital calculators “do arithmetic in 



4 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




their heads”. If you were doing that 
problem, you’d mentally multiply 
127 by 4, remember the product, then 
multiply 127 by 30, remember that 
product, then add the two products 
mentally, remembering each digit so 
obtained, then read off from memory 
the sum as your finished answer. The 
machine riiust do the same thing ; for 
such short-term memory, the delay- 
line memory system is used com- 
monly. Numbers obtained in multi- 
plying are fed into an amplifier which 
sends them as sharp pulses of sound 
waves down the length of a column 
of mercury metal; the passage 
through the mercury takes time. 
At the other end a pick-up device 
reads the pulses, passes them to an 
amplifier which feeds them back to 
the input amplifier for another 
merry-go-round. Each trip round 
takes time ; that gives the time-func- 
tion implied in the term “memory”. 

The human brain has three types 
of memory ; the “soldered in” type, 
the punch-card type, and the delay- 
line type. Apparently, every item 
of data received goes first into a 
delay-line memory— where it can be 
held as long as eight hours— and is 
automatically transferred also to the 
punched-card type memory. In the 
human brain, hundreds of the 
“soldered-in memory” circuits are 
used ; the machine is originally con- 
structed with these circuits wired 
in place for constant reference and 
operation. Such circuits are in- 
volved in calculation and control of 
body temperature, blood-ion con- 
centration, blood oxygen and COg 



balance control, and the like. In ad- 
dition, certain “soldered-in” circuits 
are built into the machine at first to 
serve certain original relatively 
short-term functions that must be 
performed perfectly at the start, 
without possibility of experience or 
learning. The incredibly complex 
switching system involved in mam- 
mals at birth, where the umbilical 
blood circulation must be closed off 
completely, and the lung blood cir- 
culation channels started, obviously 
has to be of the wdred-in-instruction 
variety. The sucking reflex of the 
new-born mammal equally must be 
wired in. 

The delay-line memory in man 
works almost exactly as it does in 
calculating machines. You used 
yours a moment back there when you 
mentally did the arithmetic suggest- 
ed. But where the calculator ma- 
chine has to use mercury delay- 
lines to get the time factor, the 
brain uses chains of neurones. 
A vacuum tube will change from 
not-fired to fired in fractions of a 
microsecond ; to achieve a useful de- 
lay wu'th such super-speed devices, 
thousands of tubes would be re- 
quired in a chain. Neurones, on 
the other hand, are considerably 
slow^er acting— and much, much 
cheaper and more plentiful. A chain 
involving a few thousand neurones 
would be quite practical— after all, 
the brain has enough neurones to set 
up ten million thousand-neurone 
chains ! Actually, smaller numbers 
are quite sufficient, because a neu- 
rone takes something like five hun- 



DIGITAL COMPUTER 



5 




dred microseconds to respond. A 
few hundred can repeat signals 
around and around in a circle, main- 
taining the accuracy of the repeated 
data with surprising fidelity— because 
the data is simply “yes” or “no”. 
Apparently this circulating delay- 
line type memory is good up to 
eight hours. 

But it’s in the punched-card t 5 rpe 
memory that the brain takes all 
prizes. The punched-card memory 
of a calculator machine is limited by 
several factors. First, it’s slow, be- 
cause it takes time to punch-in the 
data bn the card, takes more time 
to find the desired card in the mass 
of filed cards, and then takes ad- 
ditional time to read it off. Second, 
the punched-card memory gets bul- 
ky, and the greater the bulk, the 
longer time it take to find a desired 
card. Third, you won’t find the 
card at all unless you look for it 
under one of the half-dozen or so 
punched-in indexing marks. It would 
be difficult, for instance, to get suf- 
ficient indexing on a punched card 
so that the concept “box” could be 
found under “something to sit on,” 
“ersatz speaker’s platform”, “handy 
lumber around the house”, “chassis 
for junior’s scooter”, and “nail for 
hanging Aunt Mathilda’s picture”, 
as well as all the more customary 
functional associations of “box”. 
But the human brain is a wonderful 
gadget— and its memory system is 
terrifically effective. Even yet we 
don’t realize all the capabilities of 
that incomparable instrument. 

For instance, I’ll give you the 

6 



bald statistic “13.6”. I’m willing to 
bet that several thousand of the 
readers of this page can, with a 
moment’s hesitation, correctly as- 
sociate that figure. Meterologists, 
physicists, and chemists have the 
best chance, of course ; it’s the den- 
sity of metallic mercury. Now re- 
membering the several billion indi- 
vidual data that you must have 
tucked away in your memory, the 
ability to spot the complex associa- 
tion of mercury— rapid business of 
recalling its appearance, physical and 
chemical properties, principal uses, 
plus a few dozen personal memories 
of your own associations with the 
stuff— from the tiny index-clue of 
13.6 indicates that whatever punch- 
ed-card filing system the brain uses, 
it’s a dilly when it comes to cross- 
index markings. 

But evidently that punched-card 
memory system uses something al- 
most incredibly compact. Dr. Heinz 
von Foerster, in Vienna, has devel- 
oped some beautiful work on the sub- 
ject. Obviously, the limiting small- 
ness of any “punched card” would 
be a “punched molecule”. That, 
apparently, is what the brain uses. 
An individual protein molecule, 
knotted like a code-string, to re- 
cord the desired data. Von Foerster’s 
data goes further; he finds that the 
memory data are stored as quantized 
alterations of protein molecules, 
some lO^’^ in number. ' That the. total 
energy required for maintenance of 
this punched-molecule memory file 
is about one one-hundredth of a watt, 
and that the energy involved in 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 





THE WITCHES OF KARRES 

BY JAMES H. SCHMITZ 



This is true science fiction about three real witches who cast 
curses and perform magic. And it’s a delightful little yarn! 

tllustrafed by Rogers 

I. It was just plain fate, so far as he 

could see. 

It was around the hub of the eve- He was feeling pretty good as he 
ning on the planet of Porlumma that left a high-priced bar on a cobbly 
Captain Pausert, commercial trav- street near the spaceport, with the 
eler from the Republic of Nikkelde- intention of returning straight to his 
pain, met the first of the witches of ship. There hadn’t been an argu- 
Karres. ment, exactly. But someone grinned 

7 



THE WITCHES OF KARRES 



broadly, as usual, when the captain 
pronounced the name of his native 
system ; and the captain had pointed 
out then, with considerable wit, how 
much more ridiculous it was to call 
a planet Porlumma, for instance, 
than to call it Nikkeldepain. 

He proceeded to collect a gradu- 
ally increasing number of pained 
stares by a detailed comparison of 
the varied, interesting and occasion- 
ally brilliant role Nikkeldepain had 
played in history with Porlumma’s 
obviously dull and dumpy status as a 
sixth-rate Empire outpost. 

In conclusion, he admitted frankly 
that he wouldn’t care to be found 
dead on Porlumma. 

Somebody muttered loudly in Im- 
perial Universum that in that case it 
might be better if he didn’t hang 
around Porlumma too long. But the 
captain only smiled politely, paid for 
his two drinks and left. 

There was no point in getting into 
a rhubarb on one of these border 
planets. Their citizens still had an 
innocent notion that they ought to 
act like frontiersmen— but then the 
Law always showed up at once. 

He felt pretty good. Up to the 
last four months of his young life, he 
had never looked on himself as being 
particularly patriotic. But compared 
to most of the Empire’s worlds, Nik- 
keldepain was downright attractive 
in its stuffy way. Besides, he was 
returning there solvent— would they 
ever be surprised ! 

And awaiting him, fondly and 
eagerly, was Illyla, the Miss On- 
swud, fair daughter of the mighty 

8 



Councilor Onswud, and the captain’s 
secretly affianced for almost a year. 
She alone had believed in him 1 

The captain smiled and checked at 
a dark cross-street to get his bearings 
on the spaceport beacon. Less than 
half a mile away— He set off again. 
In about six hours, he’d be beyond 
the Empire’s space borders and 
headed straight for Illyla. 

Yes,_ she alone had believed! 
After the prompt collapse of the cap- 
tain’s first commercial venture— a 
miffel-fur farm, largely on capital 
borrowed from Councilor Onswud— 
the future had looked very black. It 
had even included a probable ten- 
year stretch of penal servitude for 
“willful and negligent abuse of in- 
trusted monies”. The laws of Nik* 
keldepain were rough on debtors. 

“But you’ve always been looking 
for someone to take out the old Ven- 
ture and get her back into trade!” 
Illyla reminded her father tearfully. 

“Hm-m-m, yes! But it’s in the 
blood, my dear ! His great-uncle 
Threbus went the same way! It 
would be far better to let the law 
take its course,” Councilor Onswud 
said, glaring at Pausert who re- 
mained sulkily silent. He had tried 
to explain that the mysterious epi- 
demic which suddenly wiped out 
most of the stock of miffels wasn’t his 
fault. In fact, he more than ' sus- 
pected the tricky hand of young 
Councilor Rapport who had been 
wagging futilely around Illyla for the 
last couple of years ! 

“The Venture, now—!” Councilor 
Onswud mused, stroking his long, 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




craggy chin. “Pauscrt can handle a 
ship, at least,” he admitted. 

That was how it happened. Were 
they ever going to he surpri.sed ! For 
even the captain realized that Coun- 
cilor Onswud was unloading all the 
dead fish that had gathered the dust 
of his warehouses for the past fifty 
years on hint and the Venture, in a 
last, faint hope of getting some re- 
turn on those half-forgotten invest- 
ments. A value of eighty-two thou- 
saird maels was placed on the cargo ; 
but if he’d brought even three-quar- 
ters of it back in cash, all would have 
been well 

Instead— well, it started with that 
luclq' bet on a legal point with an 
Imperial Official at the Imperial 
capitol itself. Then came a six-hour 
race fairly won against a small, fast 
private yacht— the old Venture 7333 
had been a pirate-chaser in the last 
century and could still produce twice 
as much speed as her looks sug- 
gested. From there on, the captain 
was socially accepted as a sporting 
man and was in on a long string of 
jovial parties and meets. 

Jovial and profitable— the wealthier 
Imperials just couldn’t resist a gam- 
ble; and the penalty the captain al- 
ways insisted on was that they had to 
buy ! 

He got rid of the stuff right and 
left! Inside of twelve weeks, noth- 
ing remained of the original cargo 
except two score bundles of ex- 
pensively-built but useless tinkle- 
wood fishing poles and one dozen 
gross bales of useful but unattractive 
allweather cloaks. Even on a bet, 

THE WITCHES OF EAEEES 



nobody would take them! But the 
captain had a strong- hunch those 
items had been hopefuUy added to 
the cargo from his own stocks by 
Councilor Rapport; so his failure to 
sell them didn’t break his heart. 

He was a neat twent}- percent net 
ahead, at that point— 

And finally came this last-minute 
rush-delivery of medical supplies to 
Porlumma on the return route. That 
haul alone would have repaid the 
miffel-farm losses three times over! 

The captain grinned broadly into 
the darkness. Yes, they’d be sur- 
prised— but just where was he now'? 

He checked again in the narrow 
street, searching for the port-beacon 
in the sky, There it was— off to his 
left and a little behind him. He’d 
got turned around somehow! 

He set off carefully down an ex- 
cessively dark little alley. It was 
one of those towns where everybody 
locked their front doors at night and 
retired to lit-up, inclosed courtyards 
at the backs of the houses. There 
were voices and the rattling of dishes 
nearby, and occasional whoops of 
laughter and singing all around him ; 
but it was all beyond high walls 
which let Uttle or no light into the 
alley. 

It ended abruptly in a cross-alley'' 
and another wall. Alter a moment’s 
debate, the captain turned to his left 
again. Light spilled out on his new 
route a few hundred yards ahead, 
where a courtyard was opened on the 
alley. From it, as he approached, 
came the sound of doors Iteing vio- 



9 




lently slammed, and then a sudden, 
loud mingling of voices. 

“Yeeee-eep!” shrilled a high, 
childish voice. It could have been 
mortal agony, terror, or even hys- 
terical laughter. The captain broke 
into an apprehensive trot. 

“Yes, I see you up there!” a man 
shouted excitedly in Universum. “I 
caught y6u now— vou get down from 
those boxes ! I’ll skin you alive ! 
Fifty-two customers sick of the 
stomachache— YOW 1” 

The last exclamation was accom- 
panied by a sound as of a small, 
loosely-built wooden house collaps- 
ing, and was followed by a succession 
of squeals and an angry bellowing, 
in which the onty distinguishable 
words were : “. . . . threw the boxes 
on me !” Then more sounds of 
splintering wood. 

“Hey !” yelled the captain indig- 
nantly from the corner of the alley. 

All action ceased. The narrow 
courtyard, brightly illuminated un- 
der its single overhead bulb, was 
lialf covered with a tumbled litter of 
what appeared to be empty wooden 
boxes. Standing with his foot tem- 
porarily catight in one of them was a 
very large, fat man dressed all in 
white and waving a stick. Momen- 
tarily cornered between the wall and 
two of the boxes, over one of which 
she was trying to climb, was a small- 
ish, fair-haired g'irl dressed in a 
smock of some kind, which was also 
white. She might be about fourteen, 
the captain thought— a helpless kid, 
anyway. 

“What you want ?” grunted the fat 



man, pointing the stick with some 
dignity at the caj^ain. 

“Lay, off the kid!” rumbled the 
captain, edging into the courtyard. 

“Mind your own . business!” 
shouted the fat man, waving his stick 
like a club. “I’ll take care of her! 
She-” 

“I never did!” squealed the girl. 
She burst into tears. 

“Try it. Fat and Ugly!” the cap- 
tain warned. “I’ll ram the stick 
down your throat !” 

He was very close now. With a 
sound of grunting exasperation, the 
fat man pulled his foot free of the 
box, wheeled suddenly and brought 
the end of the stick down on the top 
of the captain’s cap. The captain 
hit him furiously in the middle of 
the stomach. 

There was a short flurry of ac- 
tivity, somewhat hampered by shat- 
tering boxes everywhere. Then the 
captain stood up, scowling and 
breathing hard. The fat man re- 
mained sitting on the ground, gasp- 
ing about “. . . the lawj” 

Somewhat to his surprise, the cap- 
tain discovered the girl standing just 
behind him. She caught his eye and 
smiled. 

“My name’s Maleen,” she of- 
fered. She pointed at the fat man. 
“Is he hurt bad?” 

“Huh— no I” panted the captain. 
“But maybe we’d better—” 

It was too late! A loud, self- 
assured voice became audible now at 
the opening to the alley : 

“Here, here, here, here, here!” it 
said in the reproachful, situation- 



10 



ASTOUNDING SCItNCE-FICTION 




under-control tone that always 
seemed the same to the captain, bn 
whatever world and in whichever 
language he heard it. 

“What’s all this about?” it in- 
quired rhetorically. 

“You’ll all have to come along !” it 
replied. 

Police Court on Porlumma ap- 
peared to be a business conducted on 
a very efficient, around-the-clock 
basis. They were the next case up. 

Nikkeldepain was an odd name, 
wasn’t it, the judge smiled. He then 
listened attentively to the various 
charges, countercharges, and denials. 

Bruth the Baker was charged with 
having struck a citizen of a foreign 
government on the head with a po- 
tentially lethal instrument— produced 
in evidence. Said citizen had ad- 
mittedly attempted to interfere as 
Bruth was attempting to punish his 
slave Maleen— also produced in evi- 
dence— whom he suspected of having 
added something to a batch of cakes 
she was working on that afternoon, 
resulting in illness and complaints 
from fifty-two of Bruth’s customers. 

Said foreign citizen had also used 
insulting language— the captain ad- 
mitted under pressure to “Fat and 
Ugly.” 

Some provocation could be con- 
ceded for the action taken by Bruth, 
but not enough. Bruth paled. 

Captain Pausert, of the Republic 
of Nikkeldepain— everybody but the 
prisoners smiled this time— was 
charged (a) with said attempted in- 
terference, (b) with said insult, (c) 

THE WITCHES OF KARRES 



with having frequently and severely 
struck Bruth the Baker in the course 
of the subsequent dispute. 

The blow on the head was con- 
ceded to have provided a provocation 
for charge (c)— but not enough. 

Nobody seemed to be charging the 
slave Maleen with anything. The 
judge only looked at her curiously, 
and shook his head. 

“As the Court considers this re- 
grettable incident,” he remarked, “it 
looks like two years for you, Bruth ; 
and about three for you, captain. 
Too bad!” 

The captain had an awful sinking 
feeling. He had seen something and 
heard a lot of Imperial court methods 
in the fringe systems, He could 
probably- get out of this three-year 
rap ; but it would be expensive. 

He realized that the judge was 
studying him reflectively. 

“The Court wishes to acknowl- 
edge,” the judge continued, “that the 
captain’s chargeable actions were 
due largely to a natural feeling of 
human sympathy for the predica- 
ment of the slave Maleen. The 
Court, therefore, would suggest a 
settlement as follows— subsequent to 
which all charges could be dropped : 

“That Bruth the Baker resell 
Maleen of Karres— with whose serv- 
ices he appears to be dissati.sfied— 
for a reasonable sum to Captain 
Pausert of the Republic of Nikkel- 
depain.” 

Bruth the Baker heaved a gusty 
sigh of relief. But the captain hesi- 
tated. The buying of human slaves 
by private citizens was a very seri- 

11 




ous offense in Nikkeldepain ! Still, 
he didn’t have to make a record of 
it. If they weren’t going to soak him 
too much— 

At just the right moment, Maleen 
of Karres introduced a barely audi- 
ble, forlorn, sniffling sound. 

“How much are you asking for the 
kid?” the captain inquired, looking 
without friendliness at his recent an- 
tagonist. A day was coming when 
he would think less severely of 
Bruth ; but it hadn’t come yet; 

Bruth scowled back but replied 
with a certain eagerness ; “A hun- 
dred and fifty m— ” A policeman 
standing behind him poked him 
sharply in the side. Bruth shut up. 

“Seven hundred maels,” the judge 
said smoothly. “There’ll be Court 
charges, and a fee for recording the 
transaction—” He appeared to make 
a swift calculations. “Fifteen hun- 
dred and forty-two maels—” He 
turned to a clerk: “You’ve looked 
him up?” 

The clerk nodded. “He’s right!” 

“And we’ll take your check,” the 
judge concluded. He gave the cap- 
tain a friendly smile. “Next case.” 

The captain felt a little bewil- 
dered. 

There was something peculiar 
about this! He was getting out of 
it much too cheaply. Since the Em- 
pire had quit its wars of expansion, 
young slaves in good health were a 
high-priced article. Furthermore, he 
was practically positive that Bruth 
the Baker had been willing to sell for 



a tenth of what the captain actually 
had to pay ! 

Well, he wouldn’t complain. Rap- 
idly, he signed, sealed and thumb- 
printed various papers shoved at him 
by a helpful clerk; and made out a 
check. 

“I guess,” he told Maleen of 
Karres, “we’d better get along to the 
ship.” 

And now what was he going to do 
with the kid, he pondered, padding 
along the unlighted streets with his 
slave trotting quietly behind him. If 
he showed up with a pretty girl- 
slave in Nikkeldepain, even a small 
one, various good friends there 
would toss him into ten years or so 
of penal servitude— immediately after 
Illyla had personally collected his 
scalp. They were a moral lot. 

Karres— ? 

“How far off is Karres, Maleen?” 
he asked into the dark. 

“It takes about two weeks,’’ 
Maleen said tearfully. 

Two weeks! The eaptain’s heart 
sank again. 

“What are- you blubbering about?” 
he inquired uncomfortably. 

Maleen choked, sniffed, and began 
sobbing openly. 

“I have two little sisters!” she 
cried. 

“Well, well,” the captain said e;n-- 
coiiragingly. “That’s nice— you’ll be 
seeing them again soon. I’m taking 
you home, you know!” 

Great Patham— now he’d said it! 
But after all- 

But this piece of good news 
seemed to be having the wrong ef- 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 



12 




feet on his slave ! Her sobbing grew 
much more violent. 

“No, I won’t,” she wailed. 
“They’re here!” 

“Huh?” said the captain. He 
stopped short. “Where ?” 

“And the people they’re with are 
mean to them, too!” wept Maleen. 

The captain’s heart dropped clean 
through his boots. Standing there 
in the dark, he helplessly watched it 
coming ; 

“You could buy them awfully 
cheap!” she said. 

.n. 

In times of stress, the young life 
of Karres appeared to take to the 
heights. It might be a mountainous 
place. 

The Leewit sat on the top shelf of 
the back wall of the crockery and 
antiques store, strategically flanked 
by two expensive-looking vases. She 
was a doll-sized edition of Maleen; 
but her eyes were cold and gray in- 
stead of blue and tearful. About five 
or six, the captain vaguely estimated. 
He wasn’t very good at estimating 
them around that age. 

“Good evening,” he said, as he 
came in through the door. The 
Crockery and Antiques Shop had 
been easy to find. Like Bruth the 
Baker’s, it was tlte one spot in the 
neighborhood that was all lit up. 

“Good evening, sir!” said what 
was presumably the store owner, 
without looking around. He sat 
with his back to the door, in a chair 
approximately at the center of the 



store and facing the Leewit at a dis- 
tance of about twenty feet. 

“. . . and there you. can stay with- 
out food or drink till the Holy Man 
comes in the morning !” he continued 
immediately, in the taut voice of a 
man who has gone through hysteria 
and is sane again. The captain real- 
ized he was addressing the Leewit. 

“Your other Holy Man didn’t stay 
very long!” the diminutive creature 
piped, also ignoring the captain. Ap- 
parently, she had not yet discovered 
Maleen behind him. 

“This is a stronger denomination 
—much stronger!” the store owner 
replied, in a shaking voice but with 
a sort of relish. “He’ll exorcise you, 
all right, little demon— you’ll whistle 
no buttons off him! Your time is 
up ! Go on and whistle all you want ! 
Bust every vase in the place—” 

The Leewit blinked her gray eyes 
thoughtfully at him. 

“Might !” she said. 

“But if you try to climb down 
from there,” the store owner went 
on, on a rising note, “I’ll chop you 
into bits— into little, little bits !” 

He raised his arm as he spoke 
and wfeakly brandished what the cap- 
tain recognized with a start of hor- 
ror as a highly ornamented but prob- 
ably still useful antique battle-ax. 
“Ha !” said the Leewit. 

“Beg your pardon, sir!” the cap- 
tain said, clearing his throat. 

“Good evening, sir!” the store 
owner repeated, without looking 
around. “What can I do for you?” 
“I came to inquire,” the captain 
said hesitantly, “about that child.” 



THE WITCHES OF KARRES 



13 




The store owner shifted about in 
his chair and squinted at the captain 
with red-rimmed eyes. 

“You’re not a Holy Man!” he 
said. 

“Hello, Maleen!” the Leewit said 
suddenly. “That him ?” 

“We’ve come to buy you,” Maleen 
said. “Shut up!” 

“Good !” said the Leewit. 

“Buy it? Are you mocking me, 
sir?” the store owner inquired. 

“Shut up, MoOnell!” A thin, 
dark, determined-looking woman 
had appeared in the doorway that 
led through the back wall of the 
store. She moved out a step under 
the shelves ; and the Leewit leaned 
down from the top shelf and hissed. 
The woman moved hurriedly back 
into the doorway. 

“Maybe he means it,” she said in 
a more subdued voice. 

“I can’t sell to a citizen of the Em- 
pire,” the store owner said de- 
featedly. 

“I’m not a citizen,” the captain 
said shortly. This time, he wasn’t 
going to name it. 

“No, he’s from Nikkei—” Maleen 
began. ' ’ 

“Shut up, Maleen!” the captain 
said helplessly in turn. 

“I never heard of Nikkei,” the 
store owner muttered doubtfully. 

“Maleen!” the woman called 
shrilly. “That’s the name of one of 
the others— Bruth the Baker got her. 
He means it, all right ! He’s buying 
them—” 

“A hundred and fifty maels !” the 
captain said craftily, remembering 

14 



Bruth the Baker. “In cash !” 

The store owner looked dazed. 

“Not enough, Moonell!” the 
woman called. “Look at all it’s 
broken ! Five hundred maels !” 

There was a sound then, so thin 
the captain could hardly hear it. It 
pierced at his eardrums like two 
jabs of a delicate needle. To right 
and left of him, two highly glazed 
little jtigs went "Clink-clink!”, 
showed a sudden veining of cracks, 
and collapsed. 

A brief silence settled on the store. 
And now that he looked around 
more closely, the captain could spot 
here and there other little piles of 
shattered crockery— and places where 
similar ruins apparently had been 
swept up, leaving only traces of col- 
ored dust. 

The store owner laid the ax down 
carefully beside his chair, stood up, 
swaying a little, and came towards 
the captain. 

“You offered me a hundred and 
fifty maels!” he said rapidly as he 
approached. “I accept it here, now, 
see— before witnesses !” He grabbed 
the captain’s right hand in both of 
his and pumped it up and down 
vigorously. “Sold!” he yelled. 

Then he wheeled around in a 
leap and pointed a shalcing hand at 
the Leewit. 

“And NOW,” he howled, “break 
something! Break anything ! You’re 
his! I’ll sue him for every mael he 
ever made and ever will!” 

“Oh, do come help me down, 
Maleen!” the Leewit pleaded pret- 
tily. 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




For a change, the store of Wans- 
ing, the jeweler, was dimly lit and 
very quiet. It was a sleak, fashion- 
able place in a fashionable shopping 
block near the spaceport. The front 
door was unlocked, and Wansing 
was in. 

The three of them entered qui- 
etly, and the door sighed quietly shut 
behind them. Beyond a great crys- 
tal display-counter, Wansing was 
moving about among a number of 
opened shelves, talking softly to him- 
self. Under the crystal of the 
counter, and in close-packed rows on 
the satin-covered shelves, reposed a 
many-colored, gleaming and glitter- 
ing and shining. Wansing was no 
piker. 

“Good evening, sir!” the captain 
said across the counter. 

“It’s morning!” the Leewit re- 
marked from the other side of 
Maleen. 

“Maleen!” said the captain. 

“We’re keeping out of this,” 
Maleen said to the Leewit. 

“All right,” said the Leewit. 

Wansing had come around jerkily 
at the captain’s greeting, but had 
made no other move. Like all the 
slave owners the captain had met on 
Porlumma so far, Wansing seemed 
unhappy. Otherwise, he was a large, 
dark, sleek-looking man with jewels 
in his ears and a smell of expensive 
oils and perfumes about him. 

“This place is under constant 
visual guard, of course !” he told the 
captain gently. “Nothing could pos- 
sibly happen to me here. Why am 
I so frightened?” 

THE WITCHES OF KARRES 




IS 




“Not of me, I’m sure!” the cap- 
tain said with an uncomfortable at- 
tempt at geniality. “I’m glad your 
store’s still open,” he went on 
briskly. “I’m here on business—” 

“Oh, yes, it’s still open, of course,” 
Wansing said.' He gave the captain 
a slow smile and turned back to his 
shelves. “I’m making inventory, 
that’s why! I’ve been making in- 
ventory since early yesterday morn- 
ing. I’ve counted them all sevefi 
times—” 

“You’re very thorough,” the cap- 
tain said. 

“Very, very thorough!” Wans- 
ing nodded to the shelves. “The 
last time I found I had made a mil- 
lion maels. But twice before that, I 
had lost approximately the same 
amount. I shall have to count them 
again, I suppose!” He closed a 
shelf softly. “I’m sure I counted 
those before. But they move about 
constantly. Constantly! It’s hor- 
rible.” 

“You’ve got a slave here called 
Goth,” the captain said, driving to 
the point. 

“Yes, I have!” Wansing said, 
nodding. “And I’m sure she under- 
stand.? by now I meant no harm ! I 
do, at any rate. It was perhaps a 
little— but I’m sure she understands 
now, or will soon !” 

“Where is she?” the captain in- 
quired, a trifle uneasily. 

“In her room perhaps,” Wansing 
suggested. “It’s not so bad when 
she’s there in her room with the 
door closed. But often she sits in 
the dark and looks at you as you go 

16 



past—” He opened another drawer, 
and closed it quietly again. “Yes, 
they do move!” he whispered, as if 
confirming an earlier suspicion. 
“Constantly—” 

“Look, Wansing,” the captain 
said in a loud, firm voice. “I’m not 
a citizen of the Empire. I want to 
buy this Goth! I’ll pay you a hun- 
dred and fifty maels, cash.” 

Wansing turned around complete- 
ly again and looked at the captain. 
“Oh, you do?” he said. “You’re not 
a citizen?” He walked a few steps 
to the side of the counter, sat down 
at a small desk and turned a light on 
over it. Then he put his face in his 
hands for a moment. 

“I’m a wealthy man,” he mut- 
tered. “An influential man! The 
name of Wansing counts for a great 
deal on Porlumma. When the Em- 
pire suggests you buy, you buy, of 
cour.se— but it need not have been I 
who bought her ! I thought she 
would he useful in the business— and 
then, even I could not sell her again 
within the Empire. She has been 
here for a week!” 

He looked up at the captain and 
smiled. “One hundred and fifty 
maels !” he said. “Sold ! There are 
records to be made out—” He 
reached into a drawer and took out 
some printed forms. He began to 
write rapidl}^. The captain pro- 
duced identifications. 

Maleen .said suddenly: “Goth?” 

“Right here,” a voice murmured. 
Wansing’s hand jerked sharply, but 
he did not look up. He kept on 
writing. 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




, Something small and lean and 
bonelessly supple, dressed in a dark 
jacket and leggings, came across the 
thick carpets of Wansing’s store and 
stood behind the captain. This one 
might be about nine or ten. 

“I’ll take your check, captain !” 
Wansing said politely. “You must 
be an honest man. Besides, I want 
to frame it.” 

“And now,” the captain heard 
himself say in the remote voice of 
one who moves through a strange 
dream, “I suppose we could go to 
the ship.” 

The sky was gray and cloudy ; and 
the streets were lightening. Goth, 
he noticed, didn’t resemble her sis- 
ters. She had brown hair cut short 
a few inches below her ears, and 
brown eyes with long, black lashes. 
Her nose was short and her chin was 
pointed. She made him think of 
some thin, carnivorous creature, like 
a weasel. 

She looked up at him briefly, 
grinned, and said : “Thanks !” 

“What was wrong with him?” 
chirped the Leewit, walking back- 
wards for a last view of Wansing’s 
store. 

“Tough crook,” muttered Goth. 
The Leewit giggled. 

“You promoted this just dandy, 
Maleen !” she stated next. 

“Shut up,” said Maleen. 

“All right,” said the Leewdt. She 
glanced up at the captain’s face. 
“You been fighting!” she said vir- 
tuously. “Did you win ?” 

THE WITCHES OF KAREES 



“Of course, the captain won!” 
said Maleen. 

“Good for you !” said the Leewit. 

“What about the take-off?” Goth 
asked the captain. She seemed a 
little worried. 

“Nothing to it!” the captain said 
stoutly, hardly bothering to wonder 
how' she’d guessed the take-off was 
the one operation on which he and 
the old Venture consistently failed 
to co-operate. 

“No,” said Goth, *T meant, 
when ?” 

“Right now,” said the captain. 
“They’ve already cleared us. We’ll 
get the sign any second.” 

“Good,” said Goth. She walked 
off slowly down the hall towards the 
back of the ship. 

The take-off was pretty bad, but 
the Venture made it again. Half an 
hour later, with Porlumma dwin- 
dling safely behind them, the cap- 
tain switched to automatic and 
climbed out of his chair. After con- 
siderable experimentation, he got the 
electric butler adjusted to four break- 
fasts, hot, with coffee. It was ac- 
complished with a great deal of ad- 
vice and attempted assistance from 
the Leewit, rather less from Maleen, 
and no comments from Goth. 

“Everything will be coming along 
in a few minutes now !” he an- 
nounced. , Afterwards, it struck him 
there had been a quality of grisly 
prophecy about the statement. 

“If you’d listened to me,” said the 
Leewit, “we’d have been done eat- 
ing a quarter of an hour ago !” She 

17 




was perspiring but triumphant— she 
had been right all along. 

“Say, Maleen,” she said suddenly, 
“you premoting again?” 

Premoting? The captain looked 
at Maleen. She seemed pale and 
troubled. 

“Spacesick?” he suggested. “I’ve 
got some pills—” 

“No, she’s premoting,” the Lee- 
wit said scowling. “What’s up, 
Maleen ?” 

“Shut up,” said Goth. 

“All right,” said the Leewit. She 
was silent a moment, and then began 
to wriggle. “Maybe we’d better—” 

“Shut up,” said Maleen. 

“It’s all ready,” said Goth. 

“What’s all ready?” asked the 
captain. 

“All right,” said the Leewit. She 
looked at the captain. “Nothing,” 
she said. 

He looked at them then, and they 
looked at him— one set each of gray 
eyes, and brown, and blue. They 
were all sitting around the control 
room floor in a circle, the fifth side 
.of which was occupied by the electric 
butler. 

What peculiar little waifs, the cap- 
tain thought. He hadn’t perhaps 
really realized until now just how 
very peculiar. They were still star- 
ing at him. 

“Well, well!” he said heartily. 
“So Maleen ‘premotes’ and gives 
people stomach-aches.” 

Maleen smiled dimly and smoothed 
back her yellow hair. 

“They just thought they were get- 
ting them,” she murmured. 

18 



“Mass history,” explained the 
Leewit, offhandedly. 

“Hysteria,” said Goth. “The Im- 
perials get their hair up about us 
every so often.” 

“I noticed that,” the captain 
nodded. “And little Leewit here— 
she whistles and busts things.” 

“It’s the Leewit,” the Leewit Said, 
frowning. 

“Oh, I see,” said the captain. 
“Like the captain, eh?” 

“That’s right,” said the Leewit. 
She smiled. 

“And what does little Goth do?” 
the captain addressed the third 
witch. 

Little Goth appeared pained. 
Maleen answered for her. 

“Goth teleports mostly,” she said. 

“Oh, she does?” said the captain. 
“I’ve heard about that trick, too,” he 
added lamely. 

“Just small stuff really!” Goth 
said abruptly. She reached into the 
top of her jacket and pulled out a 
cloth-wrapped bundle the size of the 
captain’s two fists. The four ends 
of the cloth were knotted together. 
Goth undid the knot. “Like this,” 
she said and poured out the con- 
tents on the rug l)etween them. 
There was a sound like a big bagful 
of marbles being spilled. 

“Great Patham !” the captain 
swore, staring down at what was a 
cool cpiarter-million in jewel stones, 
or he was still a miffel-farmer. 

“Good gosh,” said the Leewit, 
bouncing to her feet. “Maleen, we 
better get at it right away !” 

The two blondes darted from the 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




room. The captain hardly noticed 
their going. He was staring at 
Goth. 

“Child,” he said, “don’t you real- 
ize they hang you without trial on 
places like Porlumma, if you’re 
caught with stolen goods?” 

“We’re not on Porlumma,” said 
Goth. She looked slightly annoyed. 
“They’re for you. You spent money 
on us, didn’t you ?” 

“Not that kind of money,” said 
the captain. “If Wansing noticed 
—They’re Wansing’s, I suppose?” 
“Sure !” said Goth. “Pulled them 
in just before take-off!” 

“If he reported, there’ll be police 
ships on our tail any—” 

“Goth!” Maleen shrilled. 

Goth’s head came around and she 
rolled up on her feet in one motion. 
“Coming,” 'she shouted. “Excuse 
me,” she murmured to the captain. 
Then she, too, was out of the room. 

But again, the captain scarcely no- 
ticed her departure. He had rushed 
to the control desk with a sudden 
awful certainty and switched on all 
screens. 

There they were! Two sleek, 
black ships coming up fast from be- 
hind, and already almost in gun- 
range! They weren’t regular police 
boats, the eaptain recognized, but 
auxiliary craft of the Empire’s 
frontier fleets. He rammed the Ven- 
ture’s drives full on. Immediately, 
red-iand-black fire blossoms began to 
sprout in space behind him— then a 
finger of flame stabbed briefly past, 

THE WITCHES OF KAEKES. 



not a hundred yards to the right of 
the ship. 

But the communicator stayed 
dead. Porlumma preferred risking 
the sacrifice of Wansing’s jewels to 
giving them a chance to surrender! 
To do the captain justice, his horror 
w’as due much more to the fate 
awaiting his three misguided charges 
than to the fact that he was going to 
share it. 

He was putting the Venture 
through a wildly erratic and, be 
hoped, aim-destroying series of side- 
ways hops and forward lunges witii 
one hand, and trying to unlimbe r 
the turrets of the nova guns with 
the other, w'hen suddenly— ! 

No, he decided at once, there was 
no use trying to understand it— 
There were just no more Empire 
ships around. The screens all 
blurred and darkened simultaneous- 
ly ; and, for a short while, a darkne.s ; 
w'ent flowiiig and coiling lazily past 
the Venture. Light jumped out of 
it at him once, in a cold, ugly glare, 
and receded again in a twisting, un- 
natural fashion. The Venture's 
drives seemed dead. 

Then, just as suddenly, the oM 
ship jerked, shivered, roared ag- 
grievedly^ and was hurling herself 
along on her own power again! 

But Porlumma’s sun w'as no 
longer in evidence. Stars gleame ( 
and shifted distantly against tlie 
blackness of deep space all about. 
The patterns seemed familiar, bi’t 
he wasn’t a good enough navigator to 
be sure. 

The captain stood up stiffly, feel- 

19 




ing heavy and cold. And at that mo- 
ment, with a wild, hilarious clacking 
like a metallic hen, the electric but- 
ler delivered four breakfasts, hot, 
fme after the other, right onto the 
center of the control room floor. 

The first voice said distinctly ; 
“Shall we just leave it on?” 

A second voice, considerably more 
muffled, replied; “Yes, let’s! You 
never know when you need it—” 

The third voice, tucked some- 
where in between them, said sim- 
])ly; “Whew!” 

Peering about the dark room in 
bewilderment, the captain realized 
suddenly that the voices had come 
from the speaker of an intership 
communicator, leading to what had 
once been the Venture’s captain’s 
cabin. 

He listened ; but only a dim mur- 
muring came from it now, and then 
nothing at all. He started towards 
the hall, then returned" and softly 
switched off the communicator. He 
went quietly down the hall until he 
came to the captain’s cabin. Its door 
was closed. 

He listened a moment, and opened 
it- suddenly. 

There was a trio of squeals : 

“Oh, don’t ! You spoiled it 1” 

The captain stood motionless. 
Just one glimpse had been given him 
of what seemed to be a bundle of 
twisted black wires arranged loosely 
like the frame of a truncated cone on 
—or was it just above?— a table in 
the center of the cabin. Where, the 
tip of the cone should have been 



burned a round, swirling, orange 
fire. About it, their faces reflecting 
its glow, stood the three witches. 

Then the fire vanished; the wires 
collapsed. There was only ordinary 
light in the room. They were look- 
ing up at him variously— Maleen 
with smiling regret, the Leewit in 
frank annoyance, Goth with no ex- 
pression at all. 

“What out of Great Patham’s Sev- 
enth Hell was that?” inquired the 
captain, his hair bristling slowly. 

The Leewit looked at Goth ; Goth 
looked at Maleen. Maleen said 
doubtfully : “We can just tell you its 
name—” 

“That was the Sheewash Drive,” 
said Goth. 

“The what-drive?” asked the cap- 
tain. 

“Sheewash,” repeated Maleen. 

“The one you have to do it with 
yourself,” the Leewit said helpfully. 

“Shut up,” said Maleen. 

There was a long pause. The 
captain looked down at the handful 
of thin, black, twelve-inch wires 
scattered about the table top. He 
touched one of them. It was dead- 
cold. 

“I see,” he said. “I guess we’re 
all going to have a long talk.” An- 
other pause. “Where are we now ?” 

“About three light-years down the 
way you were going,” said Goth. 
“We only worked it thirty seconds.” 

“Twenty-eight 1” corrected Ma- 
leen, with the authority of her years. 
“The Leewit was getting tired.” 

“I see,” said Captain Pausert 



20 



ASTOUNDING SCIEN CE-FI CTION 




carefully. “Well, let’s go have some' 
breakfast.” 

III. 

They ate with a silent voracious- 
ness, dainty Maleen, the exquisite 
Leewit, supple Goth, all alike. The 
captain, long finished, watched them 
with amazement and— now at last— 
with something like awe. 

“It’s the Sheewash Drive,” ex- 
plained Maleen finally, catching his 
expression. 

“Takes it out of you !” said Goth. 

The Leewit grunted affirmatively 
and stuffed on. 

“Can’t do too much of it,” said 
Maleen. “Or too often. It kills you 
sure !” 

“What,” said the captain, “is the 
Sheewash Drive?” 

They became reticent. People did 
it on Karres, said Maleen, when they 
had to go somewhere else fast. 
Everybody knew how there. 

“But of course,” she added, 
“we’re pretty young to do it right !” 

“We did it pretty good !” the Lee- 
wit contradicted positively. She 
seemed to be finished at last. 

“But how?” said the captain. 

Reticence thickened almost visibly. 
If you couldn’t do it, said Maleen, 
you couldn’t understand it either. 

He gave it up, for the time being. 

“I guess I’ll have to take you home 
next,” he said; and they agreed. 

Karres, it developed, was in the 
Iverdahl System. He couldn’t find 
any planet of that designation listed 
in his maps of the area, but that 

THE WITCHES OF KARRES 



meant nothing. The maps were old 
and often inaccurate, and local names 
changed a lot. 

Barring the use of weird and dead- 
ly miracle-d^es, that detour was 
going to cost him almost a month in 
time— and a good chunk of his profits 
in power used up. The jewels Goth 
had illegally teleported must, of 
course, be returned to their owner, 
he explained. He’d intended to look 
severely at the culprit at that point ; 
but she’d meant well, after all ! 
They were extremely peculiar chil- 
dren, but still children— they couldn’t 
really understand. 

He would stop off en route to 
Karres at an Empire planet with 
banking facilities to take care of that 
matter, the captain added. A planet, 
far enough off so the police wouldn’t 
be likely to take any particular inter- 
est in the Venture. 

A dead silence greeted this sched- 
ule. It appeared that the representa- 
tives of Karres did not think much 
of his logic. 

“Well,” Maleen sighed at last, 
“we’ll see you get your money back 
some other way then !” 

The junior witches nodded coldly. 

“How did you three happen to get 
into this fix?” the captain inquired, 
with the intention of changing the 
subject. 

They’d left Karres together on a 
jaunt of their own, they explained. 
No, they hadn’t run away— he got 
the impressjon that such trips vrere 
standard procedure for juveniles in 
that place. They were on another 
planet, a civilized one but beyond the 

21 




borders and law of Empire, when the 
town they were in was raided by a 
small fleet of slavers. They were 
taken along with most of the local 
youngsters. 

“It’s a wonder,” the captain said 
reflectively, “you didn’t take over the 
ship.” 

“Oh, ^ brother !” exclaimed the 
Leewit. 

“Not that ship!” said Goth. 

“That was an Imperial Slaver !” 
Maleen informed him. “You be- 
have yourself every second on those 
crates.” 

Just the same, the caiStain thought 
as he settled himself to rest in the 
control room on a couch he had set 
up there, it was no longer surprising 
that the Empire wanted no young 
slaves from Karres to be transported 
into the interior! Oddest sort of 
children— But he ought to be able to 
get his expenses paid by their rela- 
tives. Something very profitable 
might even be made of this deal— 

Have to watch the record-entries 
though! Nikkeldepain’s laws were 
explicit about the penalties invoked 
by anything resembling the purchase 
and sale of slaves. 

He’d thoughtfully left the inter- 
ship communicator adjusted so he 
could listen in on their conversation 
in the captain’s cabin. However, 
there had been nothing for some time 
beyond frequent bursts of childish 
giggling. Then came a succession of 
piercing shrieks from the Leewit. It 
appeared she was being forcibly 
washed behind the ears by Maleen 



and obliged to brush her teeth, in 
preparation for Ijedtime. 

It had been agreed that he was not 
to enter the cabin, because— for rea- 
sons not given— they couldn’t keep 
the Sheewash Drive on in his pres- 
ence; and they wanted to have it 
ready, in case of an emergency. 
Piracy was rife beyond the Imperial 
borders, and the Venture would keep 
beyond the border for a good part 
of the trip, to avoid the more press- 
ing danger of police pursuit insti- 
gated by Porlumma. The captain 
had explained the potentialities of 
the nova guns the Venture boasted, 
or tried to. Possibly, they hadn’t 
understood. At any rate, they 
seemed unimpressed. 

The Sheewash Drive! Boy, he 
thought in sudden excitement, if he 
could just get the principles of that. 
Maybe he would ! 

He raised his head suddenly. The 
Leewit’s voice had lifted clearly over 
the communicator; 

“. . . . not such a bad old dope !” 
the childish treble remarked. 

The captain blinked indignantly. 

“He’s not so old,” Maleen’s soft 
voice returned. “And he’s certainly 
no dope!” 

He smiled. Good kid, Maleen. 

“Yeah, yeah!” squeaked the Lee- 
wit offensively. “Maleen’s sweet 
onthu-ulp !” 

A vague commotion continued for 
a while, indicating, he hoped, that 
someone he could mention was being 
smothered under a pillow. 

He drifted off to sleep before it 
was settled. 



22 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




If you didn’t happen to be think- 
ing of what they’d done, they seemed 
more or less like normal children. 
Right from the start, they displayed 
a flattering interest in the captain 
and . his background ; and he told 
them all about everything and every- 
body in Nikkeldepain. Finally> he 
ev^en showed them his treasured 
pocket-sized picture of' Illyla— the 
one with which he’d held many cozy 
conversations during the earlier part 
of his trip. 

Almost at once, though, he real- 
ized that was a mistake. They 
studied it intently in silence, their 
heads crowded close together. 

“Ob, brother!” the Leewit whis- 
pered then, with entirely the wrong 
kind of inflection. 

“Just what did you mean by 
that?” the captain inejuired coldly. 

“Sweet!” murmurecl Goth. But 
it was the way she closed her eyes 
briefly, as though gripped by a light 
spasm of nausea. 

“Shut up, Goth !” Maleen said- 
shaqfly. “I think she’s very swee . . . 
I mean, she looks very nice !” she 
told the captain. 

The captain was disgruntled. Si- 
lently, he retrieved the maligned 
Illyla and returned her to his breast 
pocket. Silently, he went off and left 
them standing there. 

But afterwards, in private, he took 
it out again and studied it worriedly. 
His Tllyla! He shifted the picture 
back and forth under the light. It 
wasn’t really a very good picture of 
her, he decided. It had been bim- 
gled ! From certain angles, one 

THE WITCHES OF KARRES 



might even say that Illyla did look 
the least bit insipid. 

What was he thinking, he thought, 
shocked. 

He unlimbered the nova gun tur- 
rets next and got in a little firing 
practice. They had been sealed when 
he took over the Venture and 
weren’t supposed to be used, except 
in absolute emergencies. They were 
somewhat uncertain weapons, though 
very effective, and Nikkeldepain had 
turned to safer forms of armament 
many decades ago. But on the third 
day out from Nikkeldepain, the cap- 
tain made a brief notation in his log : 

“Attacked by two pirate craft. 
Unsealed nova guns. Destroyed one 
attacker ; survivor fled—” 

He was rather pleased by that 
crisp, hard-bitten description of des- 
perate space-adventure, and enjoyed 
rereading it occasionally. It wasn’t 
true, though. He had put in an in- 
teresting four hours at the time pur- 
suing and annihilating large, craggy 
chunks of substance of a meteorite- 
cloud he found the Venture plowing 
through. Those nova guns were fas- 
cinating stuff! You’d sight the tur- 
rets on something ; and so long as it 
didn’t move after that, it was all 
right. If it did move, it got it— un- 
less you relented and deflected the 
turrets first. They were ju.st the 
thing for arresting a pirate in mid- 
space. 

The Venture dipped back into the 
Empire’s borders four days later and 
headed for the capitol of the local 
province. Police ships challenged 

23 





them twice on the way in; and the 
captain found considerable comfort 
in the awareness that his passengers 
foregathered silently in their cabin 
on these occasions. They didn’t tell 
him they were set to use the Shee- 
wash Drive— somehow it had never 
been mentioned since that first day ; 
but he knew the queer orange fire 
was circling over its skimpy frame- 
work of twisted wires there and 
ready to act. 

However, the space police waved 
him on, satisfied with routine identi- 
fication. Apparently, the Venture 
had not become generally known as 
a criminal ship, to date. 

Maleen accompanied him to the 



banking institution that was to re- 
turn Wansing’s property to Por- 
lumma. Pier . sisters, at the captain’s 
definite request, remained on the 
ship. 

The transaction itself went off 
without a visible hitch. The jewels 
would reach their destination in Por- 
lumma within a month. _ But he Tiad 
to take out a staggering sum in in- 
surance— “Piracy, thieves !” smiled 
the clerk. “Even summary capital 
punishment won’t keep the rats 
down.” And, of course, he had to 
register name, ship, home planet, and 
so on. But since they already had 
all that information in Porlumma, he 
gave it without hesitation. 



24 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




On the way back to the spaceport, having another premonition ! The 
he sent off a sealed message by radio- hitch to this premoting business was, 
relay to the bereaved jeweler, in- apparently, that when something was 
forming him of the action taken, and brewing you were informed of the 
regretting the misunderstanding. bare fact but had to guess at most 
He felt a little better after that, of the details. They grabbed an air- 
though the insurance payment had cab and raced back to the spaceport, 
been a severe blow! If he didn’t They had just been cleared there 
manage to work out a decent profit when he spotted a small group of 
on Karres somehow, the losses on uniformed men coming along the 
the miffel farm would hardly be cov- dock on the double. They stopped 
ered now. short and then scattered, as the V en- 

Then he noticed that Maleen was hire lurched drunkenly sideways into 
getting uneasy. the air. Everyone else in sight was 

“We’d better hurry!” was all she scattering, too. 
would say, however. Her face grew That was a very bad take-off— one 
pale. of the captain’s worst ! Once afloat. 

The captain understood. She was however, he ran the .ship promptly 

THE WITCHES OF KARRES 25 






into the nightside of the planet and 
turned her nose towards the border. 
The old pirate-chaser had plenty of 
speed when you gave her the reins; 
and throughout the entire next sleep- 
period, he let her use it all. 

The Sheewash Drive was not re- 
quired that time. 

Next day, he had a lengthy pri- 
vate talk with Goth on the Golden 
Rule and the Law, with particular 
reference to individual property 
rights. If Councilor Onswud had 
been monitoring the sentiments ex- 
pressed by the captain, he could not 
have failed to rumble surprised ap- 
proval. The delinquent herself lis- 
tened impassively ; but the captain 
fancied she showed distinct signs of 
being rather impressed by his earn- 
estness. 

It was two days after that— well 
beyond the borders again— when they 
were obliged to make an unscheduled 
stop at a mining moon. For the cap- 
tain discovered he had badly miscal- 
culated the extent to which the pro- 
longed run on overdrive after leaving 
the capitol was going to deplete the 
Venture’s reserves. They would 
have to juice up— 

A large, extremely handsome 
Sirian freighter lay beside them at 
the Moon station. It was half a 
battlecraft really, since it dealt regu- 
larly beyond the borders. They had 
to wait while it was being serviced ; 
and it took a long time. The Sirians 
turned out tt.. be as unpleasant as 
their ship was good-looking— a 
snooty, conceited, hairy lot who 
talked only their own dialect and 



pretended to be unfamiliar with Im- 
perial Universum. 

The captain found himself getting 
irked by their bad manners— particu- 
larly when he discovered they were 
laughing over his argument with the 
service superintendent about the cost 
of repowering the Venture. 

“You’re out in deep space, cap- 
tain !’’ said the superintendent. “And 
you haven’t juice enough left even to 
travel back to the Border. You 
can’t expect Imperial prices here !” 

“It’s not what you charged 
them!” The captain angrily jerked 
his thumb at the Sirian. 

“Regular customers !’’ the super- 
intendent shrugged. “You start 
coming by here every three months 
like they do, and we can make an 
arrangement with you, too.” 

It was outrageous— it actually put 
the Venture back in the red! But 
there was no help for it. 

Nor did it improve the captain’s 
temper when he muffed the take-off 
once rhore— and then had to watch 
the Sirian floating into space, as 
sedately as a swan, a little behind 
him ! 

An hour later, as he sat glumly 
before the controls, debating the 
chance- of recouping his losses be- 
fore returning to Nikkeldepain, Ma- 
leen and the Leewit hurriedly en- 
tered the room. They did some- 
thing to a port screen. 

“They sure are!” the Leewit ex- 
claimed. She seemed childishly 
pleased. 

“Are what?” the captain inquired 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 



26 




absently. 

“Following ns,” said Maleen. 
She did not sound pleased. “It's 
that Sirian ship, Captain Pausert— ” 

The captain stared bewilderedly at 
the screen. There zvas a ship in 
focus there, it was quite obviously 
the Sirian and, just as obviously, it 
was following them. 

“What do they want?” he won- 
dered. “They’re stinkers but they’re 
not pirates. Even if they were, they 
wouldn’t spend an hour running 
after a crate Kke the Venture!” 

Maleen said nothing. The Lee- 
wit observed; “Oh, brother! Got 
their bow-turrets out now— better get 
those nova guns ready!” 

“But it’s all nonsense!” the cap- 
tain said, flushing angrily. He 
turned suddenly towards the com- 
municators. “What’s that Empire 
general beam-length?” 

“.0044,” said Maleen. 

A roaring, abusive voice flooded 
the control room immediately. The 
one word understandable to the cap- 
tain was “Venture.” It was repeated 
frequently, sometimes as if it were a 
question. 

“Sirian!” said the captain. “Can 
you understand them?” he asked 
Maleen. 

She shook her head. “The Lee- 
wit can—” 

The Leewit nodded, her gray eyes 
glistening. 

“What are they saying?” 

“They says you’re for stopping,” 
the Leewit translated rapidly, but 
apparently retaining ittuch of the 
original sentence-structure. “They 

THE WITCHES OF KAREES 



says you’re for skinning alive . . . 
ha! They says you’re for stopping 
right now and for only hanging. 
They says—” 

Maleen scuttled from the control 
room. The Leewit hanged the com- 
municator with one small fist. 

“Beak-Wock!” she shrilled. It 
sounded like that, anyway. The 
loud voice paused a moment. 

“Beak-Wock?” it returned in an 
aggrieved, demanding roar. 

“Beak-Wock!” the Leewit af- 
firmed with apparent delight! She 
rattled off a string of similar-sound- 
ing syllables. She paused. 

A howl of inarticulate wrath re- 
sponded. 

The captain, in a whirl of out- 
raged emotions, was yelling at the 
Leewit to shut up, at the Sirian to 
go to Great Patham’s Second Hell— 
the worst— and wrestling with the 
nova gun adjustors at the same time. 
He’d had about enough! He’d— 

SSS-whoo.zh ! 

It was the Sheewash Drive. 

“And where are we now?” the 
captain inquired, in a voice of un- 
natural calm. 

“Same place, just about,” said the 
Leewit. “Ship’s still on the screen. 
W ay back though— take them an 
hour again to catch up.” She 
seemed disappointed ; then bright- 
ened. “You got lots of time to get 
the guns ready!” 

The captain didn’t answer. He 
was marching down the hall towards 
the rear of the Venture. He passed 
the captain’s cabin and noted the 

27 




door was shut. He went on with- 
out pausing. He was mad clean 
through— he knew what had hap- 
pened ! 

After all he’d told her, Goth had 
teleported again. 

It was all there, in the storage. 
Items of half a pound in weight 
seemed to be as much as she could 
handle. But amazing quantities of 
stuff had met that one requirement 
—bottles filled with what might be 
perfume of liquor or dope, expen- 
sive-looking garments and cloths in 
a shining variety of colors, small 
boxes, odds, ends and, of course, 
jewelry! 

He spent half an hour getting it 
loaded into a steel space crate. He 
wheeled the crate into the rear lock, 
sealed the inside lock and pulled the 
switch that activated the automatic 
launching device. 

The outside lock clicked shut. He 
stalked back to the control room. 
The Leewit was still in charge, fid- 
dling with the communicators. 

“I could try a whistle over them,” 
she suggested, glancing up. She 
added : “But they’d bust some- 
wheres, sure.” 

“Get them on again!” the cap- 
tain said. 

“Yes, sir,” said the Leewit sur- 
prised. 

The roaring voice came back 
faintly. 

“SHUT UP !” the captain shouted 
in Imperial Universum. 

The voice shut up. 

“Tell them they can pick up their 
stuff— it’s been dumped out in a 

28 



crate!” the captain told the Leewit. 
“Tell them I’m proceeding on my 
course. Tell them if they follow me 
one light-minute beyond that crate, 
I’ll come back for them, shoot their 
front end off, shoot their rear end 
off, and ram ’em in the middle.” 

“Yes, SIR!” the Leewit sparkled. 
They proceeded on their course. 

Nobody followed. 

“Now I want to speak to Goth,” 
the captain announced. He was still 
at a high boil. “Privately,” he 
added. “Back in the storage—” 

Goth followed him expressionless- 
ly into the storage. He closed the 
door to the hall. He’d broken off 
a two-foot length from the tip of one 
of Councilor Rapport’s overpriced 
tinklewood fishing poles. It made 
a -fair sw'itch. 

But Goth looked terribly small 
just now! He cleared his throat. 
He wished for a moment he were 
back on Nikkeldepain. 

“I warned you,” he said. 

Goth didn’t move. Between one 
second and the next, however, she 
seemed to grow rerh'arkably. Her 
browm eyes focused on the captain’s 
Adam’s apple; her lip lifted at one 
side. A slightly hungry look came 
into her face. 

“Wouldn’t try that!” she mur- 
mured. 

Mad again, the captain reached 
out quickly and got a handful of 
leathery cloth. There was a blur of 
motion, and what felt like a smalt 
explosion . against his left kneecap. 
He grunted with anguished surprise 
and fell back on a bale of Councilor 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




Rapport’s all-weather cloaks. But 
he had retained his grip— Goth fell 
half on top of him, and that was still 
a favprable position. Then her head 
snaked around, her neck seemed to 
extend itself; and her teeth snapped 
his wrist. 

Weasels don’t let go— 

“Didn’t think he’d have the 
nerve !” Goth’s voice came over the 
communicator. There was a note of 
grudging admiration in it. It 
seemed that she was inspecting her 
bruises. 

All tangled up in the job of band- 
aging his freely bleeding wrist, the 
captain hoped ^she’d find a good 
plenty to count. His knee felt the 
size of a sofa pillow and throbbed 
like a piston engine. 

“The captain is a brave man,” 
Maleen was saying reproachfully. 
“You should have known better—” 

“He’s not very smart, though!” 
the Leewit remarked suggestively. 

There was a short silence. 

“Is he? Goth? Eh?” the Lee- 
wit urged. 

“Perhaps not very,” said Gnth. 

“You two lay off him !” Maleen 
ordered. “Unless,” she added 
meaningly, “you want to swim back 
to Karres— on the Egger Route!” 

“Not me,” the Leewit said briefly. 

“You could still do it, I guess,” 
said Goth, * She seemed to be re- 
flecting. “All right— we’ll lay off 
him. It was a fair fight, anyway.” 

IV. 

They raised Karres the sixteenth 
day after leaving Porlumma. There 

THE WITCHES OF KARRES 



had been no more incidents; but 
then, neither had there been any 
more stops or other contacts with 
the defenselessvEmpire. Maleen had 
cooked up a poultice which did won- 
ders for his knee. With the end of 
the trip in sight, all tensions had 
relaxed ; and Maleen, at least, , 
seemed to grow hourly more regret- i 
ful at the prospect of parting. 

After a brief study, Karres could i 
be distinguished easily enough by the 
fact that it moved counterclockwise 
to all the other planets of the Iver- 
dahl System. 

Well, it would, the captain | 
thought. 

They came soaring into its atmos- 
phere on the dayside without arous- 
ing any visible interest. No com- 
municator signals reached them ; 
and no other ships showed up to 
look them over. Karres, in fact, had : 
all the appearance of a completely 
uninhabited world. There were a 
larger number of seas, too big to be 
called Lakes and too small to be i 
oceans, scattered over its surface. 
There was one enormously towering 
ridge of mountains that ran from 
pole to pole, and any number of 
lesser chains. There were two good- 
sized ice caps ; and the southern sec- 
tion of the planet was speckled with 
intermittent stretches of snow. A1-; 
most all of it seemed to be dense : 
forest. 

It was a handsome place, in a 
wild, somber way. 

They went gliding over it, from 
noon through morning and into the: 
dawn fringe— the captain at the con- 

29. 




.trols, Goth and the Leewit flanking 
him at the screens, and Maleen be- 
hind him to do the directing. After 
a few initial squeals, the Leewit be- 
came oddly silent. Suddenly the 
captain realized she was blubbering. 

Somehow, it startled . him to dis- 
cover that her homecoming had af- 
fected the Leewit to that extent. He 
felt Goth reach out behind him and 
put her hand on the Leewit’s shoul- 
der. The smallest witch sniffled 
happily. 

“ ’S beautiful !” she growled. 

He felt a resurge of the wonder- 
ing, protective friendliness they had 
aroused in , him at first. They must 
have been having a rough time of it, 
at that. He sighed ; it seemed a pity 
they hadn’t got along a little better! 

“Where’s everyone hiding?” he 
inquired, to break up the mood. So 
far, there hadn’t been a sign of hu- 
man haljitation. 

“There aren’t many people on 
Karres,” Maleen said from behind 
his shoulder. “But we’re going to 
The Town— you’ll meet about half 
of them there!” 

“W’hat’s that place down there?” 
the captain asked with sudden in- 
terest. Something like an enormous 
lime-white bowl seemed to have 
])een set flush into the floor of the 
wide valley up which they were 
moving. 

“That’s the Theater where . . . 
ouch!’’ the Leewit said. She fell 
silent then but turned to give' Ma- 
leen a resentful look. 

“Something strangers shouldn’t 
be told about, eh?” the captain said 

30 



tolerantly. Goth glanced at him 
from the side. 

“We’ve got rules,” she said. 

He let the ship down a little as 
they passed over “the Theater 
where—” It was a sort of large, 
circular arena, with numerous steep 
tiers of seats running up around it. 
But all was bare and deserted now. 

On Maleen’s direction, they took 
the next valley fork to the right and 
dropped lower still, He had his 
first look at Karres animal life then. 
A flock of large, creamy-white 
birds, remarkably Terrestrial in ap- 
pearance, flapped by just below them, 
apparently unconcerned about the 
ship. The forest underneath had 
opened out into a long stretch of 
lush meadow land, with small creeks 
winding down into its center. Here 
a herd of several hundred head of 
beasts was grazing— beasts of masto- 
donic- size and Iniild, with hairless, 
shiny black hides. The mouths of 
their long, heavy heads were twisted 
up into sardonic, crocodilian grins 
as they 1.)linked up at the passing 
V enturc. 

“Black Bollems,” said Goth, ap- 
parently enjoying the captain’s ex- 
pression. “Lots of. them around; 
they’re tame. But the gray moun- 
tain ones are good hunting.” 

“Good eating, too!” the I.eewit 
said. She licked her lips daintily. 
“Breakfast—!” she sighed, her 
thoughts diverted to a familiar track. 
“And we ought to be just in time !” 

“There’s the field !” Maleen cried, 
pointing. “Set her down there, cap- 
tain !” 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




The “field” was simply a flat 
meadow of close-trimmed grass nm- 
ning smack against the mountainside 
to their left. One small vehicle, 
bright blue in color, was parked on 
it ; and it was bordered on two sides 
by very tall, blue-black trees. 

That was all. 

The captain shook his head. Then 
he set her down. 

The town of Karres was a sur- 
prise to him in a good many ways. 
For one thing, there was much more 
of it than you would have thought 
possible after flying over the area. - 
It stretched for miles through the 
forest, up the flanks of the moun- 
tain and across the valley— little clus- 
ters of houses or individual ones, 
each group screened from all the 
rest and from the sky overhead by 
the trees. 

They liked color on Karres; but 
then they hid it away ! The houses 
were bright as flowers, red and 
white, apple-green, golden-brown- 
all spick and span, scrubbed and 
polished and aired with that brisk, 
green forest-smell. At various times 
of the day, there w'as also the smell 
of remarkably good things to eat. 
There were brooks and pools and a 
great number of shaded vegetable 
gardens to the town. There were 
risky-looking treetop playgrounds, 
and treetop platforms and galleries 
which seemed to have no particular 
purpose. On the ground was main- 
ly an enormously confusing maze of 
paths— narrow trails of sandy soil 
snaking about among great brown 

THE WITCHES OF KARRES 



tree roots and chunks of gray moun- 
tain rock, and half covered with 
fallen needle leaves. The first six 
times the captain set out unaccom- 
panied, he’d lost his way hopelessly 
within minutes, and had to be guided 
back out of the forest. 

But the most hidden of all were 
the people ! About four thousand of 
them were supposed to live in the 
town, with as many more scattered 
about the planet. But you never got 
to see more than three or four at any 
one time— except when now and then 
a pack of children, who seemed to 
the captain to be uniformly of the 
Leewit’s size, would burst suddenly 
out of the undergrowth across a path 
before you, and vanish again. 

As for the others, you did hear 
someone singing occasionally; or 
there might be a whole muted con- 
cert going on all about, on a large 
variety of wooden musical instru- 
ments which they seemed to enjoy 
tootling wdth, gently. 

But it wasn’t a real town at all, 
the captain thought. They didn’t 
live like people, these Witches of 
Karres— it w^as more like a flock of 
strange forest birds that happened 
to be nesting in the same general 
area. Another thing : they appeared 
to be busy enough— but what was 
their business? 

He discovered be was reluctant to 
ask Toll too many questions about 
it. Toll was the mother of his three 
witches ; but only Goth really resem- 
bled her. It was difficult to picture 
Goth becoming smoothly matured 
and pleasantly rounded ; but that was 

31 




Toll. She had the same murmuring 
voice, the same air of sideways ob- 
servation and secret reflection. And 
she answered all the captain’s ques- 
tions with apparent frankness ; but 
he never seemed to get much real 
information out of what she said. 

It was odd, too ! Because he was 
spending several hours a day in her 
company, or in one of the next rooms 
at any rate, while she went about her 
housework. Toll’s daughters had 
taken him home when they landed; 
and he was installed in the room that 
belonged to their father— busy just 
now, the captain gathered, with some 
sort of research of a geological na- 
ture elsewhere on Karres. The ar- 
rangement worried him a little at 
first, particularly since Toll and he 
were mostly alone in the house. Ma- 
leen was going to some kind of 
school ; she left early in the morn- 
ing and came back late in the after- 
noon ; and Goth and the Leewit were 
just plain ' running wild! They 
usually got in long after the captain 
had gone to bed and were off again 
before he turned out for breakfast. 

It hardly seemed like the right 
■way to raise them I One afternoon, 
he found the Leewit curled up and 
asleep in the chair he usually occu- 
pied on the porch before the house. 
She slept there for four solid hours, 
while the captain sat nearby and 
leafed gradually through a thick 
book with illuminated pictures called 
“Histories of Ancient Yarthe.” Now 
and then, he sipped at a cool, green, 
faintly intoxicating drink Toll had 
placed quietly beside him some while 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




before, or sucked an aromatic smoke 
from the enormous pipe with a floor 
rest, which he understood was a fa- 
vorite of Toll’s husband. 

Then the Leewit woke up sud- 
denly, uncoiled, gave him a look be- 
tween a scowl and a friendly grin, 
slipped off the porch and vanished 
among the trees. 

He couldn’t quite figure that look ! 
It might have meant nothing at all 
in particular, but— 

The captain laid down his book 
then and worried a little more. It 
was true, of course, that nobody 
seemed in the least concerned about 
his presence. All of Karres ap- 
peared to know about him, and he’d 
met quite a number of people by now 
in a casual way. But nobody came 
around to interview him or so much 
as dropped in for a visit. However, 
Toll’s husband presumably would be 
returning presently, and— 

How long had he been here, any- 
way? 

Great Patham, the captain thought, 
shocked. He’d lost count of the 
days! 

Or was it weeks? 

He went in to find Toll. 

“It’s been a wonderful visit,” he 
said, “but I’ll have to be leaving, I 
guess. Tomorrow morning, early—” 

Toll put some fancy sewing she 
was working on back in a glass bas- 
ket, laid her thin, strong witch’s 
hands in her lap, and smiled up at 
him. 

“We thought you’d be thinking 
that,” she said, “and so we— You 



know, captain, it was quite difficult 
to find a way to reward you fof 
bringing back the children ?” 

“It was?” said the captain, sud- 
denly realizing he’d also clean forgot- 
ten he was broke! And now the 
wrath of Onswud lay close ahead. 

“Gold and jewel stones would 
have been just right, of course !” she 
said, “but unfortunately, while 
there’s no doubt a lot of it on Karres 
somewhere, we never got around to 
looking for it. And we haven’t 
money— none that you could use, that 
is!” 

“No, I don’t suppose you do,” the 
captain agreed sadly. 

“However,” said Toll, “we’ve all 
been talking about it in the town, and 
so we’ve loaded a lot of things aboard 
your ship that we think you can sell 
at a fine profit !” 

“Well now,” the captain said 
gratefully, “that’s fine of—” 

“There are furs,” said Toll, “the 
very finest furs we could fix up— two 
thousand of them!” 

“Oh!” said the captain, bravely 
keeping his smile. “Well, that’s 
wonderful !” 

“And essences of perfume!” said 
Toll. “Everyone brought one bot- 
tle of their own, so that’s eight thou- 
sand three hundred and twenty-three 
bottles of perfume essences— all dif- 
ferent !” 

“Perfume!” said the captain. 
“Fine, fine— but you really shouldn’t 

99 

“And the rest of it,” Toll con- 
cluded happily, “is the green Lepti 
liquor you like so much, and the 



THE WITCHES OF KARRES 



33 




Wintcnberry jellies !” She frowned. 
“I forget just how many jugs and 
jars,” she admitted, “but there were 
a lot. It’s all loaded now. And do 
you think you’ll be able to sell all 
that?” she smiled. 

“I certainly can !” the captain said 
stoutl3^ “It’s wonderful stuff, and 
there’s nothing like it in the Em- 
pire.” 

Which was very true. They 
wouldn’t have considered miffelfurs 
for lining on Karres. But if he’d 
been alone he would have felt like 
he wanted to burst into tears. 

The witches couldn’t have picked 
more completely unsalable items if 
they’d tried! Furs, cosmetics, food 
and liquor— he’d be shot on sight if 
he got caught trying to run that kind 
of merchandise into the Empire. For 
the same reason that they couldn’t 
use it on Nikkeldepain— they were 
that scared of contamination by 
goods that came from uncleared 
worlds I 

He breakfasted alone next morn- 
ing. Toll had left a note beside his 
plate, which explained in a large, not 
too legible script that she had to run 
off and catch the Leewit ; and that if 
he was gone before she got back she 
■was wishing him good-by and good 
luck. 

He smeared two more buns with 
Wintenberry jelly, drank a large 
mug of cone-seed coffee, finished 
every scrap of the omelet of swan 
hawk eggs and then, in a state of 
pleasant repletion, toyed around 
with his slice of roasted Bollem liver. 



Boy, what food ! He must have put 
on fifteen pounds since he landed on 
Karres. 

He wondered how Toll kept that 
sleek figure. 

Regretfully, he pushed himself 
away from the table, pocketed her 
jiote for a souvenir, and went out on 
the porch. There a tear-stained Ma- 
leen hurled herself into his anus. 

“Oh, captain !”she sobbed. “You’re 
leaving—” 

“Now, now!” the captain mur- 
mured, touched and surprised by 
the lovely child’s grief. He patted 
her shoulders soothingly. “I’ll be 
back,” he said rashly. 

“Oh, yes, do come back!” cried 
Maleen. She hesitated and added: 
“I become marriageable two years 
from now. Karres time—” 

“Well, well,” said the captain, 
dazed. “Well, now—” 

He set off down the path a few 
minutes later, with a strange melody 
tinkling in his head. Around the 
first curve, it changed abruptly to a 
shrill keening which seemed to origi- 
nate from a spot some two hundred 
feet before him. Around the next 
curve, he entered a small, rocky 
clearing full of pale, misty, early- 
morning sunlight and what looked 
like a slow-motion fountain of gleam- 
ing rainbow globes. These turned out 
to be clusters of large, vari-hued soap 
bubbles which floated up steadily 
from a wooden tub full of hot water, 
soap, and the Leewit. Toll was bent 
over the tub; and the Leewit was 
objecting to a morning bath, with 
only that minimum of interruptions 



34 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




required to keep her lungs pumped 
full of a fresh supply of air. 

As the captain paused beside the 
little family group, her red, wrathful 
face came up over the rim of the tub 
and looked at him. 

‘A^^ell, Ugly,” she squealed, in a 
renewed outburst of rage, “who you 
staring at?” Then a sudden de- 
termination came into her eyes. She 
pursed her lips. 

Toll up-ended her promptly and 
smacked the Leewit’s l)ottom. 

“She was going to make some sort 
of a rvhistle at you,” she explained 
hurriedly. “Perhaps you’d better 
get out of range while I can keep her 
head under. And good luck, cap- 
tain !” 

Karres seeemd even more deserted 
than usual this morning. Of course, 
it was quite early. Great hanks of 
fog lay here and there among the 
huge dark trees and the small bright 
houses. A breeze sighed sadly far 
ovei'head. Faint, mournful bird-cries 
came from still higher up— it could 
have been swan hawks reproaching 
him for the omelet. 

Somewhere in the distance, some- 
body tootled on a wood-instrument, 
very gently. 

He had gone halfway up the path 
to the landing field, when something 
buzzed past him like an enormous 
wasp and went CLUXK! into the 
bole of a tree just before him. 

It was a long, thin, wicked-looking 
arrow. On its shaft was a white 
card : and on the card was printed in 
red letters : 



STOP, MAN OF NIKKELDEPAIN! 

The captain stopped and looked 
around slowly and cautiously. There 
was no one in sight. What did it 
mean ? 

He had a sudden feeling as if all 
of Karres were rising up silently in 
one stupendous, cool, foggy trap 
about him. His skin began to crawl. 
What was going to happen ? 

“Ha-ha!” said Goth, suddenly vis- 
ible on a rock twelve feet to his left 
and eight feet above him. “You did 
stop !” 

The Captain let his breath out 
slowly. 

“What else did you think I’d do ?” 
he inquired. He felt a little faint. 

She slid down from the rock like a 
lizard and stood before him. 
“Wanted to say good-by!” she told 
him. 

Thin and brown, in jacket, lirecch- 
es, boots, and cap of gray-green rock- 
lichen color, Goth looked very much 
in her element. The brown e}'es 
looked up at him steadil}^ ; the mouth 
smiled fainlty ; but there was no real 
expression on her face at all. There 
was a quiverful of those enormous 
arrows slung over her shoulder, and 
some arrow-shooting gadget— not a 
how— in her left hand. 

She followed his glance. 

“Bollem hunting up the moun- 
tain,” she explained. “The wild ones. 
They’re better meat—” 

The captain reflected a moment. 
That’s right, he recalled ; they kept 
the tame Bollem herds mostly for 
milk, butter, and cheese. He’d learn- 



THE WITCHES OF KARRES 



AST-2N 



35 




eel a lot of important things about 
Karres, all right ! 

“Well,” he said, “good-by, Goth!” 

They shook hands gravely. Goth 
was the real Witch of Karres, he 
decided— more so than her sisters, 
more so even than Toll. But he 
hadn’t actually learned a single thing 
about any of them. 

Peculiar people ! 

He walked on, rather glumly. 

“Captain !” Goth called after him. 
He turned. 

“Better watch those take-offs,” 
Goth called, “or you’ll kill yourself 
yet !” 

The captain cussed softly all the 
way up to the Venture. 

And the take-off was, terrible! A 
few swan hawks were watching but, 
he hoped, no one else. 

V. 

There wasn’t the remotest possibil- 
ity, of course, of resuming direct 
trade in the Empire with the cargo 
they’d loaded for him. But the more 
he thought about it now, the less 
likely it seemed that Councilor 
Onswud was going to let a genuine 
fortune slip through his hands on a 
mere technicality of embargoes. 
Nikkeldepain knew all the tricks of 
interstellar merchandising; and the 
councilor himself was undoubtedly 
the slickest unskinned miffel in the 
Republic. 

More hopefully, the captain began 
to wonder whether some sort of 
trade might not be made to develop 
eventually between Karres and Nik- 
keldepain. Now and then, he also 

36 



thought of Maleen growing mar- 
riageable two years hence, Karres 
time. A handful of witch-notes went 
tinkling through his head whenever 
that idle reflection occurred. 

The calendric chronometer in- 
formed him he’d spent three weeks 
there. Pie couldn’t remember how 
their year compared with the stand- 
ard one. 

He found he was getting remark- 
ably restless on this homeward run ; 
and it struck him for the first time 
that space travel could also be noth- 
ing much, more than a large hollow 
period of boredom. He made a few 
attempts to resume his sessions of 
small-talk with Illyla, via her pic- 
ture ; but the picture remained aloof. 

The ship seemed unnaturally quiet 
now— that was the trouble ! The 

f 

captain’s cabin, particularly, and the 
hall leading past it had become as 
dismal as a tomb. 

But at long last, Nikkeldepain II 
swam up on the screen ahead. The 
captain put the Venture 7333 on 
orbit, and broadcast the ship’s identi- 
fication number. Half an hour later. 
Landing Control called him. He 
repeated the identification number, 
and added the ship’s name, his name, 
owner’s name, place of origin and 
nature of cargo. 

The cargo had to be described 
in detail. 

“Assume Landing Orbit 21,203 on 
your instruments,” Landing Control 
instructed him. “A customs ship 
will come out to inspect.” 

He went on the assigned orbit and 
gazed moodily from the vision ports 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




at the flat continents and oceans of 
Nikkeldepain II as they drifted by 
below. A sense of equally flat de- 
pression overcame him unexpectedly. 
He shook it off and remembered 
Illyla. 

Three hours later, a ship ran up 
next to him ; and he shut off the 
orbital drive. The communicator 
began buzzing. He switched it on. 

“Vision, please!” said an official- 
sounding voice. The captain frown- 
ed, located the vision-stud of the 
communicator screen and pushed it 
down. Four f^^ces appeared in vague 
outline on the screen, looking at him. 

“Illyla!” the captain said. 

“At least,” young Councilor Rap- 
port said unpleasantl)'’, “he’s brought 
back the ship. Father Onswud !” 

“Illyla!” said the captain. 

Councilor Onswud said nothing. 
Neither did Illyla. They both seemed 
to he staring at him, but the screen 
wasn’t good enough to permit the 
study of expression in detail. 

The fourth face, an unfamiliar 
one above a uniform collar, was the 
one with the official-sounding Amice. 

“You are instructed to open the 
forward lock. Captain Pausert,” it 
said, “for an official investigation.” 

It wasn’t till h§ was releasing the 
outer lock to the control room that 
the captain realized it wasn’t Cus- 
toms who had sent a boat out to 
him, but the police of the Republic. 

However, he hesitated for only a 
moment. Then the outer lock 
gaped wide. 

He tried to explain. They wouldn’t 



listen. They had come on board in 
contamination-proof repulsor suits, 
all four of them ; and they discussed 
the captain as if he weren’t there. 
Illyla looked pale and angry and 
beautiful, and avoided looking at 
him. 

However, he didn’t want to speak 
to her before the others anyway. 

They strolled back to the storage 
and gave the Karres cargo a casual 
glance. 

“Damaged his lifeboat, too !” 
Councilor Rapport remarked. 

They brushed past him down the 
narrow hallway and went back to 
the control room. The policeman 
asked to see the log and commercial 
records. The captain produced 
them. 

The three men studied them brief- 
ly. Illyla gazed stonily out at Nik- 
keldepain II. 

“Not too carefully kept!” the 
policeman pointed out. 

“Surprising he bothered to keep 
them at all !” said Councilor Rapport. 

“But it’s all clear enough!” said 
Councilor Onswud. 

They straightened up then and 
faced him in a line. Councilor On- 
swud folded his arms and projected 
his craggy chin. Councilor Rapport 
, stood at ease, smiling faintly. The 
policeman became officially rigid. 

Illyla remained off to one side, 
looking at the three. 

“Captain Pausert,” the policeman 
said, “the following charges— sub- 
stantiated in part by this preliminary 
investigation — are » made against 
you—” 



THE WITCHES OF KARRES 



37 




“Charges?” said the captain. 

“Silence, please !” rumbled Coun- 
cilor Onswud. 

“First : material theft of a quarter- 
million value of maels of jewels and 
jeweled items from a citizen of the 
Imperial Planet of Porlnmma— ” 

“They were returned!” the cap- 
tain protested. 

“Restitution, particularly when in- 
spired hy fear of retribution, does not 
affect the validity of the original 
charge,” Councilor Rapport quoted, 
gazing at the ceiling. 

“Second,” continued the police- 
man. “Purchase of human slaves, 
permitted under Imperial law but 
prohibited by penalty of ten years to 
lifetime penal servitude by the laws 
of the Republic of Nikkeldepain— ” 

“I was just taking them back 
where they belonged!” said the 
captain. 

“We shall get to that point 
presently,” the policeman replied. 
“Third, material theft of sundry 
items in the value of one hundred 
and eighty thousand maels from a 
ship of the Imperial Planet of 
Lepper, accompanied by threats of 
violence to the ship’s personnel—” 

“I might add in explanation of the 
significance of this particular 
charge,” added Councilor Rapport, 
looking at the floor, “that the 
Regency of Sirius, containing Lep- 
per, is allied to the Republic of Nik- 
keldepain by commercial and mili- 
tary treaties of considerable value. 
The Regency has taken the trouble to 
point out that such hostile conduct 
by a citizen of the Republic against 

38 



citizens of the Regency is likely to 
have an adverse effect on the dura- 
tion of the treaties. The charge 
thereby becomes compounded by the 
additional charge of a treasonable 
act against the Republic—” 

He glanced at the captain. “I be- 
lieve we can forestall the accused’s 
plea that these pdfered goods also 
were restored. They were, in the 
face of superior force!” 

“Fourth,” the policeman went on 
patiently, “depraved and licentious 
conduct while acting as commercial 
agent, to the detriment of your em- 
ployer’s business and reputation—” 
“WHAT?” choked the captain, 
“—involving three of the notori- 
ous Witches of the Prohibited Planet 
of Karres— ” 

“Just like his great-uncle Thre- 
bus !” nodded Councilor Onswud 
gloomily. “It’s in the blood, I al- 
ways say !” 

“—and a justifiable suspicion of a 
prolonged stay on said Prohibited 
Planet of Karres—” 

“I never heard of that place before 
this trip!” shouted the captain. 

“Why don’t you-sread your In- 
structions and Regulations then?” 
shouted Councdor Rapport. “It’s 
all there!” 

“Silence, please!” shouted Coun- 
cilor Onswud. 

“Fifth,” said the policeman quietly, 
“general willful and negligent actions 
resulting in material damage and 
loss to your employer to the value 
of eighty-two thousand maels.” 
“I’ve still got fifty-five ■ thousand. 
And the stuff in the storage,” the 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




captain said, also quietly, “is worth 
half a million, at least!” 

“Contraband and hence legally 
valueless !” the policeman said. Coun- 
cilor Onswud cleared his throat. 

“It will be impounded, of course,” 
he said. “Should a method of re- 
sale present itself, the profits, if any, 
will be applied to the cancellation of 
your just debts. To some extent, 
that might reduce your sentence.” He 
paused. “There is another matter—” 

“The sixth charge,” the policeman 
said, “is the development and public 
demonstration of a new type of space 
drive, which should have been 
brought promptly and secretly to the 
attention of the Republic of Nikkel- 
depain I” 

They all stared at him— alertly and 
quite greedily. • 

So that was it— the Sheewash 
Drive ! 

“Your sentence may be greatly 
reduced, Pausert,” Councilor On- 
swud said wheedlingly, “if you de- 
cide to be reasonable now. What 
have you discovered?” 

“Look out, father !” Illyla said 
sharply. 

“Pausert,” Councilor Onswud in- 
quired in a fading voice, “what is 
that in your hand?” 

“A Blythe gun,” the captain said, 
boiling. 

There was a frozen stillness for 
an instant. Then the policeman’s 
right hand made a convulsive move- 
ment. 

“Uh-uh!” said the captain warn- 
ingly. 

THE WITCHES OF KARRES 



Councilor Rapport started a slow 
step backwards. 

“Stay where you are!” said the 
captain. 

“Pausert !” Councilor Onswud 
and Illyla cried out together. 

“Shut up!” said the captain. 

There was another stillness. 

“If you’d looked,” the captain said, 
in an almost normal voice, “you’d 
have seen I’ve got the nova gun tur- 
rets out. They’re fixed on that boat 
of yours. The boat’s lying still and 
keeping its little yap shut. You do 
the same—” 

He pointed a finger at the police- 
man. “You got a repulsor suit on,” 
he said. “Open the inner port lock 
and go squirt yourself back to your 
boat!” 

The inner port lock groaned open. 
Warm air left the ship in a long, 
lazy wave, scattering the sheets of 
the Venture’s log and commercial 
records over the floor. The thin, 
cold upper atmosphere of Nikkelde- 
pain II came eddying in. 

“You next, Onswud!” the captain 
said. 

And a moment later: “Rapport, 
you just turn around—” 

Young Councilor Rapport went 
through the port at a higher velocity 
than could be attributed reasonably 
to his repulsor units. The captain 
winced and rubbed his foot. But it 
had been worth it. 

“Pausert,” said Illyla in justifiable 
apprehension, “you are stark, staring 
mad !” 

“Not at all, my dear,” the captain 
said cheerfully. “You and I are 

39 




now going to take off and embark 
on a life of crime together.” 

“But, Pausert— ” 

“You’ll get used to it,” the cap- 
tain assured her, “just like I did. 
It’s got Nikkeldepain beat every 
which way.” 

“Pausert,” Illyla said, white- 
faced, “we told them to bring up 
revolt ships!” 

“We’ll blow them out through the 
stratosphere,” the captain said bel- 
ligerently, reaching for the port-con- 
trol switch. He added, “But they 
won’t shoot anyway while I’ve got 
you on board 1” 

Illyla shook her head. “You just 
don’t understand,” she said des- 
perately. “You can’t make me 
stay !” 

“Why not?” asked the captain. 
“Pausert,” said Illyla, “I am Mad- 
ame Councilor Rapport.” 

“Oh!” said the captain. There 
was a silence. He added, crest- 
fallen: “Since when?” 

“Five months ago, yesterday,” 
said Illyla. 

“Great Patham!” cried the cap- 
tain, with some indignation. “I’d 
hardly got off Nikkeldepain then! 
We were engaged!” 

“Secretly . . . and I guess,” said 
Illyla, with a return of spirit, “that 
I had a right to change my mind!” 
There was another silence. 
“Guess you had, at that,” the cap- 
tain agreed. “All right— the port’s 
still open, and your husband’s wait- 
ing in the boat. Beat it !” 

He was alone. He let the ports 
slam shut and banged down the 

40 



oxygen release switch. The air had 
become a little thin. 

He cussed. 

The communicator began rattling 
for attention. He turned it on. 

“Pausert !” Councilor Onswud 
was calling in a friendly but shak- 
ing voice. “May we not depart, 
Pausert? Your nova guns are still 
fixed on this boat!” 

“Oh, that—” said the captain. He 
deflected the turrets a trifle. “They 
won’t go off now. Scram!” 

The police boat vanished. 

There was other companr^ coming, 
though. Far below him but climb- 
ing steadily, a trio of revolt ships 
darted past on the screen, swung 
around and came back for the next 
turn of their spiral. They’d have 
to get a good deal closer before they 
started shooting; but they’d try to 
stay under him so as not to knock 
any stray chunks out of Nikkelde- 
pain. 

Fle sat a moment, reflecting. The 
revolt ships went by once more. The 
captain punched in the Venture’s 
secondary drives, turned her nose 
towards the planet and let her go. 
There were some scattered white 
puffs around as he cut through the 
revolt ships’ plane of flight. Then 
he was below them, and the Venture 
groaned as he took her out of the 
dive. 

The revolt ships were already 
scattering and nosing over for a 
countermaneuver. He picked the 
nearest one and swung the nova 
guns towards it. 

“—and ram them in the middle!” 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 





he muttered between his teeth. 

SSS-whoosh! 

It was the Sheewash Drive— hut, 
like a nightmare now, it kept on 
and on ! 

VI. 

“Maleen !” the captain bawled, 
pounding at the locked door of the 
captain’s cabin. - “Maleen— shut it 
off! Cut it off! You’ll kill your- 
self. Maleen !” 

The Venture quivered suddenly 
throughout her length, then shud- 
dered more violently, jumped and 
coughed ; and commenced sailing 
along on her secondary drives 
again. He wondered how many 
light-years from everything they 



were by now. It didn’t matter ! 

“Maleen!’’ he yelled. “Are you 
all right?” 

There was a faint thump-thump 
inside the cabin, and silence. He 
lost almost a minute finding the 
right cutting tool in the storage. A 
few seconds later, a section of door 
panel sagged inwards ; he caught it 
by one edge and came tumbling into 
the cabin with it. 

He had the briefest glimpse of a 
ball of orange-colored fire swirling 
uncertainly over a cone of oddly 
bent wires. Then the fire vanished, 
and the wires collapsed with a loose 
rattling to the table top. 

The crumpled small shape lay be- 
hind the table, which was why he 



THE WITCHES OF KAERES 



41 



didn’t discover it at once. He 
sagged to the floor beside it, all the 
strength running out of his knees. 

Brown eyes opened and blinked 
at him Wearily. 

“Sure takes it out of you!” Goth 
grunted. “Am I hungry!” 

“I’ll whale the holy, howling tar 
out of you again,” the captain 
roared, “if you ever—” 

“Quit your bawling!” snarled 
Goth. “I got to eat.” 

She ate for fifteen minutes 
straight, before she sank back in her 
chair, and sighed. 

“Have some more Wintenbefry 
jelly,” the captain offered anxiously. 
She looked pretty pale. 

Goth shook her head. “Couldn’t 
—and that’s about the first thing 
you’ve said since you fell through 
the door, howling for Maleen. Ha- 
ha! Maleen’s got a boy friend!” 
“Button your lip, child,” the cap- 
tain said. “I was thinking.” He 
added, after a moment: “Has she 
really ?” 

“Picked him out last year,” Goth 
nodded. “Nice boy from town— they 
get married as soon as she’s mar- 
riageable. She just told you to come 
back because she was upset about 
you. Maleen had a premonition you 
were headed for awful trouble !” 
“She was quite right, little chum,” 
the captain said nastily. 

“What were you thinking about ?” 
Goth inquired. 

“I was thinking,” said the cap- 
tain, “that as soon as we’re sure 
you’re going to be all right, I’m tak- 
ing you straight back to Karres !” 



“I’ll be all right now,” Goth said. 
“Except, likely, for a stomach-ache. 
But you can’t take me back to 
Karres.” 

“Who will stop me, may I ask?” 
the captain asked. 

“Karres is gone,” Goth said.' 

“Gone?” the captain repeated 
blankly, with a sensation of not quite 
definable horror bubbling up in him. 

“Not blown up or anything,” 
Goth reassured him. “They just 
moved it! The Imperials got their 
hair up about us again. But this 
time, they were sending a fleet with 
the big bombs and stuff, so every- 
body was called home. But they had 
to wait then till they found out where 
we were— me and Maleen and the 
Leewit. Then you brought us in; 
and they had to wait again, and de- 
cide about you. But right after 
you’d left . . . we’d left, I mean . . . 
they moved it.” 

“Where?” 

“Great Patham!” Goth shrugged. 
“How’d I know? There’s lots of 
places !” 

There probably were, the captain 
admitted silently. A scene came sud- 
denly before his eyes— that lime- 
white, arenalike bowl in the valley, 
with the steep tiers of (seats around 
it, just before they’d/ reached the 
town of Karres— “the Theatpr 
where—” 

But now there was unnatural 
night-darkness all over and about 
that world ; and the eight thousand- 
some Witches of Karres sat in cir- 
cles around the Theater, their heads 



42 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




bent towards one point in the center, 
where orange fire washed hugely 
about the peak of a cone of curi- 
ously twisted girders. 

And a world went racing oflf at the 
speeds of the Sheewash Drive ! 
There’d be lots of places, all right. 
What peculiar people! 

“Anyway,” he sighed, “if I’ve got 
to start raising you— don’t say ‘Great 
Patham’ any more. That’s a cuss 
word !” 

“I learned it from you!” Goth 
pointed out. 

“So you did, I guess,” the captain 
acknowledged. “I won’t say it 
either. Aren’t they going to be wor- 
ried about you?” 

“Not very much,” said Goth. “We 
don’t get hurt often— especially when 
we’re young. That’s when we can 
do all that stuff like teleporting, and 
whistling, like the Leewit. We lose 
it mostly when we get older— they’re 
working on that now so we won’t. 
About all Maleen can do right now 
is premote!” 

“She premotes just dandy, 
though,” the captain said. “The 
Sheewash Drive— they can all do 
that, can’t they?” 

“Uh-huh!” Goth nodded. “But 
that’s learned stuff . That’s one of 
the things they already studied out.” 
She added, a trace uncomfortably: 
“I can’t tell you about that till you’re 
one yourself.” 

“Till I’m what myself?” the cap- 
tain asked, becoming puzzled again. 

“A witch, like us,” said Goth. 
“We got our rules. And that won’t 
be for four years, Karres time.” 



“It won’t, eh?” .said the captain. 
“What happens then?” 

“That’s when I’m marriageable 
age,” said Goth, frowning at the jar 
of Wintenberry jelly. She pulled it 
towards her and inspected it care- 
fully. “I got it all fixed,” she told 
the jelly firmly, “as soon as they 
started saying they ought to pick out 
a wife for you on Karres, so you 
could stay. I said it was me, right 
away ; and everyone else said finally 
that was all right then— even Maleen, 
because she had this boy friend.” 
“You mean,” said the captain, 
stunned, “this was all planned out 
on Karres?” 

“Sure,” said Goth. She pushed 
the jelly back where it had been 
standing, and glanced up at him 
again. “For three -weeks, that’s 
about all everyone talked about in 
the town ! It set a perceedent— ” 
She paused doubtfully. 

“That would explain it,” the cap- 
tain admitted. 

“Uh-huh,” Goth nodded relieved, 
settling back in her chair. “But it 
was my father who told us how to 
do it so you’d break up with the peo- 
ple on Nikkeldepain. He said it was 
in the blood.” 

“What was in the blood?” the 
captain said patiently. 

“That you’d break up with 
them. That’s Threbus, my father,” 
Goth informed him. “You met him 
a couple of times in the town. Big 
man with a blond beard— Maleen and 
the Leewit take after him.” 

“You wouldn’t mean my great- 



THE WITCHES OF KARRES 



43 




uncle Threbus ?” the captain in- 
quired. He was in a state of strange 
calm by now. 

“That’s right,” said Goth. “He 
liked you a lot.” 

“It’s a small Galaxy,” said the 
captain philosophically. “So that’s 
where Threbus wound up! I’d like 
to meet him again some day.” 

“We’ll start after Karres four 
years from now, when you learn 
aliout those things,” Goth said. 
“W'^e’ll catch up with them all right. 
That’s still thirteen hundred and 
seventy-two Old Sidereal days,” she 
added, “but there’s a lot to do in 
between. You want to pay the money 
you owe back to those people, don’t 
}'Ou? I got some ideas—” 

“None of those teleporting tricks 
now!” the captain warned. 

“Kid stuff!” Goth said scornfully. 
“I’m growing up. This’ll be fair 
swapping. But we’ll get rich.” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” the 
captain admitted. He thought a mo- 
ment. “Seeing we’ve turned out to 
be distant relatives, I suppose it is 
all right, too, if I adopt you mean- 
while—” 

“Sure,” said Goth. She stood up. 

“Where you going?” the captain 
ciskcd 

“Bed,” said Goth. “I’m tired.” 
She stopped at the hall door. “About 
all I can tell you about us till then,” 
she said, “you can read in those 
Regulations, like the one man said— 
the one you kicked off the ship. 
There’s a lot about us in there. Lots 



of lies, too, though !” 

“And when did you find out about' 
the communicator between here and 
the captain’s cabin?” the captain 
inquired. 

Goth grinned. “A while back,” 
she admitted. “The others never 
noticed !” 

“All right,” the captain said, 
“Good night, witch— if you get a 
stomach-ache, yell and I’ll bring the 
medicine.” 

“Good night,” Goth yawned. “I 
will, I think.” 

“And wash behind your ears !” the 
captain added, trying to remember 
the bedtime instructions he’d over- 
heard Maleen giving the junior 
witches. 

“All right,” said Goth sleepily. 
The hall door closed behind her— 
but half a minute later, it was briskly 
opened again. The captain looked 
up startled from the voluminous 
stack of “General Instructions and 
Space Regulations of the Republic 
of Nikkelclepain” he’d just discov- 
ered in one of the drawers of the con- 
trol desk. Goth stood in the door- 
way, scowling and wide-awake. 

“And you wash behind yours!” 
she said. 

“Huh?” said the captain. He re- 
flected a moment. “All right,” he 
said. “We both will, then.” 

, “Right,” said Goth, satisfied. 

The door closed once more. 

The captain began to run his fin- 
ger down the lengthy index of K’s— 
or could it be under W? 



THE END 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 



44 




REVERSION 

BY M. C. PEASE 



There’s an old wish applicable to this idea — but 
taken literally, the accident that produced the 
effect was totally catastrophic to the man affected! 



JtEVEESIOlC 



Illustrated by Orban 

45 



Dr. Marvin Drake sat idly in his 
office peeling the wrapping from a 
cigar. A slender man in a gray 
jacket and brown trousers, he looked 
more the part of a diplomat than a 
professor. But his eyes were pene- 
trating, and faintly disturbing, as if 
they saw a little too much. They 
were impassive as they watched the 
people file into the office. 

With gentle precision, he cut and 
lit the cigar. It was only when 
everyone was settled that he cleared 
his throat. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he an- 
nounced, “you all know each other, I 
think. You are all either friends 
and co-workers of Michael Stern, or 
are doctors and other professional 
men who have studied him. 

“I have asked you here to dis- 
cuss with you my theory regarding 
his present tragic condition. I ask 
your careful attention while I pre- 
sent it. When I am through, I shall 
be glad to hear any comments you 
may have. If you can show me 
where I might be wrong, please do 
so. Frankly, my theory makes me 
shudder. 

“Not to keep you in suspense, if I 
am right, the situation is completely 
hopeless. The only treatment I can 
suggest is to try to duplicate the ac- 
cident, hoping to either cure or kill. 
There is no other rational method of 
approach— nor any possibility even of 
any improvement.” 

The professor stopped to puff his 
cigar. The people listening stirred 
uneasily but said nothing. 

“Let me start from the begin- 



ning,” he went on. “It will, I hope 
make more sense that way.” 

The others nodded consent. 

“The accident,” Dr. Drake 
started, “occurred about ten months 
ago. Precisely what happened, I 
have not been told. Since Stern was 
a nuclear physicist, I presume it had 
to do with radioactive processes. In 
fact, the medical men tell me he 
shows some signs of radiation 
burns.” , 

Two of the men present nodded. 

“I am also told,” he continued, 
“that nobody really knows what did 
happen. I gather that several peo- 
ple in neighboring laboratories were 
knocked out with no discernible 
aftereffects. There has been some 
mention of meters all over the place 
twisting their pivots. Apparently, 
the total picture is somewhat con- 
fusing.” 

A' young, lanky chap with unruly 
hair and bloodshot eyes barked a 
short laugh. He sounded frustrated. 

“A genius for understatement,” he 
murmured. 

The professor smiled at him. 

“This is a case for understate- 
ment,” Dr. Drake answered. “I find 
I must save all my superlatives for 
the end. 

“But, to get back to my story. 
Stern was found unconscious in the 
middle of a certain amount of wreck- 
age. He was taken to the hospital 
and e.xamined with considerable 
care. No gross physical damage was 
found. He was diagnosed as suf- 
fering from concussion. The initial 
prognosis was favorable. 



46 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




“His early response tore this out. 
He began to recover consciousness 
reasonably soon, reaching a state of 
nearly total daze. He was able, 
however, to make some response to 
his environment. His eyes, for in- 
stance, would follow a light. He 
rapidly acquired what seemed to be 
a normal amount of muscular articu- 
lation, although without any signs of 
purpose. He even uttered sounds. 
They were unintelligible, but had 
the gross appearance of speech. 
What is known as ‘double-talk’. 

“He was kept under close ob- 
servation during this phase, in the 
expectation that he would either pull 
out of it satisfactorily, or have a re- 
lapse, It was some time before the 
people responsible recognized that he 
had reached a truly static state. As 
you all know. Stern, today, is in 
essentially the same condition.” 

With deliberation, the professor 
knocked the ash from his cigar. 

“The second phase,” he resumed, 
“may be called the ‘neurological 
phase’. / It is an arbitrary division I 
am using. Dr. Klystman, here, the 
staff neurologist, was, of course, 
called in as soon as a diagnosis of 
concussion was made. But during 
this pliase, the neurological investi- 
gation became intensive. So far as 
I know, every test that might, even 
remotely be of value, was tried. All 
results were essentially negative.” 

The bearded man on the speak- 
er’s left nodded. 

“Nothing at all,” the neurologist 
interrupted, “Or, at least, nothing 



to account for his condition.” 

“Exacth’,” Dr. Drake acknowl- 
edged. “The main thought of the 
study was tliat he might have a 
peculiarly localized oedema of the 
brain— a series of minute hemor- 
rhages scattered throughout some 
area. Some of the classic symptoms 
were lacking, of course. The appar- 
ent functioning of the optics. The 
lack of an)^ evidence of pain, particu- 
larly in the head. But it was the 
likeliest possibility. Wton every- 
thing else had been tried, a decom- 
pression operation was performed in 
the hope that it might do some good. 
No observable change was recorded. 

“I shan’t give a full history. It 
would take me several Iiours to de- 
tail all the tests and mention their 
significance. I fear it would bore 
you, and I know it would me. Since 
none of them contributed anything 
except negative results, it doesn’t 
seem necessary. 

“I might cite, as an example of 
their completeness, however, the 
fact that even a ventrictilographic 
examination was performed. This 
involves replacing a small quantity 
of cebro-spinal fluid from the lateral 
ventricle air. The shape of the 
ventricle may then be studied by 
X rays. It is chiefl}^ useful against 
tumors. The results of such tests 
are notoriously puzzling, but this 
particular case offered no difficulties 
of interpretation. No significant ab- 
normalities were noted. 

“The full range of tests that were 
performed was truly a,stonishing. I 
can only congratulate his family Oil 

47 



REVERSION 




their good fortune that the govern- 
ment, as his employer, is paying' the 
bills.” 

Tlie ripple of laughter over the 
room broke the tension, slightly. 

“The third phase,” the professor 
resumed, “was psychological. When 
it began to be clear that the chances 
of obtaining a pathological basis for 
diagnosis were remote, my good 
friend. Dr. Parker, was called in.” 
Pie nodded at a young man whose 
eyes, like the professor’s, looked as if 
they saw a little too much. 

“Pie very promptly recognized 
that this was not according to the 
recognized textbooks. On his rec- 
ommendation, other psychiatric con- 
sultants were brought in. It was not 
until they had eliminated, at least as 
prolmbilities, the usual psychoses 
that I was consulted. That is not a 
. criticism. I am a research man, not 
a practicing doctor. 

“But I get ahead. Anyway, they 
closely investigated the psychologi- 
cal aspects of the patient’s condi- 
tion. I am happy to report that, 
contrary to the medical results, they 
found very definite symptoms.” 

Again, a ripple of wry amusement 
slid over the audience. 

“However,” he held up his hand, 
“these symptoms fitted no known 
pattern. Superficially, they sug- 
gested a schizophrenic type of psy- 
chosis. There is the dead apathy 
that is the norm of the patient. 
Sometimes, he exhibits definite waxy 
immobility— Avhere he tends to hold 
any position in which he is placed. 
Both of these are definite schizo- 

48 



phrenic symptoms— With, however, 
complications. 

“In particular, there are some 
very striking exceptions to the gen- 
eral condition of apathy. I men- 
tioned that his eyes will often follow 
a light or other moving object. Oc- 
casionally, his hand responds, reach- 
ing towards an object. This is 
further complicated, however. His 
hand has never been observed to 
actually reach its objective. It starts 
out with apparent sureness. But, 
before it gets there, the motion 
breaks up into wildly erratic jerks. 
This slowly dies off as the hand 
slow!}? returns to the bed. 

“This sounds like trouble in the 
nervous system. The neurologists, 
however, had long ago thought of 
that. But his reflexes are quite nor- 
mal. There was— and is— no direct 
evidence of any nerve damage.” 

The professor studied his papers 
a moment, puffing the cigar. 

“To the observer,” he resumed, 
“one of the most convincing evi- 
dences that the case is extremely un- 
usual lies in the occasional complete 
breaks that occur in the general 
apath3^ It does happen, once in a 
while, that the mask falls. When it 
does, it is to reveal a quite terrify- 
inglj' extreme fear. Or horror. I 
don’t know which. It is trite, per- 
haps, to say so, but it is quite impos- 
sible to adequately describe one of 
these episodes. I assure you it is 
one of the most horrible things I 
have ever seen. In one case, we 
had to shift the nurse, afterwards. 
A nurse we considered— and still, do 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




—as reasonably stable. ‘Two others 
have asked for transfers. As an ex- 
pression of pure emotion, it far sur- 
passes anything I have ever seen.” 

The professor studied his hands a 
moment. 

“This is unusual. A .schizophrenic 
is so because he cannot face reality. 
If he does, momentarily, the terror 
or horror he is escaping returns to 
him and drives him back into his 
shell. But note the timing. He re- 
turns to reality. Then the terror 
returns. Then he registers it. There 
is a definite time lag. But in this 
case, all who have ever observed one 
of these episodes agree that it is an 
immediate response. He either 
brings the terror or horror back 
with him from his dreamland, or 
finds it in the structure of his reality 
itself. He is, indeed, the tortured 
soul behind the mask. 

“Then, too, there’s the curious 
fact that the terror seems to weaken 
as time goes by. 

“This is subjective argument, yes. 
But it is a powerful one to those 
who have made the direct observa- 
.tion.” 

The professor leaned back, w'atch- 
ing, for a minute, the smoke from his 
cigar. No one said anything. 
Finally, he shrugged. 

“To skip over various other de- 
tails,” he resumed, “one of the most 
interesting features of the case— to 
me, at least— was the ‘double-talk’ I 
mentioned. It does not happen 
often. Usually, he just lies there 
completely dumb- and unresponsive. 



Occasionally, he starts talking. Usu- 
ally, it is in a monotone, like hyp- 
notic verbalization. In fact, I believe 
much of it is actually sleep-talk. 
Hard to say, of course, just when is 
he awake and when asleep. But, at 
least it is often done when his eyes 
are closed. 

“Once in a while, it is different. 
This is when it’s the aftermath of 
one of his emotional breakdowns. 
During some of these lapses from 
apathy, he screams. The screams 
become excited ‘talking’, which 
gradually fade off through sleep-talk, 
back into apathy. 

Dr. Drake’s lips tightened with 
the effort to maintain scientific ob- 
jectivity. He shuddered. 

“This verbalization, of course,” he 
resumed, “is the reason I rvas con- 
sulted. My specialty is the psy- 
chology of communication. I fear I 
was informed of the case more be- 
cause my friends knew I would be 
interested than from any real hope. 
However, that is unimportant. 

“The first thing that struck me 
was its remarkable similarity to 
speech. It appeared meaningless, of 
course, but, in its gross sound con- 
tent, it was nearly perfect. It was 
even possible to write it down in 
ordinary syllables. I have one such, 
here. It is an early example— made 
before we had any sort of a theory.” 

The professor got up, walked to a 
blackboard, and, consulting his 
notes, wrote on it ; 

“Emplenuinetnak. Dnepastou- 
dogim.” 

He returned to his seat. 



REVERSION 



49 




“We kept a wire-recorder con- 
stantly ready beside his bed. All the 
nurses had explicit instructions to 
turn it on at the firsf signs. They co- 
operated beautifully. 

“We managed to collect a fair 
number of fragments, I gave them 
to Don Lancester, here.” He nodded 
at a serious looking young man. 
“Don is a graduate student work- 
ing with me on the degree of re- 
dundancy in normal and abnormal 
speech. I had the idea these might 
be useful to him as random se- 
quences. I confess I had little hope 
he would discover anything of diag- 
nostic value in them. He fooled 
me. 

“The first thing he pointed out 
was that their inflection sounded 
wrong, somehow. We tried by quite 
a number of methods to pin down 
exactly what it was— such as cutting 
out various frequency bands, and 
superimposing narrow band noise. 
However, we were still unable to 
precisely define the difference. 

“The application of statistical 
methods to the various sounds in the 
different specimens carried us fur- 
ther. We had only about twenty 
samples at the time, so the statistical 
base was not liroad enough for pre- 
cision. Nevertheless, we hoped to 
be able to form a working hypothesis. 

“Certain peculiarities were im- 
mediately noted. I shan’t go into 
full details but, as an example, 
sentences— if I may call them that- 
seemed to end too frequently in 
vowels. Again, there were such syl- 
lables as the ‘dne’ that shows in the 



sample on the board. That is not a 
common sound in the English lan- 
guage. 

“Incidentally, we did not ignore 
the obvious possibilit}' that this was 
a foreign language. We at least de- 
termined it meant nothing to any of 
the language faculty. 

“We then considered the possi- 
bility of some kind of oral inversion. 
That he was thinking one sound and 
saying another. For quite a period 
W'e became more of a cryptographic 
laborator}' than anything else. 

“When that got us nowhere, we 
tried other ridiculous ideas. We had 
finally about decided it was a ran- 
dom substitution, when Don came 
up with the most ridiculous idea of 
all— which happened to be correct ! 

“Before telling you what it was, I 
am going to play a wire-recording 
for you. The voice is Stern’s. The 
original recording was made about 
a month ago.” 

Dr. Drake turned to a machine on 
his desk. No one broke the silence 
while he fitted a small spool into it. 
He flipped a switch and the wire be- 
gan to feed through. Then a voice 
came from the loud-speaker. It w^as 
dull and muted, as if the speaker’s 
mouth were partially gagged. 

“Where am I? What’s happened? 
f¥h}' are things so different? Why? 
Why?” 

The voice drifted off. 

The people listening looked at each 
other with unspoken horror. The 
tragedy in the voice was stark and 



SO 



ASTOUNDING S CIE N CE- FI CTION 




naked. It struck at the roots of the 
soul. 

The professor turned the machine 
off. He silently puffed his cigar un- 
til it glowed back into full life. 'His 
eyes roamed from one person to an- 
other, gauging their reactions. 

“That recording,” he announced, 
finally, “is exactly as it was made— 
except that it was played back- 
wards.” His voice was quiet. It 
had the effect of a delayed action 
bomb. As the import of his words 
sank in, the room erupted with star- 
tled exclamations. When silence 
was re-established, the professor 
went on. 

“Yes— backw'ards. Don realized 
that that was the easiest way to make 
the statistics fit. ‘D-N-E’ is a very 
rare sound in English, but ‘E-N-D’ 
is quite common. Sentences start 
with vow'el sounds much more often 
than they end wdth them. And all 
the rest of it. Besides, it was a very 
easy idea to try out with the wire- 
recordings. 

“We found they all made sense 
on that basis. The one I’ve written 
on the board, there, if you read it 
backwards, phonetically, is ‘What’s 
hap])ened ? Can’t anyone help me ?” 

He stopped while the audience 
studied the black1)oard. When their 
attention returned, he went on. His 
voice was quiet. 

“Just how it happened, I haven’t 
the least idea. The explosion, or 
whatever it was, must have been a 
very unusual one. It struck at cen- 
ters so deep within the brain that I 
doubt if it will be understood until 



science progresses into fields com- 
pletely unimagined as yet. But the 
rough outlines of the results, at least, 
are clear. Somehow, Stern’s con- 
sciousness of time-flow became re- 
versed ! The past to us has become 
the future to him !” 

“I don’t think any of us can fully 
appreciate the full impact of such a 
reversal. I have spent a good many 
hours trying. I can’t say I’ve suc- 
ceeded very well. It may be just a.s 
w?ell. I’m not sure my sanity would 
stand it! 

“It’s like trying to visualize the 
fourth dimension. You can deduce 
the logical implications. But to try 
to picture it is simply to induce a 
headache. 

“Yet Stern is living in reversed 
time I” 

The professor’s voice was dead 
and mute. His eyes were full of 
mixed horror and pity. 

“Certain of his functions,” he 
w'ent on, “are not too seriously af- 
fected. He can breathe and his lieart 
can beat. These are automatic func- 
tions. He could digest if he could 
eat. 

“He can talk because that involves 
the simple decision to utter a sound. 
Only the decisions are reversed so 
the words are l)ackwards. 

“On the other hand, many of his 
relations to the outer wmrld art' 
hopelessly confused. It is obvioush' 
impossible for him to eat. To him, it 
would involve the regurgitation of 
his food. 

“At first glance, you might think 
he would be able to reach for things. 



REVERSION 



51 




However, this action is far more 
complicated than you may realize. 
According to modern theory, what 
you do in reaching for an object, is 
to start your hand moving. Your 
brain then receives continual in- 
formation as to where your hand is, 
calculates the error in -its direction 
and velocity, and sends otit cor- 
rective orders until the error is re- 
duced to zero. If your ey^es are 
watching, part of the information is 
visual. More important is the kin- 
esthetic— or, better, proprioceptive- 
information, from nerves in the 
joints. If this ‘feedback’ circuit is 
broken and you lose the sense of 
where the hand is, or the ability to 
calculate the necessary correction, 
your condition becomes that known 
as ‘ataxia’. 

“If you think of this process in 
terms of a time reversal, you will see 
the disastrous results. The correct- 
ing orders sent out by the brain will 
be exactly wrong. Their effect will 
be to increase the error. And the 
harder he tries, the worse it be- 
comes ! 

“From his point of view, he gives 
the order to reach out. He observes 
the error and decides the correction 
needed. It turns out wrong and in- 
creases the error. His brain makes a 
stupendous effort, and reverses its 
orders. But, as his hand swings 
back on course, the automatic ma- 
chinery in his brain suddenly rein- 
forces the corrected orders, and the 
hand overshoots with amplification. 
The oscillations build up violently 
until he gives up and slams his arm 



back on the bed. This last is a sin- 
gle order, with no subsequent cor- 
rection needed. Hence, it is success- 
ful. 

“We see this sequence in the re- 
verse direction. What to him is 
slamming the arm back, to us is 
shooting it out. We then see his 
arm suddenly go into violent oscilla- 
tions which gradually die out as his 
arm slowly falls back. To him, that 
is the period of oscillation build-up. 

“Do you follow me ?’’ 

His audience nodded. Some, 
however, looked a bit doubtful. 

“The philosophic implications of 
the patient’s predicament,” he re- 
sumed, “are most interesting. Can 
he ‘remember’ what, to us, is the 
future ? If we could answer that 
positively in the affirmative, even if 
only over’ a matter of seconds, it 
would be tremendously important. 
However, I don’t think we can. Ob- 
viously, since he talks, he can ‘re- 
member’ what he is, himself, from 
our point of view, ‘going’ to do. But 
that is under his control. It does not 
answer the question. What we 
would like to know is whether or not 
he can ‘remember’ anything outside 
of himself. I have found no evidence 
that he can. 

“I can see no reason for believing 
his- condition is not that of the per- 
petually awakening sleeper. The 
state normal people assume, often, 
for a few minutes, after being awak- 
ened, from a sound sleep when they, 
are aware of their surroundings but 
unable to integrate it. When you 



52 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




look at even the commonest thing 
without knowing w'hat it is or how it 
got there. 

“Certainly this would account for 
his apath3', if an^' explanations are 
needed. Quite possibly it accounts 
for the fact that he has any mind left 
at all. And that, it seems to me, does 
require explanation.” 

Thoughtfully, Dr. Drake pulled on 
his cigar. His eyes were bleak. 

“The situation is completely hope- 
less, you see. For one thing, a per- 
son’s time sense runs one way or the 
other. There is no intermediate. 
There is no possibility of a partial 
cure. And, then, too, I know of no 
way of attacking the problem of find- 
ing a total cure. Except, as I men- 
tioned at the start, trying to dupli- 
cate the initial accident in the hope 
that it would knock him around 
again.” 

The doctor spread his hands in an 
expression of complete futility. 

One of the men stirred in his 
chair. 

“I don’t want to be brutal about 
this,” he said, “but, as you men- 
tioned, there are many important 
philosophic questions Stern could 
answer for us. Can’t we get the an- 
swers before tr\dng any such drastic 
treatment as you suggest ?” 

“Yes, why not?” another added. 
“You could at least make him feel 
better in his predicament. And peo- 



ple with ataxia can he educated into 
fairly complete control.” 

“No !” Dr. Drake’s voice was de- 
cisive. “That’s ])erhaps the crucial 
point of Stern’s dilemma. We can 
not, Iw any conceivable means, com- 
municate with him. If he should 
answer any question we put to him, 
it would mean he was giving the 
answer before he heard the question, 
on his time scale. 

“Nor can we educate him in any 
conceivable way. For, if he did learn 
anj’thing, he would he applying it, 
either in his time or in ours, before 
he had learned it. I doubt, if he 
has any appreciable memory. If he 
has, then he has not— on his time— or 
will not on ours— learned very 
much ! 

“No, the only possibility of our 
learning anything directly from him 
is if we can turn him hack, right- 
waj'S to, and then ask our ques- 
tions.” The professor peered at his 
questioners, who nodded thought- 
fully. 

“Furthermore,” Dr. Drake went 
on, “by the Law of the Essential 
Perversit}' of Nature and the Hu- 
man Mind, I consider it practically 
a certainty that, if we should happen 
to succeed in blasting him rightside 
out, his memory of the intervening 
time will prove to be totally blacked 
out!” 

Carefully the professor laid the 
finished cigar in the ashtray. 



THE END 



REVERSION 



S3 





GULF 

BY ROBERT A. HEINLEIN 

Second of Two Parts. Supermen they might be, super 
criminals perhaps — but the game they played meant 
the thin edge of death for them and life for a world. 

lliusirated by Rogers 

SYNOPSIS the commissars. It is a new world, 

SCENE: THE UNITED brighter, faster, richer than before, 

STATES, after World War III, but obviously no better. Worse, in 
after the communist interregnum, fact. 

after the revolution which tossed out JOEL ABNER, commercial trav- 
54 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




eler, arrives from the Moon. On the At the Ketv Age Hotel his clothes 
tube trip to the city he changes to and money are stolen; he assaults a 
CAPTAIN GILEAD, explorer and bellhop, grabs his clothes, attempts 
lecturer. On arriving at the metropo- lo escape, is arrested and knocked 
Us he accepts the services oj a run- unconscious zvith a Markheim—para- 
jier far the NEW AGE HOTEL, lyxer—gun. He “comes to” in a jail 
catches the runner trying to steal his cell. He has a cellmate whom he 
wallet, and dismisses him. The inci- believes to be Dr. Hartley Baldwin, 
dent alerts him; he decides to get rid prominent physicist, but who identi- 
of, at once, the incredibly valuable fies himself convincingly as KET- 
load he has fetched dozen from the TLE BELLY BALDWIN, heli- 
Moon—a spool of microfilm. He copter tycoon. 

goes at once to the post office, beat- By means of a phony card game 
ing off an attack on the way, and Baldivin tells him that the “jail” is 
mails three such spools— all, appar- no jail but a part of the New Age 
ently to one address; in fact, the Hotel, reveals that he knows about 
spool that matters has been mailed to the spool of microfilm, and offers to 
another address known only to him. help Abner-Gilead to escape, Be- 

55 



GULF 




jore he can test the truth oj Bald- 
win’s assertions he is taken out oj the 
cell. Believing that he has only min- 
utes to live, his last act is to stack 
the playing cards to include a mes- 
sage which may he read by Baldzvin 
as meaning: “Tell Federal Bureau 
of Security— Post Office Box Num- 
ber 1060, Chicago,” the address to 
zvhich he has mailed the microfilm. 

After he is gone, Baldwin reads 
the message, then restacks the play- 
ing cards hack to the exact order in 
which Abner-Gilead had left them. 

Abner-Gilead is hauled before 
MRS. KEITH LEY, incredibly rich 
and respectable ozimer of the hotel. 
She has the two dummy spools, as 
zvell as the items he discarded in the 
tube train; she wants the third spool, 
attempts to bribe him, then e.vamines 
him by torturing to death a girl in his 
presence. He docs not crack, is re- 
turned to his cell. Baldwin and he 
undertake to crush out. 

The two men are remarkably 
alike in temperament , each being 
capable of -fast, logical decisions and 
an unflinching willingness to act on 
logic— but of the Hvo, Baldwin is a 
split second faster and even more 
dangerously violent in a pinch. They 
escape, with Baldwin taking the lead. 
They reach Baldwin’s business office 
and Abner-Gilead-“ Greene” is gut- 
ftted with clothes and cash. He re- 
ports to his chief in New Washing- 
ton by a safely secret circuit, then 
reports in person. His bureau chief, 
BONN, informs him that P.O. Box 
1060 was empty when bureau opera- 
tives opened it. The spool of micro- 

56 



film, containing the only record of 
the "Nova Effect”, a means of cre- 
ating atomic fission in a planetary 
mass, is missing through the failure 
of Security Operative Joseph Briggs 
(Abner-Gilead-Greene). He refuses 
to believe Briggs’ repalt and accuses 
him of selling out. 

Briggs assaults his boss, escapes, 
assumes the personality of "Jack Gil- 
lespie”, a laborer, and gets out of the 
Capitol on a cargo Diesel. He gets 
himself fired and calls Baldwin, for 
he has concluded that the knozvn 
facts permit no explanation other 
than that the microfilm record of the 
Nova Effect is now in Baldwin’s 
hands. 

He is delivered to a ranch which 
Baldwin owns, is treated as a guest. 
The ranch appears to be a dude 
ranch, but the guests are not the 
common run of vacationers. Among 
other things he hears a very odd 
language being spoken and meets a 
young woman— GAIL— who laughs 
at him, threatens to marry hint, and 
refuses to explain the strange lan- 
guage. Baldwin sends for him. 

Baldzvin offers to pay him zvell for 
the loss of his career; Briggs de- 
mands explanations. While they are 
talking, the Federal Bureau of Se- 
curity raids the ranch. Baldwin 
hides from the government men, 
forces Briggs to hide, too, and lets 
Briggs see that he has the spool of 
microfilm— then lets him see it de- 
stroyed. Baldzvin admits that he is 
both Dr. Baldzvin, atomic physicist, 
and Kettle Belly Baldzvin, King of 
the Kopters. He tells Briggs that 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




the Nova Effect has been tried, that 
it works, and that it is much too 
dangerous to he intrusted to anyone, 
even to the government. 

He warns Briggs that the only 
way to get the explanations Briggs 
wants is for Briggs to join up with 
the organisation of which Baldwin is 
a part and warns him further that to 
do so is a very dangerous matter— 
they would kill him at once at the 
first slight suspicion. Briggs already 
realises this truth; he tells Baldwin 
to go ahead. 

Baldwin cautions him to take what 
he is about to say quite seriously, 
then announces soberly, almost 
sheepishly, that he, Baldwin, is a 
chief in an organisation of “super- 
men”. 

Briggs answers: “1 thought so.” 
Part 2 

“Eh? How long have you 
known ?” 

“Things added up. The card 
game, your reaction time. I knew 
it when you destroyed the films.” 
“Joe, what is a superman?” 

Gilead did not answer. 

“Very, well, let’s chuck the term,” 
Baldwin went on. “It’s been over- 
used and misused and beat up until 
it has mostly comic connotations. I 
used it for shock value and it didn’t 
shock you. The term ‘superman’ 
has come to have a fairy-tale mean- 
ing, conjuring up pictures of x-ray 
eyes, odd sense organs, double 
hearts, uncuttable skin, steel mus- 
cles— an adolescent’s dream of the 
dragon-killing hero. Tripe, of 

GULF 



course. Joe, what is a manf What 
is man that makes him more than 
animal? Settle that and we’ll take 
a crack at defining a superman— or 
New Man, Homo novis, who must 
displace Homo sapiens— fj displacing 
him— because he is better able to sur- 
vive than is Homo sap. I’m not try- 
ing to define myself. I’ll leave it up 
to my associates and the inexorable 
processes of time as to whether or 
not I am a superman, a member of 
the new species of man— same test to 
apply to you.” 

“Mer 

“You. You show disturbing 
symptoms of being Homo novis, Joe, 
in a sloppy, ignorant, untrained 
fashion. Not likely, but you just 
might be one of the breed. Now— 
what is man? What is the one thing 
he can do better than animals which 
outweighs all the things that animals 
of one sort or another can do nuych 
better than he can?” 

“He can think.” 

“I fed you that answer; no prize 
for it. O.K., you pass yourself off 
as a man; let’s see you do some 
thinking. What is the one possible 
conceivable factor— or factors, if you 
prefer— which the hypothetical super- 
man could have, by mutation or 
magic or any means, and which 
could be added to this advantage 
w'hich man already has and which 
has enabled him to dominate this 
planet against the unceasing oppo- 
sition of a million other species of 
fauna ? Some factor that would make 
the domination of man by his suc- 
cessor as inevitable as your domina- 

57 




tion over a hound dog? Think, Joe. 
What is the necessary direction of 
evolution to the next dominant 
species ?” 

Gilead engaged in contemplation 
for what was for him a long time. 
There were so many lovely attributes 
that a man might have : to be able to 
see both like telescope and micro- 
scope, to see the insides of things, to 
see throughout the spectrum, to have 
hearing of the same order, to be im- 
mune to disease, to grow a new arm 
or leg, to fly through the air with- 
out needing silly gadgets like heli- 
copters or jets, to walk unharmed 
the ocean bottom, to work without 
tiring— 

Yet the eagle could fly and he was 
nearly extinct, even though his eye- 
sight was keener than man’s. A dog 
has better smell and hearing; seals 
swim better, balance better, and fur- 
thermore can store oxygen. Rats 
survive where men would starve or 
die of hardship ; they are smart, and 
pesky hard to kill. Rats could— 

Wait! Could tougher, smarter 
rats displace man? No, it just 
wasn’t in them ; too small a brain. 

“To be able to think better,” 
Gilead answered almost instantly. 

“Hand the man a cigar! Super- 
men are superthinkers ; anything else 
is a side issue. I’ll allow the possi- 
bility of super-somethings which 
might exterminate or dominate man- 
kind other than by outsmarting him 
in his own racket— thought. But I 
deny that it is possible for a man to 
conceive in discrete terms what such 
a super-something would be or how 

58 



it would win out. New Man will 
beat out Homo sap in Homo-sap’s 
own specialty— rational thought, the 
ability to recognize data, store them, 
integrate them, evaluate correctly 
the result, and arrive at a correct 
decision. That is how man got to 
be champion; the creature who can 
do it better is the coming champion. 
Sure, there are other survival fac- 
tors, good health, good sense organs, 
fast reflexes, but they aren’t compar- 
able, as our long, rough history has 
proved over and again— Marat in his 
bath, Roosevelt in his wheelchair, 
Caesar with epilepsy and a bad stom- 
ach, Nelson with one eye and one 
artp, blind Milton ; when the chips 
are down it’s brain that wins, not the 
body’s tools.” 

“Stop a minute,” said Gilead. 
“How about E. S. P.?” 

Baldwin shrugged. “I’m not 
sneering at extrasensory perception 
any more than I would at excep- 
tional eyesight— but E. S. P. is not in 
the same league with ability to think 
correctly. E. S. P. is a grab bag 
name for means other than the 
known sense organs by which the 
brain may gather data— but the trick 
that pays off with first prize is to 
make use of that data, to reason 
about it. If you want a telepathic 
hookup to Shanghai, I can arrange 
it ; we’ve got operators at both ends 
—but you can get whatever data you 
might happen to need from Shanghai 
by phone with less trouble, less 
chance of a bad connection, and less 
danger of somebody listening in. 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




Telepaths can’t pick up radio; it’s 
not the same wave hand.” 

' “What wave band is it?” 

“Later, later. You’ve got a lot to 
learn.” 

“I wasn’t thinking only of telepa- 
thy. I was thinking of all parapsy- 
chological phenomena.” 

“Same reasoning. Apportation 
would be nice, if telekinetics ever 
gets that far— which it ain’t. But a 
pickup truck will move things hand- 
ily enough. Television in the hands 
of an intelligent man counts for more 
Aan clairvoyance in a moron. Quit 
wasting my time, Joe.” 

“Sorry.” 

“We defined thinking as integrat- 
ing data and arriving at correct an- 
swers. Look around you. Most 
people do that stunt about well 
enough to get to the corner store and 
back withovit breaking a leg. If the 
average man thinks at all, he does 
silly things like generalizing from a 
single datum. He uses one-valued 
logics. If he is exceptional, he may 
use two-valued, ‘either-or’ logic to 
arrive at his wrong answers. If he 
is hungry, hurt, or personally inter- 
ested in the answer, he can’t use 
any sort of logic and will discard an 
observed fact as blithely as he wall 
stake his life on a piece of wishful 
thinking. He uses the technical 
miracles created by superior men 
without wonder nor surprise, as a 
kitten accepts milk. "Far from aspir- 
ing to higher reasoning, he is not 
aware that higher reasoning exists. 
He classes his own mental processes 
as being of the same sort as the 



genius of an Einstein. Man is not a 
rational animal ; he is a rationalizing 
animal. 

“To explain a universe that con- 
fuses him he seizes onto numer- 
ology, astrology, hysterical religions, 
and other fancy ways to go crazy. 
Having accepted such glorified non- 
sense, facts have no impression on 
him, even at the cost of his life. Joe, 
one of the hardest things to believe 
is the abysmal depth of human 
stupidity. 

“That is why there is always room 
at the top, why a man with a leetle 
more on the ball can so easily be- 
come governor, millionaire, or col- 
lege president— and why Homo sap 
is sure to be displaced by New Man, 
because there is so much room for 
improvement and evolution never 
stops. 

“Here and there among ordinary 
men is an individual who can and 
does use logic in at least one field— 
he’s often as stupid as the rest out- 
side his study or laboratory— but he 
can think, if he’s not disturbed or 
sick or frightened. This rare indi- 
vidual is responsible for all the prog- 
ress made by the race ; the others 
reluctantly adojrt his results. Much 
as the ordinary man dislikes and 
distrusts and jjersecutes the process 
of thinking he is forced to accept the 
results occasionally, because think- 
ing is efficient com])ared with his 
own maunderings. He may still 
plant his corn in the dark of the 
Moon but he wn’ll jdant better corn 
developed by better men than he. 

“Still rarer is the man who thinks 

59 



GULF 




habitually, who applies reason, rather 
than habit pattern, to all his activity. 
Unless he masques himself, his is a 
dangerous life; he is regarded as 
queer, untrustworthy, subversive of 
public morals ; he is a pink monkey 
among brown monkeys— a fatal mis- 
take, unless the pink monkey can 
dye himself brown before he is 
caught. 

“The brown monkey’s instinct to 
kill is correct ; such men are dan- 
gerous to all monkey customs. 

“Rarest of all is the man who 
can and does reason at all times, 
quickly, accurately, inclusively, de- 
spite hope or fear or bodily dis- 
tress, without egocentric bias or 
thalamic disturbance, with correct 
memory, with clear distinction be- 
tween fact, assumption, and non- 
fact. Such men exist, Joe; they are 
New Man— human in all respects, 
indistinguishable in appearance or 
under the scalpel from Homo sap, 
yet as unlike him in action as the 
Sun is unlike a single candle.” 

Gilead said: “And you are that 
sort?” 

“You will continue to form your 
own opinions.” 

“And you tliink I may be, too?” 

“Could be. I’ll have more data 
in a few days.” 

Gilead laughed until the tears 
came. “Kettle Belly, if I’m the fu- 
ture hope of the race, they had bet- 
ter send in the second team quick. 
-Sure, I’m brighter than most of the 
jerks I run into, but, as you say, the 
competition isn’t stiff. But I 

60 



haven’t any sublime aspirations. 
I’ve got as lecherous an eye as the 
next man. I enjoy wasting time 
over a glass of beer. I just don’t jeel 
like a superman.” 

“Speaking of beer, let’s have 
some.” Baldwin got up and ob- 
tained two cans of the brew. “Re- 
member that Mowgli felt like a wolf. 
Being a New Man does not divorce 
you from human sympathies and 
pleasures. There have been New 
Men all through history ; I doubt if 
most of them suspected that their 
differences entitled them to call 
themselves a different breed. Then 
they went ahead and bred with the 
daughters of men, diffusing their tal- 
ents through the racial organism, 
preventing them from effectuating 
until chance brought the genetic fac- 
tors together again.” 

“Then New Man is not a special 
mutation?” 

“Huh? Who isn’t a mutation, 
Joe? All of us are a collection of 
millions of mutations. Around the 
globe hundreds of mutations have 
taken place in our human germ 
plasm while we have been sitting 
here. No, Homo novis didn’t come 
about because great grandfather 
stood too close to a cyclotron ; Homo 
novis was not even a separate breed 
until he became aware of himself, or- 
ganized, and decided to hang on to 
what his genes had handed him. 
You could mix New Man back into 
the race today and lose him; he’s 
merely a variation becoming a spe- 
cies. A million years from now is 
another matter ; I venture to predict 

ASTOUNDING SC IE N CE- FI CTION 




that New Man, that year and model, 
won’t be able to interbreed with 
Homo sap— no viable offspring.” 
“You don’t expect present man— 
Homo sapiens— to disappear?’’ 

“Not necessarily. The dog 
adapted to man. Probably more 
dogs now than in umpteen B. G.— 
and better fed.” 

■ “And man would be New Man’s 
dog.” 

“Again not necessarily. Consider 
the cat.” 

“The idea is to skim the cream of 
the race’s germ plasm and keep it 
biologically separate until the two 
races are distinct. You chaps sound 
like a bunch of stinkers, Kettle 
Belly.” 

“Monkey talk.” 

“Perhaps. The new race would 
necessarily run things—” 

“Do you e.xpect New Man to de- 
cide grave matters by counting com- 
mon man’s runny noses?” 

“No, that was my ]wint. Postu- 
lating such a new race, it is inevi- 
table. Kettle Belly, I confess to a 
monkey prejudice in favor of 
democracy, human dignity, and free- 
dom. It goes beyond logic ; it is 
the kind of a world I like. In my 
job I have jungled with outcasts of 
society, shared sluragullion by an 
open fire. Stupid they piay be, bad 
they are not— I have no wish to see 
them become domestic animals.” 
For the first time the big man 
showed concern. FI is persona as 
“King of the Kopters”, master mer- 
chandiser, slipped away; he sat in 
brooding majesty, a lonely and un- 



happy figure. “I know, Joe. They 
are of us ; their little dignities, their 
nobilities, are not lessened by their 
sorry state. Yet it must be.” 

“Why? New Man will come— 
granted. But why hurry the proc- 
ess ?” 

“Ask yourself.” He swept a hand 
toward the oubliette. “Ten minutes 
ago you and I saved this planet, all 
our race. It’s the hour of the knife. 
Someone must be on guard if the 
race is to live; there is no one but 
us. To guard effectively we New 
Men must be organized, must never 
fumble any crisis like this— and must 
increase our numbers. We are few 
now, Joe : as the crises increase, we 
must increase to meet them. Eventu- 
ally— and it’s a dead race with time— 
we must take over and make certain 
that baby never plays with matches.” 

He stopped and brooded. “I con- 
fess to that same affection for 
democracy, Joe. But it’s like yearn- 
ing for the Santa Claus you be- 
lieved in as a child. For a hundred 
and fifty years or so democracy, or 
something like it, could flourish 
safely. The issues were such as to 
be settled without disaster by the 
votes of common men, befogged and 
ignorant as their minds were. But 
now, if the race is simply to stay 
alive, political decisions depend on 
real knowdedge of such things as 
nuclear physics, planetary ecology, 
genetic theory, even system mechan- 
ics. They aren’t up to it, Joe. With 
goodness and more will than they 
possess less than one in a thousand 



GULF 



61 




could stay awake over one page of 
nuclear physics ; they can’t learn 
what they niiist know.” 

Gilead brushed it aside. “It’s Up 
to us to brief them. Their hearts 
are all right ; tell them the score— 
they’ll come down with the right 
answers.” 

“No, Joe. No. We’ve tried it; 
it does not work. As you say, most 
of them are good, the way a dog can 
l)e noble and good. Yet there are 
bad ones— Mrs. Keithley and com- 
pany and more like her. Reason is 
poor propaganda when opposed by 
the yammering, unerasing lies of 
shrewd and evil and self-serving 
men. The little man has no way to 
judge, and the shoddy lies are more 
attractively packaged. There is no 
way to offer color to a color-blind 
man, nor is there any way for us to 
give the man of imperfect brain the 
canny skill to distinguish a lie from 
a truth. 

“No, Joe. The gulf between us 
and them is narrow, but it is very 
deep. We cannot close it.” 

“I wish,” said Gilead, “that you 
wouldn’t class me with your ‘New 
Man’ ; I feel more at home on the 
other side.” 

“You will decide for yourself 
which side you are on, as each of us 
has done.” 

Gilead forced a change in subject. 
Ordinarily immune to thalamic dis- 
turbance, this issue upset him; his 
brain followed Baldwin’s argument 
and assured him that it was true ; his 
inclinations fought it. He was con- 



fronted with the sharpest of all 
tragedy, two equally noble and valid 
rights, utterly opposed. “What do 
you people do, aside from stealing 
films ?” 

“Many things.” Baldwin re- 
laxed, looked again like a jovial 
sharp businessman. “Where a push 
here and a touch there will keep 
things from going to pot, we apply 
pres.sure, by many and devious 
means. And we scout for suitable 
material and bring it into the fold 
rvhen we can— we’ve had our eye on 
you for ten years.” 

“So?” 

“Yep. That is a prime enterprise. 
Through public data we eliminate 
all but about one tenth of one per- 
cent; that thousandth individual we 
watch. And then there are our hor- 
ticultural societies.” He grinned. 

“Finish your joke,” 

“We weed people.” 

“Sorry, I’m slow today.” 

“Joe, didn’t you ever feel a yen 
to wipe out some evil, obscene, rot- 
ten jerk who infected everything he 
touched, yet was immune to legal ac- 
tion ? We treat them as cancers ; we 
excise them from the body social. 
We keep a ‘Better Dead’ list; when 
a man is clearly morally bankrupt 
we close his account at the first 
opportunity.” 

Gilead smiled. “If you were sure 
what you were doing, it could be 
fun.” 

“We are always sure, though our 
methods would be no good in a 
monkey law court. Take Mrs. 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 



62 




Keithley— is there doubt in your 
mind?” 

“None.” 

“Why don’t you have her in- 
dicted? Don’t bother to answer. 
For example, two weeks from to- 
night there will be a giant powwow 
of the new, rejuvenated, bigger-and- 
better-than-ever Ku Klux Klan on 
a mountain top down Carolina way. 
When the fun is at its height, when 
they are mouthing obscenities, work- 
ing each other up to the pogrom 
■ spirit, an act of God is going to wipe 
out the whole kit and kaboodle. 
Very sad.” 

“Could I get in on that?” 

“You aren’t even a cadet as yet.” 
Baldwin went on, “There is the 
project to increase our numbers, but 
that is a thousand-year program; 
you’d need a perpetual calendar to 
check it. More important is keep- 
ing matches away from baby. Joe, 
it’s been eighty-five years since we 
beheaded the last commissar : have 
you wondered why so litfle basic 
progress in science has been made in 
that time.” 

“Eh? There have been a lot of 
changes.” 

“Minor adaptations— some spec- 
tacular, almost none of them basic. 
Of course there was little progress 
made under communism ; a totali- 
tarian political religion is incom- 
patible with free investigation. Let 
me digress : the communist interreg- 
num was responsible for the New 
Men getting together and organiz- 
ing. Most New Men are scientists, 
for obvious reasons. When the 



commissars started ruling on natu- 
ral laws by political criteria— Ly- 
senkoism and similar nonsense— it 
did not sit well ; a lot of us went 
underground. 

“I’ll skip the details. It brought 
us together, gave us practice in un- 
derground activity, and gave a back- 
log of new research, carried out 
underground. Some of it was ob- 
viously dangerous; we decided to 
hang onto it, for a while. Since then 
such secret knowledge has grown, 
for we never give out an item until 
it has been scrutinized for social haz- 
ards. Since much of it is dangerous ^ 
and since very few indeed outside 
our organization are capable of real 
original thinking, basic science has 
been almost at a— public— standstill. 

“We hadn’t expected to have to do 
it that way. We helped to see to it 
that the new constitution was liberal 
and— we thought— workable. But the 
new Republic turned out to be an 
even poorer thing than the old. The 
evil ethic of communism had cor- 
rupted, even after the form was 
gone. We held off. Now we know 
that we must hold off until we can 
revise the whole society.” 

“Kettle Belly,” Joe said slowly, 
“you speak as if you had been on 
the spot. How old are you ?” 

“I’ll tell you when you are the age 
I am now. A man has lived long 
enough when he no longer longs to 
live. I ain’t there yet. Joe, I must 
have your answer, or this must be 
continued in our next.” 

“You had it at the beginning— but, 
see here. Kettle Belly, there is one 



GULF 



63 




job I want promised to me.” 

“Which is?” 

“I want to kill Mrs. Keithley.” 

“Keep your pants on. When 
you’re trained, and if she’s still alive 
then, 3mu’ll be used for that pur- 
pose—” 

“Thanks!” 

“—provided you are the proper 
tool for it.” Baldwin turned toward 
the mike, called out, “Gail!” and 
added one word in the strange 
tongue. 

Gail showed up promptly. “Joe,” 
said Baldwin, “when this young lady 
gets through with you, you will be 
able to sing, whistle, chew gum, play 
chess, hold your breath, and fly a 
kite simultaneously— and all this 
while riding a bicycle under water. 
Take him, sis, he’s all yours.” 

Gail rubbed her hands. “Oh, 
boy !” 

“First, we must teach you to see 
and to hear, then to remember, then 
to speak, and then to think.” 

Joe looked at her. “What’s this 
I’m doing with my mouth at the 
moment ?” 

“It’s not talking, it’s a sort of 
grunting. Furthermore it is not 
structurally suited to thinking. Shut 
up and listen.” 

In their underground classroom 
Gail had available several types of 
apparatus to record and manipulate 
light and sound. She commenced 
throwing groups of figpires on a 
screen, in flashes. “What was it, 
Joe?” 

64 



“Nine-six-oh-seven-two— That 
was as far as I got.” 

“It was up there a full thousandth 
of a second. Why did you get only 
the left-hand side of the group?” 
“That’s as far as I had read.” 
“Look at all of it. Don’t make an 
effort of will ; just look at it.” She 
flashed another number. 

Joe’s memory was naturally good; 
his intelligence . was high— just how 
high he did not yet know. Uncon- 
vinced that the drill was useful, he 
relaxed and plaj'ed along. Soon he 
W'as beginning to grasp a nine-digit 
array as a single gestalt; Gail re- 
duced the flash time. 

“What is this magic lantern gim- 
mick?” he inquired. 

“It’s a Renshaw tachistoscope. 
Back to work.” 

Around World War II Dr. 
Samuel Renshaw at Ohio State 
University was proving that most 
people are about one-fifth efficient in 
using their capacities to see, hear, 
taste, fe«l, and remember. His re- 
search was swallowed in the morass 
of communist pseudoscience that ob- 
tained after World War III, but, 
after his death, his findings were 
preserved underground. Gail did 
not expose Gilead to the odd lan- 
guage he had heard until he had 
been rather thoroughly Renshawed. 

However, from the time of his in- 
terview with Baldwin the other per- 
sons at the ranch used it in his pres- 
ence. Sometimes someone— usually 
Ma Garver— would translate, some- 
times not. He was flattered to feel 
accepted, but graveled to know that 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




it was at the lowest cadetship. He 
was a child among adults. 

Gail started teaching him to hear 
by speaking to him single words 
from the odd language, requiring 
him to repeat them back. “No, Joe. 
Watch.” This time when she spoke 
the word it appeared on the screen 
in sound analysis, by a means basi- 
cally like one long used to show the 
deaf-and-dumb their speech mis- 
takes. “Now you try it.” 

He did, the two arrays hung side 
by side. “How’s that, teacher?” he 
said triumphantly. 

“Terrible, by several decimal 
places. You held the final grrttural 
too long.” She pointed. “The mid- 
dle vow'el was formed wdth your 
tongue too high and you pitched it 
too low and you failed to let the 
pitch rise. And six other things. 
You couldn’t possibly have been 
understood. I heard what you said, 
but it was gibberish. Try again. 
A.nd don’t call me ‘teacher’.” 

“Yes, Ma’am,” he. answered sol- 
emnly. 

She shifted the controls ; he tried 
again. This time his analysis array 
was laid down on top of hers ; where 
the two matched, they canceled. 
Where they did not match, his er- 
rors stood out in contrasting colors. 
The screen looked like a sunburst. 

“Try again, Joe.” She repeated 
the word without letting it affect the 
display. 

“Confound it, if you would tell me 
what the words mean, instead of 
treating me the way Milton treated 



his daughters about Latin, I could 
remember them easier.” 

She shrugged. “I can’t, Joe. 
You must learn to hear and to speak 
first. Speedtalk is a flexible lan- 
guage; the same word is not likely 
to recur. This practice word means, 
more or less : ‘The far horizons draw 
no nearer.’ That’s not much help, 
is it?” 

The definition seemed improbable, 
but he was learning not to doubt 
her. He was not used to women 
who were always two jumps ahead 
of him. He ordinarily felt sorry for 
the poor little helpless cuddly 
creatures ; this one he often wanted 
to slug. He wondered if his re- 
sponse were what the romancers 
meant by “love”; he decided that it 
couldn’t be. 

“Try again, Joe.” Speedtalk was 
a structurally different speech from 
any the race had ever used. Long 
before, Ogden and Richards had 
shown that eight hundred and fifty 
words were sufficient vocabulary to 
express anything that could be ex- 
pressed by “normal” human vocabu- 
laries, wdth the aid of a handful of 
special word.s— a hundred odd— for 
each special field, such as horse 
racing or ballistics. About the same 
.time phoneticians had analyzed all 
human tongues into about a hun- 
dred-odd sounds, represented by the 
letters of a general phonetic alphabet. 

On these two propositions Speed- 
talk was based. 

To be sure, the phonetic alphabet 
was much less in number than the 



GULF 



65 




words in Basic English. But sounds 
represented by letters in the phonetic 
alphabet were each capable of varia- 
tion several different ways— length, 
stress, ])itch, rising, falling, et cetera. 
The more trained an ear was the 
larger the number of possible varia- 
tions: Joe was amazed to find that 
the initial sounds in “cool”, “keep”, 
and “cot” were all different. There 
was no limit to variations but, with- 
out much refinement of accepted 
phonetic practice, it was possible to 
establish a one-to-one relationship 
with Basic English so that one 
phonetic symbol was equivalent to 
an entire word in a “normal” lan- 
guage ; one Speedtalk word was 
ecpial to an entire sentence. The 
language consequently was learned 
by letter units rather than by word 
units— l)ut each word was spoken and 
listened to as a single structured 
gestalt. 

But Speedtalk was not “short- 
hand” Basic English. “Normal” 
languages, having their roots in days 
of superstition and ignorance, have 
in them inherently and unescapably 
\vTong structures of mistaken ideas 
about the universe. One can think 
logically in English only by extreme 
effort, care, so bad it is as a mental 
tool. For example, the verb “to be” 
in English has twenty-one distinct 
meanings, every single one oj zvhich 
is false-to-fact. 

A symbolic structure, invented in- 
stead of accepted without question, 
can be made similar in structure to 
the real-world to which it refers. 
Speedtalk did not contain the hid- 



den errors of English; it was struc- 
tured as much like the real world as 
the New Men could make it. For 
example, it did not contain the un- 
real distinction between nouns and 
verbs found in most languages. The 
world— the continuum known to sci- 
ence and including all human ac- 
tivity-does not contain “noun 
things” and “verb things” ; it con- 
tains space-time events and relation- 
ships between them. The advantage 
in achieving truth, or something 
iiiore nearly like truth, was similar 
to the advantage of keeping account 
books in Arabic numerals rather than 
Roman. 

All other languages made scien- 
tific, multi-valued logic almost im- 
possible to achieve; in Speedtalk it 
was difficult not to be logical. Com- 
pare the pellucid Boolean logic with 
the obscurities of the Aristotelian 
logic it supplanted. 

Paradoxes are verbal, do not ex- 
ist in the real world— and Speedtalk 
did not have such built into it. Who 
shaves the Spanish barber ? Answer : 
Follow him around and see. In the 
syntax of Speedtalk the paradox of 
the Spanish barber could not even 
be expressed, save as a self-evident 
error. 

But Joe Greene-Gilead-Briggs 
could not learn it until he had 
learned to hear, by learning to speak, 
tie slaved away; the screen con- 
tinued to remain lighted with his 
errors. 

Came finally a time when Joe’s 
pronunciation of a sentence-word 
blanked out Gail’s samiffe ; the screen 



66 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




turned dark; He felt more triumph 
over that than anything he could 
remember. 

His delight was short. By a cir- 
cuit Gail had thoughfutlly added 
some days earlier the machine an- 
swered with a flourish of trumpets, 
loud applause, and then added in a 
cooing voice, “Mama’s good boy!’’ 
He turned to her. “Woman, you 
once spoke of matrimony. If you 
ever do manage to marry me. I’ll 
beat you.” 

“I haven’t made up my mind 
about you yet,” she answered evenly. 
“Now try this word, Joe—” 

Baldwin showed up that evening, 
called him aside. “Joe! C’mere. 
Listen, lover boy, you keep your 
mind on your work, or I’ll have to 
find you a new teacher.” 

“But-” 

“You heard me. Take her swim- 
ming, take her riding, after hours 
you are on your own. Work time— 
strictly business. I’ve got plans for 
you; I, want you to get smarted up.” 
“She complained about me?” 
''Don’t be silly. It’s my business 
to know what’s going on.” 
“Hm-m-m, Kettle Belly, what is 
this shopping-for-a-husband she kids 
about? Is she serious, or is it just 
intended to rattle me?” 

“Ask her. Not that it matters, as 
you won’t have any choice if she 
means it. She has the calm per- 
sistence of the law of gravitation.” 
“Ouch! I had had the impres- 
sion that the ‘New Men’ did not 



bother with marriage and such like, 
as you put it, ‘monkey customs’.” 
“Some do, some don’t. Me, I’ve 
been married quite a piece, but I 
mind a mousy little member of our 
lodge who has had nine kids by nine 
■fathers— all wonderful genius-plus 
kids. On the other hand I can 
point out one with eleven kids— 
Thalia Wagner— who has never so 
much as looked at another man. 
Geniuses make their own rules in 
such matters, Joe ; they always have. 
Here are some established statistical 
facts about genius, as shown by 
Armatoe’s work—” 

He ticked them off. “Geniuses 
are usually long lived. They are not 
modest, not honestly so. They have 
infinite capacity for taking pains. 
They are emotionally indifferent to 
accepted codes of morals. You seem 
to have the stigmata, by the way.” 
“Thanks for nothing. Maybe I 
should have a new' teacher, if there 
is anyone else available who can do 
it.” 

“Any of us can do it, just as any- 
body handy teaches a baby to talk. 
She’s actually a biochemist, w'hen 
she has time for it.” 

“When she has time?” 

“Be careful of that kid, son. Her 
real profession is the same as yours 
—honorable hatchet -man. She’s 
killed upwards of three hundred peo- 
ple.” Kettle Belly grinned. “If you 
want to switch teachers, just drop 
me a wfnk.” 

Gilead-Greene hastily changed the 
subject. “You were speaking of 



GULF 



AST-3N 



67 




work for me : how about Mrs. 
Keithley? Is she still alive?” 

“Yes, blast her.” 

“Remember, I’ve got dibs on her.” 

“You may have to go to the Moon 
to get her. She’s reported to be 
building a vacation home there. Old 
age seems to be telling on her; you 
had better get on with your home- 
work if you want a crack at her.” 
Moon Colony even then was a center 
of geriatrics for the rich. The low 
gravity was easy on their hearts, 
made them feel young— and possibly 
extended their lives. 

“O.K., I will.” 

Instead of asking for a new teacher 
Joe took a highly polished apple to 
their next session. Gail ate it, leav- 
ing him very little core, and put him 
harder to work than ever. While 
perfecting his hearing and pronun- 
ciation, she started him on the basic 
thousand-letter vocabulary by forc- 
ing him to talk simple three- and 
four-letter sentences, and by an- 
swering him in different w'ord- 
sentences of the same phonetic let- 
ters. Some of the vowel and conso- 
nant sequences w^ere very difficult to 
pronounce. 

Master them he did. He had 
been used to doing most things easier 
than could those around him ; now 
he w'as in very fast company. He 
stretched himself and began to 
achieve part of his own large latent 
capacity. When he began to catch 
some of the dinner-table conversa- 
tion and to reply in simple Speed- 
talk— being forbidden by Gail to an- 

68 



swer in English— she started him on 
the ancillary vocabularies. 

An economical language cannot be 
limited to a thousand words. Al- 
though almost any idea can be ex- 
pressed one way or another in a 
short vocabulary, higher orders of 
abstraction are *convenient. For 
technical Words Speedtalk employed 
an open expansion of sixty of the 
thousand-odd phonetic letters. They 
were letters ordinarily used as nu- 
merals ; by preceding a number wmrd 
with a letter used for no other pur- 
pose, such a group was designated 
as having a word value. 

New Men numbered to the base 
sixty— three times four times five— a 
convenient, easily factored system, 
most economical, i. e., the symbol 
“100” identified the number de- 
scribed in English as thirty-six hun- 
dred— yet permitting quick, in-the- 
head translation from common no- 
tation to Speedtalk figures and vice 
versa. 

By using these figures, each pref- 
aced by the indicator— a voiceless 
Welsh or Burmese “1”— a pool of 
two hundred fifteen thousand nine 
hundred ninety-nine words— one less 
than the cube of sixty— w'as available 
for specialized meaning, without 
using more than four letters includ- 
ing the indicator. Most of them 
could be pronounced as one syllable. 
These had not the stark simplicity 
of basic Speedtalk ; nevertheless 
words such as “ichthyophagous” and 
“constitutionality” were thus com- 
pressed to monosyllables. Such 
short-cuts can best be appreciated by 

ASTOUNDING SCI E N CE- FI CTION 




anyone who has heard a long speech 
in Cantonese translated into a short 
speech in English. Yet English is 
not the most terse of “normal” lan- 
guages— and expanded Speedtalk is 
many times more economical than 
the briefest of “normal” tongues. 

By adding one more letter— sixty 
to the fourth power— just short of 
thirteen million words could be 
added when needed— and most of 
them could still be pronounced as 
one syllable. ' 

When Joe found that Gail ex- 
pected him to learn a couple of hun- 
dred thousand new words in a mat- 
ter of days, he balked. “Fancy 
Pants, I am not a superman. I’m in 
here by mistake.” 

“Your opinion is worthless; I 
think you can do it. Now listen.” 

“Suppose I flunk; does that put 
me safely off your list of possible 
victims ?” 

“If you flunk, I wouldn’t have you 
on toast. Instead I’d tear your head 
off and stuff it down your throat. 
But you won’t flunk ; I know. How- 
ever,” she added, “I’m not sure you 
would be a satisfactory husband; 
you argue too much.” 

He made a brief and bitter remark 
in Speedtalk ; she answered with one 
word which described his shortcom- 
ings in detail. They got to work. 

Joe was mistaken; he learned the 
expanded vocabulary as fast as he 
heard it. He had a latent eidetic 
memory; the Renshawing process 
now enabled him to use it fully. And 



his mental processes, always fast, had 
become faster than he knew. 

To learn Speedtalk at all is proof 
of supernormal intelligence; the use 
of it by such intelligence renders that 
mind efficient. 

Even before War II, Alfred 
Korzybski had shown that human 
thought was performed, when done 
efficiently, only in symbols; the no- 
tion of “pure” thought, free of ab- 
stracted speech symbols, was fantasy. 
The brain was so constructed as to 
work without symbols only on the 
animal level; to speak of “reason- 
ing” without symbols was to speak 
nonsense. 

Speedtalk did not merely speed 
up communication— by its structures 
it made thought more logical ; by its 
economy it made thought processes 
enormously faster, since it takes al- 
most as long to think a word as to 
speak it. 

Korzybski’s monumental w'ork 
went fallow during the interregnum ; 
Das Kapital is a childish piece of 
work when analyzed by semantics ; 
therefore the Politburo suppressed 
semantics— arid replaced it by ersatz 
under the same name, as Lysenkoism 
replaced the science of genetics. 

Having Speedtalk to help him 
learn more Speedtalk, Joe learned 
very rapidly. The Renshawing con- 
tinued ; he could now grasp a gestalt 
or configuration in many senses at 
once, grasp it, remember it, reason 
about it with great speed. 

Living time is not calendar time ; 
a man’s life is the thought that flows 
through his brain. Any man capable 



GULF 



69 




of learning Speedtalk had an asso- 
ciation time at least three times as 
fast as an average man. Speedtalk 
itself enabled him to manipulate its 
symbols approxiamtely seven times 
as fast as English symbols could be 
manipulated. Seven times three is 
twenty-one; a New Man had an 
effective lifetime of at least sixteen 
hundred years, reckoned in flow of 
ideas. 

They had time to become encyclo- 
pedic synthesists, something denied 
any ordinary man by the strait jacket 
of this sort of time. 

When Joe had learned to talk, to 
read and write and cipher, Gail 
turned him over to others for his 
real education. But before she 
checked him out she played him sev- 
eral dirty tricks. 

For three days she forbade him to 
eat. When it was evident that he 
could think and keep his temper de- 
spite low blood-sugar count, despite 
hunger reflex, she added sleepless- 
ness and pain— intense, long con- 
tinued arid varied pain. She tried 
subtly to goad him into irrational 
action; he remained bedrock steady, 
his mind clicking aw'ay as depend- 
ably as an electronic computer. 

“Who’s not a superman?’’ she 
asked at the end of their last session. 

“Yes, teacher.” 

“Come here, lug.” She grabbed 
him by the ears, kissed him soundly. 
“So long.” He did not see her 
again for many w'eeks. 

His tutor in E. S. P. was an inef- 
fectual-looking little man who had: 

70 



taken the protective coloration of the 
name Weems. Joe was not very 
good at producing E. S. P. phe- 
nomena. Clairvoyance he did not 
appear to have. He was better at 
precognition, but he did not improve 
with practice. He was best at tele- 
kinesis; he could have made a soft 
living with dice. But, as Kettle 
Belly had pointed out, from affect- 
ing the roll of dice to moving tons of 
freight was quite a gap— and one pos- 
sibly not worth bridging. 

“It may have other uses, how- 
eA'er,” Weems had said softly, laps- 
ing into English. “Consider what 
might be done if one could influence 
the probability that a neutron w’ould 
reach a particular nucleus— or change 
the statistical probability in a mass.” 
Gilead let it ride ; it was an out- 
rageous thought. 

At telepathy he was erratic to ex- 
asperation. He called the Rhine 
cards once without a miss, then had 
poor scores for three weeks. More 
highly stnictured communication 
.seemed quite beyond him, until one 
day, without apparent cause but dur- 
ing an attempt to call the cards by 
telepathy, he found himself hooked 
in with Weems for all of ten sec- 
onds— tiine enough for a thousand 
words by Speedtalk standards. 

—it comes out as speech! 

—zvhy notf thoiujht is speech, 
—how do we do itf 
—if we knew, it zvould not be so 
unreliahle. as it is, some can do it 
by volition, some by accident, and 
some never seem to be able to do it. 
we know this: while thought may not : 

ASTOUNDING SClENCE-FIGTIOiN 




ie of the physical world in any 
fashion we can now define and 
manipulate, it is similar to, events in 
continuum in its quantal nature, you 
are now studying the extension of 
the quantum concept to all features 
of the continuum, you know the 
chronon, the mcnsiim, and the viton, 
as well as the action units of quanta 
such as the photon, the continuum 
has not only structure hut texture in 
all its features, the least unit of 
thought we term the psychon. 
—define it. put salt on its fail, 
—some day, some day. I can tell 
you this; the fastest possible rate of 
thought is one psychon per chronon; 
this is a basic, universal constant, 
—how close do we come to that? 
—less than .nxty-to-the-minus- 
third-power of the possibility. 

— !!!!!! 

-better creatures than ourselves 
zvill folloiv us. we pick pebbles at a 
boundless ocean. 

—what can zve do to improve it? 
—gather our pebbles with serene 
minds. 

Gilead paused for a long split sec- 
ond of thought, —can psychons be 
destroyed? 

—vitons may be transferred, psy- 
chons are— 

The connection was suddenly de- 
stroyed. “As I was saying,” 
Weems went on quietly, “psychons 
are as yet beyond our comprehen- 
sion in many respects. Theory indi- 
cates that they may not be destroyed, 
that thought, like action, is per- 
sistent. Whether or not such 



GULF 



theory, if true, means that personal 
identity is also persistent must re- 
main an open question. See the daily 
papers— a few hundred years from 
now— or a few hundred thousand.” 
He stood up. 

“I’m anxious to try tomorrow’s 
session. Doc,” Gilead-Greene almost 
bubbled. “Maybe-” 

“I’m finished with you.” 

“But, Dr. Weems, that connection 
was clear as a phone hook up. Per- 
haps tomorrow—” 

“We have established that your 
talent is erratic. We have no way 
to train it to dependability. Time is 
too short to waste, mine and yours.” 
Lapsing suddenly into English, he 
added, “No.” 

Gilead left. 

During his training in other fields 
Joe was exposed to many things best 
described as ’ impressive gadgets. 
There was an integrating panto- 
graph, a factory-in-a-box, which the 
New Men planned to turn over to 
ordinary men as soon as the social 
system was no longer dominated by 
economic wolves. It could and did 
reproduce almost any prototype 
placed on its stage, requiring only 
materials and power. Its power 
came , from a little nucleonics motor 
the size of Joe’s thumb; its theory 
played hob with conventional no- 
tions of entropy. One put in 
“sausage” ; one got out “pig”. 

Latent in it was an economic sys- 
tem as different from the current one 
as the assembly-line economy dif- 
fered from the family-shop system- 

72 



and in such system lay possibilities 
of human freedom and dignity miss- 
ing for centuries, if they had ever 
existed. 

In the meantime New Men rarely 
bought more than one of anything— a 
pattern. Or they made a pattern. 

Another useful but hardly won- 
derful gadget was a dictaphone-type- 
writer-printing-press combination. 
The machine’s analyzers recognized 
each of the thousand-odd phonetic 
symbols; there was a type bar for 
each sound. It produced one or 
many copies. Much of Gilead’s edu- 
cation came from pages printed by 
this gadget, without using up pre- 
cious time of others. 

The arrangement, classification, 
and accessibility of knowledge re- 
mains in all ages the most pressing 
problem. With the New Men, com- 
plete and organized memory licked 
most of the problem and rendered 
record keeping, most reading and 
writing— and most especially the 
time-destroying trouble of rereading 
—unnecessary. The autoscriber gad- 
get, combined with a “librarian” ma- 
chine that could “hear” that portion 
of Speedtalk built into it a? a filing 
system, covered most of the rest of 
the problem. New Men were not 
cluttered with endless bits of paper. 
They never wrote memoranda. 

The area under the ranch was 
crowded with technological wonders, 
all newer than next week. Incred- 
ibly tiny manipulators for micrurgy 
of all sorts, surgical, chemical, and 
biological manipulation; oddities of 
cybernetics only less complex than 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




the human brain— the list is too long 
to describe. Joe did not study all 
of them ; an encyclopedic synthesist 
is concerned with Structured shapes 
of knowledge ; he cannot, even with 
Speedtalk, study details in every 
field. 

Early in his education, when it 
was clear that he had the potential 
to finish the course, plastic surgery 
was started to give him a new iden- 
tity and basic appearance. His 
height was reduced by three inches ; 
his skull w'as somewhat changed ; his 
complexion was permanently dark- 
ened. Gail picked the facial ap- 
pearance be was given ; he did not 
object. He rather liked it ; it seemed 
to fit his new inner personality. 

With a new face, a new brain, and 
a new outlook, he was almost in fact 
a new man. Before he had been a 
natural genius ; now he was a 
trained genius. 

“Joe, how about some riding?” 

“Suits.” 

“I want to give War Conqueror 
some gentle exercise. The young 
fellow is responding to the saddle ; I 
don’t want him to forget.” 

“Right with you.” 

Kettle Belly and Gilead-Greene 
rode out from the ranch buildings. 
Baldwin let the young horse settle to 
a walk and began to talk. “I figure 
you are about ready for work, son.” 
Even in Speedtalk Kettle JBelly’s 
speech retained his own flavor. 

“I suppose so, but I still have 
those mental reservations.” 



“Not sure we are on the side of the 
angels ?” 

“I’m sure you mean to be. ' It’s 
evident that the organization selects 
for good will and humane intentions 
quite as carefully as for ability. I 
wasn’t sure at one time—” 

“Yes?” 

“That candidate who came here 
about six months ago, the one who 
broke his neck in a riding accident.” 
“Oh, yes ! Very sad.” 

“Very opportune, you mean. Ket- 
tle Belly.” 

“Joe, if a bad apple gets in this far, 
we can’t let him out.” Baldwin re- 
verted to English for swearing pur- 
poses ; he maintained that it had 
“more juice”. 

“I know it. That’s why I’m sure 
about the quality of our people.” 

“So it’s ‘our people’ now?” 

“Yes. But I’m not sure we are 
on the right track.” 

“What’s your notion of the right 
track ?” 

“We should come out of hiding 
and teach the ordinary man what he 
can learn of what we know. He 
could learn a lot of it and could use 
it. Properly briefed and trained, 
he could run his affairs pretty well. 
He would gladly kick out the no- 
goods who ride on his shoul(iers, if 
only he knew how. We could show 
him. That would be more to the 
point than this business of spot assas- 
sination, now and then, here and 
there- mind you, I don’t object to 
killing any man who merits killing; 
I simply say it’s inefficient. No 
doubt we would have to continue to 



GULF 



73 




guard against such crises as the one 
that brought you and me together, 
but,' in the main, people could run 
their own affairs if we would stop 
pretending that we are so scared we 
can’t mix with people, come out of 
our hole, and lend a hand.” 

Baldwin reined up. “Don’t say 
that I don’t mix with the common 
people, Joe; I sell used ’copters for a 
living. You can’t get any commoner. 
And don’t imply that my heart is not 
with them. We are not like them, 
but we are tied to them by the 
strongest bond of all, for we are all, 
each every one, sickening with the 
same certainly fatal disease— w'e are 
alive. 

“As for our killings, you don’t un- 
derstand the principles of assassina- 
tion as a political w'eapon. Read—” 
he named a Speedtalk library desig- 
nation. “If I were knocked off, our 
organization wouldn’t even hiccup, 
but organizations for bad purposes 
are different. They are personal 
empires; if you pick the time and 
method, you can destroy such or- 
ganizations by killing one man— the 
parts that remain will be almost 
harmless until assimilated by an- 
other evil leader— then you kill him. 
It is not inefficient ; it’s quite effi- 
cient, if planned with the brain and' 
not w'ith the emotions. 

“As for keeping ourselves sepa- 
rate, W'e are about like the U-23S in 
U-238, not effective unless sepa- 
rated. There have been potential 
New Men in every generation— but 
they w'ere spread too thin. 

“As for keeping our existence se- 



cret, it is utterly necessary if we are 
to survive and increase. There is 
nothing so dangerous as being the 
Chosen People— and in the minority. 
One group was persecuted for two 
thousand years merely for making 
the claim.” 

He again shifted to English to 
swear. “Joe, face up to it. This 
world is run the way my greataunt 
Susie flies a ’copter. Speedtalk or 
no Speedtalk, common man can’t 
learn to cope w'ith modern problems. 
No use to talk about the unused po- 
tential of his brain, he has not got the 
will to learn what he w'ould have to 
know. We can’t fit him out wdth 
new genes, so we have to lead him 
by the hand to keep him from killing 
himself— and us. We can give him 
personal liberty, we can give him 
autonomy in most things, w'e can 
give him a great measure of per- 
sonal dignity— and ' W'e will, because 
we believe that individual freedom, 
at all levels, is the direction of evo- 
lution, of maximum survival value. 
But we can’t let him fiddle w'ith is- 
sues of racial life and death ; he ain’t 
up to it. 

“No help for it. Each society de- 
velops its own ethic. We are shap- 
ing this the way w'e are inexorably 
forced to, by the logic of events. W e 
think we are shaping it toward sur- 
vival.” 

“Are W'e?” mused Greene-Gilead. 

“Remains to be seen. Survivors 
survive. We’ll know'— Wups! 
Meeting’s adjourned.” 

The radio on Baldwin’s pommel 
was shrilling his personal emergency 



74 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




call. He listened, then spoke one 
sharp word in Speedtalk. “Back to 
the house, Joe!” He wheeled and 
was away. Joe’s mount came of 
less selected stock ; he was forced to 
follow. 

Baldwin sent for Joe soon after he 
got back. Joe went in; Gail was 
already there. 

Baldwin’s face was without ex- 
pression. He said in English, “I’ve 
work for you, Joe, work you won’t 
have ail}"- doubts about. Mrs. Keith- 
ley.” 

“Good.” 

“Not good.” Baldwin shifted to 
Speedtalk. “We have been caught 
flat-footed. Either the second set of 
films was never destroyed, or there 
was a third set. W e don’t know ; the 
man who could tell us is dead. But 
Mrs. Keithley obtained a set and has 
been using them. 

“This is the situation. The ‘fuse’ 
of the nova effect she has had in- 
stalled in the New Age Hotel. It 
is sealed off and can be triggered 
only b}' radio signal from the Moon 
—her signal. The ‘fuse’ has been 
rigged so that any attempt to break 
in, as long as the firing circuit is 
still armed will trigger it and set it 
off. Even to examine it by pene- 
tration wave lengths will set it off. 
Speaking as a physicist, it is my con- 
sidered opinion that no plan for 
tackling the fuse bomb itself will 
work unless the arming circuit is 
first broken on the Moon and that 
no attempt should be made to get at 
the fuse before then, because of ex- 



treme danger to the entire planet. 

“The arming circuit and the radio 
relay to the Earthside trigger is lo- 
cated on the Moon in a building in- 
side her private dome. The trig- 
gering control she keeps with her. 
From the same control she can dis- 
arm the arming circuit temporarily: 
it is a combination dead-man switch 
and time-clock arrangement. She 
can set it to disarm for a maximum 
of twelve hours, to let her sleep, or 
possibly to permit her to order re- 
arrangements. Unless it is switched 
off, any attempt to enter the build- 
ing in which the arming circuit is 
housed will also trigger the fuse 
bomb circuit. While it is disarmed, 
the housing on the Moon may be 
broached by force, but this will set 
off alarms which will warn her to 
rearm and then to trigger at once. 
The setup is such that the following 
sequence of events must take place: 

“First, she must be killed, and the 
circuit disarmed. 

“Second, the building housing the 
arming circuit and radio relay to the 
trigger must be broken open and the 
circuits destroyed before the time 
clock can rearm and trigger. This 
must be done with speed, not only 
because of guards, but because her 
surviving lieutenants will attempt to 
seize power by possessing themselves 
of the controls. 

“Third, as soon as word is re- 
ceived on Earth that the arming cir- 
cuit is destroyed, the New Age Hotel 
must be attacked in force and the 
fuse bomb destroyed. 

“Fourth, as soon as the bomb is 

75 



GULF 




destroyed, a general roundup must 
be made, of all persons technically 
capable of setting up the nova effect 
from plans. This alert must be 
maintained until it is certain that no 
plans remain in existence, including 
the hypothetical third set of films, 
and further established by hypno 
that no competent person possesses 
sufficient knowledge to set it up 
again without plans. This alert may 
compromise our secret status; the 
risk must be taken. 

“Any questions?’’ 

“Kettle Belly,’’ said Joe, “doesn’t 
she know that if the Earth becomes 
a Nova, the Moon will be swal- 
lowed up in the disaster?” 

“Crater walls shield her dome 
from line-of-sight with Earth ; ap- 
parently she believes she is safe. 
Evil is essentially stupid, Joe; de- 
spite her brilliance, she believes what 
she wishes to believe. Or it may be 
that she is willing to risk her own 
death against th^ tempting prize of 
absolute power, Her plan is to pro- 
claim power with some pious non- 
sense about being high priestess of 
peace— a euphemisrn for Empress of 
Earth. It is a typical paranoid de- 
viation ; the proof of its craziness lies 
in the faCt that the physical arrange- 
ments make it certain— if we do not 
intervene— that Earth will be de- 
stroyed automatically a few hours 
after her death, a thing that can hap- 
pen any time— and a compelling rea- 
son for all speed. No one has ever 
quite conquered all of Earth, not 
even the commissars. Apparently 
she wishes not only to conquer it, but 

76 



wants to destroy it after she is gone, 
lest anyone else ever manage to do 
so again. Any more questions?” 

He went on, “The plan is this : 

“You two will go to the Moon to 
become domestic servants to Mr. 
and Mrs. Alexander Copley, a rich, 
elderly couple living at the Elysian 
Rest Homes, Moon Colony. They 
are of us. Shortly they will decide 
to return to Earth ; you two will de- 
cide to remain, you like it. You 
will advertise, offering to work for 
anyone who will post your return 
bond. About this time Mrs. Keith- 
ley will have lost, through circum- 
stances that will be arranged, two or 
more of her servants ; she will prob- 
ably hire youy since domestic service 
is the scarcest commodity on the 
Moon. If not, variation will be ar- 
ranged for you. 

“When you' are inside her dome, 
you will maneuver yourselves into 
positions to carry out your assign- 
ments. When both of you are so 
placed, you will carry out proced- 
tires one and two with speed. 

“A person named McGinty, al- 
ready inside her dome, will help you 
in communication. He is not one of 
us but is our agent, a telepath. His 
ability does not extend past that. 
Your communication hookup will 
probably be, Gail to McGinty by 
telepathy, McGinty to Joe by con- 
cealed radio.” 

Joe glanced at Gail ; it was the 
first that he had known that she was 
a telepath. Baldwin went on, “Gail 
will kill Mrs. Keithley; Joe will 
break into the housing and destroy 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




the circuits. Are you ready to go?” 
Joe was about to suggest swap- 
ping the assignments when Gail an- 
swered, “Ready” ; he echoed her. 

“Good. Joe, you will carry your 
assumed I.Q. at about 85, Gail at 
95; she will appear to be the domi- 
nant member of a married couple”— 
Gail grinned at Joe— “but you, Joe, 
will be in charge. Your personali- 
ties and histories are now being 
made up and will be ready with your 
identifications. Let me say again 
that the greatest of speed is neces- 
sary ; government security forces 
may attempt a foolhardy attack on 
the New Age Hotel. We shall pre- 
vent or delay such efforts, but act 
with speed. Good luck.” 

Operation Black Widow, first 
phase went off as planned. Eleven 
days later Joe and Gail were inside 
Mrs. Keitliley’s dome on the Moon 
and sharing a room in the servants’ 
quarters. Gail glanced around when 
first they entered it and said in 
Speedtalk, “Now^ you’ll have to 
marry me ; I’m compromised.” 
“Shut that up, idiot! Some one 
might hear you.” 

“Pooh! They’d just think I had 
asthma. Don’t you think it’s noble 
of me, Joe, to sacrifice my girlish 
reputation for home and country ?” 
“What reputation?” 

“Come closer so I can slug you.” 
Even the servants’ quarters were 
luxurious. The dome was a Syba- 
rite’s dream. The floor of it was 
gardened in real beauty save where 
Mrs. Keithley’s mansion stood. Op- 

GULF 



posite it, across a little lake— cer- 
tainly the only lake on the Moon— 
was the building housing the cir- 
cuits ; it was disguised as, a little 
Doric Grecian shrine. 

The dome itself was edge-lighted 
fifteen hours out of each twenty- 
four, shutting out the black sky and 
the harsh stars. At “night” the 
lighting was gradually withdrawn. 

McGinty was a gardener and ob- 
viously enjoyed his work. Gail 
established contact with him, got out 
of him what little he knew. Joe 
left him alone save for contacts in 
character. 

There was a staff of over two hun- 
dred, having its own social hier- 
archy, from engineers for dome and 
equipment, Mrs. Keithley private 
pilot, and so on, down to gardeners’ 
helpers. Joe and Gall were midway, 
being inside servants. Gail made 
herself popular as the harmlessly 
flirtatious but always helpful and 
sympathetic wife of a meek and older 
husband. She had been a beauty 
parlor operator, so it seemed, before 
she “married” and had great skill in 
mas.saging aching backs and stiff 
necks, relieving headaches and in- 
ducing sleep. She was always ready 
to demonstrate. 

Her duties as a maid had not yet 
brought her into close contact with 
their employer. Joe, however, had 
acquired the job of removing all 
potted plants to the “outdoors” dur- 
ing “night” ; Mrs. Keithley, accord- 
ing to Mr. James, the butler, be- 
lieved that plants should be outdoors 
at “night”. Joe was thus in a posi- 

77 




lion to get outside the house when 
the dome was dark ; he had already 
reached the point where the “night” 
guard at the Grecian temple would 
sometimes get Joe to “Jigger” for 
him while the guard snatched a for- 
bidden cigarette. 

McGinty had been able to supply 
one more important fact : besides the 
guard at the temple building, and 
the locks and armor plate of the 
building itself, the arming circuit 
was booby-trapped. Even if it were 
inoperative as an arming circuit for 
the fuse bomb on Earth, it itself 
wovdd blow up if tampered with. 
Gail and Joe discussed it in their 
room, Gail sitting on his lap like an 
affectionate w'ife, her lips close to 
his left ear. “Perhaps you could 
w'reck it from the door, without ex- 
posing yourself.” 

“I’ve got to be sure. There is cer- 
tainly some w'ay of switching that 
gimmick off. She has to provide for 
possible repairs or replacements.” 
“Where would it be ?” 

“Just one place that matches the 
pattern of the rest of her planning. 
Right under her hand, along wdth 
the disarming swJtch and the trigger 
switch.” He rubbed his other ear; 
it contained his short-range radio 
hookup to McGinty and itched al- 
most constantly. 

“Hm-m-m— then there’s just one 
thing to be done ; I’ll have to wring 
it out of her before I kill her.” 
“We’ll see.” 

Just before dinner the following 
“evening” she found him in their 

78 



room. “It worked, Joe, it worked!” 
“What worked?” 

“She fell for the bait. She heard 
from her secretary about my skill as- 
a masseuse ; I was ordered up for a 
demonstration this afternoon. Now 
I am under strict instructions to 
come to her tonight.” 

“It’s tonight, then.” 

McGinty waited in his room, be- 
hind a locked door. Joe stalled in 
the back hall, spinning out endlessly 
a dull tale to Mr. James. 

A voice in his ear said, “She’s in 
her room now.” 

“—and that’s how my brother got 
married to twm women at once,” Joe 
concluded. “Sheer bad luck. I bet- 
ter get these plants outside before 
the missus happens to ask about 
’em.” He picked up two of the pots 
and waddled out. 

He put them down outside and 
heard, "She says she’s started the 
mas.sage. She’s spotted the radio 
switching unit ; it’s on a belt that the 
old gal keeps at her bedside table 
when she’s not wearing it.” 

“Tell her to kill her and grab it.” 
“She says she wants to make her 
tell how to unswitch the booby-trap 
gimmick first.” 

“Tell her not to delay.” 

Suddenly, inside his head, clear 
and sweet as a bell as if they were 
her own spoken words, he heard her. 
Joe, I can hear you; can you hear 
me? 

—yes, yes! Aloud he added, 
“Stand by the phones anyhow, 
Mac.” 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTIOJI 




—it won’t be long. I have her in 
intense pain; she’ll crack soon. 

—hurt her plenty! He began to 
run toward the temple buildirig. 
—Gail, are you still shopping for a 
husband f 
—I’ve found him. 

—marry me and I’ll beat you every 
Saturday night. 

—the man zvho can beat me hasn’t 
been born. 

—I’d like to try. He slowed down 
before he came near the guard’s sta- 
tion. “Hi, Jim!” 

—it’s a deal. 

“Well, if it taint Joey boy! Got a 
match?” 

“Here.” He reached out a hand 
—then, as the guard fell, he eased 
hint to the ground and made sure 
that he wotild stay out. —Gail! it’s 
got to be now! 

The voice in his head came back 
in great consternation : —Joe! she 
was too tough, she wouldn’t crack. 
she’s dead! 

—good! get that belt, break the 
arming circuit, then see what else 
you find. I’m going to break in. 

—it’s disarmed, Joe. I could spot 
it; it has a time set on it. I can’t 
tell about the others; they aren’t 
marked and they all look -alike. 

He took from his pocket a small 
item provided by Baldwin’s careful 
planning, —twist them all from 
where they are to the other way. 
you’ll probably hit it. 

—oh, Joe, I hope so! 

He had placed the item against 



the lock ; the metal around it turned 
red and started to melt away. An 
alarm clanged somewherev 

Gail’s voice came again in his 
head ; there was urgency in it but no 
fear: —Joe! they’-re beating on the 
door. I’m trapped. 

“McGinty! be our witness!” He 
went on : —I, Joseph, take thee, Gail, 
to be my lazvfiilly wedded wife— 
He was answered in tranquil 
rhythm : —I, Gail, take thee, Joseph, 
to be my lawfully ivedded husband— 
—to have and to hold, he went on. 
—to have and to hold, my beloved! 
—for better, for zvorse— 

—for better, for worse— 

—till death do us part. I’ve got it 
open, darling; I am going in. 

—till death do us part. They are 
breaking dozen the bedroom door. 

—hang on! I’m almost through 
here. 

—they have broken it down, Joe. 
they are coming fozvard me. good- 
by my darling! I am very happy. 
Abruptly her “voice” stopped. 

He was facing the box that housed 
the disarming circuit, alarms clang- 
ing in his ears; he took from his 
pocket another gadget and tried it. 

The blast that shattered the box 
caught him full in the chest. 

The letters on the metal marker 
read: 

TO THE MEMORY OF 
MR. AND MRS. JOSEPH GREENE 
WHO, NEAR THIS SPOT, 

DIED FOR ALL THEIR FELLOW MEN 



THE END 



OlJLF 



79 




IN TIMES TO COME 

The January issue will have a cover by Bonestell, illustrating a Philip Latham 
story “The Xi Effect”. And at this point, departing from standard procedure, I want 
to call attention to another item currently on sale with a Bonestell cover painting. The 
cover painting is familiar ; it was our July, 1948 cover, showing a rocketship landed on 
the Moon, with the crew busy establishing a base about it. It is now the cover- jacket 
for “The Conquest of Space,” with text by Willy Ley, and dozens of paintings and 
drawings by Bonestell. Viking Press put it out, and has don^ a magnificent job on the 
many full-color paintings; I don’t often go in for editorial comment on books in the 
field, but this is one of those no-home-should-be-without items. How Viking has 
managed to turn out so beautiful a job for $3i9S is something of a mytsery, but don’t 
miss the book. R. S. Richardson, and the Mount Wilson and Palomar Mountain staff 
helped Bonestell get authentic visualizations; with Willy Ley’s text it is really a major 
landmark in the field of space travel 1 

But to next month’s magazine; Ole Doc Methuselah’s back— having trouble with 
artificially cultured babies that seem to have been accidentally given lion-cub culture 
serums by mistake. Very definitely tough babies! And the .problem was even tougher 
than it seemed! 

Poul Anderson— who has produced more than one original viewpoint in science- 
fiction— has a yarn called “Gypsy” that suggests a new type of difficulty in establishing 
a permanent human colony in an alien solar system. 

And in longer range view, we have a new, remarkably powerful novel by L. Ron 
Hubbard coming up, starting in February. But the item that most interests me at 
the moment is an article on the most important subject conceivable. This is not a hoax 
article. It is an article on the science of the mind, of human thought. It is not an 
article on psychology— that isn’t a science. It’s not General Semantics. It is a totally 
new science, called diancfics, and it does precisely what a science of thought should do. 
Its power is almost unbelievable; it proves the mind not only can but does rule the 
body completely; following the sharply defined basic laws dianetics sets forth, physical 
ills such as ulcers, asthma and arthritis can be cured, as can all other psychosomatic 
ills. The articles are in preparation. It is, quite simply, impossible to exaggerate 
the importance of a true science of human thought. 

T HE Editor. 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 



80 




A CAN OF VACUUM 

er L. RON HUBBARD 



The practical joke is as old as man, but not all practi- 
cal jokers run up against quite so hard a customer. 

Illustrated by Cartier 



Bigby Owen Pettigrew reported, 
one fine August day, to the Nine- 
teenth Project, Experimental Forces 
of the Universe, United Galaxies 
Navy and was apparently oblivious 
of the fact that ensigns, newly cojn- 
missioned out of the civilian U.I.T. 
and utterly ignorant of military mat- 
ters, were not likely to overwhelm 
anyone with the magnificence of their 
presence. 

The adjutant took the orders care- 
lessly and as careless said his routine 
speech : “Space Admiral Banning is 
busy but it will count as a call if 
you leave your card, Mr. Petti- 
grew.” 

Bigby Owen Pettigrew chewed for 
a while on a toothpick and then said : 
“It’s all right. I’ll wait. I got lots 
of time.” 

The office yeoman stared and then 
carefully restrained his mirth. The 
adjutant looked carefully at Petti- 



grew. There was a lot of Pettigrew 
to look .upon and the innocent- 
appearing mass of it grinned a 
friendly grin. 

The adjutant leaned back. The 
Universal Institute of Technology 
was doubtlessly a fine school so far 
as civilian schools went and it in- 
dubitably turned out very good re- 
cruits for the science corps. But this 
wasn’t the first time that the adjutant 
had wished that a course in naval 
courtesy and law could be included 
there. The practical* joking Nine- 
teenth would probably take this boy 
apart, button by stripe and cell by 
hair. Olmously Pettigrew really 
thought an ensign could call on a 
space admiral just like that. 

“Perhaps,” said the adjutant, 
“you have some important recom- 
mendations to make concerning the 
way he’s running the project.” 

Pettigrew shook his head sol- 



A CAN OF VACUUM 



81 




emnly, all sarcasm lost upon him. 
“No. Just like to get the lay of the 
land, kind of.” 

“Are you sure,” said the" adjutant, 
“that you haven’t some brilliant new 
theory you’d like to explain to him? 
Perhaps a new hypothesis for nebula 
testing?” 

With a calm shake of his head, 
Pettigrew said, “Shucks no. I’m 
away behind on my lab work.” 

The yeoman at the side test was 
beginning to turn deep indigo with 
strangling mirth and managed, onljj 
at the last instant, to divert guffaws 
into a series of violent sneezes. 

“You got a cold?” said Pettigrew. 

The poor yeoman floundered out, 
made the inside of Number Four 
hangar and there was found some ten 
minutes later, in a state of aching ex- 
haustion, by several solicitous mates 
who thought he had been having a 
fit. He tried for some time to com- 
municate the cause of all this. But 
his mates did not laugh. They looked 
pityingly at him. 

“Asteroid fever,” said one. 

“Probably got a columbar thron- 
gustu, poor fellow.” 

“Looks more like haliciticosis,” 
said a third, vainly trying to feel 
the yeoman’s pulse. 

“All right,” said the yeoman. “All 
right. You’re a flock of horse faced 
ghouls. You wouldn’t believe your 
mother if she said she was married ! 
Doubt it ! But he’s here, I tell you. 
And that’s what he did. And you 
mark my words, give that guy ten 
days on this station and none of you 
will ever be the same again.” 



The yeoman spoke louder and 
truer than he knew. 

Carpdyke, the sad and suffering 
project assignment officer, who felt 
naked when he went to dinner with- 
out a couple of exploding cigars and 
a dematerializing pork chop, leaned 
casually up against the hangar door. 
The enlisted men had not seen him 
and they jumped. When they saw 
it was Carpdyke, they jumped again, 
further. 

“What,” said Carpdyke, “did you 
say this young gentleman’s name 
was ?” 

“Pettigrew,” said the yeoman, 
very nervous. 

“Hm-m-m,” said Carpdyke. “Well, 
men, I’m sure you have work to do.” 
He was gloomy now, the way he al- 
ways got just before he indulged his 
humor. 

The group disappeared. Carp- 
dyke went sadly back to his office 
and sat there for a long, long time. 
He might have been studying the as- 
signment chart. It reached twelve 
feet up and eighteen feet across and 
was a three-dimensional painting of 
two million light-years of Universe. 
Here and there colored tacks marked 
the last known whereabouts of scout 
ships which were possibly going 
about their duties collecting invalu- 
able fuel data and possibly not. 

Carpdyke grew sadder and sadder 
until he looked like a bloodhound. 
His chief raymaster’s mate chanced 
to look up, saw it and very, very 
nervously looked down. Just what 
was coming, the chief knew not. He 
hoped it wasn’t coming to him. 



82 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 





so low as to rig a bridegroom’s quar- 
ters with lingerie the morning of the 
wedding. He had even installed Lim- 
biirger cheese in a spaceship’s air 
supply. And once— well, the chief 
just sat and shuddered to recall it. 

The door opened casually and 
Bigby Owen Pettigrew, garbed new- 
ly in a project blister suit less mask, 
the fashion there on lonely Dauphi- 
om where beards grew in indirect 
proportion to the number of women, 
entered under the cloud of inno- 
cence. 

The chief looked at Carpdyke, at 
Pettigrew and then at Carpdyke 
again. The assignment officer was 
growing so sad that a tear trembled 
on one lid. The chief stopped 



A CAN OF VACUUM 



breathing but tlren w'hen no guardian 
angel snatched Pettigrew away from 
there, the chief .started again. No 
reason to suffocate. 

“Hello,” said Pettigrew cheer- 
fully. 

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” 
mourned Carpdyke. 

“I just graduated from the 
U.I.T.,” said Pettigrew. “My name’s 
Bigby. What’s yours?” 

“I’m Scout Commander Carpdyke, 
Bigby. We always like to see our 
new boys happy with the place. You 
like your hangars?” 

“Oh, sure.” 

“You found the transportation 
from the Intergalaxy comfortable 
and prompt?” 

“Sure, sure.” 



AST-4N 



83 



“And your room ? It has a lovely 
view ?” 

“Well now,” said Pettigrew 
thoughtfully, “I don’t think I no- 
ticed. But don’t you bother your- 
self, commander. It suits me. I 
don’t want much.” 

The chief was beginning to have 
trouble swallowing. He went to the 
water cooler. 

“Well, now,” said Carpdyke, look- 
ing very, very mournful, “I am 
happy to hear that. But you’re .sure 
you wouldn’t want me to change 
quarters with you ?” 

"Change? Shucks, commander, 
that’s awful nice of you but— well, no. 
My quarters suit me fine and no 
doubt you’re used to yours.” 

The chief sprayed water over the 
assignment map, dived straight out 
the door and kept going. A ululation 
of indescribable pitch faded away as 
he grew small across the rocket field. 

“Did he get sick or something?” 
asked Pettigrew. 

“A bit touched, poor man,” said 
Carpdyke. “Ninety missions to 
Nebula M-1894.” 

“Poor fellow,” said Pettigrew. 
But he braced up under it. “Now, 
then, commander. Is there anything 
you want me to solve or fix up? 
Anything you’re stuck on or deep- 
ended with? They put me through 
the whole ten years and I sure want 
to do well by the service.” He 
burnished a bit at the .single jag of 
lightning on his lapel which made 
him an ensign, science-corps, experi- 
mental. 

“How were things at base ? You 



left Universal Admiral Collingsby 
well, I presume.” 

“Sure, sure,” said Pettigrew. 
“Read me my oath himself.” 

You and ten thousand other plebes 
By visograph, muttered Carpdyke. 
“Beg pardon ?” 

“Nothing. Nothing. I was just 
wondering where we could best use 
your services, Pettigrew. We have 
to be careful. Don’t want to waste 
any talent, you know.” 

“Sure not! I bet you have an 
awful time keeping up with prob- 
lems, huh ?” Vivid excitement mani- 
fested itself on Pettigrew’s homely 
face for the first time. 

“There,” said Carpdyke, “you 
have struck it. Keeping up. Keep- 
ing up. Ah, the weariness of it. 
Pettigrew, I’ll wager you have no 
real concept of what we’re up 
against here at Nineteen. Mankind 
fairly hangs on our reports, sir.” 

“I’ll bet they do,” said Pettigrew 
with enthusiasm. 

“Here we are,” said Carpdyke, 
“located in the exact hub of the Uni- 
verse, located for a purpose, Petti- 
grew. A Purpose! Every explod- 
ing star must be investigated at once. 
Every new shape of a nebula must 
be skirted and charted. Every dark 
cloud must be searched for harmful 
material. Pettigrew, the emanations 
of all the Universe depend upon us. 
Upon us, Peltigrew.” And here he 
heaved a doleful sigh. “Ah, the 
weariness of it, the weariness.” 
“Sure now, commander. Don’t 
take it hard. I mean to help out 



84. 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




all 1 can. Just you tell me what 
you want clone—” 

Carpctylce rpse and convulsively 
gripped the ensign’s hand. “You 
mean it, .Pettigrew? You mean it 
truly ? Magnificent ! Absolutely 
magnificent !” 

“Just you tell me,” said Pettigrew, 
“and I’ll do my best!” 

Carpdyke’s exultation gradually 
faded and he sank back. He slumped 
and then shook his head. “No, you 
wouldn’t do that. I couldn’t ask 
you to do that.” 

- “Tell me,” begged Pettigrew. 
“Pettigrew,” ' said Carpdyke at 
last, “T have to confess. There is a 
problem. I hate to ask. It’s so 
difficult-” 

“Tell me!” cried Pettigrew. 
Carpdyke finally let himself be 
roused. Very, very sadly he said : 
“Pettigrew, it’s the rudey rays.” 
“Just y^ou . . . the what?” 

“Rudey rays. Rudey rays ! 
You’ve heard of them certainly.” 
“Well, now, commander . . . I . . . 
uh . . . rudey rays ?” 

“Pettigrew, how long were you at 
U.I.T.?” And Carpdyke put deep 
suspicion into it. 

“Why, ten years, commander. 
But— Rudey rays. Gosh, I didn’t 
never hear of anything like them.” 
“Pettigrew,” said Carpdyke stern- 
ly, .“rudey rays might well be the 
foundation of a new civilization. 
They emanate. They expand. They 
drive. But they can’t be captured, 
Pettigrew'. They can’t be captured.” 
“Well, what-?” 

“A rudey ray,” said’ Carpdyke, “is 
A CAN OF VACUUM 



an indefinite particular source of in- 
herent and predynamic energy, in- 
escapably linked to the fdrraa'tion of 
new' stars. ^Vhy, Pettigrew^ it is 
supposed that the whole Universe 
might have been created from the 
explosion of just one atom made of 
rudey rays !” 

“Gosh. I thought—” 

“You thought!” cried Carpdyke. 
“Ah, these professors ! They pour 
amcient, moldy and outmoded data 
into the hapless heads of our poor, 
defenseless young and then send 
them out—” 

“Oh, I believe you,” said Petti- 
grews “It’s just kind of sudden. A 
new theory, like.” 

“Of course,” said Carpdyke, sadly 
but gently. “I knew^ you would 
understand. This matter is top se 
cret. Nay, it is bond top secert. 
Pettigrew, if w'e had just one quart 
of rudey rays—” 

“One what?” 

“One quart!” 

Pettigrew' nodded numbly. “That’s 
what I thought you said.” 

“Pettigrew, w'ith just one quart of 
rudey rays we could run the United 
Galactic Navy for a million years at 
full speed. All five million ships of 
them. We could run the dynamos 
of all our systems for ten thousand 
years without stopping. And—” 
Pettigrew w'as wide-eyed. “Yes?” 
Carpdyke leaned closer, “Petti- 
grew, W'ith just one quart of rudey 
rays, we could make a w'hole new 
universe.” 

Pettigrew fanned himself uncer- 
tainly. 

85 




“Good!” said Carpdyke. “I’ll give 
you your orders.” And before an- 
other word could be spoken he 
scrawled across a full page of the 
order blank : 

TO ALL ACTIVITIES: 

Ensign Bigby O. Pettigrew^ pursuant to 
verbal orders this date to the effect that he 
is to locate, isolate and can one quart of 
rudey rays, is hereby authorized to draw 
necessary equipment on the recommenda- 
tion of supply and laboratory commands. 

Carpdyke. 

With a flourish he gave it over. 
With a hearty handshake arid a huge 
smite upon the back, Carpdyke pro- 
pelled the ensign to the door. Petti- 
grew was thrust out and the wind 
fluttered in the sheet he held. He 
looked at it, frowned a little and 
then, squaring his shoulders man- 
fully, strode purposefully upon his 
way. 

Behind him Carpdyke stood for a 
little while, devils flickering in his 
eyes and something like a smile on 
his mournful mouth. Then he sat 
down. 

“The first thing supply will send 
him for is a can of vacuum,” said 
Carpdyke. “I figure that should 
take him ,a couple of days. Then lab 
will want—” But he shook off these 
pleasures and looked moodily at his 
assignment blanks. 

He’d have to have something new 
in three or four days. Pettigrew 
ought to be good for a solid month 
before he began to wise. 

“Sir,” said the chief raymaster’s 
mate, “dispatches from base.” He 

86 



looked at them. “All routine.” 

“I’m busy,” said Carpdyke, throw- 
ing them into the basket. He set- 
tled himself down to compound and 
compute the next mission of the 
luckless Pettigrew. “Now, then, 
commander,” he mimicked, “is there 
anything you want me to solve or fix 
up?” He nearly chuckled. “Ah, 
Pettigrew, Pettigrew—” He grew 
mournful again and the chief looked 
very, very uncomfortable as time 
wore on. 

“Sir,” ventured the chief, “that top 
dispatch says a new batch of officers 
is being ordered in here. About 
fifteen ensigns, a couple of command- 
ers and one captain, Congreve, to 
take over as exec. That’s the Con- 
greve that was cited for his work on 
new fuels. He’lt probably make this 
place hot. I— ” 

“Shut up,” said Carpdyke, “I’m 
busy.” And to himself, “When he 
gets chased all Over the post with 
that, we’ll try pink Beta rays and 
maybe a left-handed Geiger counter. 
Then-” 

There was a stuttering snarl out in 
the hangar and heavy ground vibra- 
tions as a big motor warmed. The 
chief scowled. He looked at his as- 
signment sheets and let off a couple 
of regulation growls. 

“No flights due off for a week. 
What’s wrong with them monkeys.” 
He went to the office door and stood 
there, a little blinded by the pink 
daylight. He saw a Number Thirty 
Starguide being dollied out by a trac- 
tor for a take-off. It wasn’t the space 
admiral’s barge, but a routine mis- 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




sion cruiser. And the peculiar thing 
about it was, no lab crew standing 
by. 

When they had the Starguide into 
position for its launch one lone , fig- 
ure came shuffling out, climbed the 
ladder and popped into the hatch. 
The tractor detached itself and the 
tower waved all clear. 

There was something reminis- 
cently all wrong about the man who 
had entered that ship and the chief 
was almost ready to turn away when 
it struck him. 

“Pettigrew!” He started to run 
into the field and then realized his 
complete lack of authority. He 
dashed back. 

Carpdyke was still absorbed. 

“Sir!” said the chief. “That en- 
sign got a ship ! He’s about to take 
off!” 

Carpdyke almost said, “I’m busy” 
and came alert and up instead. 
“Who?” 

“Pettigrew got a ship. There !” 

Carpdyke was stunned. He ran 
forward and then was slammed back 
into the door by the recoil blast of 
the Starguide. One moment there 
was a ship, the next there was the 
dust. Pettigrew was gone. 

“You sure that was Pettigrew?” 
cried Carpdyke. 

“I seen him.” 

Carpdyke breasted the flying 
clouds of dirt which lingered and got 
himself to Flight Operation. 

He slammed inside. “What’s go- 
ing on? Who was in that ship?” 

“Ensign Pettigrew,” said the war- 
rant dispatcher. 



“-What ?” cried Carpdyke. “Where 
is Lieutenant Morgan?” 

“Sick bay,” said the warrant dis- 
patcher. He had been scared for a 
moment but now he knew he was in 
the right. He was an old navy man. 
An order was an order and he had 
the copy right there. 

“Why did you let that man get 
away ?” 

“Sir,” said the warrant, “I seen 
your order not ten minutes back. We 
was to lend every assistance to En- 
sign Pettigrew. Well, we did !” 

Carpdyke was keeping upright by 
holding the edge of the signal rack. 
A million dollars worth of spacecraft, 
the life of a new officer— “But he 
. . . but that was just—” He caught 
hold of himself. “That order was 
intended to be seen by Morgan. The 
man was new.” 

“I got the duty,” said the warrant 
doggedly, “and I obeyed it.” 

Carpdyke went away from there 
with a complete panorama of a 
twelve-man court-martial board star- 
ing him unsympathetically in the 
eye. What had he sent that fool 
after? Rudey rays. Knowing less 
than nothing about the fiery charac- 
ter of luminous masses, an ensign 
would burn himself to bacon crisp- 
ness the first one he ran through. 
No ensign, no ship, no further career 
for Carpdyke. 

He had no choice but to declare 
himself guilty. He went into the 
outer office of the admiral’s suite and 
looked sadly at the adjutant. “Is 
he in?” 



A CAN OF VACUUM 



87 




“Sure, but-” 

Carpdyke went wearily by and 
breasted the barricades. 

Banning was rather fat, somewhat 
crotchety, and had a most wary eye 
upon his future. He had managed 
to live twenty-one years with the 
Navy without sullying his record 
and if he could keep one more clean 
he would lie pleasantly selected up 
by his friends to some post as galac- 
tic commander with the rank of six- 

88 



teen stars. Today he was musing 
upon his happy future, making 
thoughtful steeples with his fingers 
and watching his favorite cat, doz- 
ing in the daylight which poured in. 

“Sir,” said Carpdyke, remember- 
ing suddenly that he had forgotten 
his jacket and cap, “a new man 
Pettigrew just reported. An ensign. 
He was awful green and I sent him 
out with a funny order and Morgan 
is in sick bay today and his warrant 

ASTOtTNDINGSCIF.NCE- FICTION 




obeyed the order and now Pettigrew 
and a million dollars worth of Num- 
ber Thirty Starguide are on their 
way some place to get fried. I am 
turning in my resignation and will 
hold myself—” 

Banning’s eyes went round as he 
attempted to digest these facts. Then 
he ordered a repeat and when it had 
been carefully told four or five times 
with details, he suddenly understood 
that sixteen stars might very well 
^ eclipse if such things were found to 
have happened on his base. 

“Order up the cruisers ! Send out 
ten destroyers ! Man the warning 
net !” bawled Banning. And then he 
grabbed his cap and sprinted for the 
radio room. 

Carpdyke relayed the orders and 
within ten minutes where peaceful- 
ness had reigned, great waves of 
motors began to beat and the ground 
quaked under the impact of emer- 
gency take-off. 

The men were not quite clear on 
what they were to do or where they 
were to go. And it took Banning 
several minutes on the short wave to 
convince four or five irate command- 
ers, who objected to leaving so fast, 
that they were not about to repulse 
a rebel attack. 

Meanwhile a small, dark radio- 
man was having no luck with Petti- 
grew. “Sir,” he said to Banning, 
“he can’t have any channels switched 
on. I’ve tried them all. And prob- 
ably he’s outraced even the ion 
beams by this time. I don’t think—” 

“Don’t think!” cried Banning. 
“Don’t ever think! Stop that ship!” 



But nobody stopped that ship. For 
five standard days Banning’s guard 
fleet raked and combed the sur- 
rounding space and then, because 
they had left without proper pro- 
visions, began to return one by one, 
each with negative news. 

Carpdyke, miserable but not under 
arrest yet because Banning could 
not stop worrying long enough to 
think up the proper charges, wan- 
dered around the hangars. He re- 
ceived very little sympathy. , Hardly 
anyone on the project had escaped 
Carpdyke’s somewhat heavy wit and 
combined with this, all crews present 
had gone without liberty or rejief for 
a week. The project was very grim. 
The brig was full of people who 
hadn’t saluted properly or had dem- 
onstrated negligence in the vicinity 
of Space Admiral Banning. Things 
were confused. 

At least three times a day Ban- 
ning picked up his pencil to send 
intelligence of this hairbrained acci- 
dent to the department and each time 
was stopped by his vision of those 
sixteen stars. He could court-mar- 
tial Carpdyke, but then it would 
come out that Carpdyke was notori- 
ous and that Banning, being of the 
haze school himself, had never put a 
full astern on the practice. Banning 
was confused. 

Ten days went by with no word of 
Pettigrew and out of complete weari- 
ness the project began to settle into 
an uncertain sort of routine. The 
chaplain left the bridge table long 
enough to inquire whether or not he 
should read an absentee burial for 



A CAN OF VACUUM 



89 




the young officer and was told off 
accordingly. Scout ships returning 
with routine data were ignored and 
immediately fell under the same 
gloom which was downing everyone 
else. 

Nobody spoke to Carpdyke. 

When the admiral spoke to any- 
body they got rayburns. 

The post publicity officer began to 
write up experimental releases about 
another brave young martyr of sci- 
ence and the master at arms inven- 
toried the scanty baggage of Petti- 
grew. People began to look worn. 

And then, at four o’clock of a Sep- 
tember day, a Number Thirty Star- 
guide, rather singed around the 
edges and coughing from burned out 
brakes, came to rest before Hangar 
Six and out popped a very second- 
hand version of Bigby Owen Petti- 
grew. 

People stopped right where they 
were and stared. 

“Hello,” said Pettigrew. 

But people just stared. 

Admiral Banning had been soon 
told and was coming up puffing and 
scarlet. Carpdyke slithered out of 
his office and tried to seem as if he 
wasn’t present. 

“Hello, Mr. Carpdyke,” said Pet- 
tigrew. 

“Young man!” said Banning, 
“where have you been?” 

“Are you Admiral Banning?” 
asked Pettigrew. 

“Answer me!” 

“Well, I guess I been all around, 
mostly. I scouted about three nebu- 

90 



las and almost lost the whole shoot- 
ing match in the last one, what with 
the emissions and all. And I got 
pretty shaken up with the currents 
and reversed fields and—” 

“What was the idea taking off that 
way ?” cried Banning. 

“Well, Mr. Carpdyke, he told me 
to go out and get a quart of rudey 
rays and I—” 

“A quart!” cried Banning. 

“Ye.s, sir. Seemed kind of funny 
to me, too. But he said these rudey 
rays was the germs of new universes 
so I-” 

' “Rudey rays !” 

“No, sir, I never heard of them 
either, admiral. But orders is orders 
so I went out—” 

“You young fool! You might 
have been killed! You might have 
lost that ship!” 

“Admiral,” said Pettigrew, “that’s 
just the way it seemed to me, too. 
But when he said how powerful these 
rudey rays was, why I recollected 
when I was flying the Mail—” 

“What mail ? I thought you were 
a U.I.T. man!” said Banning. 

“Oh, sure, I am, sir. But five or 
six years before that I was flying the 
Empire Mail. Then when I found 
that new fuel you’re using, they give 
me a scholarship to U.I.T. which 
was mighty nice because back in 
Texas I never got much formal 
learning. And after I’d done some 
work on star clusters they said was 
new, why I wanted to get back to 
flying again so I figured this was the 
place to be. I ain’t much of a hand 
about the Navy—” 

ASTOUNDING S'CIENCE-FICTION 




This startling dissertation was 
abruptly punctured by the arrival of 
a cruiser which slammed down 
smartly enough to knock out a. 
couple of windowpanes. 

From it stepped a splendid young 
captain who approached the waiting 
group and saluted the admiral. 

“Captain Congreve, sir, reporting 
to relieve the exec. I— Oh, hello 
Pettigrew !” 

There was so much warmth in 
Congreve’s voice that Banning was 
startled. 

“You know this man?” cried Ban- 
ning. 

“I certainly do. And I can recom- 
mend him to you heartily,” said Con- 
greve. “Picked him myself after 
Universal Admiral Collingsby swore 
him in. He invented the billion light- 
year fuel capsule. You’ve heard of 
him, haven’t you? Well you must 
have ; T see you’ve been on a mission 
already.” 

“Yes, sir,” said Pettigrew “I was 
sent off to get a quart of rudey rays.” 

“A ... a what?” 

“And I got ’em,” said Pettigrew, 
pulling a flat jar from his sagging 
jacket. “Had quite a time and near 
got sizzled but they’re tame enough. 
I saturated sponge iron with them 
and the filings are all here. Kind 
of a funny way to carry the stuff 
but I guess you Navy guys know' 
what you are doing.” 

“Rudey rays?” said Banning. 

“Thousand year half-life,” said 
Pettigrew, “and completely harm- 
less. Good brake fuel. Won’t de- 
stroy grass. By golly, Mr. Carp- 



dyke, it was awful smart of you to 
figure these things out. They ain’t 
in any catalogue and I sure didn’t 
know they existed.” 

Technicians passed the flask from 
hand to hand gingerly. The count- 
ers on their wrists sang power in- 
nocuous to man and sang it loud. 

“That’s all I could get this trip. 
Nebula One, right slam hang center 
of the universe,” said Pettigrew. 
“Well, there she is. If you’ll excuse 
me, I don’t look much like a naval 
officer and I better change my 
clothes.” 

They stared after him as he went 
to quarters, the master at arms trot- 
ting after to break out his impounded 
gear. 

There was a queer, dazed look 
about Carpdyke. But Banning was 
not dazed. He fired some fast, smart 
questions at the technicians and when 
they had examined the fuel in the 
lab, they gave him some pretty posi- 
tive answers. 

Banning stood looking at Carp- 
dyke, then, but not seeing him. Ban- 
ning was seeing sixteen stars blazing 
on the side of a flagship and maybe 
not a whole year away after all. 

“Sir,” stammered Carpdyke, “I’m 
sorry. It came out all right but I 
know I jeopardized equipment. He 
looked so young and green and I 
figured it would take a lot pf roast- 
ing to make hini an officer and I 
never intended he would actually get 
off the base—’' 

Captain Congreve looked rairth- 

91 



A CAN OF VACUUM 




fully at Carpdyke, for the captain 
understood the situation nOw. 

“Commander,” said Congreve, “I 
wouldn’t let this throw you. You 
see, the reason Collingsby swore that 
man in as an ensign and not as a 
lieutenant was because Pettigrew 
had something of a reputation in the 
Empire Mail.” 

“A reputation ?” said Carpdyke. 

“Yes,” said Congreve, gently. “A 
reputation as a practical joker, com- 

THE 



mander, and he’d been warned about 
you.” 

“A pract ... a practical—” began 
Carpdyke, feeling most ungodly faint 
at what this would do to his reputa- 
tion everywhere. 

“Carpdyke,” beamed Banning, 
clapping him on the shoulder in a 
most friendly, sixteen-star-hlinded 
way, “supposing we all go over to the 
club and let you buy us a drink?” 

END . 



THE ANALYTICAL LABORATORY 

We have two months reports to assess this time, including thus in one issue the full 
voting on a serial. Since the voting is, necessarily, on a relative-within-thc*issue basis, 
no absolute scale of values can be determined ; however, closely-grouped point-scores— 
that is, all point-scores falling in a narrow range— indicates the general reader reaction 
found the issue fairly uniform in quality. Prom my point of view, that’s interesting— but 
somewhat frustrating. Obviously, narrow-range point-scores could mean either the 
issue was uniformly excellent— the millennium is here 1— uniformly mediocre, or uni- 
formly stinlcQ. But that’s the trouble with trying to apply anything remotely scientific 
to an art form ; statistical analysis of a field that, by its nature, has no absolutes is some- 
thing like attempting chemical analysis of an emotion. It remains interesting, but not 
absolutely convincing 1 Each must draw his own conclusions. 

AUGUST ISSUE 



Place 


Story 


Author 


Points 


1. 


The Queen of Zamha 


L. Sprague de Camp 


2.02 


2. 


Trojan Horse Laugh 


John D. MacDonald 


2.36 


3. 


Tied; 








P-Plus 


Peter Phillips 


3.41 




Letter To A Phoenix 


Fredric Brown 


3.41 


4. 


A Matter of Matter 


L. Ron Hubbard 


3.69 




SEPTEMBER ISSUE 




1. 


The Double-Dyed Villains 


Poul Anderson 


1.73 


2. 


Hide And Seek 


Arthur C. Clarke 


2.46 


3. 


The Queen of Zamba (End) 


L. Sprague de Camp 


2.57 


4. 


Special Jobbery 


H. B. Fyfe 


3.19 



“Progress Report” got a number of comments, but I’d like more expression of 
opinion on that general idea. Do you readers like the idea of slightly wacky articles, 
if adequately labeled as such, or not? The major task of science is separating sense 
from nonsense; shall we play with that problem in science-fiction or not? 

The Editor. 



§2 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




BACTERIAL TIME BOMB 

BY ARTHUR DUGAN 

Non-living forces dissipate and dilute energy and maU 
ter; only living forces concentrate. This fact article 
discusses a new and ingenious method of introducing 
life to concentrate to useful degree a scattered resource. 



There was a time when the pre- 
vailing opinion among industrialists 
and politicians was that occasional 
wars were a good thing. The nation 
as a whole was benefited inasmuch 
as the danger of overpopulation was 
minimized and the destruction caused 
by wars was outweighed by the 
stimulus it gave new construction. 
The rate of obsolescence was ac- 
celerated, therefore replacement of 
antiquated by modern equipment be- 
came a must, and “progress” was in- 
sured. Only a “progressive” coun- 
try had survival value. 

We are fortunate that we live in 
an era that has obliterated these 
sentiments, that the world has be- 
come truly one and united. Had not 
man attained maturity and recog- 
nized that an international tribunal 
afforded the only civilized method of 
se'ttling international disputes, the 
future would be a very unhappy one. 
It is interesting to speculate on the 
IPs of history, and how small things 
contain the seeds of much greater 
events. In particular, it is interest- 
ing to consider how, without the se- 



curity provided by a workable and 
working United Nations, the mi- 
crobe could sow the seed of a greater 
conflict than man has ever known. 

Please don’t expect to find here 
any terrifying accounts of the poten- 
tialities of bacteriological warfare. I 
am not concerned with the methods 
by which the fight would be fought. 
I merely wish to show that the 
microbiologist has done his small bit 
to plant the seed. 

The experiments of Louis Pasteur 
laid the foundation for understand- 
ing the action of all microorganisms. 
Methods of their economic control 
are traceable to his genius. The 
troubles in Palestine are, therefore, 
directly ascribabie to Pasteur ! 
Fanciful? Perhaps, but— n-Butyl 
alcohol and acetone are highly desir- 
able materials. Acetone is used in 
the manufacture of smokeless pow- 
der and finds wide use as a solvent 
in many industries ; butyl alcohol, 
butyl acetate and other esters are 
sought after by the lacquer industry. 
Chaim Weizmann developed the 
B.Y. Fermentation, the bacterial fer- 



BACTERIAL TIME BOMB 



93 




mentation of starch to yield acetone 
and butanol. Those interested in the 
process are referred to United States 
Patent 1315585 ; British Patent 4845 
(1915). The modern industrial 
giant in the solvents industry, Com- 
mercial Solvents Corporation, was 
organized to utilize this process and 
their first two plants were located at 
Terre Haute, Indiana and Peoria, 
Illinois in the heart of the corn belt. 

Weizmann collected large royal- 
ties from his process and these 
royalties he poured unstintingly into 
the cause of Zionism, becoming head 
of the Zionist movement in 1920. 
The final success of the Zionist 
movement was due in no small meas- 
ure, therefore, to the action of bac- 
teria Clostridium acetobutylicum 
and Clostridium saccharo-butylace- 
tonicmn liquefaciens. But the suc- 
cess in the use of these bacteria 
stemmed directly from the work of 
Pasteur. As to the possibilities in- 
herent in the final success of Zion- 
ism, read your daily paper or listen 
to the evening radio. Cannot what 
you read and what you hear be 
ascribed, at least m part, to Louis 
Pasteur ? 

Unless you have a larger map of 
Alberta, Canada, than the author 
possesses, you will not find the Horse 
River. It lies on or near the fifty- 
third degree of . North Latitude. 
There is apparently nothing here 
that could possibly contain the seeds 
for war. Merely normally good soil 
supporting the normal amount and 
type of growth. And that’s all. Or 

94 



would be all were it not for United 
States Patent No. 2,413,278. 

I first heard about United States 
Patent No. 2,413,278 in the June 21, 
1947 issue of the Oil and Gas Journal 
(page 78). United States Patent 
No. 2,413,278. It has a nice in- 
nocuous sound, hasn’t it ? Well, let’s 
hope it is as harmless as it sounds. 
For United States Patent No. 2,413,- 
278 is heap hig medicine. Quoting 
from the Oil and Gas Journal article 
above referred to, it reveals the fol- 
lowing discoveries about certain 
strains of bacteria : 

( 1 ) “They can strip an oil film from 
the outer surface of a grain of 
sand, apparently hy rush hour 
subway techniques including 
free use of shoulder and elhow, 
and packing themselves so 
tightly around the grain that oil 
is displaced. 

(2) “They secrete a substance which 
lowers the surface tension of the 
oil present around the sand to 
the point where it releases its 
grip and is free for recovery 
through the open pore spaces. 

(3) “They are responsible for the 
production of acids or acidic 
substances which attack lime- 
stone or limy materials and dis- 
solve them, releasing any., oil 
adhering to these materials and, 
at the same time forming carbon 
dioxide gas which may further 
aid in recovering the released 
oil. 

(4) “There are indications that 
they attack the heavier— and 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




therefore more viscous— hydro- 
carbons and split them into 
lighter hydrocarbons— which are 
less viscous and flow more 
freely through reservoir pore 
spaces.” 

Nothing particularly Earth-shak- 
ing about that, is there? In fact, 
it’s rather dull, isn’t it? Well, most 
things are interesting only in their 
relationship to other things. So let’s 
relate Patent No. 2,413,278* to 
Horse River. Along the banks of 
Horse River are deposits of Atha- 
baska oil sands. The Athabaska oil 
sands are merely the greatest oil de- 
posit in the world. Proven reserves 
of the Athabaska deposits are esti- 
mated to be between one hundred 
and two hundred fifty billion barrels. 
(In the petroleum industry, one bar- 
rel is always equivalent to forty-two 
gallons). The lower figure repre- 
sents a quantity equal to an optimis- 
tic estimate of the total proven 
reserves of the rest of the world com- 
bined. There’s only one hitch. You 
can’t get it ! ’Tain’t economical ! 

But you might think this over 
tonight. 

The patent says in its quiet man- 
ner that “. . . . Athabaska oil sands 
from the Athabaska region of Canada 

•Palenl applied for by Qr. Cloude E. ZoBell, 
With American Petroleum Institute designated as 
assignee, and A.P.I. in turn dedicating it free of 
royalty to the public throughout the world. It is 
unfortunate that space limitation prevents dis« 
cussfon of the work of Dr. ZoBell and staff at 
Scripps Institute, la Jolla, California, and the 
work of Dr. J. V. Beck and staff at Bradford, 
Pennsylvania. The Oil and Gas Journal article re* 
ferreci to above contoins a very adequate outline 
of their accomplishments. 



have been found to release oil when 
subjected to contact with a medium 
of the bacteria. The bacteria attach 
themsqlves so tenaciously to_ solid 
surfaces that they cannot be flushed 
away by the ordinary flow of fluids 
in a formation.” 

During the war years we were 
subjected to a great many lessons in 
geography, not all of them pleasant. 
One lesson frequently drummed into 
our ears was the importance of a 
polar map of the world. Suppose 
you look at one now. The projec- 
tion in front of me shows only Ed- 
monton in the province of Alberta, 
but that’s close enough to the Atha- 
baskan oil sands to provide a ref- 
erence point. Look south and you’ll 
see the United States. North, just 
over the top of the world lies the 
U.S.S.R. Athabaskan oil sands, you 
see, are located between the only two 
big powers in the world today. 

No, there’s nothing exciting in the 
language of patent No. 2,413,278. 
But it’s worth speculating on 
whether- it may not be a time bomb! 

It will, of course, be a good many 
years before we definitely know 
whether oil production in this man- 
ner is commercially sound. If it is 
really practical, a lot of old and 
abandoned wells will be producing 
more than they did in their heyday. 
Meanwhile, bearing the Athabaskan 
oil sands in mind. I’d like to ask an 
impertinent question. What are 
YOU doing to make United Na- 



tions work? 
THE END 



BACTERIAL TIME BOMB 



95 








pabaa 

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Or^raM UeHTpaOb”®'^® 



noHeAe®""*- ^ "‘°“’‘ 



msT (IHM> 

CjiaBa H ropAOCTb 

BeJiHKoro 



CcfoiHS 

^Kaiean" MJ»« 2 SS|| 
m Ceps^'*“^^™ 



BY WILLY LEY 



Under the scientific method Truth is an absolute thing. 
Under Communistic method Truth is Pravda — that which 
agrees with your beliefs and it changes from week to week. 
Just nowit involves the wonderful inventions of the Russians. 



96 



ASTOUNDING SC I E N C E- FI CT I O N 




“Pravda” is a Russian word which 
means “truth” when translated. 
Pravda is also the name of the offi- 
cial Russian daily newspaper. The 
relationship between pravda and 
Pravda is often straight, as for ex- 
ample when it is reported that AIolo- 
tov vetoed a resolution of the U.N. 
Frequently, however, capitalist writ- 
ers assert, the relationship is the 
same as that of an egg to an egg- 
plant. 

While all of Pravda’s editorials 
and most of the news items are, natu- 
rally, of a purely political nature, 
science items have become more 
and more frequent during the last 
few years. And this trend has not 
been confined to Pravda itself, by 
coincidence Komsomols kaya Pravda, 
the daily organ of the Komsomol— 
the Russian Communist Youth Or- 
ganization— and Tass, the official 
Russian wire service, have become 
interested in science, too. So has 
Iswestia, the other large Russian 
daily, the name of which means 
“news” when translated. 

Pravda’s interest in matters per- 
taining to science began several 
years ago when its readers learned 
that the progressive materialistic 
concepts of tovarishtch— or, to use 
Pravda’s own abbreviation— of toy. 
Trofim D. Lysenko and of tov. Ivan 
Vladimirovitch Michurin won out 
easily over the reactionary-idealistic 
viewpoint of the reactionary German 
professor Weismann and the church- 
dominated Father Gregor Mendel 
S.J. who first advanced a number 
of so-called laws of heredity which 

SCIENCE AND “tRUTh” 



have been enforced ever since in 
capitalist countries. 

At that time tov. Lysenko pro- 
phetically pointed out that the capi- 
talists would persist in their mysti- 
cally inclined attitude of believing 
that all characteristics are inherited. 
His far-seeing prophesy came true, 
and because obstructionism con- 
tinued right in Russia itself, tov. S. 
Kaftanov, in charge of Higher Edu- 
cation in all of the U.S.S.R. had to 
clarify the case once more in an ar- 
ticle of only a few columns, publish- 
ed on September 8, 1948 in Iswestia. 

I have to interrupt myself at this 
point for a moment to call to the 
reader’s memory an item published 
in Pravda at about the same time. It 
was stated there that the efforts of 
the Russian branch of the Interna- 
tional Esperantists are laudable in 
themselves— the editor no doubt re- 
called that tov. Lenin had praised 
them on occasion— but that their en- 
deavors are now superfluous. There 
is no longer any need for Esperanto 
because the historic events of the last 
decade have created an international 
language since all progressive ele- 
ments in all countries have mean- 
while learned Russian. 

This particular process, in itself 
not too noticeable in the course of 
the international chatter of radio 
hams, seems to have been somewhat 
delayed in the cartel-dominated USA 
because the newsweekly of the reac- 
tionary scientists. Science, felt moved 
in spite of Wall Street to print a 
full translation of the piece by tov. 
Kaftanov. (Issue dated January 28, 

97 




1949.) That article, incidentally, 
still had to close with the complaint 
that even in Russia the available bio- 
logical textbooks “do not guarantee 
an education based on the progres- 
sive Michurin doctrine”. Indubi- 
tably steps are being taken to remedy 
this deplorable situation. At any 
event the anti-Michurin Weisman- 
nist Russian scientists mentioned in 
tov. Kaftanov’s article no tonger ac- 
tively obstruct tov. Kaftanov’s or- 
ders, which have been endorsed by 
the All-Russian Party Congress, but 
have resigned their posts. 

During the interval between the 
pultlication of the original in Iswcsfia 
and the translation in Science, pro- 
fessors Sergei Vavilov and Vassily 
Danilevsky fulfilled their long neg- 
lected duty of setting the record 
straight as far as the history of sci-, 
ence is concerned. Professor Vavi- 
lov, president of the Soviet Academy 
of Science, pointed out that the law 
of the conservation of matter and 
energy was not discovered by French 
and German scientists, as is often 
taught, but that it was advanced 
first by the “father of Russian Sci- 
ence”, Mikhail Vasilievich Lomono- 
sov and that Lomonosov’s phrasing 
was superior, simply because it is 
“based on the main premises of the 
philosophy of dialectical material- 
ism”. It has to be mentioned that 
Professor Vavilov was still neglect- 
ful of his full duty, while crediting 
Lomonosov with this discovery he 
failed to state that he also discov- 
ered the atmosphere of Venus. 



Radio Moscow filled in the omission 
a few days later.* 

Professor Danilevsky, speaking 
shortly thereafter to the Leningrad 
Academy of Science where Lomono- 
sov had taught, pointed out that 
quite a number of important inven- 
tions, usually credited to an assorted 
lot of Americans, Englishmen and 
Germans, are really of Russian ori- 
gin. Among them are the telephone, 
electric light, the steamship and espe- 
cially the ship’s propeller, the strato- 
sphere balloon, the pack parachute 
and jet propulsion. Professor Dani- 
levsky based his speech to some ex- 
tent on a list published in 1945 by 
the Society for Cultural Relations 
with Foreign Countries, known the 
world over to all progressive ele- 
ments as VOKS. In that list those 
people who read only a short news- 
paper account of Professor Dani- 
levsky’s decisive speech could find a 
few additional dates and names. The 
inventor of the electric light was 
A. N. Lodygin, the year was 1874. 
The transformer had been invented 
in 1882 by I. F. Usagin. And the 
electric mine, always thought to be 
Atnerican, had been invented in 
1854 by B. S. Jakoby of the Russian 
Academy of Sciences, the occasion 
being, ot course, tbe Crimean War. 

To the regret of all concerned 
typographical errors often slip in 
either because of neglect of type- 

*This Sergei Vavilov is not the one who re- 
cently died of "mysterious causes" in Siberia. 
The ideologically unpopular Vavilov— Professor N. 
I. Vavilov— was an expert historian of cultivated 
plants. W. L 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 



9S 




setters or because of willful sabotage 
of rigbt-cleviationist proofreaders : 
Pravda's expose of the Antarctica 
Hoax, giving just credit to its true 
discoverer Faddei Bellingsgausen, 
gave the date as January 1821. Ra- 
dio Moscow caught the mistake and 
corrected it immediately, the date 
was "January, 1820 and there were 
two discoverers: Mikhail Lazarev 
and Faddei Bellingsgausen. 

While you are busy catching }mur 
breath after this somewhat hurried 
recital of Russian achievements, past 
and present, let me tell you two 
nonpolitical Russian stories which 
will serve as a kind of background 
music for illustrating the mood from 
which all this originates. One of 
these stories I got from a book by a 
rather famous Russian writer, Alex- 
ander Herzen— the name is supposed 
to be pronounced Gertzen, since the 
new Esperanto not only lacks the 
letter “h”, but also the article as well 
as words for “leg” and “arm”— who 
once talked to an old Cossack. Said 
Cossack, when a young soldier, had 
been ordered to be a kind of body- 
guard for a traveling German. The 
German was Baron Alexander von 
Humboldt, whose name the Cossack 
remembered as “Gumplot”, and 
there had been a strict order from 
the Summer Palace to do anything 
Humboldt might ask. Humboldt, 
being interested in all things under 
the sun, wanted some water plants 
from a shallow lake. The Cossack 
obligingly waded in to get them and 
■Humboldt asked en passant whether 

SCIENCE AND “truth” 



the water near the bottom was still 
very cold. The Cossack later told 
that he, upon hearing that question, 
said to himself : “Oh no, friend, you 
won’t get me” and replied stiffly: 
“The regulations of the Service re- 
quire it to be, your excellency !” 

The other mood-setting story 
came to me directly from a ballet 
dancer. Some Russian music critic 
or mefcly “expert” had called her 
attention to the similarity of the main 
theme in Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake 
Ballet and the so-called Swan Theme 
in Wagner’s “Lohengrin,” pointing 
out that Wagner had used this theme 
for his Swan, since it was already 
established musically as a “swan 
theme”. Mulling this over I could 
not get rid of the idea that Wagner 
must have lived earlier than Tchai- 
kovsky and I did the one thing that 
I probably shouldn’t have done : I 
checked. I found that the opera 
“Lohengrin” had been finished in 
1848 and performed for the first 
time in 1850. Pyotr Ilyitch Tchai- 
kovsky was born in 1840 and began 
to compose in 1862. 

After this, friends, let’s not be too 
surprised if Radio Moscow informs 
us at some future date that the hot 
air balloon was not invented by the 
Brothers Montgolfier in 1783, but 
by Feofil Faddeevitch Vseznaikin, 
village idiot of Podkammenaya 
Kubianka, in September 1631— cor- 
rection: August 1630. There may 
have been such a man and he may 
have played around with paper bags 
and tbe smoke from a woodfire. It 
happens to be a fact— seriously— that 

AST-5N 



99 




the hot air balloon was almost in- 
vented by the armorers of some Ger- 
man knights in the late Middle Ages. 
And that it was actually invented by 
Chinese peasants in Szechwan Prov- 
ince, at an uncertain date but most 
likely quite some time before the 
Montgolfiers. 

Going back to that list of Russian 
claims I can only say that it should 
make pretty discouraging reading to 
any Russian. He reads there that a 
compatriot of his invented the trans- 
former, but the actual transformers 
he can see have name plates saying 
“Siemens & Halske”, or “General 
Electric”, or “Westinghouse”. Like- 
wise Lodygin invented the electric 
light, but the names etched on the 
light bulbs say anything except 
Lodygin. And while Lysenko and 
Michurin find an unexpected de- 
fender in George Bernard Shaw that 
same Mr. Shaw refers to them cold- 
bloodedly as “Neo-Lamarckists”, re- 
ferring, of course, to Jean Baptist, 
Chevalier de Lamarck who died in 
1829. And if Faddei Bellingsgausen 
discovered Antarctica, why is there 
no Russian settlement or at least a 
Russian military base at the Ant- 
arctic Circle. 

For better workability I am going 
to split the list of alleged Russian 
accomplishments into several parts. 
There is the single geographical dis- 
covery, then there are a number of 
technological developments and, 
finally, the two theoretical items, the 
“genetics controversy” and the Lo- 
monosov claims. 



Let’s begin with the case of Ant- 
arctica. 

Ever since antiquity there had 
been a belief in a gigantic southern 
continent, mostly for the reason that 
the unknown southern hemisphere 
needed a large land mass to counter- 
balance the known continents of the 
North. Of course there were times 
when the belief was not very pro- 
nounced, but after the discovery of 
America sailors actually began to 
search for this continent. Finally 
Abel Janszoon Tasman established 
that Australia was not part of it, but 
he saw New Zealand and that might 
be a northern promontory. More 
than a century after Tasman— who 
had sailed in 1642— Captain James 
Cook established the fact that New 
Zealand was not a promontory 
either. That was in 1769, and then 
Captain Cook himself sailed around 
the earth in as high a southerly lati- 
tude as conditions would permit. He 
came home with the report that there 
was no southern continent, unless it 
was all inside the Antarctic Circle. 
But there was a report aroimd that 
a Dutchman, Dirk Gerritsz, had seen 
land in a very high southerly lati- 
tude— in 1599. We still don’t know 
what he saw, it might have been the 
South Shetlands, it might have been 
Antarctica itself. 

Several nations checked, among 
them a Russian expedition, ordered 
by Alexander I. and commanded by 
Fabian Gottlieb von Bellingshausen. 
Early in 1821— and 1821 is correct— 
the Russian frigate encountered an- 
other vessel, the sloop Hero. Her 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 



100 




master was Captain Nathaniel 
Brown Palmer of Stonington, Con- 
necticut who had gone into southern 
waters looking for fur seals. He 
told Captain von Bellingshausen that 
in November 1820 he had found land 
and the commander of the Russian 
vessel then told him “I name the land 
you have discovered in honor of 
yourself, noble boy”— Palmer was 
about twenty-one years old— and the 
map still says “Palmer’s Land”, or, 
because of more recent information : 
“Palmer Archipelago”. You can 
also find an “Alexander I. Isld.” on 
the map. But that even Palmer’s 
Land was actually part of a conti- 
nent remained conjecture until 
Charles Wilkes sailed southward in 
1840. 

Discussion of the . list of techno- 
logical developments is beset by one 
main difficulty, the old problem of 
what constitutes an invention. To 
illustrate this difficulty I’ll devote a 
few paragraphs to cases not claimed 
by the Russians. For example: In 
1783 the French professor Charles 
invented the hydrogen balloon, but 
he was not the discoverer of hydro- 
gen gas and it is now known that 
Henry Cavendish had shown hydro- 
gen to be lighter than air in 1766. 
One Dr. Joseph Black of Edinburgh 
then wanted to fill a bladder with 
h}^drogen, as a classroom demonstra- 
tion. It so happened that he failed, 
but one Tiberius Cavallo tried it 
again later. He failed too, but then 
succeeded with hydrogen filled soap 
bubbles one }'ear before Professor 
Charles. Charles, however, had 

SCIENCE AND “tRUTH” 



made his experiment in conscious 
imitation of the Montgolfier’s hot air 
balloon, substituting hydrogen. 

Or take the case of radar which 
has a “made to order” history. In 
1873 the Scottish physicist James 
Clerk Maxwell published his fa- 
mous work in which he showed (A) 
that light could be explained as a 
wave motion, and (B) that electro- 
magnetism and light might ulti- 
mately l)e the same. (Theoretical 
groundwork.) Thereupon the Ger- 
man Heinrich Hertz began to look 
for electric w'aves, found them in 
1886 and proved experimentally that 
such waves were reflected by solid 
objects. (Experimental proof and 
verification.) Much later, in 1922, 
the Italian Guglielmo Marconi said 
that short radio waves should be em- 
ployed in navigation for the detec- 
tion of obstacles and of other ships. 
(Suggested specific application.) 
During the same year American 
electronics engineers found acciden- 
tally that a ship that got in the W'ay 
while they e.xperimented did distort 
their readings— they picked up the 
clue and went ahead with the actual 
development of the device. (Engi- 
neering development and finally pro- 
duction. ) 

These examples do not only show 
why Patent Offices have to assume 
such a stiffly formalistic attitude, 
they also show why after-the-event- 
claims can be numerous and why 
each may contain some justification. 
Finally they show that it is wrong to 
assume that the sequence of histori- 
cal priority must coincide with the 



101 




engineering development, prior ac- 
complishments can be, and often 
were, completely isolated and with- 
out provable or even probable influ- 
ence on later work. 

But when we take the cases of 
Professor Danilevsky’s list it turns 
out that they do not even fit into 
the elastic framework of the attitude 
expressed in the preceding para- 
graph. 

Let’s begin with the stratosphere 
balloon. The Russians built one 
which they named Stratostat and 
which made a very high ascent on 
September 30, 1933. It does not 
count as a stratosphere flight offi- 
cially since it crashed, killing all 
three balloonists. According to the 
rules a flight is not concluded unless 
somebody lands the balloon. Even 
if you do count it, there is no getting 
around a few dates. Professor 
Auguste Piccard had made a strato- 
s])here flight Jrom Zurich, Switzer- 
land, in 1932 and before that one 
from Augsburg, Germany, in May 
1931. In case the Russians include 
unmanned stratosphere flights they 
beat Professor Piccard, but not tbe 
Frenchmen Georges Besancon and 
Gustave Hermite whose first un- 
manned stratosphere balloon took off 
near Paris on March 21, 1893. 

As for the pack parachute : First 
parachute known to history is a 
drawing in Leonardo da Vinci’s 
sketchbook. (Da \ inci died in 1519.) 
J. P. Blanchard, a Frenchman, used 
a parachute to lower a dog from a 
balloon. That was in 1785 and it 

102 



was probably the first parachute that 
was actually built. First human 
parachute jump also goes to Blan- 
chard, the date being 1793. It was 
an open parachute, as it was still 
used by captive balloon artillery ob- 
servers in World War I. The first 
American experiments with seat 
pack parachutes were made in Day- 
ton, Ohio, in 1918, at the time when 
the Russian revolution was going 
full blast. Nothing is known about 
Russian work before the revolution. 

It is with some glee that I see “jet 
propulsion’’ on Professor Dani- 
levsky’s list, a case where I can fall 
back on several shelves of books and 
a few filing cabinets full of other 
material. As regards turbojets the 
race was close between British and 
German designers during the second 
World War. Having the data from 
both sides on hand now it is easy to 
find that the first German jet plane 
was in the air about eight weeks 
earlier than the first British, but that 
the first British jet plane was some- 
what better than the first German. 
The operational types were about 
equal in performance. But before it 
came to experimentation there were 
publications and patents. There is a 
German patent, dated October 1930 
for Wilhelm Goldau, emijodying the 
principles of the pulse jet. There 
are the piildications of the French- 
man Rene Lorin— early first World 
War— embodying the principles of 
the ramjet— they were forgotten 
everywhere, except in Germany. 

Now if you want to include com- 
pressed air jets and steam jets you 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




have two pamphlets of the Russian 
inventor Fyodor Geschwend of Kiev, 
the earlier one dated 1887, referring 
to steam jets. You have a United 
States patent referring to compressed 
air jets for General Rrissell Thayer 
of Philadelphia, issued in 1884. You 
have an— unpublished— memorandum 
of the Russian army engineer Tre- 
tesskij of 1849, referring to air jets. 
You have a record of a British pat- 
ent for steam jet airplanes, issued to 
Charles Golightly in 1841. You have 
a British patent for steam rockets— 
actually built in 1824— by the Eng- 
lishman James Perkins. And we 
have a record of steam reaction cars, 
actually built as small models for 
classroom demonstration at Leyden 
University, by the Dutch professor 
Jacob Willem s’Gravesande, in 1720. 
Before that we have numerous black- 
powder rockets, traceable back to 
1232, through England, Germany, 
the Spanish Moors, the African 
Arabs, to China. 

The ship’s propeller is a slightly 
different case. Most books say that 
it started with the British ship 
Archimedes, launched in 1838. Be- 
cause this ship was successful the 
propeller era may be said to have 
begun with it. But the Archimedes 
was rather late. It was based on 
experiments made by the English 
farmer Francis P. Smith, in 1835.-6. 
However, six years earlier, in 1829, 
the Austrian Josef Ressel had op- 
erated his steamer Civetta with 
screws. Still earlier an American 
inventor named Stevens had experi- 
mented with screw propellers on the 



Hudson. The year was 1806. And 
long before that screw propellers 
had been in action off Governor’s 
Island. The year was 1777 and the 
screws propellers had been part of 
the equipment of the first definitely 
recorded submarine, the Turtle, de- 
signed by Dr. David Bushnell and 
manned and powered by Sergeant 
Ezra Lee. They had actually 
worked, as well as one could expect 
with one man power behind them, 
especially since they were not even 
pedaled, but hand cranked. The use 
of the Archimedian screw for pro- 
pulsion had been suggested earlier, 
in 1738, by the Swiss physicist 
Daniel Bernoulli. But this Daniel 
Bernoulli— and this is the crux of 
the matter, dear comrades— was born 
in 1700 and spent a little over seven 
years as professor of mathematics in 
St. Petersburg before he returned 
to Basle in 1733. 

Now it is one of the curious 
aspects of capitalism that its adher- 
ents are divided among themselves. 
They are as apt as not to go to court 
and to sue each other and they say 
what they please in court, regardless 
pf the fact that there are spectators 
and even reporters present. And be- 
cause of this strange habit the whole 
history of -the telephone is well 
known. Because as soon as the 
American capitali.st-to-be Alexander 
Graham Bell had filed patents for 
the invention of the telephone he 
was sued by three other Americans : 
Professor A. E. Dolbear, Mr. 
Daniel Drawbaugh and Professor 



SCIENCE AND “tRUTH” 



103 




Elisha Gray. It was what lawyers 
call “prolonged litigation”' during 
which everybody read into the rec- 
ord what the judge would possibly 
permit. They all quoted from an 
article by the Frenchman Charles 
Borseul, discussing electric transmis- 
sion of speech and published 1854. 
They all told about the experiments 
of the Italian Antonio Meucci made 
in 1857 and talked at great length 
about the German physicist Philipp 
Reis who, in 1861 had built and 
demonstrated to quite a number of 
people an instrument with which he 
electrically transmitted the sound of 
tuning forks from one room in his 
laboratory to another. He openly 
stated that he was familiar with Bor- 
seul’s article. Alexander Graham 
Bell admitted that he had started in 
the same manner as Reis, transmit- 
ting steady sounds. This was done 
by him successfully for the first time 
on June 2, 1875. But Reis never 
progressed to speech, or gave up be- 
fore he got that far, while Bell had 
done so on March 10, 1876. 

If there had been any distinct 
Russian claim around at the time of 
those court proceedings, either the 
Patent Office examiner would have 
unearthed it or the court would have 
been told by one of the litigants. 

As for B. S. Jakoby and his elec- 
tric mine, things are off too. It is 
true that the Russians invented the 
naval mine during the Crimean war, 
the British, blockading Kronshtadt— 
the harbor of St. Petersburg— fished 
some up and descrilted them. They 
stood twenty inches tall and had a 

104 



diameter of sixteen inches. They 
worked, too, even though they did 
not happen to damage a British ship. 
But they were contact mines, the 
ship had to touch them and break an 
ampule. These mines were invented 
over again by the Confederates dur- 
ing the Civil War and one Con- 
federate officer. Lieutenant Hunter 
Davidson, then constructed the first 
electric mines, ignited by an ob- 
server hidden at the river’s bank. 
(They were used in rivers at first.) 
Of course the idea of the moored 
naval mine was Robert Fulton’s, 
the first floating mine appears in a 
manuscript of the Italian engineer 
Joanes de Fontana, written around 
1420. 

Now for the electrical lamp, in- 
vented, according to the list in the 
VOKS Bulletin V A. N. Lodygin 
in 1874. Somebody didn’t go back 
far enough in the magazine files, be- 
cause Lodygin’s invention was actu- 
ally made in 1872. And to confront 
Lodygin with Edison is a deliberate 
attempt at confusion. It was not a 
filament lamp at all, but one using a 
V-shaped piece of graphite in a 
nitrogen atmosphere. This was 
quickly superseded by Kosloff’s 
lamp, alike in principle but with a 
superior mechanical arrangement of 
graphite rods for automatic replace- 
ment. Kosloff’s lamp— !875— found 
itself ousted from professional at- 
tention by Konn’s lamp, made dur- 
ing the same year and differing es- 
sentially by operating in vacuum. 
Bulidgin’s lamp which followed one 
year later, was an improved version 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




of Konn’s lamp, but if BuHdgin had 
any ideas about commercial manu- 
facture they were squelched by P. N. 
Yablotchk off’s “electric candle” 
which appeared in the same year and 
was sold by the thousands. It was 
an ingenious small arc lamp, with 
kaolin separating the two rods. 

Edison came three years later but 
resembled Yablotchkoff’s lamp only 
to the extent of operating on electric 
current. Edison’s basic patent 
stresses the fact that 'there should 
be a carbon filament and that it 
should be thin in order to have high 
resistance. Because the filament was 
thin it had to be operated in' a 
vacuum, because of that it had to be 
inclosed in a glass bulb which was 
fused shut. And another point 
which made one of the “claims” of 
Edison’s patent, was that the wires 
that carry the current should be 
melted into the glass. 

Nobody in his right mind ever 
said that Edison made the first 
electric lamp, or even the first prac- 
tical electric lamp. Yablotchkoff’s 
“candle” was practical too, especially 
for outdoor illumination; Edison’s 
lamp was “merely” the first practi- 
cal filament lamp. Normally it 
would be fairly unimportant that 
much earlier, in 1838, the Belgian 
Professor Jobard had stated that a 
small piece of carbon, heated to in- 
candescence by electric current in a 
vacuum, should produce a fine 
sourcg of illumination. But since 
Professor Danilevsky has started 
splitting hairs, well, then let’s split 
them all the way to the bottom. 

SCIENCE AND “tRUTh” 



When Paul Ehrlich, long before 
he started his attack on Spirochacta 
pallida, was Resident Physician of 
the Charite, a city-owned hospital in 
Berlin, it was quite generally known 
that he did not like to be bothered 
with hospital routine and that he left 
the patients to his fellow physicians. 
He himself worked hard, all day 
long, staining tissues. Some busy- 
body felt obliged to “bring this to the 
attention” of the chief of the hospital. 
Professor von Frerichs. “Let Ehr- 
lich go on staining,” he answered, 
“science is a bird that does not sing 
when caged.” 

Some forty years later, in the same 
place, some nobody in a brown uni- 
form ordered the doctors of the 
Charite to find a reliable test for peo- 
ple “suspected of Jewish blood”, add- 
ing threateningly that that should 
not be too difficult. Scientists all 
over the world, including Russian 
scientists, howled in anguish; they 
all said that the Dark Ages had 
returned because orders were given 
to science. 

Since this is a point where se- 
mantic confusion can hatch at a mo- 
ment’s notice it is necessary to clarify 
the meaning carefully. Of course 
scientists get orders all the time. 
The patient who wants to be rid of 
pain actually gives his doctor an or- 
der. And no chemist, American, 
English, French, German, Russian 
or Hindu will for a moment object 
W'hen he is asked to find something 
in which to keep fluorine, or when he 
is requested to concoct an alloy which 
will still be structurally strong at 



105 




950° C. But scientists will, and 
must, rebel when ordered to “pro- 
duce” findings which will support a 
certain philosophy and to close their 
eyes to anything which will fail to 
support it. Scientists do not mind 
to be ordered to find out the tem- 
perature of the water near the bot- 
tom of the lake. They also don’t 
care whether it happens to be cold or 
warm, but they w'on’t report that'it 
is what “the regulations of the serv- 
ice require it to be.” 

In what has come to be called the 
“genetics controversy” Russian bi- 
ologists are supposed to do just that, 
more specifically they are under or- 
ders to prove that acquired charac- 
teristics are inheritable. When the 
first repercussions of that storm, 
deftly manipulated by Comrade Ly- 
senko, appeared in the profe.ssional 
press I moaned to myself : “Oh no, 
not that again.” I had read all that 
before, five books and fifteen 
pamphlets of it, most of it, amusingly 
enough, on a bench in the garden of 
the same Charite wRere Professor 
von Frerichs had closed both eyes 
to Ehrlich’s unscheduled activities. 

The background is comparatively 
easy to tell. The idea of evolution 
of animals and plants had been 
around, on and off, for quite some 
time. But at about 1800 things be- 
gan to get serious. Johann Wolf- 
gang von Goethe walked around 
through botanical gardens, looking 
for the “original plant”, the pure 
type of which all others might be 
just variations. And the chevalier 
de Lamarck in Paris, custodian and 



professor at the Jardin des Plantes 
wrote a book wdiich bore the title 
of “Philosophic isoologique.” La- 
marck was quite certain that the liv- 
ing animals had evolved, relation- 
ships to him w'cre relationships in 
the evolutionary sense. And since 
he w'as convinced that, animals 
evolved he thought about the reason 
for this evolution— most obviously it 
was the desire for adaptation. There 
was this African mammal, the gi- 
raffe. In general design it was the 
same as other grass-eating mam- 
mals. But its long neck enabled it 
to eat the leaves off trees. Probably, 
Lamarck’s reasoning ran, the gi- 
raffe’s ancestors had eaten grass too, 
at one time. But then conditions 
changed, grass became rare. But the 
trees still bore leaves, the giraffe had 
to stretch its neck. And its neck 
grew longer because of the steady 
effort. The young had slightly longer 
necks to begin with and stretched 
them some more. And finally the 
long-necked giraffe of today was fin- 
ished. 

Lamarck’s thoughts were, really 
and truly, what the title of the book 
proclaim : Philasophie soologiqiie. 

Half a century later came Dar- 
win. He was also convinced that 
animals had evolved and that the 
continuous need for adaptation had 
been one of the main causes. But 
Darwin advanced a different set of 
ideas about the mechanism of evo- 
lution. Using the same example and 
starting with the. same general 
premises Darwdn would have said 
that among the individuals con- 



106 



ASTOUNDING S Cl EN CE- FI CTION 




earned there were some with acci- 
dentally somewhat longer necks, 
since there are always a number of 
small individual variations in a spe- 
cies. When the longer neck sud- 
denly proved to be an advantage 
these individuals were more likely to 
survive. More important still— 
they were. more likely to produce 
offspring. And that offspring, com- 
ing from long-necked parents on both 
sides, would have generally longer 
necks. And since the longer necks 
were a survival factor under those 
special conditions the process would 
go on and on. And on. 

The trouble, now exploited to the 
full by Lysenko, Kaftanov and their 
hand-picked cohorts, started right at 
that point, when things had to be la- 
beled for the sake of referring to con- 
cepts. Most people, when they said 
“Darwinism”, meant Darwin’s con- 
cept of evolution. A few people, 
when they said “Darwinism”, meant 
Darwin’s ideas about the modus 
operandi of evolution, as distinct 
from Lamarck’s. To still others this 
was just wonderful. They would 
prove— more, or less— that the “Dar- 
winisms” of small individual varia- 
tions was unsatisfactory, mostly be- 
cause the beginnings of an adapta- 
tion might be too small to fill the 
need and to account for survival. 
Afterwards they w’ould behave as if 
the “Darwinism” of evolution had 
collapsed. One could drag in “de- 
terminism”, “fatalism”, and the 
whole vocabulary of philosophical 
debate, one could say that “Darwin 

SCIENCE AND “tRUTH” 



was no Darwinist” and generally in- 
dulge in high-sounding nonsense. 

Since little about the mechanism 
of heredity was knowm then the dis- 
cussion between strict “Darwinists” 
—in the narrow sense of the word— 
and the not-so-strict Darwinists— 
they came to be called Neo-Lamarck- 
ists— narrow'ed down to the pro1)lem 
whether acquired characteristics 
could be inherited.- Offhand there 
were many arguments against such 
an idea. I still have to shave every 
morning, although my father did and 
my grandfather. Every Jewish boy 
baby still has to be circumcised, al- 
though the acquired characteristic 
of losing the praepiitimn has per- 
sisted in the family for about 
tw'enty-five hundred years. Every 
child still has to learn its owm lan- 
guage- 

Well yes, said the Neo-Lamarck- 
ists, naturally not every characteris- 
tic, else all people would be born 
cripples by now^ There is an “inner 
regeneration” w'hich fixes up the 
damage done by accidents. But in 
some cases an acquired characteris- 
tic will be inherited, especially when 
it is useful. For that reason the ex- 
periment performed by August 
Weismann— he died in 1914— of 
breeding more than tw'enty genera- 
tions of mice and clipping off every 
mouse tail wdthout ever getting a 
tailless mouse does not prove any- 
thing. The record of the experi- 
ments made in those days and the 
attempts to explain the findings one 
way or another would make a fas- 
cinating story in itself; at this point 

107 




it is only necessary to say that they 
did not produce a clear indication. 
And since at about that point Profes- 
sor Hugo de V ries came across plant 
nuitants the discussion evaporated to 
a good extent. But belatedly one 
more man appeared on the scene, a 
Viennese aquarist by the name of 
Dr. Paul Kammerer. Kammerer 
was a Neo-Lamarckist and he pro- 
duced surprising results in his 
ac|uaria and terraria, apparently get- 
ting whole series of cases of in- 
heritance of acquired characteristics. 

Scientists, according to tempera- 
ment, admired his work, revised 
their opinions, or shook their heads 
and wondered- whether there was 
something wrong. But nobody 
doubted the reports themselves, un- 
til somebody stumbled across the fact 
that the time Kammerer had had 
was simply too short for the number 
of generations of salamanders, and 
newts, and midwife toads listed in his 
tables. Then it was found that a 
very important acquired thumb pad 
of a male midwife toad had been “ac- 
quired” by way of injection with 
India ink ! 

Kammerer was in disgrace in Vi- 
enna. And he was invited to Russia. 
But he committed suicide in Fall 
1926. The reason he had been in- 
vited to Russia was simply that 
Communist ideology had urgent 
need for the inheritance of acquired 
characteristics, Michurin’s writings 
had been exploited in that manner. 
“Thanks to the care of the Bol- 
shevist Party and of the Soviet . 
Government, as well as to the per- 

108 



sonal care of our great leaders, Lenin 
and Stalin, Michurin’s theory has 
been preserved from oblivion and has 
become the property of the people.” 
(Kaftanov.) Kammerer could not 
help them ancTOore, but he could still 
be used. Lenin’s Commissar of 
Education, Lunatcharski, wrote a 
movie “Salamandra/’ with a fine 
role for his very beautiful wife, with 
a short role for himself— playing him- 
self on the screen— and with a perse- 
cuted hero who, in the movies, does 
not commit suicide but flees to 
Russia. 

The part which Kammerer prob- 
ably was supposed to play was then 
filled by Lysenko who openly and 
naively admits that he had to fill the 
Congress Hall with his supporters 
since the “established biologists” 
would not have listened to him. 

Now the point is not that a pro- 
fessor Semyonov in Novo-sibirsk, or 
a professor Duplessis in Rouen or a 
Professor Brown in Los Angeles 
happen to be Neo-Lamarckists. 
That w’ould be their business. The 
point is that a biologist in Russia 
must be a Michurinist, or else he has 
to dig ditches. He is not supposed 
to uncover the laws of genetics and 
of evolution, he is supposed to prove 
Michurin right. That the song of 
the caged birds is going to be unin- 
spired is dead certain, because, you 
see, parrots do not sing well even 
out of doors. 

In 1925 the Soviet Government 
issued a set of two postage stamps 
in celebration of the bicentenary of 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




the Akademiya Na’ook, the Academy 
of Science. They showed the his- 
toric building and above it a portrait 
of Mikhail Vasilievitch Lomonosov. 
Because of those stamps, which also 
seem to have served as posters, and 
because of the term “father of Rus- 
sian science” many Russians are 
convinced that Lomonosov founded 
the Academy. And at least one Rus- 
sian radio speaker said so in so 
many words. 

That is not quite correct. A book 
published by the Academiya Na’ook 
itself in 1928 tells the story correct- 
ly. I quote— translating, of course— : 
“Soon after the founding of the 
Royal Society in London, the Acade- 
mic des Sciences in Paris and a 
provincial French academy, the 
Akademie der Wissenschajten was 
founded in Berlin at the beginning 
of the eighteenth century and there- 
upon the Akademiya Na’ook in St. 
Petersburg. The new academy, 
created by order of Peter I. after 
the pattern of the Paris Academy 
and under the influence of Leibnitz 
had high aims . . . and many- distin- 
guished foreigners were invited as 
teachers.” Among them were Euler, 
Nicholas and Daniel Bernoulli, the 
chemist Gmelin, G. F. Mueller and 
later the surgeon and traveler Peter 
Simon Pallas. The first Russian to 
teach there had the name Adadurov, 
“during the course of the first thirty 
years the academy had ten Russians 
as teachers, among them the great 
Lomonosov.” 

The latter is no exaggeration. 
Most people can name only two Rus- 

SCIENCE AND “truth” 



sian scientists as a rule, Mendeleyev 
and Metchnikoff. In all justice they 
should add a third name, Lomono- 
sov, w'ho was an extraordinary char- 
acter in many respects. 

Born early in November, 1711 in 
the tiny village of Denisovka, some 
forty miles from Arkhangelsk, he 
somehow managed to find somebody 
who taught him to read, meanwhile 
working with his father who went 
to sea on and off. When almost 
twenty years old he ran away and 
went to Moscow, quite some distance 
away, to go to school. The other 
pupils, being much younger, laughed 
at him, but Lomonosov did not com- 
plain about that. Fie did complain 
that the school taught only Latin, 
theology and a little philosophy. In 
1734 he went to Kiev where there 
existed a theological seminary, but 
he fled back to Moscow almost at 
once. At about the time he returned 
a letter arrived from the recently 
founded Akademiya Na’ook, the 
Empress had decided to send a num- 
ber of especially gifted pupils to 
Germany for study. Lomonosov 
was one of those picked, he was sent 
to Marburg where he studied phys- 
ics, natural history, chemistry and 
what was then called metallurgy— 
we would say applied chemistry with 
reference to the extraction of metals 
from their ores. 

Meanwhile the Academy in St. 
Petersburg had had some trouble 
with its chemists. The first profes- 
sor of chemistry, a German by the 
name of Berger, had been too drunk 
one night to notice that he fell out of 



109 




his sled and consequently “died from 
exposure”. The second chemist, a 
German by the name of Gmelin, had 
talked the court into sending him on 
an expedition to Siberia. When he 
came back, several ye^rs later, he 
declared that he would teach botany 
from now on. Lomonosov, having 
returned from Marburg in 1741, 
took Gmelin’s vacant chemistry chair 
in 1745. One of the first things he 
did was to introduce the art df eccle- 
siastical mosaics to Russia. For that 
colored glass was needed, so he 
founded a few glass factories. When 
it came to teaching chemistry he 
found, as he had suspected, that 
there was no textbook. Well, he 
would translate one from the Ger- 
man. Then he saw that Russian did 
not have the necessary vocabulary, 
so he created one, partly by adapting 
Slavonic roots, partly by transplant- 
ing German words. Having started, 
he continued writing and his “His- 
tory of Russia” is still a worthwhile 
book for interested students, tie 
also wrote a book on rhetoric and 
one on grammar. In fact he created 
the Russian literary language, much 
in the same manner in which Dr. 
Martin Luther had created a Ger- 
man literary language in his day. 

His literary activities, many of 
them command performances, over- 
shadowed his other work to such an 
extent that most Russians, in later 
years, considered him a man of let- 
ters rather than an early scientist. 
The fact really came to light because 
of a project started by the German 
Professor Wilhelm Ostwald. Ost- 

110 



wald had the idea of reprinting the 
important contributions to science of 
all times and all nations in a series of 
small books. Of course the whole 
series appeared in German. Ost- 
wald had come across Lomonosov’s 
name in correspondence with the 
mathematician Euler and inquired of 
Professor B. N. Menshutkin of the 
Russian Academy whether he would 
translate some of Lomonosov’s 
original work. Menshutkin had been 
interested in Lomonosov to begin 
with and related that he had found, 
to his great surprise, “large num- 
bers” of manuscripts in Lomono- 
sov’s handwriting, most of them in 
Latin, many of them unfinished, and 
all of them unpublished. It seems 
that only Lomonosov’s Russian pa- 
pers had been published. Menshut- 
kin made a careful selection and the 
translation appeared in about 1908 
as “Osfwald’s Klassiker, No. 178.” 
The two statements by Professpr 
Vavilov, generally considered to be 
“news”, can both be found in this 
book. Lomonosov observed the 
transit of Venus in May, 1761, and 
noticed how Venus’ atmosphere 
seemed to light up when the planet’s 
disk touched that of the sun. He 
wrote then that “Venus must have 
an atmosphere as large as, and 
maybe larger than, our planet”. 
Later writers, not knowing about 
Lomonosov, thought that either 
Herschel or Schroeter had made this 
discovery. N eedless to say that both 
Herschel and Schroeter believed 
that they did. 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




As a chemist, Lomonosov was op- 
posed to Boyle. He ridiculed the idea 
that heat was a, specific, “fluid” and 
described it as a movement of the 
“smallest particles”. As an argu- 
ment in favor of his concept he 
wrote : “red-hot iron is obviously at 
rest, yet it can melt other substances 
and evaporate others.” He had 
taken the concept of atoms over from 
Daniel Bernoulli, but he always 
meant molecules when he wrote 
“atoms”. He reasoned that the “at- 
oms” of air do not touch each other, 
because air can be compressed. But 
since the “atoms” could not act upon 
each other without contact one had 
to assume that they were in steady 
movement. He had built his own 
thermometer, with 0° at the freezing 
point of water and 150° at its boil- 
ing point, and measured the co- 
efficient of expansion of air for a 
temperature rise of one of his de- 
grees. Converted for centigrade de- 
grees he found a value of 0.003, the 
true value is 0.00367. Strangely 
chough he never arrived at the con- 
cept of a chemical element and al- 
though he worked much with low- 
natural— temperatures he never found 
that water expands in freezing. He 
knew that an iron bomb, filled with 
water, will burst when it freezes, 
but thought that the air released by 
the freezing water caused the pres- 
sure. When the Swedish Academy 
of Sciences honored him he was just 
working with the freezing of saline 
^polutions and wrote a paper, in 



SCIENCE AND “tRUXH” 



which he said that icebergs could 
not form in sea water. Hence there 
had to be large fresh water rivers 
somewhere in Greenland to account 
for the icebergs. 

The anticipation of the law of con- 
servation_,of matter can be found in a 
letter which he wrote to Euler, under 
the date of July 5, 1748. In this 
letter, written in German, he said : 

All change.s that take place in Nature 
are such that if somewhere something is 
added, somewhere else as much is taken 
away. As much matter is added (here) 
to a body, as much is being taken away 
(elsewhere) from another body. . . . This 
law is so general that it even applies to the 
movements of the bodies ; the body which 
sets another one in motion by its impulse 
loses as much motion as it transfers to the 
other. 

This statement was repeated, with 
very similar words, in a speech be- 
fore the Academy in 1760 ; this Rus- 
sian version was probably printed 
first. 

Partly because he tried to do too 
many things, partly because he was 
not well during the latter years of 
his life, Lomonosov did not exert 
much influence on scientific thought. 
He died on April 4, 1765. Pushkin, 
asked to say something about him 
later, simply declared that “Lomono- 
sov was a great man”. 

But one may wonder whether 
Kaftanov would permit him to be 
great, if he had been born in 1911 
instead of 1711. 



THE END 



111 





BRASS TACKS 



More than the extra 1.5 mi. per sec. 
zvoiild he built up by the jail from 
Earth’s orbit to Venn? under 
solar gravity. 

Dear Sir: 

I found Latham’s “article” “The 
Aphrodite Project” in the June is- 
sue very entertaining, and the idea 
behind it quite intriguing. However, 
there are a few things I would like 
to point out : 

1. The purpose of the rocket’s 
“slow speed until about five hun- 
dred miles high” escapes me: a) air 
resistance is negligible on a rocket 
of any useful size ; even the small, 
nearly atmosphere bound V-2 loses 
only about ten percent of its final 
velocity from air resistance, b) Al- 
though the final velocity of a rocket 
at burn-out is commonly given as 

112 



V = c. In (MR), i.e. it equals the ex- 
haust velocity times the natural loga- 
rithm of the mass-ratio— the relation 
MR = e is equivalent to this— how- 
ever, in a gravitational field the final 
velocity is reduced by the term — gt, 
thus v=c»ln(MR) — gt, where t is 
the burning time. Thus, it most 
efficient to have the burning time as 
short as possible. 

2. It was not pointed out that in 
addition to the Earth’s escape 
velocity, about 1.5 mi/sec is needed 
to put the rocket in an ellipse reach- 
ing in to Venus. 

3. Disregarding monetary rea- 
sons, for if they can afford a rocket 
capable of 8.5 mi/sec . . ., I don’t see 
the why of the twelve inch telescope. 
For visual planetary observations a 
smaller telescope does often give 
more detail, because it intercepts 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




fewer refracting heat waves in the 
atmosphere ; but for photographing 
an effectively point source, which is 
moving rapidly, a telescope with a 
much greater light gathering capacity 
would be preferable. 

4. Not only would there be no 
air currents to speedily dissipate the 
white cloud, there would be no air 
molecules to hinder its "diffusion”— 
I’m afraid it would spread rapidly. 
However, since anything under two 
hundred fifty miles in diameter 
would appear a point source to that 
twelve-inch telescope, the cloud 
would have to get at least this big be- 
fore its brightness dropped off at all. 

5. I shall make little comment, ex- 
cept to mention my extreme in- 
credulity, on things presumably writ- 
ten under fictional license : such as 
Venus’ origin and . rotation, the 
mountain’s presence and origin, and 
the existence of the rocket itself., 

I hope I do not sound too censur- 
ing, for I really thought the story 
to be stimulating and well written.^ 
C. J. Goebel, Care of The .Uni- 
versity of Chicago Rocket Society, 
1005 E. 60th, Chicago 37, Illinois. 

Concerning UNIVAC 

Dear Sir; 

Our attention has been drawn to 
the reference to our UNIVAC SYS- 
TEM appearing in the May 1949 
issue of your publication. 

We wish to point out, as is evi- 
dent from the enclosed descriptive 
literature, that UNIVAC is a trade 
name of the Eckert-Mauchly Com- 
puter Corporation and that a num- 



ber of UNIVAC SYSTEMS are 
now in the course of manufacture for 
delivery to several customers, in- 
cluding among others, the Bureau 
of Standards, on behalf of the Census 
Bureau. 

It would be appreciated if the er- 
roneous impression given by the ref- 
erence article could be corrected.— 
Eckert-Mauchly Computer Corpora- 
tion, George V. Eltgroth, Vice Presi- 
dent. 

Re “Can’t kill ojj the heroes”. Ever 
read “Hamlet”, “Macbeth” or 
“Cyrano du Bergerae” ? 

Dear Mr. Campbell : 

The May issue was generally 
good. The cover, I think, was one 
of the best in a long time. Orban is 
certainly improving ; he may even he 
as good as Alejandro some day. The 
color and atmosphere of the sea’s 
bottom were captured quite effec- 
tively, and the objects, for once, bore 
a resemblance to something recog- 
nizable. 

I haven’t read the serial yet. I 
have been a bit wary of serials since 
“Seetee Shock.” Here are the 
ratings. 

1. “Mother Earth,” by Asimov. 
A fine story, up to the magazine’s 
standards. 

2. "Lost Ulysses,” by Bade. An- 
other good one, except for the end- 
ing. There’s an axiom of fiction, 
scientific or not, which prohibits kill- 
ing off the hero of heroes, and here, 
these great benefactors of the human 
race are exterminated by their own 
“godchildren.” . 



BRASS TACKS 



113 




3. “Prophecy,” by Anderson. An 
extremely good short story, but its 
length makes it unable to compete 
with the novelettes. A good, thought- 
provoking idea, such as this was, 
loses much of its interest when not 
expounded upon at length. It re- 
minds me of a symphony, wherein a 
theme is stated, perhaps repeated, 
and then abandoned with no devel- 
opment. There is the gem of a 
thought, but the gem is in its crude, 
uncut form. (Please pardon my 
similes. ) 

4. “The Conroy Diary,” by Lafa- 
yette. Why doesn’t he stick to Ole 
Doc Methuselah ? This was the most 
pointless, useless story I’ve ever 
read. Why don’t you leave things 
like that to the pulp magazines ? 

I have always wanted to write an 
essay on science-fiction but have al- 
ways been afraid to. Seeing Mr. 
Savage’s fine work in the May is- 
sue, however, decided me, and here 
is my little attempt. 

Time and Space in 
Science-Fiction 

In no field of literature does there 
exist a more changing factor than 
time and space in science-fiction. 
Both range from the incredibly mi- 
nute to the incredibly immense. 
Authors change each to fit their plots 
and the reader often finds it difficult 
to change his point of view on the 
subject every twenty or thirty pages. 
In the May issue, as an example, 
there were extreme differences in 
time and space. “Mother Earth,” 
covered the Earth, solar system, and 



several planets in other systems, and 
took place in the future over a 
period of many months, and perhaps 
years. “Lost Ulysses” was larger 
in both respects. Here the Earth 
was but a tiny planet of a tiny sun 
in one of innumerable galaxies. 
Space had expanded enormously, 
and so had time. The action oc- 
curred over fifty million years in the 
future and occupied a time of thou- 
sands of years. This is unusual as 
will be shown later. “Prophecy,” 
was only a bit in the future, and the 
only space difference presented was 
the acknowledgment of the existence 
of several other systems. “The Con- 
roy Diary,” took place rather far in 
the future, but employed flashbacks 
to the not-so-distant future. . Space 
had enlarged to many systems of 
planets. The differences are ob- 
vious, and shall be expounded 
shortly. 

I— Space 

A. Today our space is limited to 
our own Earth and its atmosphere. 
Of course we know of the immense 
space which surrounds us, but no 
fiction— or nonfiction— story which 
has its setting today pays much at- 
tention to this. Our actual uni- 
verse is much smaller than the Earth 
even. There are millions of people 
to whom their neighborhood is their 
universe. How many people have 
ever been around the world, and for 
that matter, how many have been 
around their own country? Cosmic 
space is today very limited. How- 
ever, going the other way, space is 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 



114 




getting larger. The atom has added 
to onr impression of space greatly, 
and opens vistas of new subjects for 
science-fiction writers. 

B. To the Moon. In the early 
days of science-fiction, stories of 
reaching the Moon and thus ex- 
panding the space, the setting of the 
story, were perhaps the only science- 
fiction written. Anyone can think of 
at least ten Moon stories. Poe’s 
“Hans Pfaal” ; although not really 
science-fiction, opened the door for 
writers on this subject. Jules Verne’s 
two books of Moon travel, “From 
the Earth to the Mopn,” and “A 
Trip Around the Moon,’’ are also 
notable. Getting up to modern SF, 
Russell’s recent “Dreadful Sanctu- 
ary,” managed to be good science- 
fiction even though the space in 
which the action took place did not 
even include the Moon. In modern 
SF, the main idea of Moon stories is 
getting there. Stories of coloniza- 
tion, finding alien life, et cetera on 
the Moon are rare nowadays, al- 
though they still are found around. 
H. G. Wells had his heroes walking 
aroimd on, and in the Moon in his 
“The First Men In the Moon.” We 
find this fantastic today, and any- 
body on the Moon now, in fiction, 
must either wear an oxygen tank or 
spacesuit, or live under some enor- 
mous structure designed to hold an 
entire city, and supply it with air. 

C. To Mars and the other plan- 
ets. Here, writers have a wider field 
to deal with. Life has been seen on 
Mars— plant life— and so the possi- 
bility of intelligent life there is not as 

BRASS TACKS 



farfetched as the idea of life on the 
Moon. Stanley G. Weinbaum’s fine 
story of Martian life, “A Martian 
Odyssey,” is a good exairq^le of the 
kinds of things an author can dream 
up for another planet. The story, 
“Loophole,” by Clarke— ASF 1946— 
illustrates intelligent life on Mars. 
Usually, the next planet to he 
reached, which may have been the 
first, is Venus. O’Donnell’s “Fury,” 
takes place entirely on Venus. Mer- 
cury is rarely mentioned as support- 
ing life, and so there is no reason to 
get there. Jupiter is sometimes the 
subject of a story, more rarely is 
Saturn, and almost never any of the 
outer planets. 

D. To Centaurus and other stars. 
Here, space has expanded to four 
light-years, and given so much time 
in which to make the trip, an author 
usually creates a full-length novel 
from the idea. Van Vogt’s classic, 
“Centaurus II,” although a novelette, 
is an obvious example. 

E. Organized galaxy. Space is 
now unbelievably large, with billions 
of stars as part of the setting. It is 
here that most of the novels are writ- 
ten. Van Vogt’s “World and Play- 
ers of null-A,” E. E. Smith’s “Lens- 
men,” stories, Williamson’s “With 
Folded Hands . . . And Searching 
Mind,” are only a few of these. Nov- 
elettes such as Russell’s “Metamor- 
phosite,”— ASF 1946, December— 
are further examples of this “ex- 
panding universe” type of writing. 

F. To other galaxies. Even the 
best of authprs do not dabble in this 
subject too much. There is work 

115 




enough in planning one galaxy, much 
less than in planning millions, “Lost 
Ulysses,” of May, is the only story 
on this subject I can remember. 

^ G. Beyond this there is very little 
chance to expand space in science- 
fiction. Since SF is based on sci- 
ence, an author cannot write about 
something bigger than the galaxies 
because as yet, we have discovered 
nothing bigger. As for getting 
smaller instead of bigger, “He Who 
Shrank,”” which I think everyone 
knows, opens up space unimaginable 
in the atom. 

II— Time 

A. A science-fiction story never 
takes place today. The time of the 
story usually coincides with the 
space. The larger the space, the 
farther in the future. A few stories 
have been written on the past, a 
notable example of which is John 
Taine’s “Before the Dawn.” “False 
Dawn,” by Chandler— ASF 1946 
October— is another example. 

B. Slightly in the future. By this 
I mean from ten to one hundred 
years. Most mutation stories take 
place during this time. Judith Mer- 
ril’s first attempt, “That Only a 
Mother,” a very fine story illustrates 
this phase. I’m inclined to think 
that Padgett’s “Gallegher” stories 
take place about then, too. 

C. Up to one thousand years 
ahead. Most SF stories have their 
time here. All the “atomic wars” 
have been fought, the solar system 
has been conquered and man is look- 
ing to the stars. I think I need not 



give any examples, since almost any 
one you think of will fit into this 
category. 

D. From then to infinity. Al- 
though not too often used, this time 
is very well known by any SF 
reader. Here we have a decadent 
civilization, perhaps already died out. 
The sun is now a descending yellow 
or red, is not so hot, and is much 
nearer. Wells’ “Time Machine,” I 
think illustrates this “right proper.” 

1. A story usually takes no more 
than a year to go through. How- 
ever there are exceptions. 

2. Immortality. When, as in 
“Fury,” or “The Eternal Man,” the 
main character is immortal, the story 
usually covers a longer period of 
time. 

3. Teleportation, or suspended 
animation. A story may cover a 
long period of time if the character 
is teleporting all the time as in this 
month’s “Lost Ulysses,” or if he is 
held in suspended animation. 

4. If the story covers the lives of 
many successive generations as in 
“Centaurus II.” 

I think I have shown that time 
and space in science-fiction are never 
constant, changing in every novel, 
novelette or short story.— Jonathan 
Saville, 1006 Gerard Avenue, New 
York 52, N. Y. 

Another thing about mutations: 
Evolution proceeds by natural mu- 
tations. Radiation does cause 
more mutations, but is that 
BAD? Doesn’t it simply mean a 
faster rate of evolution f 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 



116 




Dear Mr. Campbell : 

I have something to add to the 
discussion of mutation which has 
adorned the Editor’s Page in Feb- 
ruary and June. First I would like 
to point out that you did a grave in- 
justice— unintentionally— to Dr. Rob- 
ley Evans in your June issue. I 
quote ; “Contrary to the statement 
that low levels of radiation cause no 
mutations whatever, Dr. Muller and 
many other geneticists, feel that even 
very low levels of radiation are im- 
portant.” Implying, of course, that 
Evans assumed low levels of radia- 
tion caused no mutations. Being a 
physicist and being acquainted with 
quantum 'mechanics I doubt if he 
could make such a mistake. I think 
you stated his position much better 
in your February issue. “Radiation 
intensities of the order of .1 r units 
per day do not appreciably— italics 
mine— alter the naturally occurring 
mutation rate. Any increase (in mu- 
tations), if present, (are) lost in the 
much greater mass of ‘normal’ muta- 
tions.” Stated in a simple fashion 
the low-energy radiations cause mu- 
tations which can be compared to 
the man dumping bucketfuls of 
water into the river. 

The proponents of the importance 
of low-level radiation, I think, are a 
bit^ misled because of an excessive 
reliance upon fruit flies. They iden- 
tify all of the fruit fly’s general ge- 
netic characteristics with man’s 
genes. For instance, we know that 
a fruit fly when exposed to hard 
radiations— beneath the level which 
will kill it before mating time— re- 



sponds with a high degree of rputa- 
tion. This is fact but it does not 
necessarily apply to humans for sev- 
eral reasons. Humans usually do 
not mate immediately after being ex- 
posed to such radiations ; flies do. 
Also a man, as you pointed out, 
must have a stabler genetic structure 
than a fruit fly because the man is 
exposed to years of mutating influ- 
ences before he mates, while the fly 
is merely exposed for a few days at 
most. Obviously we cannot study 
stable genetic structure via the fruit 
fly. This all means that though rapid 
breeeding insects readily mutate 
when exposed to hard radiations— 
even at a low level— such a fact is of 
little importance as regards human 
beings. 

We do not knozv, but a man’s 
genes may have a rather large tol- 
erance to hard radiations so that it 
would be hard to increase the natu- 
ral number of mutations very much 
without killing the man. We do not 
know, but a study of mice, which 
are certainly closer to humans than 
are fruit flies, seems to indicate this. 

Geneticists — 1949— are, generally 
speaking, not biochemists. They 
are biologists. As such the)^ tend 
to neglect the fact that genes are 
complex protein structures. The 
only way they have been able to in- 
duce mutation is by hard radiation, 
therefore— their thinking runs— a/f 
mutations »are likewise caused. But 
if we rememlrer that genes are large 
protein structures we see that this is 
not the case— that is, if we know 
anything at all about large proteins. 

117 



BRASS TACKS 




Many exasperated biochemists will 
refer to the fickleness of such struc- 
tures. A hydrogen ion is replaced, 
et cetera, a disintegration, a synthe- 
sis, a mild readjustment, et cetera 
occurs when it is not wanted and for 
seemingly no reason at all. 

Large protein structures are not 
stable, hard radiation or no hard 
radiation. In order to keep them in- 
tact they have to remain in an ex- 
actingly uniform environment. The 
cell in a being like man is such a 
uniform environment and probably 
accounts for much of the stability in 
our genes but it would be foolish to 
suppose that the human cell is so 
perfect that the genes are not ex- 
posed to various altering forces now 
and again, outside of hard radiations. 
I would say it was these biochemical 
alterations which accounted for a 
great number of natural mutations. 

Another interesting point is that 
—so far as I know, 1949— an internal 
alteration of the type just mentioned 
can be synthetic while an X-ray 
photon ripping through a gene can 
hardly be more than destructive, or 
at best rearranging in nature. A 
synthetic alteration seems, to mey to 
have a far better chance to turn up 
as beneficial than would a destruc- 
tive alteration. In natural mutation 
we get such freaks as a man with 
two good hearts but I never, ever, 
ever heard of a super-fly coming out 
of an X-ray chamber. 

Hm-m-m. Getting off the sub- 
ject and onto artwork: 

Orban’s cover of December, to me, 
was a fine piece of work in spite of 

118 



some people who didn’t like it. The 
tearing of the hair among SF circles 
was, of course, caused by the terrible 
and utterly unexpected appearance 
of a spaceship of the Orban Class on 
the cover of all places. SF fans have 
cringed over the Orbanships for 
many years now. They have tried 
to repress the things into their sub- 
conscious, and never speak of them 
in public nor among anybody but 
their best friends. Consequently sev- 
eral thousand Orbanships staring 
out at the world from multitudinous 
mag-stands induced severe shock 
among the less sturdy of our mem- 
bers. Myself, I thought if- was a 
rather luscious specimen. (I shall 
be torn apart and tossed into space. ) 
Speaking of Orbanships I noticed in 
the June issue that our illitstrious 
artist actually put fins on two space- 
ships and instituted other drastic 
model changes. Atta boy. But— 
sigh— an era has ended. You ought 
to get an Orbanship for the now 
dreary Contents Page— just to haunt 
us fans. 

And by the way referring to the 
letter which denounces bullet-shaped 
spaceships there is more than one 
reason why they should be that way. 
A spaceship engineer will want to 
put the atomic rockets just about as 
far away as possible from the crew 
and passengers. What other shape 
than a needle? Even if hard radia- 
tions ain’t what we use to think they 
was, they can at least make your 
hair fall out. Stay away from ’em !— 
Donald Kingsbury, 6294 Deacon 
Road, Montreal, Quebec, Canada. 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




Julius Unger Introduces 

THE FANTASY FICTION FIELD BOOK CLUB 

5 Books for the price of 3 — HOW? — LET ME EXPLAIN. 

Is To join the book club — buy ANY book from the general listing and receive ANY book from Item A 
through S absolutely FREE. 

2. When you purchase any TWO additional books from the general listings — (retailing from $3 up) at any 
time during the following year, you wilt receive another FREE book your own choice. 

3. Furthermore — this second FREE book, may be chosen from any titles shown in our general listing — 
now in print or forthcoming — ..(that normally retailed from $2.50 to $3.50). 

4. That’s a total of FIVE BOOKS for the price of THREE and for every future purchase of 3 books (retail- 
ing from $3 up) — you will receive another FREE book of your own choice that normally retails for 
$2.50 to $3.50. 

YOUR CHOICE OF 1st PREMIUM BOOKS OR ITEMS FROM THOSE LISTED BELOW 



A. Well of the Unicorn — Fletcher 

B. The Mislaid Charm— Phillips 

(2 Dust Jackets) 

C. Fantasy Book 

D. Rhode Island on Lovecraft 

E. Fantasy Calendar for 1949 

F. Greener Than You Think — Moore 

G. Moon Pool — Conquest of Moon Pool- 

Ship of Ishtar 

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All 3 as one choice — Ail by A. Merritt. 



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Fantasy Press and Arkham House Books not included as the FREE books. 



JULIUS UNGER 



Box 35, Brooklyn 4, New York 





...AND NOW YOU DON’T 

BY ISAAC ASIMOV 

Second of Three Parts. It caiTt be seen and must be found — 
with one small girl and a few bold men to seek the menace. 

Illustrated by Rogers 



In the dying days of the First 
Galactic Empire, the psychohistorian 
Hart Seldon had caused to he set up 
two Foundations “at opposite ends 
of the Galaxy” to serve as reservoirs 
of scientific knowledge during the 
anarchy that would follow the final 
jail of the Empire, and as sources 
from which a new and greater Em- 

120 



pire would rise. The First Founda- 
tion was a world of physical scien- 
tists which gradually grew in 
strength and importance through the 
centuries, as it followed the course 
of a great “Plan” zvhich had been 
calculated out in advance by Seldon 
and his school through their mathe- 
matised development of sociologic 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 



and economic currents, and conse- 
quent Ability to predict the course of 
future history. 

The first check to that Plan oc- 
curred when a mutant, known as the 
Mule, with unusual mental powers, 
conquered the First Foundation to- 
gether with much of the Galaxy. 
Since the Mule was a biological ac- 
cident, his coming could not be dealt 
with by Seldon’s psychohistory 
which was a statistical science that 
predicted probabilities only. 

Hozvever, there still existed the 
Second Foundation, whose location 
and nature had been kept thor- 
oughly secret through the centuries. 
They were . the mental scientists, 
whose function it was to guard the 
Plan against just such unforeseen 
disturbances as the Mule. By means 
of a mighty effort, they succeeded in 
stopping the mutant, and, after his 
death, in reorganizing the ' First 
Foundation. 

Unfortunately, this violent disrup- 
tion of the calculated course of his- 
tory had not been adjusted quickly 
enough. Seldon’s original Plan had 
called for the foundation of a new 
Empire a thousand years after the 
fall of the old, in such a manner that 
mankind would finally be ready to 
form a society based on mental sci- 
ence rather than physical science. In 
this manner, mankind’s first truly 
healthy and stable culture would be 
formed; war and misery would be 
forever ended. The First Founda- 
tion zvas intended to form the politi- 
cal framework of a single universal 
state, while the Second Foundation 

. . AND NOW YOU DON’t 



was to prepare a world of mental 
“supermen” who would form the 
leading class of the new Empire. 

Now, in addition to the course of 
history haznng been diverted from 
the planned course, the Second 
Foundation, through the necessity of 
stopping the Mule, had revealed 
their existence to the Galaxy, in par- 
tiezdar to the First Foundation. This 
was dangerous, since the Second 
Foundation was physically helpless 
and could be easily destroyed once 
their location was known. Every- 
thing depended on secrecy. In addi- 
tion, the masses of the First Founda- 
tion, secure now in the knowledge 
that they would be protected against 
all fluctuations of history by the Sec- 
ond Foundation relaxed and allowed 
their nation to become weak and 
hedonistic. Worse still, to a small 
percentage of the First Foundation, 
the proven superiority of the Second 
aroused hostility and antagonism. 

All this the Second Foundation, 
with their eyes on a glorious future 
for mankind, must combat, while 
maintaining their own precarious 
safety. 

Among those of the First Founda- 
tion who were conspiring against the 
Second in a burst of angry and hon- 
est patriotism zvas Dr. T oran Darell, 
son of the woman, Bayta Darell, who 
had been the most effective oppo- 
nent of the Mule, outside of those 
of the Second Foundation, them- 
selves. 

Dr. Darell was an enc'ephalo- 
graphic analyst and psychophysicist, 
who specialized in the study of the 

121 




electric currents of the brain. By 
this means, he hoped to develop a 
method of identifying any Second 
Foundationer through the distinctive 
pattern of brain-currents made in- 
evitable through the latter’s posses- 
sion of unusual mental properties. 

Aiding him is Pelleas Author, a 
young pupil of Dr. Darell’s dead col- 
league, Dr. Kleise. Author has 
brought to Terminus, capital planet 
of the First Foundation, the results 
of Kleise’s encephalographic re- 
searches, which indicate that the 
First Foundation is riddled with 
agents of the Second. These agents 
are citisens of the First F oundation 
7vho, through mental adjustment, 
have been Converted into uncon- 
scious assistdiits to the mental .mper- 
nien of the Second Foundation. 
These "‘tampered” men represent 
some of the best of the First Founda- 
tion’s business men, scientists, and 
intellectuals. 

Darell had broken zvith Kleise 
some years previous— thus creating 
hard feeling betzveen the two— in or- 
der that he might pursue his re- 
searches absolutely alone, and, there- 
fore, zvith greater safety. Now, 
however, he felt obliged to join zvith 
a few others, all of zvhom zvere 
cleared of the possibility of being 
.Second Foundation agents through 
studies of their brain-waves. The 
group decides to send one of their 
number to Kalgan, former capital of 
the Mule, where information might 
r.vist as to the investigations made by 
the Mide in his ozvn futile attempts, 
fifty years earlier, to locate the Sec- , 

122 . 



ond Foundation. Homir Miinn, li- 
brarian and antiquarian, is chosen 
for the task. 

Arcadia Darell, Dr. Darell’s four- 
teen year old daughter, an active, ro- 
mantic, and precocious girl, has se- 
cretly overheard the discussions of 
the conspirators and, in search of 
“adventure” , stows away on Miinn’s 
ship. There is no zvay of bringing 
her back since the conspirators 
chiefly fear attracting attention to 
themselves through any unusual 
action. 

Part 2 

Homir grew used to her. After a 
while, he was glad she was there. 
Eventually, he wondered how he 
would have made it without her. 
She prattled ! She was excited ! 
Most of all, she was completely un- 
concerned. She knew the Second 
Foundation was the enemy, yet it 
didn’t bother her. She knew that 
on Kalgan, he was to deal with a 
hostile officialdom, hut she could 
hardly wait. 

Maybe it came of being fourteen. 

At any rate, the week-long trip 
now meant conversation rather than 
introspection. To be sure, it wasn’t 
a very enlightening conversation, 
since it concerned, almost entirely, 
the girl’s notions on the svibject of 
how best to treat the Lord of Kal- 
gan. Amusing and nonsensical, and 
yet delivered with weighty delibera- 
tion. 

Homir found himself actually 
capable of smiling as he listened and 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




wondered out of just which gem of 
historical fiction she got her twisted 
notion of the great universe. 

It was the evening before the last 
jump. Kalgan was a bright star in 
the scarcely-twinkling emptiness of 
the outer reaches of the Galaxy. The 
ship’s telescope made it a sparkling 
blob of barely-perceptible diameter. 

Arcadia sat cross-legged in the 
good chair. She was wearing a pair 
of slacks and a none-too-roomy shirt 
that belonged to Homir. Her own 
more feminine wardrobe had been 
washed and ironed for the landing. 

She said : “I’m going to be a his- 
torian, you know.” She was quite 
happy about the trip. Uncle Homir 
didn’t the least mind listening to her 
and it made conversation so much 
more pleasant when you could talk 
to a really intelligent person who was 
serious about what you said. 

She continued: “I’ve read books 
and books about all the great men of 
Foundation history. You know, like 
Seldon, Hardin, Mallow, Devers and 
all the rest. I’ve even read most of 
what you’ve written about the Mule, 
except that it isn’t much fun to read 
those parts where the Foundation 
loses. Wouldn’t you rather read a 
history where they skipped the silly, 
tragic parts?” 

“Yes, I would,” Munn assured 
her, gravely. “But it wouldn’t be a 
fair history, would it, Arkady? 
You’d never get academic respect, 
unless you give the whole story.” 

“Oh, poof. Who cares about aca- 
demic respect ?” She found him de- 
lightful. He hadn’t missed calling 

. . . AND NOW YOU DON’t 



her Arkady for days. “My history is 
going to be interesting and it’s going 
to sell and be famous. What’s the 
use of writing books unless you sell 
them and become well-known? I 
don’t want just some old professors 
to know me. It’s got to be every- 
body.” 

Her eyes darkened with pleasure 
at. the thought and she wriggled into 
a more comfortable position. “In 
fact, as soon as I can get Father to let 
me, I’m going to visit Trantor, so’s I 
can get background material on the 
First Empire, ..you know. I was born 
on Trantor; did you know that?” 

He did, but he said : “You were?” 
and put just the right amount of 
amazement into his voice. He was 
rewarded with something between a 
beam and a simper. 

“Uh-huh. My grandmother . . . 
you kno\«, Bayta Darell, you’ve 
heard oi her .. . was on Trantor 
once with my grandfather. In fact, 
that’s where they stopped the Mule, 
when all the Galaxy was at his feet ; 
and my father and mother went there 
also when they were first married. 
I was born there. I even lived there 
till mother died, only I was just 
three then, and I don’t remember 
much about it. Were you ever on 
Trantor, Uncle Homir?” 

“No, can’t say I was.” He leaned 
back against the cold bulkhead and 
listened idly. Kalgan was very close, 
and he felt his uneasiness flooding 
back. 

“Isn’t it just the most romantic 
world? My father says that under 
Stannel V, it had more people Ihan 

123 




VI. 



any fen worlds nowadays. He says 
it was just one big world of metals— 
one big city— that was the capital of 
all the Galaxy. He’s shown me pic- 
tures that he took on Trantor. It’s 
all in ruins now, but it’s still stupen- 
dous. I’d just love to see it again. 
In fact . . . Homir !” 

“Yes?” 

“Why don’t we go there, when 
we’re finished with Kalgan?” 

Some of the fright hurtled back 
into his face, “What? Now don’t 
start on that. This is , business, not 
pleasure. Remember that.” 

“But it is business,” she squeaked. 
“There might be incredible amounts 
of information on Trantor. Don’t 
you think so?” 

“No, I don’t.” He scrambled to 
his feet. “Now untangle yourself 
from the computer. We’ve got to 
make the last jump, and then you 
turn in.” One good thing about 
landing, anyway; he was about fed 
up with trying to sleep on an over- 
coat on the metal floor. 

The calculations were not difficult. 
The “Space Route Handbook” was 
quite explicit on the Foundation- 
Kalgan route. There was the mo- 
mentary twitch of the timeless pass- 
age through hyperspace and the final 
light-year dropped away. 

The sun of Kalgan was a sun now 
—large, bright, and yellow-white ; in- 
visible behind the portholes that had 
automatically closed on the sun-lit 
side. 

Kalgan was only a night’s sleep 
away. 

124 



Of all the worlds of the Galaxy, 
Kalgan undoubtedly had the most 
unique history. That of the planet 
Terminus, for instance, was that of 
an almost uninterrupted rise. That 
of Trantor, once capital of the 
Galaxy was that of an almost unin- 
terrupted fall. But Kalgan— 

Kalgan first gained fame as the 
pleasure world of the Galaxy two 
centuries before the birth of Hari 
Seldon.- It was a pleasure world in 
the sense that it made an industry— 
and an immensely profitable one, at 
that— out of amusement. 

And it was a stable industry. It 
was the most stable industry in the 
Galaxy. When all the Galaxy per- 
ished as a civilization, little by little, 
scarcely a feather’s weight of catas- 
trophe fell upon Kalgan.' No matter 
how the economy and sociology of 
the neighboring sectors of the Galaxy 
changed, there was always an elite ; 
and it is always the characteristic of 
an elite that it possesses leisure as the 
great reward of its elite-hood. 

Kalgan was at the service, there- 
fore, successively— and successfully— 
of the effete and perfumed dandies 
of the Imperial Court with their 
sparkling and libidinous ladies; of 
the rough and raucous warlords who 
ruled in iron the wmrlds they had- 
gained in blood, with their unbridled 
and lascivious wenches ; of the 
plump and luxurious businessmen of 
the Foundation, with their lush and 
flagitious mistresses. 

It was quite undiscriminating, 

ASTOUNDING SCI EN C E- FI CT lO N 




since they all had money. And since 
Kalgan sei'viced all and harred none ; 
since its commodity was in unfailing 
demand; since it had the wisdom to 
interfere in no world’s politics, to 
stand on no one’s legitimacy, it pros- 
pered when nothing else did, and re- 
mained fat when all grew thin. 

That is, until the Mule. Then, 
somehow, it fell, too, before a con- 
queror who was impervious to 
amusement, or to anything but con- 
quest. To him all planets were 
alike, even Kalgan. 

So for a decade, Kalgan found 
itself in the strange role of Galactic 
metropolis ; mistress of the greatest 
Empire since the end of the Galactic 
Empire itself. 

And then, with the death of the 
Mule, as sudden as the zoom, came 
the drop. The Foundation broke 
away. With it and after it, much of 
the rest of the Mule’s dominions. 
Fifty years later there was left only 
the bewildering memory of that short 
space of power, like an opium dream. 
Kalgan never quite recovered. It 
could never return to the uncon- 
cerned pleasure world it had been, 
for the spell of power never quite 
releases its hold. It lived instead 
under a succession of men whom the 
Foundation called the Lords of Kal- 
gan, but who styled themselves First 
Citizen of the Galaxy, in imitation 
of the Mule’s only title, and who 
maintained the fiction that they were 
conquerors too. 

The current Lord of Kalgan had 
held that position for five months. 

, . . AND NOW YOU DON’t 



He had gained it originally by virtue 
of his position at the head of the 
Kalganian navy, and through a la- 
mentable lack of caution on the part 
of the previous lord. Yet no one on 
Kalgan was quite stupid enough to 
go into the question of legitimacy 
too long or too closely. These 
things happened, and are best ac- 
cepted. 

Yet that sort of survival of the 
fittest in addition to putting a 
premium on bloodiness and evil, oc- 
casionally allowed capability to come 
to the fore as well. Lord Stettin was 
competent enough and not easy to 
manage. 

Not easy for his eminence, the 
First Minister, who, with fine im- 
partiality, had served the last lord 
as well as the present ; and who 
would, if he lived long enough, serve 
the next as hone.stly. 

Nor easy for the Lady Gallia, who 
was Stettin’s more than friend, yet 
less than wife. 

In Lord Stettin’s private apart- 
ments the three were alone that eve- 
ning. The First Citizen, bulky and 
glistening in the admiral’s uniform 
that he affected, scowled from out the 
un-uphobstered chair in which he sat 
as stiffly as the plastic of which it was 
composed. His First Minister Lev 
Meirus, faced him with a far-off un- 
concern, his long, nervous fingers 
stroking absently and rhythmically 
the deep line that curved from 
hooked nose along gaunt and sunken 
cheek to the point, nearly, of the 
graybearded chin. The Lady Callia 
disposed of herself gracefully on the 



125 




deeply furred covering of a foamite 
couch, her full lips trembling a bit in 
an unheeded pout. 

“Sir,” said Meirus— it was the only 
title adhering to a lord who was 
styled only First Citizen, “you lack 
a certain view of the continuity of 
history. Your own life, with its 
tremendous revolutions, leads you to 
think of the course of civilization as 
something equally amenable to sud- 
den change. But it is not.” 

“The Mule showed otherwise.” 
“But who can follow in his foot- 
steps. He was more than man, re- 
member. And he, too, was not en- 
tirely successful.” 

“Poochie,” whimpered the Lady 
Call la, suddenly, and then shrank 
into herself at the furious gesture 
from the First Citizen. 

Lord Stettin said, harshly: “Do 
not interrupt, Callia. Meirus, I am 
tired of inaction. My predecessor 
spent his life polishing the navy into 
a finely-turned instrument that has 
not its equal in the Galaxy. And he 
died witli the magnificent machine 
lying idle. Am I to continue that? 
I, an Admiral of the Navy? 

“How long before the machine 
rusts? At pre.sent, it is a drain on 
the Treasury and returns nothing. 
Its officers long for dominion, its 
men for loot. All Kalgan desires the 
return of Empire and glory. Are 
)ou capable of understanding that?” 
“These are but words that you 
use, but I grasp your meaning. 
Dominion, loot, glory— pleasant when 
they are obtained, but the process of 
obtaining them is often risky and al- 

126 



ways unpleasant. The first fine flush 
may not last. And in all history, it 
has never been wise to attack the 
Foundation. Even the Mule would 
have been wiser to refrain—” 

There were tears in the Lady Cal- 
lia’s blue, empty eyes. Of late, 
Poochie scarcely saw her, and now, 
when he had promised the evening 
to her, this horrible, thin, gray man, 
who always looked through her 
rather than at her, had forced his 
way in. And Poochie let him. She 
dared not say anything; was fright- 
ened even of the sob that forced its 
way out. 

But Stettin was speaking now in 
the voice she hated, hard and impa- 
tient. He was saying: “You’re a 
slave to the far past. The Founda- 
tion is greater in volume and popu- 
lation, but they are loosely knit and 
will fall apart at a blow. What 
holds them together these days is 
merely inertia ; an inertia I am strong 
enough to smash. You are hypno- 
tized by the old days when only the 
Foundation had atomic power. They 
were able to dodge the last hammer- 
blows of the dying Empire and then 
faced only the un-brained anarchy of 
the warlords who could counter the 
Foundation’s atomic vessels only 
with hulks and relics. 

“But the Mule, my dear Meirus, 
has changed that. He spread the 
knowledge, that the Foundation had 
hoarded to itself, through half the 
Galaxy and the monopoly in science 
is gone forever. We can match 
them.” 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




“And the Second Foundation?” 
questioned Meirus, coolly. 

“And the Second Foundation?” 
repeated Stettin as coolly. “Do you 
know its intentions ? It took ten 
years to stop the Mule, if, indeed, it 
was the factor, which some doubt. 
Are you unaware that a good many 
of the Foundation’s psychologists 
and sociologists are of the opinion 
that the Seldon Plan has been com- 
pletely disrupted since the days of 
the Mule ? If the Plan-has gone, then 
a vacuum exists which I may fill as 
well as the next man.” 

“Our knowledge of these matters 
is not great enough to warrant the 
gamble.” 

“Our knowledge, perhaps, but we 
have a Foundation visitor on the 
planet. Did you know that? A 
Homir Munn— who, I understand, 
has written articles on the Mule, 
and has expressed exactly that opin- 
ion, that the Seldon Plan no longer 
exists.” 

The First Minister nodded, “I 
have heard of him, or at least of his 
writings. What does he desire?” 

“He asks permission to enter the 
Mule’s palace.” 

“Indeed? It would be wise to re- 
fuse. It is never advisable to disturb 
the superstitions with which a planet 
is held.” 

“I will consider that— and we will 
speak again.” 

Meirus bowed himself out. . 

Lady Callia said tearfully ; “Are 
you angry with me, Poochie?” 

Stettin turned on her savagely: 

j . . AND NOW YOU DOn’t 



“Have I not told you before never to 
call me by that ridiculous name in 
the presence of others?” 

“You used to like it.” 

“Well, I don’t any more, and it is 
not to happen again.” 

He stared at her darkly. It was a 
mystery to him that he tolerated her 
these days. She was a soft, empty- 
headed thing, comfortable to the 
touch, with a pliable affection that 
was a convenient facet to a hard life. 
Yet, even that affection was becom- 
ing wearisome. She dreamed of mar- 
riage, of being First Lady. 

Ridiculous ! 

She was all very well when he had 
been an admiral only— l)Ut now as 
First Citizen and future conqueror, 
he needed more. He needed heirs 
which could unite his future domin- 
ions, something the Mule had never 
had, which was why his Emjiire did 
not survive his strange nonhuman 
life. He, Stettin, needed someone 
of the great historic families of the 
Foundation with whom he could 
fuse dynasties. 

He wmndered testily why he did 
not rid himself of Callia now. It 
would be no trouble. She would 
wdrine a bit — He dismissed the 
thought. She had her points, occa- 
sionally. 

Callia was cheering up now. The 
influence of Graybeard was gone and 
her Poochie’s granite face was soft- 
ening now. She lifted herself in a 
single, fluid motion and melted to- 
ward him. 

“You’re not going to scold me, are 
you?” 



127 




“No.” He patted her absently. 
“Now just sit quietly for a while, 
will you? I want to think,” 

“About the man from the Founda- 
tion ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Poochie?”. This was after a 
pause. 

“What?” 

“Poochie, the man has a little girl 
with him, you said. Remember? 
Could I see her when she comes? I 
never—” 

“Now what do you think I want 
him to bring his brat with him for? 
Is my audience room to be a gram- 
mar school ? Enough of your non- 
sense, Callia.” 

“But I’ll take care of her, 
Poochie. You won’t even have to 
bother with her. It’s just that I 
harrlly ever see cildren, and you 
know how I love them.” 

He looked at her sardonically. She 
never tired of this approach. She 
loved children ; i.e. his children ; i.e. 
his legitimate children ; i.e. marriage. 
He laughed. 

“This particular little piece,” he 
.said, “is a great girl of fourteen or 
fifteen. She’s probably as tall as you 
are.” 

Callia looked crushed. “Well, 
could I, anyway ? She could tell me 
about the Foundation? I’ve always 
wanted to go there, you know. My 
grandfather was a Foundation man. 
Won’t you take me there, sometime, 
Poochie ?” 

.Stettin smiled at the thought. 
Perhaps . he would, as conqueror. 
The good nature that the thought 



supplied him with made itself felt in 
his words, “I will, I will. And you 
can see the girl and talk Foundation 
to her all you want. But not near 
me, understand.” 

“I won’t bother you, honestly. I’ll 
have her in my own rooms.” She 
was happy again. It was not very 
often these days that she was al- 
lowed to have her way. She put her 
arms about his neck and after the 
slightest hesitation, she felt its 
tendons relax and the large head 
come softly down upon her shoulder. 

VII. 

Arcadia felt triumphant. How life 
had changed since Pelleas Anthor 
had stuck his silly face up against her 
window— and all because she had the 
vision and courage to do what 
needed to be done. 

Here she was on Kalgan. She 
had been to the great Central Thea- 
ter— the largest in the Galaxy^and 
seen in person some of the singing 
stars who were famous even in the 
distant Foundation. She had shopped 
all on her own along the Flowered 
Path, fashion center of the gayest 
world in Space. And she had made 
her own selections because Flomir 
just didn’t know anything about it 
at all. The saleswomen raised no 
objections at all to long, shiny 
dresses with those vertical sweeps 
that made her look so tall— and 
Foundation money went a long, long 
way. Homir had given her a ten- 
credit bill and when she changed it 
to Kalganian “Kalganids”, it made a 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 



128 




terribly thick sheaf. 

She had even had her hair redone 
—sort of half-short in back, with two 
glistening curls over each temple. 
And it was treated so that it looked 
goldier than ever; it just shone. 

But this; this was best of all. To 
be sure, the Palace of Lord Stettin 
wasn’t as grand and lavish as the 
theaters,- or as mysterious and his- 
torical as the old place of the Mule— 
of which, so far, they had only 
glimpsed the lonely towers in their 
air flight across the planet— but, im- 
agine, a real Lord. She was rapt in 
the glory of it. 

And not only that. She was actu- 
ally face to face with his Mistress. 
Arcadia capitalized the word in her 
mind, because she knew the role such 
women had played in history ; knew 
their glamour and power. In fact, 
she had often thought of being an all- 
powerful and glittering creature, her- 
self, but somehow mistresses weren’t 
in fashion at the Foundation just 
then and besides, her father prob- 
ably wouldn’t let her, if it came to 
that. 

Of course, the Lady Callia didn’t 
quite come up to Arcadia’s notion 
of the part. For one thing, she was 
rather plump, and didn’t look at all 
wicked and dangerous. Just sort of 
faded and near-sighted. Her voice 
was high, too, instead of throaty, 
and— 

Callia said : “Would you like more 
tea, child ?” 

“I’ll have another cup, thank you, 
your grace,”— or was it your high- 
ness? 

, , . AND NOW you don’t 



Arcadia continued with a connois- 
seur’s condescension, “Those are 
lovely pearls you are wearing, my 
lady.” (On the whole, “my Lady” 
seemed besf.) 

“Oh? Do you think so?” Callia 
seemed vaguely pleased. She re- 
moved them and let them swing 
milkily to and fro. “Would you 
like them? You can have them, if 
you like.” 

“Oh, my— You really mean—” 
She found them in her hand, then, 
repelling them mournfully, she said : 
“Father wouldn’t like it.” 

“He wouldn’t like the pearls ? But 
they’re quite nice pearls.” 

“He wouldn’t like my taking them, 
I mean. You’re not supposed to 
take expensive presents from other 
people, he says.” 

“You aren’t? But ... I mean, 
this .was a present to me from 
Poo . . . from the First Citizen. 
Was that wrong, do you suppose?” 
Arcadia reddened: “I didn’t 

mean—” 

But Callia had tired of the sub- 
ject. She let the pearls slide to the 
ground and said: “You were going 
to tell me about the Foundation. 
Please do so right now.” 

And Arcadia was suddenly at a 
loss. What does one say about a 
world dull to tears. To her, the 
Foundation was a suburban town, a 
comfortable house,, the annoying ne- 
cessities of education, the uninterest- 
ing eternities of a quiet life. She 
said, uncertainly: “It’s just like you 
view in the book-films, I suppose.” 
“Oh, do you view book-films? 

129 





They give me such a headache when* 
I try. But do you know I always 
love video stories about your Trad- 
ers— such big, savage men. It’s al- 
ways so exciting. Is your friend, 
Mr. Munn, one of them? He 
doesn’t seem nearly savage enough. 
Most of the Traders had beards and 
big bass voices, and were so domi- 
neering with women— don’t you think 
so?” 

Arcadia smiled, glassily; “That’s 
just part of history, my lady. I 
mean, when the Foundation was 
young, the Traders were the pio- 
neers pushing back the frontiers and 
bringing civilization to the rest of 
the Galaxy. We learned all about 
that in school. But that time has 



passed. We don’t have Traders any 
more; just corporations and things.” 
“Really? What a shame. Then 
what does Mr. Munn do ? I mean, if 
he’s not a Trader.” 

“Uncle Homir’s a librarian.” 
Gallia put a hand to her lips and 
tittered : “You mean he takes care of 
book-films. Oh, my ! It seems like 
such a silly thing for a grown man 
to do.” 

“He’s a very good librarian, my 
lady. It is an occupation that is 
very highly regarded at the Founda- 
tion.” She put down the little, iri- 
descent 'teacup upon the milky- 
metaled table surface. 

Her hostess was all concern : “But 
my dear child. I’m sure I didn’t 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 



130 




mean to offend you. He must be a Galaxy is established. Nobody on 

very intelligent man. I could see it Kalgan would dare even to enter the 
in . his eyes as soon as I looked at grounds.” 



him. They were so ... so intelligent. Arcadia absorbed that, “But that’s 
And he must be brave, too, to want superstition—” 
to see the Mule’s palace.” “Don’t say that,” Callia was dis- 

tressed. “Poochie always says that. 
“Brave?” Arcadia’s internal He says it’s useful to say it isn’t 
awareness twitched. This was what though, in order to maintain his hold 
she was waiting for. Intrigue ! In- over the people. But I notice he’s 
trigue ! With great indifference, she never gone in himself. And neither 
asked, staring idly at her thumbtip : did Thallos, who was First Citizen 

“Why must one be brave to wish to before Poochie.” A thought struck 
see the Mule’s place?” her and she was all curiosity again: 

“Didn’t you know?” Her eyes “But, why does Mr. Munn want to 
were round, and her voice sank, see the Palace?” 

“There’s a curse on it. When he And it was here that Arcadia’s 
died, the Mule directed that no one careful plan could be put into action, 
ever enter it until the Empire of the She knew well from the books she 



. . AND NOW YOU DON T 



AST-6N 



131 




had read that a ruler’s mistress was 
the real power behind the throne, 
that she was the very well-spring of 
influence. Therefore, if Uncle Homir 
failed with Lord Stettin— arid she 
was sure he would— she must re- 
trieve that failure with Lady Callia. 
To be sure. Lady Callia was some- 
thing of a puzzle. She didn’t seem 
at all bright. But, well, all history 
proved— 

She said : “There’s a reason, my 
lady— but will you keep it in confi- 
dence ?” 

“Cross my heart,” said Callia, 
making the appropriate gesture on 
the soft, billowing whiteness of her 
breast. 

Arcadia’s thoughts kept a sentence 
ahead of her words : “Uncle Homir 
is a great authority on the Mule, 
you know. He’s written books and 
books about it, and he thinks that all 
of Galactic history has been changed 
since the Mule conquered the 
Foundation.” 

“Oh, my.” 

“He thinks the Seldon Plan— ” 

Callia clapped her hands, “I know 
about the Seldon Plan. The videos 
about the Traders were always all 
about the Seldon Plan. It was sup- 
posed to arrange to have the Founda- 
tion win all the time. Science had 
something to do with it, though I 
could never quite see how. I always 
get so restless when I have to listen 
to explanations. But you go right 
ahead, my dear. It’s different when 
you explain. You make everything 
seem so clear.” 

Arcadia continued: “Well, don’t 



you see then that when the Founda- 
tion was defeated by the Mule, the 
Seldon Plan didn’t work and it 
hasn’t worked since. So who will 
form the Second Empire?” 

“The Second Empire?” 

“Yes, one must be formed some 
day, but how? That’s the problem, 
you see. And there’s the Second 
Foundation.” 

“The Second Foundation?” She 
was quite completely lost. 

“Yes, they’re the planners of his- 
tory that are following in the foot- 
steps of Seldon. They stopped the 
Mule because he was premature, but 
now, they may be supporting Kal- 
gan.” 

“Why?” • 

“Because Kalgan may now offer 
the best chance of being the nucleus 
for new Empire.” 

Dimly, Lady Callia seemed to 
grasp that : “You mean Poochie is 
going to make a new Empire.” 

“We can’t tell for sure. Uncle 
Homir thinks so, but he’ll have to see 
the Mule’s records to find out.” 

“It’s all very complicated,” said 
Lady Callia, doubtfully. 

Arcadia gave up. She had done 
her best. 

Lord Stettin was in a more-or-less 
savage humor. The session with 
the milksop from the Foundation 
had been quite unrewarding. It had 
been worse ; it had been embarrass- 
ing. To be absolute ruler of twenty- 
seven worlds, master of the Galaxy’s 
' greatest military machine, owner of 
the universe’s most vaulting ambition 



132 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




—and left to argue nonsense with an 
antiquarian. 

Damnation ! 

He was to violate the customs of 
Kalgan, was he? To allow the 
Mule’s palace to be ransacked so that 
a fool could write another book? 
The cause of science! The sacred- 
ness of knowledge ! Great Galaxy ! 
Were these catchwords to be thrown 
in his face in all seriousness? Be- 
sides— and his flesh prickled slightly 
—there was the matter of the curse. 
He didn’t believe in it ; no intelligent 
man could. But if he was going to 
defy it, it would have to be for a bet- 
ter reason than any the fool had 
advanced. 

“What do you want ?’’ he snapped, 
and Lady Gallia cringed visibly in 
the doorway. 

“Are you busy?” 

“Yes. I am busy.” 

“But there’s nobody here, Poochie. 
Couldn’t I even speak to you for a 
minute?” 

“Oh, Galaxy ! What do you want ? 
Now hurry.” 

Her words stumbled: “The little 
girl told me they were going into 
the Mule’s palace. I thought we 
could go with her. It must be gor- 
geous inside.” 

“She told you that, did she? 
Well, she isn’t and we aren’t. Now 
go tend your own business. I’ve 
had about enough of you.” 

“But, Poochie, why not? Aren’t 
you going to let them? The little 
girl said that you were going to make 
an Empire!” 

“I don’t care what she said— 



What was that ?” He strode to Gal- 
lia and caught her firmly above the 
elbow, so that his fingers sank deep- 
ly into the soft flesh, “What did she 
tell you?” 

“You’re hurting me. I can’t re- 
member what she said, if you’re go- 
ing to look at me like that.” 

He released her, and she stood 
there for a moment, rubbing vainly 
at the red marks. She whimpered : 
“The little girl made me promise not 
to tell.” 

“That’s too bad. Tell me ! Now!” 

“Well, she said the Seldon Plan 
was changed and that there was an- 
other Foundation somewheres that 
was arranging to have you make an 
Empire. That’s all. She said Mr. 
Munn was a very important scien- 
tist and that the Mule’s Palace 
would have proof of all that. That’s 
every bit of what she said. Are you 
angry ?” 

But Stettin did not answer. He 
left the room, hurriedly, with Gal- 
lia’s cowlike eyes staring mournfully 
after him. Two orders were sent 
out over the official seal of the First 
Citizen before the hour was up. One 
had the effect of sending five hun- 
dred ships of the line into space on 
what were officially to be termed as 
“war games.” The other had the 
effect of throwing a single man into 
confusion. 

Homir Munn ceased his prepara- 
tions to leave when that second or- 
der reached him. It was, of course, 
official permission to enter the Pal- 
ace of the Mule. He read and reread 



. . . AND NOW YOU DON’t 



133 




it, with anything but Joy. 

But Arcadia was delighted. She 
knew what had happened. 

Or, at any rate, she thought she 
did. 

VIII. 

Poli placed the 'breakfast on the 
table, keeping one eye on the table 
news-recorder which quietly dis- 
gorged the bulletins of the day. It 
could be done easily enough without 
loss of efficiency, this one-eye-absent 
business. Since all items of food 
were sterilely jiacked in containers 
^’d^ich served as discardable cooking 
units, her duties vis-a-vis breakfast 
consisted of nothing more than 
choosing the menu, placing the items 
on the table, and removing the resi- 
due thereafter. 

She clacked her tongue at what 
she saw and moaned softly in retro- 
spect. 

“Oh, people are so wicked,” she 
said, and Darell merely hemmed in 
reply. 

I-Ier vdice took on the high-pitched 
rasp which she automatically as- 
sumed when about to bewail the evil 
of the world, “Now why do these 
terrible Kalganese”— she accented 
the second syllable and gave it a long 
“a”— “do like that? You’d think 
they’d give a body peace. But no, 
it’s just trouble, trouble, all the time. 

“Now look at that headline : ‘Mobs 
Riot Before Foundation Consulate.’ 
Oh, would I like to give them a piece 
of my mind, if I could. That’s the 
trouble with people; they just don’t 
remember. They just don’t remem- 

134 



ber. Dr. Darell— got no memory at 
all. Look at the last war after the 
Mule died— of course I was jiust a 
little girl then— and oh, the fuss and 
trouble. My own uncle was killed, 
him being just in his twenties and 
only two 3'ears married, with a baby 
girl. I remember him even yet— 
blond hair he had, and a dinijile in 
his chin. I have a trimensional cube 
of him somewheres— 

“And now his baby girl has a son 
of her own in the navy and most like 
if anything happen.s— 

“And we had the bom!)ardment 
patrols, and all the old men taking 
turns in the stratospheric defense— I 
could imagine what they would have 
been able to do if the Kalganese had 
come that far. My mother used to 
tell us children about the food ra- 
tioning and the prices and taxes. A 
body could hardly make ends meet— 
“You’d think if they had sense 
people would just never want to start 
it again; just have nothing to do 
with it. And I suppose it’s not peo- 
ple that do it, either ; I suppose even 
Kalganese would rather sit at home 
with their families and not go fool- 
ing around in ships and getting 
killed. It’s that awful man, Stettin. 
It’s a wonder people like that are let 
live. He kills the old man— what’s 
his name— Thallos, and now he’s just 
spoiling to be boss of everything. 

“And why he wants to fight us, I 
don’t know. He’s bound to lose— 
like they always do. Maybe it’s all 
in the Plan, but sometimes I’m sure 
it must be a wicked plan to have so 
much fighting and killing in it, 

ASTOUNDIHG SCIENCE-FICTION 




though to be sure I haven’t a word to 
say aljout Hari Seldon, who I’m sure 
knows much more about that than I 
do and perhaps I’m a fool to ques- 
tion him . And the other Foundation 
is as much to blame. They could 
stop Kalgan now and make every- 
thing fine. They’ll do it anyway in 
the end, and you’d think they’d do it 
before' there’s any damage done.” 

Dr. Darell looked up : “Did you 
say something, Poli?” 

Poli’s eyes opened wide, then nar- 
rowed angrily, “Nothing, doctor, 
nothing at all. I haven’t got a word 
to say. A body could as soon choke 
to death as say a word in this house. 
It’s jump here, and jump there, but 
just try to say a word—” and she 
went off simmering. 

Pier leaving made as little impres- 
.sion on Darell as did her speaking. 

Kalgan! Nonsense! A merely 
physical enemy! Those had always 
been beaten ! 

Yet he could not divorce himself 
of the current foolish crisis. Seven 
days earlier, the mayor had asked 
him to be Administrator of Research 
and Development. He had promised 
an answer today. 

Well- 

He stirred uneasily. Why, him- 
self! Yet could he refuse? It 
would seem strange, and he dared 
not seem strange. After all, what 
did he care about Kalgan. To him 
there was only one enemy. Always 
had been. 

While his wife had lived, he was 
only too glad to shirk the task; to 

. . . AND NOW YOU don’t 



hide. Those long, quiet days on 
Trantor, with the ruins of the past 
about them ! The silence of a 
wrecked world and the forgetfulness 
of it all! 

But she had died. Less than five 
years, all told, it had been ; and after 
that he knew that he could live only 
by fighting that vague and fearful 
enemy that deprived him of the dig- 
nity of manhood by controlling his 
destiny ; that made life a miserable 
struggle against a foreordained end ; 
that made all the universe a hateful 
and deadly chess game. 

Call it sublimation ; he, himself did 
call it that— but the fight gave mean- 
ing to his life. 

First to the University of Sant- 
anni, wdiere he had joined Dr. 
Kleise. It had been five years well- 
spent. 

And yet Kleise was merely a gath- 
erer of data. He could not succeed 
in the real task— and when Darell had 
felt that as certainty, he knew it was 
time to leave. 

Kleise may have worked in secret, 
yet he had to have men working for 
him and with him. He had subjects 
whose brains he probed. He had a 
University that backed him. All 
these were weaknesses. 

Kleise could not understand that ; 
and he, Darell, could not explain 
that. They parted enemies. It was 
well ; they had to. He had to leave 
in surrender— in case someone 
watched. 

Where Kleise worked with charts : 
Darell worked with mathematical 
concepts in the recesses of his mind. 

135 




Kleise worked with many; Darell 
with none. Kleise in a University; 
Darell in the quiet of a suburban 
house. 

And he was almost there. 

A Second Foundationer is not hu- 
man as far as his cerebrum is con- 
cerned. The cleverest physiologist, 
the most subtle neurochemist might 
detect nothing— yet the difference 
must be there. And since the dif- 
ference was one of the mind, it was 
there that it must be detectable. 

Given a man like the Mule— and 
there was no 'doubt that the Second 
Foundationers had the Mule’s pow- 
ers, whether inborn or acquired— 
with the power of detecting and con- 
trolling human emotions, deduce 
from that the electronic circuit re- 
quired, and deduce from that the last 
details of the encephalograph on 
which it could not help but be be- 
trayed. 

And now Kleise had returned into 
his life, in the person of his ardent 
young pupil, Anthor. 

Folly! Folly! With his graphs 
and charts of people who- had been 
tampered with. He had learned to 
detect that years ago, but of what 
use was it. He wanted the arm ; not 
the tool. Yet he had to agree to 
join Anthor, since it was the quieter 
course. 

Just as now he would become Ad- 
ministrator of Research and Devel- 
opment. It was the quieter course! 
And so he remained a conspiracy 
within a conspiracy. 

The thought of Arcadia teased 
him for a moment, and he shuddered 

136 



away from it. Left to himself, it 
would never have happened. Left 
to himself, no one would ever have 
been endangered but himself. Left 
to himself— 

He felt the anger rising— against 
the dead Kleise, the living Anthor, 
all the well-meaning fools— 

Well, she could take care of her- 
self. She was a very mature little 
girl. 

She could take care of herself! 

It was a whisper in his mind— 

IX. 

Yet could she? 

At the moment, that Dr. Darell 
told himself mournfully that she 
could, she was sitting in the coldly 
austere anteroom of the Executive 
Offices of the First Citizen of the 
Galaxy. For half an hour she had 
been sitting there, her eyes sliding 
slowly about the walls. There had 
been two armed guards at the door 
when she had entered with Homir 
Munn. They hadn’t been there the 
other times. 

She was alone, now, yet she 
sensed the unfriendliness of the very 
furnishings of the room. And for 
the first time. ^ 

Now, why should that be? 

Homir was with Lord Stettin. 
Well, was that wrong? 

It made her furious. In similar 
situations in the book-films and the 
videos, the hero foresaw the conclu- 
sion, was prepared for it when it 
came, and she— she just sat there. 
Anything could happen, Anything I 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




And she Just sat there. 

Welh'lmck again. Think it back. 
Maybe something would come. 

For two w,ceks, Homir had nearly 
lived inside the Mule’s Palace. He 
had taken her once, with Stettin’s 
permission. . It was large and 
gloomily massive, shrinking from 
the touch of life to lie sleeping with- 
in its ringing memories, ans-wering 
the footsteps with a hollow boom 
or a savage clatter. She hadn’t liked 
it. 

Better the great, gay highways of 
the capital city; the theaters and 
spectacles of a world essentially 
poorer than the Foundation, yet 
spending more of its wealth on 
display. 

Homir would return in the eve- 
ning, awed— 

“It’s a dream-world for me,” he 
would whisper, “If I could only chip 
the Palace, down stone by stone, 
layer by layer of the aluminum 
sponge. If I could carry it back to 
Terminus— What a museum it 
would make.” 

He seemed to have lost that early 
reluctance. He was eager, instead; 
glowing. Arcadia knew that by the 
one siire sign; he practically never 
stuttered throughout that period. 

One time, he said : “There are ab- 
stracts of the records of General 
Pritcher— ” 

“I know him. He was the 
Foundation renegade, who combed 
tfie Galaxy for the Second Founda- 
tion, wasn’t he?” 

“Not exactly a renegade, Arkady. 
The Mule had Converted him.” 



“Oh, it’s the same thing.” 

“Galaxy, that combing you speak 
of was a hopeless task. The original 
records of the Seldon Convention 
that established both Foundations 
five hundred years ago, make only 
one reference to the Second Founda- 
tion. , They say it’s located ‘at the 
other end of the Galaxy at Star’s 
End.’ That’s all the Mule and 
Pritcher had to go on. They had no 
method of recognizing the Second 
Foundation even if they found it. 
What madness ! 

“They have records”— he was 
speaking to himself, but Arcadia lis- 
tened eagerly— “which must cover 
nearly a thousand worlds, yet the 
number of worlds available for study 
must have been closer to a million. 
And we are no better off—” 

Arcadia broke in anxiously, 
“Shhh-h” in a tight hiss. 

Homir froze, and slowjy recov- 
ered. “Let’s not talk,” he mum- 
bled. 

And now Homir was with Lord 
Stettin and Arcadia waited outside 
alone and felt the blood squeezing 
out of her heart for no reason at all. 
That was more frightening than any- 
thing else. That there seemed no 
reason. 

On the other side of the door, 
Homir, too, was living in a sea, of 
gelatin. He was fighting, with furi- 
ous intensity, to keep from stutter- 
ing and, of course, could scarcely 
speak two consecutive words clearly 
as a result. 

Lord Stettin was in full uniform, 

137 



. . AND NOW YOU DON’t 




six-feet-six, large-jawed, and hard- 
mouthed. His balled, arrogant fists 
kept a powerful time to his sen- 
tences. 

“Well, you have had two weeks, 
and you come to me with tales of 
nothing. Come, sir, tell me the 
worst. Is my Navy to be cut to rib- 
bons? Am I to fight the ghosts of 
the Second Foundation as well as 
the men of the First?” 

“I ... I repeat, my lord, I am no 
p . . . pre . . . predictor. I ... I am 
at a complete 1 . . . loss.” 

“Or do you wish to go hack to 
warn your countrymen? To deep 
Space with your play-acting. I want 
the truth or I’ll have it out of you 
along with half your guts. . 

“I’m t . . . telling only the truth, 
and I’ll have you re . . . remember, 
my 1 . . . lord, that I am a citizen of 
the Foundation. Y . . . you cannot 
touch me without harvesting m . . . 
m . . . more than you count on.” 

The Lord of Kalgan laughed up- 
roariously: “A threat to frighten 
children. A horror with which to 
beat back an idiot. Come, Mr. Munn, 
I have been patient with you. I have 
listened to you for twenty minutes 
while you detailed wearisome non- 
sense to me which must have cost 
you sleepless nights to compose. It 
was wasted effort. I know you are 
here not merely to rake through the 
Mule’s dead ashes and to warm over 
the cinders you find— you come here 
for more than you have admitted. Is 
that not true?” 

Homir Munn could no more have 
quenched the burning horror that 

138 



grew in his eyes than, at that mo- 
ment, he could have breathed. Lord 
Stettin saw that, and clapped the 
Foundation man upon his shoulder 
so that he and the chair he sat on 
reeled under the impact. 

“Good. Now let us be frank. 
You are investigating the Seldon 
Plan. You know that it no longer 
holds. You know, perhaps, that I 
am the inevitable winner now ; I and 
my heirs. Well, man, what matters 
it who established the Second Em- 
pire, so long as it is established. 
History plays no favorites, eh? Are 
you afraid to tell me ? You see that 
I know your mission.” 

Munn said thickly: “What is it 
y . . . you w . . . want?” 

“Your presence. I would not 
wish the Plan spoiled through over- 
confidence. You understand more 
of these things than I do ; you can 
detect small flaws that I might miss. 
Come, you will be rewarded in the 
end : you will have your fair glut of 
the loot. What can you expect at 
the Foundation? To turn the tide 
of a perhaps inevitable defeat? To 
lengthen the war? Or is it merely 
a patriotic desire to die for your 
country ?” 

“I . . . I—” He finally spluttered 
into silence. Not a word would 
come. 

“You will stay,” said the Lord of 
Kalgan, confidently. “You have no 
choice. Wait”— an, almost forgotten 
afterthought— “I have information to 
the effect that your niece is of the 
family of Bayta Darell.” 

Homir uttered a startled: “Yes.” 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




He could not trust himself at this 
point to he capable of weaving any- 
thing but cold truth. 

“It is a family of note on the 
Foundation?” 

Homir nodded, “To whom they 
would certainly b . . . brook no 
harm.” 

“Flarm ! Don’t be a fool, man ; I 
am meditating the reverse. How old 
is she ?” 

“Fourteen.” 

“So! Well, not even the Sec- 
ond Foundation, or Flari Seldon, 
himself, could stop time from passing 
or girls from becoming women.” 

With tliat, he turned on his heel 
and strode to a draped door w'hich 
he threw open violently. 

He thundered : “What in Space 
have you dragged your shivering 
carcass here for?” 

The Lady Callia blinked at him, 
and said in a small voice : “I didn’t 
know anyone was with you.” 

“Well, there is. I’ll speak to you 
later of this, but now I want to see 
your hack, and quickly.” 

Her footsteps were a fading 
scurry in the corridor. 

Stettin returned : “She is a rem- 
nant of an interlude that has lasted 
too long. It will end soon. Four- 
teen, you say?” 

Homir stared at him with a brand- 
new horror ! 

Arcadia started at the noiseless 
opening of a door— jumping at the 
jangling sliver of movement it made 
in the corner of her eye. The finger 
that crooked frantically at her met no 

. . . AND NOW YOU DON’t 



response for long moments, and then, 
as if in response to the cautions en- 
forced by the very sight of that white, 
trembling figure, she tiptoed her way 
across the floor. 

Their footsteps were a taut whis- 
per in the corridor. It was the Lady 
Callia, of course, who held her hand 
so tightly that it hurt, and for some 
reason, she did not mind following 
her. Of the Lady Callia, at least, she 
was not afraid. 

Now, wh}r was that? 

They were in a boudoir now, all 
pink flufl: and spun sugar. Lady 
Callia stood with her back against 
the door. 

She said : “This was our private 
way to me ... to my room, you 
know, from his office. His, you 
know.” And she pointed with a 
thumb, as though even the thought 
of him were grinding her soul to 
death with fear. 

“It’s so lucky . , . it’s so lucky—” 
Her pupils had blackened out the 
blue with their size. 

“Can you tell me—” began Ar- 
cadia timidly. 

And Callia was in frantic motion. 
“No, child, no. There is no time. 
Take off your clothes. Please. 
Please. I’ll get you more, and they 
won’t recognize you.” 

She was in the closet, throwing 
useless bits of flummery in reckless 
heaps upon the ground, looking mad- 
ly for something a girl could wear 
without becoming a living invitation 
to dalliance. 

“Here, this will do. It will have 
to. Do you have money? Here, 

139 





140 



take it all— and this.” She was strip- 
ping her ears and fingers. “Just go 
home— go home to your Founda- 
tion.” 

“But Homir . . , my uncle.” She 
protested vainly through the muf- 
fling folds of the sweet-smelling and 
luxurious spun-metal being forced 
over her head. 

“He won’t leave. Poochie will 
hold him forever, but you mustn’t 
stay. Oh, dear, don’t you under- 
stand ?” 

“No.” Arcadia forced a standstill, 
“I don’t understand.” 

Lady Callia squeezed her hands 
tightly together, “You must go back 
to warn your people there will be 
war. Isn’t that clear?” Absolute 
terror seemed paradoxically to have 
lent a lucidity to her thoughts and 
words that was entirely out of char- 
acter. “Now come!” 

Out another way! Past officials 
who stared after them, but saw no 
reason to stop one whom only the 
Lord of Kalgan could stop with im- 
punity. Guards clicked heels and 
presented arms when they went 
through doors. 

Arcadia breathed only on occasion 
through the years the trip seemed to 
take— yet from the first crooking of 
the white finger to the time she stood 
at the outer gate, with people and 
noise and traffic in the distance was 
only twenty-five minutes. 

She looked back, with a sudden 
frightened pity, “I . . . I . . . don’t 
know why you’re doing this, my 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 



lady, but thanks— What’s going to 
happen to Uncle Homir?” 

“I don’t know,” wailed the other. 
“Can’t you leave? Go straight to 
the spaceport. Don’t wait. He may be 
looking for you this very minute.” 
And still Arcadia lingered. She 
would be leaving Homir ; and, be- 
latedly, now that she felt the free 
air about her, she was suspicious, 
“But what do you care if he does?” 
Lady Callia bit her lower lip and 
muttered : “I can’t explain to a lit- 
tle girl like you. It would be im- 
proper. Well, you’ll be growing up 
and I ... I met Poochie when I was 
sixteen. I can’t have you about, 
you know.” There was a half- 
ashamed hostility in her eyes. 

The implications froze Arcadia. 
She whispered : “What wall he do to 
you when he finds out?” 

And she whimpered back : “I don’t 
know,” and threw her arm to her 
head as she left at a half-run, back 
along the wide way to the mansion 
of the Lord of Kalgan. 

But for one eternal second, Ar- 
cadia still did not move, for in that 
last moment before Lady Callia left, 
Arcadia liad seen something. Those 
frightened, frantic eyes had momen- 
tarily— dashingly— lit up with a cold 
amusement. 

A vast, inhuman amusement. 

It was much to see in such a quick 
flicker of a pair of eyes, but Arcadia 
had no doubt of what she saw. 

She was running now— running 
wildly— searching madly for an unoc- 
cupied public booth at which one 

. . . AND NOW YOU DON’t 



could press a button for public con- 
veyance. 

' She was not running from Lord 
Stettin; not from him. or from all the 
human hounds he could place at her 
heels— not from all his twenty-seven 
worlds rolled into a single gigantic 
phenomenon, hallooing at her 
shadow. 

She was running from a single, 
frail woman who had helped her 
escape. From a creature who had 
loaded her with money and jewels; 
who had risked her own life to save 
her. From an entity she knew, cer- 
tainly and finally, to be a woman of 
the Second Foundation. 

An air-ta.xi came to a soft clicking 
halt in the cradle. The wind of its 
coming brushed against Arcadia’s 
face and stirred at the hair beneath 
the softly-furred hood Callia had 
given her. 

“Where’ll it be, lady?” 

She fought desperately to low- 
pitch her voice, to make it not that 
of a child; “How many spaceports 
in the city?” 

“Two. Which one ya want?” 

“Which is closer?” 

He stared at her : “Kalgan Cen- 
tral, lady.” 

“The other one, please. I’ve got 
the money.” She had a twenty- Kal- 
ganid note in her hand. The de- 
nomination of the note made little 
difference to her, but the taxi-man 
grinned appreciatively. 

“Anything ya say, lady. Sky-line 
cabs take ya anywhere.” 

141 




She cooled her cheek against the 
slightly musty upholstery. The 
lights of the city moved leisurely be- 
low her. 

What should she do? What should 
she do? 

It was in that moment that she 
knew she was a stupid, stupid little 
girl, away from her father, and 
frightened. Her eyes were full of 
tears, and deep down in her throat, 
there was a small, soundless cry that 
hurt her insides. 

She wasn’t afraid that Lord Stet- 
tin would catch her. Lady Callia 
would see to that. Lady Callia ! 
Old, fat, stupid, but she held on to 
her lord, somehow. Oh, k was clear 
enough, now. Everything was clear. 

That tea with Callia at which she 
had been so smart. Clever little Ar- 
cadia ! Something inside Arcadia 
choked and hated itself. That tea 
had been maneuvered, and then Stet- 
tin had probably been maneuvered so 
that Homir was allowed to inspect 
the Palace after all. She, the foolish 
Callia, had w'anted it so, and ar- 
ranged to have smart little Arcadia 
supply a foolproof excuse, one 
which would arouse no suspicions in 
the minds of the victims, and yet in- 
volve a ’minimum of interference on 
her paft. 

Then why was she free? Homir 
was a prisoner, of course— 

Unless— 

Unless she went back to the 
Foundation as a decoy— a decoy to 
lead others into the hands of ... of 
them. 

142 



So she couldn’t return to the 
Foundation— 

“Spaceport, lady.” The air-taxi 
had come to a halt. Strange! She 
hadn’t even noticed. 

What a dream-world it was. 

“Thanks,” she pushed the bill at 
him without seeing anything and was 
stumbling out the door, then run- 
ning across the springy pavement. 

Lights. Unconcerned men and 
women. Large gleaming bulletin- 
boards, with the moving figures that 
follow'ed every single spaceship that 
arrived and departed. 

Where was she going? She 
didn’t care. She only knew that she 
w'asn’t going to the Foundation! 
Anyw'here else at all w’ould suit. 

Oh, thank Seldon, for that forget- 
ful moment— that last split-second 
when Callia w'earied of her act be- 
cause she had to do only with a child 
and had let her amusement spring 
through. 

And then something else occurred 
to Arcadia, something that liad been 
stirring and moving at the l)ase of 
her brain ever since the flight began 
—something that forever killed the 
fourteen in her. 

And she knew that she must 
escape. 

That above all. Though they lo- 
cated every conspirator on the 
P'oundation ; though they caiight her 
own father ; she could not, dared not, 
risk a warning. -She could not risk 
her own life— not in the slightest — 
for the entire realm of Terminus. 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




She was the most important person 
in the Galaxy. She was the only im- 
portant person in the Galaxy. 

She knew that even as she stood 
before the ticket-machine and won- 
dered where to go. 

Because in all the Galaxy, she 
and she alone, except for they, them- 
selves, knew the location of the Sec- 
ond Foundation. 

X. 

There is nothing, never has been 
anything, quite like a busy spaceport 
on the outskirts of a capital city of a 
populous planet. There are the huge 
machines resting mighuly in their 
cradles. If you choose your time 
properly, there is the impressive 
sight of the sinking giant dropping to 
rest or, more hair-raising still, the 
swiftening departure of a hulDble of 
steel. All processes involved are 
nearly noiseless. The molive power 
is the silent surge of nucleons shift- 
ing into more compact arrange- 
ments— 

In terms of area, ninety-five per- 
cent of the port has just been re- 
ferred to. Square miles are reserved 
for the machines, and for the men 
who serve them and for the calcu- 
lators that serve both. 

Only five percent of the port is 
given over to the floods of humanity 
to whom it is the way station to all 
the stars of the Galaxy. It is cer- 
tain that very few of the anonymous 
many-headed stop to consider the 

. . . AND NOW YOU DON’t 



technological mesh that knits the 
spaceways. Perhaps some of them 
might itch occasionally at the thought 
of the thousands of tons represented . 
by the sinking steel that looks so 
small off in the distance. One of 
those Cyclopean cylinders could, con- 
ceivably, miss the guiding beam and 
crash half a mile from its expected 
landing point— through the glassite 
roof of the immense waiting room 
perhaps— even upon himself, so that 
only a thin organic vapor and some 
powdered phossphates would be left 
behind. 

It could never happen, however, 
with the safety devices in use ; and 
only the badly neurotic would con- 
sider the possibility for more than a 
moment. 

Then what do they think about? 
It is not just a crowd, you see. It is 
a crowd with a purpose. That pur- 
pose hovers over the field and thick- 
ens the atmosphere. Lines queue 
up ; parents herd their children ; bag- 
gage is maneuvered in precise masses 
—people are going somewheres. 

Consider then the complete psy- 
chic isolation of a single unit of this 
terribly intent mob that does not 
know where to go ; yet at the same 
time feels more intensely than any 
of the others possibly can, the neces- 
sity of going somewheres ; any- 
where! Or almost anywhere! 

Even lacking telepathy or any of 
the crudely definite methods of mind 
touching mind, there is a sufficient 
clash in atmosphere, in intangible 
mood, to suffice for despair, 

143 




To suffice? To overflow, and 
drench, and drown. 

Arcadia Darell, dressed in bor- 
rowed clothes, standing on a bor- 
rowed planet in a borrowed situa- 
tion of what seemed even to be a 
borrowed life, wanted earnestly the 
safety of the womb. She didn’t 
know that was what she wanted. 
She only knew that the very open- 
ness of the open world was a great 
danger. She wanted a closed spot 
somewhere— somewhere far— some- 
where in an unexplored nook of the 
universe— where no one would ever 
look. 

And there she was, age fourteen 
plus, weary enough for eighty plus, 
frightened enough for five minus. 

What stranger of the hundreds 
that brushed past her— actually 
brushed past her, so that she could 
feel their touch— was a Second 
Foundationer? What stranger 
could not help but instantly destroy 
her for her guilty knowledge— her 
unique knowledge— of knowing where 
the Second Foundation was? 

And the voice that 'cut in on her 
was a thunderclap that iced the 
scream in her throat into a voiceless 
slash. 

“Look, miss,’’ it said, irritably, 
“are you using the ticket machine or 
are you just standing there?’’ 

It was the first she realized that 
she was standing in front of a ticket 
machine. You put a high denomina- 
tion bill into the clipper which sank 
out of sight. You pressed the but- 
ton below your destination and a 

144 



ticket came out together with the 
correct change as determined by an 
electronic scanning device that never 
made a mistake. It was a very ordi- 
nary thing and there is no cause for 
anyone to stand before it for five 
minutes. 

Arcadia plunged a two-hundred 
credit into the clipper, and was sud- 
denly aware of the button labeled 
“Trantor”. Trantor, dead capital of 
the dead Empire— the planet on 
which she was born. She pressed 
it in a dream. Nothing happened, 
except that the red letters flicked on 
and off, reading 172.18— 172.18— 
172.18- 

It was the amount she was short. 
Another two-hundred credit. The 
ticket was spit out towards her. It 
came loose when she touched it, and 
the change tumbled out afterward. 

She seized it and ran. She felt 
the man behind her pressing close, 
anxious for his own chance at the 
machine, but she twisted out from 
before him and did not look behind. 

Yet there was nowhere to run. 
They were all her enemies. 

Without quite realizing it, she was 
watching the gigantic, glowing signs 
that puffed into the air: Steffani, 
Anacreon, Fermns— There was 
even one that ballooned. Terminus, 
and she longed for it, but did not 
dare— 

For a trifling sum, she could have 
hired a notifier which could have 
been set for any destination she cared 
and which would, when placed in her 
purse, make itself heard only to her, 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




fifteen minutes before take-off time. 
But such devices are for people who 
are reasonably secure, however ; who 
can pause to think of them. 

And then, attempting to look both 
ways simultaneously, she. ran head- 
on into a soft abdomen. She felt the 
startled out-breath and grunt, and a 
hand come down on her arm. She 
writhed desperately but lacked 
breath tq_do more than mew a bit in 
the back of her throat. 

Her captor held her firmly and 
waited. Slowly, he came into focus 
for her and she managed to look at 
hirn. He was rather plump and 
rather short. His hair was white 
and copious, being brushed back to 
give a pompadour effect that looked 
strangely incongruous above a round 
and ruddy face that shrieked its peas- 
ant origin. 

“What’s the matter?” he said 
finally, with a frank and twinkling 
curiosity. “You look scared.” 

“Sorry,” muttered Arcadia in a 
frenzy. “I’ve got to go. Pardon 
me.” 

But he disregarded that entirely, 
and said: “Watch out, little girl. 
You’ll drop your ticket.” And he 
lifted it from her resistless white 
fingers and looked at it with every 
evidence of satisfaction. 

“I thought so,” he said, and then 
bawled in bull-like tones, “Mom- 
muh!” 

A woman was instantly at his side, 
somewhat more short, somewhat 
more round, somewhat more ruddy. 

. . . AHD NOW YOU don’t 



She wound a finger about a stray 
gray lock to shove it beneath a well- 
outmoded hat. 

“Pappa,” she said, reprovingly, 
“why do you shout in a crowd like 
that? People look at you like you 
were crazy. Do you think you are 
on the farm ?” 

And she smiled sunnily at the un- 
responsive Arcadia, and added : “He 
has manners like a bear.” Then, 
sharply, “Pappa, let go the little girl. 
What are you doing?” 

But Pappa simply waved the ticket 
at her. “Look,” he said, “she’s go- 
ing to Trantor.” 

Mamma’s face was a sudden beam, 
“You’re from Trantor? Let go her 
arm, I say, Pappa.” She turned the 
overstaffed valise she was carrying 
onto its side and forced Arcadia to 
sit down with a gentle but unrelent- 
ing pressure. “Sit down,” she said, 
“and rest your little feet. It will be 
no ship yet for an hour and the 
benches are crowded with sleeping 
loafers. You are from Trantor?” 

Arcadia drew a deep breath and 
gave ini Huskily, she said : “I was 
born there.” 

And Mamma clapped her hands 
gleefully, “One month we’ve been 
here and till now we met nobody 
from home. This is very nice. Your 
parents—” she looked about vaguely. 

“Fm not with my parents,” Ar- 
cadia said, carefully. 

“All alone? A little girl like 
you ?” Mamma w'as at once a blend 
of indignation and sympathy, “How 
does that come to be ?” 

14S 




“Mamma,” Pappa plucked at her 
sleeve, “let me tell you. There’s 
something wrong. I think she’s 
frightened.” His voice, though ob- 
viously intended for a whisper was 
quite plainly audible to Arcadia. 
“She was running— I was watching 
her— and not looking where she was 
going. Before I could step out of 
the way, she bumped into me. And 
you know what? I think she’s in 
trouble.” 

“So shut your mouth, Pappa. 
Into you, anybody could bump.” But 
she joined Arcadia on the valise, 
which creaked wearily under the 
added weight and put an arm about 
the girl’s trembling shoulder : 
“You’re running away from some- 
body, sweetheart? Don’t be afraid 
to tell me. I’ll help you.” 

Arcadia looked across at the kind 
gray eyes of the woman and felt her 
lips quivering. One part of her 
brain was telling her that here were 
people from Trantor, with whom 
she could go, who could help her 
remain on that planet until she could 
decide what next to do, where next 
to go; And another part of her 
brain, much the louder, was telling 
her in jumbled incoherence that she 
did not remember her mother, that 
she was- weary to death of fighting 
the universe, that she wanted only 
to curl into a little ball with strong, 
gentle arms about her, that if her 
mother had lived, she rhight . . . she 
might— 

And for the first time that night, 
she was crying; crying like a little 

146 



baby, and glad of it ; clutching tightly 
at the old-fashioned dress and damp- 
ening a corner of it thoroughly, while 
soft arms held her closely and a gen- 
tle hand stroked her curls. 

Pappa stood helplessly looking at 
the pair, fumbling futilely for a hand- 
kerchief which, when produced, was 
snatched from his hand. Mamma 
glared an admonition of quietness at 
him. The crowds surged about the 
little group with the true indifference 
of disconnected crowds everywhere. 
They were effectively alone. 

Finally, the weeping trickled to a 
halt, and Arcadia smiled weakly as 
she dabbed at red e3'es with the bor- 
rowed handkerchief, “Golly,” she 
whispered, “I—” 

"Shh. Shh. Don’t talk,” said 
Mamma, fussily, “just sit and rest 
for a while. Catch your breath. 
Then tell us what’s wrong, and you’ll 
see, we’ll fix it up, and everything 
will be all right.” 

Arcadia scrabbled what remained 
of her wits together. . She could not 
tell them the truth. She could tell 
nobody the truth— And yet she was 
too worn to invent a useful lie. 

She said, whisperingly : “I’m bet- 
ter, now.” 

“Good,” said Mamma. “Now tell 
me why 3'ou’re in trouble. You did 
nothing wrong? Of course, what- 
ever you did, we’ll help you ; but tell 
us the truth.” 

“For a friend from Trantor, any- 
thing,” added Pappa, expansively, 
“Eh, Mamma?” 



ASTOUNDING SCIE N CE- FICTION 




“Shut your mouth, Pappa,” was 
the response, without rancor. 

Arcadia was groping in her purse. 
That, at least, was still hers, despite 
the rapid clothes-changing forced 
upon her in Lady Gallia’s apart- 
ments. She found what she was 
looking for and handed it to Mamma. 

“These are my papers,” she said, 
diffidently. It was a shiny, synthetic 
parchment which had been issued 
her by the Foundation’s ambassador 
on the day of her arrival and which 
had been countersigned by the ap- 
propriate Kalganian official. It was 
large, florid, and impressive. 
Mamma looked at it helplessly, and 
passed jt to Pappa wffio absorbed its 
contents with an impressive pursing 
of the lips. 

He said: “You’re from the 

Foundation?” 

“Yes. But I was born in Trantor. 
See it says that—” 

“Ah-hah. It looks all right to me. 
You’re named Arcadia, eh? Tliat’s a 
good Trantorian name. But where’s 
your uncle? It says here you came 
in the company of Homir Munn, 
uncle.” 

“He’s been arrested,” said Ar- 
cadia, drearily. 

“Arrested!”— from the two of 
them at once. “What for?” asked 
Mamma. “He did something?” 

She shook her head, “I don’t 
know. We were just on a visit. 
Uncle Homir had business with 
Lord Stettin but—” She needed no 
effort to act a shudder. It was 
there. 

. * . AND NOW YOU don’t 



Pappa was impressed, “With 
Lord Stettin. Mm-m-m, your uncle 
must be a big man.” 

“I don’t know what it was all 
about, but Lord Stettin wanted me 
to stay—” She was recalling the last 
W'ords of Lady Gallia, which had 
been acted out for her benefit. Since 
Gallia, as she now knew, was an 
expert, the story could do for a 
second time. 

She paused, and Mamma said in- 
terestedly : “And why you ?” 

“I’m not sure. He ... he wanted 
to have dinner with me all alone, but 
I said no, because I wanted Uncle 
Homir along. He looked at me 
funny and kept holding my shoul- 
der.” 

Pappa’s mouth was a little open, 
hut Mamma was suddenly red and 
angry : “How old are you, Arcadia?” 
“Fourteen and a half, almost.” 
Mamma drew a sharp breath and 
said : “That such people should be 
let live. The dogs in the streets are 
better. You’re running from him, 
dear, is not?” 

Arcadia nodded. 

Mamma said : “Pappa, go right to 
Information and find out exactly 
when the ship to Trantor comes to 
berth. Hurry !” 

But Pappa took one step and 
stopped. Loud metallic words were 
booming overhead, and five thou- 
sand pairs of eyes looked startledly 
upwards. 

“Men and women,” it said, with 
sharp force. “The airport is being 
searched for a dangerous fugitive, 

147 




and it is now surrounded. No one 
can enter and no one can leave. The 
search will, however, be conducted 
with great speed and no ships will 
reach or leave berth during the in- 
terval, so you will not miss your 
ship. I repeat, no one will miss his 
ship. The grid will descend. None 
of you will move outside your square 
until the grid is removed, as other- 
wise we will be forced to use our 
neuronic whips.” 

During the minute or less in 
which the voice dominated the vast 
dome of the spaceport’s waiting 
room, Arcadia could not have moved 
if all the evil in the Galaxy had con- 
centrated itself into a ball and hurled 
itself at her. 

They could mean only her. It 
was not even necessary to formulate 
that idea as a specific thought. But 
why— 

Callia had engineered her escape. 
And Callia was of the Second Foun- 
dation. Why, then, the search now ? 
.Had Callia failed ? Could Callia fail ? 
Or was this part of the plan, the 
intricacies of which escaped her ? 

For a vertiginous moment, she 
wanted to jump up and shout that 
she gave up, that she would go with 
them, that . . . that— 

But Mamma’s hand was on her 
wrist: “Quick! Quick! We’ll go 
to the lady’s room before they start.” 

Arcadia did not understand. She 
merely followed blindly. They oozed 
through the crowd, frozen as it was 
into clumps, with the voice still 
booming through its last words. 



The grid was descending now, and 
Pappa, openmouthed, watched it 
come down. He had heard of it and 
read of it, but had never actually 
been the object of it. It glimmered 
in the air, simply a series of cross- 
hatched and tight radiation-beams 
that set the air aglow in a harmless 
network of flashing light. 

It always was so arranged as to 
descend slowly from above in order 
that it might represent a falling net 
with all the terrific psychological im- 
plications of entrapment. 

It was at waist-level now, ten feet 
between glowing lines in each direc- 
tion. In his own hundred square 
feet, Pappa found himself alone, yet 
the adjoining squares were crowded. 
He felt himself conspicuously iso- 
lated but knew that to move into 
the greater anonymity of a group 
would have meant crossing one of 
those glowing lines, stirring an 
alarm, and bringing down the neu- 
ronic whip. 

He waited. 

He could make out over the heads 
of the eerily quiet and waiting mob, 
the far-off stir that was the line of 
policemen covering the vast floor 
area, lighted square by lighted 
square. 

It was a long time before a uni- 
form stepped into his square and 
carefully noted its co-ordinates into 
an official notebook. 

“Papers !” 

Pappa handed them over, and 
they were flipped through in expert 
fashion. 



148 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




“You’re Preem Palver, native of 
Trantor, on Kalgan for a month, re- 
turning to Trantor. Answer, yes or 
no.” 

“Yes, yes.” 

“What’s your business on Kal- 
gan ?” 

“I’m trading representative of our 
farm co-operativet I’ve been nego- 
tiating terms with the Department 
of Agriculture on Kalgan.” 

“Um-m-m. Your wife is with 
you? Where is she? She is men- 
tioned in your papers.” 

“Please. My wife is in the—” 
He pointed. 

“Hanto,” roared the policeman. 
Another uniform joined him. 

The first one said, dryly, “Another 
dame in the can, by the Galaxy. The 
place must be busting with them. 
Write down her name.” He indi- 
cated the entry in the papers which 
gave it. 

“Anyone else with you ?” 

“My niece.” 

“.She’s not mentioned in the 
papers.” 

“She came separately.” 

“Where is she? Never mind, I 
know. Write down the niece’s name, 
too, Hanto. What’s her name? 
Write down Arcadia Palver. You 
stay right here, Palver. We’ll take 
care of the women before we leave.” 

Pappa waited interminably. And 
then, long, long after. Mamma was 
marching toward him, Arcadia’s 
hand firmly in hers, the two police- 
men trailing behind her. 

They entered Pappa’s square, and 

. , , AND NOW YOU DON’t 



one said : “Is this noisy old woman 
your wife?” 

“Yes, sir,” said Pappa, placat- 
ingly. 

“Then you’d better tell her she’s 
liable to get into trouble if she talks 
the way she does to the First Citi- 
zen’s police.” He straightened his 
shoulders angrily. “Is this your 
niece ?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“I want her papers.” 

Looking straight at her husband, 
Mamma slightly, but no less firmly, 
shook her head. 

A short pause, and Pappa said 
with a weak smile: “I don’t think I 
can do that.” 

“What do you mean you can’t do 
that?” The policeman thrust out a 
hard palm, “Hand it over.” 

“Diplomatic immunity,” said 
Pappa, softly. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I said I was trading representa- 
tive of my farm co-operative. I’m 
accredited to the Kalganian govern- 
ment as an official foreign repre- 
sentative and my papers prove it. I 
showed them to you and now I don’t 
want to be bothered any more.” 

For a moment, the policeman was 
taken aback. “I’ve got to see your 
papers. It’s orders.” 

“You go away,” liroke in Mamma, 
suddenly. “When we want you, 
we’ll send for you, you . . . you 
bum.” 

The policeman’s lips tightened. 
“Keep your eye on them, Hanto. 
I’ll get the lieutenant.” 



149 





“Break a leg!” called Mamma 
after him. Someone laughed, and 
then choked it off suddenly. 

The search was approaching its 
end. The crowd was growing dan- 
gerously restless. Forty-five minutes 
had elapsed since the grid had started 
falling and that is too long for best 
effects. Lieutenant Dirige threaded 
his way hastily, therefore, toward 
the dense center of the mob. 

“Is this the girl ?” he asked 
wearily. He looked at her and she 
obviously fitted the description. All 
this for a child. 

He said : “Her papers, if you 
please ?” 

Pappa began, “I have already ex- 
plained—” 



“I know what you have explained, 
and I’m sorry,” said the lieutenant, 
“but I have my orders, and I can’t 
help them. If you care to make a 
protest later, you may. Meanwhile, 
if necessary, I must use force.” 
There was a pause, and the lieu- 
tenant \vaited patiently. 

Then Pappa said, huskily: “Give 
me your papers, Arcadia.” 

Arcadia shook her head in panic, 
but Pappa nodded his head : “Don’t 
be afraid. Give them to me.” 
Helplessly, she reached out and 
let the documents change hands. 
Pappa fumbled them open and 
looked carefully through them, then 
handed them over. The lieutenant 
in his turn looked through them 



150 



ASTOUNDING S Cl EN CE- F ICTION 





carefully. For a long moment, he 
raised his eyes to rest them on Ar- 
cadia, and then he closed the book- 
let with a sharp snap. 

“All in order,” he said. “All 
right, men.” 

He left, and in two minutes, 
scarcely more, the grid was gone, 
and the voice above signified a l>ack- 
to-normal. The noise of the crowd, 
suddenh" released, rose high. 

Arcadia said : “Flow . . . how—” 

Pappa said, “Sh-h. Don’t say a 
word. Let’s better go to the ‘ ship. 
It should be in the berth soon,” 

They were on the ship. They had 
a private stateroom and a table to 
themselves in the dining room. Two 



light-years already separated them 
from Kalgan, and Arcadia finally 
dared to broach the subject again. 

She said : “But they were after me, 
Mr. Palver, and they must have had 
my description and all the details. 
Why did he let me go ?” 

And Pappa smiled broadly over 
his roast beef : “Well, Arcadia, child, 
it was easy. W’hen you’ve been deal- 
ing with agents and buyers and com- 
peting co-operatives, you learn some 
of the tricks. I’ve had twenty years 
or more to learn them in. You see, 
child, when the lieutenant opened 
ymur papers, he found a fiv'e hundred 
credit l)ill inside, folded up small. 
Simple, no?” 

“Pll pay you back— Honest, I’ve 



ISl 



. . AND NOW YOU DON’t 



got lots of money.” 

“Well,” Pappa’s broad face broke 
into an embarrassed smile, as he 
waved it away. “For a country- 
woman—” 

Arcadia desisted, “But what if 
he’d taken the money and turned me 
in anyway. And accused me of 
bribery.” 

“And give up five hundred 
credits ? I know these people better 
than you do, girl.” 

But Arcadia knew that he did not 
know people better. Not these peo- 
ple. In her bed that night, she con- 
sidered carefully, and knew that no 
bribe would have stopped a police 
lieutenant in the matter of catching 
her unless that had been planned. 
They didn’t want to catch her, yet 
had made every motion of doing so, 
nevertheless. 

Why? To make sure she left? 
And for Trantor? Were the obtuse 
and soft-hearted couple she was with 
now only a pair of tools in the hands 
of the Second Foundation, as help- 
less as she herself? 

They must be ! 

Or were they? 

It was all so useless. How could 
she fight them. Whatever she did," 
it might only be what those terrible 
omnipotents wanted her to do. 

Yet she had to outwit them. Had 
to. Had to ! Had to ! ! 

XI. 

For reason or reasons unknown to 
members of the Galaxy at the time 

l52 



of the era under discussion. Inter- 
galactic Standard Time defines its 
fundamental unit, the second, as the 
time in which light travels 299,776 
kilometers. 86,400 seconds are ar- 
bitrarily set equal to one Intergalac- 
tic Standard Day; and 365 of these 
days to one Intergalactic Standard 
Year. 

Why 299,776? -Or 86,400? -Or 
365? 

Tradition, says the historian, beg- 
ging the question. Because of cer- 
■ tain and various mysterious nu- 
merical relationships, say the mystics, 
cultists, numerologists, metaphysi- 
cists. Because the original home- 
planet of humanity had certain natu- 
ral periods of rotation and revolution 
from which those relationships could 
be derived, say a very few. 

No one really knew. 

Nevertheless, the date on which 
the Foundation cruiser, the Hober 
Mallow met the Kalganian squadron, 
headed by the Fearless, and, upon 
refusing to allow a search party to 
board, was blasted into smoldering 
wreckage was 185 ; 11692 G.E. That 
is, it was the 185th day of the 
11,692nd year of the Galactic Era 
which dated from the accession of 
the first Emperor of the traditional 
Kamble dynasty. It was also 185; 
419 A.S.— dating from the birth of 
Seldoii— or 185 ; 348 Y.F.— dating 
from the establishment of the 
Foundation. On Kalgan it was 185 ; 
56 F.C.— dating from the establish- 
ment of the First Citizenship by the 
Mule. In each case, of course, for 



astoundincT science-fiction 




convenience, the year was so ar- 
ranged as to yield the same day 
number regardless of the actual day 
upon which the era began. 

And, in addition, to all the mil- 
lions of worlds of the Galaxy, there 
were millions of local times, based 
on the motions of their own particu- 
lar heavenly neighbors. 

But whichever you choose : 185 ; 
1 1692-419-348-56-or anything — it 
was this day which historians later 
pointed to when they spoke of the 
start of the Stettinian war. 

Yet to Dr. Darell, it was none of 
these at all. It was simply and quite 
precisely the thirty-second day since 
Arcadia had left Terminus. 

What it cost Darell to maintain 
stolidity through those days was not 
obvious to everyone. 

But Elvett Semic thought he could 
guess. He was an old man and fond 
of saying that his neuronic sheaths 
had calcified to the point where his 
thinking processes were stiff and un- 
wieldy. He invited and almost wel- 
comed the universal underestimation 
of his decaying powers by being the 
first to laugh at them. But his eyes 
were none the less seeing for being 
faded ; his mind none the less experi- 
enced and wise, for being no longer 
agile. 

He merely twisted his pinched lips 
and said : “Why don’t you do some- 
thing about it?” 

The sound was a physical jar to 
Darell, under which he winced. He 
said, gruffly : “Where were we ?” 

. » . AND NOW YOU DON’T 



Semic regarded him with grave 
eyes : “You’d better do something 
about the girl.” His sparse, yellow 
teeth showed in a mouth that was 
open in inquiry. 

But Darell replied coldly, “The 
question is ; Can you get a Symes- 
Molflf Resonator in the range re- 
quired ?” 

“Well, I said I could and you 
weren’t listening—” 

“I’m sorry, Elvett. It’s like this. 
What we’re doing now can be more 
important to everyone in the Galaxy 
than the question of whether Arcadia 
is safe. At least, to everyone but 
Arcadia and myself, and I’m willing 
to go along with the majority. How 
big would the Resonator be ?” 

Semic looked doubtful, “I don’t 
know. You can find it somewheres 
in the catalogues.” ^ 

“About how big. A ton? A 
pound ? A block long ?” 

“Oh, I thought you meant ex- 
actly. It’s a little jigger.” He in- 
dicated the first joint of his thumb. 
“About that.” 

“All right, can you do something 
like this?” He sketched rapidly on 
the pad he held in his lap, then 
passed it over to the old physicist, 
who peered at it doubtfully, then 
chuckled. 

“Y’know, the brain gets calcified 
when you get as old as I am. What 
are you trying to do ?” 

Darell hesitated. He longed des- 
perately, at the moment, for the 
physical knowledge locked in the 
other’s brain, so that he need not put 

153 




his thought into words. But the 
longing was useless, and he ex- 
plained. 

. Seinic was shaking his head, 
‘‘You’d need hyper-relays. The 
only things that would work fast 
enough. A thundering lot of them.” 
“But it can be built?” 

‘.‘Well, sure.” 

“Can you get all the parts? I 
mean, without causing comment? 
In line with your general work.” 
Semic lifted his upper lip, “Can’t 
get fifty hyper-relays? I wouldn’t 
use that many in my whole life.” 
“W^’re on a defense project, now. 
Can’t you think of something harm- 
less that would use them? We’ve 
got the money.” 

“Hm-m-m. Maybe I can think of 
something.” 

“How small can you make the 
whole gadget?” 

“Hyper-relays can be had micro- 
size . . . wiring . . . tubes— Space, 
you’ve got a few hundred circuits 
there.” 

“I know. How big?” 

Semic indicated with his hands. 
“Too big,” said Darell. “I’ve got 
to swing it from my belt.” 

Slowly, he was crumpling his 
sketch into a tight ball. When it was 
a hard, yellow grape, he dropped it 
into the ash tray and it was gone 
with the tiny white flare of molecular 
decomposition. 

He said; “Who’s at your door?” 
Semic leaned over his desk to the 
little milky screen above the door 
signal. He said : “The young fel- 



low, Anthor, Someone with him, 
too.” 

Darell scraped his chair back, 
“Nothing about this, Semic, to the 
others yet. • It’s deadly knowledge, 
if they find out, and two lives are 
enough to risk.” 

Pelleas Anthor was a pulsing vor- 
tex of activity in Semic’s office, 
which, somehow, managed to par- 
take of the age of its occupant. In 
the slow' turgor of the quiet room, 
the loose, summery sleeves of An- 
thor’s tunic seemed still a-quiver 
with the outer breezes. 

He said : “Dr. Darell, Dr. Semic— 
Orum Dirige.” 

The other man was tall. A long 
straight nose that lent his thin face 
a saturnine appearance. Dr. Darell 
held out a hand. 

Anthor smiled slightly : “Police 
Lieutenant Dirige,” he amplified. 
Then, significantly, “Of Kalgan.” 

And Darell turned to stare with 
force at the young man. “Police 
Lieutenant Dirige of Kalgan,” he 
repeated, distinctly. “And you 
bring him here. Why ?” 

“Because he was the last man on 
Kalgan to see your daughter. Hold, 
man.” 

Anthor’s look of triumph was 
suddenly one of concern, and he was 
betw'een the two, struggling violently 
with Darell. Slowdy, and not gently, 
he forced the older man back into the 
chair. 

“ What are you trying to do ?” An- 
thor brushed a lock of brown hair 



154 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




from his forehead, tossed a hip light- 
ly upon the desk, and swung a leg, 
thoughtfully. “I thought I was 
bringing you good news.” 

Darell addressed the policeman 
directly: “What does he mean by 
calling you the last man to see my 
daughter? Is my daughter dead? 
Please tell me without preliminary.” 
His face was white with apprehen- 
sion. 

Lieutenant Dirige said expression- 
lessly : “ ‘Last man on Kalgan’ was 
the phrase. She’s not on Kalgan 
now. I have no knowledge past 
that.” 

“Here,” broke in Anthor, “let me 
put it straight. Sorry if I overplayed 
the drama a bit. Doc. You’re so in- 
human about this, I forget you have 



feelings. In the first place. Lieu- 
tenant Dirige is one of us. He was 
born on Kalgan, but his father was a 
Foundation pian brought to that 
planet in the service of the Mule. 
I answer for the lieutenant’s loyalty 
to the Foundation. 

“Now I was in touch with him 
the day after we stopped getting the 
daily report from Munn— ” 

“Why?” broke in Darell, fiercely. 
“I thought it was quite decided that 
we were not to make a move in the 
matter. You were risking their lives 
and ours.” 

“Because,” was the equally fi'erce 
retort, “I’ve been involved in this 
game for longer than you. Because 
I know of certain contacts on Kal- 
gan of which you know nothing. 









MAX EHRlICH's 

provocative ihfiHe'-’ 

the big 

EYE „ 

^ From 

Complete science Fiction novel. S2.5 



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masterpieces of Hal Clement* 
Robert A.Heinlein, Isaac Asimov 
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AND NOW YOU DON’t 



155 





Because I act from deeper knowl- 
edge, do you understand?” 

“I think you’re completely mad.” 
“Will you listen?” 

A pause, and Darell’s eyes 
dropped, 

Anthor’s lips quirked into a half 
smile, “All right, doc. Give me a 
few minutes. Tell him, Dirige.” 
Dirige spoke easily: “As far as I 
know. Dr. Darell, your daughter is 
at Trantor. At least, she had a 
ticket to Trantor at the Eastern 
Spaceport. She was with a Trading 
Representative from that planet who 
claimed she was his niece. Your 
daughter seems to have a queer col- 
lection of relatives, doctor. That 
was the second uncle she had in a 
period of two weeks, eh? The 
Trantorian even tried to bribe me— 
probably thinks that’s why they got 
away.” He smiled grimly at the 
thought. 

“How was she?” 

“Unharmed, as far as I could see. 
Frightened. I don’t blame her for 
that. The whole department was 
after her. I still don’t know why.” 
Darell drew a breath for what 
seemed the first tiftie in several min- 
utes. He was conscious of the trem- 
bling of his hands and controlled 
them with an effort. “Then she’s all 
right. This Trading Representative, 
who was he ? Go back to him. 
What part does he play in it?” 

“I don’t know. Do you know 
anything about Trantor?” 

“I lived there once.” 

“It’s an agricultural world, now. 



Exports animal fodder and grains, 
mostly. High quality! They sell 
them all over the Galaxy. There 
are a dozen or two farm co-opera- 
tives on the planet and each has its 
representatives overseas. Shrewd 
sons of guns, too— I knew this one’s 
record. He’d been on Kalgan be- 
fore, usually with his wife. Per- 
fectly honest. Perfectly harmless.” 

“XJm-m-m,” said Anthor. “Ar- 
cadia was born in Trantor, wasn’t 
she, doc?” 

Darell nodded. 

“It hangs together, you see. She 
wanted to go away— quickly and far 
—and Trantor would suggest itself. 
Don’t you think so?” 

Darell said : “Why not back 
here ?” 

“Perhaps she was being pursued 
and felt that she had to double off in 
a new angle, eh?” 

Dr. Darell lacked the heart to 
question further. Well, then, let her 
be safe on Trantor, or as safe as one 
could be anywhere in this dark and 
horrible Galaxy. He groped toward 
the door, felt Anthor’s light touch 
on his sleeve, and stopped, but did 
not turn. 

“Mind if I go home with you, 
doc ?” 

“You’re welcome,” was the auto- 
matic response. 

By evening, the exteriormost 
reaches of Dr. Darell’s personality, 
the ones that made immediate con- 
tact with other people had solidified 
once more. He had refused to eat 



156 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




his evening meal and had, instead, 
with feverish insistence, returned to 
the inch-wise advance into the intri- 
cate mathematics of encephalo- 
graphic analysis. 

It was not till nearly midnight, 
that he entered the living room again. 

Pelleas Anthor was still there, 
twiddling at the controls of the video. 
The footsteps behind him caused him 
to glance over his shoulder. 

“Hi. Aren’t you in bed yet ? I’ve 
been spending- hours on the video, 
trying to get something other than 
bulletins. It seems the F.S. Hober 
Mallow is delayed in course and 
hasn’t been heard from.’’ 

“Really? What do they suspect?” 

“What do you think? Kalganian 
skulduggery. There are reports that 
Kalganian vessels were sighted in, 
the general space sector in which the 
Hober Mallow was last heard 
from ?” 

Darell shrugged, and Anthor 
rubbed his forehead doubtfully. 

“Look, doc,” he said, “why don’t 
you go to TrantoiQ?” 

“Why should I?” 

“Because you’re no good to us 
here. You’re not yourself. You 
can’t be. And you could accomplish 
a purpose by going to Trantor, too. 
The old Imperial Library with the 
complete records of the Proceedings 
of the Seldon Commission are 
there—” 

“No! The Library has been 
picked clean and it hasn’t helped 
anyone.” 

“It helped Ebling Mis otlce.” 

i ; AND NOW YOU don’t 



“How do you know ? Yes, he said 
he found the Second Foundation, 
and my mother killed him five sec- 
onds later as the only way to keep 
him from unwittingly revealing its 
location to the Mule. But in doing 
so, she also, you realize, made it im- 
possible ever to tell whether Mis 
really did know the location. After 
all, no one else has ever been able to 
deduce the truth from those rec- 
ords.” 

“Ebling Mis, if you’ll remember, 
was working under the driving im- 
petus of the Mule’s mind.” 

“I know that, too, but Mis’ mind 
was, by that very token, in an ab- 
normal state. Do you and I know 
anything about the properties of a 
mind under the emotional control of 
another ; about its abilities and short- 
comings ? In any case, I will not go 
to Trantor.” 

Anthor frowned, “Well, why the 
vehemence? I merely suggest it as— 
Well, by Space, I don’t understand 
you. You look ten years older. 
You’re obviously having a hellish 
time of it. ' You’re not doing any- 
thing of value here. If I were you, 
I’d go and get the girl.” 

“Exactly I It’s what I want to do, 
too. That’s why I won’t do it. 
Look, Anthor, and try to under- 
stand. You’re playing— we’re both 
playing— with something completely 
beyond our powers to fight. In cold 
blood, if you have any, you know 
that, whatever you may think in your 
moments of quixoticism. 

“For fifty years, we’ve known that 

157 




the Second Foundation is the real 
descendent and pupil of Seldonian 
mathematics. What that means, and 
you know that, too, is that nothing in 
the Galaxy happens which does not 
l>lay a part in their reckoning. To 
us, all life is a series of accidents, to 
be met with by improvisations. To 
them, all life is purposive and should 
he met by pre-calculation. 

“But they have their weakness. 
Their work is statistical and only the 
mass action of humanity is truly in- 
evitable. Now how I play a part, as 
an individual, in the foreseen course 
of history, I don’t know. Perhaps I 
have no definite part, since the Plan 
leaves individuals to indeterminacy 
and free will. But I am important 
and they— f/icy, you understand— 
may at least have calculated my 
probable reaction. So I distrust, 
my impulses, my desires, my prob- 
able reactions. 

“I would rather present them with 
an hn probable reaction. I will stay 
here, despite the fact that I yearn 
verx'- desperately to leave. No ! Be- 
cause I yearn very desperately to 
leave.” 

The younger man smiled sourly : 
“You don’t know your own mind as 
well as they might. Suppose that- 
knowing you— they might count on 
what you think, merely think, is the 
iniprobable reaction, simply by 
knowing in advance what your line 
of reasoning would be.” 

“In that case, there is no escape. 
For if I follow the reasoning you 
have just outlined and go to Trantor, 
they may have foreseen that, too. 

158 



There is an endless cycle of double- 
double - double - doublecrosses. N o 

matter how far I follow that cycle, I 
can only either go or stay. The intri- 
cate act of luring my daughter half- 
way across the Galaxy cannot be 
meant to make me stay where I am, 
since I would most certainly have 
stayed if they had done nothing. It 
can only be to make me move, and so 
I will stay. 

“And besides, Anthor, not every- 
thing bears the breath of the Second 
Foundation: not all events are the 
results of their puppeting. They 
may have had nothing to do with 
Arcadia’s leave-taking, and she may 
be safe on Trantor when all the rest 
of us are dead.” 

“No,” said Anthor, sharply, “now 
you are off the track.” 

“You have an alternative inter- 
pretation ?” 

“I have— if you’ll listen.” 

“Oh, go ahead. I don’t lack 
patience.” 

“Well, then— how well do you 
know your own daughter?” 

“How well can any individual 
know any other? Obviously, my 
knowledge is inadequate.” 

“So is mine on that basis, perhaps 
even more so— but at least, I viewed 
her with fresh eyes. Item one : She 
is a ferocious little romantic, the 
only child of an ivory-tower academi- 
cian, growing up in an unreal world 
of video and book-film adventure. 
She lives in a weird self-constructed 
fantasy of espionage and intrigue. 
Item two : She’s intelligent about it ; 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTIOIT 




intelligent enough to outwit us, at 
any rate. She planned carefully to 
overhear our first conference and 
succeeded. She planned carefully to 
go to Kalgan w'ith Munn and suc- 
ceeded. Item threej She has an 
unholy hero-worship of her grand- 
mother— your mother— who defeated 
the Mule. 

“I’m right so far, I think? All 
right, then. Now, unlike you. I’ve 
received a complete report from 
Lieutenant Dirige and, in addition, 
my sources of information on Kal- 
gan are rather complete, and all 
sources check. We know, for in- 
stance, that Homir Munn, in con- 
ference with the Lord of Kalgan was 
refused admission to the Mule’s Pal- 
ace, and that this refusal was sud- 



denly abrogated after Arcadia had 
spoken to Lady Callia, the First Citi- 
zen’s very good friend.” 

DareU interrupted; “And how do 
you know all this?” 

“For one thing, Munn was inter- 
viewed by Dirige as part of the police 
campaign to locate Arcadia. Natu- 
rally, we have a complete transcript 
of the questions and answers. 

“And take Lady Callia herself. It 
is rumored that she has lost Stettin’s 
interest, but the rumor isn’t borne 
out by facts. She not only remains 
unreplaced ; is not only altle to medi- 
ate the lord’s refusal to Munn into 
an acceptance ; but can even en- 
gineer Arcadia’s escape - openly. 
Why, a dozen of the soldiers about 
Stettin’s executive mansion testified 



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AND NOW YOU DONT 



159 





that they were seen together on the 
last evening. Yet she remains un- 
punished. This despite the fact that 
Arcadia was searched for with every 
appearance of diligence.” 

“But what is your conclusion from 
all this torrent of ill-connection ?” 
“That Arcadia’s escape was ar- 
ranged.” 

“As I said.” 

“With this addition. That Ar- 
cadia must have known it was ar- 
ranged ; that Arcadia, the bright lit- 
tle girl who saw cabals everywhere, 
saw this one and followed your own 
type of reasoning. They wanted her 
to return to the Foundation, and so 
she went to Trantor, instead. But 
why Trantor?” 

“Well, why?” 

“Because that is where Bayta, her 
idolized grandmother, escaped when 
she was in flight. Consciously or 
unconsciously, Arcadia imitated that. 
I wonder, then, if Arcadia was flee- 
ing the same enemy.” 

“The Mule?” asked Darell with 
polite sarcasm. 

“Of course not. I mean, by the 
enemy, a mentality that she. could 
not fight. She was running from 
the Second Foundation, or such in- 
fluence thereof as could be found on 
Kalgan.” 

“What influence is this you speak 
of?” 

“Do you expect Kalgan to be im- 
mune from that ubiquitous menace? 
We both have come to the conclu- 
sion, somehow, that Arcadia’s escape 
was arranged. Right? She was 

160 



searched for and found, but de- 
liberately allowed to slip away by 
Dirige. By t)irige, do you under- 
stand? But how was that? Be- 
cause he was our man. But how 
did they know that? Were they 
counting on him to be a traitor ? Eh, 
doc?” 

“Now you’re sa3'ing that they hon- 
estly meant to recapture her. Frank- 
ly, you’re tiring me a bit, Anthor. 
Finish your say ; I want to go to 
bed.” 

“My say is quickly finished.” An- 
thor reached for a small group of 
photo-records in his inner pocket. It 
was the familiar wigglings of the 
encephalograph. “Dirige’s brain- 
waves,” Anthor said, casually, “taken 
since he returned.” 

It was quite visible to Darell’s 
naked eye, and his face was gray 
when he looked up. “He is Con- 
trolled.” 

“Exactly. He allowed Arcadia to 
escape not because he was our man 
but because he was the Second 
Foundation’s.” 

“Even after he knew she was 
going to Trantor, and not to 
Terminus.” 

Anthor shrugged : “He had been 
geared to let her go. There was no 
way he could modify that. He was 
only a tool, you see. It was just 
that Arcadia follow’ed the least prob- 
able course, and is probably safe. Or 
at least safe until such time as the 
Second Foundation* can modify the 
plans to take into account this 
changed state of affairs—” 

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




He paused. The little signal light 
on the video set was flashing. On 
an independent circuit, it signified 
the presence of emergency news. 
Darell saw it, too, and with the me- 
chanical movement of long habit 
turned on the video. They broke in 
upon the middle of a sentence but 
before its completion, they knew 
that the Hober Mallow, or the 
wreck thereof, had been found and 
that, for the first time in nearly half 
a century, the Foundation was again 
at war. 

Anthor’s jaw was set in a hard 
line. “All right, doc, you heard 
that. Kalgan has attacked ; and Kal- 
gan is under the control of the Sec- 



ond Foundation. Will you follow 
your daughter’s lead and move to 
Trantor?” 

“No. I will risk it. Here.” 

“Dr. Darell. You are not as in- 
telligent as your daughter. I won- 
der how far you can be trusted.” 
His long level stare held Darell for a 
moment, and then without a word, he 
left. 

And Darell was left in uncer- 
tainty and— almost— despair. 

Unheeded, the video was a med- 
ley of excited sight-sound, as it de- 
scribed in nervous detail the first 
hour of the war between Kalgan and 
the Foundation. 



TO BE CONCLUDED. 



Statement of the Ownership, Manage- 
ment, etc., required by the Acts of 
Congress of August 24, 1912, and 
March 3, 1933, of Astounding 
Science Fiction published monthly, 
at Elizabeth, N. J., for October 1, 
1949. 

State of New York, Coonty of New York (ss.) 

Before me, a Notary Public, In and for the 
State and county aforesaid, personally appeared 
H. W. Ralston, who, having been duly sworn 
according to law, deposes and says that he is 
Vice President of Street & Smith Publications, Inc., 
publishers of Astounding Science Fiction, and that 
the following is, to the best of his knowledge and 
belief, a true statement of the ownership, man- 
agement, etc., of the aforesaid publication for the 
date shown in the above caption, required by the 
Act of August 24, 1912, as amended by the Act 
of March 3, 1933, embodied in section 537, Postal 
laws and Regulations, to wit; 

1. That the names and addresses of the pub- 
lisher, editor, managing editor, and business man- 
agers are: Publishers, Street & Smith Publications, 
Inc., 122 East 42nd Street, New York 17, N. Y.; 
edifor, John W. Campbell, Jr., 122 East 42nd 
Street, New York 17, N. Y.; managing editors, 
none; business managers, none. 

2. That the owners are: Street & Smith Publica- 
tions, Inc., 122 East 42nd Street, New York 17, 
N. Y./ a corporation owned through stock holdings 
by Gerald H. Smith, 122 East 42nd Street, New 



York 17, N. Y.; Ormond V. Gould, 122 East 42nd 
Street, New York 17, N. Y.; Allen L. Grommer, 
122 East 42nd Street, New York 17, N. Y. 

3. That the known bondholders, mortgagees, 
and other security holders owning or holding 1 
per cent or more of total amount of bonds, mort- 
gages or other securities are: None. 

4. That the two paragraphs next above, giving 
the names of the owners, stockholders, and se- 
curity holders, if any, contain not only the list of 
stockholders and security holders os they appear 
upon the books of the company, but also, in 
cases where the stockholder or security holder 
oppears upon the books of the company as trustee 
or in any other fiduciary relation, the name of 
the person or corporation for whom such trustee 
is acting, is given; also that the said two para- 
graphs contain statements embracing affiant's full 
knowledge and belief as to the circumstances and 
conditions under which stockholders and security 
holders who do not appear upon the books of the 
company as trustees, hold stock and securities in 
a capacity other than that of a bona fide owner; 
and this affiant has no reason to believe that any 
other person, association, or corporation has any 
interest direct or indirect In the said stock, bonds, 
or other securities than as so stated by him. 

H. W. RALSTON, Vice President, 
Of Street & Smith Publications, Inc., 
Publishers. 

Sworn to and subscribed before me this 30th 
day of September, 1949. Edward F. Kasmire, 
Notary Public No. 60-2039700, New York County. 
(My commission expires March 30, 1951.) 



AND NOW YOU DONT 



161 




“punching” the molecules is of the 
order of that involved in enzyme 
reactions. His theory requires that 
the memories, to survive, must be 
able to reduplicate themselves in 
new “punched molecules”— a prop- 
erty which protein molecules are 
known to possess. This material 
fits with the previously known fact 
that certain protein-denaturant tox- 
ins— the commonest of the class being 
alcohol— tend to destroy memory. 

Evidently, the brain, as a calculat- 
ing machine, is completely unmatch- 
able by any machine-made device, 
simply by reason of sheer numbers. 
But no mention has been made— nor 
did Dr. McCulloch, in his talk, bring 
up the point— of the really crucial 
point. Locating the association with 
“13.6” back there a bit indicated the 
brain’s indexing system is superb. 
Von Foerster’s work indicates the 
brain has a stupendous file of 
“punched molecules” and molecules 
still to be punched. But no one yet 
has indicated in any way what pos- 
sible mechanism the brain could use 
to locate and read-off the data from 
one of those individual molecules! 
How, in a file of 10^^ punched cards, 
for instance, would you find any one 
of them— no matter how thoroughly 
cross-indexed the card might be-in 
any reasonable period of time? If 
you searched at the rate of a billion 
cards a second, it would take a mil- 
lion million seconds to go through 
the file. Since your answers to 
questions are, very frequently, “No, 
I have never heard”, that answer 
implies that you have searched your 



10^' memory data and drawn blank, 

Assuming a mechanism exits 
which can perform the neat feat of 
selecting and reading off one, single 
pirotein molecule— something of a 
triumph in itself— by what selector 
search method is it organized? That 
bald statistic I quoted a while back 
must have given your filing system 
a nice work-out ; the datum was 
presented with absolutely no classi- 
fication information. It’s under- 
standable that, given enough class, 
sub-class, field, and sub-field data, 
a highly organized system could re- 
duce the necessary field of search to 
a few hundred memory-cards. 

Now if, somehow, the entire mass 
of nuerones, all ten billion of them, 
were able to start searching the file 
en masse, at the maximum neurone 
speed of, let’s say, 0.1 milliseconds, 
that would be a search speed of 
10^® X 10^ per second, or 10^'* in- 
spections per second. At this rate, 
it would take only 10'^ seconds— 
10,000,000 seconds— to search the 
field. 

Actually, something far more ef- 
ficient takes place. Of course, some 
classification of the random data 
13.6 is possible on a purely negative 
level; it, by its nature, rules out the 
entire class of nonnumerical data, 
and some further narrowing of the 
field can then take place. But to 
accomplish all that, and the search, 
in seconds— 

Competent device you’ve got there, 
isn’t it? And all with a power in- 
put of 2.4 watts ! 

The Editor. 



162 



ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION 




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