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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/32697-h.zip b/32697-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5f21e30 --- /dev/null +++ b/32697-h.zip diff --git a/32697-h/32697-h.htm b/32697-h/32697-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0ec006d --- /dev/null +++ b/32697-h/32697-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1244 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Sword, by Frank Quattrocchi. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + 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; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sword, by Frank Quattrocchi + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Sword + +Author: Frank Quattrocchi + +Illustrator: Tom Beecham + +Release Date: June 5, 2010 [EBook #32697] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SWORD *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + +<h1>THE SWORD</h1> + +<h2>By Frank Quattrocchi</h2> + +<h3>Illustrated by Tom Beecham</h3> + +<p>[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science +Fiction March 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that +the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>There were but three days in which to decipher the most +cryptic message ever delivered to earth.</i></div> + + +<p>George Harrison noticed the flashing red light on the instrument panel +as he turned onto the bridge to Balboa Island. Just over the bridge, he +pulled the car to the curb and flipped the switch with violence. +"Harrison," he muttered.</p> + +<p>"How's the water, fella?" asked the voice of Bob Mills, his assistant.</p> + +<p>There was a beautiful moon over the island. The surf lapped at the tiers +of the picturesque bridge. Soft music was playing somewhere. There was a +tinkle of young laughter on the light sea breeze.</p> + +<p>Harrison was vacationing and he viewed the emergency contact from +Intersolar Spaceport with annoyance.</p> + +<p>"What do you want, Bob?"</p> + +<p>"Sorry, George," Bob Mills said more seriously. "I guess you got to come +back."</p> + +<p>"Listen—" protested Harrison.</p> + +<p>"Orders, George—orders from upstairs."</p> + +<p>Harrison took a long look at the pleasant island street stretching out +before him. Sea-corroded street lamps lit the short, island +thoroughfare. People in light blue jeans, bronzed youths in skipper +caps, deep-tanned girls in terry-cloth.</p> + +<p>"What the hell is it?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know, but it's big. Better hurry." He clicked off.</p> + +<p>Harrison skidded the car into a squealing turn. Angrily, he raced over +the bridge and onto the roaring highway. Thirty minutes later Intersolar +Spaceport, Los Angeles, blazed ahead of him.</p> + +<p>The main gate guards waved him in immediately and two cycle guards ran +interference for him through the scores of video newsmen who lined the +spaceport street.</p> + +<p>Bob Mills met him at the entrance to the Administration building.</p> + +<p>"Sorry, George, but—"</p> + +<p>"Yeah. Oh, sure. Now what the hell is it all about?"</p> + +<p>Mills handed him a sheaf of tele-transmittals. They bore heavy secret +stamps. Harrison looked up quizzically.</p> + +<p>"You saw the video boys," Mills said. "The wheels think there might be +some hysteria."</p> + +<p>"Any reason for it?"</p> + +<p>"Not that we know of—not that <i>I</i> know of anyway. The thing is coming +in awfully fast—speed of light times a factor of at least two, maybe +four."</p> + +<p>Harrison whistled softly and scanned the reports frowning.</p> + +<p>"They contacted us—"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"<i>—in perfect Intersolar Convention code.</i> Said they were coming in. +That's all. The port boys have done all they could to find out what to +expect and prepare for it. Somebody thought Engineering might be +needed—that's why they sent for you."</p> + +<p>"Used Intersolar Convention code, eh," mused Harrison.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mills. "But there's nothing like this thing known in the +solar system, nothing even close to this fast. Besides that, there was a +sighting several days ago that's being studied.</p> + +<p>"One of the radio observatories claims to have received a new signal +from one of the star clusters...."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The huge metal vessel settled to a perfect contact with its assigned +strip. It hovered over the geometric center of the long runway and +touched without raising a speck of dust.</p> + +<p>Not a sound, not a puff of smoke issued from any part of it. Immediately +it rose a few feet above the concrete and began to move toward the +parking strip. It moved with the weightless ease of an ancient dirigible +on a still day. It was easily the largest, strangest object ever seen +before at the spaceport.</p> + +<p>A team of searchlight men swivelled the large spot atop the tower and +bathed the ship in orange light.</p> + +<p>"What's that mean?" asked Mills paging his way through a book.</p> + +<p>"'Halt propulsion equipment,' I think," said Harrison.</p> + +<p>"It's a good thing the code makers were vague about that," smiled Mills. +"It's a good thing they didn't say jets or rockets—'cause this thing +hasn't got any."</p> + +<p>"<i>Attention!</i>"</p> + +<p>That single word suddenly issued from the alien ship.</p> + +<p>"<i>The Races of Wan greet you.</i>"</p> + +<p>It might have been the voice of a frog. It was low, gutteral, entirely +alien, entirely without either enthusiasm or trace of human emotion.</p> + +<p>"Jesus!" muttered Mills.</p> + +<p>Scores of video teams focused equipment on the gleaming alien.</p> + +<p>"<i>The Races of Wan desire contact with you.</i>"</p> + +<p>"In English yet!" amazed Mills.</p> + +<p>"The basis of this contact together with its nature are dependent upon +<i>you</i>!"</p> + +<p>The voice had become ugly. There was nothing human about it save only +the words, which were in flawless English.</p> + +<p>"Your system has long been under surveillance by the Races of Wan. +Your—progress has been noted."</p> + +<p>There was almost a note of contempt, thought Harrison, in the last +sentence.</p> + +<p>"Your system is about to reach others. It therefore becomes a matter of +urgency that the Races of Wan make contact.</p> + +<p>"Your cultural grasp is as yet quite small. You reach four of your own +system's planets. You have attempted—with little success—colonization. +You anticipate further penetrations.</p> + +<p>"You master the physical conditions of your system with difficulty. You +are a victim of many of the natural laws—natural laws which you dimly +perceive.</p> + +<p>"But you master yourselves with greatest difficulty, and you are +infinitely more a victim of forces within your very nature—<i>forces +which you know almost not at all</i>."</p> + +<p>"What the hell—" began Mills.</p> + +<p>"Because of this disparity your maturity as a race is much in doubt. +There are many among the cultures of the stars who would consider your +race deviant and deadly. There are a very few who would welcome you to +the reaches of space.</p> + +<p>"But most desire more information. Thus our visit. We have come to +gather data that will determine your—disposition—</p> + +<p>"Your race accepts the principle of extermination. You relentlessly seek +and kill for commercial or political advantage. You live in mistrust and +envy and threat. Yet, as earthlings, you have power. It is not great, +but it contains a threat. We wish now to know the extent of that threat.</p> + +<p>"Here is the test."</p> + +<p>Suddenly an image resolved itself on the gleaming metal of the ship +itself.</p> + +<p><i>It was a blueprint.</i></p> + +<p>A hundred cameras focused on it.</p> + +<p>"<i>Construct this. It is defective. Correct that which renders it not +useful. We shall return in three days for your solution.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Good God!" exclaimed Harrison. "It's a—<i>sword</i>!"</p> + +<p>"A what?" asked Mills.</p> + +<p>"A sword—people used to chop each other's heads off with them."</p> + +<p>Almost at once the metal giant was seen to move. Quickly it retraced its +path across the apron, remained poised on the center of the runway, then +disappeared almost instantaneously.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The Intersolar Council weathered the storm. The representative of the +colony on Venus was recalled, his political life temporarily ended. A +vigilante committee did for a time picket the spaceport. But the +tremendous emotional outbursts of the first day gradually gave way to a +semblance of order.</p> + +<p>Video speakers, some of them with huge followings, still denounced the +ISC for permitting the alien to land in the first place. Others clamored +for a fleet to pursue the arrogant visitor. And there were many fools +who chose to ignore the implications of the strange speech and its +implied threat. Some even thought it was a gigantic hoax.</p> + +<p>But most men soon came to restore their trust in the scientists of the +Intersolar Council.</p> + +<p>Harrison cast down the long sheet of morning news that had rolled out of +the machine.</p> + +<p>"The fools! They'll play politics right up to the last, won't they?"</p> + +<p>"What else?" asked Mills. "Playing politics is as good a way as any of +avoiding what you can't figure out or solve."</p> + +<p>"And yet, what the hell are <i>we</i> doing here?" Harrison mused. "Listen to +this."</p> + +<p>He picked up a stapled sheaf of papers from his desk.</p> + +<p>"'<i>Analysis of word usage indicates a complete knowledge of the English +language</i>'—that's brilliant, isn't it? '<i>The ideational content and +general semantic tone of the alien speech indicates a relatively high +intelligence.</i></p> + +<p>"'<i>Usage is current, precise....</i>' Bob, the man who wrote that report is +one of the finest semantics experts in the solar system. He's the brain +that finally broke that ancient Martian ceremonial language they found +on the columns."</p> + +<p>"Well, mastermind," said Mills. "What will the <i>Engineering</i> report say +when you get around to writing it?"</p> + +<p>"Engineering report? What are you talking about?"</p> + +<p>"You didn't read the memo on your desk then? The one that requested a +preliminary report from every department by 2200 today."</p> + +<p>"Good God, no," said Harrison snapping up the thin yellow sheet. "What +in hell has a sword got to do with Engineering?"</p> + +<p>"What's it got to do with Semantics?" mocked Robert Mills.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><i>Construct this. It is defective. Correct that which renders it not +useful.</i></p> + +<p>Harrison's eyes burned. He would have to quit pretty soon and dictate +the report. There wasn't any use in trying to go beyond a certain point. +You got so damned tired you couldn't think straight. You might as well +go to bed and rest. Bob Mills had gone long before.</p> + +<p>He poured over the blueprint again, striving to concentrate. Why in hell +had he not given up altogether? What possible contribution could an +engineer make toward the solution of such a problem?</p> + +<p><i>Construct this.</i></p> + +<p>You simply made the thing according to a simple blueprint. You tried out +what you got, found out what it was good for, found out then what was +keeping it from doing that. You fixed it.</p> + +<p>Well, the sword had been constructed. Fantastic effort had been directed +into producing a perfect model of the print. Every minute convolution +had been followed to an incredible point of perfection. Harrison was +willing to bet there was less than a ten thousandths error—even in the +handle, where the curves seemed to be more artistic than mechanical.</p> + +<p><i>It is defective.</i></p> + +<p>What was defective about it? Nobody had actually tried the ancient +weapon, it was true. You didn't go around chopping people's heads off. +But experts on such things had examined the twelve-pound blade and had +pronounced it "well balanced"—whatever that meant. It would crack a +skull, sever arteries, kill or maim.</p> + +<p><i>Correct....</i></p> + +<p>What was there to correct? Could you make it maim or kill better? Could +you sharpen it so that it would go through thick clothing or fur? Yes. +Could you make it a bit heavier so that it might slice a metal shield? +Yes, perhaps. All of these things had been half-heartedly suggested. But +nobody had yet proposed any kind of qualitative change or been able to +suggest any kind of change that would meet the next admonition of the +alien:</p> + +<p>Correct <i>that which renders it not useful</i>.</p> + +<p>What actually could be done to a weapon to make it useful? Matter of +fact, what was there about the present weapon that made it <i>not</i> useful. +Apparently it was useful as hell—useful enough to cut a man's throat, +pierce his heart, slice an arm off him....</p> + +<p>What were the possible swords; what was the morphology of <i>concept +sword</i>?</p> + +<p>Harrison picked up a dog-eared report.</p> + +<p>There was the <i>rapier</i>, a thin, light, extremely flexible kind of sword +(if you considered the word "sword" generic, as the Semantics expert had +pointed out). It was good for duels, man-to-man combat, usually on what +the ancients had called the "field of honor."</p> + +<p>There were all kinds of short swords, dirks, shivs, stilettos, daggers. +They were the weapons of stealth men—and sometimes women—used in the +night. The assassin's weapon, the glitter in the darkened alley.</p> + +<p>There were the <i>machetes</i>. Jungle knives, cane-cutting instruments. The +bayonets....</p> + +<p>You could go on and on from there, apparently. But what did you get? +They were all more or less useful, Harrison supposed. There was nothing +more you could do with any kind of sword that was designed for a +specific purpose.</p> + +<p>Harrison sighed in despair. He had expected vastly more when he had +first heard the alien mention "test". He had expected some complex +instrument, something new to Terra and her colonies. Something involving +complex and perhaps unknown principles of an alien technology. Something +appropriate to the strange metal craft that traveled so very fast.</p> + +<p>Or perhaps a paradox. A thing that could not be constructed without +exploding, like a lattice of U235 of exactly critical size. Or an +instrument that must be assembled in an impossible sequence, like a +clock with a complete, single-pieced outer shell. Or a part of a thing +that could be "corrected" only if the whole thing were visualized, +constructed, and tested.</p> + +<p>No, the blueprint he held now involved an awareness that must prove +beyond mere technology, or at least Terran technology. Maybe it involved +an awareness that transcended Terran philosophy as well.</p> + +<p>Harrison slapped the pencil down on his desk, rose, put his coat on, and +left the office.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"... we are guilty as the angels of the bible were guilty. Pride! That's +it, folks, pride. False pride...."</p> + +<p>Harrison fringed the intent crowd of people cursing when, frequently, +someone carelessly bumped into him in an effort to get nearer the +sidewalk preacher.</p> + +<p>"We tried to live with the angels above. We wanted to fly like the +birds. And then we wanted to fly like the angels...."</p> + +<p>Someone near Harrison muttered an "Amen". Harrison wove his way through +them wondering where the hundreds of such evangelists had come from so +suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Ya know, folks, the angels themselves got uppity once. <i>They</i> wanted to +be like Gawd himself, they did. Now, it's us."</p> + +<p>There was a small flutter of laughter among the crowd. It was very +quickly suppressed—so quickly that Harrison gained a new appreciation +of the tenor of the crowd.</p> + +<p>"That's right, laugh! Laugh at our folly!" continued the thin-faced, +bright-eyed man. "It was a sword that the angel used to kick Adam and +Eve out of the garden. The sword figures all through the bible, folks. +You ought to read the bible. You ought to get to know it. It's all +there. All there for you to read...."</p> + +<p><i>By Christ</i>, thought Harrison. Here was an aspect of the concept, sword, +he had not considered. Morphological thinking required that <i>all</i> +aspects of a concept be explored, all plotted against all others for +possible correlation....</p> + +<p>No. That was silly. The bible was a beautiful piece of literature and +some people believed it inspired. But the great good men who wrote the +bible had little scientific knowledge of a sword. They would simply +describe the weapon as a modern fiction writer would describe a +blaster—without knowing any more about one than that it existed and was +a weapon.</p> + +<p>Surely the ISC's weapons expert could be trusted to know his swords.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Go on home," Mills pleaded. "You're shot and you know it. You said +yourself this isn't our show."</p> + +<p>"You go home, Bob. I'm all right."</p> + +<p>"George ... you're acting strange. Strange as hell."</p> + +<p>"I'm all right. Leave me alone," snapped Harrison becoming irritable.</p> + +<p>Mills watched silently as the haggard man slipped a tablet into his +mouth.</p> + +<p>"It's all right, Bob," smiled Harrison weakly. "I know how to use +Benzedrine."</p> + +<p>"You damn fool, you'll wreck yourself...."</p> + +<p>But the engineer ignored him. He continued paging his way through the +book—the bible, no less. George Harrison and the bible!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Mills was awakened by the telephone. Reaching in the dark for it he +answered almost without reaching consciousness.</p> + +<p>It was Harrison.</p> + +<p>"Bob, listen to me. If an angel were to look at us right now, what would +he think?"</p> + +<p>"For God's sake!" Mills cried into the instrument. "What's up? You still +at the office?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah, answer the question."</p> + +<p>"Hold on, George. I'll be down and get you. What you been drinking?"</p> + +<p>"Bob, would he—she—think much of us? Would the angel figure we +were...."</p> + +<p>"How the hell would <i>I</i> know?"</p> + +<p>"No, Bob, what you should have asked is 'how the hell would <i>he</i> know.'"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>In a daze Mills heard the click as the other hung up.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Mr. Harrison, your assistant is looking for you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know, Kirk. But will you do it?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Harrison, we only got one of them. If we screw it up it'll take +time to make another and today's the day, you know."</p> + +<p>"I'll take the blame."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Harrison, you look kind of funny. Hadn't I better...."</p> + +<p>Harrison was sketching a drawing on a piece of waste paper. He was +working in quick rough strokes, copying something from a book.</p> + +<p>"They'll blame us both, Mr. Harrison. Anyway, it might hold up somebody +who's got a real idea...."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> have a real idea, Kirk. I'm going to draw it for you."</p> + +<p>The metal worker noticed that the book Harrison was copying from was a +dictionary, a very old and battered one.</p> + +<p>"Here, can you follow what I've drawn?"</p> + +<p>The metal worker accepted it reluctantly, giving Harrison an odd, almost +patronizing look. "This is crazy."</p> + +<p>"Kirk!"</p> + +<p>"Look, Mr. Harrison. We worked a long time together. You...."</p> + +<p>Harrison suddenly rose from the chair.</p> + +<p>"This is our one chance of beating this thing, no matter how crazy it +seems. Will you do the job?"</p> + +<p>"You believe you got something, eh," the other said. "You think you +have?"</p> + +<p>"I have to have."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Gentlemen," said the President of the Intersolar Council. "There is +very little to say. There can be no denying the fact that we have +exhausted our efforts at finding a satisfactory solution.</p> + +<p>"The contents of this book of reports represents the greatest +concentration of expert reasoning perhaps ever applied to a single +problem.</p> + +<p>"But alas, the problem remains—unsolved."</p> + +<p>He paused to glance at his wristwatch.</p> + +<p>"The aliens return in an hour. As you very well know there is one action +that remains for us. It is one we have held to this hour. It is one that +has always been present and one that we have been constantly urged to +use.</p> + +<p>"Force, gentlemen. It is not insignificant. It lies at our command. It +represents the technology of the Intersolar alliance. I will entertain a +motion to use it."</p> + +<p>There were no nay votes.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The alien arrived on schedule. The ship grew from a tiny bright speck in +the sky to full size. It settled to a graceful landing as before on the +strip and silently moved into the revetment.</p> + +<p>Again it spoke in the voice of the frog, but the tone was, if anything, +less human this time.</p> + +<p>"Earthmen, we have come for your solution."</p> + +<p>At that instant a hundred gun crews stiffened and waited for a signal +behind their carefully camouflaged blast plates and inside dummy +buildings....</p> + +<p>Harrison was running. The Administration building was empty. His +footsteps echoed through the long, silent halls. He headed for an +emergency exit that led directly to the blast tunnel. All doors were +locked.</p> + +<p>The only way was over the wall. He paused and tossed the awkward, heavy +object over the ten-foot wall. Then, backing toward the building, he ran +and jumped for a hold onto the wall's edge. He failed by several inches +to reach it.</p> + +<p>"Earthmen, we have come for your solution."</p> + +<p>He ran at the wall once more. This time he caught a fair hold with one +hand. Digging at the rough concrete with his feet he was able to secure +the hold and begin pulling his body upward.</p> + +<p>Quickly he was over the wall and onto the apron, a hundred yards from +the shining metal ship.</p> + +<p>"Wait!" he shouted. "Wait, for God's sake!"</p> + +<p>Picking up the object he had tossed over the wall, he raised it above +his head and ran toward the alien ship.</p> + +<p>"Wait! Here is the solution," he gasped.</p> + +<p>Somehow the command to fire was not given. There was a long moment of +complete silence on the field. Nothing moved.</p> + +<p>Then the voice of the frog boomed from the alien ship.</p> + +<p>"The solution appears to be correct."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The alien left three days later. Regular communications would begin +within the week. Future meetings would work out technical difficulties. +Preliminary trade agreements, adequately safeguarded, were drafted and +transmitted to the ship. The Races of Man and the Races of Wan were in +harmony.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"It was simply too obvious for any of us to notice," explained Harrison. +"It took that street-corner evangelist to jar something loose—even then +it was an accident."</p> + +<p>"And the rest of us—" started Mills.</p> + +<p>"While <i>all</i> of us worked on the assumption that the test involved a +showing of strength—a flexing of technological muscle."</p> + +<p>"I still don't see—"</p> + +<p>"Well, the evangelist put the problem on the right basis. He humbled us, +exalted the aliens—that is, he thought the alien was somehow a +messenger from God to put us in our places."</p> + +<p>"We were pretty humble ourselves, especially the last day," protested +Mills.</p> + +<p>"But humble about our <i>technology</i>," put in Harrison. "The aliens must +be plenty far beyond us technologically. But how about their cultural +superiority. Ask yourself how a culture that could produce the ship +we've just seen could survive without—well destroying itself."</p> + +<p>"I still don't understand."</p> + +<p>"The aliens developed pretty much equally in <i>all</i> directions. They +developed force—plenty of it, enough force to kick that big ship +through space at the speed of light plus. They must also have learned to +control force, to live with it."</p> + +<p>"Maybe you better stick to the sword business," said Mills.</p> + +<p>"The sword is the crux of the matter. What did the alien say about the +sword? 'It is defective.' It <i>is</i> defective, Bob. Not as an instrument +of death. It will kill a man or injure him well enough.</p> + +<p>"But a sword—or any other instrument of force for that matter—is a +terribly ineffectual tool. It was originally designed to act as a tool +of social control. Did it—or any subsequent weapon of force—do a good +job at that?</p> + +<p>"As long as man used swords, or gunpowder, or atom bombs, or hydrogen +bombs, he was doomed to a fearful anarchy of unsolved problems and +dreadful immaturity.</p> + +<p>"No, the sword is not useful. To fix it—to 'correct that which renders +it not useful'—meant to make it something else. Now what in the hell +did that mean? What can you do with a sword?"</p> + +<p>"You mean besides cut a man in two with it," said Mills.</p> + +<p>"Yes, what can you do with it besides use it as a weapon? Here our +street-corner friend referred me to the right place: The bible!</p> + +<p>"<i>They shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into +pruning-hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither +shall they learn war any more.</i></p> + +<p>"The aliens just wanted to know if we meant what we said."</p> + +<p>"Do we?"</p> + +<p>"We better. It's going to take a hell of a lot more than a silly +ploughshare to convince those babies on that ship. But there's more to +it than that. The ability of a culture finally to pound all of its +swords—its intellectual ones as well as its steel ones—into +ploughshares must be some kind of least common denominator for cultures +that are headed for the stars."</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sword, by Frank Quattrocchi + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SWORD *** + +***** This file should be named 32697-h.htm or 32697-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/6/9/32697/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Sword + +Author: Frank Quattrocchi + +Illustrator: Tom Beecham + +Release Date: June 5, 2010 [EBook #32697] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SWORD *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + THE SWORD + + By Frank Quattrocchi + + Illustrated by Tom Beecham + +[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science +Fiction March 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that +the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + +[Sidenote: _There were but three days in which to decipher the most +cryptic message ever delivered to earth._] + + +George Harrison noticed the flashing red light on the instrument panel +as he turned onto the bridge to Balboa Island. Just over the bridge, he +pulled the car to the curb and flipped the switch with violence. +"Harrison," he muttered. + +"How's the water, fella?" asked the voice of Bob Mills, his assistant. + +There was a beautiful moon over the island. The surf lapped at the tiers +of the picturesque bridge. Soft music was playing somewhere. There was a +tinkle of young laughter on the light sea breeze. + +Harrison was vacationing and he viewed the emergency contact from +Intersolar Spaceport with annoyance. + +"What do you want, Bob?" + +"Sorry, George," Bob Mills said more seriously. "I guess you got to come +back." + +"Listen--" protested Harrison. + +"Orders, George--orders from upstairs." + +Harrison took a long look at the pleasant island street stretching out +before him. Sea-corroded street lamps lit the short, island +thoroughfare. People in light blue jeans, bronzed youths in skipper +caps, deep-tanned girls in terry-cloth. + +"What the hell is it?" + +"Don't know, but it's big. Better hurry." He clicked off. + +Harrison skidded the car into a squealing turn. Angrily, he raced over +the bridge and onto the roaring highway. Thirty minutes later Intersolar +Spaceport, Los Angeles, blazed ahead of him. + +The main gate guards waved him in immediately and two cycle guards ran +interference for him through the scores of video newsmen who lined the +spaceport street. + +Bob Mills met him at the entrance to the Administration building. + +"Sorry, George, but--" + +"Yeah. Oh, sure. Now what the hell is it all about?" + +Mills handed him a sheaf of tele-transmittals. They bore heavy secret +stamps. Harrison looked up quizzically. + +"You saw the video boys," Mills said. "The wheels think there might be +some hysteria." + +"Any reason for it?" + +"Not that we know of--not that _I_ know of anyway. The thing is coming +in awfully fast--speed of light times a factor of at least two, maybe +four." + +Harrison whistled softly and scanned the reports frowning. + +"They contacted us--" + +"What?" + +"_--in perfect Intersolar Convention code._ Said they were coming in. +That's all. The port boys have done all they could to find out what to +expect and prepare for it. Somebody thought Engineering might be +needed--that's why they sent for you." + +"Used Intersolar Convention code, eh," mused Harrison. + +"Yes," said Mills. "But there's nothing like this thing known in the +solar system, nothing even close to this fast. Besides that, there was a +sighting several days ago that's being studied. + +"One of the radio observatories claims to have received a new signal +from one of the star clusters...." + + * * * * * + +The huge metal vessel settled to a perfect contact with its assigned +strip. It hovered over the geometric center of the long runway and +touched without raising a speck of dust. + +Not a sound, not a puff of smoke issued from any part of it. Immediately +it rose a few feet above the concrete and began to move toward the +parking strip. It moved with the weightless ease of an ancient dirigible +on a still day. It was easily the largest, strangest object ever seen +before at the spaceport. + +A team of searchlight men swivelled the large spot atop the tower and +bathed the ship in orange light. + +"What's that mean?" asked Mills paging his way through a book. + +"'Halt propulsion equipment,' I think," said Harrison. + +"It's a good thing the code makers were vague about that," smiled Mills. +"It's a good thing they didn't say jets or rockets--'cause this thing +hasn't got any." + +"_Attention!_" + +That single word suddenly issued from the alien ship. + +"_The Races of Wan greet you._" + +It might have been the voice of a frog. It was low, gutteral, entirely +alien, entirely without either enthusiasm or trace of human emotion. + +"Jesus!" muttered Mills. + +Scores of video teams focused equipment on the gleaming alien. + +"_The Races of Wan desire contact with you._" + +"In English yet!" amazed Mills. + +"The basis of this contact together with its nature are dependent upon +_you_!" + +The voice had become ugly. There was nothing human about it save only +the words, which were in flawless English. + +"Your system has long been under surveillance by the Races of Wan. +Your--progress has been noted." + +There was almost a note of contempt, thought Harrison, in the last +sentence. + +"Your system is about to reach others. It therefore becomes a matter of +urgency that the Races of Wan make contact. + +"Your cultural grasp is as yet quite small. You reach four of your own +system's planets. You have attempted--with little success--colonization. +You anticipate further penetrations. + +"You master the physical conditions of your system with difficulty. You +are a victim of many of the natural laws--natural laws which you dimly +perceive. + +"But you master yourselves with greatest difficulty, and you are +infinitely more a victim of forces within your very nature--_forces +which you know almost not at all_." + +"What the hell--" began Mills. + +"Because of this disparity your maturity as a race is much in doubt. +There are many among the cultures of the stars who would consider your +race deviant and deadly. There are a very few who would welcome you to +the reaches of space. + +"But most desire more information. Thus our visit. We have come to +gather data that will determine your--disposition-- + +"Your race accepts the principle of extermination. You relentlessly seek +and kill for commercial or political advantage. You live in mistrust and +envy and threat. Yet, as earthlings, you have power. It is not great, +but it contains a threat. We wish now to know the extent of that threat. + +"Here is the test." + +Suddenly an image resolved itself on the gleaming metal of the ship +itself. + +_It was a blueprint._ + +A hundred cameras focused on it. + +"_Construct this. It is defective. Correct that which renders it not +useful. We shall return in three days for your solution._" + +"Good God!" exclaimed Harrison. "It's a--_sword_!" + +"A what?" asked Mills. + +"A sword--people used to chop each other's heads off with them." + +Almost at once the metal giant was seen to move. Quickly it retraced its +path across the apron, remained poised on the center of the runway, then +disappeared almost instantaneously. + + * * * * * + +The Intersolar Council weathered the storm. The representative of the +colony on Venus was recalled, his political life temporarily ended. A +vigilante committee did for a time picket the spaceport. But the +tremendous emotional outbursts of the first day gradually gave way to a +semblance of order. + +Video speakers, some of them with huge followings, still denounced the +ISC for permitting the alien to land in the first place. Others clamored +for a fleet to pursue the arrogant visitor. And there were many fools +who chose to ignore the implications of the strange speech and its +implied threat. Some even thought it was a gigantic hoax. + +But most men soon came to restore their trust in the scientists of the +Intersolar Council. + +Harrison cast down the long sheet of morning news that had rolled out of +the machine. + +"The fools! They'll play politics right up to the last, won't they?" + +"What else?" asked Mills. "Playing politics is as good a way as any of +avoiding what you can't figure out or solve." + +"And yet, what the hell are _we_ doing here?" Harrison mused. "Listen to +this." + +He picked up a stapled sheaf of papers from his desk. + +"'_Analysis of word usage indicates a complete knowledge of the English +language_'--that's brilliant, isn't it? '_The ideational content and +general semantic tone of the alien speech indicates a relatively high +intelligence._ + +"'_Usage is current, precise...._' Bob, the man who wrote that report is +one of the finest semantics experts in the solar system. He's the brain +that finally broke that ancient Martian ceremonial language they found +on the columns." + +"Well, mastermind," said Mills. "What will the _Engineering_ report say +when you get around to writing it?" + +"Engineering report? What are you talking about?" + +"You didn't read the memo on your desk then? The one that requested a +preliminary report from every department by 2200 today." + +"Good God, no," said Harrison snapping up the thin yellow sheet. "What +in hell has a sword got to do with Engineering?" + +"What's it got to do with Semantics?" mocked Robert Mills. + + * * * * * + +_Construct this. It is defective. Correct that which renders it not +useful._ + +Harrison's eyes burned. He would have to quit pretty soon and dictate +the report. There wasn't any use in trying to go beyond a certain point. +You got so damned tired you couldn't think straight. You might as well +go to bed and rest. Bob Mills had gone long before. + +He poured over the blueprint again, striving to concentrate. Why in hell +had he not given up altogether? What possible contribution could an +engineer make toward the solution of such a problem? + +_Construct this._ + +You simply made the thing according to a simple blueprint. You tried out +what you got, found out what it was good for, found out then what was +keeping it from doing that. You fixed it. + +Well, the sword had been constructed. Fantastic effort had been directed +into producing a perfect model of the print. Every minute convolution +had been followed to an incredible point of perfection. Harrison was +willing to bet there was less than a ten thousandths error--even in the +handle, where the curves seemed to be more artistic than mechanical. + +_It is defective._ + +What was defective about it? Nobody had actually tried the ancient +weapon, it was true. You didn't go around chopping people's heads off. +But experts on such things had examined the twelve-pound blade and had +pronounced it "well balanced"--whatever that meant. It would crack a +skull, sever arteries, kill or maim. + +_Correct...._ + +What was there to correct? Could you make it maim or kill better? Could +you sharpen it so that it would go through thick clothing or fur? Yes. +Could you make it a bit heavier so that it might slice a metal shield? +Yes, perhaps. All of these things had been half-heartedly suggested. But +nobody had yet proposed any kind of qualitative change or been able to +suggest any kind of change that would meet the next admonition of the +alien: + +Correct _that which renders it not useful_. + +What actually could be done to a weapon to make it useful? Matter of +fact, what was there about the present weapon that made it _not_ useful. +Apparently it was useful as hell--useful enough to cut a man's throat, +pierce his heart, slice an arm off him.... + +What were the possible swords; what was the morphology of _concept +sword_? + +Harrison picked up a dog-eared report. + +There was the _rapier_, a thin, light, extremely flexible kind of sword +(if you considered the word "sword" generic, as the Semantics expert had +pointed out). It was good for duels, man-to-man combat, usually on what +the ancients had called the "field of honor." + +There were all kinds of short swords, dirks, shivs, stilettos, daggers. +They were the weapons of stealth men--and sometimes women--used in the +night. The assassin's weapon, the glitter in the darkened alley. + +There were the _machetes_. Jungle knives, cane-cutting instruments. The +bayonets.... + +You could go on and on from there, apparently. But what did you get? +They were all more or less useful, Harrison supposed. There was nothing +more you could do with any kind of sword that was designed for a +specific purpose. + +Harrison sighed in despair. He had expected vastly more when he had +first heard the alien mention "test". He had expected some complex +instrument, something new to Terra and her colonies. Something involving +complex and perhaps unknown principles of an alien technology. Something +appropriate to the strange metal craft that traveled so very fast. + +Or perhaps a paradox. A thing that could not be constructed without +exploding, like a lattice of U235 of exactly critical size. Or an +instrument that must be assembled in an impossible sequence, like a +clock with a complete, single-pieced outer shell. Or a part of a thing +that could be "corrected" only if the whole thing were visualized, +constructed, and tested. + +No, the blueprint he held now involved an awareness that must prove +beyond mere technology, or at least Terran technology. Maybe it involved +an awareness that transcended Terran philosophy as well. + +Harrison slapped the pencil down on his desk, rose, put his coat on, and +left the office. + + * * * * * + +"... we are guilty as the angels of the bible were guilty. Pride! That's +it, folks, pride. False pride...." + +Harrison fringed the intent crowd of people cursing when, frequently, +someone carelessly bumped into him in an effort to get nearer the +sidewalk preacher. + +"We tried to live with the angels above. We wanted to fly like the +birds. And then we wanted to fly like the angels...." + +Someone near Harrison muttered an "Amen". Harrison wove his way through +them wondering where the hundreds of such evangelists had come from so +suddenly. + +"Ya know, folks, the angels themselves got uppity once. _They_ wanted to +be like Gawd himself, they did. Now, it's us." + +There was a small flutter of laughter among the crowd. It was very +quickly suppressed--so quickly that Harrison gained a new appreciation +of the tenor of the crowd. + +"That's right, laugh! Laugh at our folly!" continued the thin-faced, +bright-eyed man. "It was a sword that the angel used to kick Adam and +Eve out of the garden. The sword figures all through the bible, folks. +You ought to read the bible. You ought to get to know it. It's all +there. All there for you to read...." + +_By Christ_, thought Harrison. Here was an aspect of the concept, sword, +he had not considered. Morphological thinking required that _all_ +aspects of a concept be explored, all plotted against all others for +possible correlation.... + +No. That was silly. The bible was a beautiful piece of literature and +some people believed it inspired. But the great good men who wrote the +bible had little scientific knowledge of a sword. They would simply +describe the weapon as a modern fiction writer would describe a +blaster--without knowing any more about one than that it existed and was +a weapon. + +Surely the ISC's weapons expert could be trusted to know his swords. + + * * * * * + +"Go on home," Mills pleaded. "You're shot and you know it. You said +yourself this isn't our show." + +"You go home, Bob. I'm all right." + +"George ... you're acting strange. Strange as hell." + +"I'm all right. Leave me alone," snapped Harrison becoming irritable. + +Mills watched silently as the haggard man slipped a tablet into his +mouth. + +"It's all right, Bob," smiled Harrison weakly. "I know how to use +Benzedrine." + +"You damn fool, you'll wreck yourself...." + +But the engineer ignored him. He continued paging his way through the +book--the bible, no less. George Harrison and the bible! + + * * * * * + +Mills was awakened by the telephone. Reaching in the dark for it he +answered almost without reaching consciousness. + +It was Harrison. + +"Bob, listen to me. If an angel were to look at us right now, what would +he think?" + +"For God's sake!" Mills cried into the instrument. "What's up? You still +at the office?" + +"Yeah, answer the question." + +"Hold on, George. I'll be down and get you. What you been drinking?" + +"Bob, would he--she--think much of us? Would the angel figure we +were...." + +"How the hell would _I_ know?" + +"No, Bob, what you should have asked is 'how the hell would _he_ know.'" + + * * * * * + +In a daze Mills heard the click as the other hung up. + + * * * * * + +"Mr. Harrison, your assistant is looking for you." + +"Yes, I know, Kirk. But will you do it?" + +"Mr. Harrison, we only got one of them. If we screw it up it'll take +time to make another and today's the day, you know." + +"I'll take the blame." + +"Mr. Harrison, you look kind of funny. Hadn't I better...." + +Harrison was sketching a drawing on a piece of waste paper. He was +working in quick rough strokes, copying something from a book. + +"They'll blame us both, Mr. Harrison. Anyway, it might hold up somebody +who's got a real idea...." + +"_I_ have a real idea, Kirk. I'm going to draw it for you." + +The metal worker noticed that the book Harrison was copying from was a +dictionary, a very old and battered one. + +"Here, can you follow what I've drawn?" + +The metal worker accepted it reluctantly, giving Harrison an odd, almost +patronizing look. "This is crazy." + +"Kirk!" + +"Look, Mr. Harrison. We worked a long time together. You...." + +Harrison suddenly rose from the chair. + +"This is our one chance of beating this thing, no matter how crazy it +seems. Will you do the job?" + +"You believe you got something, eh," the other said. "You think you +have?" + +"I have to have." + + * * * * * + +"Gentlemen," said the President of the Intersolar Council. "There is +very little to say. There can be no denying the fact that we have +exhausted our efforts at finding a satisfactory solution. + +"The contents of this book of reports represents the greatest +concentration of expert reasoning perhaps ever applied to a single +problem. + +"But alas, the problem remains--unsolved." + +He paused to glance at his wristwatch. + +"The aliens return in an hour. As you very well know there is one action +that remains for us. It is one we have held to this hour. It is one that +has always been present and one that we have been constantly urged to +use. + +"Force, gentlemen. It is not insignificant. It lies at our command. It +represents the technology of the Intersolar alliance. I will entertain a +motion to use it." + +There were no nay votes. + + * * * * * + +The alien arrived on schedule. The ship grew from a tiny bright speck in +the sky to full size. It settled to a graceful landing as before on the +strip and silently moved into the revetment. + +Again it spoke in the voice of the frog, but the tone was, if anything, +less human this time. + +"Earthmen, we have come for your solution." + +At that instant a hundred gun crews stiffened and waited for a signal +behind their carefully camouflaged blast plates and inside dummy +buildings.... + +Harrison was running. The Administration building was empty. His +footsteps echoed through the long, silent halls. He headed for an +emergency exit that led directly to the blast tunnel. All doors were +locked. + +The only way was over the wall. He paused and tossed the awkward, heavy +object over the ten-foot wall. Then, backing toward the building, he ran +and jumped for a hold onto the wall's edge. He failed by several inches +to reach it. + +"Earthmen, we have come for your solution." + +He ran at the wall once more. This time he caught a fair hold with one +hand. Digging at the rough concrete with his feet he was able to secure +the hold and begin pulling his body upward. + +Quickly he was over the wall and onto the apron, a hundred yards from +the shining metal ship. + +"Wait!" he shouted. "Wait, for God's sake!" + +Picking up the object he had tossed over the wall, he raised it above +his head and ran toward the alien ship. + +"Wait! Here is the solution," he gasped. + +Somehow the command to fire was not given. There was a long moment of +complete silence on the field. Nothing moved. + +Then the voice of the frog boomed from the alien ship. + +"The solution appears to be correct." + + * * * * * + +The alien left three days later. Regular communications would begin +within the week. Future meetings would work out technical difficulties. +Preliminary trade agreements, adequately safeguarded, were drafted and +transmitted to the ship. The Races of Man and the Races of Wan were in +harmony. + + * * * * * + +"It was simply too obvious for any of us to notice," explained Harrison. +"It took that street-corner evangelist to jar something loose--even then +it was an accident." + +"And the rest of us--" started Mills. + +"While _all_ of us worked on the assumption that the test involved a +showing of strength--a flexing of technological muscle." + +"I still don't see--" + +"Well, the evangelist put the problem on the right basis. He humbled us, +exalted the aliens--that is, he thought the alien was somehow a +messenger from God to put us in our places." + +"We were pretty humble ourselves, especially the last day," protested +Mills. + +"But humble about our _technology_," put in Harrison. "The aliens must +be plenty far beyond us technologically. But how about their cultural +superiority. Ask yourself how a culture that could produce the ship +we've just seen could survive without--well destroying itself." + +"I still don't understand." + +"The aliens developed pretty much equally in _all_ directions. They +developed force--plenty of it, enough force to kick that big ship +through space at the speed of light plus. They must also have learned to +control force, to live with it." + +"Maybe you better stick to the sword business," said Mills. + +"The sword is the crux of the matter. What did the alien say about the +sword? 'It is defective.' It _is_ defective, Bob. Not as an instrument +of death. It will kill a man or injure him well enough. + +"But a sword--or any other instrument of force for that matter--is a +terribly ineffectual tool. It was originally designed to act as a tool +of social control. Did it--or any subsequent weapon of force--do a good +job at that? + +"As long as man used swords, or gunpowder, or atom bombs, or hydrogen +bombs, he was doomed to a fearful anarchy of unsolved problems and +dreadful immaturity. + +"No, the sword is not useful. To fix it--to 'correct that which renders +it not useful'--meant to make it something else. Now what in the hell +did that mean? What can you do with a sword?" + +"You mean besides cut a man in two with it," said Mills. + +"Yes, what can you do with it besides use it as a weapon? Here our +street-corner friend referred me to the right place: The bible! + +"_They shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into +pruning-hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither +shall they learn war any more._ + +"The aliens just wanted to know if we meant what we said." + +"Do we?" + +"We better. It's going to take a hell of a lot more than a silly +ploughshare to convince those babies on that ship. But there's more to +it than that. The ability of a culture finally to pound all of its +swords--its intellectual ones as well as its steel ones--into +ploughshares must be some kind of least common denominator for cultures +that are headed for the stars." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sword, by Frank Quattrocchi + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SWORD *** + +***** This file should be named 32697.txt or 32697.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/6/9/32697/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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