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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 19:53:45 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 19:53:45 -0700 |
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diff --git a/30427-h/30427-h.htm b/30427-h/30427-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3317d22 --- /dev/null +++ b/30427-h/30427-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2999 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Lost Kafoozalum, by Pauline Ashwell + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; background-color: #FFFFFF; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +.tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} + +.f1 { font-size:xx-large; font-weight:bold; margin-left:20%; } +.f2 { font-size: x-large; font-weight:bold; margin-left:50%; } +.f3 { font-size: larger; font-weight:bold; margin-left:60%; } +.f4 { font-size:inherit; margin-left:80%; } + +.blockquot1 { + margin-left: 40%; + margin-right: 15%; +} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + +.center {text-align: center;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-right: 0em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft1 { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-right: 0.5em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + + + +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30427 ***</div> + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact & Fiction October 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p></div> +<p> </p> + +<div> +<img class="figleft" src="images/image_001_01.jpg" width="600" height="163" alt="" /> +<img class="figleft" src="images/image_001_02.jpg" width="336" height="92" alt="" /> +<img class="figleft" src="images/image_001_03.jpg" width="218" height="162" alt="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p class="f1">THE LOST KAFOOZALUM</p> +<p> </p> +<p class="f2">by PAULINE ASHWELL</p> +<p> </p> +<p class="f3">Illustrated by Schoenherr</p> +<p> </p> + +<div class="blockquot1"><p><i>One of the beautiful things about a delusion is that no +matter how mad someone gets at it ... he can't do it any +harm. Therefore a delusion can be a fine thing for prodding +angry belligerents....</i></p></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="51" height="50" /></div> +<p> remember some bad times, most of them back home on Excenus 23; the +worst was when Dad fell under the reaping machine but there was also +the one when I got lost twenty miles from home with a dud radio, at +the age of twelve; and the one when Uncle Charlie caught me practicing +emergency turns in a helicar round the main weather-maker; and the one +on Figuerra being chased by a cyber-crane; and the time when Dad +decided to send me to Earth to do my Education.</p> + +<p>This time is bad in a different way, with no sharp edges but a kind of +a desolation.</p> + +<p>Most people I know are feeling bad just now, because at Russett +College we finished our Final Examination five days ago and Results +are not due for a two weeks.</p> + +<p>My friend B Laydon says this is yet another Test anyone still sane at +the end being proved tough enough to break a molar on; she says also +The worst part is in bed remembering all the things she could have +written and did not; The second worst is also in bed picturing how to +explain to her parents when they get back to Earth that <i>someone</i> has +to come bottom and in a group as brilliant as Russett College Cultural +Engineering Class this is really no disgrace.</p> + +<p>I am not worried that way so much, I cannot remember what I wrote +anyway and I can think of one or two people I am pretty sure will come +bottomer than me—or B either.</p> + +<p>I would prefer to think it is just Finals cause me to feel miserable +but it is not.</p> + +<p>In Psychology they taught us The mind has the faculty of concealing +any motive it is ashamed of, especially from itself; seems +unfortunately mine does not have this gadget supplied.</p> + +<p>I never wanted to come to Earth. I was sent to Russett against my will +and counting the days till I could get back to Home, Father and +Excensus 23, but the sad truth is that now the longed-for moment is +nearly on top of me I do not want to go.</p> + +<p>Dad's farm was a fine place to grow up, but now I had four years on +Earth the thought of going back there makes me feel like a +three-weeks' chicken got to get back in its shell.</p> + +<p>B and I are on an island in the Pacific. Her parents are on Caratacus +researching on local art forms, so she and I came here to be miserable +in company and away from the rest.</p> + +<p>It took me years on Earth to get used to all this water around, it +seemed unnatural and dangerous to have it all lying loose that way, +but now I shall miss even the Sea.</p> + +<p>The reason we have this long suspense over Finals is that they will +not use Reading Machines to mark the papers for fear of cutting down +critical judgement; so each paper has to be read word by word by three +Examiners and there are forty-three of us and we wrote six papers +each.</p> + +<p>What I think is I am sorry for the Examiners, but B says they were the +ones who set the papers and it serves them perfectly right.</p> + +<p>I express surprise because D. J. M'Clare our Professor is one of them, +but B says He is one of the greatest men in the galaxy, of course, but +she gave up thinking him perfect <i>years</i> ago.</p> + +<p>One of the main attractions on this Island is swimming under water, +especially by moonlight. Dad sent me a fish-boat as a birthday present +two years back, but I never used it yet on account of my +above-mentioned attitude to water. Now I got this feeling of Carpe +Diem, make the most of Earth while I am on it because probably I shall +not pass this way again.</p> + +<p>The fourth day on the Island it is full moon at ten o'clock, so I +pluck up courage to wriggle into the boat and go out under the Sea. B +says Fish parading in and out of reefs just remind her of Cultural +Engineering—crowd behavior—so she prefers to turn in early and find +out what nightmares her subconscious will throw up <i>this</i> time.</p> + +<p>The reefs by moonlight are everything they are supposed to be, why did +I not do this often when I had the chance? I stay till my oxygen is +nearly gone, then come out and sadly press the button that collapses +the boat into a thirty-pound package of plastic hoops and oxygen cans. +I sling it on my back and head for the chalet B and I hired among the +coconut trees.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I am crossing an open space maybe fifty yards from it when a Thing +drops on me out of the air.</p> + +<p>I do not see the Thing because part of it covers my face, and the rest +is grabbed round my arms and my waist and my hips and whatever, I +cannot see and I cannot scream and I cannot find anything to kick. The +Thing is strong and rubbery and many-armed and warmish, and less than +a second after I first feel it I am being hauled up into the air.</p> + +<p>I do not care for this at all.</p> + +<p>I am at least fifty feet up before it occurs to me to bite the hand +that gags me and then I discover it is plastic, not alive at all. Then +I feel self and encumberance scraping through some kind of aperture; +there is a sharp click as of a door closing and the Thing goes limp +all round me.</p> + +<p>I spit out the bit I am biting and it drops away so that I can see.</p> + +<p>Well!</p> + +<p>I am in a kind of a cup-shaped space maybe ten feet across but not +higher than I am; there is a trap door in the ceiling; the Thing is +lying all around me in a mess of plastic arms, with an extensible +stalk connecting it to the wall. I kick free and it turns over +exposing the label FRAGILE CARGO right across the back.</p> + +<p>The next thing I notice is two holdalls, B's and mine, clamped against +the wall, and the next after that is the opening of a trap door in the +ceiling and B's head silhouetted in it remarking Oh there you are Liz.</p> + +<p>I confirm this statement and ask for explanations.</p> + +<p>B says She doesn't understand all of it but it is all right.</p> + +<p>It is not all right I reply, if she has joined some Society such as +for the Realization of Fictitious Improbabilities that is her +privilege but no reason to involve me.</p> + +<p>B says Why do I not stop talking and come up and see for myself?</p> + +<p>There is a slight hitch when I jam in the trap door, then B helps me +get the boat off my back and I drop it on the Fragile Cargo and emerge +into the cabin of a Hopper, drop-shaped, cargo-carrying; I have been +in its hold till now.</p> + +<p>There are one or two peculiar points about it, or maybe one or two +hundred, such as the rate at which we are ascending which seems to be +bringing us right into the Stratosphere; but the main thing I notice +is the pilot. He has his back to us but is recognizably Ram Gopal who +graduated in Cultural Engineering last year, Rumor says next to top of +his class.</p> + +<p>I ask him what kind of a melodramatic shenanigan is this?</p> + +<p>B says We had to leave quietly in a hurry without attracting attention +so she booked us out at the Hotel <i>hours</i> ago and she and Ram have +been hanging around waiting for me ever since.</p> + +<p>I point out that the scope-trace of an Unidentified Flying Object will +occasion a lot more remark than a normal departure even at midnight.</p> + +<p>At this Ram smiles in an inscrutable Oriental manner and B gets nearly +as cross as I do, seems she has mentioned this point before.</p> + +<p>We have not gone into it properly when the cabin suddenly shifts +through a right angle. B and I go sliding down the vertical floor and +end sitting on a window. There is a jolt and a shudder and Ram mutters +things in Hindi and then suddenly Up is nowhere at all.</p> + +<p>B and I scramble off the window and grab fixtures so as to stay put. +The stars have gone and we can see nothing except the dim glow over +the instruments; then suddenly lights go on outside.</p> + +<p>We look out into the hold of a ship.</p> + +<p>Our ten-foot teardrop is sitting next to another one, like two eggs +in a rack. On the other side is a bulkhead; behind, the curve of the +hull; and directly ahead an empty space, then another bulkhead and an +open door, through which after a few seconds a head pokes cautiously.</p> + +<p>The head is then followed by a body which kicks off against the wall +and sails slowly towards us. Ram presses a stud and a door slides open +in the hopper; but the new arrival stops himself with a hand on either +side of the frame, his legs trailing any old how behind him. It is +Peter Yeng Sen who graduated the year I did my Field Work.</p> + +<p>He says, Gopal, dear fellow, there was no need for the knocking, we +heard the bell all right.</p> + +<p>Ram grumbles something about the guide beam being miss-set, and slides +out of his chair. Peter announces that we have only just made it as +the deadline is in seven minutes time; he waves B and me out of the +hopper, through the door and into a corridor where a certain irregular +vibration is coming from the walls.</p> + +<p>Ram asks what is that tapping? And Peter sighs and says The present +generation of students has no discipline at all.</p> + +<p>At this B brakes with one hand against the wall and cocks her head to +listen; next moment she laughs and starts banging with her fist on the +wall.</p> + +<p>Peter exclaims in Mandarin and tows her away by one wrist like a +reluctant kite. The rapping starts again on the far side of the wall +and I suddenly recognize a primitive signaling system called Regret +or something, I guess because it was used by people in situations they +did not like such as Sinking ships or solitary confinement; it is done +by tapping water pipes and such.</p> + +<p>Someone found it in a book and the more childish element in College +learned it up for signaling during compulsory lectures. Interest +waning abruptly when the lecturers started to learn it, too.</p> + +<p>I never paid much attention not expecting to be in Solitary +confinement much; this just shows you; next moment Ram opens a door +and pushes me through it, the door clicks behind me and Solitary +confinement is what I am in.</p> + +<p>I remember this code is really called Remorse which is what I feel for +not learning when I had the chance.</p> + +<p>However I do not have long for it, a speaker in the wall requests +everyone to lie down as acceleration is about to begin. I strap down +on the couch which fills half the compartment, countdown begins and at +zero the floor is suddenly <i>down</i> once more.</p> + +<p>I wait till my stomach settles, then rise to explore.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I am in an oblong room about eight by twelve, it looks as though it +had been hastily partitioned off from a larger space. The walls are +prefab plastic sheet, the rest is standard fittings slung in and +bolted down with the fastenings showing.</p> + +<p>How many of my classmates are on this ship? <i>Remorse</i> again as +tapping starts on either side of me.</p> + +<p>Discarding such Hypotheses as that Ram and Peter are going to hold us +to ransom—which might work for me, since my Dad somehow got to be a +millionaire, but not for B because her parents think money is +vulgar—or that we are being carried off to found an ideal Colony +somewhere—any first-year student can tell you why that won't +work—only one idea seems plausible.</p> + +<p>This is that Finals were not final and we are in for a Test of some +sort.</p> + +<p>After ten minutes I get some evidence; a Reading Machine is trundled +in, the door immediately slamming shut so I do not see who trundles +it.</p> + +<p>I prowl round it looking for tricks but it seems standard; I take a +seat in it, put on the headset and turn the switch.</p> + +<p>Hypothesis confirmed, I suppose.</p> + +<p>There is a reel in place and it contains background information on a +problem in Cultural Engineering all set out the way we are taught to +do it in Class. The Problem concerns developments on a planet got +settled by two groups during the Exodus and been isolated ever since.</p> + +<p>Well while a Reading Machine is running there is no time to think, it +crams in data at full speed and evaluation has to wait. However my +subconscious goes into action and when the reel stops it produces a +Suspicion full grown.</p> + +<p>The thing is too tidy.</p> + +<p>When we were First Year we dreamed up situations like this and argued +like mad over them, but they were a lot too neat for real life and too +dramatic as well.</p> + +<p>However one thing M'Clare said to us, and every other lecturer too, +just before the Finals, was Do not spend time trying to figure what +the examiner was after but answer the question as set; I am more than +halfway decided this is some mysterious Oriental idea of a joke but I +get busy thinking in case it is not.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The Problem goes like this:</p> + +<p>The planet is called Incognita in the reel and it is right on the edge +of the known volume of space, it got settled by two groups somewhere +between three and three and a half centuries ago. The rest of the +human race never heard of it till maybe three years back.</p> + +<p>(Well it happens that way, inhabited planets are still turning up +eight or ten a century, on account of during the Exodus some folk were +willing to travel a year or more so as to get away from the rest).</p> + +<p>The ship that spotted the planet as inhabited did not land, but +reported to Central Government, Earth, who shipped observers out to +take a look.</p> + +<p>(There was a rumor circulating at Russett that the Terry Government +might employ some of us on that kind of job, but it never got +official. I do not know whether to believe this bit or not.)</p> + +<p>It is stated the observers landed secretly and mingled with the +natives unobserved.</p> + +<p>(This is not physically impossible but sounds too like a Field Trip to +be true.)</p> + +<p>The observers are not named but stated to be graduates of the Cultural +Engineering Class.</p> + +<p>They put in a few months' work and sent home unanimous Crash Priority +reports the situation is <i>bad</i>, getting worse and the prognosis is +War.</p> + +<p>Brother.</p> + +<p>I know people had wars, I know one reason we do not have them now is +just that with so many planets and cheap transportation, pressure has +other outlets; these people scrapped their ships for factories and +never built more.</p> + +<p>But.</p> + +<p>There are only about ten million of them and surely to goodness a +whole planet gives room enough to keep out of each other's hair?</p> + +<p>Well this is not Reasoning but a Reaction, I go back to the data for +another look.</p> + +<p>The root trouble is stated to be that two groups landed on the planet +without knowing the others were there, when they met thirty years +later they got a disagreeable shock.</p> + +<p>I cannot see there was any basic difference between them, they were +very similar, especially in that neither lot wanted anything to do +with people they had not picked themselves.</p> + +<p>So they divided the planet along a Great Circle which left two of the +main land-masses in one hemisphere and two in another.</p> + +<p>They agree each to keep to its own section and leave the other alone.</p> + +<p>Twenty years later, trading like mad; each has certain minerals the +other lacks; each has certain agricultural products the other finds it +difficult to grow.</p> + +<p>You think this leads to Co-operation Friendship and ultimate +Federation?</p> + +<p>I will not go into the incidents that make each side feel it is being +gypped, it is enough that from time to time each has a scarcity or +hold-up on deliveries that upsets the other's economy; and they start +experimenting to become self-sufficient: and the exporter's economy is +upset in turn. And each thinks the other did it on purpose.</p> + +<p>This sort of situation reacts internally leading to Politics.</p> + +<p>There are troubles about a medium-sized island on the dividing line, +and the profits from interhemispherical transport, and the laws of +interhemispherical trade.</p> + +<p>It takes maybe two hundred years, but finally each has expanded the +Police into an army with a whole spectrum of weapons not to be used on +any account except for Defense.</p> + +<p>This situation lasts seventy years getting worse all the time, now +Rumors have started on each side that the other is developing an +Ultimate Weapon, and the political parties not in power are agitating +to move first before the thing is complete.</p> + +<p>The observers report War not maybe this year or the next but within +ten, and if neither side was looking for an Ultimate Weapon to begin +with they certainly are now.</p> + +<p>Taking all this at face value there seems an obvious solution.</p> + +<p>I am thinking this over in an academic sort of way when an itchy +trickle of sweat starts down my vertebrae.</p> + +<p>Who is going to apply this solution? Because if this is anything but +another Test, or the output of a diseased sense of humor, I would be +sorry for somebody.</p> + +<p>I dial black coffee on the wall servitor and wish B were here so we +could prove to each other the thing is just an exercise; I do not do +so well at spotting proofs on my own.</p> + +<p>Most of our class exercises have concerned something that happened, +once.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>After about ninety minutes the speaker requests me to write not more +than one thousand words on any scheme to improve the situation and the +equipment required for it.</p> + +<p>I spent ten minutes verbalizing the basic idea and an hour or so on +"equipment"; the longer I go on the more unlikely it all seems. In the +end I have maybe two hundred words which acting on instructions I post +through a slit in the door.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later I realize I have forgotten the Time Factor.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/image_002.jpg" width="400" height="296" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p>If the original ship took a year to reach Incognita, it will take at +least four months now; therefore it is more than four months since +that report was written and will be more than a year before anyone +arrives and War may have started already.</p> + +<p>I sit back and by transition of ideas start to wonder where this ship +is heading? We are still at one gee and even on Mass-Time you cannot +juggle apparent acceleration and spatial transition outside certain +limits; we are not just orbiting but must be well outside the Solar +System by now.</p> + +<p>The speaker announces Everyone will now get some rest; I smell +sleep-gas for one moment and have just time to lie down.</p> + +<p>I guess I was tired, at that.</p> + +<p>When I wake I feel more cheerful than I have for weeks; analysis +indicates I am glad something is <i>happening</i> even if it is another +Exam.</p> + +<p>I dial breakfast but am too restless to eat; I wonder how long this +goes on or whether I am supposed to show Initiative and break out; I +am examining things with this in mind when the speaker comes to life +again.</p> + +<p>It says, "Ladies and gentlemen. You have not been told whether the +problem that you studied yesterday concerned a real situation or an +imaginary one. You have all outlined measures which you think would +improve the situation described. Please consider, seriously, whether +you would be prepared to take part yourself in the application of your +plan."</p> + +<p>Brother.</p> + +<p>There is no way to tell whether those who say No will be counted +cowardly or those who say Yes rash idiots or what, the owner of that +voice has his inflections too well trained to give anything away +except intentionally.</p> + +<p>D. J. M'Clare.</p> + +<p>Not in person but a recording, anyway M'Clare is on Earth surrounded +by exam papers.</p> + +<p>I sit back and try to think, honestly, if that crack-brained notion I +wrote out last night were going to be tried in dead earnest, would I +take a hand in it?</p> + +<p>The trouble is, hearing M'Clare's voice has convinced me it is a Test, +I don't know whether it is testing my courage or my prudence in fact I +might as well toss for it.</p> + +<p>Heads I am crazy, Tails a defaulter; Tails is what it is.</p> + +<p>I seize my styler and write the decision down.</p> + +<p>There is the slit in the door.</p> + +<p>I twiddle the note and think Well nobody asked for it yet.</p> + +<p>Suppose it is real, after all?</p> + +<p>I remember the itchy, sweaty feeling I got yesterday and try to +picture really embarking on a thing like this, but I cannot work up +any lather today.</p> + +<p>I begin to picture M'Clare reading my decision not to back up my own +idea.</p> + +<p>I pick up the coin and juggle it around.</p> + +<p>The speaker remarks When I am quite ready will I please make a note +of my decision and post it through the door.</p> + +<p>I go on flipping the coin up and presently it drops on the floor, it +is Heads this time.</p> + +<p>Tossing coins is a pretty feeble way to decide.</p> + +<p>I drop the note on the floor and take another sheet and write "YES. +Lysistrata Lee."</p> + +<p>Using that name seems to make it more legal.</p> + +<p>I slip the paper in the slit and poke till it falls through on the +other side of the door.</p> + +<p>I am suddenly immensely hungry and dial breakfast all over again.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Just as I finish M'Clare's voice starts once more.</p> + +<p>"It's always the minor matters that cause the most difficulty. The +timing of this announcement has cost me as much thought as any aspect +of the arrangements. The trouble is that however honest you are—and +your honesty has been tested repeatedly—and however strong your +imagination—about half of your training has been devoted to +developing it—you can't possibly be sure, answering a hypothetical +question, that you are giving the answer you would choose if you knew +it was asked in dead earnest.</p> + +<p>"Those of you who answered the question in the negative are out of +this. They have been told that it was a test, of an experimental +nature, and have been asked to keep the whole thing a secret. They +will be returning to Earth in a few hours' time. I ask the rest of +you to think it over once again. Your decision is still private. Only +the two people who gathered you together know which members of the +class are in this ship. The list of possible helpers was compiled by a +computer. I haven't seen it myself.</p> + +<p>"You have a further half hour in which to make up your minds finally. +Please remember that if you have any private reservations on the +matter, or if you are secretly afraid, you may endanger us all. You +all know enough psychology to realize this.</p> + +<p>"If you still decide in favor of the project, write your name on a +slip of paper and post it as before. If you are not absolutely certain +about it, do nothing. Please think it over for half an hour."</p> + +<p>Me, I had enough thinking. I write my name—just L. Lee—and post it +straight away.</p> + +<p>However I cannot stop thinking altogether. I guess I think very hard, +in fact. My Subconscious insists afterwards that it did register the +plop as something came through the slit, but my Conscious failed to +notice it at all.</p> + +<p>Hours later—my watch says twenty-five minutes but I guess the +Mass-Time has affected it—anyway I had three times too much solitary +confinement—when will they let me out of here?—there is a knock at +the door and a second later it slides apart.</p> + +<p>I am expecting Ram or Peter so it takes me an appreciable fraction of +a moment to realize I am seeing D. J. M'Clare.</p> + +<p>Then I remember he is back on Earth buried in Exam papers and +conclude I am having a hallucination.</p> + +<p>This figment of my imagination says politely, "Do you mind if I sit +down?"</p> + +<p>He collapses on the couch as though thoroughly glad of it.</p> + +<p>It is a strange thing, every time I see M'Clare I am startled all over +again at how good-looking he is; seems I forget it between times which +is maybe why I never fell for him as most female students do.</p> + +<p>However what strikes me this time is that he looks tired, +three-days-sleepless tired with worries on top.</p> + +<p>I guess he is real, at that.</p> + +<p>He says, "Don't look so accusing, Lizzie, I only just got on this ship +myself."</p> + +<p>This does not make sense; you cannot just arrive on a ship twenty-four +hours after it goes on Mass-Time; or can you?</p> + +<p>M'Clare leans back and closes his eyes and inquires whether I am one +of the Morse enthusiasts?</p> + +<p>So that is the name; I say when we get back I will learn it first +thing.</p> + +<p>"Well," says he, "I did my best to arrange privacy for all of you; +with so many ingenious idiots on board I'm not really surprised that +they managed to circumvent me. I had to cheat and check that you +really were on the list; and I knew that whoever backed out you'd +still be on board."</p> + +<p>So I should hope he might: Horrors there is my first answer screwed +up on the floor and Writing side top-most.</p> + +<p>However he has not noticed it, he goes on "Anyway you of all people +won't be thought to have dropped out because you were afraid."</p> + +<p>I have just managed to hook my heel over the note and get it out of +sight, M'Clare has paused for an answer and I have to dredge my +Sub-threshold memories for—</p> + +<p>WHAT?</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>M'Clare opens his eyes and says like I am enacting Last Straw, "Have +some sense, Lizzie." Then in a different tone, "Ram says he gave you +the letter half an hour ago."</p> + +<p>What letter?</p> + +<p>My brain suddenly registers a small pale patch been occupying a corner +of my retina for the last half hour; it turns out to be a letter +postmarked Excenus 23.</p> + +<p>I disembowel it with one jerk. It is from my Dad and runs like this:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>My dear Liz,</p> + +<p>Thank you for your last letter, glad you are keeping fit and +so am I.</p> + +<p>I just got a letter from your College saying you will get a +degree conferred on you on September 12th and parents if on +Earth will be welcome.</p> + +<p>Well Liz this I got to see and Charlie says the same, but +the letter says too Terran Authority will not give a permit +to visit Earth just for this, so I wangled on to a +Delegation which is coming to discuss trade with the +Department of Commerce. Charlie and I will be arriving on +Earth on August 24th.</p> + +<p>Liz it is good to think I shall be seeing you again after +four years. There are some things about your future I meant +to write to Professor M'Clare about, but now I shall be able +to talk it over direct. Please give him my regards.</p> + +<p>Be seeing you Lizzie girl, your affectionate Dad</p></div> + +<p class="f4">J. X. Lee.</p> + +<p>Dear old Dad, after all these years farming with a weather-maker on a +drydust planet I want to see his face the first time he sees real +rain.</p> + +<p>Hell's fires and shades of darkness, I shan't be there!</p> + +<p>M'Clare says, "Your father wrote to me saying that he will be arriving +on Earth on 24th August. I take it your letter says the same. I came +on a dispatch boat; you can go back on it."</p> + +<p><i>Now</i> what is he talking about? Then I get the drift.</p> + +<p>I say, "Look. So Dad will be on Earth before we get back. What +difference does that make?"</p> + +<p>"You can't let him arrive and find you missing."</p> + +<p>Well I admit to a qualm at the thought of Dad let loose on Earth +without me, but after all Uncle Charlie is a born Terrie and can keep +him in line; Hell he is old enough to look after himself anyway.</p> + +<p>"You met my Dad," I point out. "You think J. X. Lee would want any +daughter of his backing out on a job so as to hold his hand? I can +send him a letter saying I am off on a job or a Test or whatever I +please and hold everything till I get back; what are you doing about +people's families on Earth already?"</p> + +<p>M'Clare says we were all selected as having families not on Earth at +present, and I must go back.</p> + +<p>I say like Hell I will.</p> + +<p>He says he is my official guardian and responsible for me.</p> + +<p>I say he is just as responsible for everyone else on this ship.</p> + +<p>I spent years and years trying to think up a remark would really get +home to M'Clare; well I have done it now.</p> + +<p>I say, "Look. You are tired and worried and maybe not thinking so well +just now.</p> + +<p>"I know this is a very risky job, don't think I missed that at all. I +tried hard to imagine it like you said over the speaker. I cannot +quite imagine dying but I know how Dad will feel if I do.</p> + +<p>"I did my level best to scare myself sick, then I decided it is just +plain worth the risk anyway.</p> + +<p>"To work out a thing like this you have to have a kind of arithmetic, +you add in everybody's feelings with the other factors, then if you +get a plus answer you forget everything else and go right ahead.</p> + +<p>"I am not going to think about it any more, because I added up the sum +and got the answer and upsetting my nerves won't help. I guess you +worked out the sum, too. You decided four million people were worth +risking twenty, even if they do have parents. Even if they are your +students. So they are, too, and you gave us all a chance to say No.</p> + +<p>"Well nothing has altered that, only now the values look different to +you because you are tired and worried and probably missed breakfast, +too."</p> + +<p>Brother some speech, I wonder what got into me? M'Clare is wondering, +too, or maybe gone to sleep sitting, it is some time before he answers +me.</p> + +<p>"Miss Lee, you are deplorably right on one thing at least. I don't +know whether I was fit to make such a decision when I made it, but I'm +not fit now. As far as you personally are concerned...." He trails off +looking tireder than ever, then picks up again suddenly. "You are +again quite right, I am every bit as responsible for the other people +on board as I am for you."</p> + +<p>He climbs slowly to his feet and walks out without another word.</p> + +<p>The door is left open and I take this as an invitation to freedom and +shoot through in case it was a mistake.</p> + +<p>No because Ram is opening doors all along the corridor and ten of +Russett's brightest come pouring out like mercury finding its own +level and coalesce in the middle of the floor.</p> + +<p>The effect of release is such that after four minutes Peter Yeng Sen's +head appears at the top of a stairway and he says the crew is lifting +the deck plates, will we for Time's sake go along to the Conference +Room which is soundproof.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The Conference Room is on the next deck and like our cabins shows +signs of hasty construction; the soundproofing is there but the +acoustics are kind of muffled and the generator is not boxed in but +has cables trailing all over, and the fastenings have a strong but +temporary look.</p> + +<p>Otherwise there is a big table and a lot of chairs and a small +projection box in front of each with a note-taker beside.</p> + +<p>It is maybe this very functional setup or maybe the dead flatness of +our voices in the damped room, but we do not have so much to talk +about any more. We automatically take places at the table, all at one +end, leaving seven vacant chairs near the door.</p> + +<p>Looking round, I wonder what principle we were selected on.</p> + +<p>Of my special friends Eru Te Whangoa and Kirsty Lammergaw are present +but Lily Chen and Likofo Komom'baratse and Jean LeBrun are not; we +have Cray Patterson who is one of my special enemies but not Blazer +Weigh or the Astral Cad; the rest are P. Zapotec, Nick Howard, Aro +Mestah, Dillie Dixie, Pavel Christianovitch, Lennie DiMaggio and +Shootright Crow.</p> + +<p>Eru is at the end of the table, opposite the door, and maybe feels +this position puts it up to him to start the discussion; he opens by +remarking "So nobody took the opportunity to withdraw."</p> + +<p>Cray Patterson lifts his eyebrows ceilingwards and drawls out that the +decision was supposed to be a private one.</p> + +<p>B says "Maybe but it did not work out that way, everyone who learned +Morse knows who was on the ship, anyway they are all still here so +what does it matter? And M'Clare would not have picked people who were +going to funk it, after all."</p> + +<p>My chair gets a kick on the ankle which I suppose was meant for B; Eru +is six foot five but even his legs do not quite reach; he is the only +one of us facing the door.</p> + +<p>M'Clare has somehow shed his weariness; he looks stern but fresh as a +daisy. There are four with him; Ram and Peter looking serious, one +stranger in Evercleans looking determined to enjoy the party and +another in uniform looking as though nothing would make him.</p> + +<p>M'Clare introduces the strangers as Colonel Delano-Smith and Mr. +Yardo. They all sit down at the other end of the table; then he frowns +at us and begins like this:</p> + +<p>"Miss Laydon is mistaken. You were not selected on any such grounds as +she suggests. I may say that I was astonished at the readiness with +which you all engaged yourselves to take part in such a desperate +gamble; and, seeing that for the last four years I have been trying to +persuade you that it is worth while, before making a decision of any +importance, to spend a certain amount of thought on it, I was +discouraged as well."</p> + +<p>Oh.</p> + +<p>"The criterion upon which you were selected was a very simple one. As +I told you, you were picked not by me but by a computer; the one in +the College Office which registers such information as your home +addresses and present whereabouts. You are simply that section of the +class which could be picked up without attracting attention, because +you all happened to be on holiday by yourselves or with other members +of the class; and because your nearest relatives are not on Earth at +present."</p> + +<p>Oh, well.</p> + +<p>All of us can see M'Clare is doing a job of deflation on us for +reasons of his own, but it works for all that.</p> + +<p>He now seems to feel the job is complete and relaxes a bit.</p> + +<p>"I was interested to see that you all, without exception, hit on +variations of the same idea. It is of course the obvious way to deal +with the problem." He smiles at us suddenly and I get mad at myself +because I know he is following the rules for introducing a desired +state of mind, but I am responding as meant. "I'll read you the most +succinct expression of it; you may be able to guess the author."</p> + +<p>Business with bits of paper.</p> + +<p>"Here it is. I quote: 'Drag in some outsider looks like he is going +for both sides; they will gang up on him.'"</p> + +<p>Yells of laughter and shouts of "Lizzie Lee!" even the two strangers +produce sympathetic grins; I do not find it so funny as all that +myself.</p> + +<p>"Ideas as to the form the 'outsider' should take were more varied. +This is a matter I propose to leave you to work out together, with the +assistance of Colonel Delano-Smith and Mr. Yardo. Te Whangoa, you +take the chair."</p> + +<p>Exit M'Clare.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>This leaves the two halves of the table eying one another. Ram and +Peter have been through this kind of session in their time; now they +are leaning back preparing to watch us work. It is plain we are +supposed to impress the abilities of Russett near-graduates on the two +strangers, and for some moments we are all occupied taking them in. +Colonel Delano-Smith is a small, neat guy with a face that has all the +muscular machinery for producing an expression; he just doesn't care +to use it. Mr. Yardo is taller than any of us except Eru and flesh is +spread very thin on his bones, including his face which splits now and +then in a grin like an affable skeleton. Where the colonel fits is +guessable enough, Mr. Yardo is presumably Expert at something but no +data on <i>what</i>.</p> + +<p>Eru rests his hands on the table and says we had better start; will +somebody kindly outline an idea for making the Incognitans "gang up"? +The simpler the better and it does not matter whether it is workable +or not; pulling it to pieces will give us a start.</p> + +<p>We all wait to see who will rush in; then I catch Eru's eye and see I +am elected Clown again. I say "Send them a letter postmarked Outer +Space signed BEM saying we lost our own planet in a nova and will take +over theirs two weeks from Tuesday."</p> + +<p>Mr. Yardo utters a sharp "Ha! Ha!" but it is not seconded; the +colonel having been expressionless all along becomes more so; Eru +says, "Thank you, Lizzie." He looks across at Cray who is opposite me; +Cray says there are many points on which he might comment; to take +only one, two weeks from Tuesday leaves little time for 'ganging up', +and what happens when the BEMs fail to come?</p> + +<p>We are suddenly back in the atmosphere of a seminar; Eru's glance +moves to P. Zapotec sitting next to Cray, and he says, "These BEMs who +lost their home planet in a nova, how many ships have they? Without a +base they cannot be very dangerous unless their fleet is very large."</p> + +<p>It goes round the table.</p> + +<p>Pavel: "How would BEMs learn to write?"</p> + +<p>Nick: "How are they supposed to know that Incognita is inhabited? How +do they address the letter?"</p> + +<p>The Crow: "Huh. Why write letters? Invaders just invade."</p> + +<p>Kirsty: "We don't want to inflame these people against alien races. We +might find one some day. It seems to me this idea might have all sorts +of undesirable by-products. Suppose each side regards it as a ruse on +the part of the other. We might touch off a war instead of preventing +it. Suppose they turn over to preparations for repelling the invaders, +to an extent that cripples their economy? Suppose a panic starts?"</p> + +<p>Dilly: "Say, Mr. Chairman, is there any of this idea left at all? How +about an interim summary?"</p> + +<p>Eru coughs to get a moment for thought, then says:</p> + +<p>"In brief, the problem is to provide a menace against which the two +groups will be forced to unite. It must have certain characteristics.</p> + +<p>"It must be sufficiently far off in time for the threat to last +several years, long enough to force them into a real combination.</p> + +<p>"It must obviously be a plausible danger and they must get to know of +it in a plausible manner. Invasion from outside is the only threat so +far suggested.</p> + +<p>"It must be a limited threat. That is, it must appear to come from one +well-defined group. The rest of the Universe should appear benevolent +or neutral."</p> + +<p>He just stops, rather as though there is something else to come; while +the rest of us are waiting B sticks her oar in to the following +effect.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but look, suppose this goes wrong; it's all very well to make +plans but suppose we get some of Kirsty's side-effects just the same, +well what I mean is suppose it makes the mess worse instead of better +we want some way we can sort of switch it off again.</p> + +<p>"Look this is just an illustration, but suppose the Menace was +pirates, if it went wrong we could have an Earth ship make official +contact and they could just happen to say By the way have you seen +anything of some pirates, Earth fleet wiped them up in this sector +about six months ago.</p> + +<p>"That would mean the whole crew conniving, so it won't do, but you +see what I mean."</p> + +<p>There is a bit of silence, then Aro says, "I think we should start +fresh. We have had criticisms of Lizzie's suggestion, which was not +perhaps wholly serious, and as Dilly says there is little of it left, +except the idea of a threat of invasion. The idea of an alien +intelligent race has objections and would be very difficult to fake. +The invaders must be men from another planet. Another unknown one. But +how do the people of Incognita come to know that they exist?"</p> + +<p>More silence, then I hear my own voice speaking although it was my +intention to keep quiet for once: it sounds kind of creaky and it +says: "A ship. A crashed ship from Outside."</p> + +<p>Whereupon another voice says, "Really! Am I expected to swallow this?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>We had just about forgotten the colonel, not to mention Mr. Yardo who +contributes another "Ha! Ha!" so this reminder comes as a slight +shock, nor do we see what he is talking about but this he proceeds to +explain.</p> + +<p>"I don't know why M'Clare thought it necessary to stage this +discussion. I am already acquainted with his plan and have had orders +to co-operate. I have expressed my opinion on using undergraduates in +a job like this and have been overruled. If he, or you, imagine that +priming you to bring out his ideas like this is going to reconcile me +to the whole business you are mistaken. He might have chosen a more +suitable mouthpiece than that child with the curly hair—"</p> + +<p>Here everybody wishes to reply at once; the resulting jam produces a +moment of silence and I get in first.</p> + +<p>"As for curly hair I am rising twenty-four and I was only saying what +we all thought, if we have the same ideas as M'Clare that is because +he taught us for four years. How else would you set about it anyway?"</p> + +<p>My fellow students pick up their stylers and tap solemnly three times +on the table; this is the Russett equivalent of "Hear! Hear!" and the +colonel is surprised.</p> + +<p>Eru says coldly, "This discussion has not been rehearsed. As Lizzie +... as Miss Lee says, we have been working and thinking together for +four years and have been taught by the same people."</p> + +<p>"Very well," says Delano-Smith testily. "Tell me this, please: Do you +regard this idea as practicable?"</p> + +<p>Cray tilts his chair back and remarks to the ceiling, "This is rather +a farce. I suppose we had to go through our paces for the colonel's +benefit—and Mr. Yardo's of course—but can't we be briefed properly +now?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by that?" snaps the colonel.</p> + +<p>"It's been obvious right along," says Cray, balancing his styler on +one forefinger, "so obvious none of us has bothered to mention it, +that accepting the normal limitations of Mass-Time, the idea of +interfering in Incognita was doomed before it began. No conventional +ship would have much hope of arriving before war broke out; and if it +did arrive it couldn't do anything effective. Therefore I assume that +this is not a conventional ship. I might accept that the Government +has sent us out in a futile attempt to do the impossible, but I +wouldn't believe that of M'Clare."</p> + +<p>Cray is the only Terry I know acts like an Outsider's idea of one; +many find this difficult to take and the colonel is plainly one of +them. Eru intervenes quickly.</p> + +<p>"I imagine we all realized that. Anyway this ship is obviously not a +conventional model. If you accept the usual Mass-Time relationship +between the rate of transition and the fifth power of the apparent +acceleration, we must have reached about four times the maximum +already."</p> + +<p>"Ram!" says B suddenly, "What did you do to stop the Hotel scope +registering the little ship you picked up me and Lizzie in?"</p> + +<p>Everybody cuts in with something they have noticed about the +capabilities of this ship or the hoppers, and Lenny starts hammering +on the table and chanting! "Brief! Brief! Brief!" and others are just +starting to join in when Eru bangs on the table and glares us all +down.</p> + +<p>Having got silence, he says very quietly, "Colonel Delano-Smith, I +doubt whether this discussion can usefully proceed without a good deal +more information; will you take over?"</p> + +<p>The colonel looks round at all the eager earnest interested maps +hastily put on for his benefit and decides to take the plunge.</p> + +<p>"Very well. I suppose it is ... very well. The decision to use +students from Russett was made at a very high level, and I suppose—" +Instead of saying "Very well" again he shrugs his shoulders and gets +down to it.</p> + +<p>"The report from the planet we decided to call 'Incognita' was +received thirty-one days ago. The Department of Spatial Affairs has +certain resources which are not generally known. This ship is one of +them. She works on a modified version of Mass-Time which enables her +to use about a thousand channels instead of the normal limit of two +hundred; for good and sufficient reasons this has not been generally +released."</p> + +<p>Pause while we are silently dared to doubt the Virtue and sufficiency +of these reasons which personally I do not.</p> + +<p>"To travel to Incognita direct would take about fifteen days by the +shortest route. We shall take eighteen days as we shall have to make a +detour."</p> + +<p>But presumably we shall take only fifteen days back. Hurrah we can +spend a week round the planet and still be back in time for +Commemoration. We shall skip maybe a million awkward questions and I +shall not disappoint Dad.</p> + +<p>It is plain the colonel is not filled with joy; far from it, he did +not enjoy revealing a Departmental secret however obvious, but he +likes the next item even less.</p> + +<p>"We shall detour to an uninhabited system twelve days' transit time +from here and make contact with another ship, the <i>Gilgamesh</i>."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>At which Lennie DiMaggio who has been silent till now brings his fist +down on the table and exclaims, "You <i>can't</i>!"</p> + +<p>Lennie is much upset for some reason; Delano-Smith gives him a +peculiar look and says what does he know about it? and Lennie starts +to stutter.</p> + +<p>Cray remarks that Lennie's childhood hobby appears to have been +spaceships and he suffers from arrested development.</p> + +<p>B says it is well known Lennie is mad about the Space Force and why +not? It seems to have uses Go on and tell us Lennie.</p> + +<p>Lennie says "<i>G-Gilgamesh</i> was lost three hundred years ago!"</p> + +<p>"The flaw in that statement," says Cray after a pause, "is that this +may be another ship of the same name."</p> + +<p>"No," says the colonel. "Explorer Class cruiser. They went out of +service two hundred eighty years back."</p> + +<p>The Space Force, I remember, does not re-use names of lost ships: some +says Very Proper Feeling some say Superstitious Rot.</p> + +<p>B says, "When was she found again?"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_003.jpg" width="600" height="202" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p>Lennie says it was j-just thirty-seven revolutions of his native +planet which means f-f-fifty-three Terrestrial years ago, she was +found by an Interplanetary scout called <i>Crusoe</i>.</p> + +<p>Judging by the colonel's expression this data is Classified; he does +not know that Lennie's family come from one of the oldest settled +planets and are space-goers to a man, woman, and juvenile; they pick +up ship gossip the way others hear about the relations of people next +door.</p> + +<p>Lennie goes on to say that the Explorer Class were the first official +exploration ships sent out from Earth when the Terries decided to find +out what happened to the colonies formed during the Exodus. +<i>Gilgamesh</i> was the first to re-make contact with Garuda, Legba, +Lister, Cor-bis and Antelope; she vanished on her third voyage.</p> + +<p>"Where was she found?" asks Eru.</p> + +<p>"Near the p-p-pole of an uninhabited planet—maybe I shouldn't say +where because that may be secret, but the rest's History if you know +where to look."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Maybe the colonel approves this discretion; anyway his face thaws very +slightly unless I am Imagining it.</p> + +<p>"<i>Gilgamesh</i> crashed," he says. "Near as we can make out from the log, +she visited Seleucis system. That's a swarmer sun. Fifty-seven +planets, three settled; and any number of fragments. The navigator +calculated that after a few more revolutions one of the fragments was +going to crash on an inhabited planet. Might have done a lot of +damage. They decided to tow it out of the way.</p> + +<p>"Grappling-beams hadn't been invented. They thought they could use +Mass-Time on it a kind of reverse thrust—throw it off course.</p> + +<p>"Mass-Time wasn't so well understood then. Bit off more than they +could chew. Set up a topological relation that drained all the free +energy out of the system. Drive, heating system—everything.</p> + +<p>"She had emergency circuits. When the engines came on again they took +over—landed the ship, more or less, on the nearest planet. Too late, +of course. Heating system never came on—there was a safety switch +that had to be thrown by hand. She was embedded in ice when she was +found. Hull breached at one point—no other serious damage."</p> + +<p>"And the ... the crew?"</p> + +<p>Dillie ought to know better than that.</p> + +<p>"Lost with all hands," says the colonel.</p> + +<p>"How about weapons?"</p> + +<p>We are all startled. Cray is looking whitish like the rest of us but +maintains his normal manner, i.e. offensive affection while pointing +out that <i>Gilgamesh</i> can hardly be taken for a Menace unless she has +some means of aggression about her.</p> + +<p>Lennie says The Explorer Class were all armed—</p> + +<p>Fine, says Cray, presumably the weapons will be thoroughly obsolete +and recognizable only to a Historian—</p> + +<p>Lennie says the construction of no weapon developed by the Space +Department has ever been released; making it plain that anyone but a +Nitwit knows that already.</p> + +<p>Eru and Kirsty have been busy for some time writing notes to each +other and she now gives a small sharp cough and having collected our +attention utters the following Address.</p> + +<p>"There is a point we seem to have missed. If I may recapitulate, the +idea is to take this ship <i>Gilgamesh</i> to Incognita and make it appear +as though she had crashed there while attempting to land. I understand +that the ship has been buried in the polar cap; though she must have +been melted out if the people on <i>Crusoe</i> examined the engines. Of +course the cold—All the same there may have been ... well ... +changes. Or when ... when we thaw the ship out again—"</p> + +<p>I find I am swallowing good and hard, and several of the others look +sick, especially Lennie. Lennie has his eyes fixed on the colonel; it +is not prescience, but a slight sideways movement of the colonel's eye +causes him to blurt out, "What is <i>he</i> doing here?"</p> + +<p>Meaning Mr. Yardo who seems to have been asleep for some time, with +his eyes open and grinning like the spikes on a dog collar. The +colonel gives him another sideways look and says, "Mr. Yardo is an +expert on the rehabilitation of space-packed materials."</p> + +<p>This is stuff transported in un-powered hulls towed by +grappling-beams; the hulls are open to space hence no need for +refrigeration, and the contents are transferred to specially equipped +orbital stations before being taken down to the planet. But—</p> + +<p>Mr. Yardo comes to life at the sound of his name and his grin widens +alarmingly.</p> + +<p>"Especially meat," he says.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It is maybe two hours afterwards, Eru having adjourned the meeting +abruptly so that we can ... er ... take in the implications of the new +data. Lennie has gone off somewhere by himself; Kirsty has gone after +him with a view to Mothering him; Eru, I suspect, is looking for +Kirsty; Pavel and Aro and Dillie and the Crow are in a cabin arguing +in whispers; Nick and P. Zapotec are exploring one of the Hoppers, +cargo-carrying, drop-shaped, and I only hope they don't hop through +the hull in it.</p> + +<p>B and I having done a tour of the ship and ascertained all this have +withdrawn to the Conference Room because we are tired of our cabins +and this seems to be the only other place to sit.</p> + +<p>B breaks a long silence with the remark that However often you see it +M'Clare's technique is something to watch, like choosing my statement +to open with, it broke the ice beautifully.</p> + +<p>I say, "Shall I tell you something?"</p> + +<p>B says Yes if it's interesting.</p> + +<p>"My statement," I inform her, "ran something like this: The best hope +of inducing a suspension of the aggressive attitude of both parties, +long enough to offer hope of ultimate reconciliation, lies in the +intrusion of a new factor in the shape of an outside force seen to be +impartially hostile to both."</p> + +<p>B says: "Gosh. Come to think of it Liz you have not written like that +in years, you have gone all pompous like everyone else; well that +makes it even <i>more</i> clever of M'Clare."</p> + +<p>Enter Cray Patterson and drapes himself sideways on a chair, +announcing that his own thoughts begin to weary him.</p> + +<p>I say this does not surprise me, at all.</p> + +<p>"Lizzie my love," says he, "you are twice blessed being not only witty +yourself but a cause of wit in others; was that bit of Primitive Lee +with which M'Clare regaled us really not from the hand of the +mistress, or was it a mere pastiche?"</p> + +<p>I say Whoever wrote that it was not me anyway.</p> + +<p>"It seemed to me pale and luke-warm compared with the real thing," +says Cray languidly, "which brings me to a point that, to quote dear +Kirsty, seems to have been missed."</p> + +<p>I say, "Yep. Like what language it was that these people wrote their +log in that we can be <i>certain</i> the Incognitans won't know."</p> + +<p>"More than that," says B, "we didn't decide who they are or where they +were coming from or how they came to crash or anything."</p> + +<p>"Come to think of it, though," I point out, "the language and a good +many other things must have been decided already because of getting +the right hypnotapes and translators on board."</p> + +<p>B suddenly lights up.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but look, I bet that's what we're here for, I mean that's why +they picked us instead of Space Department people—the ship's got to +have a past history, it has to come from a planet somewhere only no +one must ever find out <i>where</i> it's supposed to be. Someone will have +to fake a log, only I don't see how—"</p> + +<p>"The first reel with data showing the planet of origin got damaged +during the crash," says Cray impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course—but we have to find a reason why they were in that +part of Space and it has to be a <i>nice</i> one, I mean so that the +Incognitans when they finally read the log won't hate them any more—"</p> + +<p>"Maybe they were bravely defending their own planet by hunting down an +interplanetary raider," I suggest.</p> + +<p>Cray says it will take only the briefest contact with other planets to +convince the Incognitans that interplanetary raiders can't and don't +exist, modern planetary alarm and defense systems put them out of the +question.</p> + +<p>"That's all he knows," says B, "some interplanetary pirates raided +Lizzie's father's farm once. Didn't they, Liz?"</p> + +<p>"Yes in a manner of speaking, but they were bums who pinched a +spaceship from a planet not many parsecs away, a sparsely inhabited +mining world like my own which had no real call for an alarm system, +so that hardly alters the argument."</p> + +<p>"Well," says B, "the alarm system on Incognita can't be so hot or the +observation ships could not have got in, or out, for that matter, +unless of course they have some other gadget we don't know about."</p> + +<p>"On the other hand," she considers, "to mention Interplanetary raiders +raises the idea of Menace in an Unfriendly Universe again, and this is +what we want to cancel out.</p> + +<p>"These people," she says at last with a visionary look in her eye, +"come from a planet which went isolationist and abandoned space +travel; now they have built up their civilization to a point where +they can build ships of their own again, and the ones on Gilgamesh +have cut loose from the ideas of their ancestors that led to their +going so far afield—"</p> + +<p>"How far afield?" says Cray.</p> + +<p>"No one will ever know," I point out to him. "Don't interrupt."</p> + +<p>"Anyway," says B, "they set out to rejoin the rest of the Human Race +just like the people on <i>Gilgamesh</i> <i>really</i> did, in fact, a lot of +this is the truth only kind of backwards—they were looking for the +Cradle of the Race, that's what. Then there was some sort of disaster +that threw them off course to land on an uninhabited section of a +planet that couldn't understand their signals. And when Incognita +finally does take to space flight again I bet the first thing the +people do is to try and follow back to where <i>Gilgamesh</i> came from and +make contact with them. It'll become a legend on Incognita—the Lost +People ... the Lost ... Lost—"</p> + +<p>"The Lost Kafoozalum," says Cray. "In other words we switch these +people off a war only to send them on a wild goose chase."</p> + +<p>At which a strange voice chimes in, "No, no, no, son, you've got it +all <i>wrong</i>."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Mr. Yardo is with us like a well-meaning skeleton.</p> + +<p>During the next twenty-five minutes we learn a lot about Mr. Yardo +including material for a good guess at how he came to be picked for +this expedition; doubtless there are many experts on Reversal Of +Vacuum-Induced Changes in Organic Tissues but maybe only one of them a +Romantic at heart.</p> + +<p>Mr. Yardo thinks chasing the Wild Goose will do the Incognitans all +the good in the galaxy, it will take their minds off controversies +over interhemispherical trade and put them on to the quest of the +Unobtainable; they will get to know something of the Universe outside +their own little speck. Mr. Yardo has seen a good deal of the Universe +in the course of advising on how to recondition space-packed meat and +he found it an Uplifting Experience.</p> + +<p>We gather he finds this desperate bit of damfoolery we are on now +pretty Uplifting altogether.</p> + +<p>Cray keeps surprisingly quiet but it is as well that the rest of the +party start to trickle in about twenty minutes later the first +arrivals remarking Oh <i>that's</i> where you've got to!</p> + +<p>Presently we are all congregated at one end of the table as before, +except that Mr. Yardo is now sitting between B and me; when M'Clare +and the colonel come in he firmly stays where he is evidently +considering himself One of Us now.</p> + +<p>"The proposition," says M'Clare, "is that we intend to take +<i>Gilgamesh</i> to Incognita and land her there in such a way as to +suggest that she crashed. In the absence of evidence to the contrary +the Incognitans are bound to assume that that was her intended +destination, and the presence of weapons, even disarmed, will suggest +that her mission was aggressive. Firstly, can anyone suggest a better +course of action? or does anyone object to this one?"</p> + +<p>We all look at Lennie who sticks his hands in his pockets and mutters +"No."</p> + +<p>Kirsty gives her little cough and says there is a point which has not +been mentioned.</p> + +<p>If a heavily-armed ship crashes on Incognita, will not the government +of the hemisphere in which it crashes be presented with new ideas for +offensive weapons? And won't this make it <i>more</i> likely that they will +start aggression? And won't the fear of this make the other hemisphere +even more likely to try and get in first before the new weapons are +complete?</p> + +<p>Hell, I ought to have thought of that.</p> + +<p>From the glance of unwilling respect which the colonel bestows on +M'Clare it is plain these points have been dealt with.</p> + +<p>"The weapons on Gilgamesh were disarmed when she was rediscovered," he +says. "Essential sections were removed. The Incognitans won't be able +to reconstruct how they worked."</p> + +<p><i>Another</i> fact for which we shall have to provide an explanation. Well +how about this: The early explorers sent out by these people—the +people in Gilgamesh ... oh, use Cray's word and call them Lost +Kafoozalum anyway their ships were armed, but they never found any +enemies and the Idealists of B's story refused even to carry arms any +more.</p> + +<p>(Which is just about what happened when the Terries set out to +rediscover the colonies, after all.)</p> + +<p>So the Lost Kafoozalum could not get rid of their weapons completely +because it would have meant rebuilding the ship; so they just +partially dismantled them.</p> + +<p>Mr. Yardo suddenly chips in, "About that other point, girlie, surely +there must be some neutral ground left on a half-occupied planet like +that?" He beams round, pleased at being able to contribute.</p> + +<p>B says, "The thing is," and stops.</p> + +<p>We wait.</p> + +<p>We have about given up hope when she resumes, "The thing is, it will +have to be neutral ground of course, only that might easily become a +thingummy ... I mean a, a <i>casus belli</i> in itself. So the <i>other</i> +thing is it ought to be a place which is very hard to get at, so +difficult that neither side can really get to it first, they'll have +to reach an agreement and co-operate."</p> + +<p>"Yeah," says Dillie "that sounds fine, but what sort of place is +that?"</p> + +<p>I am sorting out in my head the relative merits of mountains, +deserts, gorges, et cetera, when I an seized with inspiration at the +same time as half the group; we say the same thing in different words +and for a time there is Babel, then the idea emerges:</p> + +<p>"Drop her into the sea!"</p> + +<p>The colonel nods resignedly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he says, "that's what we're going to do."</p> + +<p>He presses a button and our projection-screens light up, first with a +map of one pole of Incognita, expanding in scale till finally we are +looking down on one little bit of coast on one of the polar islands. A +glacier descends on to it from mountains inland and there is a bay +between cliffs. Then we get a stereo scene of approximately the least +hospitable of scenery I ever did see—except maybe when Parvati Lal +Dutt's brother made me climb up what he swore was the smallest peak in +the Himalayas.</p> + +<p>It is a small bay backed by tumbled cliffs. A shelving beach can be +deduced from contour and occasional boulders big enough to stick +through the snow that smothers it all. A sort of mess of rocks and mud +at the back may be glacial moraine. Over the sea the ice is split in +all directions by jagged rifts and channels; the whole thing is a bit +like Antarctica but nothing is high enough or white enough to uplift +the spirit, it looks not only chilly but kind of mean.</p> + +<p>"This place," says the colonel, "is the only one, about which we have +any topographical information, that seems to meet the requirements. +Got to know about it through an elementary planetography. One of the +observers had the sense to see we might need something of the sort. +This place"—the stereo jigs as he taps his projector—"seems it's the +center of a rising movement in the crust ... that's not to the point. +Neither side has bothered to claim the land at the poles...."</p> + +<p>I see their point if it's all like this—</p> + +<p>"... And a ship trying to land on those cliffs might very well pitch +over into the sea. That is, if she were trying to land on emergency +rockets."</p> + +<p>Rockets—that brings home the ancientness of this ship +<i>Gilgamesh</i>—but after all the ships that settled Incognita probably +carried emergency rockets, too.</p> + +<p>This settled, the meeting turns into a briefing session and merges +imperceptibly with the beginning of the job.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The job of course is Faking the background of the crash; working out +the past history and present aims of the Lost Kafoozalum. We have to +invent a planet and what's more difficult convey all the essential +information about it by the sort of sideways hints you gather among +peoples' personal possessions; diaries, letters et cetera; and what is +even <i>more</i> difficult we have to leave out anything that could lead to +definite identification of our unknown world with any known one.</p> + +<p>We never gave that world a name; it might be dangerous. Who speaks of +their world by name, except to strangers? They call it "home"—or +"Earth," as often as not.</p> + +<p>Some things have been decided for us. Language, for instance—one of +two thousand or so Earth tongues that went out of use late enough to +be plausible as the main language of a colonized planet. The settlers +on Incognita were not of the sort to take along dictionaries of the +lesser-known tongues, so the computers at Russett had a fairly wide +choice.</p> + +<p>We had to take a hypnocourse in that language. Ditto the script, one +of several forgotten phonetic shorthands. (Designed to enable the +tongues of Aliens to be written down; but the Aliens have never been +met. It is plausible enough that some colony might have kept the +script alive; after all Thasia uses something of the sort to this +day.)</p> + +<p>The final result of our work looks pretty small. Twenty-three +"Personal Background Sets"—a few letters, a diary in some, an +assortment of artifacts. Whoever stocked this ship we are on supplied +wood, of the half-dozen kinds that have been taken wherever men have +gone; stocks of a few plastics—known at the time of the Exodus, or +easily developed from those known, and not associated with any +particular planet. Also books on Design, a Form-writer for translating +drawings into materials, and so on. Someone put in a lot of work +before this voyage began.</p> + +<p>Most of the time it is like being back on Russet doing a group +Project. What we are working on has no more and no less reality than +that. Our work is all read into a computer and checked against +everybody else's. At first we keep clashing. Gradually a consistent +picture builds up and gets translated finally into the Personal +Background Kits. The Lost Kafoozalum start to exist like people in a +History book.</p> + +<p>Fifteen days hard work and we have just about finished; then we +reach—call it Planet Gilgamesh.</p> + +<p>I wake in my bunk to hear that there will be brief cessation of +weight; strap down, please.</p> + +<p>We are coming off Mass-Time to go on planetary drive.</p> + +<p>Colonel Delano-Smith is in charge of operations on the planet, with +Ram and Peter to assist. None of the rest of us see the melting out of +fifty years' accumulation of ice, the pumping away of the water, the +fitting and testing of the holds for the grappling-beams. We stay +inside the ship, on five-eighths gee which we do not have time to get +used to, and try to work, and discard the results before the computer +can do so. There is hardly any work left to do, anyway.</p> + +<p>It takes nearly twelve hours to get the ship free, and caulked, and +ready to lift. (Her hull has to be patched because of Mr. Yardo's +operations which make use of several sorts of vapors). Then there is a +queer blind period with Up now one way, now another, and sudden jerks +and tugs that upset everything not in gimbals or tied down; +interspersed with periods when weightlessness supervenes with no +warning at all. After an hour or two of this it would be hard to say +whether Mental or physical discomfort is more acute; B consulted, +however, says my autonomic system must be quite something, after five +minutes <i>her</i> thoughts were with her viscera entirely.</p> + +<p>Then, suddenly, we are back on Mass-Time again.</p> + +<p>Two days to go.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>At first being on Mass-Time makes everything seem normal again. By +sleep time there is a strain, and next day it is everywhere. I know as +well as any that on Mass-Time the greater the mass the faster the +shift; all the same I cannot help feeling we are being slowed, dragged +back by the dead ship coupled to our live one.</p> + +<p>When you stand by the hull <i>Gilgamesh</i> is only ten feet away.</p> + +<p>I should have kept something to work on like B and Kirsty who have not +done their Letters for Home in Case of Accidents; mine is signed and +sealed long ago. I am making a good start on a Neurosis when +Delano-Smith announces a Meeting for one hour ahead.</p> + +<p>Hurrah! now there is a time-mark fixed I think of all sorts of things +I should have done before; for instance taking a look at the controls +of the Hoppers.</p> + +<p>I have been in one of them half an hour and figured out most of the +dials—Up down and sideways are controlled much as in a helicar, but +here a big viewscreen has been hooked in to the autopilot—when +across the hold I see the air lock start to move.</p> + +<p><i>Gilgamesh</i> is on the other side.</p> + +<p>It takes forever to open. When at last it swings wide on the dark +tunnel what comes through is a storage rack, empty, floating on +antigrav.</p> + +<p>What follows is a figure in a spacesuit; modern type, but the windows +of the hopper are semipolarized and I cannot make out the face inside +the bubble top.</p> + +<p>He slings the rack upon the bulkhead, takes off the helmet and hangs +that up, too. Then he just stands. I am beginning to muster enough +sense to wonder why when he comes slowly across the hold.</p> + +<p>Reaching the doorway he says: "Oh it's you, Lizzie. You'll have to +help me out of this. I'm stuck."</p> + +<p>M'Clare.</p> + +<p>The outside of the suit is still freezing cold; maybe this is what has +jammed the fastening. After a few minutes tugging it suddenly gives +away. M'Clare climbs out of the suit, leaving it standing, and says, +"Help me count these, will you?"</p> + +<p><i>These</i> are a series of transparent containers from a pouch slung at +one side of the suit. I recognize them as the envelopes in which we +put what are referred to as Personal Background Sets.</p> + +<p>I say, "There ought to be twenty-three."</p> + +<p>"No," says M'Clare dreamily, "twenty-two, we're saving one of them."</p> + +<p>"What on earth is the use of an extra set of faked documents and +oddments—"</p> + +<p>He seems to wake up suddenly and says: "What are you doing here, +Lizzie?"</p> + +<p>I explain and he wanders over to the hopper and starts to explain the +controls.</p> + +<p>There is something odd about all this. M'Clare is obviously dead +tired, but kind of relaxed; seeing that the hour of Danger is only +thirty-six hours off I don't understand it. Probably several of his +students are going to have to risk their lives—</p> + +<p>I am on the point of seeing something important when the speaker +announces in the colonel's voice that Professor M'Clare and Miss Lee +will report to the Conference Room at once please.</p> + +<p>M'Clare looks at me and grins. "Come along, Lizzie. Here's where we +take orders for once, you and I."</p> + +<p>It is the colonel's Hour. I suppose that having to work with +Undergraduates is something he could never quite forget, but from the way +he looks at us we might almost be Space Force personnel,—low-grade of +course but respectable.</p> + +<p>Everything is at last worked out and he has it on paper in front of +him; he puts the paper four square on the table, gazes into the middle +distance and proceeds to recite.</p> + +<p>"One. This ship will go off Mass-Time on 2nd August at 11.27 hours +ship's time....</p> + +<p>"Thirty-six hours from now.</p> + +<p>"... At a point one thousand miles vertically above Co-ordinates +165OE, 7320S, on Planet Incognita, approximately one hour before +midnight local time.</p> + +<p>"Going on planetary drive as close as that will indicate that +something is badly wrong to begin with.</p> + +<p>"Two. This ship will descend, coupled to <i>Gilgamesh</i> as at present, to +a point seventy miles above the planetary surface. It will then +uncouple, discharge one hopper, and go back on Mass-Time. Estimated +time for this stage of descent forty minutes.</p> + +<p>"Three. The hopper will then descend on its own engines at the maximum +speed allowed by the heat-disposal system; estimated at thirty-seven +minutes. <i>Gilgamesh</i> will complete descent in thirty-three minutes. +Engines of <i>Gilgamesh</i> will not be used except for the heat-disposal +and gyro auxiliaries. The following installations have been made to +allow for the control of the descent; a ring of eight rockets in +peltathene mounts around the tail and, and one outsize antigrav unit +inside the nose. "Sympathizer" controls hooked up with a visiscreen +and a computer have also been installed in the nose.</p> + +<p>"Four. <i>Gilgamesh</i> will carry one man only. The hopper will carry a +crew of three. The pilot of <i>Gilgamesh</i> will establish the ship on the +edge of the cliff, supported on antigrav a foot or so above the ground +and leaning towards the sea at an angle of approximately 20° with the +vertical. Except for this landing will be automatic.</p> + +<p>"Five."</p> + +<p>The colonel's voice has lulled us into passive acceptance; now we are +jerked into sharper attention by the faintest possible check in it.</p> + +<p>"The greatest danger attaching to the expedition is that the +Incognitans may discover that the crash has been faked. This would be +inevitable if they were to capture (a) the hopper; (b) any of the new +installations in Gilgamesh, especially the antigrav; (c) any member of +the crew.</p> + +<p>"The function of the hopper is to pick up the pilot of <i>Gilgamesh</i> and +also to check that ground appearances are consistent. If not, they +will produce a landslip on the cliff edge, using power tools and +explosives carried for the purpose. That is why the hopper has a crew +of three, but the chance of their having to do this is slight."</p> + +<p>So I should think; ground appearances are supposed to show that +<i>Gilgamesh</i> landed using emergency rockets and then toppled over the +cliff and this will be exactly what happened.</p> + +<p>"The pilot will carry a one-frequency low-power transmitter activated +by the change in magnetic field on leaving the ship. The hopper will +remain at five hundred feet until this signal is received. It will +then pick up the pilot, check ground appearances, and rendezvous with +this ship at two hundred miles up at 18.27 hours."</p> + +<p>The ship and the hopper both being radar-absorbent will not register +on alarm systems, and by keeping to planetary nighttime they should +be safe from being seen.</p> + +<p>"Danger (b) will be dealt with as follows. The rocket-mounts being of +peltathene will be destroyed by half an hour's immersion in water. The +installations in the nose will be destroyed with Andite."</p> + +<p>Andite produces complete colecular disruption in a very short range, +hardly any damage outside it; the effect will be as though the nose +broke off on impact; I suppose the Incognitans will waste a lot of +time looking for it on the bed of the sea.</p> + +<p>"Four ten-centimeter cartridges will be inserted within the nose +installations. The fuse will have two alternative settings. The first +will be timed to act at 12.50 hours, seven minutes after the estimated +time of landing. It will not be possible to deactivate it before 12.45 +hours. This takes care of the possibility of the pilot's becoming +incapacitated during the descent.</p> + +<p>"Having switched off the first fuse the pilot will get the ship into +position and then activate a second, timed to blow in ten minutes. He +will then leave the ship. When the antigrav is destroyed the ship +will, of course, fall into the sea.</p> + +<p>"Six. The pilot of <i>Gilgamesh</i> will wear a spacesuit of the pattern +used by the original crew and will carry Personal Background Set +number 23. Should he fail to escape from the ship the crew of the +hopper will on no account attempt to rescue him."</p> + +<p>The colonel takes up the paper, folds it in half and puts it down one +inch further away.</p> + +<p>"The hopper's crew," he says, "will give the whole game away should +one of them fall into Incognitan hands, alive or dead. Therefore they +don't take any risks of it."</p> + +<p>He lifts his gaze ceilingwards. "I'm asking for three volunteers."</p> + +<p>Silence. Manning the hopper is definitely second best. Then light +suddenly bursts on me and I lift my hand and hack B on the ankle.</p> + +<p>"I volunteer," I say.</p> + +<p>B gives me a most dubious glance and then lifts her hand, too.</p> + +<p>Cray on the other side of the table is slowly opening his mouth when +there is an outburst of waving on the far side of B.</p> + +<p>"Me too, colonel! I volunteer!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Yardo proceeds to explain that his special job is over and done, +he can be more easily spared than anybody, he may be too old to take +charge of <i>Gilgamesh</i> but will back himself as a hopper pilot against +anybody.</p> + +<p>The colonel cuts this short by accepting all three. He then unfolds +his paper again.</p> + +<p>"Piloting <i>Gilgamesh</i>," he says. "I'm not asking for volunteers now. +You'll go to your cabins in four hours' time and those who want to +will volunteer, secretly. To a computer hookup, Computer will select +on a random basis and notify the one chosen. Give him his final +instructions, too. No one need know who it was till it's all over. He +can tell anyone he likes, of course."</p> + +<p>A very slight note of triumph creeps into the next remark. "One point. +Only men need volunteer."</p> + +<p>Instant outcry from Kirsty and Dilly: B turns to me with a look of +awe.</p> + +<p>"Nothing to do with prejudice," says the colonel testily. "Just facts. +The crew of <i>Gilgamesh</i> were all men. Can't risk one solitary woman +being found on board. Besides—spacesuits, personal background +sets—all designed for men."</p> + +<p>Kirsty and Dilly turn on me looks designed to shrivel and B whispers +"Lizzie how wonderful you are."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The session dissolves. We three get an intensive session course of +instruction on our duties and are ordered off to sleep. After +breakfast next morning I run into Cray who says, Before I continue +about what is evidently pressing business would I care to kick him, +hard?</p> + +<p>Not right now I reply, what for anyway?</p> + +<p>"Miss Lee," says Cray, dragging it out longer than ever, "although I +have long realized that your brain functions in a way much superior to +logic I had not sense enough yesterday to follow my own instinct and +do what you do as soon as you did it; therefore that dessicated meat +handler got in first."</p> + +<p>I say: "So you weren't picked for pilot? It was only one chance in +ten."</p> + +<p>"Oh," says Cray, "did you really think so?" He gives me a long look +and goes away.</p> + +<p>I suppose he noticed that when the colonel came out with his remarks +about No women in Gilgamesh I was as surprised as any.</p> + +<p>Presently the three of us are issued with protective clothing; we just +might have to venture out on the planet's surface and therefore we get +white one-piece suits to protect against Cold, heat, moisture, +dessication, radioactivity, and mosquitoes, and they are quite +becoming, really.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_004.jpg" width="600" height="278" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p>B and I drag out dressing for thirty minutes; then we just sit while +Time crawls asymptotically towards the hour.</p> + +<p>Then the speaker calls us to go.</p> + +<p>We are out of the cabin before it says two words and racing for the +hold; so that we are just in time to see a figure out of an Historical +movie—padded, jointed, tin bowl for head and blank reflecting glass +where the face should be—stepping through the air lock.</p> + +<p>The colonel and Mr. Yardo are there already. The colonel packs us into +the hopper and personally closes the door, and for once I know what +he is thinking; he is wishing he were not the only pilot in this ship +who could possibly rely on bringing the ship off and on Mass-Time at +one particular defined spot of Space.</p> + +<p>Then he leaves us; half an hour to go.</p> + +<p>The light in the hold begins to alter. Instead of being softly +diffused it separates into sharp-edged beams, reflecting and +crisscrossing but leaving cones of shadow between. The air is being +pumped into store.</p> + +<p>Fifteen minutes.</p> + +<p>The hull vibrates and a hatch slides open in the floor so that the +black of Space looks through; it closes again.</p> + +<p>Mr. Yardo lifts the hopper gently off its mounts and lets it back +again.</p> + +<p>Testing; five minutes to go.</p> + +<p>I am hypnotized by my chronometer; the hands are crawling through +glue; I am still staring at it when, at the exact second, we go off +Mass-Time.</p> + +<p>No weight. I hook my heels under the seat and persuade my esophagus +back into place. A new period of waiting has begun. Every so often +comes the impression we are falling head-first; the colonel using +ship's drive to decelerate the whole system. Then more free fall.</p> + +<p>The hopper drifts very slowly out into the hold and hovers over the +hatch, and the lights go. There is only the glow from the visiscreen +and the instrument board.</p> + +<p>One minute thirty seconds to go.</p> + +<p>The hatch slides open again. I take a deep breath.</p> + +<p>I am still holding it when the colonel's voice comes over the speaker: +"Calling <i>Gilgamesh</i>. Calling the hopper. Good-by and Good luck. +You're on your own."</p> + +<p>The ship is gone.</p> + +<p>Yet another stretch of time has been marked off for us. Thirty-seven +minutes, the least time allowable if we are not to get overheated by +friction with the air. Mr. Yardo is a good pilot; he is concentrating +wholly on the visiscreen and the thermometer. B and I are free to look +around.</p> + +<p>I see nothing and say so.</p> + +<p>I did not know or have forgotten that Incognita has many small +satellites; from here there are four in sight.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I am still looking at them when B seizes my arm painfully and points +below us.</p> + +<p>I see nothing and say so.</p> + +<p>B whispers it was there a moment ago, it is pretty cloudy down +there—Yes Lizzie there it is <i>look</i>.</p> + +<p>And I see it. Over to the left, very faint and far below, a pin-prick +of light.</p> + +<p>Light in the polar wastes of a sparsely inhabited planet, and since we +are still five miles up it is a very powerful light too.</p> + +<p>No doubt about it, as we descend farther; about fifty miles from our +objective there are men, quite a lot of them.</p> + +<p>I think it is just then that I understand, <i>really</i> understand, the +hazard of what we are doing. This is not an exercise. This is in dead +earnest, and if we have missed an essential factor or calculated +something wrong the result will be not a bad mark or a failed exam, or +even our personal deaths, but incalculable harm and misery to millions +of people we never even heard of.</p> + +<p>Dead earnest. How in Space did we ever have cheek enough for this?</p> + +<p>The lights might be the essential factor we have missed, but there is +nothing we can do about them now.</p> + +<p>Mr. Yardo suddenly chuckles and points to the screen.</p> + +<p>"There you are, girlies! He's down!"</p> + +<p>There, grayly dim, is the map the colonel showed us; and right on the +faint line of the cliff-edge is a small brilliant dot.</p> + +<p>The map is expanding rapidly, great lengths of coastline shooting out +of sight at the edge of the screen. Mr. Yardo has the cross-hairs +centered on the dot which is <i>Gilgamesh</i>. The dot is changing shape; +it is turning into a short ellipse, a longer one. The gyros are +leaning her out over the sea.</p> + +<p>I look at my chronometer; 12.50 hours exactly. B looks, too, and grips +my hand.</p> + +<p>Thirty seconds later the Andite has not blown; first fuse safety +turned off. Surely she is leaning far enough out by now?</p> + +<p>We are hovering at five hundred feet. I can actually see the white +edge of the sea beating at the cliff. Mr. Yardo keeps making small +corrections; there is a wind out there trying to blow us away. It is +cloudy here: I can see neither moons nor stars.</p> + +<p>Mr. Yardo checks the radio. Nothing yet.</p> + +<p>I stare downwards and fancy I can see a metallic gleam.</p> + +<p>Then there is a wordless shout from Mr. Yardo; a bright dot hurtles +across the screen and at the same time I see a streak of blue flame +tearing diagonally downwards a hundred feet away.</p> + +<p>The hopper shudders to a flat concussion in the air, we are all thrown +off balance, and when I claw my way back to the screen the moving dot +is gone.</p> + +<p>So is <i>Gilgamesh</i>.</p> + +<p>B says numbly, "But it wasn't a meteor. It can't have been."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter what it was," I say. "It was some sort of missile, +I think. They must be even nearer to war than we thought."</p> + +<p>We wait. What for, I don't know. Another missile, perhaps. No more +come.</p> + +<p>At last Mr. Yardo stirs. His voice sounds creaky.</p> + +<p>"I guess," he says, then clears his throat, and tries again. "I guess +we have to go back up."</p> + +<p>B says, "Lizzie, who was it? Do you know?"</p> + +<p>Of course I do. "Do you think M'Clare was going to risk one of us on +that job? The volunteering was a fake. He went himself."</p> + +<p>B whispers, "You're just guessing."</p> + +<p>"Maybe," says Mr. Yardo, "but I happened to see through that face +plate of his. It was the professor all right."</p> + +<p>He has his hand on the controls when my brain starts working again. I +utter a strangled noise and dive for the hatch into the cargo hold. B +tries to grab me but I get it open and switch on the light.</p> + +<p>Fifty-fifty chance—I've lost.</p> + +<p><i>No</i>, this is the one we came in and the people who put in the new +cargo did not clear out my fish-boat, they just clamped it neatly to +the wall.</p> + +<p>I dive in and start to pass up the package. B shakes her head.</p> + +<p>"No, Lizzie. We can't. Don't you remember? If we got caught, it would +give everything away. Besides ... there isn't any chance—"</p> + +<p>"Take a look at the screen," I tell her.</p> + +<p>Sharp exclamation from Mr. Yardo. B turns to look, then takes the +package and helps me back.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Mr. Yardo maneuvers out over the sea till the thing is in the middle +of the screen; then drops to a hundred feet. It is sticking out of the +water at a fantastic angle and the waves are hardly moving it. The +nose of a ship.</p> + +<p>"The antigrav," whispers B. "The Andite hasn't blown yet."</p> + +<p>"Ten minutes," says Mr. Yardo thoughtfully. He turns to me with sudden +briskness. "What's that, Lizzie girl? A fish-boat? Good. We may need +it. Let's have a look."</p> + +<p>"It's mine," I tell him.</p> + +<p>"Now look—"</p> + +<p>"Tailor made," I say. "You might get into it, though I doubt it. You +couldn't work the controls."</p> + +<p>It takes him fifteen seconds to realize there is no way round it; he +is six foot three and I am five foot one. Even B would find it hard.</p> + +<p>His face goes grayish and he stares at me helplessly. Finally he nods.</p> + +<p>"All right, Lizzie. I guess we have to try it. Things certainly can't +be much worse than they are. We'll go over to the beach there."</p> + +<p>On the beach there is wind and spray and breakers but nothing +unmanageable; the cliffs on either side keep off the worst of the +force. It is queer to feel moving air after eighteen days in a ship. +It takes six minutes to unpack and expand the boat and by that time it +is ten minutes since the missile hit and the Andite has not blown.</p> + +<p>I crawl into the boat. In my protective clothing it is a fairly tight +fit. We agree that I will return to this same point and they will +start looking for me in fifty minutes' time and will give up if I have +not returned in two hours. I take two Andite cartridges to deal with +all eventualities and snap the nose of the boat into place. At first I +am very conscious of the two little white cigars in the pouch of my +suit, but presently I have other things to think about.</p> + +<p>I use the "limbs" to crawl the last few yards of shingle into the +water and on across the sea bottom till I am beyond the line of +breakers; then I turn on the motor. I have already set the controls to +"home" on <i>Gilgamesh</i> and the radar will steer me off any +obstructions. This journey in the dark is as safe as my trip around +the reefs before all this started—though it doesn't feel that way.</p> + +<p>It takes twelve minutes to reach <i>Gilgamesh</i>, or rather the fragment +that antigrav is supporting; it is about half a mile from the beach.</p> + +<p>The radar stops me six feet from her and I switch it off and turn to +Manual and inch closer in.</p> + +<p>Lights, a very small close beam. The missile struck her about one +third of her length behind the nose. I know, because I can see the +whole of that length. It is hanging just above the water, sloping at +about 30° to the horizontal. The ragged edge where it was torn from +the rest is just dipping into the sea.</p> + +<p>If anyone sees this, I don't know what they will make of it but no one +could possibly think an ordinary spaceship suffered an ordinary crash, +and very little investigation would show up the truth.</p> + +<p>I reach up with the forward set of "limbs" and grapple on to the +break. I now have somehow to get the hind set of "limbs" up without +losing my grip. I can't.</p> + +<p>It takes several minutes to realize that I can just open the nose and +crawl out.</p> + +<p>Immediately a wave hits me in the face and does its best to drag me +into the sea. However the interior of the ship is relatively sheltered +and presently I am inside and dragging the boat up out of reach.</p> + +<p>I need light. Presently I manage to detach one of the two from the +boat. I turn it down to minimum close beam and hang it round my neck; +then I start up the black jag-edged tunnel of the ship.</p> + +<p>I have to get to the nose, find the fuse, change the setting to twenty +minutes—maximum possible—and get out before it blows—out of the +water I mean. The fish-boat is not constructed to take explosions even +half a mile away. But the first thing is to find the fuse and I cannot +make out how <i>Gilgamesh</i> is lying and therefore cannot find the door +through this bulkhead; everything is ripped and twisted. In the end I +find a gap between the bulkhead itself and the hull, and squeeze +through that.</p> + +<p>In the next compartment things are more recognizable and I eventually +find the door. Fortunately ships are designed so that you can get +through doors even when they are in the ceiling; actually here I have +to climb up an overhang, but the surface is provided with rungs which +make it not too bad. Finally I reach the door. I shall have to use +antigrav to get down ... why didn't I just turn it on and jump? I +forgot I had it.</p> + +<p>The door was a little way open when the missile struck; it buckled in +its grooves and is jammed fast. I can get an arm through. No more. I +switch on antigrav and hang there directing the light round the +compartment. No rents anywhere, just buckling. This compartment is +divided by a partition and the door through that is open. There will +be another door into the nose on the other side.</p> + +<p>I bring back my feet ready to kick off on a dive through that doorway.</p> + +<p>Behind me, something stirs.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>My muscles go into a spasm like the one that causes a falling dream, +my hold tears loose and I go tumbling through the air, rebound from a +wall, twist, and manage to hook one foot in the frame of the door I +was aiming for. I pull myself down and turn off the antigrav; then I +just shake for a bit.</p> + +<p>The sound was—</p> + +<p>This is stupid, with everything torn to pieces in this ship there is +no wonder if bits shake loose and drop around—</p> + +<p>But it was not a metallic noise, it was a kind of soft dragging, very +soft, that ended in a little thump.</p> + +<p>Like a—</p> + +<p>Like a loose piece of plastic dislodged from its angle of rest and +slithering down, pull yourself together Lizzie Lee.</p> + +<p>I look through the door into the other half of this level. Shambles. +Smashed machinery every which way, blocking the door, blocking +everything. No way through at all.</p> + +<p>Suddenly I remember the tools. Mr. Yardo loaded the fish-boat with all +it would take. I crawl back and return with a fifteen inch expanding +beam-lever, and overuse it; the jammed trap door does not slide back +in its grooves but flips right out of them, bent double; it flies off +into the dark and clangs its way to rest.</p> + +<p>I am halfway through the opening when I hear the sound again. A soft +slithering; a faint defeated thump.</p> + +<p>I freeze where I am, and then I hear the sigh; a long, long weary +sound, almost musical.</p> + +<p>An air leak somewhere in the hull and wind or waves altering the air +pressure below.</p> + +<p>All the same I do not seem able to come any farther through this door.</p> + +<p>Light might help; I turn the beam up and play it cautiously around. +This is the last compartment, right in the nose; a sawn-off +cone-shape. No breaks here, though the hull is buckled to my left and +the "floor"—the partition, horizontal when the ship is in the normal +operating position, which holds my trap door—is torn up; some large +heavy object was welded to a thin surface skin which has ripped away +leaving jagged edges and a pattern of girders below.</p> + +<p>There is no dust here; it has all been sucked out when the ship was +open to space; nothing to show the beam except the sliding yellow +ellipse where it touches the wall. It glides and turns, spiraling +down, deformed every so often where it crosses a projection or a dent, +till it halts suddenly on a spoked disk, four feet across and standing +nearly eighteen inches out from the wall. The antigrav.</p> + +<p>I never saw one this size, it is like the little personal affairs as a +giant is like a pigmy, not only bigger but a bit different in +proportion. I can see an Andite cartridge fastened among the spokes.</p> + +<p>The fuse is a "sympathizer" but it is probably somewhere close. The +ellipse moves again. There is no feeling that I control it; it is +hunting on its own. To and fro around the giant wheel. Lower. It halts +on a small flat box, also bolted to the wall, a little way below. This +is it, I can see the dial.</p> + +<p>The ellipse stands still, surrounding the fuse. There is something at +the very edge of it.</p> + +<p>When <i>Gilgamesh</i> was right way up the antigrav was bolted to one wall, +about three feet above the floor. Now the lowest point is the place +where this wall joins what used to be the floor. Something has fallen +down to that point and is huddled there in the dark.</p> + +<p>The beam jerks suddenly up and the breath whoops out of me; a round +thing sticking out of the wall—then I realize it is an archaic +space-helmet, clamped to the wall for safety when the wearer took it +off.</p> + +<p>I take charge of the ellipse of light and move it slowly down, past +the fuse, to the thing below. A little dark scalloping of the edge of +the light. The tips of fingers. A hand.</p> + +<p>I turn up the light.</p> + +<p>When the missile struck the big computer was wrenched loose from the +floor. It careened down as the floor tilted, taking with it anything +that stood in its way.</p> + +<p>M'Clare was just stooping to the fuse, I think. The computer smashed +against his legs and pinned him down in the angle between the wall and +the floor. His legs are hidden by it.</p> + +<p>Because of the spacesuit he does not looked crushed; the thick clumsy +joints have kept their roundness, so far as they are visible; only his +hands and head are bare and vulnerable looking.</p> + +<p>I am halfway down, floating on minimum gravity, before it really +occurs to me that he may be still alive.</p> + +<p>I switch to half and drop beside him. His face is colorless but he is +breathing all right.</p> + +<p>First-aid kit. I will never make fun of Space Force thoroughness +again. Rows and rows of small plastic ampoules. Needles.</p> + +<p>Pain-killer, first. I read the directions twice, sweating. Emergencies +only—this is. One dose <i>only</i> to be given and if patient is not in +good health use—never mind that. I fit on the longest needle and jab +it through the suit, at the back of the thigh, as far towards the +knee-joint as I can get because the suit is thinner. Half one side, +half the other.</p> + +<p>Now to get the computer off. At a guess it weighs about five hundred +pounds. The beam-lever would do it but it would probably fall back.</p> + +<p>Antigrav; the personal size is supposed to take up to three times the +weight of the average man. I take mine off and buckle the straps +through a convenient gap. I have my hands under the thing when M'Clare +sighs again.</p> + +<p>He is lying on his belly but his head is turned to one side, towards +me. Slowly his eyelids open. He catches the sight of my hand; his head +moves a little, and he says, "Lizzie. Golden Liz."</p> + +<p>I say not to worry, we will soon be out of here.</p> + +<p>His body jumps convulsively and he cries out. His hand reaches my +sleeve and feels. He says, "Liz! Oh, God, I thought ... what—"</p> + +<p>I say things are under control and just keep quiet a bit.</p> + +<p>His eyes close. After a moment he whispers, "Something hit the ship."</p> + +<p>"A homing missile, I think."</p> + +<p>I ought not to have said that; but it seems to make no particular +impression, maybe he guessed as much.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I was wrong in wanting to shift the computer straight away, the +release of pressure might start a hemorrhage; I dig out ampoules of +blood-seal and inject them into the space between the suit and the +flesh, as close to the damage as I can.</p> + +<p>M'Clare asks how the ship is lying and I explain, also how I got here. +I dig out the six-by-two-inch packet of expanding stretcher and read +the directions. He is quiet for a minute or two, gathering strength; +then he says sharply: "Lizzie. Stop that and listen.</p> + +<p>"The fuse for the Andite is just under the antigrav. Go and find it. +Go now. There's a dial with twenty divisions. Marked in black—you see +it. Turn the pointer to the last division. Is that done?</p> + +<p>"Now you see the switch under the pointer? Is your boat ready? I beg +your pardon, of course you left it that way. Then turn the switch and +get out."</p> + +<p>I come back and see by my chrono that the blood-seal should be set; I +get my hands under the computer. M'Clare bangs his hand on the floor.</p> + +<p>"Lizzie, you little idiot, don't you realize that even if you get me +out of this ship, which is next to impossible, you'll be delayed all +the way—and if the Incognitans find either of us the whole plan's +ruined? Much worse than ruined, once they see it's a hoax—"</p> + +<p>I tell him I have two Andite sticks and they won't find us and on a +night like this any story of explosions will be put down to sudden +gusts or to lightning.</p> + +<p>He is silent for a moment while I start lifting the computer, +carefully; its effective weight with the antigrav full on is only +about twenty pounds but is has all its inertia. Then he says quietly, +"Please, Lizzie—can't you understand that the worst nightmare in the +whole affair has been the fear that one of you might get injured? Or +even killed? When I realized that only one person was needed to pilot +<i>Gilgamesh</i>—it was the greatest relief I ever experienced. Now you +say...." His voice picks up suddenly. "Lizzie, you're beaten anyway. +The ... I'm losing all feeling. Even pain. I can't feel anything +behind my shoulders ... it's creeping up—"</p> + +<p>I say that means the pain-killer I shot him with is acting as +advertised, and he makes a sound as much like an explosive chuckle as +anything and it's quiet again.</p> + +<p>The curvature between floor and wall is not helpful, I am trying to +find a place to wedge the computer so it cannot fall back when I take +off the antigrav. Presently I get it pushed on to a sort of ledge +formed by a dent in the floor, which I think will hold it. I ease off +the antigrav and the computer stays put, I don't like the looks of it +so let's get out of here.</p> + +<p>I push the packaged stretcher under his middle and pull the tape +before I turn the light on to his legs to see the damage. I cannot +make out very much; the joints of the suit are smashed some, but as +far as I can see the inner lining is not broken which means it is +still air-and-water-tight.</p> + +<p>I put a hand under his chest to feel how the stretcher is going; it is +now expanded to eighteen inches by six and I can feel it pushing out, +but it is <i>slow</i>, what else have I to do—oh yes, get the helmet.</p> + +<p>I am standing up to reach for it when M'Clare says, "What are you +doing? Yes ... well, don't put it on for a minute. There's something I +would like to tell you, and with all respect for your obstinacy I +doubt very much whether I shall have another chance. Keep that light +off me, will you? It hurts my eyes.</p> + +<p>"You know, Lizzie, I dislike risking the lives of any of the students +for whom I am responsible, but as it happens I find the idea of +you—blowing yourself to atoms particularly objectionable because ... +I happen to be in love with you. You're also one of my best students, +I used to think that ... was why I'd been so insistent on your coming +to Russett, but I rather think ... my motives were mixed even then. I +meant to tell you this after you graduated, and to ask you to marry +me, not that ... I thought you would, I know quite well ... you never +quite forgave me, but I don't-want-to-have to remember ... I didn't +... have the guts to—"</p> + +<p>His voice trails off, I get a belated rush of sense to the head and +turn the light on his face. His head is turned sideways and his fist +is clenched against the side of his neck. When I touch it his hand +falls open and five discharged ampoules fall out.</p> + +<p>Pain-killer.</p> + +<p>Maximum dose, one ampoule.</p> + +<p>All that talk was just to hold my attention while he fixed the needles +and—</p> + +<p>I left the kit spread out right next to him.</p> + +<p>While I am taking this in some small cold corner of my mind is +remembering the instructions that are on the pain-killer ampoule; it +does not say, outright, that it is the last refuge for men in the +extremity of pain and despair; therefore it cannot say, outright, that +they sometimes despair too soon; but it does tell you the name of the +antidote.</p> + +<p>There are only three ampoules of this and they also say, maximum dose +one ampoule. I try to work it out but lacking all other information +the best I can do is inject two and keep one till later. I put that +one in my pocket.</p> + +<p>The stretcher is all expanded now; a very thin but quite rigid grid, +six feet by two; I lash him on it without changing his position and +fasten the helmet over his head.</p> + +<p>Antigrav; the straps just go round him and the stretcher.</p> + +<p>I point the thing up towards the trap door and give it a gentle push; +then I scramble up the rungs and get there just in time to guide it +through. It takes a knock then and some more while I am getting it +down to the next partition, but he can't feel it.</p> + +<p>This time I find the door, because the roar of noise behind it acts as +a guide. The sea is getting up and is dashing halfway to the door as I +crawl through. My boat is awash, pivoting to and fro on the grips of +the front "limbs."</p> + +<p>I grab it, release the limbs and pull it as far back as the door. I +maneuver the stretcher on top and realize there is nothing to fasten +it with ... except the antigrav, I get that undone, holding the +stretcher in balance, and manage to put it under the stretcher and +pass the straps between the bars of the grid ... then round the little +boat, and the buckle just grips the last inch. It will hold, though.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I set the boat to face the broken end of the ship, but I daren't put +it farther back than the doorway; I turn the antigrav to half, fasten +the limb-grips and rush back towards the nose of the ship. Silver knob +under the dial. I turn it down, hear the thing begin a fast, steady +ticking, and turn and run.</p> + +<p>Twenty minutes.</p> + +<p>One and a half to get back to the boat, four to get inside it without +overturning. Nearly two to get down to the sea—balance difficult. One +and a half to lower myself in.</p> + +<p>Thirty seconds' tossing before I sink below the wave layer; then I +turn the motor as high as I dare and head for the shore.</p> + +<p>In a minute I have to turn it down; at this speed the radar is +bothered by water currents and keeps steering me away from them as +though they were rocks; I finally find the maximum safe speed but it +is achingly slow. What happens if you are in water when Andite blows +half a mile away? A moment's panic as I find the ship being forced up, +then I realize I have reached the point where the beach starts to +shelve, turn off radar and motor and start crawling. Eternal slow +reach out, grab, shove, haul, with my heart in my mouth; then suddenly +the nose breaks water and I am hauling myself out with a last wave +doing its best to overbalance me.</p> + +<p>I am halfway out of the boat when the Andite blows behind me. There is +a flat slapping sound; then an instant roar of wind as the air +receives the binding energies of several tons of matter; then a long +wave comes pelting up the beach and snatches at the boat.</p> + +<p>I huddle into the shingle and hold the boat; I have just got the +antigrav turned off, otherwise I think it would have been carried +away. There are two or three more big waves and a patter of spray; +then it is over.</p> + +<p>The outlet valve of the helmet is working, so M'Clare is still +breathing; very deep, very slow.</p> + +<p>I unfasten the belt of the antigrav, having turned it on again, and +pull the belt through the buckle. No time to take it off and rearrange +it; anyway it will work as well under the stretcher as on top of it. I +drag the boat down to the water, put in an Andite cartridge with the +longest fuse I have, set the controls to take it straight out to sea +at maximum depth the radar control will allow—six feet above +bottom—and push it off. The other Andite cartridge starts burning a +hole in my pocket; I would have liked to put that in too, but I must +keep it, in case.</p> + +<p>I look at my chrono and see that in five minutes the hopper will come.</p> + +<p>Five minutes.</p> + +<p>I am halfway back to the stretcher when I hear a noise further up the +beach. Unmistakable. Shingle under a booted foot.</p> + +<p>I stand frozen in mid-stride. I turned the light out after launching +the boat but my eyes have not recovered yet; it is murkily black. Even +my white suit is only the faintest degree paler than my surroundings.</p> + +<p>Silence for a couple of minutes. I stand still. But it can't have gone +away. What happens when the hopper comes? They will see whoever it is +on the infrared vision screen. They won't come—</p> + +<p>Footsteps again. Several.</p> + +<p>Then the clouds part and one of those superfluous little moons shines +straight through the gap.</p> + +<p>The bay is not like the stereo the colonel showed because that was +taken in winter; now the snow is melted, leaving bare shingle and mud +and a tumble of rocks; more desolate than the snow. Fifty feet off is +a man.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/image_005.jpg" width="400" height="370" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p>He is huddled up in a mass of garments but his head is bare, rising +out of a hood which he has pushed back, maybe so as to listen better; +he looks young, hardly older than me. He is holding a long thin object +which I never saw before, but it must be a weapon of some sort.</p> + +<p>This is the end of it. All the evidence of faking is destroyed; except +M'Clare and me. Even if I use the Andite he has seen me—and that +leaves M'Clare.</p> + +<p>I am standing here on one foot like a dancer in a jammed movie, +waiting for Time to start again or the world to end—</p> + +<p>Like the little figure in the dance-instruction kit Dad got when I was +seven, when you switched her off in the middle.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Like a dancer—</p> + +<p>My weight shifts on to the forward foot. My arms swing up, forwards, +back. I take one step, another.</p> + +<p>Swing. Turn. Kick. Sideways.</p> + +<p>Like the silly little dancer who could not get out of the plastic +block; but I am moving forward little by little, even if I have to +take three steps roundabout for every one in advance.</p> + +<p>Arms, up. Turn, round. Leg, up. Straighten, out. Step.</p> + +<p>Called the Dance of the Little Robot, for about three months Dad +thought it was no end cute, till he caught on I was thinking so, too.</p> + +<p>It is just about the only kind of dance you could do on shingle, I +guess.</p> + +<p>When this started I thought I might be going crazy, but I just had not +had time to work it out. In terms of Psychology it goes like this; to +shoot off a weapon a man needs a certain type of Stimulus like the +sight of an enemy over the end of it. So if I do my best not to look +like an enemy he will not get that Stimulus. Or put it another way +most men think twice before shooting a girl in the middle of a dance. +If I should happen to get away with this, nobody will believe his +story, he won't believe it himself.</p> + +<p>As for the chance of getting away with it, i.e., getting close enough +to grab the gun or hit him with a rock or something, I know I would +become a Stimulus to shooting before I did that but there are always +the clouds, if one will only come back over the moon again.</p> + +<p>I have covered half the distance.</p> + +<p>Twenty feet from him, and he takes a quick step back.</p> + +<p>Turn, kick, out, step. I am swinging round away from him, let's hope +he finds it reassuring. I dare not look up but I think the light is +dimming. Turn, kick, out, step. Boxing the compass. Coming round +again.</p> + +<p>And the cloud is coming over the moon, out of the corner of my eye I +see darkness sweeping towards us—and I see his face of sheer horror +as he sees it, too; he jumps back, swings up the weapon, and fires +straight in my face.</p> + +<p>And it is dark. So much for Psychology.</p> + +<p>There is a clatter and other sounds—</p> + +<p>Well, quite a lot for Psychology maybe, because at twenty feet he +seems to have missed me.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I pick myself up and touch something which apparently is his weapon, +gun or whatever. I leave it and hare back to the stretcher, next-to +fall over it but stop just in time, and switch on the antigrav. Up; +level it; now where to? The cliffs enclosing the bay are about thirty +yards off to my left and they offer the only cover.</p> + +<p>The shingle is relatively level; I make good time till I stumble +against a rock and nearly lose the stretcher. I step up on to the rock +and see the cliff as a blacker mass in the general darkness, only a +yard away. I edge the stretcher round it.</p> + +<p>It is almost snatched out of my hand by a gust of wind. I pull it back +and realize that in the bay I have been sheltered; there is pretty +near half a gale blowing across the face of the cliff.</p> + +<p>Voices and footsteps, away back among the rocks where the man came +from.</p> + +<p>If the clouds part again they will see me, sure as shooting.</p> + +<p>I take a hard grip on the stretcher and scramble round the edge of the +cliff.</p> + +<p>After the first gust the wind is not so bad; for the most part it is +trying to press me back into the cliff. The trouble is that I can't +see. I have to shuffle my foot forward, rubbing one shoulder against +the cliff to feel where it is because I have no hand free.</p> + +<p>After a few yards I come to an impasse; something more than knee high; +boulder, ridge, I can't tell.</p> + +<p>I weigh on the edge of the stretcher and tilt it up to get it over the +obstacle. With the antigrav full on it keeps its momentum and goes on +moving up. I try to check it, but the wind gets underneath.</p> + +<p>It is tugging to get away; I step blindly upwards in the effort to +keep up with it. One foot goes on a narrow ledge, barely a toe hold. I +am being hauled upwards. I bring the other foot up and find the top of +a boulder, just within reach. Now the first foot—</p> + +<p>And now I am on top of the boulder, but I have lost touch with the +cliff and the full force of the wind is pulling the stretcher upwards. +I get one arm over it and fumble underneath for the control of the +antigrav; I must give it weight and put it down on this boulder and +wait for the wind to drop.</p> + +<p>Suddenly I realize that my weight is going; bending over the stretcher +puts me in the field of the antigrav. A moment later another gust +comes, and I realize I am rising into the air.</p> + +<p>Gripping the edge of the stretcher with one hand I reach out the +other, trying to grasp some projection on the face of the cliff. Not +being able to see I simply push farther away till it is out of reach.</p> + +<p>We are still rising.</p> + +<p>I pull myself up on the stretcher; there is just room for my toes on +either side of M'Clare's legs. The wind roaring in my ears makes it +difficult to think.</p> + +<p>Rods of light slash down at me from the edge of the cliff. For a +moment all I can do is duck; then I realize we are still well below +them, but rising every moment. The cliff-face is about six feet away; +the wind reflecting from it keeps us from being blown closer.</p> + +<p>I must get the antigrav off. I let myself over the side of the +stretcher, hanging by one hand, and fumble for the controls. I can +just reach. Then I realize this is no use. Antigrav controls are not +meant to go off with a click of the finger; they might get switched +off accidentally. To work the switch and the safety you must have two +hands, or one hand in the optimum position. My position is about as +bad as it could be. I can stroke the switch with one finger; no more.</p> + +<p>I haul myself back on to the stretcher and realize we are only about +six feet under the beam of light. Only one thing left. I feel in my +pocket for the Andite. Stupidly, I am still also bending over the +outlet valve of the helmet, trying to see whether M'Clare is still +breathing or not.</p> + +<p>The little white cigar is not fused. I have to hold on with one hand. +In the end I manage to stick the Andite between thumb and finger-roots +of that hand while I use the other to find the fuse and stick it over +the Andite. The shortest; three minutes.</p> + +<p>I think the valve is still moving—</p> + +<p>Then something drops round me; I am hauled tight against the +stretcher; we are pulled strongly downwards with the wind buffeting +and snatching, banged against the edge of something, and pulled +through into silence and the dark.</p> + +<p>For a moment I do not understand; then I recognize the feel of Fragile +Cargo, still clamping me to the stretcher, and I open my mouth and +scream and scream.</p> + +<p>Clatter of feet. Hatch opens. Fragile Cargo goes limp.</p> + +<p>I stagger to my feet. Faint light through the hatch; B's head. I hold +out the Andite stick and she turns and shouts; and a panel slides open +in the wall so that the wind comes roaring in.</p> + +<p>I push the stick through and the wind snatches it away and it is gone.</p> + +<p>After that—</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>After that, for a while, nothing, I suppose, though I have no +recollection of losing consciousness; only without any sense of break +I find I am flat on my back on one of the seats in the cabin of the +hopper.</p> + +<p>I sit up and say "How—"</p> + +<p>B who is sitting on the floor beside me says that when the broadcaster +was activated of course they came at once, only while they were +waiting for the boat to reach land whole squads of land cars arrived +and started combing the area, and some came up on top of the cliff and +shone their headlights out over the sea so Mr. Yardo had to lurk +against the cliff face and wait till I got into a position where he +could pick me up and it was <i>frightfully</i> clever of me to think of +floating up on antigrav—</p> + +<p>I forgot about the broadcaster.</p> + +<p>I forgot about the hopper come to that, there seemed to be nothing in +the world except me and the stretcher and the enemy.</p> + +<p>Stretcher.</p> + +<p>I say, "Is M'Clare—"</p> + +<p>At which moment Mr. Yardo turns from the controls with a wide smile of +triumph and says "Eighteen twenty-seven, girls!" and the world goes +weightless and swings upside down.</p> + +<p>Then still with no sense of any time-lapse I am lying in the big +lighted hold, with the sound of trampling all round: it is somehow +filtered and far off and despite the lights there seems to be a globe +of darkness around my head. I hear my own voice repeating, "M'Clare? +How's M'Clare?"</p> + +<p>A voice says distantly, without emphasis, "M'Clare? He's dead."</p> + +<p>The next time I come round it is dark. I am vaguely aware of having +been unconscious for quite a while.</p> + +<p>There is a single thread of knowledge connecting this moment with the +last: M'Clare's dead.</p> + +<p>This is the central factor: I seem to have been debating it with +myself for a very long time.</p> + +<p>I suppose the truth is simply that the Universe never guarantees +anything; life, or permanence, or that your best will be good enough.</p> + +<p>The rule is that you have to pick yourself up and go on; and lying +here in the dark is not doing it.</p> + +<p>I turn on my side and see a cluster of self-luminous objects including +a light switch. I reach for it.</p> + +<p>How did I get into a hospital?</p> + +<p>On second thoughts it is a cabin in the ship, or rather two of them +with the partition torn out, I can see the ragged edge of it. There is +a lot of paraphernalia around; I climb out to have a look.</p> + +<p>Holy horrors what's happened? Someone borrowed my legs and put them +back wrong; my eyes also are not functioning well, the light is set at +Minimum and I am still dazzled. I see a door and make for it to get +Explanations from somebody.</p> + +<p>Arrived, I miss my footing and stumble against the door and on the +other side someone says "Hello, Lizzie. Awake at last?"</p> + +<p>I think my heart stops for a moment. I can't find the latch. I am +vaguely aware of beating something with my fists, and then the door +gives, sticks, gives again and I stumble through and land on all fours +the other side of it.</p> + +<p>Someone is calling: "Lizzie! Are you hurt? Where the devil have they +all got to? Liz!"</p> + +<p>I sit up and say, "They said you were <i>dead</i>!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Who</i> did?"</p> + +<p>"I ... I ... someone in the hold. I said How's M'Clare? and they said +you were dead."</p> + +<p>M'Clare frowns and says gently, "Come over here and sit down quietly +for a bit. You've been dreaming."</p> + +<p>Have I? Maybe the whole thing was a dream—but if so how far does it +go? Going down in the heli? The missile? The boat? Crawling through +the black tunnel of a broken ship?</p> + +<p>No, because he is sitting in a sort of improvised chaise longue and +his legs are evidently strapped in place under the blanket; he is +fumbling with the fastening or something.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I say "Hey! Cut that out!"</p> + +<p>He straightens up irritably.</p> + +<p>"Don't you start that, Lysistrata. I've been suffering the attentions +of the damnedest collection of amateur nurses who ever handled a +thermocouple, for over a week. I don't deny they've been very +efficient, but when it comes to—"</p> + +<p>Over a <i>week</i>?</p> + +<p>He nods. "My dear Lizzie, we left Incognita ten days ago. Amateur +nursing again! They have some unholy book of rules which says that for +Exposure, Exhaustion and Shock the best therapy is sleep. I don't +doubt it, but it goes on to say that in extreme cases the patient has +been known to benefit by as much as two weeks of it. I didn't find out +that they were trying it on you until about thirty-six hours ago when +I began inquiring why you weren't around. They kept me under for three +days—in fact until their infernal Handbook said it was time for my +leg muscles to have some exercise. Miss Lammergaw was the +ring-leader."</p> + +<p>No wonder my legs feel as though someone exchanged the muscles for +cotton wool, just wait till I get hold of Kirsty.</p> + +<p>If it hadn't been for her, I shouldn't have spent ten days +remembering, even in my sleep, that—</p> + +<p>I say, "Hell's feathers, it was <i>you</i>!"</p> + +<p>M'Clare makes motions as though to start getting out of his chair, +looking seriously alarmed. I say, "It was your voice! When I asked—"</p> + +<p>M'Clare, quite definitely, starts to blush. Not much, but some.</p> + +<p>"Lizzie, I believe you're right. I have a sort of vague memory of +someone asking how I was—and I gave what I took to be a truthful +answer. I remember it seemed quite inconceivable that I could be +alive. In fact I still don't understand it. Neither Yardo nor Miss +Laydon could tell me. How <i>did</i> you get me out of that ship?"</p> + +<p>Well, I do my best to explain, glossing over one or two points; at the +finish he closes his eyes and says nothing for a while.</p> + +<p>Then he says, "So except for this one man who saw you, you left no +traces at all?"</p> + +<p>Not that I know of, but—</p> + +<p>"Do you know, five minutes later there were at least twenty men in +that bay, most of them scientists? They don't seem to have found +anything suspicious. Visibility was bad, of course, and you can't +leave foot-prints in shingle—"</p> + +<p>Hold on, what <i>is</i> all this?</p> + +<p>M'Clare says, "We've had two couriers while you were asleep. Yes, I +know it's not ordinarily possible for a ship on Mass-Time to get news. +One of these days someone will have an interesting problem in Cultural +Engineering, working out how to integrate some of these Space Force +secrets into our economic and social structure without upsetting the +whole of the known volume. Though courier boats make their crews so +infernally sick I doubt whether the present type will ever come into +common use. Anyway, we've had transcripts of a good many broadcasts +from Incognita, the last dated four days ago; and as far as we can +tell they're interpreting <i>Gilgamesh</i> just as we meant them to.</p> + +<p>"The missile, by the way, was experimental, waiting to be test-fired +the next day. The man in charge saw <i>Gilgamesh</i> on the alarm screens +and got trigger-happy. The newscasters were divided as to whether he +should be blamed or praised; they all seem to feel he averted a +menace, at least temporarily, but some of them think the invaders +could have been captured alive.</p> + +<p>"The first people on the scene came from a scientific camp; you and +Miss Laydon saw their lights on the way down. You remember that area +is geophysically interesting? Well, by extraordinary good luck an +international group was there studying it. They rushed straight off to +the site of the landing—they actually saw <i>Gilgamesh</i>, and she +registered on some of their astronomical instruments, too. They must +be a reckless lot. What's more, they started trying to locate her on +the sea bottom the next day. Found both pieces; they're still trying +to locate the nose. They were all set to try raising the smaller piece +when their governments both announced in some haste that they were +sending a properly equipped expedition. Jointly.</p> + +<p>"There's been no mention in any newscast of anyone seeing fairies or +sea maidens—I expect the poor devil thinks you were a hallucination."</p> + +<p>So we brought it off.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I am very thankful in a distant sort of way, but right now the +Incognitans have no more reality for me than the Lost Kafoozalum.</p> + +<p>M'Clare came through alive.</p> + +<p>I could spend a good deal of time just getting used to that fact, but +there is something I ought to say and I don't know how.</p> + +<p>I inquire after his injuries and learn they are healing nicely.</p> + +<p>I look at him and he is frowning.</p> + +<p>He says, "Lizzie. Just before my well-meant but ineffective attempt at +suicide—"</p> + +<p>Here it comes.</p> + +<p>I say quick If he is worrying about all that nonsense he talked in +order to distract my attention, forget it; I have.</p> + +<p>Silence, then he says wearily, "I talked nonsense, did I?"</p> + +<p>I say there is no need to worry, under the circumstances anyone would +have a perfect right to be raving off his Nut.</p> + +<p>I then find I cannot bear this conversation any longer so I get up +saying I expect he is tired and I will call someone.</p> + +<p>I get nearly to the door when</p> + +<p>"<i>No</i>, Lizzie! you can't let that crew loose on me just in order to +change the conversation. Come back here. I appreciate your wish to +spare my feelings, but it's wasted. We'll have this out here and now.</p> + +<p>"I remember quite well what I said, and so do you: I said that I loved +you. I also said that I had intended to ask you to marry me as soon as +you ceased to be one of my pupils. Well, the results of Finals were +officially announced three days ago.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I suppose I always knew what the answer would be, but I didn't +want to spend the rest of my life wondering, because I never had the +guts to ask you.</p> + +<p>"You don't dislike me as you used to—you've forgiven me for making +you come to Russett—but you still think I'm a cold-blooded +manipulator of other people's minds and emotions. So I am; it's part +of the job.</p> + +<p>"You're quite right to distrust me for that, though. It is the danger +of this profession, that we end up by looking on everybody and +everything as a subject for manipulation. Even in our personal lives. +I always knew that: I didn't begin to be afraid of it until I realized +I was in love with you.</p> + +<p>"I could have made you love me, Lizzie. I could! I didn't try. Not +that I didn't want love on those terms, or any terms. But to use +professional ... tricks ... in private life, ends by destroying all +reality. I always treated you exactly as I treated my other +students—I think. But I could have made you think you loved me ... +even if I am twice your age—"</p> + +<p>This I cannot let pass, I say "Hi! According to College rumor you +cannot be more than thirty-six; I'm twenty-three."</p> + +<p>M'Clare says in a bemused sort of way He will be thirty-seven in a +couple of months.</p> + +<p>I say, "I will be twenty-four next week and your arithmetic is still +screwy; and here is another datum you got wrong. I do love you. Very +much."</p> + +<p>He says, "Golden Liz."</p> + +<p>Then other things which I remember all right, I shall keep them to +remember any time I am tired, sick, cold, hungry Hundred-and-ninety—; +but they are not for writing down.</p> + +<p>Then I suppose at some point we agreed it is time for me to go, +because I find myself outside the cabin and there is Colonel +Delano-Smith.</p> + +<p>He makes me a small speech about various matters ending that he hears +he has to congratulate me.</p> + +<p>Huh?</p> + +<p>Oh, Space and Time did one of those unimitigated so-and-sos, my dear +classmates, leave M'Clare's communicator on?</p> + +<p>The colonel says he heard I did very well in my Examinations.</p> + +<p>Sweet splitting photons I forgot all about Finals.</p> + +<p>It is just as well my Education has come to an honorable end, because +... well, shades of ... well, Goodness gracious and likewise Dear me, +I am going to marry a <i>Professor</i>.</p> + +<p>Better just stick to it I am going to marry M'Clare, it makes better +sense that way.</p> + +<p>But Gosh we are going to have to do some re-adjusting to a changed +Environment. Both of us.</p> + +<p>Oh, well, M'Clare is a Professor of Cultural Engineering and I just +past my Final Exams in same; surely if anyone can we should be able to +work out how you live Happily Ever After?</p> +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;"> +<img src="images/image_006.jpg" width="250" height="106" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30427 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/30427-h/images/image_001_01.jpg b/30427-h/images/image_001_01.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d8effff --- /dev/null +++ b/30427-h/images/image_001_01.jpg diff --git a/30427-h/images/image_001_02.jpg b/30427-h/images/image_001_02.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e47af31 --- /dev/null +++ b/30427-h/images/image_001_02.jpg diff --git a/30427-h/images/image_001_03.jpg b/30427-h/images/image_001_03.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..59b6453 --- /dev/null +++ b/30427-h/images/image_001_03.jpg diff --git a/30427-h/images/image_002.jpg b/30427-h/images/image_002.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4dab01e --- /dev/null +++ b/30427-h/images/image_002.jpg diff --git a/30427-h/images/image_003.jpg b/30427-h/images/image_003.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d5da054 --- /dev/null +++ b/30427-h/images/image_003.jpg diff --git a/30427-h/images/image_004.jpg b/30427-h/images/image_004.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..962fbe4 --- /dev/null +++ b/30427-h/images/image_004.jpg diff --git a/30427-h/images/image_005.jpg b/30427-h/images/image_005.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9214419 --- /dev/null +++ b/30427-h/images/image_005.jpg diff --git a/30427-h/images/image_006.jpg b/30427-h/images/image_006.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a69d584 --- /dev/null +++ b/30427-h/images/image_006.jpg diff --git a/30427-h/images/image_i.jpg b/30427-h/images/image_i.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4ea8dae --- /dev/null +++ b/30427-h/images/image_i.jpg |
